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 Announcement
Wendy arrived early to catch her commuter train and, after paying for her ticket, scanned her digital ID and health status apps, and then waited for the train at the terminal.
While she was standing in the station, the PA System announced passenger instructions.
[Announcer taps microphone, breaths heavily…]
“ATTENTION:
“1) Once you board the train remain seated. Do not move around. And do not talk negatively about us. We are listening.
“2) Smoking is prohibited in all areas. If we detect smoke, you will really get it. We mean it.
“3) Do not pull the RED cord. This is the train brake. Any sudden stops will eject all passengers from their seats.
“4) If you encounter an emergency, contact train personnel by pulling the BLACK cord. It is located near the RED cord. Do not pull the RED cord.
“5) Anyone who travels without tickets or behaves improperly will be punished. We are not flunky guards earning minimum wage. We are highly trained security with 16 hours of competent instruction. We know how to take you down. Don’t test us.
“6) We are recording everyone and keeping detailed records. If you do something wrong – like rollerblading in the terminal – you will be visited by our Customer Service Representatives. They are big, burly dudes who will show you the error of your ways. Trust me on this.
“Thank you. And have a nice day.”
Speed
Never was a speeder. Got my license at sixteen. Soon as I could. My old man told me he was driving when he was ten. “Things were different then,” he said more than once so I eventually believed him. I asked how they were different but all he ever said, “they just were.”
So, I guess they were.
Anyway, as soon as I could learn to drive legally, he made sure I did. “I’ll give you lessons, sonny boy…”
And he did.
I was taught by my old man who learned to drive a Model T or A or some letter of the alphabet when he was ten years old. I expect he had refined his skills over the years.
I can’t say he was a great teacher. He knew what to do of course and there was the drivers manual but he only had a grade seven education and generally got by as on bluster as much as natural smarts.
In any event, his constant reminder to ”slow down” had an impact on me. I never knew whether it was because as a child, he was told to slow down by his old man or because vehicles in those days, farm vehicles mostly, didn’t have a lot of get up and go.
In any event, I learned to drive like a mouse. Still do. Not your typical wild-assed teen, let me tell you.
I irritate people on the Freeway these days.
Kind of enjoy that.
“Look at the size of those feet!”
It was the nurse who was changing the diaper of, of course, my newborn son… and yeah, they were huge. I mean huge for a baby. Heck, they were huge for a four year old.
I hoped he would inherit more from me than big feet.
I don’t think there are many advantages to having them. Well, you get to tell that tired old joke:
“You know what they say about guys with big feet?. Big socks!”
Yuck, yuck, yuck.
The standard guy’s usual punchline is off-color, but I think mine is funnier… but not by much.
I guess they’re helpful when swimming, but you couldn’t tell by me.
When I was 14, so was my shoe size, and my feet were nothing but trouble. I stumbled and tripped… a lot. Running was pure suffering. As I grew older, my feet found more things to make miserable. Dancing was simply embarrassing, and using the pedals while driving a stick shift was downright scary.
But I think the worst agonies were my attempts at skating. Imagine having feet that resemble slabs of plywood the size of turkey platters… now put wheels on them.
You are now ready to play the popular sport called, “Ow! Get up and try again!”
You’re gonna be really really good at it.
Hannah remembered talking to her grandmother.
She’d loved to sit in the sun, rocking backwards and forwards, gripping tightly onto her chair’s arms. She used to tell Hannah. “This is fast enough for me,” and then laugh, saying, “You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve done. I dashed about on roller skates and motorcycles and went up in an aeroplane, way back when everything was still new. I used to be a bit of a daredevil back in the day.”
And she’d smile, close her eyes, and fall asleep, knotted fingers holding on tight, a clump of knucklebones, determination and spite.
Dorothy – that used to be her Gran’s name – used to continually cuss and complain about how she felt. She said she suffered badly from the slowing down disease – an ailment she said she’d caught from her daughter. She never said how she thought she’d got infected, but often said that it was hereditary and that every woman she’d known suffered at some time. But Hannah had never seen it mentioned in any of her textbooks, not even when she’d asked for the reference ones at the library.
And that had been that.
That had been years ago, back when Hannah had been a child. She’d lived an impressive life, living out loud. She’d flown in an aeroplane too – more times than she could count, even riding in the cockpit once. But that had been mundane, something everyone else had done.
Tedious and slow; lacking speed.
Speed
A rather meek mouse of a woman, spiritless with forgettable features, timidly said, “I would choose a Roller-Derby costume. I fear speed but just wearing such a costume would be thrilling. I could hide my identity, age, fear and tremors behind the costume. I know little about the game, but am just animated by the idea of speed, adventure and daring. My imagination would fly! Wind and adrenaline rush! Skating so fast around the track like a speeding purple cheetah, the spectators would become one blur of colour and sound. I would give an electrifying performance even if I am afraid of speed.
“Roller-skating at the speed of sound. So fast that I would leave burn marks in the track. A burning streak of fire and speed. My costume would be alive with colour, vibrant purple helmet, matching uniform, colourful knee pads! I can imagine roaring around the track and the audience chanting my professional name. Rocket fast. A risk taker, daredevil and flying diablo. The gold streak on my costume would dazzle the crowd!”
The speaker seemed to have been fed a continual diet of weak tea looking both too meek and timid to be associated with daring. It was odd that this nobody of a woman shaped in dullness and boring details, described herself with so much energy and speed!
Adrenergic fire crinkled through the air, as The Twins tore past us, nearly knocking the speaker off her feet. What trouble had they caused now?
Roller derby practice was the one thing I’d been looking forward to all day long. I’ve got the typical sort of job you get when you need a paycheck to support your real vocation, and today it had been nonstop aggravation. By the time I finally clocked out, I was down to one nerve, and the boss was getting on it.
Normally there’s a certain zen about getting ready for practice: dressing out, lacing up your skates, doing your warmup laps. It feels so good as that stress drains away and your mind focuses in on the game.
Not so today. My nerves remained ragged, my energy prickly as a porcupine – not the best way to participate in a contact sport. I even thought about sitting out the practice.
But I couldn’t let the team down. We have a tournament coming up, and need to be at our best. So I went out onto the rink, even with all the anger from a bad day at work still seething in the back of my mind.
We were about halfway through practice when it happened. An ordinary enough maneuver – this is a contact sport, after all – but someone hits me just so and my vision goes red.
I awaken lying sprawling on the hardwood. Everywhere voices shouting, calling familiar names, worried, afraid. And our coach screaming at me in outrage, how could I?
I know I will never play again.