7 Sizzling Sundays of Summer Flash Fiction CONTEST, Week 5
Writer Unboxed on Jul 29 2012 | Filed under: Contest
Only a few more scorching Sundays of flash fiction are left in our Sizzling Sundays of Summer flash fiction contest (pop over to the announcement post to check out the rules and fabulous prizes HERE). The entries continue to be AMAZING, and choosing three finalists every week to compete for the ultimate prizes has become so, so tough. This week is no different. Thanks to all who submitted stories based on last week’s prompt.
Our honorable mentions this week are:
wilson hara (“Oh boy…”)
Jeff Williams (“I once had a little girl just like you.”)
Terra Mar (“The Gambler.”)
Andrea Ellickson (“Javier looked at his granddaughter for the last time.”)
Taylor Ross (“Why? Amanda flung her hand out…”)
Madeline Mora-Summonte (“Accident Prone.”)
Michael Molony (“Dr. Howard Burke paced in front of an enormous fireplace…”)
Julia Jay (“Why are you sitting there?”)
And this week’s winners, in no particular order are:
GL Rees (“Understanding.”)
Anthony Lanni (“She was the cutest baby in the whole world.”)
Racquel Henry (“You’re my last chance at being a good mother.”)
Colleen Wood (“Herbert!”)
Congratulations to GL, Anthony, Racquel and Colleen! Your stories have made our finalists’ round, and will be part of the big WU vote in early August.
Can winners enter again? Yes, they can. We hope all of you enter again! Though we named a few notables, there were so many compelling, unboxed stories to enjoy, which made it even harder to choose. We hope you are having as much fun writing them as we are reading them!
This week we are going to change it up a little, but no worries, Debbie Ridpath Ohi’s fabulous work will be inspiring you next week! Without further ado, this weeks prompt image is
Remember the full rules can be found HERE, but if you’re in the mood to flash and run, cliff-notes rules are below:
- The story must be inspired by that week’s visual prompt.
- Each submission must be 250 words or less.
- Each story must contain a beginning, middle, and end.
- All submitted work must be original–not published anywhere else, and written by you, for this contest.
- Post submissions in the comment section of the prompt post. Each week, the deadline will be 72 hours after the prompt is posted on Sunday morning, meaning Wednesday August 1 at 7 a.m. EST.
- No more than two entries per person, per week will be eligible for that week.
- The top three or four stories from each week will be selected by a mix of votes in the form of Likes in the comment section and our own discretion.
Good luck!
Image courtesy of randomduck via Creative Commons.
Kathleen Bolton
Therese Walsh
Porter Anderson
Dan Blank
Carleen Brice
Sarah Callender
Lisa Cron
Keith Cronin
Bill Ferris
Dave King
Robin LaFevers
Donald Maass
Sophie Masson
Jael McHenry
Jan O'Hara
Debbie Ohi
Barbara O'Neal
Ray Rhamey
Chuck Sambuchino
John Vorhaus
Julianna Baggott
Brunonia Barry
Tom Bentley
Sharon Bially
Anna Elliott
Anne Greenwood Brown
Tracy Hahn-Burkett
Suzannah Windsor Freeman
Kristan Hoffman
Jeanne Kisacky
Juliet Marillier
Julia Munroe Martin
Annie Neugebauer
Crystal Patriarche
Erika Robuck
M.J. Rose
Allison Winn Scotch
Lydia Sharp
Elisabeth Weed
Emily Colin
Jeannine Walls Thibodeau
Vaughn Roycroft
Kim Downes Bullock
Valerie P. Chandler
Heather Reid
Heather Webb
Denise Falvo
Therese Walsh
Jan O'Hara
Liz Michalski
Kathleen Bolton
Jessica Brockmole
Erika Liodice
Donald Maass
Victoria Mixon
Therese Walsh
Suzanne Anderson
Keetha DePriest
Dee DeTarsio 
Amy Sue Nathan
Colleen Turner
Heike Siebken on 
This week’s contest is now closed, folks. Vote for your favorites!
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I wonder if you might accept a last minute application. I thought I had until the end of the day and have been working on it!! Here you go, here is my effort!
The Stranger
She cradles him in her arms, sheltering him from the first winter flurries. She can feel his warm body nestled into her chest, his heart beating twice as fast as hers. The cars glide slowly past her, apprehensive in the unexpected arrival of winter. Like a fist, her body tenses, her eyes clenched shut and breath held tight until she is sure it is not her that they are coming for.
She stands there motionless, the snow forming drifts at her feet. Her toes are freezing blue from the cold but she barely feels it. She is numb as she waits for the unknown face to approach her and change her life for the better. Or so they tell her.
