Flash Fiction Challenge - 500 Words or less

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  1. #1

    Flash Fiction Challenge - 500 Words or less

    It's fast... it's furious... it's flash fiction! Can you write a story in 500 words or less?


    What are you waiting for?

    Please share your flash fiction below and I will chose one each month and add to Flashes of Brilliance.

    This challenge was inspired by escorial
    Last edited by PiP; August 9th, 2017 at 09:35 PM.
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  2. #2
    The Game - 499 words

    Whack! The ball hit the catcher's mitt so hard that the sound made Jed wince. "Man that guy is throwin' heat."

    His son, Timmy looked at him with curiosity. "What is heat, Dad?"

    "Oh, that's when the pitcher is throwing very fast and hard—like one hundred miles per hour fastballs. Do you remember when we drove to the beach?"

    "Yeah," Timmy nodded.

    "When we were on the highway, we were going sixty-five."

    "Gosh, that's only two -thirds of the pitcher's speed, and we were goin' very fast. Wow!"

    Jed patted his son on the head. "That's very good, Timmy. Did you do that math in your head?"

    "Yes, I did," he said, his chest puffing up with pride.

    Whack! Another ball found its mark.

    "Steeeriiikee two," the umpire yelled.

    "Dad," Timmy said, "thank you for taking me to the ballgame. This is really cool."

    "I knew you would enjoy it. You're a chip off the old block." He patted Timmy on the head again.

    Whack! Another pitch sailed in.

    "Ball one," the umpire yelled.

    Just behind them was a red-faced man who had been drinking since the first inning. "Bullshit!" he yelled. "You're blind as a fucking bat."

    Jed turned and looked at the man. "You can see my son is sitting here. Would you mind stifling the foul language?"

    "Fuck off!" he sneered. "I paid for this seat. I can yell what I want."

    "Look, mister, I don't care what you do, but don't do it in front of my son. That's all I'm asking."

    People sitting nearby began to take notice. Timmy began to shake, terrified by the argument.

    The drunkard stood up and poured his beer over Jed's head. Jed stood there, stunned for a moment, then signaled for an attendant.

    "Whaza matter? You chicken? Afraid to fight?"

    Jed smiled as he wiped beer off his shirt. "No, I'm not afraid to fight. I fight with the right tools. And you are about to leave."

    By this time, two attendants had arrived. They each took an arm and escorted the drunk jerk out of the stadium. The crowd around them clapped.

    Jed sat down next to Timmy, leaned over and said, "I apologize for that man's language. It was uncalled for. I'm sorry you had to hear it."

    Timmy looked at his dad with adoration. "Thanks, Dad. I was afraid something bad was going to happen."

    "Something bad could have happened," he replied, "if I had chosen to fight him with violence. Sometimes violence is the right choice. Sometimes it's not."

    "How did you know not to use violence?" Timmy asked sincerely.

    "He was drunk, not threatening. It was obvious he was going to get worse as the game went on. The right thing to do was to get him to leave. He would never have left voluntarily, so I asked the attendants to do their job."

    "Let's get back to enjoying the game. Okay?"

    "Okay, Dad." Timmy leaned against his father's side and smiled.
    Old retired guy working to fulfill a lifelong dream to be a published fiction author.
    I've published, and been paid for, technical articles for Securityfocus.com and I am
    a chapter author (chapter 6) for Hidden Content
    My first book, Hidden Content , is now available as an ebook and on Hidden Content .
    Follow me on Hidden Content and Hidden Content . My Hidden Content .

  3. #3
    .................................................. ..............................The fox hunt 286 words

    It was a stand-off. The little knot of protesters stared up at the horsemen morosely, their angry determination strangely at odds with their casual poses and sloppy attire.

    The red-jacketed huntsmen pushed their horses forward, trying to intimidate. They riders were a strangely mixed crew of pinch-throated culture and broad-accented farmers, all united in fury.

    Set aside, in a quiet corner of the yard, as if alone, sat old Norman. Some called old Norman a natural philosopher, others called him simple. He was often drunk.

    The arrival of the police was the catalyst for mayhem. Whips were out, cutting through air already thick with flailing arms and obscenities, horses were rearing above baying dogs, curses and threats were flying along with fists. All was chaos, all was noise.

    In his corner of the yard, old Norman sat on as if alone.

    Bodies were dragged apart, the horsemen directed off, hounds rounded up; no arrests were made.

    After the police drove away, the little group of angry people was left alone in the yard, muttering and frustrated. One of them, a girl, noticed old Norman in the quiet corner.

    “A lot of help you were!” she yelled at him, “You’re supposed to love nature! You should be on our side!”

    “There is only one side,” answered old Norman quietly.

    The protesters looked at each other with hard sarcastic smiles.

    “Words for every occasion!” sneered one, “And meanwhile a fox dies for nothing!”

    Old Norman sat impassive for several long minutes before he spoke again.

