Category Archives: flashy fiction

snippets of fantasy, between 50 and 500 words, that go bang

Flash Fiction is Back: “Victorious” (100)

The photo inspiration for Friday Fictioneers

The photo inspiration for Friday Fictioneers

For what it was worth, she had won. As if siphoning life through competition, breathing in victory like oxygen, and being the one who stood at the regal apex were enough to justify any means. Of course, having passed the figurative tortoise, she was now standing cold on the pavement, watching her brother cross a different sort of finish line, family in tow.

The thought was commonplace; a holiday reflection prompted by a chance sighting. Laughter. What it would mean to have lost the salary and gained something else – something normal, unquantifiable.

And yet, she had no time for nonsense.

For more flashes prompted by this image, and to learn more about flash fiction, visit Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple and explore the Friday Fictioneers.

Another Excerpt from the Leonard Story (in need of motivation)


“You have hardly explained any of it,” Leonard said. “I will help you if I can, but then you will leave us alone.”

It was not a question. The cat bobbed its head once; the paper remained blank. Leonard felt strangely at ease.

“What are you?” he asked.

“Get your books and pencils,” the cat replied. “The answer must be among them.” The words remained. And below them more appeared, “You have your father’s things as well, I expect?”

Unlikely (101)


This image was provided by Madison Woods as inspiration for the Friday Fictioneers

My dad showed me how to pluck berries from among the thorns, how to gather the precise right amount for a single emergency pie, how to stir the cornstarch with mashed ones and sugar until it thickened. We used oreo crusts and a layer of cream cheese between crust and filling. I was the best picker because I wouldn’t eat them; I had strategies for efficiency and fastidious concentration.

Something is unlikely about it.

In sports I have always been distractible. I am clumsy even with furniture, let alone thorns. I eat small things impulsively.

Yet raspberries, somehow, I can pick.

For more flashes prompted by this image, and to learn more about flash fiction, visit Madison Woods and explore the Friday Fictioneers.

Landing (98)


This image was provided by Madison Woods as inspiration for the Friday Fictioneers

Two land in fingers of light. Consider the inhabitants. This new place is brighter, though maybe for worse, they think.

What instinct guides a being to move on? What catches in the spirit and signals where to stop, where to begin again?

These two peered in a window, not seeing glass but a barrier. These two were only scouts, the harbingers of change for a whole – what? colony? tribe? civilization? Harbingers.

Somehow we are never paying attention. The beginnings of change, the largest of threats – these begin as quietly as a moth lands. In the still sleeping morning.

For more flashes prompted by this image, and to learn more about flash fiction, visit Madison Woods and explore the Friday Fictioneers.

Apple Pie



Unaware that you are being watched, you reach an arm under the fence, scooping apples from the neighbor’s yard.

You know the rule, but Dad won’t make pie unless you get enough apples, and so you are cheating because you want the pie and because you think that no one is home. Until a shadow passes over you, you do not realize that you been found out. Your hand pulls back of its own accord, but the withered old man from next door has snuck up on you and he is going to tell your mother. He grimaces before speaking. His voice is strange and garbled like a robot long left to rust.

“Those are mine,” he says.

And you try to think of possible retorts or explanations, but your mouth has gone dry and excuses seem futile. So you offer him the basket, knowing that this is a chance at survival. Knowing that maybe he will accept this peace dove. The pie is not important anymore — now this is about avoiding an hour cleaning the basement.


Unaware that you were being watched, you make a dash for the stairs. It is, of course, too late, and the jolt of electricity surprises you into a heap on the floor. A guard approaches and prods you with something, but responding doesn’t seem possible, let alone worth it. You try to imagine that apple tree in the back yard. It was terrible for climbing, but the apples were small and yellow and so sweet. Someone used to make pie. Who was that?

Grandmothers make pies, right? But no, that’s not right. No.

Wait. It was your Dad. He loved apple pie. You remember the smell of crust browning in the oven before being filled. The curling, bubbling cinnamon smell. You had a rat named Cinnamon once; now you are the rat.

You are in the cage. You are mastering the mazes, learning the routines, obeying the rules.

When escape occurs to you again, you remember that they were watching before. You remember the electricity and the prodding. You think, “They are watching still.”


Unaware that you are being watched, you stick a finger into the cinnamon and sugar, mixed and ready by the pie shells. You can hear Dad in the pantry, slicing apples. You feel the gritty sugar on your skin and smell the cinnamon. Soon, you have stuck your whole hand into the bowl.

Only then do you realize that your mother has been sitting on the couch behind you. Maybe it is the look of horror on your face, or the absurdity of what you’ve done, but she beings to laugh.

At first you are nervous, but she laughs and laughs and you begin to laugh, too.

Later, she hugs you and tells you not to do it again. “What a mess,” she says, and then she laughs again.


Unaware that you were being watched, you eat the whole pie. Each bite is sweet and crumbling and smooth in your mouth. It is so good.

And then you are grounded.

For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Fran challenged me with “unaware that you were being watched, you…. (finish the story),” and I challenged Kameko Murakami with “wearing purple and green, like a thug.”