Since you all seem to like the photo without the written prompt, let’s do it again. Use the photograph to the left as the inspiration for your flash fiction story. Write whatever comes to mind (no sexual, political, or religious stories, please) and after you PROOFREAD it, submit it as your entry. There will be no written prompt this week.
Welcome to the Indies Unlimited Flash Fiction Challenge. In 250 words or less, write a story incorporating the elements in the picture at left. The 250 word limit will be strictly enforced.
Please keep language and subject matter to a PG-13 level.
Use the comment section below to submit your entry. Entries will be accepted until Tuesday at 5:00 PM Pacific Time. No political or religious entries, please. Need help getting started? Read this article on how to write flash fiction.
On Wednesday afternoon, we will open voting to the public with an online poll so they may choose the winner. Voting will be open until 5:00 PM Thursday. On Saturday morning, the winner will be recognized as we post the winning entry along with the picture as a feature.
Once a month, the admins will announce the Editors’ Choice winners. Those stories will be featured in an anthology like this one. Best of luck to you all in your writing!
Entries only in the comment section. Other comments will be deleted. See HERE for additional information and terms. Please note the rule changes for 2016.
“How will we get out of here,” he wondered
Squinting through the darkness he determined it had to be a very old enclosure. The broken stumps and eroding protrusions seemed to emit a revolting stench. He reached over and brought the silent boy close to his chest. “There, there. Don’t worry, son, we’ll be home again soon.”
Searching through his pockets he found the box of matches next to his pipe. “Hmmmmm!” Suddenly, he remembered the sheet of paper with drawings he had hidden inside the sleeve of his tattered shirt. It had taken years to finally create the one he had prayed for and get it memorialized on paper, but knew what he must do.
“Hold on to me, son. Don’t let go.”
Striking a match, he held it to the rolled up sheet of paper and set it ablaze. “Dio mio! Just look at this mess.” Smoke began filling the vast chamber.
There was a sudden rush of cascading water followed by a roaring explosive sound. The raft rose, fell, spun and raced forward. He clutched the boy tightly as they sped into the safety of the sunlight.
Geppetto hugged Pinocchio, kissing his forehead over and over. “Grazia, Dio. Grazia!” he shouted, weeping with joy, as Monstro sneezed again and swam away.
_ _ _
– – –
Cut! Cut!. This isn’t going to work. Tell Walt to get them to re-write the scene and stick closer to the book!. Movies! ‘Mio Dio, too’.
Margie was so glad that her husband had cemented razor sharp stones on top of their wall to keep the zombies out. Along their back yard stone wall, Marge was busily picking up what looked like little sausages. She knew better than to touch the sausages. So she carefully used ice tongs to pick them up. One by one, she listened to each one plunk into her ice bucket. As she did so, she happily sang to herself, “One, two, three little zombie … four, five, six little zombie; … seven, eight, nine little zombie … fingers by my wall today.”
She stopped singing as she closely examined the last one before plunking it into her bucket, “Hmm, yep that’s his thumb alright.”
She sighed deeply, as she looked down at her cat, “Fritz, I am so glad you left that finger on our back stoop this morning, or I would have never known he was trying to get you again.”
Marge took her cell phone out and speed dialed her neighbor, “Hi Maggie, I really wish your zombie son would stop trying to climb over our wall to get my cat. I got another bucket full for you to sew back on. Yes, I’ll leave it by the back gate for you, please keep him locked up at night. Thank you, bye, bye.”
She picked up her cat and said with a hug, “Oh, Mommy loves you so much, no bad zombie is going to get you.”
They call it the Tongue of Discord.
They.
It used to be we. I was part of the ‘they.’ Before I met her. Before the chancellor’s reckoning.
The campaign…just whispers…was successful at first. The underground rumbling of revolution. Casting doubt about the leadership.
It worked. It prepared the populous. Just not enough of them before…
Not that it matters now. We failed. But I’d follow her again…always.
Emma the Elegant. Emma, leader of the rebellion. Emma, walking beside me, on the left, toward the tip of the tongue.
The teeth seem so much smaller from above. And sharper. From where they sit watching us proceed. Close up they’re just big rocks.
The cacophony of the crowd is monstrous. It’ll be quiet soon, forever, for us.
Not at first of course. When the Scorcher is released it’ll be deafening. They love the Scorcher.
I wonder how big it’ll be face to face…rather face to snout. I wonder if I’ll even have the time to notice before…
Sam stood outside the ornate carved wooden door and read the doormat legend: “Welcome”…
Bienvido; Herzlich Wilcommen; Bienvenue; Benevenuto, Falte; Bonvenon.
Yeah — he scanned the property perimeter: tall granite wall, topped with sharpened stoned, coarsely-crushed glass, razor wire.
“Oh yeah.” he thought.
I’m welcomed here.
The attorney handed over the skeleton key with a warning not to go alone. Amanda couldn’t believe she now owned her own castle and was much too excited to heed the warning and wait to see her inheritance. She shifted her Fiat into gear and pressed the gas. With eyes focused on the stone castle ahead, she tried to ignore the dry moat’s jagged walls, edged with serrated and spikey rocks. The little car rumbled over the lowered drawbridge. Amada ventured a look and shivered at the sight of the many skeletons in the moats depths.
Leaving her car, she slid the key into the lock and pressed open the heavy door. A scuffle inside startled her. Intrigued, Amanda foolishly followed the sound up a stone staircase. Was she imagining the smell of brimstone in the air? The steps led to a tower overlooking the grounds and the dry moat below. A loud screech came from overhead. In the claws of the winged, fire breathing dragon, her Fiat was being carried away.
She watched as the dragon clumsily landed on the rocky ledge of the moat, dropping her Fiat amongst the bones. She’d read enough fantasy fiction to know there had to be a lever to fill the moat with water. She raced to the lower level in search of it. Finding the lever Amanda pulled it down and the rush of water overpowered the dragon, drowning it.
Inspired, she couldn’t wait to began writing her own fantasy fiction novel.
Title: Written in Stone
They said the wall was for protection. It wasn’t that day.
Only some of the locals would know the full story of what happened.
However, I painfully know more than what happened…I know why it happened.
Most people stopping to observe the wall’s features couldn’t miss the triangular protrusions.
Not many would ever notice what is missing.
The wall would have to have a heart to feel the pain.
I look at the wall and can’t help but to see what isn’t there.
Some have been heard to say it is just a broken piece of rock.
To me, that broken point changed my life.
There were many things that could have prevented what happened. Maybe if we hadn’t met, she would have met someone else, fallen in love, married, and had children. However, that wasn’t in the cards. Maybe more due diligence could have gotten the letter right.
We did meet. We fell head over heels for each other. We made our plans. We were going to get married when I returned from overseas. However, that stupid piece of paper arrived at my parents’ home before I did.
It was my name on that piece of paper, but it wasn’t me.
The authorities investigated what happened to her, and ruled it a tragic accident.
My parents received another letter, that apologized and said It was just a communication glitch.
No it wasn’t.
The wall will never be the same, nor will I.