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Please vote only on the story’s worth, and do not allow personal loyalties to influence your vote. Our aim is to encourage all writers, not discourage any through having no chance of winning solely on their story’s excellence.
Please vote for the best all-round story instead of necessarily voting for your own story. That is true honesty and good-citizenship.
1 Title A Tender Heart
The school bell rang out as they ran from the class rooms, down through the corridors and out to the locker rooms. Tom called out, ‘Frankie did you get your bike fixed?’
‘Yeah,’ she replied, ‘I’ll meet you out the back’.
Tom grabbed his bike, flew around the corner of the school, and raced towards the lake. Frankie was sitting on her bike by the water’s edge; pony-tail flying in the breeze, fringe protruding from under her school cap. His heart gave a familiar tug. He remembered the school social; laughing as they danced around the room; her warmth as he held her close. Tom yearned for something more, but Frankie belonged to no-one. Music was her passion and playing the guitar was the most important thing in her life. Tom wished he could play.
They took off on their bikes across the narrow causeway of the lake, down onto the bush track on the other side. It was a short-cut to home where they lived as neighbours. Tom recalled the times he had Frankie on the bar of his bike, dinking her home; arms wrapped around her, her hair brushing his face. Now they flew over the gutters, their bikes going at a rapid pace. Frankie glanced back and laughed, ‘Keep up Tom!’
Tom hung back; his eyes soft and tender as he watched her swerving around on the bike. He planned to take Frankie into town later to buy her a birthday present. He longed to give her something special, just from him.
As they arrived home, Harry flew past on his bike and shouted, ‘Frankie, we’re having a music session, bring your guitar, it’s at the church hall.’
Frankie jumped off the bike. ‘Hang on and I’ll grab it,’ she yelled, running into the house.
Tom cast his eyes down, and made his way up the driveway. Throwing down the bike, he marched into the bedroom, slammed the door shut and dragged the old guitar out from under the bed. Mouth set with determination, he placed his bulky fingers on the rusty strings, grit his teeth and started strumming.
2 Title Love At First Sight
‘Father, it is 2017, I am old enough; I should be married; I need to be married.’
‘What do you mean my son, you need to be married?’
‘I need to have intimacy.’
‘Ahh. Good, your mother will be pleased; she was becoming worried for you. I will find a wife for you my son, trust me.’
‘Allah be praised; thank you Father, but please Father, I want to love my bride, and I want to be happy with her. Please, I do not want just any woman for a bride, I want for there to be romance too.’
‘Trust me Muhammed my son, I will make sure that you are not disappointed.’
‘Yes, my son?’
‘It has been nearly three months since we talked of getting me a wife. Is anything happening?’
‘Yes, I have been speaking with my old friend Aabid. Aabid has many daughters, and one is suitable for marriage.’
‘May I know her name, Father?’
‘Yes, her name is Aisha.’
‘Aisha! Oh, Father, that is such a good sign. She has the same name as our dear prophet’s second wife, and the Hadeeth tells us that he was mightily pleased with her.’
‘Yes, my son, and as Allah, in his perfect wisdom, has chosen to make you in our Prophet’s image, peace be upon Him, she will be perfect for you. She is only two years older than blessed Aisha was when our Prophet took her as his wife. Who knows, perhaps you may become an Iman and aid in spreading our cultural teachings?’
‘But, please tell me, Father, is she pretty?’
‘I have not seen her, but Aabid says that she is pretty and well-schooled in all home duties.’
His wedding day is two months later, and Muhammed the obese dwarf stands in the courtyard after his marriage ceremony. His passion is rising; his eyes are closed. On opening them he sees his father’s token dowry of a white goat standing beside Aisha his eleven-year-old bride as she shyly lowers the hood of her burqa.
Allah be praised; love at first sight!
3 Title BnB
The tears streamed down my face as I walked down the isle solo. From that first moment noticing him in college taking photos of the football team to now seeing him all dressed up waiting for me to join him for the rest of our lives.
What a journey these last few years had been. I couldn’t have been prouder of his quick rise from Intern to Editor at the newspaper. His investigative prowess made it difficult to keep the details of the dress I now wore a secret from him. One of the few secrets we had between us. He’d kept the honeymoon plans a secret from me and I was ok with that, it would make the week ahead even more exhilarating.
