News
NFFR 2024 Flash Fiction Contest Longlist

Many thanks to everyone who submitted work to this year’s contest. Congratulations to all authors represented on the longlist. Good luck to all. We’ll announce winner and two honorable mentions being selected now by Nathan Leslie, in our upcoming December issue.

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Welcome to NFFR #32, Animal Life

Thank you to everyone who submitted works. As usual it was incredibly hard to make our selections due to the stellar quality of the writings you shared with us.

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A Changing of the Guard

We have some exciting news about changes at NFFR. First off, we welcome web designer, Keith Powell, who has worked with some of the classic qualities of the NFFR original design (sheep, sheep, and sheep!) and Keith has done wonderful, miraculous things. Please take a look!

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2021 New Flash Fiction Prize Results!

Thanks so much to this year's judge, Tara Isabel Zambrano! The results are in and we're looking forward to bringing you the contest issue soon including all the stories from the shortlist. Congratulations everyone! Thank you to everyone who entered this year. Your...

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You, Visitor by Jane O’Sullivan

You don’t like her much, not that you can tell her that. Slugging along behind you, hands in pockets. Sullen as a fish despite the fucking dawn rising over the city, the glory of it.

The Subtle Light by Hetty Mosforth

Word of mouth gets him the job and gets him past the gatehouse. He tramps towards the house like a stray dog, turrets and crenelations coming into focus.

Grief Sandwiches by Lucas Flatt and Travis Flatt

I’m in the elevator with the angel.
“I’m hungry,” I say.
“You can eat peanut butter again.”
My mother hated the smell of peanut butter. As kids, my brother and I got it all over everything. Mom said it smelled to her like dogshit.

Rosetta Post-its by Guy Biederman

Los Gatos Tienen Hambre, says the post-it on the fridge. Since when did the cats learn Spanish, since when did they learn to write? The same could be asked of you, says another post-it.

The Bronze Medal by Vincent James Perrone

She wants to meet the pig—snout down, paraded through the town square of sodden earth and
stump dimples, now trailed by serpentine line of freshly showered farmer with tomato noses and
breath prematurely soured from all that auctioneer talk.