Category: Flash Fiction

Fiction under 250 words.

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“Mom. Seriously. I know. Leave me alone, already.”

“I’m just sayin’, Shawna, the test is in two weeks. Have you studied at all?”

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“I just want you to be prepared. I know you can do well, it’s just … I haven’t seen you study. And this test cost money. I mean, you can take it again, but … it costs money.”

Shawna sighed and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. That would only induce yet another lecture and she wasn’t in the mood to soothe her mother’s insecurities. She turned to pour herself a cup of coffee.

“How much coffee have you had today? You know they say that too much caffeine will stunt your growth. Do you always want to be one of the shortest girls in your class?”

Shawna bit back a nasty retort. Her mother was only 5’1. Apparently, shortness ran in their family. She tipped the sugar container over her coffee and absently watched the granules slide into the muddy depths. Her mother meant well, but the nagging was going to make her mental. Without another word, she went into her room, and closed the door behind her with a decisive click. She put the mug down and flopped onto her bed with relief.

“Study!” her mom yelled through the door. “Two weeks is not a lot of time, you know. Test day will …”

Shawna pulled the pillow over her head. Her mother’s voice mercifully faded away.

Fiction under 250 words.

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It’s so hard for me to keep my mouth shut.

I watched my son navigate traffic from the corner of my eye. His hands nervously fluttered over the steering wheel, but his dark brown eyes flashed with determination. Left turns on busy streets were always a challenge, even to a seasoned driver, but they were tricky, even downright dangerous, to an inexperienced driver.

“Don’t take chances,” I mumbled quietly, afraid that if I allowed even one trace of anxiety into my voice it would be enough to spook him from driving forever. “Take your time, watch for an opening.”

I tensed as I noticed his fingers tightening on the wheel. He was getting impatient. That was never a good sign. People made stupid decisions when they got impatient – people sometimes died from those stupid decisions.

“Oh my gosh, this is taking forever!” he growled.

I sighed. His generation wasn’t used to waiting … for anything. Everything was instant gratification and even small pockets of forced patience all in the name of safety were nearly impossible to endure.

“Just don’t kill me,” I half-joked.

He turned his head toward me and scowled. “That’s not funny, mom.”

I never thought funerals were fun, either, I thought to myself. I forced myself to take a breath. “Okay. After this car, floor board it.”

His eyes narrowed and as soon as the car slipped past, he shot out into traffic.

The car roared in protest.

I hung on for dear life.

And prayed.

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Fiction under 250 words.

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“I wouldn’t say I hate her,” Monique murmured with a shrug. “I think admitting that I hate her would be to admit that I have any sort of feeling for her at all.” She checked her mirrors, flipped on her turn signal and smoothly changed lanes. “I definitely dislike her, though.”

Nell laughed. “Well, I can see why! She only tried to get you fired.”

“Well, she tried,” Monique said with a frown. “Luckily, Sam didn’t buy her load of crap and saw right through her.”

“I think you should try and get rid of her.”

“I’d love to,” Monique said. “But she’s not in my department and if I tried to sabotage her I’d just be stooping to her level. No thanks,” she said, inhaling deeply, “I’ll take the high road and just …” she paused and squinted out of the windshield. The early morning sun was shining directly into her eyes and she was having difficulty seeing. “Is that who I think it is pulled over onto the shoulder?”

Nell glanced in the direction she nodded and promptly choked on her coffee. “Oh my God. I think it’s HER.”

“Cathy?” Monique said in surprise.

“She has a flat tire!” Nell chortled in glee.

Monique grit her teeth and had every intention of driving past. But at the last minute, she pulled over to offer her help.

“What are you doing?”

“I may dislike her, but I have to help her. It’s the right thing to do.”

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Today’s fiction was inspired by the Truth or Tradition’s “Love” teachings. When God says to “love” your enemy, he doesn’t mean you have to like them, only be decent to them. Love is not only a feeling, love is also the actions you take and how you life your life.

Fiction under 250 words.

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She sneezed as the box slipped out of her grasp and fell to the floor with a loud thump. Fingers of thick dust squeezed past the bottom and swirled around her face.

Isabel dug into the back pocket of her jeans and produced a tissue. She was wiping her nose when she saw it, her old high school yearbook.