The aroma from the bouquet took me back to those lazy spring weekends when he’d pick me up and we’d ride out to our favourite meadow. His back strong and firm against the tree my head in his lap as we took time just to listen to each other.
As I slid my hand into his I was surprised to feel it damp. I’d never known him to have sweaty palms before. My one and only forever and ever, I finally noticed everyone in the church. I wish my parents could have been there, I wish he had a better relationship with his.
We’d written our own vows and I’m glad I hadn’t tried to memorise them as my memory may have failed me under the pressure of the moment. ‘Where’s the photographer oh there she is.’
“Yes I do”
The passion of that first kiss, words fail me. How can one describe something that felt so connected, so deep down right and natural. My face must have given away what I was thinking about next as he looked at me inquisitively.
“I now present to you Mr and Mrs..”
While everyone was cheering I whispered in his ear “you’ll have to wait until the honeymoon to see the something blue”.
Entries are limited to financial members only. Entries will not be accepted if they exceed the maximum word limit – even if by a word, and must comply with all the required parameters. Your email must include author’s name, story title, and word count. One entry per member, and sent as Word file (.doc or .docx file). PDF files will not be accepted as they lose formatting in transition.
Submit entries to: firstname.lastname@example.org 4 pmFriday, 22 September 2017.Voting will open here the next day and will close at 4 pm on Wednesday 27 September.
Come along to our Members’ Night on Wednesday 27 September at 7 pm at the Bunch of Grapes Hotel to hear the winner announced. You can have dinner there from 6 pm (Results will also be posted here the day after.)
This month’s Flash Fiction parameters are:
Prompt: Passion (must appear somewhere in story)
Word count:325 –357
Conditions of entry
Your entry must:
Be in 12-point Times New Roman font
Have single line spacing
Have a title
Include the author’s name
Include the word count; exclusive of the title
Be submitted as a Word.doc, or .docx file (PDF files lose all formatting in their transition and will not be accepted in that form)
P.S. The use of F7 on your keyboard is highly recommended. If you are not familiar with this valuable aid to accuracy, Phil Green is happy to assist. Email him email@example.com
Hi all, the highest Flash Fiction popularity votes for August were tied between number 1, “The Return” by Linda Young, and number 5, “Beauty Without Borders” by Neville Hiatt.
Congratulations to you both for having the highest number of people voting for your submissions.
We look forward to receiving further submissions from everyone for September, where the genre is “ROMANCE”, the word count is 325-357, and the word that must appear therein is ‘Passion’. All of the rules and parameters will be published here tomorrow, or the next day, or …
Happy Writing – Phil Green, BWI Competitions Co-ordinator.
It’s said that evil never wins, and I have returned to this place to ensure it never does. The house is still, the shutters drawn, and around the trees daffodils stand like sentinels in the chill of the early spring.
I was raised here; I know the secrets within these walls, and the people who left their footprints upon this house of horror.
Searching through the rubble inside the house, I sense his presence. Like an animal he has returned home, and around the room I see the unmade bed, the scattered bottles, the empty plates. The warmth from the fire tells me he’s near; I spin around, alert to the sounds as the floorboards creak.
Staying close to the wall, I remove the gun from the holster and release the safety catch, my heart pounding in anticipation.
I pause, listening for movement. The wind howls through the forest as a branch crashes to the ground. I freeze, then move quickly through the door, scanning the trees on the hill. A mist covers the mountains, blocking out the sun as darkness closes in. I drop to my knees, and wait.
High above the ground, a man stares through the lens of a rifle scope, his finger resting upon the trigger. Shaking with fear, he knows he must not miss.
2 Title I’M TRULY SORRY SUZANNE
I lie hidden in the dank, green bushes of early spring in the forest, watching my duct-taped hostage. He’s a disgraced politician. I know how little he is worth in the minds of others, and I now wonder if anyone will pay even the mere $10,000 for his life.
