Stories from our Flash Fiction Workshop

Nov 13, 2014

A couple of micro-fictions from our Flash Fiction workshop:

The Silent Treatment

I asked you what the makeup is for and you pushed me away. Only to rope me back in. Miming is a weird hobby.

– By Abby Hunt

I was supposed to write a story that people could relate to.
The blank screen haunts my dreams at night, all the words are missing.

– By Zoe Newmarco

A few 100 word stories from our photo prompt of a moldy peach, also during the Flash Fiction Workshop:

Sloppy Seconds

You know the feeling when you come in second? A moment of distraction yanking away your victory of being a first… Pitching compact spheres at me Eric yells, “42!” He was the type that didn’t ask for answers, he gave them. Each one chucked screamed, “I could have been a first!” So many of them tossed aside like a used panty hose at a shoe store. Left there to rot themselves to moosh, scathed. Sometimes I have a taste of that awful fate, just to see. Sometimes bitter, but mostly sweet and victorious: a sloppy second.

– By Bailey Bermond

My mister is such a peach. From the sweetness in his smile to the fuzz on his cheeks, it’s not every day you find such a perfect peach. I picked him on a summer day, and he kept my company ’til the cold came. Oh, but peaches rot, and don’t you know you shouldn’t kiss a rotten peach? That peach grew bitter and I never did see those awful moldy words under those perfect fuzzy cheeks.

– By Abby Hunt

The sweet smell of fruit fills my lungs and my stomach rumbles with the anticipation of food to come. Every time the wind picks up the scent rises to meet me. I force my legs to move forward under the weight of the sunlight that burns my skin. The straps of the backpack rub skin from my shoulders, but I can see the trees beckoning to me. I almost feel the juice run down my neck as peaches melt in my mouth. I arrive at the trees and looking down I see that all of the peaches are moldy.

– By Zoe Newmarco

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