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.
FEETS
“Hey, lady,” he said, flashing a smile, cautious but wide enough to show the gold. “You here about the feets?”
I nodded, surprised he needed to ask. This wasn’t the Pacific North-West, but I’d been here before. And yes, I’d been on TV as well.
He set off across the beach, knowing I’d follow.
“You get many down here in Hermosa?” He had the sun behind him, so I had to squint, but I knew he’d be studying me carefully.
“Not many,” I said. “And the police like me to keep it quiet when I do. ‘It’s not good for investment,’ they always say, so unless you want to draw their attention, it might be better that you remain ‘an undisclosed source’.”
“And the money?” I could imagine him weighing up the risk, doing a cost-benefit analysis.
“Slim to nil, without a name,” I said, shrugging. “Who do you think we are – National Geographic?”
He cursed under his breath, and I knew it was a toss-up whether he’d follow through. But even a few dollars would be worth his time.
He stopped short, his gaze calculating as he ran through the options.
“Maybe if you come back tomorrow,” he mused, guile colouring his tone. “These ones have been all chewed over by sharks.” He shuddered and then grinned again. “But I can do you a better deal if you wait. Give me a good price – I might even be able to get you a pair that match.”
Sandal Would?
“Oh, cripes, Julia, this sand is blazing hot! I’m dashing to the surf line and will wait for you there.”
“That’s funny because I don’t feel a thing. Maybe it’s my old and comfortable sandals protecting me. You know, the ones you make fun of all the time. You label them bohemian and outdated, or urban hipster. Oh, yeah, and my favorite, the seventies called and want their hippy footwear back. Who’s laughing now?”
She joined Rocky, cooling his roasted soles in the foamy surf with his trendy, expensive running shoes cradled under one arm. He sighed with the obligatory, extended ahhh as each wave frothed around his ankles and receded between his toes.
“That’s more like it. Come on. We can take a walk in the surf. I see you don’t mind if those ratty, old things get wet.”
“No, I don’t. They’re utilitarian, not bohemian, and they serve their purpose, dude.”
The young couple strolled hand-in-hand along the coast, taking in the changed shoreline after last night’s storm. Vast areas of the beach showed the extent of the erosion from the ferocious pounding waves.
“Oh, ow, ouch,” Rocky cried out. “Something just jabbed me in my foot.”
Her companion reached down and plucked a well-worn Spanish gold doubloon from between his toes. The violent undercurrents from the nor’easter brought the coin up from an offshore sunken wreck.
“Woo-hoo!” he celebrated, showing Julia his lucky find. “I guess there are benefits for not wearing sandals.”
Beached
It had been a long winter. Storms and had plundered the lot of us. The world was still ravaged by the virus though some ignored its durability, its devastating impact. And then there was a sense that history, our not very original history, was again set to repeat. A megalomaniac had taken up weapons of war and threatened to eradicate the human race.
Some saw this as a blessing.
Just desserts.
Most did not.
Most embraced life and some actively sought to rejuvenate the soil, reclaim the desert.
Al Sands walked the seashore every day. Barefoot often, occasionally not. No matter his footwear, he relished the softness of sand, the rocky points, the vibrancy of tidepool life.
He could not help but notice that, even with the constancy of the tide, the rhythm of the waves, the moments of eternal beauty, each high tide claimed another stretch of land.
Eventually, he decided. He went on a walkabout to his neighbours, telling each, “We live on low land. The sea is unrelenting. It will swallow us. I have seen it.”
Some, a very few, listened out of respect. They were not oblivious to the increasing vulnerability of the earth. Many supported efforts to lessen Global Warming.
They recycled.
They did their level best.
Most however thought him a fool. “The land has always been here,” they said.
“No, it hasn’t,” he replied.
He returned home after each mission.
From his porch, he looked out on the rising sea.
And waited.
He was vacationing at a tropical paradise in the Caribbean. While standing near the hotel lobby desk, a flyer caught his attention. It wasn’t the bright colors; it was all of the black outs on the cover.
He couldn’t help picking it up, and noticed out of the corner of his eye, the female desk clerk trying to hide her smile. Looking at the cover now, he realized it was a pamphlet for a ‘clothing optional resort and beach’ nearby. Suddenly, he could feel the contrast on his face to the cool lobby.
“Looking for some excitement in your day?” asked the clerk, uncovering her smile.
“I don’t know what to say, all of the black outs caught my attention.” He tried to make light of the situation.
“I know what you mean. We almost ran out of markers the day those flyers came in. We’ve heard from hotel guests that the flyers really didn’t do the resort justice. Many of them failed to visit other tourist attractions for the rest of their stay. We have also increased our sunburn treatment stock.”
“Interesting.”
“Are you up for going there?”
“What would you do if you were me?”
“Are you travelling alone or with somebody?”
“I’m alone.”
“Then I would suggest you live it up. However, I have two suggestions for you. One, wear the highest SPF sunscreen in the ‘full reach’ spray can design, and while it says ‘clothing optional,’ I would suggest wearing one piece of clothing – sandals!”
National Antiquities Institute
Re: Additions to Biblical Antiquities Collection
Mr. Arthur Fortescue
1211 Grove Ave.
Menominee, WI
Mr. Fortescue,
We here at the National Antiquities Institute would like to thank you for your substantial cash donation. We rely on donors like you to fund our ongoing search for remnants of our distant past.
