‘Flash fiction is a genre of fiction, defined as a very short story.‘
‘Flash fiction, also called minimalist fiction, is a fictional work of extreme brevity that still offers character and plot development.‘
#30words30days Flash Fiction Challenge : September 2024
I participated in the #30words30days Flash Fiction Challenge in September 2024, on the X platform. Thank you to @WritingDani for providing the daily prompts and stoking the fires! Here are my contributions.
As treatment progresses, I visualise the mass shrinking and shrivelling. My body fights valiantly to conquer the evil. Defiant, I declare my impending victory. Yet I grow weaker each day.
The scoundrel flourished the flapping dove drawn from the hat (amazing bystanders), while deftly pocketing the gentleman’s coin purse. The street urchin, witnessing the mischief, swiped the loot, fleeing undetected.
Ashy empty echoes faded, and pangs of aching loneliness dwindled. Tidal tears receded. Jagged edges of widowhood grief softened. The shimmer of a new dawn revealed tiny sparkles of hope.
Under duress, our soft ball of fairytale contentment thinned and flattened, broadened and smeared, until the brittle edges chipped away. The shiny finish faded and flaked, dulled to charcoal black.
The huddle of teenage shoulders rattled with hearty laughter. Firelight dappled, beers and cigarettes brandished. They surveyed our group of preening girls. John locked eyes with me, unveiling the potential.
My tidal rhythms seem relentlessly routine and mundane. Sometimes, the moon magics ebbs of sadness and disappointment, tugs of grief. But surprising frothy swells of sheer joy make it bearable.
It started as a tiff. A minor misunderstanding. Fuelled by goading from uninvolved parties (purely for their own entertainment), the prickly stand-off evolved into a full-blown fist flying bloody war.
When she withdrew her affections and turned away, his wild spirit wilted. His posture sagged, his energy flagged and his confident words petered out. Until he found another to love.
One hundred seeds, slyly sown, lie dormant and insidious. Black horny shells with sour evil cores, ready to sprout when the summer storms strike. Villagers sleep soundly as clouds gather.
The initial overwhelming attraction and steamy romance finally fizzled and fell away. Revealed was not the vapours of lost dreams, but the steady satisfying bond of friendship, trust and loyalty.
Breathlessly, she waited for his words to fall. Pulse quickening, head throbbing. Hopeful. He patted her arm, and she stretched her lips to form a smile, belying her shattering disappointment.
A wave of panic swept over me. Visions of slave trade, organ harvest and even murder flashed before me. Mum’s dire warnings echoed. That was the last time I hitch-hiked.
The sound of heavy machinery, and the vision of giant trees falling, one block away from home distressed Edna, galvanising her to lobby Council. She rebelled against progress. Unstoppable progress. (galvanise)
Just one look deep into his eyes, and I saw the bitter truth. He dropped his head and swallowed his spilling words. Excuses and reasons faltered. His fragile alibi crumpled.
With her business successes, Bethany’s confidence burgeoned. Her sense of self-importance ballooned. When her judgement failed and oversights transpired, they were camouflaged and attributed to others. Her reputation remained unblemished.
Deprived of all but the barest essentials, the little mite survived. While scraggly and undernourished, she grew hardy and resilient. When the seasons changed, she thrived with the unexpected warmth.
From the lofty heights of public appeal (afforded by impeccable bloodline, bank balance and rugged good looks), Jake’s fall from favour gathered momentum. Support plummeted with the scandalous media headlines.
Over years, I watch her form. Vapours of childhood to currents of youth. Condensing, consolidating. Becoming a mother herself, she crystallises. Strong and beautiful, to be shaped, smoothed and polished. (become)
Initially, Maddy entranced him: her beauty, cheeky spirit and obvious adoration of him. As she weathered, her spark faded and her waistline expanded. His interest waned and he looked elsewhere.