He’s rorted the system in claiming false expenses. His demands for hundreds of thousands of dollars for travel not undertaken, and for personal credit card purchases unrelated to his electoral duties, have finally brought him undone. A select committee is investigating further allegedly spurious receipts. All who know him, despise him, including his wife, who has found out that his supposed fact-finding tours to exotic countries have been without her, but with his private secretary, Enid. He had told his wife, that as a female, she could not accompany him.
My partner, Suzanne, without whom I can’t make it, is to phone the moment the money-parcel is at the drop-site. I will then pull a string allowing a sharp knife to fall beside my hostage who can cut himself free without knowing that I hide nearby.
A deadly brown snake slithers silently past my knee; I jerk; the snake bites; I die without having pulled the string.
You’ll have the money, but not me; I’m truly sorry Suzanne.
3 Title Early Spring
Words 220 words
It was the early spring in the forest that saved me. The young cougar was an inexperienced hunter and mistimed his jump – too early.
I had a micro-second’s warning and dropped and rolled, coming to my knees and fumbling in the quiver for an arrow. His body crashed ahead of me, scrabbling and growling, head already swivelling back at me, his body leaning hard left, pivoting in a U turn.
Hunting deer was one thing. Being hunted was another. This tree-hugging environmental shit with a bow was about to kill me.
The cougar wheeled, claws gaining traction in the forest floor, yellow eyes focused on me.
I notched an arrow – a metallic, expensive thing. Still only an arrow. Compound metal bow, unrecognisable to a hunter for another age, but only a bow.
The cat accelerated towards me. I drew, aimed at the open mouth and loosed. The arrow dropped a little and took it in the neck but didn’t stop it. The bow dropped and my hunting knife was it my hand. It hit me hard, its claws embedding in my skull. I stabbed sideways, blade repeatedly finding the head. Blood flowed down covering my eyes blinding me, but I kept stabbing, falling, screaming now – terrified.
If I lived – telescopic Winchester from now on. If I had eyes.
Gerhard turned a corner and abruptly stopped to light his cigarette. It was an old PI’s trick to spot a tail. He turned up the collar of his coat and pulled the brim of his hat low, cupping the light with his hands. It was dusk and street lights glowed yellow. From the corner of his eye he watched the approaching shadow grow longer and stop. He pressed himself into a recessed doorway on the cobbled lane and waited. The tail came round the corner in a hurry having lost sight of his quarry. Gerhard stuck out his size twelve, tripped him and then pinned him to the ground. “Who are you’, he growled. No-one. I’m walking home like you.’ ‘Who are you?’ This time the luger was pointed to his head. “Please, I can explain.’ ‘ SS or Gestapo?’ Gerhard cocked the pistol. ‘Early spring in the forest….. Gerhard eased his weight off the man slowly. He recognised the password. But something was not right. He patted him down and took his piece. ‘Alright. Whats it all about?’ ‘Your client is a double agent.’ ‘And you’re not?’ Gerhard was suspicious, but too late for the blow on the head from behind. He hit the ground hard.
5 Title Beauty Without Borders
As the wind caressed the wild flowers, they looked lovingly into each other’s eyes. Their weekends in the forest had become a ritual ever since their honeymoon. No one knew where they went; they just disappeared every Friday after work and never returned till the wee hours of Monday morning.
During the week, work colleagues would look on wondering how they could still be so in love years later. Their weekends away seemed to be paying off, as their performance at work only accelerated post-marriage.
The sun felt so warm on their skin as they paused for a drink.
The darkness was overwhelming and they were suddenly shivering.
They pulled their helmets off, looking in disbelief at each other, and then gazed around the bright, white room.
“Where are we John?”
‘How long had they been here, were they even married?’ Nelly wondered, staring at her gloved hand.
“I don’t know” he responded. John’s search for an escape was halted as Nelly started shaking uncontrollably. “John” was the last word she whispered before fainting.
Laying her down gently John ripped the rest of his suit off.
‘This must be some top level tech to make us believe that was all real.’
‘Now where’s that door that got us in here? We have to be able to get out.’
Entries are limited to financial members only. Entries will not be accepted if they exceed the maximum word limit – even if by a word, and must comply with all the stated parameters. Your email must include author’s name, story title, and word count. One entry per member, and best sent as .doc file as PDF files lose formatting.
