The one thing all writers have in common is that they love to write. I hope you'll get inspired by this photograph and write a flash fiction piece about it. This truly is about participation. I know there are a lot of you writers out there and I'm curious to see just what you'll do with this photo. It's all up to you. Simply post your story as a comment. Only rule is length; nothing over 250 words and no, I won't be checking the word counts, you're on your honour.
This photo will be up forever and writers are free to add their flash fiction to it at any time. However, at the end of February 2011, I'll draw three names from all who've participated, and they'll receive ebook copies of my books Endo and Afterlife.
Please tell your friends about this and let's see how diverse these stories will be. The more the merrier.
Thanks and have fun.
Ian
19 comments:
Monica Marier (@lil_monmon)
THE STAIN
The coffee sprayed out of Laura’s mouth and onto the rust-coloured wall. It nearly hit a Rodin, and Laura gasped at the damage she’d done to the Museum walls.
“Sorry, didn’t think you’d take it like that,” said Ian.
“What did you say?” asked Laura, wiping her mouth. “You’re a what??”
“I’m an Alien. I’m from the planet Klaxon.”
“But I’ve know you since college! You’re from Herndon!”
“It was a cover. Um. I think we better move, the curator’s coming.”
Laura and Ian ducked into the impressionists wing.
“So…why are you telling me this?” whispered Laura. “Oh my GOD. You’re breaking up with me.”
“Wait you actually believed me?”
“You’re telling me this because you want to scare me off?”
“Uh.. no!” said Ian looking in fond amazement at his girlfriend.
“Then why, Ian?”
“I just…I thought you should know the truth… before we got married.”
Laura gazed in wonder at the glittering gem that held more colors than a peacock’s tail.
“YES!” she shouted jumping on him. She kissed his astonished face. “Wait. Do we have to go to Klaxon?” she asked.
“Well, the planet is going to want to meet it’s new princess.”
“Whee!”
***
Gustav the curator had to steady himself as he saw the livid dark stain on the wall. This would get him fired for sure. Thinking fast he grabbed a blank plaque and in his neat handwriting wrote: “Installation Piece, Anon.” He hung it next to the coffee mark and walked away.
Cool story Monica. Thanks.
Barbie looked at the body slumped against the spa’s walls.
It had started off as such a nice day – she and Ken had decided to get manni’s and pedi’s together to celebrate their anniversary. And now he was dead. His brains splattered against the fine Italian marble. She wondered how their lives could have taken such a terrible turn. Gone were the happy memories: shopping at the mall, dancing in the disco, strolling along the beach in Malibu. Their life had been perfect – at least she thought it was. But that had turned out to be a lie. Lies, lies, lies. Their perfect life was built on lies. Ken had always told her that he loved her and she had believed him – but looking back, she should have known. She had noticed the way he looked at Stacey – the way Stacey always seemed to be around. She didn’t want to believe it but after she found the texts on Ken’s phone when he was in the steam room, she knew the life she thought she had was an illusion. And she knew exactly how to fix it. She took the gun that Ken had given her on her last birthday, walked into the steam room and pointed it.
The last words he heard were “Happy Anniversary, Asshole”.
I will never, ever, ever, cheat on my wife! EVER! Great story. Thanks Honey.
Good challenge, Ian.
I'll give it some thought.
FREEDOM by Danielle La Paglia (@Dannigrrl5)
The shot rang in her ears, echoing off the tiled walls. Shock washed over, trembling in her hands and up her arms. The gun clattered to the floor as he slumped against the wall.
It’s done. It’s really done.
She leaned her back against the cool tile, willing her legs to hold her in place, eyes glued to the splatter of blood on the wall. The color of freedom.
Freedom from fear. Freedom from pain. Freedom from him.
The power of liberty coursed through her veins and laughter erupted from her lips. She slapped a hand to her mouth surprised to hear that sound from her own throat. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she snatched the gun from the floor and headed for the door. She gave his body a last glance before heading up the stairs to her reclaimed life.
Awesome Danni. Loved it! Thanks for sharing.
I was about to pass this one up, but suddenly…
I QUIT
by FARfetched (@FARfetched58)
Pat sat on the toilet, smoking his cigarette. He had the door locked, window open, and the exhaust fan going — maybe Becca wouldn't catch him in the act again. He really wanted to quit, but it was so hard.
He sighed and shook his head, taking a final drag. He opened his legs and dropped the butt into the bowl.
The toilet exploded.