James had lost the biting tartness of youth. Having weathered storms, he developed a softness, a sweetness, a blush of colour. Now he’s mellow, ready to offer himself to her. (ripen)
Gone are the years of youth and vigour. Joyfully dancing in the breeze. Now I have faded. I am withered, furled, limp. Waiting to let go, wavering in the wind.
As her labour progressed, surges of terror washed over her with each pain. Remembering lost babies, she was unable to reach towards hope. The newborn’s cry brought tears of thanks.
His words of apology were adequate, the tone almost sincere. The flirty glance from beneath his blonde flopping fringe stole my breath. But his flinty sapphire eyes held only lies.
I’m not a crier. I’m contained as tidal rhythms of emotion peak and recede. Sometimes though, without warning, your memory rises and holds me, and my heart surges and overflows.
I won’t speak of this budding romance until I’m sure. Will it wither while still tightly furled? Will it become overblown in an instant? Will it bloom bright and strong?
They huddled over the Polaroid, watching the shapes take form. The vague grainy textures refined, colours strengthened. They’d both seen the beast, but the fully developed photo revealed only shadows.
The arriving ship passengers glimpsed the Statue of Liberty through the fog. As the vista of the city expanded, Catherine’s excitement soared. Ready for her new life in the colonies.
Katie had been deeply wounded by Trashy Tara’s savage rumour spreading. Options for revenge abounded, but Katie was fixed on the singular plot to post those photos … slightly digitally altered.
She unfolded the treasured letter. Creased, crumpled, tear-smudged. The faded scrawl was barely legible. Pressing the page to her lips, she heard the distant echoes of his words of love.
The seed of doubt was planted in my mind years ago. The sense strengthened with each late homecoming, each hushed phone conversation. I’m positive now, but wretchedly rooted in place.
#30words30days Flash Fiction Challenge : June 2024
I participated in the #30words30days Flash Fiction Challenge in June 2024, on the X platform. Thank you to @WritingDani for providing the daily prompts and stoking the fires! Here are my contributions.
My heart’s a hard core of unforgiving flesh, as bitter as unripened fruit compressed within pale green thick skin. I yearn for sunshine and rain drops. To soften and yield.
We are droplets of oil in fast flowing water. Bubbles of raw emptiness, vulnerable and aching. We tumble and plunge, bounce and thrash. Finally, blended, we ooze and swirl gently.
Fresh, verdant, dew-laden, lush, bountiful. Birdsong and the sound of bees filled her ears. Fractured, vacuous, desiccated, limp, barren. Palm held firm against her flat belly, shuddering sobs racked her.
She leafed through the well-thumbed pages of the Walt Whitman volume. Drowsy and mellow, wine glass in hand. Reflected firelight on a blade. A shadowy figure. Shattering glass. Dropped book.
Abandoned on her wedding day, Veronica was shocked, swamped by shame and self-pity. Now, she’s fuelled to battle by the stench of duplicity and the bitter aftertaste of sweet untruths.
He glared at the intrusion, squaring his papers and lining up his pens. Fortified by wine, I boldly declared ‘I want a divorce.’ A single forearm sweep cleared the desk. (square)
Your emerald eyes pierce me. No, it’s only light through the Tanqueray bottle. I finger the sobriety coin in my pocket, surrendering to the shameful prospect of your inevitable judgement.
The first flush of ardour crept gently. The soft blush of your cheeks, gentle brush of your fingertips. Then passion unleashed, lavish and lush, before your cruel rejection crushed me.
The folly of coveting what you know not well. When Suzy’s best friend’s husband was convicted of murdering his mistress, Suzy felt renewed affection for her staid, reliable (boring) husband.
The diagnosis was a shock, belying what I could see. Olive sun-kissed skin slick over toned muscles, youthful vigour, ready smile. I would adore my man for his remaining time.
After dating for five years, I hoped for a ‘surprise’ marriage proposal. When John took me to the fancy restaurant, I preened especially. The break-up preceded dessert, gentle but devastating.
