Ok, it may not be much to you, but to have your work judged by your peers and regarded as the best of the bunch, is an achievement.
Each month in the writers’ forum, Talkback, on the Writers Online web site (home of Writing Magazine) there is a challenge for those who like to write flash fiction. The challenge is to write, in 200 words or less, a story inspired by that month’s chosen word. In June 2015, the word was zest.
The poets among us can write a poem of 40 lines or less, in whatever style they like. The winner of each section gets to choose the word for the following month – and judges the entries. There is no prize, no national publicity, just the warm glow of knowing that your writing is not all bad.
As a result of all these ‘flashes’, an anthology of contributors’ work has been published as One Word Anthology (Alfie Dog Fiction). Of course I’m in it. For every copy sold a donation is made to Medical Detection Dogs. Go on, buy a copy. You know you want to.
(One Word Anthology available from Amazon, too)
I hope you want to read my winning entry for June’s zest …
* * *
A New Life
For three long years she had been prisoner, unable to escape her single room. Light filtered in through dusty panes, her dismembered parts casting shadows on the floor. His tools were laid out, meticulously arranged so each one was to hand when needed. Bottles and jars with golden fluids lined the back of the bench, each one labelled.
Now, with slow precision, he had put each little piece back in its rightful place, making sure it was wiped clean of any impurity. The smallest piece of grit could mean disaster, and he’d have to rip her apart again.
He ran his fingers along her curves, caressing her body. She didn’t respond though, she sat there, impassive. Was she teasing him? He was eager to get started, he wheeled her out in to the daylight, smiled and patted her lovingly. Today, he would see if she had the same zest as before.
He swung his leg over and straddled her. He kicked her once, twice, no response. A little tickle at her under-belly and another kick. That’s what she needed! The old Norton’s engine burst in to life, spitting smoke from the exhaust. Life was good again.
* * *
(c) 2015, K Patrick Moody