All entries are to be submitted to firstname.lastname@example.org 5 pmFriday, 25 August.Voting will open here the next day and will close at 4 pm on Wednesday 30 August.
Come along to our Members’ Night on Wednesday, 30 August at 7 pm at the Bunch of Grapes Hotel to hear the winner announced. You can have dinner there from 6 pm (Results will also be posted here the day after.)
Entries are limited to financial members only. Entries will not be accepted if they exceed the maximum word limit – even if by a word, and must comply with all the stated parameters. Your email must include author’s name, story title and word count.
All entries are to be submitted to email@example.com 5:00pmFriday, 21 July.Voting will open here the next day and will close at 4:00 pm on Wednesday 26 July.
Come along to our Members’ Night on Wednesday, 26 July, 7pm at the Bunch of Grapes Hotel to hear the winner announced. (Results will also be posted here the day after.)
This month’s Flash Fiction parameters are:
Prompt: ‘a depressed one-eyed alien at his birthday party’ (you can include some or all of these words in your story)
Word count:300 – 337
1 Title: Out of Place
Jack felt so out of it, like a depressed one-eyed alien at his own party. Hung over from lunch time celebrations, he looked around at the unfamiliar faces. He was stuck here in a room full of strangers, talking and laughing and drinking the wine he’d paid for. Well, she paid for it, but it came out of his pocket. Danni said she’d be here to welcome them all, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. Where the hell was she?
The group turned around and looked him up and down – the men dressed in suits and ties, staring with disapproval, the women smiling with fixed faces, all done up in expensive designer clothes. And he’d arrived in his drab work clothes. Danni had obviously invited her high class friends from work. Why didn’t she warn him, and invite his friends too? It was his birthday for god’s sake.
He shook his head, what the hell was she doing inviting this crowd, not his sort at all. She could never be relied upon to get things right. He’d told her only a small group of friends; he meant his friends, not hers. She said she’d arrange it, and sent him a text with the time and venue. He’d left work in a hurry, his mind on unfinished business.
This was the last straw, he would talk to her tomorrow, tell her he wanted a break, that things weren’t working out. She’d be upset, but she’d get over it. He was always picking up after her mistakes, apologising when she didn’t turn up. She always had excuses but he doubted the truth of them.
Slouching by the door, his mouth set, a waiter approached him.
‘Excuse me sir; are you with the bride or the groom?’
‘Are you family or a friend of the couple?’
‘What are you talking about? It’s my birthday party!’
‘I’m sorry but this is a wedding reception.’
Jack yanks out his phone and suddenly it hits him – he’s in the wrong hotel!
2 Title: Zilka’s Clothes
“Party, party, party,” chorused the crowd.
“This is where it’s all happening! Tonight’s the night,” roared Galec the Osternian. His four, two-suckered, hands rose majestically from his highest shoulder-blades, as with a mighty jump, he shot to the ceiling six metres above and commenced dancing from the stainless steel sheeting.
“Come one, come all. This feast is on me. Help yourselves to the delicacies of the universe. Your very own depressed, one-eyed good friend, and alcoholic, drug-addled, gourmand, fashionista of renown, Zilka Bofray Grallancia individually prepared your drinks and treats for his birthday party.”
Many beings in the crowded room, beamed their thoughts to each other, with notions and images of, “Zilka, how in Dog’s name did Galec manage to drag Zilka off Tartha, let alone have him leave Parnathia’s side?”
One being shrouded its thoughts, and to its neighbour, queried, “Zilka? Who or what is he, she, or it?”
“My dear friend. Zilka of Bofray in Grallancia is this universe’s most fashion conscious of all fashionistas. All of this world’s best beings assiduously follow his style, glamour, taste, and fashion. Look around, and you’ll note that our apparel tries to approximate the passion perfected and paraded on all the Infoscreens of this world as decreed by Zilka as today’s highest pursuit.”
“Yes, my awareness is that every living creature in this room is wearing orange trousers, where appropriate, and turquoise jackets over their various differing bodies.”
“Ooh, isn’t it all just sooo wonderful, and such a change from last weeks’ drabness of Perian Green, and Branka Blue.”
