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CONTEST ENDED – Thank you for submitting your stories!

#230: In a Flash

I’ve been reading a lot of flash fiction recently. It’s a great format for close study, as its compression forces writers to question the function of every sentence.

Since there are many lessons to be learned from reading, writing, and thinking about flash fiction, I thought we could make it the focus of this week’s contest. To be clear, this contest accepts stories between 1,000 and 3,000 words, but this week, I’m inviting you to try and stay as close to the lower limit as you can. Our usual word count range is still the official guideline, and stories that are closer to 3,000 words will not be disqualified — but I hope that with flash stories in mind, you’ll feel inspired to be as economical with language as possible.

Not sure how to begin? Check out our best tips for writing flash fiction.

This week's prompts

Write a story framed by a single scene: something happens, a flashback or inner monologue intervenes, and then the story ends with the rest of the original scene.

Narrative – 90 stories

Write a story in which a character achieves a new level of clarity about how they’re really feeling.

Character – 57 stories

Start your story with someone uttering a very strange sentence.

Dialogue – 52 stories

Write a story that hides something from its reader until the very end.

Mystery – 101 stories

Write a story in the form of a list.

Narrative – 62 stories

Stories

“Kyra's Keyring” by Andrea Corwin

Submitted to Contest #230

Kyra dialed Amy’s number. “Mom? Is something wrong? It is two a.m.” Kyra looked at the clock. “Oh, sorry, Honey. I couldn’t sleep. I reviewed the keys on my ring, and you are right. I don’t need them.” “Mom, can we talk about this in the morning?” ** “What is this to?” “The house on 41st street.” “You haven’t lived there for twelve years. Why is it on your key ring?” Kyra stares out the window. Amy continues, “Ma, this blue key?” “Huh?” “Blue key, Ma. What’s it open?” “The garage on 41st street.” Amy slides those two off the ring. Amy spin...

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“Girl on a Ledge” by Alan Harrell

Submitted to Contest #230

10I climb over the railing, ten floors up. The wind caresses my cheeks as if to say, “You don’t have to do this, Marcy.” But I do. There’s no other way.I creep to the edge until my toes are wiggling in space.“I’ll count down from ten. Then jump, Marcy.”The voice I hear is my dad’s, though I’m not nineteen years old and teetering on the brink of my balcony. I’m three years old, standing at the side of Grandma’s pool.Dad held out his arms and started counting. He looked so far away. So, so far. But I trusted him. I knew he’d catch me.Dad shout...

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“Marrow” by Stevie Dalzell

Submitted to Contest #230

Dullsville, a sleepy place nestled between monotonous hills and mundane valleys. And in the midst of this unimaginative banality lived Forbes Pritchard, a man who found himself at that time in his life where events tended towards him settling down, even though he was of the mind that he was not at all ready to settle down. He chafed against the binding forces that life stealthily applied but had, nevertheless, recently acquired an old house on Crooked Lane, a peculiar place, what with its warped timbers and crooked chimney. A more ’settling ...

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“"Harmony Unveiled: A Symphony of Clarity in the Urban Jungle"” by Ellys Watts

Submitted to Contest #230

In the midst of a bustling metropolis, where skyscrapers touched the sky and the city's heartbeat echoed through the streets, Lily found herself at the center of a chaotic whirlwind. Surrounded by the pulse of life, she had always prided herself on navigating the relentless rhythm of the urban jungle. Yet, within the symphony of honking horns and hurried footsteps, a dissonance had quietly settled within her. It all began on a crisp autumn morning, the air tinged with the promise of change. Lily, an ambitious young architect, had just clin...

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“The Son” by Hayley-Jenifer Brennan

Submitted to Contest #230

Mr. Douglas stood in darkness, surrounded on four sides by the walls of the shelter. He was barely able to make out the shapes of the tools and fabrics that stood to attention like soldiers, ready to aid in the renovation of the barn as a wedding place. The troop of construction workers had retired long ago; the decorative white fabrics now hung half mast, the glue guns and nail guns and soldering guns piled into forgotten heaps on the dirty ground. The battle to turn this old place into a beautiful wedding venue was only half over. If a cea...

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“Bert and Ernie Go Skydiving: a Tribute to Salman Rushdie” by Len Rely

Submitted to Contest #230

Bert and Ernie Go Skydiving: a Tribute to Salman Rushdie The only “weather” in the stratosphere is that the temperature is always below freezing (because there is nothing solid to capture the Sun’s rays), and the wind is always moving even on a calm day. So the only question of seasons is whether ice particles will melt and slow down as they descend, like a damaged single-engine plane labeled “Corporation for Public Broadcasting” that has disgorged its two passengers, dropping like a pair of atomic puns over the English Channel. The ...

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“Thank God” by Faith Richardson

Submitted to Contest #230

“Hey honey, can you drive for a bit?” James touched Liz’s knee and she jerked to attention. “I have a bit of a headache coming on and I’d like to close my eyes.” “Of course.” Liz closed the laptop she had perched on her crossed legs as he pulled the blue Chevy Trax into the gas station just outside Childress, Texas. She was so focused on the story she was typing that she didn’t hear his request until she felt this hand on her knee. He stepped out and moved to the back of the Trax to refuel while Liz headed for the bathroom. She returne...