Simon studied hard. Uni life was also partying hard: wooing, excessive drinking, junk food. No time for sleep or exercise. ‘It’s scurvy,’ the doctor said. ‘Embrace the fruit and vegetables!’
He was intrigued by her refreshing aura of innocence. She seemed untarnished by the harsh realities of life, unchallenged by hardship. He wondered, though, was it a carefully crafted illusion? (innocent)
Nursing my lemon, lime and bitters, I try to feel satisfied. Despite the reassuring stale beer fumes, sticky bartop, echo of TV horse racing and pool ball clicks, I fail.
When you left, I didn’t pine. I cried no tears. Dad told me you didn’t love us any more. I don’t believe that any more, Mum, but it’s too late.
Nagging doubts, sleep deprivation, overwhelm, wacky hormones, cracked nipples. So many challenges of new motherhood. Tender moments of lingering skin contact, sustained gaze, new baby smell make it all worthwhile.
Beryl felt a stab of envy, watching her grand-children play. For their energy, enthusiasm, innocence, unbridled joy. Warmth swept over her. Recalling shared experiences, full relationships, life well-lived. No regrets.
From time to time, I need to paddle from the relentless currents of life’s fast-flowing stream. I rest my head on a moss-covered stone, hold your hand and just breathe.
The breeze ruffles the grasses and wildflowers dance. The village elders watch innocent children play. Vigilant. They remember the horror buried beneath the meadow. It’s never spoken of. Dread lurks.
She’s a people pleaser, by nature. Ready to accommodate expressed wishes of others. Also sensitive to their deeply buried (perhaps even unacknowledged) desires. Everyone loves her. But she’s left empty.
The young see only the frailties. The stooped spine, shuffling steps, grey hair and wrinkles. Until it’s their turn. Then the wispy veil falls away and their hearts beat steady.
We lay on a bed of cast-off needles. The firs around us reach the clouds, framing our patch of blue sky. Enveloped by the aroma of childhood Christmases, we remember.
Their bonding was a long tedious journey. Teenage attraction, awkward innocent courting. Wholesome. Organic. Both late bloomers, they discovered the thrill of risk and recklessness in their tenth year together.
Although his words were often tart, he was rarely challenged. His barbs were softened by a practised boyish grin and roguish charm. With me alone, he didn’t trouble to moderate.
When I first ventured to the city, I was rough and raw. Troubles and hardship abraded my shell. Friendship, understanding and love polished me to the sheen of precious jade.
Firmly grounded, Briana adapted to the elements. The constant demands as wife and mother. She swayed to the breeze, pulsed to the gusts, bent to the gales. Pliable, yet unbreakable.
Little Mickie often stowed veges from his dinner plate in the tissue on his lap. A well-practised manoeuvre. Three peas bouncing across the kitchen floor tonight gave the game away.
Sickness had decimated the tribe. Youngsters were particularly vulnerable. The gods must be displeased. The sage thumped his staff on the ground. ‘A sacrifice is required!’ The elders nodded grimly.
Grief had taken its toll. Her heart was black and her spirit frayed. Couldn’t care less. Her true inner self was poorly disguised by fresh minty breath and cheap cologne.
We took our vows, enraptured. Then we were buffered by bouncing babies and teething toddlers. Distracted by sulky schoolkids and testy teenagers. Now alone, together. We’ve grown. We are strong. (growth)
_____
#30words30days Flash Fiction Challenge : April 2024
I joined the #30words30days Flash Fiction Challenge in April 2024, on the X platform. Thank you to @WritingDani for leading the charge!
Here are my contributions.
By nature, I was reserved. Responsible. Boring. That chance encounter introduced a frisson, seduction, terrifying freedom and whimsy. Ignoring the disapproval, we held hands and leapt into the glorious unknown.
The rosy calm of dawn was fractured by the eruption of savagery. Wild, merciless. Two breaths later, the flare of hostility was extinguished to the beat of a waning pulse.
