January Flash Fiction Contest

[Emily]

Happy New Year

For this new year, new month of January, we're going to start with some "Fusilli Fiction" : like the piece of pasta, this is a short piece of fiction, with a twist!

NO GENRE for this month, but the stories must be a *minimum 6 words, maximum 100 words*, and be a story with a twist (most important).


The entry with the most votes on the 31st of January 2023, will be the winner of an extraordinary hand-crafted (!!) virtual trophy. And, more importantly: some of our very prized, and internationally-renowned, virtual Litopi-cake.

***NOTE!***
A thumbs up/like = 1 vote
"heart-eyes" and a "laughing face" emoji vote = 2 VOTES.


The competition is open to all members. Feel free to enter more than once.

-The main rules here are:

We ask you not to critique

AND

Please make your entry anonymous by clicking the anonymous button, but if you forget, don't worry, that's okay too. (Note: Guardians can see who posts.)

Best of luck!

 

[Anonymous]

His name was simply ‘Martini’, and he liked that. He enjoyed all the simple things in life. Hey, life is good inside a green bottle.

Or good it was.

Some git took him off the shelf, poured him over ice, added a curled-up strip of lemon peel and served him to some half-naked chick. Now he's called 'Martini With A Twist' and is rocking on the dance floor. The barman's a bastard.

 

[Anonymous]

She sharpened her blade, the stone making a satisfying hiss-hiss sound against the steel.

She was through with the bastard. It had been nothing but flowers at first, wooing her into love. But now, the jerk had taken over, and all the half-measures she’d tried to fix things had no effect. She needed out.

The blade was sharp, the night dark. For a moment, she hesitated—would they know it was her? Would she end up in jail?

Didn’t matter. She scaled the fence, dropped into the neighbour’s yard, and chopped down the Banks rose smothering her garden.

 

[Anonymous]

I wrenched the book from a dead hand in a frozen village. I gathered the materials, waited for the moon, lit candles, poured salt, gutted chickens, skinned foxes.

Incantation, incantation, and then he was before me, the Demon, summoned as the book said, ready to do my bidding.

Head bowed, I made my request. “Oh Demon of the night, walker among the dead. Free us as I have freed you. Free us from the dictator, warmonger, pillager, killer of innocents, of our brothers.”

I waited.

“Niet”, he finally said.

I looked up, into the shark eyes of the dictator.

Gone.

 

[Anonymous]

Jake stared around the room, expecting someone to appear any minute, his face sullen, eyes sunken. The floor was littered with shredded paper. Once again, he was alone in the stillness, with nothing more for company than the wind blowing through a draughty window.

His ears pricked up, a key fumbling in the lock. The door sprung open and he leapt to his feet.

“Hello, Jake”, said George. “How are you?”.

Jake leapt up, his tail wagging furiously. “Fine, just fine”, he barked, in a way only his owner could understand.

It's a dog's life.

 

[Anonymous]

"I see dead people. I see them all the time."

"That's because you work in a morgue, Bruce."

 

[Anonymous]

She wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Most days.
But this one crossed a line.
Flew in her face,
buzzed in her ear.
specked her wall.

Now this guy
must die.

She wields her wand with care.
Climbs up on a chair.
While up he zooms, down he zips,
around and around in the air,
she waits.

When he lights
she strikes.

Splat goes swatter.
Back goes chair.
Woman down.
Fly buzzes off.

Her epitaph:
'She never hurt a fly'.

 

[Emily]

Congratulations @Claire G !! You are the first Flash Fiction winner of 2023 WELL DONE!

You can find Claire's winning entry HERE

 

[Claire G]

Thank you!