Friday, October 30, 2020

Flash Fiction Contest

The only improvement on the week before this one is that I wasn't laid low by some horrible cold weather malady.

Early voting has started and everyone I know is just around the bend.
Time for an infusion of flash fiction to get my mind off next Tuesday.

The usual rules apply:

1. Write a story using 100 words or fewer.
2. Use these words in the story:


(NO Steve Forti extra prompt word this week. I have retired from the field of battle. Forti Thwarts the Shark!)

3. You must use the whole word, but that whole word can be part of a larger word. The letters for the prompt must appear in consecutive order. They cannot be backwards.

4. Post the entry in the comment column of THIS blog post.

5. One entry per person. If you need a mulligan (a do-over) erase your entry and post again. It helps to work out your entry first, then post.

6. International entries are allowed, but prizes may vary for international addresses.

7. Titles count as part of the word count (you don't need a title)

8. Under no circumstances should you tweet anything about your particular entry to me. Example: "Hope you like my entry about Felix Buttonweezer!" This is grounds for disqualification.

9. There are no circumstances in which it is ok to ask for feedback from ME on your contest entry. NONE.

10. It's ok to tweet about the contest generally.

Example: "I just entered the flash fiction contest on Janet's blog and I didn't even get a lousy t-shirt"

11. Please do not post anything but contest entries. (Not for example "I love Felix Buttonweezer's entry!"). Save that for the contest results post.

12. You agree that your contest entry can remain posted on the blog for the life of the blog. In other words, you can't later ask me to delete the entry and any comments about the entry at a later date.

13. The stories must be self-contained. That is: do not include links or footnotes to explain any part of the story. Those extras will not be considered part of the story.

Contest opens: Saturday, October 31, 2020, at 7:41am
Contest closes: Sunday, November 1, 2020, at 9am

If you're wondering how what time it is in NYC right now, here's the clock

If you'd like to see the entries that have won previous contests, there's an .xls spread sheet here

(Thanks to Colin Smith for organizing and maintaining this!)

Questions? Tweet to me @Janet_Reid

Ready? SET?

Not yet! 


Sorry, contest is closed.


Lisa Bodenheim said...

Tic toc marches the clock and makes a mock of tomorrows

Swish, swish sways the frock in sowk a walk down the church aisle

Phut, phut goes the glock, which frames the fracked and familiar face

Quick, quick hiss the crocs to sift the dirt the next morning

Steve Forti said...

Roc: Do you remember when I was young?
Benny: ‘Course. Me and Suzie had so much fun dressing you up. You hated it.
Roc: You went way over the top. The big sunglasses, fur coats.
Benny (dismissively): I see you’ve toned it down since then. Lame.
Roc: Don’t mock the crocodile frock.
Benny: Seems somebody’s woken up on the wrong side of the piano.
Roc: Bullocks. But whatever happened to Suzie, anyway?
Benny: Oh, her feet just can’t keep still. Ran off with some foreign guy.
Roc: Riiiight. So how do we end this?
Benny: Slow fade out.
Both: Laaaaaaaaaa……..

William said...

Onto the I-95 I took the following: four stockings, three ribbons and a cigarette. Dashed in three counties was my fourth comfort, a southern frock Mom imagined before she perished casually in her neck, crock bite under a full moon of Native despair. The first sin was slavery, they said, as we increased speed... I laughed out loud, stretching a stocking around my jugular, civilization strewn out on earth blood. Mocking laughter, locking myself in at last, burrowing toward the old world under the ocean, eastward. They’ll call it Europe, but I’ll blast them with my arrows, call it Swok....

Amy Johnson said...

Weekdays crocks.
Weekends woks.
Tuesdays sheets, Thursdays socks.
School and both jobs have a box.
She’s still wearing worn-out frocks.
Boyfriend freeloads, cheats, and mocks.
Her self-esteem hits the rocks.
But she graduates, gets the docs.
New job knocks.
Clock tocks.
Takes his key, still changes the locks.

french sojourn said...

My dad had macular degeneration, so I got tested. Thanks dad! The doctor prescribed a vitamin, as a bonus, every four months I get an injection. It’s medieval. I imagine I hear a tiny, “ssssswok” as the needle is retracted from my eyeball.

Afterwards, I have the “look of rockets red glare”, my wife jokes.

Maybe in another life I mocked nuns, unlocked their diaries, bruised their ego’s? What did I do to deserve this crock of Schmidt?

Please get your eyesight tested, it saved mine… I promise.

“Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”

Colin Smith said...

“who wears crocs on their first date?”
Jennika shifted her shawl, pretending like she didn’t hear. Played with her knife, staring at the empty seat opposite.
“he’s woken up to you, dear.”
Jennika frowned. Sipped some water. Played with the locket dangling from her neck.
A sharp breeze flickered the candle on the table.
“better hide that mockery of a face before tomas sees…”
“Sorry I’m late.” Tomas slid into the empty chair. Hung his frock coat on the back.
Jennika gripped her locket. Mumbled.
Tomas pointed to her reptilian earrings.
“Nice crocs.”
“They are now,” she smiled.