Her shell had thickened to survive the jagged adolescent wounds. When the time was right, she reached skywards, unfurled her delicate petals and danced in the gentle breeze. Smiling. Free. (blossom)
He indulged in momentary sanctuary, unclenched his jaw and rested his eyes. Whispering a desperate prayer, he swallowed the fear, resumed the attacking position, hoisted his weapon and took aim.
Despite the warmth flowing from his fingers and the jewels from his tongue, she glimpsed the darkness in his eyes. Enlightened, her demure smile was as dishonest as his intentions.
Huddled, she rocked to centre and settle herself, welcoming the blessed silence. Squirming, a snuffle and a feeble squeak built again to an urgent crescendo, matching the exhausted mother’s distress.
She alone witnesses the gentleness of his heart, his frailty and vulnerability. She discovered the flicker in the depths of his darkness. The world sees only cruelty, sin and deceit.
Rested and calm, she emerged from the sludge of inertia. Lingering, she took the first cautious step. Dawdling at first, she built momentum emboldened by the thrill of dynamic vigour.
Many small encouragements nurtured the ember to a flickering light then a reluctant flame. It only takes one villain to cast a dark shadow and reduce her spirit to ash.
He took her home. Escaping the turmoil, remote from the chaos, far from life’s hustle and noise. They were two, in the stillness, gently exploring each other. It was enough.
The spirited exchange of expletives whirled into a frenzy of punches, high-pitched screams, hair pulls and raking nails. Onlookers coalesced eagerly, but melted into the shadows as sirens drew close.
It all started with Tinder. On stark barren ground, a spark created an ember. A breath of hope fanned the tentative flame, stoking the fire until it flared and sizzled.
Feathers and moulded clay beads dangle from raven braids. Mud smears adorn proud stoic faces. Restless horses snort foggy clouds. The war cry releases the braves to attack the unsuspecting.
She was eternally compressed, firmly packed with flimsy padding. Constricted by relentless routine and social expectations. Turning away, she discovered space to breathe. She stretched and swayed to her tune.
The death of my first-born sucked me dry. Barren, desolate, arid. Gritty as coarse desert sand. After just long enough, clouds came, gentle rain fell, trickling on my parched lips.
The marks inflicted one by one form a pattern over time. Layer upon layer, obscuring the pale beginnings. Branded as his. Perhaps others see sharp beauty. What do they know?
The air was heavy with swirling anticipation and droplets of dread. My mother’s breaths slowed, her soul ready to float. With her last sigh, we held hands, our tears unshed.
Sent from a distant star, his mission was to infiltrate and eradicate. Being one of them, he would spread his seed widely. Over generations, evil will dominate. Destruction is inevitable.
Your enterprise grew and profits soared with years of unwavering focus and dedicated energy. But the vine of you and me withered. The last dry leaf drifts to the ground. (grow)
On the first day at my new school, I was shoved by the bullying element. Circling the prey. Carefully crafted defiance and rebellion aimed to intimidate. I’d found my people.
That night, I became a brittle frame over aching emptiness. Hurt. Stunted, scarred, stark. Finally, I forgave her. Now, swirling hope fills my void, and I’m ready to love again.
Your first droplet quenched my thirst. But with time, your waters diluted my colour and faded my spirit. Your flow tumbled and churned me, dashing me against the jagged rocks.
You offered our family strength, structure and stability. Rigid as brittle bleached bones in the desert. I yearn to sway in the breeze. To flow with the tides. To pulse.
The moonlight struck the symbols chalked onto the jet slab. Siobhan couldn’t decipher the characters, but the message from the severed finger was clear. Mist enclosing, screams filled her ears.
When the weather is fair, your winds tickle the leaves and whisper sweetly in my ear. When the season turns, you whip into a vortex. I hunker down and wait.
Jackson came home to me after his second tour in Afghanistan. His body was whole, and he bravely wore the heavy mask of coping. But I have lost my husband.
My child, I’ve watched you form. Swirling vapours of spirit growing texture and shape. The shell just hard enough to protect your exquisite inner softness. Jagged edges smoothed with time.
