A few weeks back, before her Cabin Goddess site got gobbled by some nasty virus, Kriss set me the task of a Flash Fiction piece of no more than 500 words using the prompt “darkness”. She even shared it on her blog; given the crazy that the malware introduced in her life, though, I figured now would be a good time to immortalize my short here as well.
This was intended for a young audience (she said to write in a genre I haven’t attempted yet)… but it came out with the same paranormal twists I like in all my stories.
So. Without further ado:
The darkness closed in on him as Max huddled under the covers, careful to make sure there were no gaps between the sheets and the mattress by which the monster he was sure was colluding from the corner of his room with the one he could feel rumbling under his bed could gain access to his scrawny limbs. It was the topper to a bad day at school. The eighth-grade gang had all laughed when their newest member, and Max’s old friend Fred, had stuck his foot out to trip him. He’d sprawled headlong down the hallway, spent five minutes gathering up his books, papers, and belongings, and been late to Mrs. Samson’s English class. For the fourth time. His afternoon was wasted in detention, and his parents had still been at work when he came home, so he’d made do with a few slices of cheese and cold cuts to cure the grumbling in his tummy. A late call informed him they were stuck attending a business dinner, too, so he was to do his homework and get to bed by 9—without any company or comfort.
So here he was. An 85-pound 12-year-old with no friends and no family, abandoned at home to the tender mercies of ghouls nobody else would believe were real.
The only problem with his self-imposed blanket cocoon was that it was getting hot and close. He needed a breath of fresh air. How was he to achieve that without exposing himself to his enemies? Maybe a strategic pillow placement would give him the shield he needed. He shifted around, shoving his bear to one side and grabbing his flashlight for its trusty weight before inching toward the top of his bed. He pushed the pillow in front of the top of his head and established the barricade that would allow his nose and mouth a protected crack to access the cool air of his bedroom.
One gulp of a refreshing breath and Max wondered whether his fears remained substantial. He shifted his grip on his flashlight and carefully brought it up next to his cheek in preparation for the light of truth to answer his questions. Before he could turn it on, the overhead light flooded the room and his mom poked her head in the door. “I heard rustling and thought I might catch you awake to tuck you in.”
Max shoved the blankets down and sat up, carefully eyeing the corner before turning to his mother. She gasped when the light fully hit his face, revealing her changeling son’s scales were back. He turned on the full beam of his flashlight, dispelling that mother, and opened the bright doorway to his home dimension. It would be good to leave this human existence.
As the main part of my commitment to help a fellow author keep her name in the limelight in honor of her recent release of Blue Moon House, I’m happy to share with you a guest post by Angelica Dawson:
At a recent writing convention, I was invited to be part of a panel about flash fiction. I participate in daily flash fiction contests, but I was pleased to learn a few things as well. I thought, for Tonya’s audience, I would summarize some of what we covered in the panel.
The most contentious question asked was: what is flash fiction. I had a pretty clear idea in my head. It was a short piece, with a concrete word count (exactly 100 words, 100-250 words, etc.) that was prompted by the person requesting the piece. That was NOT what my fellow panelists and audience defined it as. In fact, the only thing we did agree on was that it was short. Most didn’t use prompts. Many believed that if the story continued after writing the flash piece, it wasn’t really flash fiction to begin with. Many thought my flash fiction was really just free writing.
So what is flash fiction? It depends who’s asking. If you visit any of the weekly flash fiction sites/contests/blogs that I frequent, my definition is pretty apt. If you ask Every Day Fiction or Daily Science Fiction, you might get something different.
Another big question: What do you get paid for writing flash fiction?
I get paid nothing, so far. My flash fiction has been in large part self-gratifying. I get a prompt, I get a kernel of a story and I write it. By posting it in popular places (like #menagemonday) I give other readers a taste for my writing and a link to my blog. The best pieces are those that beg to be continued. The characters I only had for a few words are so real to me, so defined, and with a hint at their plot arc, I have taken flash pieces and turned them into entire novels. (That’s happened twice now with a possible third.)
Looking for the $$? Well, you can get them. Here are just a few links I found in a quick google search, so I’m sure there are many more out there.
Want to know where I post? Here’s a list of my weekly flash fiction stops. I don’t make it to everyone every week, but I’m usually found in three or more.
Tantalyzing Tuesday (tend toward erotic)
Flasher Fiction Friday (tend toward erotic)
So, do you have any questions about flash fiction? Do you enjoy writing or reading flashes? Let me know!
OK: This is the third time in recent months I’ve been pushed to think about Flash Fiction; I may need to revisit the fun and see where it leads me. In the meantime, if you’re one of the large and growing audience of women who enjoy erotica, check out Dawson’s new books, Blue Moon House and Campus Sexploits 3.