Craig F said...

The doorbell gonged and the old warrior looked out the peeper. Then he wet his frock as he fumbled to make sure the door was locked.

On the stoop a mock croc had swokked just as the man looked out. It wasn’t the croc’s fault; the yummy morsel he was eating went down the wrong way as he swallowed, he choked.

The man ran for his shotgun; the war hadn’t been that long ago and mock crocs had been the shock troops of the enemy.

When he got back the wife was asking WTF the croc wanted.

“Trick or treat.”

shanepatrickwrites said...

“I’m so tired of acronyms. Seriously, SWOK?”

“It means single, without kids.”

“Whatever, spell it out.”

“Fine, want me to be honest Kim? Ocker with unsuppressable memories of men in frocks seeks life partner. I’m five-three but weigh five-nine. I wear crocs and have a pair of dress sweats. I have three children locked in the basement. Long term goals include moving to a country without extradition agreements.”

“Is Ocker even a word?”

“It’s Aussie slang but it doesn’t matter anyway because this isn’t really a story.”

“Why not? It has a beginning, a middle and an end.”

Beth Carpenter said...

“Marty, I’ve finally done it. The ultimate invention. Buyers will flock. Satisfaction guaranteed.”

“’Satisfaction guaranteed’ is killing us, Doc. What about the electromagnetic rocking chair that won’t stop rocking? The mechanical mockingbird that drives listeners insane? The heatless wok? We’re still issuing refunds.”

“That last one wasn’t my fault. The description clearly says decorative use only.”

“We can’t keep offering their money back.”

“But I’ve created something every gardener wants AND it’s indestructible. A little creative photography—pretty flowers, a nice fern—”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“Ta-da! The shatterproof rock.”

“Hey, where are you going? Marty?”

Fearless Reider said...

Each century, they tryst –

the gentleman, immortal
the lady, incorporeal
the setting, très arboreal
at his castle, ancestorial,

they meet from time immemorial,
every hundredth Hallows’ Eve.

She dons her ghostly frock
and combs her cobweb locks,
then glides, phantasmagorial,
to greet him, all uxorial.

Inside his castle dark, she harks
his footfalls coming near, so dear!
‘Til she hears, with wretched moan,
the swok of foamy soles on stone.

Shrieks resound, censorial!
She’ll pardon acts immoral,
and mortal sins pictorial,
even failings escritorial,
but travesties, sartorial?

“You mock me with your Crocs!” she wails.

And now they meet

Jeni said...

The croc was old, the Belle dressed in an outlandish Sunday frock was not. He slipped below the waters surface with little more than a ripple.

“Me!” Belle trilled indignantly. “Mock me, will they?”

She turned on her heel, her rosy cheeks flushed from more than the oppressive Southern heat. A corkscrew lock fell free from the nest atop her head. “I’ll show them!”


Like an arrow loosened from a bow, Chomper snatched Belle from the bank and sank into the murky depths of the swamp. Unlike the fancy partygoers further up the way, he didn’t discriminate.

Timothy Lowe said...

High-pitched, mocking laughter fills the kitchen. Two tweens and an iPhone.

“If she only knew what we did on here!”

“Stupid phone block doesn’t cover WiFi!”

Voices warble, mimicking. “Turn it off! I can’t stand Juice Wrld!”

“All that bad language! Wait until your father gets home!”

“I’m calling Verizon!”

“What a crock! Juice Wrld’s woke.”

Heads huddling. Snickers.

Footsteps. The boys pull away. Angelic smiles.

“Hi Mom!”

She unfrocks them with a look. “Did I just hear something?”

“No, Mom. How’s Facebook?”

“Don’t.” She swipes right on a software designer. “You haven’t learned enough responsibility to handle these things.”

Peggy Rothschild said...

He threw himself into the kick. She snatched the ball away.

“Ha! What a blockhead,” she mocked. “You fall for it every time.”

Thudding onto his back, he shed a couple crocodile tears as he waited for the real play to begin.

Pig-Pen seized the pigskin and drilled it toward the doghouse. Taking off like a woof rocket, the beagle caught it midair and raced toward the boy. Congratulating his woke self, Charlie grabbed the ball and drop kicked it skyward.

He shot an evil grin at his old tormentor. “Hope you enjoyed the grid irony.”

Amanda said...

Sand dusted her pale yellow crocs. Locks of her chocolate brown hair peaked out from under her bucket hat. Lucy clung to to the towel I’d draped around her shoulders.”Looks like a smock,” I said.

Swok,” she spoke as if she tried to repeat me.

I gazed at her with a grin. The sun’s rays seemed to hi-light her cherubic features and her cuteness.

She yawned and stretched across me like a frumpy frock.

“GentIe,” I whispered and touched my belly. “You’re gonna have a cousin!”

Casual-T said...

The boy wore a multi-colored afro, CK jeans in the latest styles, and TikTok kept him informed on the prevailing trends of the minute. Masks with political messages were the latest.

