Friday Flash Fiction Train

Friday Flash Fiction Train

March 17, 2017 Friday Fiction Writing Prompts 1
Friday Flash Fiction Train

All aboard the Friday Flash Fiction Train! Each week, a new prompt will take us to parts unknown – sit back, check out the prompt, and enjoy the ride.

But first, some rules.

  1. Every week, a random prompt will be posted on Friday. Participants have until Wednesday at 12:00 PM EST to write and submit a response in the comment section. Your story must be posted in the comments to count.
  2. The catch – after the first week with a winner, the responses to the weekly prompts must build off the previous week’s winning entry, continuing its story. To avoid never-ending stories, the contest will reset every 5 weeks. We’re aiming to tell a story in 5-episode bursts.
  3. Voting will be open to decide a winner from Wednesday at 12PM EST to Thursday at 10PM EST. Voting will be on site and also in our Facebook group, OWS Word Mafia.
  4. The winning piece will be featured in the next prompt, with links to the winner’s social media.
  5. Word limit: 400.
  6. All responses are property of the authors.
  7. Completed stories might also be compiled into ebooks in the future!

This past week, we had a submission and therefore a winner! B.W. Martin has started off what feels like a coming of age story. Where will you take it next? Check out his entry below and the prompt, then pick up where he left off.

“Look at how she stands,” Clarissa’s voice ran rich with disgust in a mocking tone. The head cheerleader pointed at me and laughed, as I passed the front steps of the High School.

‘Whatever did I do to you,’ I said to myself just before the question brought back memories of the teenager’s response from the times that I bothered asking. Attempting to put a safe space between me and the small group seemed to be a lost cause as every quick glance back, the cheerleaders seemed to be gaining ground.

‘Great.’ My feet picked up the pace as the cafeteria doors came into view, the closest place of freedom I could get to. My training in track and field gave me an advantage as the sound of my shoes on the cement sidewalks became louder and quicker as I entered a slow sprint.

“Oh Joy,” Clarissa called out my name, “where do you think you are going?”

As if Clarissa’s words were a signal, two forms stepped out from around the corner of the building. Prissy expressions played upon their face as I ultimately slowed to a stop, arms at my side I slowly turned around.

‘At least I don’t have any books for her to knock onto the ground.’ The thought began to aggravate me the longer I waited for Clarissa to catch up to where I was. ‘I shouldn’t be happy that I didn’t have anything in my hands, no one should have to go through this.’

“Thought you were getting away from me Joy?” Clarissa’s voice grated my nerves.

“Why do…” My words were cut short.

“Because I can!” Clarissa knew what I was going to ask, blond hairs framed her sarcastic expression as she made her way to stand directly in front of me.

“Just leave me alone!” I could taste the anger and fear in my mouth as I yelled at Clarissa for the first time ever.

“Oh we’re getting brave here Joy? Just take it like the trash you are!”

Without realizing what was going on rage took the reins, all of the years of abuse boiled into this moment. The pain of my knuckles brought me back to reality, my view lowered to Clarissa’s form and her bloody nose being released down the front of her cheerleading outfit.

I never spoke another word to them, and the same was given in respect.

PROMPT: Everybody’s youth is a dream, a form of chemical madness. – F. Scott Fitzgerald

Be sure to check out B.W. Martin at his social media:

Remember – participants should include name/pen name and any links they’d like to share for promotional purposes (Twitter, FB Page, Goodreads, Website, etc).

Not sure you want to play? Check out the contest’s previous incarnation for an idea of how it works.

Hop aboard the #FriFlashFicTrain & enjoy the ride! #amwriting #writing #prompt Click To Tweet


One Response

  1. Kat Avila says:

    Commenting to include Nancy Miller’s submission from Mafia Group on FB:

    Joy moved on to college where her academic success meant more than her wardrobe or people she considered friends. It was a welcome change from the insanity of peer pressure, cliques, and horrific self-consciousness. Oh, the times she wished for the power of invisibility.
    At college, Joy immersed herself in literature, living countless lives between the pages of a book. The literary world beckoned. Now she had the reputation of being one of the best editors in New York. The past was the past.
    And yet, here she was, where it all started. Ten-year reunion. She did not quite understand what drew her back. Yet, there was a fascination, no, that wasn’t the right word, a need to fulfill. The need was anonymous, yet to be named.
    Joy pulled her rental car to the curb and shifted into park. A quick trip in to the store for the items the TSA limits to three ounces then off to the Super 8.
    Shampoo, hairspray, bottle of wine, and a few snack essentials filled the red plastic basket. She placed it on the moving belt and her eyes drifted up to the other checkouts. Three lanes over stood former head cheerleader, Clarissa, checking out a customer.
    A flood of emotions overtook her, some that she hadn’t felt since those angst filled days when she allowed herself to be victimized. Here stood the bane of her former existence.
    “Joy!” The clerk on her line reached over the belt and grabbed her arm.
    Joy tried in vain to place the face with a name. Nada. Nothing.
    “Kira Pierson” The smile demanded recognition.
    “Kira! How are you?” Safe question. Joy glanced back. Nobody behind her in line to speed the process. She felt her gaze being dragged back to Clarissa. Kira noticed and her voice dropped.
    “Clarissa? She doesn’t talk a lot but I hear her husband left her with two kids and just as many jobs.” Kira waited for a reaction.
    The tension between them in high school was well established and recognized. But what did she feel now?
    “I also hear she writes books. She hasn’t published them…or at least not as a ‘book’ book. She has one up as an ebook.”
    “Under her own name?”
    “I guess so. Thirty-four dollars and seventeen cents.”
    The conversation ended with the exchange of money and the arrival of the next customer.

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