by Michael K. Eidson

“Look,” said Rogar, “a bridge, out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“It’s not in the middle of nowhere,” replied Beliza, adjusting her black leather and chain mail skirt. “It’s between two mountains. It’s obviously a Troll bridge.”

“It must be ancient,” Rogar said as they drew closer to the structure. “All the Trolls are dead. Aren’t they?”

“There’s one way to find out.”

“How’s that?”

Beliza sat on a stone at the near end of the bridge. “Walk across it to the other side.”

The End . . . for Rogar.


Your story doesn’t have to be about trolls to get into Atroll’s Flash Fiction.  Any kind of fantasy will do.  Here’s another tale of mine.

Just a Dream?
    by Ken St. Andre

I thought it was a good party.  It had all the
ingredients for having a good time.  Hamburgers.
Girls.  Ice cream.  Girlz.  Champagne.  Grrlz.  Music.
Babes!  Woo Hoo! 

Yes, it was a good party.  But it finally ended some
time around four in the morning, and since it was my
house, I was stuck there at home, alone, with a big
mess to clean up.  I put all the loose trash and
discarded pieces of clothing in trash sacks.  I piled
all the dishes in the sink.  And then, head spinning,
I crashed.

And I had a very strange dream. 

I dreamed I was the Sun.  There were no pictures
really, just a sense of warmth and light.  And I was
in a conversation with other stars–actually something
like 100 billion different conversations with all the
other stars in the galaxy.  We weren’t speaking
anything like English, of course, and I only really
followed one conversation in my dream.

<<Have you ever wondered?>> I radioed, <<if we’re the
only form of intelligent life in the universe?>>

[[Not really,]] answered Alf, one of my two closest
neighbors.  [[Why do you ask?]]

<<Mostly because somebody else just recently started
talking around here.  Haven’t you noticed?  I think
there has been plenty of time for the signal to reach

[[I did notice, but I thought it was you.  The new
signal, which is pretty weak, but very, very fast and
chaotic, seems to be coming from you.]]

<<I’m not making it!>>

[[It certainly seems to be coming from you.  I thought
you were humming or something.  Where else could it
come from?]]

<<You know how our sense of gravity allows us to
experience other objects?>>


<<I have a lot of small cold objects orbiting me.>>

[[That’s common.  That cold matter is the condensed
remnants of our older comrades who have died.]]

<<One of them is producing all the talk.>>

[[Preposterous!  Those chunks of rock are too small
and too cold to ever develop a mind and

<<I think so too, but you can’t deny the signal

[[There’s a signal alright, but you’re making it.
That’s the only logical explanation.]]

<<I’m not making it.  Why would I do that?>>

[[Just to mess with my mind, I guess.  I wish you’d

<<I am not doing it!!!  You’re making me hot by not
trusting me!>>  And in my dream I felt as if I was
getting really really hot–maybe hot enough to nova.

Then I woke up.  The house was on fire, and I barely
got out alive.



That’s our flash fiction for today.  My thanks to Mike Eidson for contributing.  I’m going to be here a lot.  But, I’m serious.  If you’d like your flash fiction published here on Atroll’s Flash Fiction, then send it to me at:  There’s no money in it, and not much glory, but you’ll be published and getting a little free publicity from me.




One Comment

  1. Posted January 28, 2011 at 2:26 pm | Permalink | Reply

    Nice cosmic flashfic, TG.

One Trackback

  1. By New Flash Fiction Site! @ Mystic Visions on January 31, 2011 at 3:39 am

    […] submitted a story of about 100 words called Dessert, which was published on January 27. My story is in response to Ken’s Suppertime, which was […]

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