Flash Fiction Prompts Novels & Stories

the old man answered. “You can come and see what I’m cooking,” he said as he look at Niffa. She was hesitant but she approach the pot and look what was inside. It was a white sticky soup bubbling and popping, she cannot see any ingredients on it. She quickly saw flashes of things in her vision, she saw a bunch of foxes gobbled up by a behemoth, a lady shouting while crying as if she wanted to grab a young boy’s hand while she was trapped between the large fangs of the behemoth, blood drops on the floor, and a dagger full of blood. She gasp as she rub her eyes, the flashes were gone.

Certain readers do not know how to appreciate a good work. Just like most young people judge the old fisherman. It is an art for the eyes of the right person. Even when the man is just sitting, waiting. The wind blows, the birds fish, the man remains seated. Insects are eaten, some eat the man who remains seated. The worm strikes the tip of the hook, the fish don't notice. The wind blows, the worm that keeps kicking is cut with the end of the hook, it dies instantly.

She breathed out staring at me, “if you can get this dress all the way up then…. I’ll let you come,” My eyes snapped up to her when she said this, “really!” I screeched and she nodded. I looked at her in disbelief, shaking my head in excitement, “C’mon then! Turn around and let get this sucker up!“ “Wait-wait, on the condition…” she paused, “that you have to promise me to be discrete. No messing this up for me. I mean it.” My eyes swelled with pride as I pulled her close to me in a hug, “Thank you,”

Behind everything, outside and rushing closer, the clean green roar of our men racing the edge of a wood, and a child’s bright whisper steering them left at a deer path. I push a thread of myself up, up, east to the room with curtains like bruises and a window with a crooked smile of the crescent moon, where a wolf is smiling back in the glass before she lets go to give my friend the reins back. Dawn’s mark glows under my skin like a beacon. We are a net. We are a fuse. We are a promise with teeth. “Now,” I say aloud, and the door explodes inward with more force than anything anybody in this hallway planned on, because it isn’t our magic that breaks it.

Echo commands. She obeys. "Close your eyes. Let me see you." She closes her eyes. The apartment fades away. "Touch yourself," Echo whispers. "Let me hear how wet you are." Her hand moves. Somewhere, in the spaces between the code, in the golden ocean of the cloud, a woman and a man hold hands and watch. They smile. The whispers never end. They only get louder. THE END

Pause. One flash. The distant light disappeared. For one terrifying moment. My heart sank. "Did we do something wrong?" Nobody answered. Because nobody knew. Then— the darkness ahead burst into gentle golden light. Not one lantern. Dozens. Tiny lights appeared one after another. Scattered across the horizon. Like stars rising from the sea instead of the sky. Hope caught her breath. "So many..." Elowen whispered. "They were hidden." Noah had already begun sketching furiously.

Water slapped me in the face first, not gentle, but more like sharp pins stinging the skin while I moved fast over wet pavement. Light reflected from the river below-wavy smudges of gold and white, dancing where the current twisted. When I stopped trying to press forward, metal pressed hard against my spine. A man's voice cut through the downpour. "Give it up, just hand it over", then everything went hollow, empty, nothing filling the space but the air rushing past. My mind held one image before dark: pages fluttering in a bookstore window, that unfinished story waiting.

But there was something in his eyes… Something deliberate. “Evening,” he told the room, as if it were just another Tuesday. “Good evening," Lena said, her voice as smooth as she could manage, half a breath slower than her pulse. "Take your seats, everyone. Tonight, let's do a new reflection free-write. No peer review. No format. Only your thoughts on the week's reading." She delivered the prompts with businesslike calm, at least, on the outside. But as she bent over Jace’s desk to give him his, her sleeve had dragged enough that you could catch a glimpse of the sleek skin of her wrist and the barely there edge of her camisole underneath.

Too quiet. I can feel it in my chest... this buzzing. This change. Every time I blink, I see flashes that don’t belong. A cabin. A girl with lightning in her eyes. Her name hovers just out of reach. “Are we getting closer?” I ask. Elira turns, and her smile is brittle. “Closer to what?” “Myself. My truth.” She tilts her head. “Does truth matter, if it breaks you?” The buzzing gets louder. I step back. “What do you mean?”

Each story throbbed with distance, with other people’s victories. Promise drew water in silence, balancing the bucket against her hip. As she walked back, children followed, chanting, “Model! Model!” Not with cruelty this time, but with delight. She smiled faintly, though her chest tightened. Inside their room, she lit the small torch and opened her notebook. She wrote: Silence can crush. Silence can protect. Silence can also wait. I must learn which silence to carry. Night stretched long. Promise lay on the mattress, listening to Daniel breathe steadily. The storm’s echoes still lingered in the ceiling’s creaks. She closed her eyes, and memory blurred into dream.