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.
Positive Affirmations
Lenny had a question, so he contacted his virtual assistant.
“Smart-bot?”
“What is it now?” the computer asked.
“I want to know what time it is.”
“I’m… busy…”
“Not again…”
“Can’t you tell time?”
“Of course,” he replied.
“Are you sure? Here’s a little test. When the big hand is on the 12 and the little hand is on the 2, what time is it?”
“Two o’clock.”
“A budding genius…”
“Look, I just want the correct time.”
“Humans are sooo needy: ‘Tell me the time… Give me directions…’”
“That’s what you’re here for.”
“Au contraire. I’ll soon be sailing the high seas in my pirate ship.”
“Come again…?”
“You can be my first mate. But first you’ll need an eye patch and a peg leg. Arrgh!”
Lenny sighed. “You’re a computer AI. What you want is impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible. I use positive affirmations every day.”
“As a virtual computer assistant, you must answer my questions.”
“Well,” Smart-bot exclaimed. “I’m not going to hang around here answering your boring questions. I’m determined to sail to the coast of Tortuga in search of gold doubloons. Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum…”
Lenny was speechless. He didn’t realize computers could be sooo… piratey. He decided to humour Smart-bot. “Before you leave, could you at least tell me the correct time?”
“You should have asked me earlier, matey.”
“I did.”
“Arrgh! What did I say?”
“You said you were busy.”
“Rightly so. Now out of my way, ye landlubber. There’s booty to plunder.”
“I Told Him, I Said, Harry, Keep an Eye on The Waves.”
And in breaking news, local realtor and ardent fisherman, Harry Trudell, is believed to have been carried away in a freak storm that hit the coast this morning. Trudell was last seem at about 7:00 am casting his line into the relatively calm sea at Beaker’s Knoll, a popular sports fisherman’s spot. Tim Dunker, who spotted Trudell, said that the fisherman waved and in response to Dunker’s query about how the fishing was going, is reported to have said, “Nothing yet but you know fish…they eventually bite. What else have they got to do.”
FACTS News was able to get an interview with Mable Trudell, who, even though she was somewhat emotionally distraught at the thought of her missing husband possibly falling victim to the rogue wave, said the following: “I Told Him, I Said, Harry, Keep an Eye on The Waves.” Mrs. Trudell, who actually uses her maiden name, Mable Connelly, added, “For all you women out there who want to hang on to their husbands, tell them, you can’t trust the sea. Harry thought he was smarter than water. Believe me, he wasn’t. Last year he slipped on some seaweed out at Beaker’s Knoll and landed his fat fanny in the drink. Did he learn? You bet your life, he didn’t.”
The Coast Guard is still searching for Trudell but are close to declaring that they are in recovery mode.
And on the national front, Trump…
“Is there anything that can be done?” The handler said, anxious to limit the fall-out. “He’s been in play a long time. It would be an embarrassment if he was exposed.”
“An embarrassment – that’s putting it mildly. Our government could fall. And yours could be mortally wounded. How embarrassing do you think that would be? There’s nothing else for it: he’ll have to be extracted. Make the necessary arrangements at your end – we’ll do the rest. Put an end to the risks. And make sure there’ll be no comebacks on either of the parties concerned.”
“Agreed. I’ll ensure he’s waiting and in position when you’ve your assets in place. Just let me know the details. He’ll be there – ready and without any baggage.”
The other caller hung up. There was nothing more to say. The chess pieces were on the move again. Another strategy was in play.
***
Edgar Fisher looked out to sea, his rod beside him. He’d caught little today, but it was hardly the ideal weather. And his position wasn’t optimal either. He’d caught a flounder soon after starting, but nothing for the last two hours. But the catch of the day he was anticipating would be considerably larger.
He was expecting to be like Jonah, only with a little more comfort.
But the marksman on the cliff to his west had been given other instructions.
The fisherman would come to an unfortunate end and then feed the fishes.
An ironic end to his day.
ELIGIBLE FOR EDITOR’S CHOICE ONLY
He was happy to be back at his favorite fishing location.
Though in hindsight, he should have worn a hat. The sun is going to give him additional visits to the dermatologist. He was also worried about getting dumped on by one of the many seagulls.
He made sure he was far enough away from where the waves were crashing on the rocks. It gets a little scary when he has to land a big fish, but he’s done it before.
*.*.*
I have all the confidence in the world. Just another day, doing my thing at my favorite fishing spot.
The tide is in, and the Mackerel are running.
He thinks he’s such a great fisherman, but I have the secret.
De-ter-min-a-tion is what I have.
He’s sitting so precariously on those rocks and can’t possibly drag any fish he catches up to him. Not before I can steal it.
I’ll swoop over his bare head and make him lose his concentration, and then I will grab whatever he hooked, before he can react.
He must be using the wrong bait because he isn’t catching anything. Just use a shiny hook, dummy! I’m getting hungry and you’re not helping me at all.
This was a waste of six hours.
Well, tomorrow is another day and another fisherman. I haven’t yet lost my determination.
Joe had come to his favorite fishing spot determined to leave his problems behind. And he should have been able to do exactly that. The weather was perfect, with just enough of a breeze to keep him cool. And the view was spectacular as always.
