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Flash Prompt #1 - Aug 2016 by Flash-Fic-Month, journal

Flash Prompt #1 - Aug 2016

Aug 15, 2016

Welcome to Flash Prompt #1! :new: Scroll down to see the entries! :new: In the past we've challenged you to 31 days of flash fiction and madness over the course of July. But this year we've decided to branch out, and we will now be challenging you to write delicious flash fiction stories ALL YEAR ROUND! No, no. Don't worry, you can stop hyperventilating, we don't mean every day, just once a month will do. As ever, the challenges are entirely optional. Our only hope is that Flash Prompts will help each of you to continue producing (and reading) great flash fiction all year round (and not just during July). You can participate every month,

365tomorrows - 10 years and counting by SRSmith, journal

365tomorrows - 10 years and counting

Jul 24, 2016

Kathy Kachelries stopped at a particularly long red light over a decade ago and pondered the lack of meaningful pastimes for these otherwise wasted moments. Wouldn’t it be fantastic if there was something quick to read, in the few moments between green lights, or tables at the diner, or on your coffee break at the office? This was the seed of an idea from which, with the help of JR Blackwell, Jared Axelrod, J.Loseth and B.York, 365tomorrows was born on August 1st, 2005. Over a decade, and more than 3,500 stories later, 365tomorrows has become more than a pastime, more than a passion. It’s a focal point for amazing views of possi

June 22nd: Flash Fiction Day 2016 by DamonWakes, journal

June 22nd: Flash Fiction Day 2016

Jun 12, 2016

EDIT: The official FFD journal is in the thumbnail below! Post your stories for the world to see over there (but if you haven't signed up yet, then comment below first so I know to add you to the list)! You might recall that on June 22nd last year, I organised a Flash Fiction Day event. The overall goal of this event was to try and write as many flash fiction pieces as possible in just 24 hours (I personally managed 24 stories in the end, while GDeyke (https://www.deviantart.com/gdeyke) topped the By Lucifer's Beard, How Do You Even Do That? scoreboard with a whopping 90). Well, the basic idea behind Flash Fiction Day this year will be no different, and it'll be no differ

FFM Updates by Flash-Fic-Month, journal

FFM Updates

Jun 15, 2016

Hello Flash Fiction Month Followers! July is near! Which means our Official Flash Fiction Month 2016 Sign-Up page, and delectable 2016 Prompt Bank will be posted at the end of this week, so be ready! are here! We shall also be assaulting your inboxes with various polls etc over the remainder of June, so be ready for that too. Feeling out of flash fiction shape? Want to get back in the game? Have a look at DamonWakes (https://www.deviantart.com/damonwakes) Flash Fiction Day which will be taking place on the 22nd of June. Participants are challenged to write as many flash fiction stories as possible within 24 hours, and we happen to think it looks like a really fun event, not

close enough by MelonyFelony, literature

Literature

close enough

You crawl across the obstacle course of crunched metal as best as you can, the deadweight of your useless legs hindering the task. "Hi," she breathes when you haul yourself to a stop, your elbows scraped raw and lungs heaving. The air tastes like the red that courses down her face, clumping in her lashes. "Hey." You let yourself sink down, your fingers walking across the distance it takes to get to hers. You brush them and she links them together and you think it might hurt her because they're swollen and black, but if it does, she doesn't even wince. You feel something thick and unbearable stuff up your chest, squeeze your heart and scrat

taking Pity on god by TheBareSheet, literature

Literature

taking Pity on god

sometimes I wonder if God wore regret as his Shadow when his creation walks with Sin this is our Punishment yet it was his Failure sometimes I wonder if God has his gravestone etched with Betrayal when his creation lays with Temptation this is our Weak will yet Strength trickled from his fountain sometimes I wonder if God's step falters when his generations fades into forgotten legacies yet his Scars are kindled and rekindled from charred ashes of lost Faith

An Unusual Circus by comatose-comet, literature

Literature

An Unusual Circus

I fell in love with a boy who had greasepaint flowing through his veins. Like a clown, his mouth was constantly curved into a wide grin and he laughed, laughed at everything around him. Rainy days and concrete towers, a woman dropping her keys, a streetlight that did not work. He saw everything as a joke and in turn the world became his circus. When we’d wait for the bus, he’d balance on the garden walls as if it was a tightrope, arms outstretched for balance and feet awkwardly placed. Waiters and unassuming cashiers became an audience for his acts, his merriment. Once, on a day when the city was bathed in grey, he bought me a hel

Exit. by HuntingForHappiness, literature

Literature

Exit.

My mother never knew; never knew about how I’d spend those first nights, in strangers' hands that held too tight. Never knew about how bad habits are heirlooms too, and that the paintings from her room couldn’t cover stained truths. My mother didn’t know that nothing would start anew, and that yeah, there’d be good art, but she could never see it through. My mother never knew that this story doesn’t end; that "Exit stage right and follow the Light" isn’t a conclusion,

Sage by mirovia, literature

Literature

Sage

One morning she awoke to find workmen in her garden. They had already pulled up the sage bush, dumping it unceremoniously, root side up atop the rosemary, atop the basil so that it looked like a miniature baobab, or whatever they call those trees in Africa with the habit of growing upside down. She wished she could shrink down and scurry off into that diminutive landscape. She wished she could call to the workmen and tell them to get out of her yard, to tell them that sage could be burnt to ward off evil spirits. Instead, she let her teacup slip through her fingers. It greeted the floor with the expected crash, a hundred tiny shards singing a

Moribund by mirovia, literature

Literature

Moribund

He ordered Merlot and gestured far too often as he spoke. His monologue required little from her. An occasional head nod or feigned laughter. By the time he started talking about work, she found she had already forgotten his name, though she rechristened him Todd, a suitably banal moniker. She spent the better part of the evening trying to turn off the language centers of her brain. Human speech is, after all, intercepted on its way to the auditory processing centers and routed directly to Brocca's area, the part of the brain responsible for deriving meaning from spoken word. Because of this, she thought, we never truly hear human speech. It