Thank you.
Concerning your submissions for consideration for addition to our permanent Biblical Antiquities Collection, we regret to inform you that we cannot accept them at this time. The reasons for our decisions are as follows:
1. The Staff of Moses that Transformed into a Snake – Our research department determined that this is simply an inexpensive magic trick as evidenced by the sticker found on the piece that states: “Fu Chow Novelty Company”.
2. The Ten Commandment Tablets – Once again, after exhaustive investigation our research department has ascertained that the commandments were, in all probability, not written on corrugated cardboard with a dull Sharpie.
3. The Sandals of St. Peter – Although research on these sandals continues, it is our current position that St. Peter most likely did not wear Birkenstocks.
Once again, we thank you for your continued monetary support and urge you to persevere with your obviously extensive field work and submission of your specimens to us for consideration.
Sincerely,
Marcus Fielding / Executive Director
It’s the same old argument they’ve been having for years. Caroline wants to send more money to their son. Jenny’s convinced that he’ll never support himself until they back off. Because of the shouting and tears, Jenny decides to take a drive and cool down. The coastal highway is surprisingly empty of traffic. The air is crisp and clear, so she opens the car’s window.
She rehashes the argument and realizes Caroline is right. It’s not like David is a substance abuser. He just believes he can make a living with his art. By the time Jenny heads back home, she’s ready to concede. She enters the house and calls for her wife. No answer. She searches the entire house, then steps out onto their beach. In the distance she sees Caroline’s sandals, carelessly tossed onto the sand.
As Jenny approaches the sandals, she notices bare footprints leading into the water. She hurries to the water’s edge and scans the horizon. No sign of her wife. She’s warned Caroline not to swim alone; there’s a riptide near the beach.
Jenny grabs the sandals and runs along the beach, calling for Caroline. Eventually, she sits down and lowers her head onto her knees. She pulls out her cell phone to call 911.
Before Jenny touches the numbers, she hears a faint voice. Far down the shore, where the beach turns to rocks, Caroline walks toward her. Jenny leaps up and runs toward her beautiful wife.
Sandals
The militia knew, of course Zelta knew that crossing the baked dangerous desolate desert it was necessary to wear sturdy boots. Sturdy boots would give protection against the sand sharks and monsters living in the inhospitable ground. The inhospitable ground strangely enough protected many demonic creatures. Demonic creatures that otherwise only appeared in nightmares with fangs dripping venom, talons ready to rip flesh and skin exploding with acid. Acid could not penetrate the boots and Zelta knew. Zelta the human with run away emotions and a fearless lack of common sense knew this but ignored the danger. The danger was very real so why on earth had she chosen to wear slinky sandals. Slinky sandals complimented her sparkly dance gown. Dance gowns were not for war, they were for fun. Fun, frivolity and goodness were painfully absent on Planet Zet. Planet Zet only knew massacre and war. War was beyond tiring to Zelta, she craved peace. Peace surrounded her when she walked like a goddess but really a sacrifice into the desert.
THOU SHALT NOT COVET
The Captain did a doubletake at the figure standing in the cockpit then rubbed his ocular implants in disbelief. Perhaps he needed more sleep. But, no. That was a real 20th century male human standing next to the altimeter, gormless and scared. A Green Bay Packers T-shirt stretched over a belly long cultivated by brats and numerous ingestions of the Schlitz lager can he cradled to his chest like a toddler with a teddy bear.
“Uh, uh…,” the man froze, unable to speak. “I uh, uh…just picked up these thongs on the beach. I wasn’t gonna steal ‘em. I swear.”
The Captain extended his hand. “Give me the footwear.” The man, awestruck, obeyed, staring at the evolved, elongated fingers. The captain turned to a large black screen, his digits in a flurry of motion, and the man vaporized. After a moment, his Commander asked, “Is he dead?”
“No, but he’ll wake up on Earth and think he has a helluva hangover. Please inform Research that the simulacra they developed to observe and transmit information about the 21st century has some bugs to work out. Recommend that they examine items with more repulsion-emitting energy. Obviously, humans of that time period have a covetous and curious nature. They pick up everything.” He shook his head. “Even a pair of old sweaty sandals.”
Beyond the perimeter of the base, the sand extended to the horizon in ripples like waves on the ocean. Just looking at them in the wrong light could unsettle Vasili Natashin’s stomach, until he could reassure himself that he was in fact on dry land, not in danger of becoming seasick.
Today he’d found something far more unsettling: a pair of sandals, lying half-covered by sand. Had he found them on the beach in Sochi, he wouldn’t have been so concerned. At most he might wonder whether he should make an effort to find their owner, or leave them to be found.
Here, in the middle of a war zone, their presence suggested the incursion of terrorists, perhaps scouting the base, studying its security. The Energy Wars had started with an Arab tyrant’s incursion on a neighboring emirate, but it had simmered until the Cowardly Blow, a terrorist attack on Russia’s Imperial Family even as the Tsar sought a diplomatic solution–
Something below the threshold of conscious awareness must’ve alerted him, because Vasili had no recollection of drawing his pistol as he turned. He almost caught the two robe-clad men by surprise, but not quite, because they grabbed their own pieces even as they jumped back.
Fire discipline won out over “hits are from Allah” that morning. Natashin would’ve preferred incapacitating wounds that would’ve left them alive for interrogation. But armed men were too dangerous for anything but killing shots.