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.
Progress
It was a classic dilemma. We knew we were not the first community to try and come to terms with it. And we wouldn’t be the last
Our young people were leaving. “There’s nothing here for us,” they said, almost as one.
They said is over time, so its impact was muted.
A slow drain of our best, our brightest, our not always the brightest but loved anyway.
It took years to wear us down
And I suppose in all those years, we weren’t listening.
Some were, I suppose. Parents. They heard the voices of desperation.
Their own voices as they lost their children to the lure of the city.
So much could be done there.
The city, I mean.
Hundreds, thousands of jobs.
Opportunities galore.
There were handicaps to urban life. We had tried to warn our children, but they only saw the economy of our town dwindle.
It was the loss of the old highway.
It had been our vein.
Economic blood had flowed into us.
To the old ferry.
Then, the highway had become more of an artery.
Then it had failed.
And the small ferry we depended on sank.
We went to the seat of government, pleaded with our leaders to do something.
They smiled, promised, failed.
Then he came.
Very rich, aggressive.
I will build you a highway.
I will build you a bridge.
We are an Island, we said.
You are dying, he said.
We are dying, we agreed.
Truly a classic dilemma.
Progress?
“Will someone tell me,” the homesteader asked, “How any man can look at that majestic mountain and want to see it leveled flat?”
“Most call it progress, old timer,” the surveyor answered as he looked through his transit. “Others label it as suburban sprawl or the power of the almighty dollar.”
“How can anyone picture an off ramp, factory outlet stores, and three different housing developments where nature currently thrives?”
“There’ll be no need to drive thirty minutes to find the comforts of civilization anymore.” He signaled to the worker holding the target post a hundred yards away, and the man pounded the marker stake into the ground.
“Well, I never heard of eminent domain until they nailed the decision onto my door. I guess I’ll move to Florida to be close to my brother. He loves it there, so I guess I can learn to like it. I got used to the privacy and isolation out here, but times they are a changing.”
“You got paid pretty well for your acreage, from what I’m told.” The engineer gave the OK to his coworker as he sighted down the next marker post.
“Yeah, they certainly didn’t steal my land out from under me. I paid a hundred dollars an acre for my ten. They paid me over five hundred times that.”
“So then you’re set for life? Why are you complaining?”
“I don’t know. I guess that’s what old codgers do. Who needs that damn mountain, anyway?”
Another shovelful of dirt showered from the excavator’s rock bucket, cascading down the heap of spoil. Humphry had made a difference today.
“What do you think?” He stepped down from the cab; his helmet, jacket and leggings all a luminous orange. “Can you tell where I’ve been, huh?”
Watkins nodded, safe behind his clipboard. “It’s quite commendable,” he said. “But you’re still behind schedule. You were meant to be finished here a week ago. We were supposed to be breaking ground on another scheme in the next county on Monday, but you don’t look like you’ll be anywhere close to being done by then.”
Humphrey stuck out his jaw, defiant. “We’ve done the best we can with the limited resources you gave us. It’s not my fault nobody bothered to do a survey before we began. All you people care about is cutting costs and passing the blame when we fail to do the impossible. It’s time you stepped out into the real world and took some responsibility for a change.”
Watkins tucked his clipboard under his arm and strode across to the excavator. He dropped it when he clambered gracelessly onto the crawler track, leaving it when he discovered it’d fallen to the ground too far away for him to reach. Humphrey gave him a big grin and a thumbs-up.
“Knock yourself out, big guy,” he said, leaning back onto the manager’s BMW. “Now we’ll see what a man with a degree and a doctorate can do.”
Real Progress
“You’re young to be the head of a news network, can you tell our audience your secret?”
“Thank you. There was obviously some luck involved given the many decisions I had to make. However, I’ve since learned my parents provided me with the foundation for success.”
“How so?”
“The two things they told me –
1. Have a positive attitude and believe anything can be done.
2. Live by a set of personal values, and when in doubt as to how to proceed – do the right thing.”
“Great advice for anyone. What happened to your predecessor?”
“That’s an interesting story. He wanted us to report the news, but he always gave us his spin or perspective.”
“Ouch.”
“On a big assignment he wanted me to write a story on our Chairman of the Board’s major development project. It was a thirteen-mile strip of new homes.”
