Tag Archives: 100 words

Flash Fiction is Back: “Victorious” (100)

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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.

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Landing (98)

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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.

Dead (97)

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

A body discovered. A person disappeared.

She died there, in the cold dark before dawn, when the air is thin like a blade. Ice crystals formed on her lashes and in the corners of her eyes.

I imagine these tears escaped at the last moment, when only a subconscious would be left, before her lungs and heart stilled, but the breath was already slight. She would not have cried before, even if she were afraid.

I would have cried.

Beautiful enough and worthless enough to be killed in some archaic performed artistry. Oh, what have we sacrificed.

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

To Remember Massacre (100)

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

Between Bear River and Beaver Creek, in the shifting light of dawn, a Red-winged Blackbird calls, seeing the morning, and plays the same whistle for the sun that it does every day.

A Blackbird knows time. It notices the color of the leaves, thick against a branch. It does not remember heavy snow or the color of blood.

This is not redemption or forgiveness. For war, for murder, we get neither; at least not right away. This is only the sweep of time over a place; the realization of a natural world that is absent in judgment, slow in retribution.

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

To Starve (98)

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

We die slowly.

Our mothers bring scraps, our fathers weep. For us, the politicians come making speeches; they declare what is right and what is wrong. They call for money, always more money. We watch and are subdued, as they cry out, with fists of rage to wave at injustice.

From where we lay, collapsed into the earth, we see a world like ash. Dust blows over us and we close our eyes. At the last, each of us is alone.

Yet together we are millions, hungry and quiet. Is this the wasteland? Is this the promised heaven?

For more flashes prompted by this week’s photo, and to learn more about flash fiction, visit Madison Woods and explore.

Imaginary Friend (100)

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We ran down the driveway, slowing to a walk after the bike shed, where she began to tell me about tiny villages among the rocks along the riverbank.

“They’re real,” she said, not meaning the villages so much as the inhabitants.

Wouldn’t that be nice, I thought. She chatted away.

“I found a place further in, where a tree fell – the roots are all wrenched up and it’s beautiful underneath.”

I smiled and nodded because it was my job, because she had imagined me in the first place. But I was jealous, and I wished I could exist there alone.

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

For more flashes prompted by this week’s photo, and to learn more about flash fiction, visit Madison Woods and explore.

Trip (99)

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He told me the ceiling was abuzz, described a scarf writhing, and explained that everything slithered because a switch had been flipped to the ‘on’ position.

I was young.

I followed him in, and witnessed blood racing through veins – my veins – too narrow to possibly confine this pounding rush. Yet they did. My whole body coursed in some brilliance of bursting color and flashing through me and vibrating so that the Back Catalogue on my wall was alive in stippled rainbow technicolor.

It didn’t go all at once. It faded as sunlight toward dusk. And now it is dark.

A Photo Prompt from Good Madison

For more flashes prompted by this week’s photo, and to learn more about flash fiction, visit Madison Woods and explore.