Posts Tagged ‘fiction’

Having been miserably incompetent in any sort of writing achievement for about a year, I was in need of some sort of plan to try and make up for lost time. Working on a longform story is fun, but I’m at that point where I want to market my stories to places, and generally it’s easier, if less rewarding, to shop short fiction than your novel.

My achilles heel is consistency. I am in no way prolific, like a certain other contributor to this blog. And I always make up a bunch of excuses, some of those excuses I was using this very morning. So my latest plan is an attempt to play around those weaknesses while working on improving them at the same time.

I am going to write 100 stories in 100 days.

OK so as I said, I am not prolific. I tend to half-finish most of my projects. If I half-finish this one, then by September 12th, I will have fifty stories ready to go. That sounds like a lot to me. When getting published as a new voice is such a numbers game, the more stories you have the better. And that’s what this is really all about.

I began the challenge for myself yesterday, finishing story 1, “Things That Happened While You Were Waiting for the Train,” today.


There is a grey door in the castle. Nobody asks what is behind it.

Sometimes, sleepers in their cold rooms, shivering in the winter wind, wake up with sweat beading upon their foreheads. They’ve dreamed of Her, the woman behind the grey door: old and young, beautiful and horrifying, weaving a robe from cobwebs and shadows. She has been there for so long, behind the grey door.

“Free me,” she implores.

The sleepers never say what they’ve seen in their dreams.

There is a grey door in the castle. Everybody knows what is behind it.

Word Count: 95

This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and CEayr for providing the prompt photo!

(Supposedly, the door is actually purple, but it looks grey to me. That dress was black and blue, dammit!) 


Orange light splits the evening sky, dancing through the shadows of dark clouds.The sun is falling, drawn gradually down beneath the horizon. He stands upon a high hill, watching it all: the waters sparkling with soft orange, the black silhouettes of the trees, the sky glowing like a world on fire.

You have until sunset.

That is what they told him. This is his last hour. The moment the sun passes beneath the horizon, heading into the unknown dark, he will go with it.

He is not afraid.

There’s no point in fear. Being afraid won’t stop it. It won’t even slow it.

Nobody can stop the sun from setting.

All he can do is watch the burning sky and marvel at its beauty.

And as the dim light fades, he lies back, a smile lingering on his lips as the first of the stars flashes in the cold night.

Word Count: 150

This is for Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Footy and Foodie for providing the prompt photo!


Black clouds spread over rippling seas, over rolling hills of lively green, over ice-capped mountains tall and proud, seeking to cover the earth in a choking shroud.

At their heart, the black dragon reeled to full, terrible height. He was a creature of endless midnight, come from the dark places beyond the earth, his eyes fierce, his teeth sword-sharp. His claws dug deep into the earth, carving deep canyons. All the earth shuddered as he let out a thunderous roar.

Then, there came a shaft of light, piercing white. It stabbed through the clouds, becoming a column of swirling white, like a flurry of numberless doves. The dragon roared at it, breathing black night, but the shaft stood firm and unyielding. It would not break before him.

A man strode forth from the white, a dark shape moving in brightness. He held a bright sword in his hand and his broad shoulders were covered by a coat of hardened leather. Holding his shield before him, he charged towards the dragon.

They met in a fury of blows, the earth quaking beneath each stroke. In the heavens above, the dark clouds tore at the light, but they could not break it.

Word Count: 200

This is for Sunday Photo Fiction!


The bow slid across the violin with furious passion. It was wild as a Crusader’s sword, ferocious as a wild beast, quick as an arrow, held in a hand splotched and stained with chemicals.

The rooms were full of smoke and sound, designed to stimulate his mind, to make it race as fast as the bow. He pressed on, driving his mind as relentlessly as a cruel cab driver might drive his horse.

The answer was there and he would find it. He had to.

For Sherlock Holmes, failure was not an option.

Word Count: 93

This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Björn Rudberg for providing the prompt photo!


The decay came suddenly, as if years were passing in seconds, as if time had made some terrible mistake. Metal rusted; wood rotted; everything fell apart.

Cassie ran, but an invisible barrier threw her back. It felt solid as steel.

Everything froze, as if she was in a paused video.

A groaning sound filled the air and a man in black and white robes appeared, floating in midair.

I’m dreaming, Cassie thought, but she knew she wasn’t.

“I am afraid,” he said, “you won’t be able to leave.”


“Temporal quarantine,” he replied. “I understand it’s inconvenient, but I’m afraid we can’t risk infecting the rest of the universe.”

“So what?” she asked. “I have to stay here for my entire life?”

“I’m afraid so. I suggest you find a way to entertain yourself.”

Cassie stood just behind the barrier, looking out a world she could see but never touch.

Word Count: 150

This is for Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Barb CT for providing the prompt photo!


He watched from the shoreline as the ships gathered in the bay, filling the sparkling marbled blue of the water. There was a barrier in front of him, telling him to go no further, and yellow lines on the ground, telling him that he had already gone too far. He wasn’t supposed to be there. If the Inspectors found him, they could have him imprisoned. Or, if they didn’t want to take the time to look him up, they could say he was resisting arrest and fill him with bullets. He knew he shouldn’t have come, that the risk was too great.

But he had to see. He had to see them leave.

They were the lucky ones, the ones healthy enough, wealthy enough, their pasts clean enough, to enter utopia. They were the elite, the ones who had been selected for survival, and they were running.

The ships began to turn, heading one by one out into the infinite blue. He watched as they went, leaving him behind, the saved in their precious arks.

It won’t work, he thought. They’re running, but they’re bringing everything with them. It’ll just start again. 

They’re no better off than I am. 

Word Count: 199

This is for Sunday Photo Fiction!