September 2018 Flash Fiction

As Spring finds its way into our lives and we can think about putting away our winter obsessions, this month’s prompt might set you on your way to others … (I am not legally responsible!)

“Who did you follow today?” is the prompt. You can do whatever you like with it. You don’t have to answer the question, as such, but you do have to use ‘follow’ in a thematic sense.

Maximum of 150 words in any genre.

And the winner is Stephanie Gold with Entry #4 – Rufus! Congratulations and well done.

Entries are in! Five to read, savour and vote on. Get going and tell your friends.




Gelid hunched his shoulders and surreptitiously looked behind him. Yeah she was still there her light tread gaining slowly, inexorably on him. His features tightened in distaste he closed his mind to her perfume, colours, image, warmth and sweet taste. He shuddered and trudged on with urgency.  He would endure and rise again.

He wasn’t a psychopath. Sure in his travels he had killed humans and animals alike. He watched impassively as some had railed against him while others had revelled in what he brought them.

He stopped and listened Flora was nearer and stronger. He could feel her confidence. He snarled in fury, time to move far, far away and recreate this beauty elsewhere, this sparkling whiteness, this stillness, this biting cold, this sharp smell and taste of snow and ice.

Who was that fool who said, “If winter comes, can spring be far behind?”

Entry #2 – A Cool Dude

It seems it’s the in-thing to be a cool dude; young people often follow and mimic those they consider cool.

I met a cool dude recently, in the supermarket car park. Driving slowly, I spotted two young boys riding battered old BMX bikes—wheels moving in all directions—flying back and forth over speed humps.

They wore minimal clothing; no helmets. One boy was a cool dude, sitting low on the bike, knees up around the handle-bars, real layback. Cap on backwards, oversized black singlet, jeans low on his hips, hanging around his buttocks.

Glimpsing the car, they turned abruptly and swung my way. One boy moved over. But the cool dude aimed his bike in my direction, swerving back and forth. I braked hard as he rode straight towards me.

Then quick as a flash he sped past, and with great disdain, roared back at me, ‘WATCH YOURSELF BITCH!’

Entry #3 – The faded old red barn painting

I followed a man today as he left the doctors office.

He looked no different to anyone else in the hospital except for the cane he was carrying.

Folded up it looked as dead as it’s owner looked alive.

I stood watching as he took in the carpet.

Thousands had walked on it and not taken notice but this man was taking it in.

Then he went to the old painting on the wall.

I wish I could have seen his face because his body language suggested he was a bit perplexed by the landscape.

He went from looking to touching, to looking to touching, as if his brain was struggling to mesh together what he had grown up hearing described to him and was now seeing for the first time.

I followed him outside as he focused on everything around him while everyone else followed their phones.

Entry # 4 – Rufus

Rufus brushed his sleek form against the side of my leg. I promptly shifted him aside with my white trainer and continued my pamphlet perusal. Seconds later my perusal was paused by paws, padding my papers. Rufus had silently sprung onto my table and was now giving me that look. That searching look that only a cat can give its unobliging owner. I glanced out of the window. The room was still chilly, but the sky outside was a beguiling blue. I looked over at Rufus and sighed in defeat. ‘Alright’ I said as I reached up at the shelf above me and collected his collar and lead. I harnessed his silky figure carefully and followed him to the back door. Rufus loved to wander. I followed as he sauntered out into our musical garden, filled with birds, bees and bud laden trees all singing, it’s Spring.

Entry #5 – Leader of the Pack

Tall, slender, sporting seriously blonde hair, her complexion was classic peaches and cream. Acne never presumed. The ignominy of braces a memory, her teeth, straight as picket fence posts, shone like ducco.  She worked the playground with the grace of a skater, drawing up and pivoting to attend to hopeful calls from acolytes seeking her company. We practised her movements—the fluttering of long fingers, the flicking of shimmering hair, the elegant angle of the head as she turned the full force of her attention on a supplicant. We believed our own attributes inferior. Squat, tubby bodies waded across the asphalt on flat feet, arms flailing as we strove to emulate her éclat. Despite orthotics, braces, and ballet such efforts were futile—these desperate attempts to imitate her, risible. Our discipleship was unwavering, embedded, corrosive. It signalled a lack of self-awareness, an absence that festered, tainting the future.

Voting closes at 11.59pm on Tuesday  25th.


Entries must be in by midnight Wednesday 19 September 2018. Voting will open soon after and close at 11.59pm on Tuesday 25th. Winner announced at the Members Night on 26th September 2018.

Conditions of entry

Your entry must:

  1. Be in 12 point Times New Roman font
  2. Have single line spacing
  3. Have a title
  4. Include the author’s name
  5. Include the word count, not including the title
  6. Be submitted as a Word.doc, or .docx file (PDF files lose all formatting in their transition)
  7. You must be a current member of Ballarat Writers.

Submit entries to:

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