He is ten feet away when she sees him, coming into view through the haze of snow. He walks purposefully towards her, his face hard and frozen as he stands above her. There will be no sympathy here. No comforting arm.
“Natasha. It’s time,” he says. Her mind is alight with thoughts, brighter than the glow from the streetlapms. RUN, RUN, she tells herself, but it is already too late. She is silent as she holds open the cape. She hadn’t heard the crunch of the tyres in the snow behind her, already speeding away kicking up snow. The stranger has left, taking part of her with him. There is only one heartbeat now. She is alone again.
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Not a submission since I found this site too late. But I sure would appreciate any comment(s) from anyone on my exercise. Please?
Change.
It is the time of change as the dying days of the fall lay buried under the winter’s first snow. The last leaves had wilted and dropped, laying bare the skeletons of trees. Only the evergreens of old Pinewood Cemetery live on overhead.
The flakes fell heavy and damp, clinging to her ancient black cloak as a white lace shroud. Elspeth waits silently, gathering her mantle around her more closely. It is colder now than she ever remembered, feeling its stiff freeze to her marrow. How hot it once was, not long ago. Her bus would be here soon.
With cautious steps, he draws closer to her. His collar up on a worn sport coat, long abandoned by someone before, is ill-suited to the season. He takes her measure through frost bleary eyes.
“Change?” he pleads with an outstretched bony hand.
“No change ,” Elspeth answers, quaking. She watches from beneath her hood as he struggles on. She shivers and stomps her feet to restore their warming circulation.
Her ride stops before her, opening its gates.
“Correct change only,” reads the paper sign. Elspeth hands over two coins and slumps on the bench behind. She rocks slightly as they move forward. It seems like an eternity but she would soon be home.
“This is the end of the line, Miss,” the driver announces. “You have to get off here.”
Elspeth exits into the chill and shivers. Ahead, she reads the iron-barred entry’s sign: “Pinewood Cemetery. Salem, Massachusetts.”
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I think the first paragraph was really good. After that, I was kind of lost. I take she’s a witch? And she was returning to where she first left?
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Jake 249 words
(Okay, so I feel a little ashamed about my submission a couple comments above, too many swear words and poor writing, so I rewrote it. I know it’s too late for a submission in this version, but I think it’s better. Any opinions, feel free to let me know.) Thank you.
“Must have been a riptide,” they said. The life guards, the nurses, her grown children, even her in-laws. They all said it. “Must have been a riptide.” What kind of consolation was that? Did they know the kind of man Jake was? Did they? Did they believe a riptide could take Jake away? The fools.
The couple was vacationing in Florida. Jake was swimming. Shouts and screams had pulled Sheila from her book, as she saw lifeguards dragging her unconscious husband from the ocean. Deprived of oxygen, his brain shut down, and he slipped into a coma, and after two weeks in the hospital, he died. Now she had nothing left to do, but to go home, back to Pittsburgh.
She stepped from the 1A bus. The February wind blew cold. It was snowing. She glanced down the street. A tall man walked toward her. “That looks like Jake,” she thought, “is that my Jacob? That is my Jacob.” She stretched her head, as if peering over a fence.
She ran toward him, “Jake . . . Jake, it’s me Jake!” The man continued walking, ignoring the frantic woman. “Jake—awl, you’re not . . .” Sheila’s gaze fell to the ground. Tearfully, she spoke toward the passing figure, “you’re not Jake, no, you’re not my Jake.”
At home, Sheila lies in her bed. Jake is everywhere; his unopened mail; his toothbrush in the holder beside hers; his smell. “Must have been a riptide,” Sheila says aloud. She cries.
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Thanks for the feedback, Ted K. I really appreciate it. I’ll admit that I had problems with the 250-word limitation. Much of what I wanted to put in wound up being cut out.
Yes, she was a witch… or accused of being one a long time ago. Yes, she ended up right where the story started, outside the “Pinewood Cemetery,” waiting. No change.
Thanks again, Ted.
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[...] Writer Unboxed on Aug 05 2012 | Filed under: Contest Can you believe we only have one more scorching Sunday left in our Sizzling Sundays of Summer flash fiction contest? (Rules and fabulous prizes HERE). We are so blown away by the fantastic entries that choosing three finalists every week to compete for the ultimate prizes has become nearly impossible (that’s why sometimes we have four winners, because we are truly torn!). Thanks to all who submitted stories based on last week’s prompt. [...]
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[...] I have an action link above, also check out my flash fiction Stone Magic on Writer Unboxed, weighing it at 250 words. If you don’t guess what the setting is, [...]
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