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.
The Shadows
He lurked in the shadows.
His dark eyes were filled with the memories of past exploits; his smile, stretched thin over the years, reflected a disdain for danger. His movements were slow, calculated, as he traversed the city streets, floating like a whisper in silence and grace.
He had a name he could never reveal; a mission he could not divulge. In anonymity, he had to remain vigilant. For danger lurked around every corner; a victim at every turn. Somewhere in the city a damaged seed had taken root, and over time it had blossomed into the fruit of evil. And that seed now stalked the city, looking for its next victim.
He had to stop him.
He turned his attention to the tree. The people had all gathered around it to see a spectacle.
The music boomed through speakers scattered throughout the plaza, its tempo rising, its sound growing louder, until it reached a crescendo.
“The tree!” someone shouted. “The tree!”
The large tree suddenly burst into dazzling light, lit by the brilliance of a thousand bulbs, strung in circles around its limbs, igniting the plaza and the thousand faces staring upward, into daylight.
A shot rang out…
A woman screamed…
The plaza quickly became a chaotic scene as everyone ran for cover…
But he did not flinch. He saw a solitary figure move across a rooftop. The bad seed had struck. Now it was his turn to jump into action. His quarry was getting away.
The Tree of Christmas
It was to be a less celebratory Christmas. We all knew that. The pandemic, the atmospheric rivers, all had surged again. Dreams, the things we had become accustomed to, had suffered reverses, cutbacks, postings.
Nothing was the way it had once been.
She found a tree she coveted. It was near our neighbor’s property. If she had been honest with herself, and she often prided herself on her ethical stances, she would have acknowledged that it was more than ‘near’ the neighbor’s property line.
But it was a perfect tree. Nine-foot or better, full branched, straight, and almost the spitting image of the tree she remembered from her sixth year, the year when she had first traipsed into the high wood with her father to get their Christmas tree.
“Why do that?” her mother questioned. “Go to a lot. Not into the mountains. People get lost there.”
“I’ve never been lost,” her father countered. “It’ll be fine. We’ll be A-Okay.”
And it had been just fine. Cold, deep snow, and her father had to carry her a couple of times but the sense of success, of finding that perfect tree had stayed with her.
For much of the rest of her life, Christmas required finding the perfect tree.
“You can’t cut it,” I said. “It’s not yours.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“Thinking isn’t doing.”
“I bought a ceramic tree,” I said.
She covered her ears. “Heresy!”
I guess it was.
Tree
The smell was heady; a rich deep pine smell that twirled her around in wonder. They walked slowly through the rows of majestic Christmas trees. Each one was perfect. Nature’s masterpiece. Healthy green pine needles with colour variations from rich blue to dark vibrant green hung from branches perfectly proportioned. Each tree had a unique character of its own. At the front of the store was the perfect Christmas tree. It had taken them days and much arguing to choose it. She had painstakingly decorated it with led lights, heirloom decorations and candy canes. It had to be perfection in order to draw people to the store- their brand new store.
With a sigh, they both looked back to the garden of Christmas trees. Not one tree had been butchered by an axe. Each tree was still a living growing plant standing in its own container. Their dream had come true; these were sustainable trees. As environmentalists and conservationists, they both hated the destruction and waste of so many trees at Christmas time. Why were the trees cut down in their prime, used to decorate someone’s house for a brief time then brutishly discarded? The idea of renting a growing Christmas tree, then returning it to the store was one of sheer genius, because no tree was harmed.
Their dream of selling sustainable Christmas trees had not only come true, but the public loved the idea. People congratulated them after returning the trees in pristine condition.
What a Sight
When I was twelve, I lost my sight due to an accident.
My parents would make it a point at Christmas to drive across town and create in words the holiday scenes. The good news was that I could hang all of the balls at the bottom of the tree. My sister would complain that she was uncomfortable up on the ladder.
One of the things I did miss the most was watching my yellow lab ‘Tippy’ play in the yard. I knew she understood I couldn’t see and was very gentle and patient with me.
I didn’t have a big problem with being blind, but I know it was hard for mom. My hearing compensated for not being able to see. She tried to hide her crying. My biggest wish was that I could see to make it better for her.
I also couldn’t do all of the things my friends could do, but they tried their best to include me in their games. We all laughed that I was better at pinning the tail on the donkey.
*.*.*
After my experimental surgery in NYC, the family went to Rockefeller Center. When my parents started to tell me what the giant lighted tree looked like – I stopped them.
“Wow, what a stunning sight!” Mom smiled and hugged Dad, but I could SEE her tears.
Now, I can’t wait to get home to watch how Tippy reacts to my being able to actually play with her.
For as long as Veronica Hargreaves could remember, the Grissom City Christmas tree had always been illuminated in white light. Today each fiberoptic channel carried red light, making every crystal needle and every globe with its miniature historical spacecraft into a crimson lamp like a drop of blood.
Veronica considered what it meant in the wake of recent events. Colonel Dyer had tried to keep the Moon’s first and foremost settlement above politics, as had his predecessors for the past decade. But the destruction of Luna Station and everything that followed had made it hard to be apolitical without appearing indifferent.
She wished she could discuss it with her parents. However, she was right at that age where a highly intelligent child’s growing interest in the larger world collided with the parents’ perception of a precious young innocent. More than a few of her friends up here had experienced getting their Internet access restricted after asking questions “too big” for them. With her mother working in IT, there would be no getting around such blocks.
Who could she talk to? All the teachers would either tell her to ask her parents, or tell them she was taking interests beyond her years. Her friends knew about as much as she did, which was not much. Which meant she needed to find a source that ensured word wouldn’t get back to her folks.
In the meantime, she had work to do, and had better not be seen slacking.