Posts Tagged ‘Flash Fiction Contest’

Business Card Fiction: Short Goodbyes

 

Trolley

Farewell, my love.

Brainchild of J.D. Wenzel (@JDWenzel), Business Card Fiction is the newest flash fiction kid on the block. It’s got a cool premise, boundless opportunities for creativity, and great prizes. With the help of Ruth Long (@bullishink), and Lillie McFerrin (@lilliemcferrin), all the top flash writers will be on the trolley for this contest.

 

Here is my entry in their December contest.

 

 SHORT GOODBYES

Short Goodbyes

 

Have a go at it yourself and be sure to read everyone’s entry!

 

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Business Card Fiction: FIST

 

Fist of Fury

Boy, I’m gonna to hit you so hard when you wake up your clothes will be out of style!

 

The brainchild of J.D. Wenzel (@JDWenzel), Business Card Fiction is the newest flash fiction kid on the block. It’s got a cool premise, boundless opportunities for creativity, and wicked smart prizes. With the help of Ruth Long (@bullishink), and Lillie McFerrin (@lilliemcferrin), this contest is bound to take off like a rocket and attract top notch talent in the flash community.  There are multiple contests per month, a side-by-side showdown of the winners, and even a chance for authors and contributors to get in on the action and give away prizes or win coveted sidebar space to show off your latest pet project.

 

Here is my entry in their “Pick a Prompt” BETA event.

 

FIST

 

 

 

Have a go at it yourself and be sure to read everyone’s entry.  POW!

 

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Flash Fiction Contest: Behind the Curtain

 

Anna Meade (@ruanna3), Fairy Queen, Bride-to-Be, and Agent Provocateur, over at Yearning For Wonderland is running yet another great flash fiction contest.  This time Ms. Meade has decided to let out the creepy in honor of the coming All Hallows Eve. The #btcurtain writing contest is simple: 400 words of original fiction (no erotica) about something happening behind the proverbial or literal curtains. Complete rules are here. Contest runs until Oct. 13th! And don’t forget to get Anna’s attention with the tweet of doom… #MOOGHOOHAH

 

You wanted creepy? You got it…

Soon

Soon…

Scopophiliac

By J. Whitworth Hazzard
Marla’s heels click-clacked along the sidewalk by her apartment.  A light rain drifted in front of the streetlights, casting tiny motes of shadow in the night.
“I can’t believe I forgot my umbrella,” Marla whispered. The passers-by were gone at this hour, and she was alone. Staying late at the office hadn’t solved her problem. If she had the umbrella, she wouldn’t have to watch him tonight.
Marla didn’t know when the old man started watching her from his apartment. He would stand in his window with his lacy black curtains nearly drawn and watch her come and go. To and from work, every day.
He never smiled, or waved, or even pretended that he wasn’t doing exactly what it seemed. He was bold; downright brazen about it now. The first time she smiled at him, trying to be friendly, and gotten nothing but an icy shiver down her spine in return. For the next couple weeks, she alternated between ignoring, scowling, flipped him off, and even yelling underneath his window, “I’m going to call the cops, creep!”
But she didn’t. There’s no law against leering at women on the street, even if that woman was your neighbor.
It didn’t matter how late she got home, he was always there. Spying on her. He would mouth silently; words almost but not quite recognizable. When it was quiet, she could hear his TV, in the apartment above, blaring bible sermons 24/7.
“Don’t let him get to you, Marla.”
She steeled her nerves and looked up into the rain. He was there tonight, black eyes peeking behind the red curtains. She looked away and hurried to the stoop of her building.
“Wait.”
Something was different tonight. He seemed taller, and he was—smirking? Marla backed up into the street and looked up, but the old man was gone. The building was dark.
“Mr. Levay?” Marla shouted up at the window. No hint of movement or sound. “Weirdo.”
Marla ran up the stairs to her apartment, miffed that he didn’t have the decency to wait until she was inside. He’d never disappeared like that before. She slammed the door and shed her wet clothes in a trail to the radiator by the window.
She huddled in the soft red velvet curtains, trying to warm up her wet bare skin, and it struck her. “Those weren’t his curtains.”
“They were mine.”

400 words

@zombiemechanics

 

Enjoy and good luck to all the other writers!


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Flash Fiction Contest: Fairytaleish

 

Anna Meade (@ruanna3) over at Yearning For Wonderland is running another great flash fiction contest featuring the psychedelic and faery-ish visuals of Pinterest board: fairytaleish.The pinteresting writing contest is simple: 300 words based on one of the many visually-stunning choices on the Pinterest board. Complete rules are here. Only one week this time, so get your entries in SOON.

