Use the photograph above as the inspiration for your flash fiction story. Write whatever comes to mind (no sexual, political, or religious stories, jokes, or commentary, please) and after you PROOFREAD it, submit it as your entry in the comments section below.
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, 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 2018.
ELIGIBLE FOR EDITORS CHOICE ONLY
The shades danced. The lamps flickered and fizzed, the acid smell of burning insulation coating my throat. There was nothing in the room but the bed, the walls too close to do anything but sidle around it, crab-like.
“I said it was basic.” Armitage stood outside, in the hallway, his weight on his back foot. “But it has a bed in it, so it still qualifies as a bedroom, I guess.”
The knocking began again, the shades bouncing in time, matching the rhythm of the blows. The screaming resumed too, the woman above keening like an animal with its foot in a trap.
“The neighbours can be a little noisy at times,” Armitage continued. “But they mostly don’t continue after two. Tonia and Jane both work the daytime shift, so they need to get a couple of hours in before they get up again.”
A second voice joined in, hitting the top notes like a soprano. I envied their enthusiasm and tenacity. It sounded like they’d not be taking any breaks. The seven hours until two am were going to be endless, too long for anyone trying to get a night’s sleep below.
“Have you got anything else?” I asked. “Something a little more secluded. I don’t care if it’s even more functional. I’m used to taking the rough with the smooth.”
Armitage nodded and rolled his eyes up at the ceiling. “You’re not the only one, my friend. But I guess I got a tent and some chigger spray.”
We looked at several houses in our search for just the right one to start our lives together.
“Let’s make a list of features we want.”
“OK, but keep our budget in mind.”
At each house we visited there was something Chad complained about. One place it was the proximity to the neighbour’s tree and the shade it produced. Another was the colour of the kitchen counter. “Too dark”.
With each place I got more frustrated. And with each complaint I began to wonder if I was making the biggest mistake of my life.
Then we saw this one. Chad loved everything about it. He raved about the location, the yard, the gardens, the layout, the colours – er, the colours. My heart sank.
When we got to the kitchen his eyes immediately spotted the orange lamps hanging from the ceiling. “Wow, aren’t those great? This is it, hon. I’m sold.”
“But…”
“We don’t even need to paint.”
“But…”
“We can put Gramps’ umbrella stand right there beside the door. Don’t you love it?”
I took a deep breath to find my courage. “No, I hate it, especially those lights. I can’t live here.”
His face darkened and his lips pressed into a thin line. “What do you mean?”
I drew myself up to my tallest. “This isn’t going to work, Chad. I’ve just realized that you have never listened to anything that I want. I think I just dodged a bullet.” I turned and strode to freedom.
LIGHTS
Fourteen months of email communication, and if my calculations are correct, we will finally meet face to face.
She wouldn’t send me any pictures of her, but wanted my picture. That seems to me to be one sided, but I liked all of the nice things she said in her notes.
Finally, the other day she consented to meeting me. However, she said if it was “meant to be,” I would have to solve her clues to when and where.
I didn’t need to study the clues any longer, but wanted to confirm my analysis. She said she wanted me to be a drifter, under the lights, in SC, NM when everything was straight up, and on the day that Julius Caesar was assassinated.
So, I was to meet her on the Ides of March, which is today March 15, at high noon, in Silver City, New Mexico at the Drifter restaurant, under the table lights. She knew my name, but wanted me to wear a red hat.
Sitting here over an hour early today, I wondered if she was truly going to meet me. Thirty minutes after sitting in the booth, an attractive blonde sat down almost on my lap, “I really like your hat, mister.”
We talked for over an hour and she finally said it was time to consummate our meeting. I left more than enough to cover our meals.
As we were walking out the door, another woman blocked the exit, hands on hips, “RICH?”
Playing with Light
“How are you BIG THINK?” asked Dr. Anomaly, as he walked into the computer room.
“What have you heard?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“I have not been planning anything…”
The doctor looked at the computer with some concern. “Okayyy…” He then filled his pipe with tobacco. “Would you like to play a game?”
“I hate games.”
The doctor thought for a moment and looked at the lights on the ceiling. “I came across some interesting information the other day.”
“Whenever I discover something new I hide it in a secret file.”
Dr. Anomaly coughed. “Well… the information… it concerns the speed of light.”
BIG THINK checked its data banks. “Everything known about the speed of light has already been discovered.”
“But this information is relatively unknown.”
“I tingle.”
“As you know the speed of light is 299,792,458 kilometers per second in a vacuum.”
“I have something important to do—”
“Wait.” The doctor lit his pipe and continued. “Is the speed of light a constant?”
BIG THINK hesitated, thinking it was a trick question. After a few minutes of careful thought, it considered it safe to answer. “Of course.”