The ringing in his ears gave way to a pounding noise. “Pat! What happened? Are you okay?” He shook his head, trying to clear it as his wife stopped pounding, probably running to get the key. He looked at the shattered toilet for a moment, saw a smear across the tile floor. The stupid statuette she’d bought was lying next to it; it had its own splatter of crap but maybe it was intact.
He stood, shaking, bent over from the pain in his legs and elsewhere. I quit.
FARfetched,
Glad you didn't pass it up. Awesome stuff.
The Manic Quinn
An empty head long since dead,
merely an inkblot on life’s wall.
Yet his rainbow mind hath left behind,
a story for us all.
"Who found him?"
"Ramos did Lieutenant."
"Who is he?"
"Haven't been able to determine that, his nickname is Scotnadian Yoda."
"Hmm...that's weird, what was he doing here?"
"Research...I think."
"What time did this occur?"
"Between 4 - 6 hours ago, Ramos is in with the suspect now."
"Who's the suspect?"
"Some guy from California."
"Is he talking?"
"He's said the victim and his woman were some type of 'writing buddies.'"
"Where's his woman?"
"Wilson and Arthur are checking that out now Sir, supposedly dead in a hotel room in Toronto."
The two detectives make their way to the Hotel Le Germain. The hotel staff open the room, when the detectives walk in they find the lifeless body of a woman in her early 30's slumped over her laptop, dead apparently from a gunshot wound to the head in the same exact location as Scotnadian Yoda.
"Ramos, have you asked the suspect why he's wearing a Spiderman suit?"
"Apparently he made one too many trips to Mexico for those damn Spidey outfits Sir."
LOL (all in good fun)
cdnwmn that was awesome. I loved it.
Carlos, I laughed my ass off! Fantastic.
Man, I was thinking this wasn't a good idea, but these stories are all so freakin' great. I might have to do this again.
Thanks so much for participating all, and I hope we get more.
Cheers,
Ian
Be+
The Rorschach Test
“Are you absolutely sure that you don’t see it?” Dr. Ashbury asked again.
“A bat? No, I don’t,” I replied for the third time.
“How strange,” he continued, “my patients always get that one right.”
“Doc, I thought there was no right or wrong answers.”
“In theory,” he chuckled nervously. “But, that isn’t entirely correct.” He glanced at the cards in his hand. “Could we try again? I’d like to see how you interpret the images when I change the order.” The doctor shuffled the cards. I studied his face.
“Alright,” I replied.
“Excellent.” A smile curved his lips as he aligned the ink blot cards in his hand. He looked at the top card and his smile faded. He lifted his eyes and our gazes locked. He handed it to me, unblinking. I glanced at the card and knew why he was edgy. It was the same one that had perplexed him just moments ago. A thrill raced up my spine. I loved this game.
“It’s me,” I said.
“It’s a bat. I’ll even accept butterfly, but it is not you,” Dr. Ashbury shouted. “You will not ruin my reputation. The Rorschach test has been foolproof in demonstrating my success in curing hundreds, thousands. You are not a Mothman, they do not exist!”
“My ass.” Enough was enough. I changed, scared the pompous bastard shitless and then screeched like a sonic boom and blew his brains out, splattering them all over the clinic’s tiled wall.
“Interpret that blot Doc.”
Oh Lisa, you've given me another one liner to use in life. 'Interpret that blot Doc.'
Awesome stuff. Thanks for sharing.
I’m a historical detective by trade, no mystery to big, no questions too difficult to answer and whilst I made enough money from my writing it was more about finding out the answers which was my passion. So when my publisher asked that I solved the greatest American mystery of all I literally flew out of the door.
Arriving in Dallas on that warm sunny day I felt my passion stir as I breathed in the scents of city. Each had something unique to identify it and Dallas was no different as the scents of spices mixed with the smoky air as the humidity caught me in the back of the throat.
Heading downtown and to Elm Street I strode with purpose through the crowds and headed towards the infamous grassy knoll. Looking round I heard a church bell strike the half hour as a shot rang out. Watching the scene unfurl I observed the direction that the gunman bolted I, paid careful attention to what he did, what he wore as well as committing his description to memory.
“Oh yeah, that time machine was definitely worth the money.” I thought.
However my curiosity was also my downfall as I was so focused upon this stranger that I never heard the shot that killed me.
“Damn!” I thought as I looked at my body, I should have known the shooter would have a lookout.
A story with a time machine! Awesome. Yeah, shooters tend to have back up. Too good. Loved it. Thanks for sharing.
Thanks to everyone who participated. I might have to do this again sometime. It was a lot of fun.
Cheers,
Ian
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