Flash Fiction of the photo prompt variety has been proven to:
cure what ails you.
Negatory. No, not really. But, if what’s ailing you are long stories and no time to read, then Flash Fiction is your medicine of choice. Or, on the flip side, if you are suffering from writer’s block or it’s been determined that you don’t have enough time to write a novel, this could whiz-bang be your tablespoon of curative. pinky promise winky-winky
… flash fiction often contains the classic story elements: protagonist, conflict, obstacles or complications, and resolution. However, unlike a traditional short story, the limited word length often forces some of these elements to remain unwritten – that is, hinted at or implied in the written storyline. Different readers thus may have different interpretations.
Last week I offered the first monthly photo prompt Flash Fiction invitation. So, if you “borrowed” this image to your site and wrote a little ditty, please link it. If you so desire, you may drop your little, bitty ditty into the comment box below.
750 words or less.
Poetry is allowed too.
Simply Darlene’s photo prompt Flash Fiction:
Into the Wild
Alexa sat cross-legged on the dock, facing the sunrise. Her cut-off jeans were worn through in several places and goose bumps covered her lean legs. With longing, she examined her fingers – other than a few flecks of red polish near the cuticles, no trace of her once manicured hands existed. Alexa reached into her backpack for another piece of bread, discovering it was the last one.
According to the bakery sign, they sold only artisan bread. And as the nose-pierced, hairy armpit woman working behind the glass counter said, “This dense bread is will satisfy even the hungriest of tummies.” Alexa bought three loaves. That was one week and thirty miles ago, back near the fringes of her suburbia life.
She unwrapped the bread from the plastic and pressed the piece flat between her hands. Next, Alexa folded it in half and bit a chunk out of the center. She held it to her face, looking through the gaping hole.
Resorts in this region of The Rockies ranged from four-star restaurant posh to scary outhouse rustic. This one, with it’s simple, but clean, beachfront cabins and neighboring campground, fell somewhere in between. Like most, it had been built next to a small, clear lake. Nearby trails led off into the woods. Some paths were maintained and marked for hiking, while others were used only by wildlife.
An earlier riser, the man on the lakeside deck took one last drag of his cigarette before he dropped it into a half cup of lukewarm coffee. He felt his Kimber semi-automatic pistol press against the flabby flesh of his back as he leaned hard into the wooden chair.
Another person, still unseen by anyone that morning, stood behind the trees near the large trailhead sign, stretching tight leg muscles and sipping from a Nalgene water bottle, before unzipping a small bag of dried apples.
Both watched as Alexa turned away from the glaring sunrise. Still holding the bread to her face, she peered through the hole, first, toward cigarette man. She raised her hand and wagged her fingers at him. Then she turned toward the trailhead, and ever so slight, nodded once.
Ducks crowded the dock’s edge. She tore the bread and flung its pieces onto the placid water. As the ducks swam for an easy breakfast, Alexa stripped off her filthy, baggy t-shirt, dropped her ragged shorts to the rough wood planks, and dove into the lake. Just before disappearing beneath the surface, her long, dark ponytail thumped hard between her tan shoulder blades.
Cigarette man cursed and jogged down to the dock.
Fruit-eater smiled and turned away.
With strong arms and even strokes, she swam into the water’s dark depths.
Her backpack was empty. Cigarette man ground his teeth as he held it upside down. He saw wisps of smoke curling along the shore so he jerked his big feet through the sand, toward the lakeside storage racks. He spit on the burnt oars and kicked the destroyed canoes as he discovered the remnants from a late night bonfire.
Careful not to leave footprints, the trailhead onlooker snuck into cigarette man’s cabin, stole the extra ammunition and dropped it through an outhouse toilet seat – before returning to mingle with other campers in the outdoor cooking area.
Determined to survive, Alexa escaped into the wild. Again.
word count: 559 (including title)