Thursday, May 24, 2012


Happy Friday ... er, Thursday!  

***Due to personal matters, this week's contest will run from Thursday night to Friday night instead of Saturday morning. Sorry for any inconveniences!

Today's judge, and last week's WINNER is Sarah

Here are Sarah's answer to my 'getting to know the judge' questions: 

1) My current WIP is called DRAGONS ARE PEOPLE, TOO. Short summary:
Sixteen-year-old Kitty is a weredragon operative for the US
government. When the government turns its back on the dragons, she
must choose between loyalty to her country and allegiance to her

2) Unlike most writers, I'm not really sure. I've been interested in
writing little things like poems and short stories for years, but I
know I got serious about it in Fall 2009.

3) I am mostly a pantser, but I have been thinking about doing an
outline for a few of my ideas - just so I can figure out which one to
write next!

4) When it comes to writing, I'm going to repeat some advice from
fellow YA Rebel Gretchen McNeil: If you can
do anything else (other than writing) and be happy, do that.

But if you can't, it takes hard work and perseverance to get where you
want to be. Nothing will be easy




For the prompt, Sarah has gone the direction that Ray went last week, and has chosen two of her own photos AND two words.


Along with the photos, you must use the following word prompts: 
static and dream


And good luck to all who enter!
*Remember, the winner of this week gets to judge next week AND pick the prompt(s)!


Ready ... set ... FLASH!  

To Review:
Word or picture prompt (OR BOTH!)
50 word minimum / 350 word limit
24 hours
The detailed rules are HERE


*Remember, post your entry right here in the comments, please!  Don't forget word count and Twitter handle!  (Or another way for me to reach the winner!) 


  1. I open my bleary eyes, blinking away the remnants of last night's haze. Shit. I passed out under the fountain again. Her fountain. Fine drops of dew cover me like the static of a television between channels.
    The leaves on the tree remind me that it's late in the year. I'm getting too old for this shit. It used to be about living the dream. Look at me now.
    I stand and shake the moisture from my hair, wishing I had a cigarette. I haven't smoked for years. She does this to me.
    My black clothes hid me well enough last night, but are conspicuous in the cold light of day. At least they hide the dampness.
    I hunt through my pockets, find a coin. I toss it over my left shoulder into the fountain and leave without turning back. That's bad luck. I follow the wrought iron fence to the gate. To the buzzer with no names.
    My fingers stop just short of the button, caressing the air. I don't bother touching it - her fingers wouldn't touch it. She'd have a key. I can't press it.
    Would she be happy to see me? Would she even remember me? Would she recognize the wreck of a man I've become, framed in soft, dark hair?
    I run my tongue over too-sharp teeth. The sunlight slides over the hill, and warms my skin. I smile.
    I'll find a way to get her to let me in.

  2. The fountain had grown enormous, but Joanna wasn’t daunted. She was thirsty. She leapt to the rim and drank, the water cool in her throat. Then she listened. Someone was calling her – someone she knew. His voice sounded buzzy, like static on a phone line. Ordinarily the harsh tone would have annoyed her, but just now she found it strangely attractive. “Sam?” she said aloud, and darted toward the voice, which came from an azalea just starting to bloom. “Hello, Sam,” Jessica chirped, and sat right down next to him. “How are you?” She was surprised at herself; normally, when she met him at school, she felt too shy to talk to him. But now it was Sam who was shy.

    “”Hello,” he buzzed, and turned away. “I made you something.”

    “You did? Can I see it?”

    “Yeah. It’s up here.” Sam led her to the loveliest little twig home. There was a soft floor of moss. “Do you like it? I made it specially for you.”

    “I love it!” At that, Sam puffed his chest out and began his buzzing song. He was singing,
    “I’m your boyfriend! I’m your boyfriend! I’m your boyfriend!”

    Joanna sighed, shifted, and tucked her head more tightly under her wing. She dreamed on, never realizing that, when she awoke, she’d be human again.

  3. Oh, eeep! I forgot both word count and twitter handle. I'm maryj59 on twitter, where I retweeted this contest, and the word count is 219.

  4. My twitter handle is @lissajean7 and the word count is 347. This is my first ever flash fiction. It was fun. Thanks!

    I raced to the call box. Which number was it? Why couldn’t they be labeled? As far as this reality went, I needed out. It had started as such a dream, but now it was a nightmare. I needed time to think. The beast was growing and changing so fast. I heard the claws scrabble against the cobbles a few streets away, echoing through the alleys.

    If I pressed the wrong button, I could end up anywhere. Sure, the garden behind the wrought iron fence looked innocent enough, but anyone could see that it was completely static – no breeze, no nothing. As soon as I made a commitment I had to either go there or stay here. Staying here wasn’t an option. The beast slammed into some trash cans. It must be having difficulty navigating the cobbles. Good.

    I wracked my brain. Three was that deserted island, right. I think I’d figured out how to make that raft now. Wait. No. That was only three if I was coming from the moon colony. From here it was – Oh, I can’t remember! The crash of trash cans and a yowl from a cat told me that I had better figure it out right now.

    The gate opened. Marjorie. Her eyes grew big and her mouth dropped open. “Gavin? Finally. You’re here!” Her smile was like the sun.

    “I have to leave.”

    “No. Not again.”

    “I’m going to be eaten alive.”

    “Where to?”

    “I don’t know.”

    “You just don’t want to tell me.”

    “No, I can’t remember which number goes where.”

    She laughed. “Does it really matter?”

    “I guess not, as long as it’s not the alligators or the bats. I’m not even sure I can get to either of those from here.”

    “Feed the alligators those squatty birds. They’re dumb as rocks.”

    “Thanks.” My fingertips brushed her cheek.

    “Try to stay put for more than 24 hours next time.”

    “I do try.” We both turned when the beast howled as it rounded the corner. “Come on, lucky number four.” I pressed the button and walked through the gate.

  5. Word count: 338

    Twitter handle: @Anyechka

    Sometimes Ilana liked to stroll in the courtyard of their house, taking in the mild winter atmosphere and the beautiful view of Lake Kineret. The Galilee region had always seemed so peaceful, not as plagued by turmoil and bad blood as other areas of her homeland. It was hard to imagine moving anywhere else, as her four best friends had done awhile ago. But all the same, there was nothing static about this region. There was a beautiful vibrancy, in spite of the slower pace. Things had definitely changed and gotten more modern since her arrival as a young woman.

    During her walk around the courtyard, she stopped and gazed into the fountain in the garden, with orange trees in the background. The water was flowing as peacefully and uninterruptedly as it always had, as though it didn’t know about the nightmare that had been unleashed on the holiest day of the year.

    As a child in Abony, her parents had sometimes taken her and her little sisters to the public square. There had been a fountain there too, and they’d always thrown in coins to make wishes. Ilana had never really believed in it, but she’d gone along and been a good sport. Now she wished she could toss a shekel in and wish for her beautiful boy Simcha to be brought back to life.

    Namir joined her in the courtyard and put his arm around her, gazing into the fountain along with her. “Are you thinking about Simcha again?”

    “Last night I had a dream our beautiful boy was still alive. Why did I have to love him so much if he was only going to be taken away from us so soon? I never dreamt my beautiful only child would be murdered just like my family and friends.”

    Namir gently stroked her protruding midsection. “Remember our double miracle. You’re going to be a mother again at forty-six, and we’ve got a grandchild on the way. Simcha might be gone, but our bloodline will live on.”