• Welcome, visitor! Litopia is the oldest & friendliest community for writers on the net. If you are serious about your writing, we cordially invite you to join us.

July 2018 FC writing prompts: 'Heat', 'Parched Earth' and 'Lemon Yellow teacups' in the dystopian genre style

Sea-shore

aka Anne Chen
Staff member
Featured Thread #1
Hi all and welcome to the Litopia Flash Fiction Club

Hope all is well in your writing world! We’d be pleased if you would like to join in the fun - just use the writing prompt to write as many flash fiction pieces as you like.

At the end of the month, I count out how many 'LIKES' each entry has, and announce this in the Winners' Flash Club thread. From time to time, @AgentPete will also be sending out a book prize to the winner.

Writing prompts for July are: 'Heat' (if you live in the UK, you may understand our preoccupation with weather ;)), 'Parched Earth' from @Richard Wilkes and 'Lemon Yellow teacups' from @Matthew Snoding. Thank you Richard and Matthew!

Suggested genre style is: dystopian.

The word limit for this month is 300 words.

Happy writing!

Anne
 
Last edited:
#2
Hi Anne. Delighted to jointly hold the June honour. Thank you all.

My prompt is 'Parched Earth' - which could easily lend itself to something in a dystopian genre - or whatever takes your fancy...

Richard
 

Carol Rose

Guardian
Staff member
Ambassador
#5
When the first comet struck and left the Earth parched, the only thing not completely melted on Lila's patio was the set of lemon yellow teacups her grandmother had given her last Christmas. It was the last gift her grandmother gave anyone because she passed away in January. Lila still hadn't recovered from her grief.

At first, Lila thought the cups were blossoms because of the rough edges and irregular shape. When she realized they were her favorite teacups, she wept because they would no longer hold liquid twisted like that, and she was so terribly thirsty right now.

The glass in the patio doors had been blown out in the blast, so Lila crawled onto the stones. They were too hot to touch, but she wanted her teacups. Or, what was left of them. Two dead cardinals lay smoldering in the grass. At least, she thought they were cardinals. Red feathers billowed out from the mess of cooked meat in a spiral pattern that was both fascinating and eerie.

By the time she reached the teacups, the flesh on her knees and hands was bloody from the heat of the patio stones and the glass fragments. Lila cradled the mass of pottery, lifting her eyes to the sky as a white, moving object appeared. The second comet. There were four, they had said. She prayed this one would land closer.

As the fireball grew larger, she smiled. It was heading right for her. Her prayers had been answered. Lila closed her eyes, holding her partially melted lemon yellow teacups close to her heart. It was almost over. "Put the kettle on, Grandma," she whispered. "I'm bringing the cups."
 
#6
The summit was intended to be a success. A great victory for peace, an historic meeting between two world leaders, a chance for them to sit, face to face, and evaluate the humanity in each.

But things didn’t work out that way. It was, it is said, because of the lemon yellow teacups. One said to the other, with these teacups you are insulting the memory of my dear mother, and the other, possibly drunk, replied, “Oh yeah? Yo mamma so fat”. As diplomats and officials scrambled away trying to soothe and reassure, these two great leaders, the wisest of their nations, chosen, some may say not entirely fairly, but chosen nevertheless, by the people, by God, these two children in adult clothes stormed away from each other bent on doing something magnificent.

Lemon yellow teacups were sold in their millions in the shops, on line, t-shirts emblazoned with images of the offending crockery. We were showing the enemy that we would not kowtow at the feet of these crazy despots and autocrats. The slogans were there for all to see, the signs were clear.

And then it happened. The bombs were launched. Whether by mistake or by pre-empt can be questioned, but come they did, inevitable as daylight and destroying millions of lives.

My son and I scratch through the dirt looking for something, anything to survive. And what do we find this fine June day? This day that would have been his mother’s birthday.

We find only dust and rubble, which is all that is left. He asks me what are we going to do? He asks me where his mother and brother are, and I can tell him nothing, devoid of all reason, the world has turned and left us all far, far behind.
 
#7
Perhaps it was the heat operating on a brain made sensitive by eons of evolution. Scientifically speaking, the flesh had been melted off of the world, leaving nothing but raw, exposed nerve fibers.**

He was coming back to her and the air was vibrating, crackling with expectation as faces appeared in the trees, in the clouds, in the parched earth.

A lemon yellow teacup clinked on the saucer and made her feel civilized as she drank the last of the fig wine, counting and counting again the number of scratches she had made in the table. She had spent the afternoon using a broom she had made out of tumbleweeds to sweep and sweep again the floor of the ruined farmhouse. This was where they had first kissed. Youth had made everything seem possible.

If only there was more water in the cistern, heaven would find a home in this place, she thought.

"You found it?" she asked.

"It will take us 10 days," he said, dropping his gear by the door. Grit coated his skin and clothes.

Mid-day thunderstorms lit up the mountaintops and forced them to climb the talus covered passes by the light of the moon. Krumholz, the gnarled and twisted, wind-ravaged trees of the high-alpine reaches, mirrored their tortured souls.