In lockstep he marched with his woke comrades, yelling anti-something mantras, not realizing that being against something isn’t being for something; a microculture with allusions of grandeur; something to do on a Saturday night.

“We got one!” a black-clad figure yelled, mocking the old man shivering on the ground.

Blind hate for the other pulled the trigger.

The old man stopped breathing.

Yet, it was the boy who died.

Jennifer Rand said...

The hole was deep.
Sandstone rocks piled high, ready to be cast by those without sin.
An old tradition resurrected. He was elated. He'd missed the old days.
"Why now?" he inquired of his remaining, honorable daughter.
"The teachings were a crock, my father. The community is woke now."
"What does that mean?" he asked as he selected a handful of rocks. "Are you mocking me?"
She didn't answer.
"Where are your stones, my daughter?"
The growing crowd flocked around them.
She took the stones from his hand and blocked his exit. "I'll just use yours.You won't need them."

C. Dan Castro said...


"Velcro couch. Next big thing!"

"Velcro locks its cushions in place?"

"Nope. Let's put this microhook frock on your girl."

"That tickles, dingus!"

"Laurie, don't say that."

"We put Laurie on Velcrouch..."

"I'm stuck, dingus!"


"See, she's stuck. No worrying about her while you make food and babies."

"I teach at Harvard."


"Business and management. Do you mock--?"

"Look, Professor Homemaker. Strong Women of Kentucky is investing big. So it'd be good business--"

"I'm SWOK president. C'mon Laurie." RIPPPPPP.

"Bye, dingus!"

"Fine. Go. Don't worry, Velcrouch. We'll wow the next--Oh, she took the frock!"

Brigid said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
RosannaM said...

The half-brick, half-rock monstrosity rose out of the fog, perched eerily close to the cliff edge, impervious to both long ago and current storms.

“Dare ya.” Half mockery, half challenge.

I accepted. No lock I couldn’t break, even half-crocked.

I set off at a half-run, leapfrogging lightning strikes.

Bound to be silver. Or art. Or antiquities. The place was half-ancient.

Intricate metal door lock the size of half a football field, begged for my flat head screwdriver. I jiggled. Halfway I heard it.

“He’s woken.” I half-sobered up.

Never good when the homeowner wakes. Even less so when it’s Frankenstein.

Just Jan said...

All that’s left is a locket and a pair of pink Crocs.

“Spontaneous combustion,” the detective proclaims, plucking a singed envelope from the ashes. “S.W.O.K.?”

“Sealed With A Kiss.” I chuckle mirthlessly. “She never could spell.”

Inside is a ticket stub from our favorite movie, School of Rock, and the words: Your Tern.

“A pact?”

“Yes.” Not the kind he’s thinking of, though.

“Dangerous game. What’ll you do?”

Mocktails on the lanai. Insurance money to last a lifetime. “I’ll think of something.”

You never show. But a bird now follows me everywhere, and comes when I call your name. #WhenMagicGoesWrong

NLiu said...

The Croc in the Frock?

Rhymes. Snappy! But... clichéd. And she might get sued by David Walliams. No.

Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Mock-Turtles?

Yeesh, NO.

Lan's Wok of Dreams?

She paused - then remembered the existence of Twitter. Scrubbed that one out too.

Then it came to her: The Mocker in the Frock Coat. Not poetry, not picture book - but mystery, with Victorian hook. Smoggy shadows, dodgy dealings, high-bonneted heroines with tormented feelings - yes!

Now all she had to do was write the confounded thing.

She sighed, and googled poisons.

Marie McKay said...

Kerys woke up, but she hadn't been sleeping. He mocked her food, her hair, her frock. There was awkward laughter from guests who weren't sure what to do for the best. She banged his crockery down in front of him and headed for the door.
He'd told her the food tasted nice; she looked good; he'd be polite- until his friends arrived.
"What you doing?" he said still laughing. Not for a moment thinking she'd turn the key in the lock; not for a moment thinking, she'd leave before anything else could be dished up.

Michael Seese said...

The clock mocked me.

Tick tock.
Tick tock.

Empty prescription bottles lay scattered across the floor, dwarfed by the equally exhausted vodka bottles.

"A crockpot," they always whispered as I would wander down the street, engaged in animated arguments with ghosts.

Back, now, in my barren space, panic set in as my feet of rock began to sink in the quicksand, my descent aided by the Devil's claws dragging me under. Once the Demon has woken, no lullaby will stuff that genie back in the bottles.

Resigned, I reached for my last resort, and drew back the hammer.

Brigid said...

Voters woke early and stood in long lines in Pittsburgh, Philly, and...

"Honey, here--"

The voting block known as Zoomers has...

"Is that a mocktail? Pennsylvania's about to change the world and you hand me a motherf--"

Biden has...

"The baby can hear you!"

We'll know more...

"If the baby had vacated my oval office on time, I would have whiskey on the f-- rocks right now."


"BP, babe."

We hear from...

"BP's a crock of--"

It's confirmed: The largest ever Philly cheesesteak entered the Guinness Book of World Records on National Sandwich Day, 2020.

"WE DID IT!!!"