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CONTEST ENDED – Thank you for submitting your stories!

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.

Posted in Narrative on Dec 22, 2023

Submissions are closed

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✍️ 90 stories

“Remembering Heaven” by Matt Arledge

Submitted to Contest #230

Remembering Heaven It was 4AM on a Saturday when my daughter Alexandra and I couldn’t wait for Papa to be home. Dad was usually on time for outings like this that we had planned but he was running late to pick us up. He had been at a business meeting in Las Vegas. When he showed up Lexi and I were completely ready to go with bags packed and huge smiles on our faces. We needed to get up that early to beat the traffic of the later morning. We loaded up the truck and I had never seen Lexi so happy. Our trip was planned to go to Seattle to go in...

2 comments 2
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“Rocking Chair Traditions” by Savannah Massey

Submitted to Contest #230

I am sitting on my grandparents’ porch, in the rocking chairs that had been passed down for generations. The armrests had been worn down by deep conversations over whiskey and cigarettes. Those were the not so old habits my grandfather warned me about. My eyes traced through the jagged grain of the wood, up and down the lines dating it back. The wood had been smoothed by the passing years, like running water through the Grand Canyon. I splinter my fingers by picking at the wood. I would much rather have to spend hours picking wood chips from...

1 comment 1
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“A Penny for Your Prayers” by Curtis Doucette

Submitted to Contest #230

The mall was dead, the addicts sheltering in its husk called it the Yoke. Andrea Sands called it the Capital Hill Mall. The name was right there on the building, the dismantled letters left a faint outline spelling it out.She and Beverly entered the abandoned mall, their footsteps trickled down the corridor, their cheap, plastic high-res jackets glimmered in the dim light. Dirty needles rattled around in their yellow disposal bins as they shuffled through. They weren’t supposed to be here, this wasn’t on their route, but Beverly was kind eno...

4 comments 4
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“Held Hostage” by James Turner

Submitted to Contest #230

The group assembles outside the door of the solitary, dark room at the end of the hall. This has to be done quickly, and immediately, or there will be no chance at all. They want to avoid a fight. * I can hear their whispers. They are outside my room. They keep their voices low, but I can hear one of them saying my name. I know who she is; reminds me of my oldest niece in some ways, but not the ones that matter. It’s dark in here, and I wonder what I might do as they enter. Make no mistake, they come and go as they please, sometimes qui...

4 comments 4
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“First to Slay a Giant” by J. S. Bailey

Submitted to Contest #230

An arrogant hunter drops a severed giant's head onto the tavern counter with a thunk. "How shall I receive my reward?" he asks. A large bald man had been polishing tankards behind the counter. He turned at the question the hunter posed. A thick brown beard with three thin beaded-braids hangs from his chin. "And how, may I ask, did you come across this–" he glares at the greyish head leaking on his counter, "–beast," he snarls. The arrogant hunter leans on the counter, planting himself to speak of his deeds. "Now that's a tale that will for...

5 comments 5
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“Susan” by Webb Johnson

Submitted to Contest #230

I heard Susan. “Andrea, it’s so comforting to have you and Travis here.” Then, I realized it was Dolly, the only one of our three daughters who inherited her mother’s voice. I’m flopped in my TV chair. My eyes close. I hear quiet laughter, a jumble of shared memories, and a hush of sorrow. Appetizing aromas drift from the kitchen. The fridge and the cabinet doors open and close; tableware clatters. Familiar feminine voices confer about the buffet. Teenage cousins visit on the patio while their parents browse through our albums and chat a...

2 comments 2
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“Finally” by Ingrid Rylander

Submitted to Contest #230

                   FINALLY by INGRID RYLANDER Finally, this day has come to an end. I do my usual walk with Luke, down Saint Paul's Street, head towards the port and the beach, crossing the main street, which for once I'm able to cross without having to wait, and walk along the gravel path. Dragging my feet, l let Luke stop and sniff every weed, every little pee-stained stone, enjoying the silence and the chilly air. The slow pace suits me, lat...

3 comments 3
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“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...

2 comments 2
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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...

6 comments 6
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“The Xenon Insurgency ” by Ian T. Smyth

Submitted to Contest #230

“The Emperor is here?” He asked, nervously.  “Yes, and he’s most displeased.” Brian paced through the room, calculating his next steps.  “I made a call - a call based off the information I had at the time - what does he think I should have done instead?” Cheyenne blinked; her steely-blue eyes penetrating Brian. “Whatever it is, he feels as though he needs to tell you it in the flesh.” “If this flesh is still left standing,” Brian retorted.  Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, but it was useless for the ones who knoc...

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“Drenched in Remorse” by Kevin RRW

Submitted to Contest #230

Rain pummels the dark, cold streets, as a man of small stature hails a cab on a Friday night after his Wall Street office hours. He’s one whistle short of three cars that other passengers intercept. With his usual limo driver under the weather, Dyson is at the mercy of the common taxi service.Raindrops dampen the finely tailored suit beneath his soaked cashmere overcoat. This wells up the need for selfish action. Dyson shoves an elderly woman clutching grocery bags into a puddle. His mind racing with distracting thoughts, he slides into the ...

3 comments 3
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“Southern Snow” by Terri Onderdonk

Submitted to Contest #230

SOUTHERN SNOW Shan stared mindlessly out of the living room window when large white flakes began falling from the sky. That couldn’t be snow! It never, well almost never, snowed here. When snow was even a consideration there was a ridiculous amount of news coverage, but there hadn’t been any. This was oddly surreal. Lost in thought, Shan mindlessly watched the white flakes fall when shaken alert by JC’s squeals of excitement. When he saw what Shan saw he burst out the door to see for himself. After just a few minutes JC bursts back in th...

3 comments 3
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“The Eternal Soldier” by Len Rely

Submitted to Contest #230

 In a temporary mess hall in Mille, France on September 1st 1944, it seemed that every table belonged to a different nation. General William “Dark Horse” Ramsay (who was then a Brigadier) was seated in the back, and would remark in his autobiography this date and location. Also present was a young Vasco Remy with his fellow guerrillas, future international trainer in irregular warfare whose memoirs from Spain are now a bestseller; but at the time Gen. Ramsay honestly did not know who these men were. Generals did not often see hand-to-ha...

3 comments 3
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“Happy Meal” by Alex Burns

Submitted to Contest #230

HAPPY MEAL  It’s only five o’clock in the evening, but it’s dark already. Rain lashes down horizontally. It is the kind of day in the city that turns people into cows, herding together under bus stops, shop entrances, anywhere that might offer respite. It gives you a sense of superiority to march past their blurry figures, as they cower from the rain, with your eyes wet and squinting.  You have been walking for a while. You cannot remember the last time you stopped. Not just today, but for a long time. If you stop, you’re afraid yo...

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“Her Mother's Daughter” by Ann Forcier

Submitted to Contest #230

From behind a live oak, Marie watched Maman's shoulders shake, her head in her hands, mucus dripping through her fingertips. Marie's stomach clenched as she felt the prickle at the back of her neck. Maman doesn't cry. Maman raged, laughed, danced. She scolded. For Marie's courses, Maman taught her to use dried Spanish moss or rags from clothes they could no longer mend. She fed eighteen people from a pound of rice and fish from the Savannah River. Round the night fire outside their makeshift cabin, Maman told stories that filled Marie and ...

4 comments 4
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Title: The Lop-it-off-a-me List

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