    “The fox won’t be brought to account for the way of its death,” he said at last, “it’s us who will be judged, for the way of our lives.”

  4. #4
    It was a classic chick-flick scene, with upbeat, confidence-boosting pop music blasting from the stereo at the other end of the room and the two girls dancing wildly in their pajamas together in the middle of the room, their laughter filling the room almost enough to push the music out. With everything going on in the girl's lives, they were reveling in this momentary lapse in danger and drama and allowing themselves to just live and have fun the way they used to. No crime lord vampires, no mysteries, no love interests, just the two best friends having fun together the way it used to be. When the song stopped the taller of the two, Lizaveta, rested her chin on the top of her best friends head and let out a long, relieved laugh. "I missed this..." She sighed, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around her smaller friend. Danika wrapped her arms around Lizaveta's slender, tall waist and hugged her tightly, tears dancing around her eyes and threatening to escape. "Me too..." She whispered, her voice breaking ever so slightly with the weight of everything going on in her life. They hugged each other close, letting out the the tears they couldn't let out in everyday life, the life where they had to be strong. This life where they were leaders, where people's lives relied on them. "I can't believe fleeing the country away from an arranged marriage is now the least dramatic thing I've ever had to do." Danika said, letting out a tearful chuckle against her best friend's chest. "I can absolutely believe it, Danika the Drama Queen." Lizaveta teased, her laughter steering back in the direction of their earlier merriment.

    Danika pulled back and looked at Lizaveta, trying her very best to look dignified and offended, but mostly managed to look like a pouting child, causing both of them to burst into laughter. The two separated and wiped their eyes, laughing with each time they make eye contact. Danika runs her hands through her long, pale blonde hair and sighs "I think the music stopped." She says and she walks over to the stereo to turn the music on and turns back to Lizaveta with a big smile on her face. The dusk light filters in through the window of Lizaveta's palace bedroom, adding a reddish hue to her white hair and skin. "Wait...How did we get to the palace? We were just in Vegas Liz..." Danika's expression turned confused, and scared as her friend started to fade in and out. "What are you talking about Dani? We're home...Come home Danika..."Lizaveta outstretched her fading arm, repeating her words more and more until they become a barely audible whisper. Tears start welling up in Danika's eyes again, and she runs for her fading best friend. "Liz wait! I want to come home! Liz!" She yells, unable to grab onto her best friend as her surroundings fade to black.

    I gave it my best shot! Word limits have always been the worst for me XD Once I get going I never wanna stop!
    Last edited by scerys; June 24th, 2017 at 11:12 PM.

  5. #5

  6. #6
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    May 2015
    Toronto, Canada
    Blog Entries
    The Tongue From Outer Space (387 Words)

    Closer he tip-toed further in the night to get a better glimpse of the unknown thing that Horvath saw from his eye. There was a floating pink long carpet thingy that Richard thought appeared to be a tongue, from outer space? Absurd! He saw from his own pupils a thing that came from the sky which had to be true. It had be a tongue with its long mouth that it came coming from the space above.

    Of course he was skeptical about it although, he wanted to take pictures of it with his camera. Trying to be silent he came through the forest to an open field where the tongue was wrapping its mouth to some acre of trees.

    “This is gonna make me millions.” said Richard talking to himself.

    Trying not to get his burgundy suit dirty he raced to the open field and snapped some photos of the tongue. ‘Flick,’ ‘flick’ Flick’ were the flashes from a nineteen-sixties camera. ‘Bissh’ ‘bissh’ went his instrument of photo-taking.

    The tongue noticed the flashes from afar and grabbed its tongue to go moving about to Richard, he tried to run after its sudden notice of his camera that he was caught in the nick of time. Richard was wrapped around and tossed into the air about to be eaten above the mouth of the atmosphere.

    What was he to do? He had to convince the thing that he doesn’t taste good, to be swallowed whole because his suit would ruin his appetite. The convincing had to work because that was his only choice in the matter as he would be eaten and could not return to earth if he had failed.

    “Stop! Fella!” he said.

    Adding “I don’t taste good, tell you what, you can have my camera if you wish.”

    It made a bizzare sound.


    “Take it, here.” he replied.

    The camera was give to the pink tongue and with that he was satisfied, Richard still had the photos that he took, leaving it in his side-pockets of his ruby red suit. He continued to run and head for his car. A corvette, nineteen-sixties, made to flee from banal places. He pushed to acceleration petal and made his way to the tell the others about what he just saw. A tongue from outer space.

  7. #7
    call for july?

    *'cuz they're fun to read.n.stuff*

  8. #8


    Brad walked whistling through the woods, tackle box in hand, rod bouncing on his shoulder. The sun’s rays blinded him each time he passed a pine tree. Can’t wait to see the fishing hole. It’s been months. Boy am I glad the snow has finally melted.

