UPDATED WITH WINNER - LitReactor's Flash Fiction Smackdown: February Edition
Flash fiction: A style of fictional literature marked by extreme brevity.
Welcome to LitReactor's Flash Fiction Smackdown, a monthly bout of writing prowess.
How It Works
We give you inspiration in the form of a picture, poem, video, or similar. You write a flash fiction piece using the inspiration we gave you. Put your entry in the comments section. One winner will be picked and awarded a prize. This month the deadline is a bit earlier. Since I will be joining Dennis, Rob, Patrick, Kirk, Bree, Suzy, and a whole bunch of other LitReactees (maybe even CHUCK) at AWP 2014 in Seattle, we plan to end the contest a few days early. You get 25 words, but there are no limits on structure or number of sentences. Get 'er done by the 25th, and we'll run it the next day.
The Rules
- 25 words is the limit. (You can write less, but you can't write more.)
- It can be any genre.
- Give it a title (not included in the word count, but keep it under 10 words).
- We're not exactly shy, but let's stay away from senseless racism or violence.
- One entry per person.
- Editing your entry after you submit it is permitted.
- LitReactor staffers can't win, but are encouraged to participate.
- All stories submitted on or before February 25 will be considered. We'll run the winner on February 26.
This Month's Prize
Two titles from Two Dollar Radio:
1) Baby Geisha
Baby Geisha is a collection of thirteen sexually-charged stories that roam from the Coney Island Ferris wheel to the Greek Isles.
You can read "Perverted Hobo"—one of the stories in this excellent collection—by clicking here.
2) Mira Corpora
Read LitReactor's review. Read an excerpt from the novel that was printed in Guernica.
It’s fine work in its manic pacing and its summoning of certain cultural emblems. Present tense with a vengeance. I hope the book finds the serious readers who are out there waiting for this kind of fiction to hit them in the face.
-Don DeLillo
Style is pre-eminent in Jeff Jackson's eerie and enigmatic debut. The prose works like the expressionless masks worn by killers in horror films.
-Sam Sacks, The Wall Street Journal
Your Inspiration
Well, I just saw Seattle win the Super Bowl, and LitReactor will be taking over that rainy city later this month, so let's be inspired by rain, coffee, flannel, indie music, flying fish, retro-futuristic architecture, Sasquatch, volcanoes, computer software, Sherman Alexie, Rainn Wilson, legal pot, and anything else that you associate with the Emerald City.
Now get writing!
And the Winner Is... Jake Peterson
Well, I didn't intentionally pick a winner that actually LIVES in Seattle, but there you have it...I liked the simplicity of Jake's entry, the inclusion of "seattle-esque" elements, and the punchline ending to the story we all know well. Nicely executed. Well, Jake, congratulations, and maybe we will see you at AWP or the Party on Thursday night.
1990
Eddie pulled out a mangled joint and fired it up as he sat huddled beneath the Space Needle. "I should start a band," he thought.
Column by Taylor Houston
Taylor Houston is a genuine Word Nerd living in Portland, OR where she works as a technical writer and volunteers on the marketing committee for Wordstock, a local organization dedicated to writing education. She has a BA in Creative Writing and Spanish from Hamilton College and attended Penn State's MFA program in Creative Nonfiction. She has taught writing at all levels from middle school to college to adult, and she is the creator of Writer’s Cramp, a class for adults who just want to write!
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http://williamgrit.com/2014/03/05/litreactors-flash-feb/
My Last Soldier
_______
“Won’t see you again.”
Laughter.
“The frontline is funny?”
No.
“Don’t laugh.”
I’ll remember though.
“And laugh?”
Yeah.
“ Prick.”
I’ll laugh, then depart.
“Again.”
_______
Mourning Haze
Came to cure The Itch-
saran wrapped smashed silicon-
but space needles found no place in my veins.
Beneath rainy skies I devoured ancient highs.
Glass Ceiling
I saw Chihuly
drinking tea,
absorbing the rain
as he admired the
needle suspended above.
Why not me
he asked
of no one
in particular.
Homeless in Seattle
Begging on the corner of 5th and Blanchard, you were halfway along the Monorail route. Halfway to the space needle. Halfway to your future.
Wishful Thinking
She walked away years ago, leaving me for drizzle and coffee.
I stayed and dried up.
The ticket in my hand will slake my thirst.
Live @ Caravaggio's 2 / 19
The old guard is dead. X X
o
(```)
The 'SUB' in S>U>B
P<O<P stands for 'substitute.'
You are the Bank,
We are The Tellers.
Halfhour Before The SeattlePD Investigates A Murderscene Near Pikeplace
Windowscreen raindrops. Skilletscorched coffee. Beardedman eyes Supinewoman. “If I stay, I’ll kill you.”
“If you leave, you’ll kill him.”
“Don’t love him.”
“I do.”
Doorslams.
The View
A majestic view. Mossy mountains and wild woods, green savagery of ancient gods.
"I can't see, it's too foggy."
Best Coffee in Seattle
Something solid hit her lips. It squirmed.
A fucking cockroach.
It had happened before. Didn’t matter. She kept coming back.
Distractions
She said the Space Needle was a tourist distraction. That’s when I realized if it weren’t me, it’d just be some other boy.
A Valediction
His beard scratched her face in just the right way. She collapsed into him, smelled the city, the rain, the restlessness, knowing he'd already left.
Seahawks' First Super Bowl Win
She braced herself again and again, palms against the headboard, feet locked behind his back.
Seattle had won.
She would let herself finish this time.
Lost Customer
Pikes Place is great, but not as a flavor. Tastes like you made it from the fish market water.
Fuck it, I'm going to Tully's.
The Good Listener
On and on he goes barely even pausing for breath.
I stare at the cobwebs in the corner.
“JO!” he cries.
“I’m listening,” I lie.
Last Night in Emerald City
The thundering rain muffled the words of the gun as molten lead warmed his chest like a swallow of fresh coffee on a cold morning.
Fuga a um lugar chuvoso
"Where you flying to?"
"Seattle."
"What you know about it?"
"Nothing, except their sun won't warm and burn my loving heart as in Rio."
Seattle was her escape plan. A place to start over. Become something else.
Only, she never expected that "something else" to be a corpse.
Decisions
“Nirvana’s from there?”
“Pearl Jam, babe”
“So much rain, though.”
“’Snot so bad. Starbucks started there.”
The woman put the travel guide down in disgust.
THE MERMAID
“Spare change?” He held out her image for collection.
Others came for her coffee, but his was a love affair of coins and cardboard cups.
The Loc'd King
Loud and boisterous on the field. Firm, yet gentle in bed.
His locs danced in the mutual sweat coating her back.
His grip was gold.
1990
Eddie pulled out a mangled joint and fired it up as he sat huddled beneath the Space Needle. "I should start a band," he thought.
In the Blink of a Bloodshot Eye
The glass flashed as it tripped over the table's edge; "why does everything I love die?" wondered Jimmy. "Clash!" his bong gasped, its swan song.
Welcome To Seattle
Why yes, it DOES smell like teen spirit! Why do you ask?
The Genesis Of Turner G. Mackelson Jr.'s Second Chance
Cold, alone outside. French kissing the barrel in the rain, he pulls the trigger. Nothing. He exhales. "I forgot bullets," he mutters. "Yet another failure."
A Slick Reputation
From South Bronx to Seattle, everybody remembered Bootsy Crenshaw until he slipped on an oil-sheened autoshop puddle, fractured his skull and lost all memory.