All posts tagged: writing challenge

#SundayPhotoFiction: Stranded

Isabelle watched the foam settle as the speedboat winked out of view, scurrying its way back to the city. The old man hadn’t been keen to take her, counting her money twice before letting her aboard and then lingering for longer than necessary when she leapt out into the shallows. Her skirts were damp, but she’d kicked her shoes free before getting off the boat. Her feet had dried while she waited. She checked her watch and scowled. The glass was cracked, had been since earlier that morning when a cyclist outside her apartment careened into her. It was her own fault. If she’d not spent so long on land, she might have noticed him before he had chance to get close. Instead she’d been thrown from her thoughts by the bite of handlebars into her ribs. The wind picked up and threw the waves higher along the beach. Isabelle waded out, shivering as the water closed around her ankles. ‘Please,’ she cried. ‘I’m sorry. I have learnt my lesson!’ Above her a seagull cried …

A New Friday Fiction Link Up: What Happens Next Is Up To You!

I’ve been taking part in fiction challenges for years but there never seem to be many for short story writers that want to tackle something longer than a hundred words. The best I’ve found is Chuck Wendig’s Flash Fiction Challenges. Seeing as there seems to be this shortage, I thought I might try my hand at kick-starting my own Friday Short Story Challenges. This week you have a carry on the story piece. You can add a single paragraph in the comments below and work with others readers to create a piece with many authors, or you can whisk away the start of the story from below and post your own full blown piece to your blog. Guidelines: You can either add a paragraph in the comments below or write a full story carrying on from the snippet below on your own blog and add your link to the linky tool at the bottom of the page. If you’re adding to the story in the comments then try and reply to the story thread instead …

Life Among Old Paper

The letter was marked number 66/41/C/8504 and mixed in with the correspondence of someone else. This was the only reason her name had survived the purging of her family when they sought to scour all trace of her from their history. Wincing at the creak of old paper straining beneath the pull of modern fingers, Anna unfolded the letter. “To my dearest Father, I am sorry…” The rest is faint, the ink is much older than Anna and almost lost to time’s fading. She wonders if whoever wrote it can see someone has found her words and is finally listening. Back in Shrewsbury our archives are right next to the library and for me the two sites share so many similarities that one always makes me think of the other.

The List

“Right,” said Death adjusted his new hat as we stepped out of the clothes shop, fresh soul in hand. “Hand me the list!” Scowling at him and the crowds pressing towards us I shoved my hand into my pocket and pulled out the water-stained parchment crumpled against the lining. “Ah, wonderful,” said Death, taking it between thumb and forefinger. “It survived your dip in the Thames then?” “And the Ganges,” I shrugged. “You should really stop dropping us in rivers.” “What can  I say,” shrugged Death, uncurling the list as he spoke. “Teleporting has it- Ange? Why does this say eggs, milk and cup-o-soup?” (104 Words)


“I wouldn’t touch that!”Timothy’s gloved finger hovered an inch away from the gloopy mess situated in Dr Jessamine Bell’s lab while the boss herself tapped out instructions on the hologram screen behind.“Is it dangerous?” he asked, retracting his hand and ramming it safely into his lab-coat pocket. “Haven’t tested it yet. Could just be gunk with severely funky odor.”Timothy nodded, eyes still fixed on the sample. “They found it topside right?”“Yeap,” said Jessamine, popping the ‘p’. “But why bring it back?”Jessamine shrugged. “Supposedly saved the Director’s life.”“How?” Timothy asked.“Stopped her bleeding to death.” Photo Credit: Madison Wood    It’s been a while since I wrote anything for Headquarters so I thought to myself, why not use this prompt as a chance to come up with a couple of new characters and a new idea to move the story along. Now I just have to write the segment which covers the finding of the gunk with severely funky odor

Speaking Art

Eleanor Fallaway knew very little about art. What she did know was how to lie to a very convincing level.“Well,” said her boss, making his way around the empty podiums stationed throughout his museum. “It’s certainly interesting.”“It’s exactly what’s needed to launch ourselves into this previously untapped market,” Eleanor grinned, “A real head-turner. Did you know that ninety percent of teenagers don’t even know that art museums still exist!”“Really?” Her boss’s eyes widened. “You don’t say?”“Oh I do!” Eleanor nodded enthusiastically. “And this will bring them in will it?” he asked, gazing at the podium critically.“When the models are installed they will come flocking,” she assured him.“Flocking?”“Flocking!”“Good,” he said, turning to walk back to his office. “Oh, by the way,” he paused and glanced back. “What was it called again?”“The extraordinary within the ordinary,” Eleanor replied.“Hum,” nodded her boss. “Original.”


At ninety-five, Margery Yolk was pretty sure that she had made every wish that could be required in life. She let someone else see to the door, the steady stream of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren parading into her little bungalow in Ipswich, hugs and good wishes in hand. She kept to her armchair and wondered if perhaps she should have at least attempted to find her false teeth for this occasion… When the cake came she smiled, beckoning the youngest in close to blow out the candles for her. “You can have my wish,” she whispered.