Posts Tagged ‘flash fiction for aspiring writers’

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Ian Thorn was happy with his reputation as the finest mind in England, his impressive number of completed cases, and the money that piled up in his bank account. What he could live without were the bodies.

It was all right at first. His clients came in and he solved their murders. But then he found a man stabbed to death on the Underground during his morning commute. A visit to his brother’s house in the country revealed a secret Satanic cult.

Solving mysteries was all very good, but he preferred not to have his work follow him home.

“Take a vacation,” his friend, Inspector Banks, said. “Try the beach.”

So Thorn went to the beach. He walked the golden sands, watching sunlight play over clear waters, a salty breeze in his face.

And then he found it, floating in the shallows.

He sighed. There was another case to solve.


Word Count: 150

This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Louise for providing the prompt photo!

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They whisper of her, as they have whispered for six years of watchful peace. To some, she is a legend. To others, she is as real as the scars on their faces, the ruin of their lands, the screams that echo still as they try to sleep at night.

But now, though it is spring and the sun should be bright in the midday sky, dark clouds are drifting in. The wind grows chill and icicles form upon the leaves of trees. Children laugh as the snow settles on the ground, sprouting flowers covered in a blanket of crystalline white. They do not remember.

Horns sound from the mountains and the swift horses tear through the fresh-fallen snow. Above a great multitude in mail and fur flies the flag of the White Lion, billowing in the wind she has made.

They whisper no more.

The Winter Queen has returned.


Word Count: 149

This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Ioniangraphics for providing the prompt photo!

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Music filled the gardens as figures in ballroom dresses and tuxedoes danced under the starlight. Aiko wasn’t one of them. She sat by herself, looking out over the city spread out below.

The grounds stretched over the hillside, full of enclaves, fountains, and winding paths. It was supposed to be natural, but Aiko knew better. Each blade of grass was trimmed perfectly to size; each plant had been specifically selected for its colour, its rarity, its scent, crammed into an unnatural ecosystem. There were no ugly plants, no weeds, no animals.

Aiko’s parents called this place their Eden, their retreat from civilization, but nothing about it was real. As she looked around at the designer chairs and designer gowns, the artificial grass and artificial conversations, she found herself wishing to be down in the streets of the city.

They were dirty, but at least they were real.


Word Count: 147

This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Yarnspinner for providing the prompt photo!

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There is always work for loggers in war. Stakes must be raised to pierce the flanks of horses; ships must be crafted to raid coastlines; siege engines must be fashioned to penetrate high walls.

But rarely was there demand for so much work as quickly as the Prince asked for. The Serpent Crest raiders had raised a fortress in the center of a low valley, rings of hills and cliffs forming a natural fortification. From there, they struck like stinging wasps at the scattered villages.

The Prince wanted them gone.

“Madness,” one logger said to another as they hewed the forest until the earth was bare.

“Madness,” the lords murmured inside the walls of his city.

The Prince’s will was done, his logs stretching across the river.

“Madness,” the Serpent Crest commander whispered as the flood descended upon the valley, the redirected river sweeping away everything in its path.


Word Count: 148

This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Loretta Notto for providing the prompt photo!

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The flimsy, lidless cups sat on Table 19. They struck Victoria as cheap. But then, so did the tea.

“I know it’s a charity auction, but couldn’t they have at least put in a little effort?”

“It’s not as if you’re going to actually buy anything,” James retorted. “We’re here to watch the crowd and see who might have bumped off the deceased donor of these items. Not that I can see why anyone would kill the head of a charity.”

Au contraire.” Victoria looked at the podium. “I have my eye on a very particular item.”

“And!” The announcer held up a tattered toy. “Starting at ten pounds, we have this stuffed bear!

Victoria raised her hand – bidding ten pounds.

That?” James asked. “You’re crazy.” He took a sip of tea and made a face. “It’s terrible. You were right.”

“I always am.” Victoria raised her card to bid again.


Word Count: 150

This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Dawn Miller for providing the prompt photo!

 

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The rusty cart trundled the long roads between scattered villages, weaving its way through the towering, white-capped mountains and valleys filled with the wavering tips of evergreen trees. Its driver was a weather-beaten man, his skin furrowed by deep scars, his brow heavy as iron. For years he had transported the contents of his cart: mighty timbers, narrow beams, splintered planks.

In the wooded mountains, they were garbage, thrown aside without regard. He could not sell there, but he could buy – buy for a couple tin pennies, fingernail-thin.

“Why buy such trash?” the villagers would ask. “A woodsman could get better in a day. You’ll never sell it.”

He did not listen to them. He drove his cart on, over the rising mountains, until white snow and grey stone gave way to a sea of barren beige, where the wind scattered sand over empty skies.

There, his wood sold.


Word Count: 149

This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Yinglan for providing the prompt photo!

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Crystal-clear water flowed over the rough rock, collecting in a deep pool, white foam crashing against tan stone. The steady trickle landed on the body floating in the pool, her brown hair soaked through, her clothes dark and waterlogged, every inch of her dripping. A stream of crimson came from her shoulder, where a black arrow was lodged in her flesh. Her eyes were closed, her limbs still.

Then, with a splutter and a cough, her eyes flashed open and she jerked upright, her legs kicking and her arms splashing. Rings of disturbed water sped out from her as she grabbed at the rock, hauling herself up. She sat there, breathing heavily, wincing at the arrow’s bite. Water ran down her sleeves and her forehead.

She was alive. She had escaped.

But there was no time to rest. They’d be after her soon. She had to keep moving.


Word Count: 148.

This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Maria for providing the prompt photo!