September 11th

We remember.

Flash fiction contest from Janet Reid, #8

Another flash fiction contest from the urbane hipster Janet Reid:

100 words or fewer, using:  

beautiful

downtown

queens

rental

cat

In the Valley of the Queens, Bastet ruled.

She rose from temple prostitute with a rental booth outside the main shrine in downtown Thebes, to the beautiful and feared chief concubine to Pharaoh himself. 

She was the official palace mourner. If someone you cared about died and you wanted a proper show, you called her.

If someone you didn’t love refused to die, well, Bastet could fix that too.

Every day she fed her clowder of cats on human blood. Every night she pleased Pharaoh and stirred her potions. 

She was carved into eternity with trembling hands, reborn a goddess.

Flash fiction contest from Janet Reid, #7

Another flash fiction contest from the highly (tooth) polished Janet Reid:

100 words or fewer, using:  

degrees 

chum 

bucket

pants

3

(This one merited, "Special recognition for entries that cracked me up.")

“Look on Chumster.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a selachimorpha-sharing website. There’s only 3 degrees of separation between sea-going creatures.”

“Expensive to join?”

“Just a couple buckets of clams, and you see everyone’s dating profile.”

“Is it some fancy-pants sharks only site? What about the cartilaginously-challenged?”

“No, it’s not selective. Even lawyers and literary agents are allowed.”

“I’m game.”

And that was how they met. He was a nine-armed tugboat-chasing architeuthis, she a high-minded blood-swilling carcharadon.

Ships were sunk. Legends were written. They swam off into the murky sunset, suction cup in razor fin. 

Flash fiction contest from Janet Reid, #6

Another flash fiction contest from the flinty-eyed Janet Reid that I should have posted earlier:

100 words or fewer, using:  

fiction

slush

spade

hear

262 

“Get the icicles out of your ears. Call Wisconsin.”

“Keep your snowpants on, I heard you, I’m scooping up slush.”

“262-get-snow. They’re the only ones with summer product.”

“Toss me that spade, it’s like a glacier’s calving.”

“Can’t...I’m melting...”

“You’re stealing the witch’s line, careful about copyright, we have enough trouble.”

“Ice me down.”

“The Feds drained the power by running their ACs.”

“My artillery...the snow balls...”

“When Snowface told you to go into powder, he meant pharmaceutical grade, not ski quality.”

“Damn Snowden, the traitor. I swore I’d never sell to Tehran, that’s pure fiction.”

Flash fiction contest from Janet Reid, #5

This one is a writing contest from A.S. King, originally brought to my attention by Janet Reid's post.

You can find this author at:  http://www.as-king.info/2013/08/win-advance-copy-of-reality-boy.html

Want to win an ARC of REALITY BOY? All you have to do is follow 3 little rules, and you're in. Go crazy. You have two whole weeks. 

CHALLENGE:

1. Your story MUST start with this sentence: Janet was early. **
2. Your story MUST end with this sentence: Of course, she didn't.
3. Your story must be 100 words or less.

Janet was early. Early to bed when tempted by Franklin and friends. Not early to rise because there was no dough in it. But her publisher client had left her an ARC as a tip. 

She noticed she’d slept in her stilettos again. She wriggled into what was left of her dress, and downed her morning whiskey, neat. Janet hoisted the girls, tucked the manuscript into her lace-swathed cleavage, and smiled. She’d have done him just for the tip. 

Time for a fix at the corner bookstore before hitting her day job. Feel any regret?  Of course, she didn’t.

Flash fiction contest from Janet Reid, #4

Another flash fiction contest from the toothsome Janet Reid that I should have posted earlier:

100 words or fewer, using:  

blitz 

tube

blackout

finest 

hour

“One more tube of lemon-yellow. Flourishes, careful, careful.”

“That’s nice...”

“A blitz of candied violets for the finish. A spun sugar crown, and done!”

“But...”

“Here we have it-my finest sugar-blackout Divorce cake.”

“I’m not...”

“One hour after eating yours, ten years of marital misery will melt away.”

“I was really...”

“Two hours after sending his, your former partner will follow suit.”

“I don’t...”

“The piece de resistance, why, frosted arsenic on his rose petals.”

“I’m actually looking for a wedding cake.”

“Oh, well. Come see me in a few years then. Never mind about the petals.”

Flash fiction contest from Janet Reid, #3

Another flash fiction contest from the fantastic Janet Reid that I should have posted earlier:

100 words or fewer, using:  

art

jersey

lily

double

kiss

I held my sweating cocktail glass to my face, then scrubbed my cheeks with a bar napkin.

“Delightful. The old double kiss. Is he Eurotrash or a gangster?”

“Neither. He plays artist so he doesn’t have to sully his lily hands with actual work.”

“He doesn’t want to whack me?”

“No, just couch-surf you. He’s kind of a rent boy. Scammer.”

“Any family?”

“Died in a fire in Jersey.”

“Hmm. My dungeon is short a slave. Won’t the artiste be surprised?”

We laughed and fixed our lipstick. I sent the poseur a drink. Patience. Patience. Sharks circling bait.