Winds raised choking clouds of dust from the parched earth. The sky darkened, lighting blazed, thunder roared. Angry spears of rain fell on smiling upturned faces. Finally, the river flowed.
Your perfection overwhelmed me. Possessing rare beauty and tenderness, you cast diamonds from your tongue, captivating me and filling my heart. Far too late I discovered your hidden sinister essence.
Since your green unfurling, you battled the blight. Before you dance in the breeze, disease strips you from the branch. Before you blush to golden russet and your edges curl.
_____
#30words30days Flash Fiction Challenge : April 2023
There was a #30words#30days Flash Fiction Challenge in April 2023, on Twitter – ‘I’m doing a challenge to write a 30word story, each day for 30 days, inspired by Writers Centre Victoria, and their Flash Fiction Writing Challenge’. These were my entries in 2023.
Standing alone, shunned by turned backs, inspected sideways from the huddle. My apprehension is realised. She takes my hand, leads me forward. A ray of welcome emerges, whispering of hope. (clique)
The rigid shackles of ritual, once honoured, release. I savour the freedom, celebrate the victory, take comfort in the familiar. The sword plunges into my fearless heart, and I rejoice.
Close but apart. Separated by a harsh line of reality. Fate provides contrast. We are adjacent. Finally, the edges blur. The colours of our hearts blend, complementary shades mingling gently.
The hostiles were decorated for battle. He cowered, then resolutely stood and staggered, running the gauntlet. Pummelled, poked, jeered and spat upon, he lurched and crumpled at the chief’s feet. (initiation)
It was a standoff. Natives against interlopers. Jolts of indignation at the intrusion. Sparks of fury ignited the bitter skirmish. Flying fur, clacking claws, flurry of feathers. Limping to retreat.
A meeting of the minds, but not hearts or souls. Professional respect, but personal animosity. Harsh rivalry fostered by management for the greater good, I finally realise, choking on bitterness.
Our clan is close but not clingy. Strong but not stifling. We’re bonded by invisible yet unbreakable threads. Each person is free to fly, secure in love and trust.
It’s less about the destination. The dawn brings joy of anticipation: exploring, discovering, tasting, forging a new path together. The dusk is savouring shared experiences. The pleasure is the journey. (company)
Teeth clenched, brow furrowed, mind swirling. I’m wound tight from workday pressures. Home at last. Dinner cooking, wine poured, his arms open. I melt into the embrace of secure love. (belong)
_____
#30words30days Flash Fiction Challenge : April 2022
Writers Victoria held an April Flash Fiction competition 2019-2022. ‘Every day for thirty days, we’ll post a prompt on our Twitter and via newsletter for participants to write 30 words about – the theme for 2022 is ‘glimmer’. These were my entries in 2022.
She sagged under the burden of thundering cruel words. Enough. She swallowed the whimper and sucked back the subdued breath. Delving into buried grit, she rose.
Blanketed by darkness, breeze-licked flames dance, as musical notes linger. This surprising oasis grants release, gifting decompression and soothing the tension in my brow.
My heart was dappled with the ash stain of grief. Finally, the blush of hope crept like the incoming tide to cleanse and refresh.
I strained to listen. Unable to identify the faint sound, I cracked the door open and peeked. At my feet was a snuffling baby wrapped in a filthy blanket.
Cowering in the shadows behind the dank, salt-encrusted chest, I was well within his foul reach. I hoped his gaze would be drawn to the flickering flame behind the windowpane.
Buried deep lies the inkling of a distant memory. The colours are faded, the edges blurred and the detail indistinct. But the emotion still warms my aching heart.
She lay tousled, with a fevered brow, unfocused eyes and parched lips. Even at her lowest ebb, she was the sole sparkle in my drab existence. I clutched her hand.
The faintest glow kissed the clouds behind the silhouetted trees. Hinting, teasing. A glimmer then a flare, as the brilliant majesty of the rising lunar orb burst forth.