“I don’t know how Galec did it, but behold, the being that has just coalesced right beside you is our very own Zilka Bofray of Grallancia. Welcome, beautiful one!”
The one-eyed, tentacle-covered creature was wearing the orange and turquoise clothing, but with the addition of black piping, just half a clung wide, over every seam.
The beings in the room cheered their approval of the timely fashion addition and clamoured to touch the scaled head of the frog-like creature.
3 Title: Happy Consequence
When I was a depressed one-eyed alien at his birthday party, as earth-dwelling English speakers say, a rude shock awaited me. Master of Sarton, Blaston Highfield, called me into his oblate chrome office and chewed me out. That English expression amuses me now. I was charged with being too depressed. It was observed by the Sarton ruling council that depressed Sartonites especially those of the very fertile stage encountered around 30 micro years, drank great amounts of hayseed wine distilled on the planet Medicinus, and exceeded the council’s ruling for their allowed progenitive couplings. I was, in fact, already on a warning for having exceeded the quota by one. Now I had three unwanted offspring, a ripe insult on Sarton. A meeting with the ruling council was arranged for one week later. Master Highfield advised me not to do a flier, like the previous Sartonite accused as I was. The Medicinites of the hayseed wine, very mercenary types, had given him up because he had only been on one binge before he faced his punishment,and had only spent the minimum tab required by the black market publican. He faced death by suffocation. What horrors the humans would hear if I could talk! What a fateful meeting that was! The council explained that the happiest creature, in exile, was a four-legged one, loved by Earth-dwellers. The creature was especially spoiled by earthlings who lived in small urban houses in a land called Australia. Out in space Australia looks right on top of the southern pole, and I expected it to be lonely, windswept and freezing like much of Sarton. Instead I now find myself looking out two golden eyes from a fleecy dog bed by a gas fire while a silver-haired woman and her grandchildren sing happy birthday. I abandon my chew toy to feast on a cake-shaped mound of steak and liver. Three females on heat were impregnated a week ago, and nobody’s mentioned any punishment yet!
It’s hard enough to be the new kid at school. It’s much worse when you don’t look or sound like you’re supposed to. But the birthday party was sacred, and Wally (not Walid) had already been invited to three parties along with the rest of the class by the time his birthday rolled around. His parents were a little disappointed when Wally decided he didn’t want to show off his culture with traditional Lebanese party food. “Maybe next year,” Wally had said, with a look in his little chubby face that made his mum doubt it. It worried her that Wally, so popular back home, had become so worried by what his classmates thought of him.
It didn’t help that he had a glass eye. He was scratched by a cat as an infant, but the rumour at school was that it was a war-wound, and how do you put an end to a story as exciting as that? Sometimes Wally thought about just going along with it, but he had three more years at primary school, and the kids weren’t that bad. He’d seen kids be a lot meaner to the fat boy in grade six. And after the party he had planned, they would forget all about it, just like how no one had liked ‘teacher’s pet’ Lucy until her awesome party with the go-carts.
Half an hour after the starting time, Wally’s mum called another mum to make sure they were just running late.
“It’s Wally’s birthday? Maybe she lost the invite…” there was a tense few minutes as Wally’s mum listened to the muffled conversation over the phone.
“I’m so sorry. The kids thought we wouldn’t find out if they hid the invitations from us.”
The mums reluctantly agreed that they couldn’t force the kids to go to the party. And they didn’t want to reward the exclusion with cake. But the little one-eyed foreign boy was still abandoned on his birthday, and his mum was left to tell him why.
5 Title: Gleekr’s Gift
Everyone was all crowding around the tables set up at the park. Mostly mothers, some grandparents, and a lot of kids- all smiling and laughing, bright and happy. Each one was wearing their favourite coloured outfit and had their hair dyed to match, as was the custom on Nroovm for Birthday Parties.
Gleekr was the most colourful of all, seeing as it was his birthday. Each of his tentacles was covered in bright blue and silver glitter, his clothing in matching stripes. He loved that everyone was paying him attention, and that he had all of his friends and relatives at the party.
