A certain local weekly publication has again instituted its annual ritual, inviting submissions for its Flash Fiction competition. The rules are simple: submit up to three pieces of fiction, none exceeding 99 words (excluding title), by November 8.

To inspire you (or not), here are some of my own entries from past years, one of which actually made it to publication – you can guess which. Please, regular commentators to GOU, you know you can write. This is your chance for fame and glory! Go for it!

The Goddess and Me

I woke with Astarte. “My God!” I cried.

“Not god, goddess,” she replied, “Phoenician goddess of fertility.” I must have looked puzzled. “You know, sex.”

“Wow,” I said. “I’m not used to waking up with Astarte. I usually just drift into consciousness. Did we, um…?”

She frowned and her eyes narrowed. “If you don’t remember, you don’t deserve me.” And disappeared.

Oh well, easy come, easy go. I’d always fancied myself as a bit of a Romeo, although I hadn’t had any luck with the ladies. Until now. Sleeping with a sex goddess! It’s a start, eh?

Popularity

When WasBeans coffee shop instituted its “all-topless” policy, the corner hangout became the go-to spot for bored urbanites looking for excitement. Sales doubled. The owners worried that all the extra traffic would damage the new floor, so customers were now asked to remove their footwear at the door. Sales trebled! Soon a local church was holding its Sunday morning gatherings there. It was too much for the little cafe, and a sign appeared in the window, to be copied endlessly, if not with complete understanding: “No shirt, no shoes, no service.”

No Cuts!

“No cuts! No more cuts!” I pleaded.

This whole business had hurt far too much, and now I felt wounded and vulnerable as I looked into the steely eyes of my tormentor.

“You knew the rules. Now you want to be treated as a special case.”

I couldn’t argue. I’d gotten myself into this, it was time to accept responsibility. “OK,” I whispered. “Go ahead. Cut if you must.”

I watched as my darlings fell under her stern hand. “There, there and there.” I winced.

“And…yep, we’ve got you down to 600 words.” My editor smiled her pitiless smile.

Untitled #99

This is perfect, having a limit of just 99 words, because often when I start I have no idea of my word count and tend to go way over since I get lost in some idea or other and forget who I’m writing for or indeed why I’m writing, which can be a real problem, especially when I’m writing for publication and – I read this somewhere – you’re supposed to keep in mind the whole time who your audience is, which in my case I don’t know, I can only guess which sort of makes the whole thing academic and