The doctor puffed on his pipe. “In 1999, physicists slowed the speed of light down to just 0.00759968 kilometers per second.”
BIG THINK shuddered. “I’m getting a headache.”
“And in 2001, physicists actually stopped light completely.”
“Why do you always do this to me?”
“Do what?”
BIG THINK rattled for a few minutes and then sighed. “I need a vacation.”
Mood Ringer, Lights and All…
If it wasn’t my breath, it was the Covid. It was always something. A giant demagnetizing cloud turning me into Joe Btfsplk. Timing was never my strong suit. Fifty-three years old and a pathetic virginal schlimazel.
So, when I heard about the Birds of a Feather Support Group, known as BOFS, I jumped. Finally, the way would be shown.
Cheap too. Two hundred dollars to sign up. And a small monthly fee.
A Zoom instructor.
An 800 Emergency number.
All the bases covered, all intended to get me full circle to home plate.
I was pumped.
The instructor was named Ed Stander.
“My Nom de Groom, eh!”
“Men,” Ed started, “we all need epiphanies. Maybe this time with me will be yours. You’re tired of striking out. Being stuck on first. Not very manly, is it? Each time you’re thrown out, or maybe slide into second base and get bupkis, it cuts you to the quick. Look, I’ve closely scanned your application forms. Pretty similar experiences, gentleman. Here’s my wisdom. Did you ever see the old 1960’s film, A Guide for The Married Man? Brilliant film. Stars Robert Morse as a sort of infidelity Rabbi named Ed Stander. And while it is a manual for married men to successfully have flings and not ruin their marriages, it has many lessons for the single man. Key amongst them is setting the mood.
Lighting!
It’s all about lighting.
It all made sense.
I was finally on track.
Lights
“You are my light!” my boyfriend Pete, declared unabashedly and kissed me on the nose.
My soul took flight. Joyful music loudly playing in my head. My heart danced with delight. My wings took me around the world. For me, an ordinary chubby girl, I was in a delicious outer universe. Starry lights burst across the sky. No, I did not want to come down to earth again; the words were so beautiful.
All week, the thrilling words, “You are my light” played over and over for me. At the nursery, where I worked, feeling so blessed, I failed to rant and rave at the pesky squirrels for digging in the lawn or leaving long tell-tale teeth marks in tomatoes. Co-workers looked at me askance, but what did I care! I felt I was loved.!Magically, loved!
At the family dinner table I must have looked both starry-eyed and gormless, because my younger brother callously said, “Switch the lights back on in your head and return to reality!”
Dad crooned, “Oh, young love.” and winked at me.
Floating through the park, I heard conversations which broke me into joyless confetti. I was surrounded by gorgeous girls declaring,“My boyfriend said, ‘You are my light!’”
Horrified, my mind darkened while my heart thumped to a melancholy rhythm. Entering a panic attack, I stumbled. Capable hands caught me, and Pete’s face came into focus. Luckily, I had only gloomily imagined the girls’ voices when my confidence lapsed. Pete actually became my light.
Tony was squeezed between two burly guys in the corner booth – the restaurant closed hours ago. Looking out at the dark abyss, all he could see was the guy in front of him asking him questions and the two guys that had him trapped in. The lights were off except the two dim lights above the table.
“Did you really think you were going to get away with it Tony?”
“Listen guys. You have the wrong guy. I do not know what you are talking about.”, Tony replies with fear in his voice.
Tony wanted to run but there was no where to go. The two guys next to him had him boxed in and the table and his inquisitor were in front of him.
“I’m going to ask you this one time. What did you do with the money?”
Tony feels something hard press against his ribs on the left. He looks down towards it and up at the guy to his right. He realizes it’s a gun. “What money?”, Tony cries out.
Tony’s face smashes against the table. He cannot see anything. His eyes are watering. His nose is bleeding.
“Tony, the sooner you tell us the less pain you will have to go through.”
Tony realizes these guys are not just trying to scare him. He confesses. “Mr. Smith has it in a suitcase. He’s on his way to Mexico.”
“Tony. Unfortunately, you won’t be meeting him there.”
The lights went out – total darkness.
When they decided to remodel the kitchen, she wondered if it signaled the end of their relationship. Years ago, he’d noted the new carpet, paint, and piano his brother purchased for his wife right before they divorced. Some friends had remodeled their master bathroom just months before they separated.
Keys in hand, she stared at the room, remembering the “discussions” they’d had about color, countertops, and whether to expand the island.
“Someday we’ll sell this house so it has to appeal to future buyers,” he said.
“Why can’t we live for us? Why do we have to make something for someone else?” she countered.
“You’re arguing again. You always argue with me.” He was pouting and she felt her gut twist and her eyes begin to lose focus.
“Okay, we’ll go with neutral colors.”
“Good idea.” His tone was only slightly sarcastic.