She crouched on her haunches and picked up the book. The plastic had a yellow tinge and the spine creaked loudly when she opened it.

She spent several minutes slowly flipping through the pages. Images flickered past her mind’s eye like an old black and white film, colorless yet somehow vivid. Easing onto her bottom she sat on the attic floor, a specific face catching her attention and causing her to catch her breath.

Mike Stover.

He had been a tight end on the football team. Tall, beefy and with eyes so vibrant blue she remembered feeling immobilized and tingly when he looked at her, as if a streak of lightening had struck the top of head and zigzagged through to her feet.

They had been lovers. They had planned a future together. Everyone said they were perfect for each other.

But then she had met Troy, her husband, and her feelings for Mike had changed, Mike had seemed safe, even boring, next to Troy.

She had grown restless.

“Hey Red? Are you still breathing up there? Do I need to perform CPR?”

She smiled. She had made the right decision.

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(This short-short was inspired by Robert Frost’s poem The Road Not Taken.)

Fiction under 250 words.

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“Mom! I need a washcloth!”

“Mommy, I need help with a word!”

“I can’t believe you washed my favorite t-shirt, mother. Now it’s too small!”

Faye sighed and dropped her head in her hands. She was so tired. She had just finished working a 50-hour workweek and she wasn’t sure she had the mental energy to deal with her three demanding children.

Not now. Perhaps not ever.

She cringed as she heard her oldest daughter bicker with her middle son. Standing, she walked to the door and quietly closed it with a decisive snap. She needed a few minutes to recharge her batteries.

She leaned against the door and tightly closed her eyes.

“Six months, eight days and,” she cracked her eyes open to glance at the clock, “twelve hours,” she murmured softly as her gaze shifted to the framed picture of a handsome man in Marine uniform. “I don’t think I can do this without you,” she whispered.

She didn’t have time to cry. She didn’t want to cry. She needed to cry.

Faye cleared her throat to regain equilibrium and walked over to the laundry basket. Memories of Charlie began a sneak attack on her senses, but she abruptly stopped that train of thought and gave herself a little mental shake.

Picking up the laundry basket, she glanced out of the window to see her elderly neighbors, walking down the street, hand-in-hand. They looked relaxed and happy.

They were together.

Dropping the laundry basket, she burst into tears.

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Want to play? Let’s concentrate on the emotion “grief” this week.

All you have to do is write 250 words (no MORE) about any scene you heard, witnessed or imagined. You can either post your own flash fiction on your blog, or post it in the comment section!

Either way – do it now. Don’t wait. Don’t make excuses.

Fiction under 250 words.

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“I love this cake platter from Pottery Barn. Don’t you love this cake platter, honey?” Babette carefully placed the piece on the center of the table and smiled at her husband.

“Uh huh,” Robert mumbled.

“And just look at this cake,” Babette said as she opened the carton and slowly lifted out the confection. “Our first anniversary cake. It couldn’t be more perfect.”

“Right,” Robert said.

“And can you believe that the bakery was able to exactly match our wedding colors? Remember, honey? Lavender and eggshell white.” She lovingly placed the cake on the cake stand and reached for the decorative candle shaped into the number one. She methodically pierced the cake with the candle and stood back to take a look. “Perfect,” she said with satisfaction.

“Babs, we need to talk,” Robert said and glanced at the Victorian-style grandfather clock sitting next to their lush, leather sofa. “I tried to call you several times today. Why didn’t you answer?”

Babette waved him aside and focused her attention on striking a match and lighting the candle. “We can talk later. We’re celebrating right now.” She blew out the match and smiled at him through the curls of smoke. “Can you believe it’s been one whole year?” She released a dreamy sigh. “One whole year of wedded bliss. We’re so lucky.”

“Right. Lucky. Look, Babs…”

“Ready? Let’s blow it out together.”

They both leaned over the cake and blew the flame out.

“Perfect,” said Babette.

“I want a divorce,” said Robert.

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Want to play? All you have to do is write 250 words (no MORE) about any scene you heard, witnessed or imagined. You can either post your own flash fiction on your blog, or post it in the comment section!

Either way – do it now. Don’t wait. Don’t make excuses.