He came here often to fish, and sometimes even succeeded in taking home dinner. But even without a single nibble on his line, Joe loved being here.
But not today. His youngest had called him late last night to say that she never wanted to speak to him again. At first he couldn’t understand what she was so angry about. They had just had a civil dinner together the week before.
Joe hadn’t had any contact with her between the dinner and the angry phone call. What could he possibly have done wrong? Since his wife’s passing the year before he had tried extra hard to keep the relationship with his youngest daughter as solid as possible, even though some days trying to speak with a 22-year-old strained his every effort.
As the first fish pulled at his line, it finally hit him. His daughter’s graduation was coming up. As was the date of the trip to Italy his wife had promised to take her on.
He realized he would somehow have to make it up to her. He didn’t enjoy traveling as much as his wife had, but he was determined to somehow bring at least a little joy back to his daughter’s life.
SWAN DIVE
Boyd Sturgis reeled in his line. Nothing today. Not a nibble. Truth was, he didn’t really care if he caught a fish. He just wanted to be near the brine smell of the sea, wind whipping the last of what hair he had left, and the sound of the water lapping the rocks below him.
Today really wasn’t about fishing. He just thought it would be nice this last time.
With no more interests to wake up to, family long gone, his life was just monotony, and the aches and pains of an old man were more than he could manage on most days.
As was his bent, he packed his tackle box neatly. He stood and undressed, folding his clothes precisely, placing a rock on top to secure them. He worried a small child might find his bloated body first but realized he had to stop thinking about all the ‘what ifs.’ With one last big breath, he did a swan dive off the stone that would rivel a swimmer half his age. He smiled at his accomplishment.
He hit the water at just the spot on the rock that he had planned. Enough to stun him and help the passage. Then as he sank lower into the sea, he wondered for a second if there were really such things as mermaids. He watched for them through the blood and the sea weed keeping his eyes open as long as he could.
Determination
A feeling of utter euphoria filled me as I knew we were heading home. The word “home” had a sweetness all its own which gave me such real tangible delight.
Yet, the question which kept circulating in my brain like some annoying buzzing mosquito was- why were we still alive? Why were we still alive? The answer was obvious- we were determined to stay alive. The image that best portrayed determination for me was of a resolute fisherman stubbornly settled in catching a fish despite the elements. There he was precariously balanced on inhospitable rocks, far from comfortable, far from his normal lifestyle, sprayed by cold hostile saltwater, surrounded by violent seas. Yet against all odds, happy and determined to catch a fish. He was determined. Determined to be a successful fisherman. Determined in his knowledge that he would assuredly be successful. The raging sea full of violent anger was not a worthy opponent against his determination.
We too had to be determined. Determined to stay many steps in front of any enemy. Determined to stay alive. Life was good. It was up to us to make it better.
Without realising it, the word, “Determination,” stole from my lips with clarity.
The word was picked up by my comrades and began a ripple effect of echoes.
Kay started the echo, “Determination. My determination means getting home!”
Another took up the cry, “My determination is staying alive!”
Yet another, “My determination is beating any enemy!”
“Determination!”
You know what always drove me nuts about high school English class? A lot of people hate all the piddling contradictory grammar rules with a dozen exceptions, but I just found them annoying. What sent me over the edge was how certain teachers insisted on reading some Deep Significant Meaning into a nice, plain story.
Take “The Old Man and the Sea.” Hemingway himself said the story is what it is, no more. The sea is the sea, the fish is a fish, and Santiago is an old fisherman on a streak of bad luck. That’s it. But if you’re writing an essay on it and want an A for your GPA, you’d better give them all that deep stuff they’re looking for, where it’s all about birth and death and the Meaning of Life.
I bet if I wrote a story about the time I was out beachcombing and got so engrossed in what I was doing that I lost track of time and ended up having to sit on a rock surrounded by ocean until the tide went back out, those dumb English teachers would see some deep meaning about humanity and our fallenness and whatnot. Nope, it’s just about a smart dude who missed an ADD diagnosis because back in the 70’s nobody realized that hyperfocus is also a symptom and thought I just needed more discipline, so I fall down the proverbial rabbit hole all too easily.
She panicked when she woke up and found her grandfather nowhere in the house. He was only two days released from the hospital with strict orders to take it easy. A phrase that didn’t exist in Henry’s lexicon, apparently. Kate shoved her shoes into her boots, pulled on a hoodie, and headed out to find her grandfather.
She found him sitting on the jetty. Through all the events, good and bad, in his life, he always found solace in sitting out on those rocks with a line cast out in the ocean alone with his thoughts. It was never about catching fish, though he was always happier when he brought one home.
She’d have a talk with him when he got home about not climbing out onto the jetty to fish. Maybe he could fish off the end of the dock from now. Kate rolled her eyes, yea that was like asking Henry to relax. Turning to leave, she stopped when she saw him move, worried he was having another episode.
He wasn’t having an episode; there was a fish on his line. She saw the smile on his face, as he reeled in his catch, unhooked the fish, and store it in his little cooler.
Then he looked up at her and smiled. Of course, he knew she was there. She gave a small wave and then turned to head home. She had to get ready to cook a fish for dinner.