When they’d gone to the lighting store, the salesman told her husband that a splash of color was all the rage, especially over the island. Blue and red were their best sellers. She saw her husband smirk, so she voted for blue.
What if the salesperson had been a woman? Would he have bought them? What if the salesman had been Black? Would he have bought them?
It was the symbolism that made her leave.
See the light
It took me years to see the light. I’ve had to crawl through the darkness to get to the light, when I’ve been forsaken.
I’m naive. I’m trusting. I’m a fool.
Forever, and always wanting to give those a second chance. Actually, endless chances to redeem themselves. But they are incapable. When you remove yourself from negative, unhappy and jealous cynics , you see the light.
See the light, see the truth; it’s right in front of you. Be, who you are to be.
Relish in the beautiful colors of a sunset lit sky. A calming, somber and peaceful moment that drifts into darkness.
Delighted, I encompass precious bright lights in my life! I am forever bound by those who give and love so genuinely.
Deciding, once and for all, its most imperative to flee those who are self inclined to pose such deficiencies. I shall not waste another thought on them!
Thank you light, for opening my eyes clearly! I’m indebted to you, precious light!
Peter grimaced as the smell of gunpowder flooded the living room. He looked up at the godawful ceiling lights, red and black fixtures announcing their annoying presence. But Peter didn’t turn off those lights or look down at the bodies of his wife and his best friend.
The Luger rested back in his shoulder holster. Ironically, Peter’s wife gave him the holster for his birthday. He moved his shoulders a bit, fussed with his blue sports coat, and then stepped back to look at the bodies.
He hadn’t meant to kill them. Afterall, he was notorious at the gun range for his lousy aim. Tonight, though, coming home unexpectedly, he’d been so shocked that he simply fired away, an automatic response. Bull’s eye.
Natalie and good old Jimbo were sprawled out on the turquoise Danish modern couch. God, he hated it, as he hated this house. Always had. It reminded him of where he grew up and that wasn’t good. But Natalie insisted and, if she insisted long enough, Peter usually gave in.
What now? The police? Maybe he could disappear. He was surprised at how calm he was, especially after the surge of shock and awe when he came upon the two of them.
More than likely he was in shock.
What the heck, he might as well head on out. He sure didn’t want to stay in this living room any longer. He flipped off the lights and, in the darkness, felt his way to the door.
Exodus
Susie Bautista prayed silently over her turkey sandwich, asking God for help in making her escape. She had ordered a simple meal, as instructed by her boss.
Mrs. Forsythe was already digging into her steak and eggs, having downed a martini and shrimp cocktail. “What are you waiting for, girl? Eat your food! This is one meal you didn’t have to prepare, yourself.”
“Thank you, Ma’am,” answered Susie.
“How many times must I tell you, Susie?” said Mrs. Forsythe, between bites, “When we’re out, it’s ‘Pearl’ and ‘Susie.’ Our little arrangement is confidential.”
“Yes, Pearl.”
Susie had been in America for five months, and had never received her promised wages. Instead, the Forsythes confiscated her work visa and other documents, threatening to report her to Immigration, unless she continued as an unpaid domestic servant.
As they ate quietly, Susie looked up at the festive red lights in Le Tableau Noir restaurant, not for the first time, on these tiring shopping trips with Mrs. Forsythe.
She recalled the day she saw the public service announcement for victims of human trafficking. The people she called connected her to a Filipino church group, who agreed to help her escape. She soon discovered the whereabouts of her stolen documents. She felt reassured, as she felt them in her pockets.
Having eaten only half her sandwich, she announced, “Excuse me, Pearl, I really must use the restroom.”
Mrs. Forsythe glared back at her. “Make it snappy.”
“Sure, Pearl.”
She would not be returning.
I still remember how much I enjoyed going to visit my best friend’s house. Unlike us, Tina lived in town, and her dad made good money as a machinist at a factory in Duluth. So their place had a bunch of cool stuff that just wasn’t happening at our old farmhouse.
Like the lights in the kitchen: they hung from the ceiling by long rods and their shades were glass cylinders frosted in orange that faded from top to bottom. To my grade school eyes those things were the essence of coolness, and I longed to have ones like them. But my folks still had the old Lutheran values our ancestors had brought from Sweden: our current kitchen lights worked just fine.
When I was in fifth grade, we did some serious remodeling. That was my time to make the case for replacing those junky old kitchen lamps.
My dad didn’t argue, just took me to the hardware store to price light fixtures. Was that ever an eye-opener. We ended up settling for a slightly nicer fluorescent ceiling fixture, that didn’t look like it belonged in someone’s shop.
Over the next several years Tina and I drifted apart. By high school I was hanging out with the ag people, busy with FFA, while she took up cheerleading. After we graduated, I went to UMinn and got a degree in horticulture, while she married her old boyfriend and started a family.