Flash fiction, by definition, is fiction that is very brief. A few hundred words or fewer in its entirety.
I occasionally participate in weekly flash fiction contests on other authors’ sites such as Madi Merek‘s and Siobhan Muir’s blogs. These contests are very informal, mostly for people to just stretch a wing or play with a new idea in a brief vignette. The goal is to tell a story in the scope of of just a couple hundred words or so, which makes it a bit of a challenge, as you can imagine.
Well, I actually won one of these little contests last week and thought I’d share it with you. This one is from Siobhan Muir’s blog and she will host another flash fiction contest Thursday, May 1st, from 10 a.m. – 10 p.m. (Eastern) on her blog. What she does is provide the flashers (ha!) with a prompt chosen from a prior week’s winning flash fiction piece.
For the one below, the prompt was: “Be right there.”
And that’s where this came from. For the rest of the stories from last week, check out her blog.
“You could call 9-1-1,” Shawn reminded her sensibly. His tone reassured her that his centrally located booster seat—he was four and a half years old and still needed one—had kept him pretty safe during the accident.
She tried to chuckle, but the effort hurt. “I could, but I don’t know where my phone is.”
Her mind tried to untangle itself, to prioritize.
“Can you get out of your booster?”
Two clicks. “Hey! I can!” Then, “Ow! Mommy! That hurt!”
She tried desperately to turn to smile at him. “Good job! Okay, you need to be very careful and—“
“What’s that smell?”
Her heart stopped. Gas. Ruptured fuel line? “Honey?” Her voice was strained. “Do your best to get out through that window, there.”
“Broken glass, Mommy,” he complained, crying and perhaps realizing more than a little boy should ever have to know.
“I know. Try, baby. I know there’s a fire truck on the way and you can watch for it, okay?” The car creaked and scrunched a little. “Hurry!”
“But what about you, Mommy?”
“I’m coming, honey. You go.” The smell of gas was really strong, now, and she was trying to undo her seatbelt to get free. “Go on.”
He slid, crying about his hand on the glass. “Mommy!”
“Go on. Find the other driver!”
He ran, but she could still hear him. “Mommy!”
“Be right there.”
Metal sparked against metal. “Mommy!”
And, yeah. I left it there. The word limit for this contest is always 250. I came in at 248 or something. Interested in trying your hand? Just click on the link given above tomorrow after 10 a.m. Eastern. 🙂