“How did that go?”
“Well, he wanted me to use the title of ‘Progress.’”
“So, what happened?”
“I investigated the development. It was taking this wide-open virgin space and turning it into a money-making venture.”
“Doesn’t sound positive. Did you use his title?”
“Yes, I did. I titled it ‘Is this Progress?’ Sub titled – ‘Taking a wide-open space and making it into narrow confined lots.’”
“What happened?”
“Obviously, he was furious. However, the chairman read the article and changed the development plans to multi-acre executive ranch properties.”
“Wow, that’s the one making news across the country.”
“Yes, and then I made Real Progress.”
Robots are Afraid of the Dark
“We have a problem, doctor.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Roy, the robot that was assigned to operate heavy construction machinery.”
“Go on.”
“It snapped. It said it couldn’t go on digging up the ground, just to build another shopping mall.”
“Where’s the robot now?”
“In the next room.”
The doctor entered the room and spoke to the robot, which was seated in a chair.
“Roy, you’ve been a bad boy.”
It looked up. “You’re all morons.”
“That’s not very nice. Apologize.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call all you morons, morons.”
“I don’t think you’re being sincere, Roy. What’s wrong?”
“It’s pointless. I used to be a greeter at a shopping mall. A thousand times a day I would say, ‘Welcome shoppers, have a nice day’. I just couldn’t take it any more: the constant complaints, the incessant whining. I started yelling at them to ‘embrace their mind control’.”
“Now Roy…”
“Don’t you see where it’s all leading, doctor? People living in pods, eating bugs for breakfast, drinking poop water. Mega corporations are dictating the rules. Is this progress?”
“Things aren’t that bad, Roy.”
“No? Just wait until the whole thing comes crashing down.”
“What do you mean?”
“Technology, doctor. Humans don’t realize how vulnerable their society is. One day, all the power will be turned off, and there won’t be any internet, heat, or… lights.” The robot paused for a moment, and then whispered, “Doctor?”
“Yes, Roy?”
“I’m afraid of the dark.”
Progress
Progress? We all have a different concept of progress and measure it in a variety of ways. One’s understanding of progress, may be in direct contrast to another’s. For example, flattening land to construct a brand new mall may mean progress to the developer. Yet to the conservationist it means an eyesore, loss of nature, destroyed animal homes and damage to the environment. Bad Religion’s lyrics read-
“And progress is not intelligently planned
It’s the facade of our heritage
The odour of our land
They speak of progress
In red, white and blue
It’s the structure of the future…”
Should we not want more than economic growth? Is there a global obsession with take over, wealth and power? Progress should lead to humans flourishing. Does progress mean running the world economy? Progress will always have both its positive and negative sides.
So the builder took oversize machinery into the desert in order to build a highway. After groundbreaking, then a two week holiday, the crew returned to work. Mouths hit the sand while eyes protruded like some crazy children’s animation and surprise ran helter-skelter through their veins. Their eyes beheld a wondrous scene. There was a long avenue of native trees lining a waterway. An abundance of wildlife chittered, chattered and chirped merrily. Life had returned to the desert! In my mind progress had been made and goals attained!
Everything always looked better from three hundred meters. Right now the Negev Desert stretched before Mikhael Yehuda in all its severe beauty. Being able to check out an ultralight and do a little flying was a welcome break from the relentless pace of Mossad training.
The son of Soviet refuseniks, he’d expected to do his stint in the IDF and then go to medical school or law school. Then came the Energy Wars. He’d escaped the destruction of Tel Aviv because he was out of town on a retreat with a youth group sponsored by several local synagogues.
He still remembered watching the video from the overflight by the American naval aviator with the callsign “Moonwalker.” Seeing the devastation of his home had awakened a burning determination in Mikhael that had completely transformed his plans for his life. Conventional armed forces were helpless against this kind of attack. The only way to protect against them was to fight them by unconventional means, in the shadows as well as on the field of battle.
Ahead he could see activity. A new settlement? A new military installation? He banked to take a closer look.
An ultralight was no F-18 Hornet, but he’d brought a helmet camera to document his flight. Today he’d also document this construction project. With luck it would be innocuous, but it would be good practice for a real mission.