 

My humble entry:

 

Faeysicist

The ancient house looked exactly like I thought it would.
I knocked, muttering, “I must be crazy.”
“Can I help you?” A gorgeous blond woman opened the door.
“Um…I thought…wait, is this Professor Mueller’s house?”
She smiled warmly. “Herr Mueller is my grandfather, Dr. Bonnet. He said you’d be coming today.”
The stories about him were true, then. The centenarian’s prescience was as legendary as his knowledge of esoterica.
We wound through the labyrinthine house, filled with overflowing bookshelves and ancient curios. In the back study, Albrecht Mueller was sunning himself by the window.  He smiled at me, eyes sparkling behind bushy, white eyebrows.
“I know why you’re here,” he said.
His surety took me by surprise. “Then you know I won’t stop until I find them.”
“Dr. Bonnet, the faeries left centuries ago. For good reasons.”
I’d heard it all before. We stopped believing.  We didn’t need them. We were all grown up now.
“We were wrong,” I stated unequivocally.  “The Fae are the key to our future.”
Professor Mueller chuckled, “Ironic, isn’t it?”
“I need the location of the doorways.”
“Even if you find the three paths, you would almost certainly die in your attempt to find the Fae. They are not the wholly benevolent force portrayed in Disney stories,” Albrecht said. “Why would you attempt such a thing?”
It was a loaded question. A self-serving response and the knowledge would be lost to me forever.
“I’ve done the math, Professor. Without the Fae…we’re lost.” I steeled my voice with the truth. “Science has taken us as far as it can.  We need the trinity—science, faith, and magic—or we’ll perish as a species.  As surely as I’m standing here.”
“Strange answer for a physicist.” The old alchemist grinned. “But correct.”

300 words

@zombiemechanics

 

Enjoy and good luck to all the other writers!

 


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Flash Fiction Contest: Once Upon a Time Writing

 

Anna Meade (@ruanna3) and co-host Susi Holliday (@sjiholliday) over at YearningForWonderland.blogspot.com are running a flash fiction contest honoring the storyteller’s traditional “Once Upon a Time” theme.  The OUAT writing contest is simple: 350 words of an unexpected or fractured fairy tale. Complete rules are here.  Follow entries on twitter with hashtag #OUATWRITING.

Prizes include a whole BUNCH of nifty stuff, including t-shirts, edits, books, and best of all your entry immortalized for National Flash Fiction day!

 

My humble entry:

Campfire

DEEP IN THE HEART

“Tell me a ghost story, Uncle George.” Patty yawned, her eyes mesmerized by the glowing embers of the campfire.
“Ghost story?” Uncle George kicked his boots out beside the fire. “Don’t know if’n it’s a ghost story, but damned if it ain’t a scary story…”
“I reckon it was a long while back,” George said,
“Like the 70’s?” Patty giggled.
George ignored her sassin’, “My cousin—Buford—was a poor ranchhand down New Braunsfel’s way, and his wife runned oft with the rodeo, leaving him and his two kids all alone.  Now, I don’t remember their God-given names—but everybody called them Bubba and Sissy.  Their daddy took to Honky-Tonking after they momma runned out, and he fell in with this beautiful filly, name of Tiffani.  Buford was in love, because Tiffani had these big ol’….eyes.”
“Big eyes?”
“Never-you-mind,” George stammered. “Pretty soon, Buford and Tiffani went to the Justice and them kids had a new step-mom.”
“Oooh, was she mean? Did she starve them?” Patty asked, her eyes aglow.
“Damn near,” George hissed. “She was a VEGAN! Wouldn’t let no one have no chicken-fried steak, no brisket, not even…one…drop…of gravy.”
Patty gasped, hugging her pillow.
“Pretty soon, Tiffani had her fill of them step-kids and sent ‘em off to summer camp, deep in the woods of East Texas.”
Patty shivered.
“Anyway, Bubby and Sissy skeedaddled from camp to find their way back home.  They was plumb lost, and ended up following their noses to an old smoke shack filled with delicious sausages, turkey, and ribs. Well, they got to eating all of it.  Turns out it was owned by an old Messican woman with glaucoma, who caught them kids red-handed.  She gave them all kinds of Hell, until they tricked ol’ Abuelita into the smoker and called the Texas Rangers,” George chuckled.  “When the cops took them home, ol’ Tiffani was gone.”
“She died?”
“Worse,” George moaned. “She left out to liberal-arts college to study Genders….in CALIFORNIA!”
Patty’s terrified scream filled the night sky.

 

Enjoy and good luck to all the other writers!


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