Action figures were Gleekr’s favourite toy. He played with his Cousin Garvay’s sets when visiting at his Aunt’s house. Gleekr and Garvay had created a galaxy in peril, requiring rescue by the Super Power Figurines, and for the Fires to be extinguished by the Nroovm Disaster Crew. All the Figurines had special uniforms pertaining to their skill, and a couple of them even looked just like Gleekr.
Gleekr had seven tentacles, and one eye, the only one of his family to have these traits. The majority of his family had three or more eyes, and most had an even number of tentacles. His mother had the most beautiful tentacles of all- sixteen of them, more than anyone he’d ever seen.
His mother came over to him, carrying a very big box, wrapped in Blue sparkly paper, tied with a large silver bow. His friends all started to get excited, laughing and making whooping noises. Gleekr just knew it was the Nroovm Disaster Crew Figurines… or maybe even the Nroovm Super Crew Figurines!
Excitedly, he gave his Mum a hug, then snatched the gift, ripping open the paper. The clear shiny packaging held seven Figurines- and the words emblazoned on the front- “Earth Human Family Figurines”. Gleekr’s smile disappeared and was very depressed all of a sudden- “Mum, I told you- I don’t believe in Humans anymore!”
6 Title Hip, Hip, sigh
A tear slipped out of Zaphod’s eye and fell onto the candle, making it hiss as he sat watching it melt into the icing. He’d been left with only one eye after losing the other while escaping Xorphian in the Yezyer solar system 3 eons ago. Just one of the many adventures he had been on in the last 100 eons, exploring other civilisations.
After meeting so many interesting creatures, he had hoped some of them might have come to his birthday party. He had traveled so far as all of his kind do after their first 100 eons to learn, observe and share with other civilisations. From the Roggians on WeggerWegger that he knew would never leave their planet, to the already well advanced Thwilians who he met while on the Gerdans planet.
To not have a single fellow traveler show up had him feeling a little glum. If a beautiful Lillyickin showed up that would have been so special. They weren’t so strong in the math and sciences, but they surpassed any he had met at sharing love.
One civilisation he had the most hope for was the humans on planet Earth. Their young were so full of hopes and dreams and had such vivid imaginations, he was certain they would soon be able to travel as quickly in space as they could currently on their own planet.
He turned to head to his pod for the night as a flash of white and colour zoomed past his eye. His hand shot up and grabbed, catching a paper plane which looked to have a message inside. He opened its folds so he could see the rest of what he could see glimpsing out from the inside. It was a colourful drawing of his ship with the words “Happy Birthday” scrawled underneath in very rough English. Turning to see the pilot behind the plane, he was greeted by someone looking similar to John yet a little bit different. Could John have had a daughter?
7 Title: One Eyed Alien
He threw the mug from his hand, watching it spin through the wall of his shelter creating a perfect hole. Forgetting his strength on earth. It made him more distressed, as he knew the peoples of this planet were being kind, helping him make this day his greatest joy.
He had shared with them parts of his life that they could understand, which included how old he was. So today they were celebrating his 50th birthday. Even that was hard, as he was three times older than he said. He knew they would find it hard to understand a long living one eyed alien.
The earthlings only understood what Caesar had evolved. A limited calendar and time so he could manage the crowds, and keep them occupied. He wished that Einstein could have been here. Then he could have ‘come clean’ as the earthlings say. He would have understood, as he had studied quantum physics, which had every happening simultaneously, and time didn’t matter.
But he was deeply depressed, and had to lift for the people’s sake. They were to dress up with one eyes to make him feel special.
He was to judge the best costume. He secretly was looking forward to that, as he would feel like being home. Yes he wanted to be home, but his ship had left without him. Their return would be when his brother, realised he was missing. The ship sped off to get away from the authorities. It would be four light years away before it slowed.
The farmer found him hiding in the hay shed. Didn’t show any fear and helped him to adjust to this situation within his family, naming him Edward the first. The first he’d ever seen.
Supplying him with enough turnips to keep him healthy. ‘It was the turnips they were gathering for food on our ship, he told Farmer John.
Now the neighbours were coming and the parade would start, which helped his new friends be happy.
