Flash fiction challenges such as Five Sentence Fiction has kept me writing and improved my craft, so I serve up some here every Tuesday. Since every one likes choices I’m providing you with two weekly writing prompts. You can participate in either one, or double your pleasure by trying your hand at both. Submit your efforts any time between now and next Tuesday.
The Standard Prompt will always consist of a two-word prompt to be used as inspiration. The Non-Standard Prompt will change from week to week. Sometimes it will be a visual prompt, sometimes a first sentence or phrase, sometimes a scenario, etc. The limit for the Two for Tuesday Standard Prompts is 200 words and the Non Standard Prompt has a minimum of 200 words but no limit allowing for more in depth explorations. Use the little blue link thing below to submit your link or leave an entry in the comments section.
Don’t forget to check out the other entries.
Here is this week’s two-fer:
You have lots of creative leeway. The limit is 200 words. The words can be used:
- simply as a point of inspiration and do not have to be used directly
- they can be included exactly as provided
- or each word can be used independently of each other (for example if Death Row was the prompt instead of crafting a story about an inmate on the way to the gallows, you might write something like: Despite feeling like death from an excess of cheap vodka consumed the night before, Evelyn moved on to planting her next row of spinach).
This week’s alternative prompt is a visual one, write a story using the photo below. As per usual with the Non-Standard Prompt there is no word limit (to allow for more in depth explorations) but there is a minimum of 200 words.
For those who like to write first and read later, be forewarned, my effort follows.
The debris crunched beneath his feet and the smell of years—dust, mildew, gypsum, rot—even after all these years could not quite cover the aroma of sweaty boys (all dirty laundry, hormones and cheap aftershave) mixed with a still detectable whiff of paste wax and disinfectant. The jeers and taunts echoed through the halls of his mind alongside the phantom squeak of tennis shoes and the rhythmic poom-poom-poom of a basketball on hardwood. This room still gave him shivers. There were more than memories haunting these four walls.
“Debakey! Blue team.” At the beginning of the of the basketball unit he was usually greeted with enthusiasm because of his height, but once they had become aware of his shortcomings in the skills department his name usually elicited a chorus of groans. The whole strategy and fast pace of the game had always eluded him and despite his close proximity to the rim he had been a lousy shot. In school he had towered over most of the others, a gawky and insect-like teenager. To make things worse he was shy and introverted, making him a perfect target.
The abuse began with simple name calling. Bug. Frankenstein. Freak. Sasquatch. Then the intimidation began. Tripping in the hallway, shoving in the cafeteria. From there things had gone from bad to worse. And that is what brought him back all these years later. The school had sat dormant—abandoned. It was about time someone took the initiative to completely erase the painful memories and so he clicked the lighter open, touched the flame to the gas soaked rag, tossed the bottle, turned and walked away without looking back.