To celebrate their 30th anniversary, Writers Victoria ran a flash fiction competition in April, 2019. For 30 days they posted a prompt at 8:00 am and we had until midnight to write a 30 words response.
The word limit forced entrants to focus on a key theme and to strip anything redundant. It was fascinating to read the entries and see who had clever concepts, who slipped in a plot and who focused on pure poetry.
Camaraderie formed between the participants and Twitter friendships have been cemented. The wonderful @AnotherCatLane has started a weekly flash fiction competition, Flash Thru The Weekend. Check out #FlaThWe for more info.
I was lucky enough to win April 7 for the prompt Saltwater. Here are my first 10 stories. More to come …
April 1 Grit
The house was a dump, but it was all she had. She blinked grit, tears streaming, as the flames roared. No insurance. Her father was right; she was a screw-up.
April 2 Irritation
‘Irritated? No. I’m fucking furious.’
‘It was a simple mistake.’
‘The wrong tablets could kill her.’
‘She might be just another patient to you, but she’s my mother.’
April 3 Diving
Fetu hovered in his canoe, poised to dive, razor sharp knife in hand. Come nightfall, it would be shark or boy. He would return a man, or not at all.
April 4 Freshwater
The river slowed around the bend. A peaceful resting place. “Double Indemnity” research confirmed his life insurance. Hands trembling, he approached the unblinking eyes in the shallows. Death by crocodile.
April 5 Rare
Professor Ingleton rubbed his temples. Nobody met his criteria, their intelligence in short supply.
The sharp-eyed woman devoured his questions.
Now, here was an engineer he could work with.
April 6 Freedom
He nagged, poked, turned my stomach to acid.
I brushed him off, ran to hide, but couldn’t escape.
I came clean.
And guilt, my ugly companion, walked away.
April 7 Saltwater (My winning entry)
The serpent rises from the ocean seabed and looms over the pirate ship.
Captain Cutthroat battles to right the hefty vessel.
A voice calls, “Out of the bath now, Johnny.”
April 8 Baroque
A hush descends, the baton rises,
Light snow begins to fall.
A sigh, a trill, virtuoso games,
Icicle rainbows dance.
A maestro’s joy, Vivaldi Winter,
The listeners shiver with delight.
April 9 Imitation
Tired eyes smile. So much love. “Say Mama.”
“Oh, come on, that’s not fair. Say Mama.”
Tired eyes droop. She’s asleep in seconds.
A gentle coo. “Mama.”
April 10 Shell
Every summer, sun-scorched paddocks bled his dams dry. Fire danger soared.
This year, he stared unblinking at the home’s charred shell. The news. So real. Thank God it wasn’t his.