Flash Fiction

Below, some of my faves . Each was an entry in a 100 word-or-less competition, with the five prompt words listed under the title.

* * *


(Prompt words: may, play, brie, whee, quick)

Daddy, quick – watch me slide! Whee!
Sally, four. All giggles, sloppy ice-cream kisses.

Daddy, please may I have Jaimee over to play?
My daughter, nine. Nudges and whispered secrets.

Daddy, I love you. Father’s Day, thirteen. No more under-the-table cubbyhouses…

My own car? Thank you, Daddy! Squeals; hugs of gratitude.

An aisle; a walk; a bride on my arm. Tears, threatening, choked back. My heart too big for my chest.

These memories should be treasured forever.

But they’re ones I’ll never have.

The tiny limp body in my arms? My Sally?

I curse the day brie was created.

An entry in Janet Reid’s Flash Fiction contest. Shortlisted, with the comment: This one got got the biggest “oof” from me. *crazy happy dancing*


(Prompt words: ex, fan, her, ore, wits)

“Caught them!” he exulted.

Thousands of slaves had fled. Dimwits. Thinking escape was possible!

But now the sea lay at their backs. And he would collect recompense for the disasters they’d caused. They’d pay dearly; his son’s blood demanded it.

He blamed his grandmother for this. If not for her, their fanatic leader would never have survived past infancy.

No matter. He knew that, down on the shore, the slaves, anxious, awaited his revenge. Would he massacre them? Re-enslave them? Or even worse?

Let them stew ‘til morning. They could go nowhere.

Down on the shore, Moshe raised his arms.

An entry in Janet Reid’s Flash Fiction contest. Given a Special Mention: “I like the elegance of this writing” *grins*

* * *


(Prompt words: absorb, bold, chill, execute, shim)

The bus jerks forwards.
“Bloody Asians! Go home!”
“Fucking slants!”
“Piss off!”
Boys, emboldened by pack mentality. Itching to execute righteous judgement on boat people.
Recent media attention had sparked public rants; I’d barely noticed.

The bus stops. The youths push past, exit.
“Are you okay?” A lady touches my shoulder. “Idiots. We’re not all like that.”

I smile indulgently at her, absorbing her implications. That wasn’t at me. I’m white.
Aren’t I?

A sudden chill shimmies over me.
Mum is from Malaysia.

My eyes widen but I harden my face. Inside, keening erupts as cognizance obliterates innocence.

An entry in Janet Reid’s Flash Fiction contest –  Shortlisted! *huge grin*

* * *


(Prompt words: chute, eject, gape, less, plunge)

“There’s nothing you’ve done that will make God love you less,” the preacher finished. Nope. I can’t believe that. He walked out.
There’s no forgiveness for what I’ve done.

He crossed the street, oblivious to screeching tyres and blaring horns. I deserve punishment.

He chose the building on the corner. It was empty, mid-renovation. No one will intervene. He climbed up to the roof.Pedestrians will gape; call the police. It’ll be too late. He strode straight off, eyes closed. Life can’t get any worse. I’m a reject.
Down he plunged.

Into the waiting maw of the builders’ rubbish chute.

Entered into Janet Reid’s Flash Fiction contest – given a Special Mention: “love the idea behind this”

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