Flash fiction: A style of fictional literature marked by extreme brevity.

Welcome to LitReactor's Flash Fiction Smackdown, a monthly bout of writing prowess, in which you're challenged to thrill us in 250 words or less.

How It Works

We give you a picture. You write a flash fiction piece, using the picture we gave you as inspiration. Put your entry in the comments section. One winner will be picked, and awarded a prize.

The Rules

• 250 words is the limit (you can write less, but you can't write more)
• Any genre
• Give it a title
• 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
• We'll pick a winner on the last day of the month
• LitReactor staffers can't win, but are encouraged to participate
• All stories submitted on or before November 29 will be considered. We'll run the winner on November 30.

This Month's Prize

LitReactor SUPER FAN package which includes:

• LitReactor T-shirt
• LitReactor Mug
• LitReactor Buttons
• LitReactor Stickers

Your Inspiration

Photo via MSN

Get writing!

And the Winner is...Tsofit Dangoor

Like many of the entrants, Tsofit's story takes the picture literally. But her story stood out to me because of the style of her prose--clear and concise, spare but strong--kind of like the girls in the picture. It clocked in well under the 250 word limit, but said just enough. Read it for yourself.

 Ribs

Humans have 12 ribs on each side of their ribcage.
I know this because Madame counts ours every week.
Less than 12 and back of the line it is.

Carbs are bad, fats are worse, remember to eat less next time. Someone always cries.

Until today, my record was pristine.
“You have 10 ribs.”
Truth is usually uncomfortable. I didn’t cry like the others.

At home I went through my father’s drawer. I pierced my fingers.
Found it.
It amazes me how sometimes, life just hands you everything you need.

“I see you cut back on the garbage.” I’ve never seen her eat. “Well done”.
I’m in the front again.

When they all left, she bent over, adjusting the lace on her slippers.
“Madame.”

I loved the way her pupils dilated. We all knew what I was holding, all sharp and shiny.

Two minutes and lots of blood later, a paper doll hit the floor with a thud. A paper doll with 24 ribs connected to a small, fragile sternum.

Later that night, Mom’s rice tasted like victory.

About the author

Taylor Houston is a genuine Word Nerd living in Portland, OR where she works as a technical writer for an engineering firm and volunteers on the planning committee for Wordstock, a local organization dedicated to writing education.

She holds a degree in Creative Writing and Spanish from Hamilton College in Clinton, NY. In the English graduate program at Penn State, she taught college composition courses and hosted a poetry club for a group of high school writers.

While living in Seattle, Taylor started and taught a free writing class called Writer’s Cramp (see the website). She has also taught middle school Language Arts & Spanish, tutored college students, and mentored at several Seattle writing establishments such as Richard Hugo House. She’s presented on panels at Associated Writing Programs Conference and the Pennsylvania College English Conference and led writing groups in New York, Pennsylvania, and Colorado for writers of all ages & abilities. She loves to read, write, teach & debate the Oxford Comma with anyone who will stand still long enough.