Congratulations again this month to Neville Hiatt for his winning entry ‘6:12’. Neville is off to see the play, ‘Hollow’ in Daylesford this weekend. He won by a whisker (1 vote) from Ash Leonard (Entry 4 ‘Wreck’) and Robert Sidler (Entry 6 ‘Three Wishes’). Congratulations to Ash and Robert as well.
I’m happy to announce that Ballarat Writers have been gifted two tickets. Valued at $50. For the World Premiere for the 150th Anniversary of the Three Lost Children. Presented by Tripwire Theatre Daylesford Town Hall June 30th – 2nd July 2017
For more information about this unique theatre event click here
Entries are limited to paid members only. Entries will not be accepted if they exceed the maximum word limit – even if by a word, and must comply with all the stated parameters. Your email must include author’s name, story title and word count.
All entries are to be submitted to firstname.lastname@example.org 5:00pmFriday, 23 June.Voting will open here on the blog at this time and will close at 4:00 pm on Wednesday 28 June.
Come along to our Members’ Night on Wednesday, 28 May, 7pm at the Bunch of Grapes Hotel to hear the winner announced. (Results will also be posted here on the blog the day after.)
This month’s Flash Fiction parameters are:
Prompt: Include the sentence, “You’re an Idiot”
June Flash Fiction Entries
Entry 1 6:12
“you’re an idiot a stupid stupid idiot” she kept repeating to herself as she sat on the rock.
Then she saw her reflection in the water.
With each ripple of water as a fish swam by she felt something change.
The hurt dissolved to be replaced by hope.
The hatred sunk to the bottom of the lake as she felt compassion for the first time in a long time.
Her reflection changed further as tears released the final remnants of her past.
The rising sun warmed her back as she walked away.
All that was left to greet it was a loaded gun and a book on top that rock.
Entry 2 Kiss Me
“Don’t just sit there, kiss me.”
“Yes; you know you want to.”
“Why would I want to do that; I hardly know you?”
“We’ve been taking notes at this tiny table, and role-playing together, for four days. You know me.”
“Sitting beside you does not constitute knowing you.”
“We’ve eaten together, compared notes together. Critiqued each other’s work. You know me.”
“So am I.”
“Have you learned anything here?”
“This week of workshops is to strengthen our resolve not to stray in our relationships.”
“But you like me. I like you. Come on, kiss me.”
“You’re an idiot. You’ve learned nothing.”
Entry 3 Easy Target
Steve peddled his bike madly along the back road, praying Dave wouldn’t find him. Then he saw the Ute come tearing around the corner, bumper bar smashed, dints in the doors, no number plates. Dave whispered ‘got you!’ pressed his foot hard on the accelerator and swerved towards the bike. Steve held on tight and slid into the gutter as Dave yanked back the steering wheel and shot past.
‘You’re an idiot,’ Steve yelled, raising his fist as he picked up the bike. The Ute did a sudden U-turn, and Steve felt his stomach lurch. Dave tightened his grip on the wheel – his mouth set, his eyes cold and hard.
Entry 4 Wreck
My brother storms into the kitchen, a set of keys swinging from his index finger.
‘Ella, I need help.’
Fragments of glass are tangled in his hair, glinting under the fluorescent lights. Mum told him not to do anything stupid, her words thick as she tried to stem the flow from her broken nose while waiting for the ambulance. She begged Simon not to touch him.
I glance past Simon to the front lawn, where Darren’s prized BMW sits. The tyres are flat, rims bent, the windscreen scattered over the car’s front seats.
‘You’re an idiot,’ I groan, but I follow him to the wreck. We have to hide it.
Entry 5 The Idiot
Not for the first time, the old man lay dying, legs curled under him like a newborn foal, open mouth revealing ancient, rusted teeth. You could be mistaken for thinking he’d gone already.
Emergency fluoros illuminated a weary gaggle of nurses. How hard they work, thought Louise, tearing her eyes away from her father’s heart monitor. It was all she had.
“He’s slipping again,” Louise whispered, to the bearded nurse. Had he heard, over the beep of the alarm?
“Tell the next shift,” he replied, moving to the monitor. He flipped a switch. The red blink disappeared.