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“The Woman and The Girl” by Izzy Wilkinson

Submitted to Contest #230

She flies in through the door with snow on her boots. Her face is flushed. Her hair is a mess. She looks around the room for me, eyes landing in the corner. A small creature. Her gaze softens. She kneels down before me, her cold hands on my face. Hello, she says through a laugh of disbelief. I smile back at her. Sorry, she pulls her hands from my skin. That must be cold. I nod. Her face has creases. Her hair is thick. This is all rather strange, isn’t it? I nod, again. How old are you? Ten, I respond, straighten...

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“Scared Loose” by Jed Cope

Submitted to Contest #230

We’re all scared. We’re scared out of our minds half the time. How do we even sleep, when the only certainty in life is death? I don’t mind admitting to you that life itself scares me. It terrifies me with its uncertainties and its unknowableness. Life is wilful and it has a will to change. It’s a flowing river that no one can stay still in for long. Even the hardest rock gets worn away by the seemingly soft and inconsequential waters of the river. No one teaches you this though. No one admits the terror associated with living. I suppose...

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“A Real Boy” by Ian Patterson

Submitted to Contest #230

Pinocchio was born into the simulated universe on a Sunday. This was an exceptionally good day to greet the universe, and his parents were in awe that The Great Program had shown such favor to them. What a profound addition to the code he would be, they were certain of it. But also if he wasn’t, well these sorts of things were really out of everyone’s control, so no one would feel too poorly. Above his bed was stitched a personalized creation story that his mother had sewn. It read: :function (create new) if ...

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“Visiting the children’s sins upon the father” by Dan Brawner

Submitted to Contest #230

“What should we do with the body?” I remember my Pa askin' those words when maw died. He weren't askin' me, uh course since I'as just five. Fact is, I don't know who Pa was talkin' to bein' he’as on tha phone. I could hear someone on tha other end but dent know who it was. Ma was on tha floor. I remember I'as layin' there by her, but I had ta keep movin' down toward her feet to stay outa tha blood. Was an awful lot at first then it just slowed down and stopped. That's when I started cryin'....when tha blood stopped comin'. Seems odd lookin...

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“Dopendo Isbubeetwrapped” by Gavin Matthew

Submitted to Contest #230

Dopendo IsbubeetwrappedByGavin Matthew “Dopendo. . . . . .Isbubeetwrapped.” The words were mumbled. Jumbled. Discombobulated. Tulip tried to pull them together but she couldn’t decipher it. Whatever happened to Harrison had left the husky man bleeding on the floor. “Try it again. Slower,” Tulip pushed as she knelt. “Dopendo. Isbubeetwrapped,” Harrison repeated, his eyes rolling around. Tulip picked at her cropped afro with frustration. “This suckah’s broken,” Tulip spat as she stood up. “Oil, how did you talk me into this? These chumps are s...

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“Uncle Merb and the Missing Sock” by David McCahan

Submitted to Contest #230

“Tell that Meshuggeneh Seinfeld he still owes me for the socks bit.”My Uncle Merb told me that every time I went out on a job.Uncle Merb was under the impression that everyone, at least everyone in New York, who worked in some kind of film, television or theater production knew everyone else.I was a member of IATSE Local 1, the stagehands union. I worked as a set dresser. Basically a glorified furniture mover. Without the glory. I came by the job naturally. My father and uncle ran a moving company founded by my great-grandfather in Broo...

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“The Fate of a Faery ” by Shy Jenkins

Submitted to Contest #230

“At least I never put shrunken heads in your tea.” I muttered under my breath. Pieoura tossed her head backwards. “Excuse me?” The tips of her pale yellow wings were beginning to turn a bright pink shade. “Well, you must have heard me! You use to put shrunken heads in my tea when we were little!” I started to shout. “I can’t believe mother and father actually think you’re the most fit to lead Tree Top Kingdom.” Pieoura’s face looked like it could catch fire from how burning red it was. She flew closer until she was only a few ...

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“In a Nutshell” by Daniel Griesdorf

Submitted to Contest #230

In a Nutshell By DannyG “The nutshell closes then finally cries………” He closed his mouth slowly, licking his lips, searching for moisture. I wasn’t sure what to do now. The air was warm and sour, yeasty. If I didn’t have to breathe it, I probably wouldn’t have. “What’s that about then?” The man wiped the corners of his lips, his long grey hair in a not-so-tidy bun. “I’m not sure. Can’t really gather it up for you. Get i...

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$250

Prize money

362

Contest entries

108

Stories

Ended on 23:59 - Dec 29, 2023 EST

Won by Ethan Zimmerman 🏆

Title: The Lop-it-off-a-me List

Submissions must be between 1,000 - 3,000 words and will be approved and published on Reedsy Prompts within 7 days of the contest closing.

Read the full terms & conditions or check out the FAQ if you have any questions!

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