Friday Flash Fiction Contest #1

flash-fiction-contest-1

Hey guys! Happy Friday! …so guess what that means?

We get to do some flash fiction.

Are you excited? Cuz we sure are.

First off, the prompt:

doral-future-building

Photo courtesy of Huffington Post.

 

Alright, so here are the rules:

1)Β Your flash fiction piece must be between 150 and 200 words. Any longer or shorter than that and you’ll automatically be disqualified.

2) You can write any genre, but please no explicit porn or gore. (Someone could get that from this picture. Trust me.) Dark themes are fine, and strong language is a-ok, as long as it isn’t hateful.

3) Submissions can be received until midnight central time (Chicago, USA). Any later than that and you won’t be considered for the contest. You can, however, post your story and look for feedback from other participants!

4) Post the story on your site first, and leave a link to it in the comments below. This way, everyone can see what you’ve written and leave feedback! If you do not have a blog or place to post your story, no worries–you can leave the story itself as a comment. Oh, and the comments are moderated–don’t worry, we’ll get to yours.

5) Leave your Twitter handle in the comments as well, please!

6) Have fun. πŸ™‚

 

What does the winner get?

The winner gets the honor of being our very first author to be interviewed on the site. You’ll be able to promote your work and get links to your site as well. The interview will be five questions–so it won’t take much time–and it’ll be fun. We promise! We’ll pick the winner by the end of this weekend.

 

If you haven’t followed us yet, you can subscribe to the blog, follow us on Twitter, or link to us on your blog. Whatever floats your boat!

Good luck!

19 Comments

  1. Extraction by Emily Hudson @leminy

    Inside, Patient 113 was strapped to an old hospital bed with her head in a metal brace that held it perfectly still. Long metal arms extended across her face and her mouth was forced open by the metal frames of a Whitehead gag, her jaws almost buckling from the over-hyped ratchet mechanism.

    The Doctor reached for the syringe of Lidocaine and pushed the steel needle into her gums to disperse the nerve-blocking liquid. Her throat became numb and her breathing laboured. The Doctor secured his mask, and reached for the elevator, extraction forceps, and the scalpel. As he began his experiment, a team of medical students circled round like hungry vultures.

    Outside, a gaggle of townspeople stood motionlessly amongst the verdant scenery. They couldn’t hear any noise from inside the white cocoon-like building but still they waited silently, anticipatedly – peering into the open entrance with its lettuce-edge hem.

    After a short time, a large man in a pinstripe suit emerged from the shell. In a clinical tone he called out, β€œNumber 114?” A woman ran forward excitedly, brandishing her folded, numbered ticket. β€œAah, welcome,” he extended his hand to shake hers, and directed her inside.

    Twitter: @leminy
    LinkedIn: uk.linkedin.com/in/emilyhudson
    Web: blueintervention.blogspot.co.uk

  2. It appeared overnight. Random things often appeared now the Universal Web had taken over humanity. It looked like a melted cheesecake decoration. Some units drifted over and viralled holograms. A few commented, β€˜Ho-hum.’, and got on with important messages.
    One unit, Billy, entered. And went off-line, causing a microviral. Only a trillion units flagged it. Then the Pleiades supernova went live, making the UW throb as a teraviral event surged. No unit commented that the identical event had glitched up interfaces seven dotbeats previously. Even less cared. The fix-patch had been downloaded direct into cortical processors.
    When Billy de-acquired the UW signal he pancaked. In the silence, his body sent signals to his cortical processor. He had hit the ground flat, splat. The smell of earth slipped up his olfactory sensor. His nose. His eyes saw a white, inside funnel overhead. His hands touched flowers. His ears listened to the wind. Carefully, he sat up and examined his arms. Still hairy. Rubbing his chin, he thought about shaving. He needed a wash. Under his grubby tunic was his umbilical scar. It was nothing but a little round button, with a word tattooed under it. Reboot.
    He pressed it.

    I tweet @ZenaHagger

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