    A noise to his left caught his attention. Rabbit? Squirrel? Maybe a small fox? He scanned the forest but saw nothing. “Critters! They’re everywhere, but I never see them.” Who are you talking to? He chuckled.

    Brad’s fantasy world was rich and variegated, populated by nature’s abundance. Sometimes he imagined himself a wily hunter, but mostly he thought of himself as the consummate angler.

    I wonder if the trout will bite today? Last year they were reluctant this early, but I got one anyway. Pride infused him. I hope the water’s not too cold. Cold always makes them sluggish.

    As he wound his way down the path to his favorite spot, the pine needles barely made a sound. Still wet from the snow, I see. Better be careful when I get there. The banks ‘ll be slippery.

    He carried on these kinds of soliloquies daily. In Brad’s world, humans were a bother. Always fussing about this, that, or the other thing; trying to impress each other with their knowledge, grace, or friendliness. He knew they weren’t like that on the inside because he wasn’t like that on the inside. Secretly he hated being around people. Nature, on the other hand, that was honesty. No pretention. Straight up reality. Eat or be eaten.

    It satisfied him in some primordial way that he couldn’t express in words. He savored the contest, the fight between the fish and the fisher. He never ate the fish. That would be a violation of his ethics. It was wrong for the superior to take advantage of the inferior—like humans often did.

    Somehow, the contradiction escaped him, but not to the point of foolhardiness. He always carried a handgun on these trips. There are bears in these woods. I’m not going down without a fight.

    The sun glinting off the water beckoned him. Almost there. Hmm…the water’s runnin’ fast. Gotta be careful. And smart too.

    He set his gear down on the bank, attached his favorite lure to the leader, selected a spot to cast to, and hurled his line. The fuzzy grub landed on the surface and immediately headed downstream. He had to fight to reel it back in. Water’s too fast. I need to find a quiet pool.

    He worked his way carefully down the bank, looking for a spot where the eddies created pools and the trout would congregate. As he walked, pole in hand, he heard a loud roar. Startled, his foot slipped out from under him, and he hurtled into the fast-moving water.

    The cold deadened him and sapped his strength. As he slipped beneath the water for the last time, his mind wandered. Never thought the trout would win. Never thought that at all.
    Old retired guy working to fulfill a lifelong dream to be a published fiction author.
    I've published, and been paid for, technical articles for Securityfocus.com and I am
    a chapter author (chapter 6) for Hidden Content
    My first book, Hidden Content , is now available as an ebook and on Hidden Content .
    Follow me on Hidden Content and Hidden Content . My Hidden Content .

  9. #9

  10. #10

    Nocturnal Depression (472 words)

    Awake again I see. Unable to sleep? Such a silent empty night. So as you lie therepondering the night and letting your mind dig deep into dark places,which you know you'd do well to keep it from, what have you found? Perhaps you've found that life is nothing but waiting. Countlesspeople, all waiting for something, but many unsure of what it isthey're waiting for. Think of all the time you’re wasting rightnow. You sleep a third of your life away you know. So much time,gone. You'll never get it back. Life's too short for that. Life'stoo short for anything. But still, how many hours, how many yearsare wasted on nothing? Lying awake right now, what good is it? Life's too long when it's left so empty.

    Oh, good, so nowyou're filling the silence with your nearly inaudible muttering. Does the sound of your own voice comfort you? What is it you whispersoftly to yourself so no one else can hear, even though we both knowyou're the only one here? Perhaps you feel alone in crowds or evenamong friends, but this is different. It is the dark of night, andyou are alone, so keep speaking. Since the shadows you cast as youtoss about provide you no comfort, maybe your crazed ranting will. Do you wonder if others feel like this? Of course they do, but thatis no comfort. They wouldn't want to understand becauseunderstanding would make them as empty as you are now.

    Do you ever surpriseyourself anymore? What is it you're after? All those childhoodfantasies are smashed and you know the world for what it is. It is acold place, full of those who have no clue what they're doing, andthose who lie to themselves for comfort. People all trying to painttheir dull gray lives with brilliant distractions. Filling theirtime so they forget and don't have to face moments like this. So yousearch, don't you? You search for something you can feel; somethingtoo real to deny, which will make you feel alive. Nothing like thatexists.

    And those ramblingsyou're muttering, these are those ramblings. Does saying “You”instead of “I” somehow make you feel less self-centered? That’sthe rub isn’t it? That despite knowing how pointless and emptyyour life is, you can’t help but naval gaze and be totally andcompletely absorbed with your own petty problems and miseries... evenas you feel guilty for it. Don’t worry though, tomorrow you’llforget all about this. Your hunger, a catchy song, the monotonousgrind of your life. Something will distract you. Be glad you sleepso much time away. If you were awake to always think these thoughts,I doubt you'd stay sane very long. Good night.
    You can never hate something so thoroughly as that which destroys what you love, and who is more guilty of this crime than the stranger who was once a lover?

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