Lakeside, they had nothing but faith that with water, anything was possible. Hopeful kisses melted their fear as their hot breath merged with the crisp, cool, mountain air. Relief. They splashed and played in the icy water, laughing at the whiteness of their skin as years of dirt washed away.

A stranger's shape emerged from the distant mist. It was a tall, slender man walking around the lake's edge, making no attempt to hide his approach. She picked up a sharp rock and hid it in her pocket.

"Where do you come from?"

"The harbor. We have fish, but no fresh water. We need an aqueduct."

"How many of you are left?"

"One hundred, but our numbers are growing. We've heard that there are larger groups on the distant coast. Pirates."

The flatland man and woman held each other and wept. They were not alone.
 
Last edited:
#8
I don
When the first comet struck and left the Earth parched, the only thing not completely melted on Lila's patio was the set of lemon yellow teacups her grandmother had given her last Christmas. It was the last gift her grandmother gave anyone because she passed away in January. Lila still hadn't recovered from her grief.

At first, Lila thought the cups were blossoms because of the rough edges and irregular shape. When she realized they were her favorite teacups, she wept because they would no longer hold liquid twisted like that, and she was so terribly thirsty right now.

The glass in the patio doors had been blown out in the blast, so Lila crawled onto the stones. They were too hot to touch, but she wanted her teacups. Or, what was left of them. Two dead cardinals lay smoldering in the grass. At least, she thought they were cardinals. Red feathers billowed out from the mess of cooked meat in a spiral pattern that was both fascinating and eerie.

By the time she reached the teacups, the flesh on her knees and hands was bloody from the heat of the patio stones and the glass fragments. Lila cradled the mass of pottery, lifting her eyes to the sky as a white, moving object appeared. The second comet. There were four, they had said. She prayed this one would land closer.

As the fireball grew larger, she smiled. It was heading right for her. Her prayers had been answered. Lila closed her eyes, holding her partially melted lemon yellow teacups close to her heart. It was almost over. "Put the kettle on, Grandma," she whispered. "I'm bringing the cups."
I dont think i´ll be able to sleep after this!! This is my worst nightmare! I´ve had dreams about this!! THIS and Gravity suddenly going wrong!
 
#9
She got on, as I did, at Canning Town and sat opposite me. Her eyes were set quite widely apart and her sharply-ridged nose lengthened her face. Her lips puckered out, making the actual size of her mouth seem quite small. Her high and defined cheekbones, like the nose, drew focus to her mouth. Her eyebrows were dark brown and I can best describe them as coiffured, soft voluminous hair, beautifully and neatly proportioned.
She was oblivious to me - just as well as I couldn’t keep my eyes away from her. I realized that her face reminded me of a bird, with her pushed-out lips looking more like a soft birds beak: a handsome finch. Bird-like, she scrabbled in her bag and brought out a beautiful, antique, yellow lemon teacup. Holding the cup delicately with her right finger and thumb, she brought the cup to her lips, although now they were no longer human lips, they had fully transformed into an avian beak. Her face was that of a bird.
She dipped the beak into the cup, extracted it, looked at me and said, ‘When the earth is parched, thirst must be quenched.’ Instinctively, I looked at the other passengers, expecting, like me, to see them open-mouthed and staring. Not one of them was looking at her, or me, and when I turned back to the bird-woman, she was human again.
As the train pulled into Silvertown West, I went to the door and as the train stopped two large men, standing either side of me, said simultaneously, ‘You didn’t see that.’ Then the whole of the carriage repeated the phrase in unison.
I stepped on to the platform and I knew. The cult had returned.
 
#11
She got on, as I did, at Canning Town and sat opposite me. Her eyes were set quite widely apart and her sharply-ridged nose lengthened her face. Her lips puckered out, making the actual size of her mouth seem quite small. Her high and defined cheekbones, like the nose, drew focus to her mouth. Her eyebrows were dark brown and I can best describe them as coiffured, soft voluminous hair, beautifully and neatly proportioned.
She was oblivious to me - just as well as I couldn’t keep my eyes away from her. I realized that her face reminded me of a bird, with her pushed-out lips looking more like a soft birds beak: a handsome finch. Bird-like, she scrabbled in her bag and brought out a beautiful, antique, yellow lemon teacup. Holding the cup delicately with her right finger and thumb, she brought the cup to her lips, although now they were no longer human lips, they had fully transformed into an avian beak. Her face was that of a bird.
She dipped the beak into the cup, extracted it, looked at me and said, ‘When the earth is parched, thirst must be quenched.’ Instinctively, I looked at the other passengers, expecting, like me, to see them open-mouthed and staring. Not one of them was looking at her, or me, and when I turned back to the bird-woman, she was human again.
As the train pulled into Silvertown West, I went to the door and as the train stopped two large men, standing either side of me, said simultaneously, ‘You didn’t see that.’ Then the whole of the carriage repeated the phrase in unison.
I stepped on to the platform and I knew. The cult had returned.

Oh, I love this!! This reminds me of the surrealist paintings of Leonora Carrington and Remedios Varo. Please, extend this! LOVE IT!!
 
Top