Thanks for stopping by!
The end of last year saw a downtick in participation, but I hope that was due to the holiday season. I know I cut things off my "to do" list and I still felt swamped. I also got some feedback that my word counts seemed a bit high. My thinking was that if I gave you 750 words, you could use one or two or two hundred, up to the total amount, but I can see where that might be overwhelming. So for this year, I'm going to cut back, keep it short--really challenge you guys.
So! New year, new prompts, new excitement!
If this is your first time joining us, check out more about the contest here. Remember: my preferences are speculative fiction and stuff that gives me the feels; however, this is your story and you do what you want with it.
When you're ready for it, here's the prompt:
Flash Fiction Prompt For Friday, January 8, 2016
When posting, remember to include your name and your Twitter handle.
I look forward to reading your words.
My entry for the flash fic contest! :)
Twitter handle: @premeesaurus
“However, could we interest you,” he continued, “in this beautiful LeSabre? Runs like a cheetah, purrs like a kitten, corners like a…”
“Leopard?” I said, helpfully. “No, it’s nice, but as I said, I’m really looking for more of a dirigible, and this barely has room for three or four flotation tanks, at best.”
He was sweating now, silk tie turning imperceptibly from teal to black. “We... have this lovely… this barely-used Century…”
“A Century! Does it hold a hundred tanks?”
I groaned. “It’s a nice colour,” I said. “I mean, that burgundy? Killer. But look. ‘Zach’? Where do you keep your dirigibles? I would even settle for a zeppelin, got any zeppelins?”
“We don’t…we...” He glanced desperately at his manager, who was pacing around his glass-walled office like an aquarium fish, all white linen and tropical prints. “As I’ve repeatedly said, sir, we sell cars.”
“Your sign clearly says BEST PRICE ON USED VEHICLES,” I said. “Listen, I have a bag of gold dubloons back in the carriage, and I have every reason to believe that as a self-employed dirigible operator - “
“Blimp pirate - “
“ - Six of one, half a dozen of the other,” I glossed, “I would certainly pass your primitive credit check. And I can pay cash. What do you say?”
Zach stared up at me, reflected greasily in my goggles. And finally sighed in defeat and turned towards a door marked ‘Custom Orders.’ “Right this way, sir.”
After school, I gave Jay a ride to the shop where his dad had dropped off his car. Jay complained about his car the whole way there.
“It’s a piece of junk, I know, but it’s never not started before. This is really crappy timing, too; prom is next weekend. You can’t drive us to prom!”
I rolled my eyes. There was the pride I’d been waiting for. “You could drive my mom’s car. Or Taylor could drive all of us.”
Jay mumbled something about not wanting to share a car with Taylor and Whitney. I shared the sentiment, actually; Whitney had been a little too open about her and Taylor's plans for after prom.
An hour later, my Calc homework was done, and Jay was back in my car.
“It’s the head gasket,” he said, sighing and banging his head against his seat. “Enrique says he’ll fix it as soon as I can pay for it.”
“Probably after graduation. I have to pay my first deposit to Hopkins by Friday.” He sighed again. "I should have listened to my dad and saved up for a year for a new car, instead of being in a rush to buy this one. Too bad I can't go back six months and re-do things."
I choked on my own saliva. He had no idea I could do just that.
“I'll miss her fiercely,” Emiline lamented, her hand caressing the worn rivets along the tarnished brass hull of the once-magnificent landship.
“We have no choice,” Harrington reminded her. “She's served her purpose, fought a good fight, and now she's fetched a full purse.” Emiline was sentimental for a warrior, but Harrington had abandoned all but logic long ago.
“Not full for long,” Emiline countered, glancing toward a battered airship- the lone survivor of the First Defense. “This relic's overpriced. I understand it's not the merchants' war, but why must they lance our pockets so.” She crumpled to the sand, grieved by much more than prices and overwhelmed by the precipice upon which their clan's existence balanced.
Carmen rested a tiny hand on Emiline's armored shoulder. “You can do this Emi. You're the only one left in this hemisphere who can pilot an airship like this, and we've already paid dearly. Conrad would have wanted-”
“I know,” Emiline cut in, tears slipping down her resolute face. “I just need a moment to mourn. We've lost so much, and everything we've gained is because that landship held us together.”
Harrington signed the merchants' documents, finalizing the trade. Engineered to run with perfect efficiency utilizing minimal puffs of steam, the last working airship took to the sky, and Emiline's embodied memories shrunk below.
The landship was scrapped for parts long before the clan's Final Offensive ran the enemy into the heavens forever, but it sailed on immortal in the hearts of grateful generations.
my twitter is @Skipper_Bay
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