Flash Fiction Prompts Novels & Stories

I reached into my desk drawer for a lighter. I flicked the lid open and closed, watching the flame dance in the light. As I stared into the fire, the walls in my mind suddenly broke, pulling me back to a memory from my past. Flashback The night air was freezing and biting, but I didn't feel the cold as I stood in the dark, abandoned street. My eighteen-year-old heart raced with a thrilling euphoria as I watched the beautiful destruction in front of me. A car was engulfed in flames, the fire consuming the doors and shattering the windows with cracks. I didn’t want to call the police or run away. The heat felt like magic against my skin, filling me with a twisted sense of power.

His voice sounded gentle and soothing, it contrasted the loud downpour of the rain outside. His question made her think. Where did she want to go? “I want to go to…somewhere peaceful, somewhere that feels serene and relaxing. Maybe at the…mountains,” She imagined herself at the top of a mountain, watching the clouds move. “Okay, imagine us hiking to the mountain. The breeze was cold and you could hear the croaks of different birds everywhere,” He started. “But then, while walking, you stepped on a stone and fell to your feet!” Her brows furrowed in confusion while Riden laughs.

**flash back** **Feeling groggy and full, I step under the waterfall shower head, letting the warm water wash away my troubles and the chemical, sterile smell. Wishing it could dissolve my pain and make me forget what's happened this week and day, make it feel like a distant dream. Running my fingers through my long hair, as I lift my head and look up at the water as it flows into my eyes and down my face, removing any sign of tears shed. It looks like the water is glistening, sparkling with dancing, floating lights, must just be an illusion, the ceiling light reflecting off the liquid falling all around me. **

But somehow I know I wouldn’t. Another image comes. This time, I was in front of two tombstones. The one on my right was bigger than the one on the left. Two names are written on the big tombstone, while only one name was carved on the small one. I tried my best to squint my eyes but I could not read the words. They were all blurred. Multiple images come at once. It was like people throw them all at me and I could not really see each of them. A nun was in one of the flashed images. I recognize her almost immediately. It was Sister Margareth. However, she looked younger and was not wearing her cane. The image of her was gone just as soon as it first arrived, replaced by another one. This time

I exclaimed, pointing towards the ethereal creatures illuminating the surroundings. His eyes followed my gaze, and a smile spread across his face. "They're beautiful, just like you, Mia." Feeling a sudden surge of playfulness, I whispered, “I heard that if you catch a firefly, you'll be granted a wish." Jonathan's eyes widened with curiosity. "Is that so? Well then, let's try our luck." With childlike excitement, we both extended our hands, palms open, hoping to catch one of the glowing insects. The fireflies flitted around us, their lights flickering in a tantalizing game of hide and seek.

After the dance, Caitlyn began to experience stronger flashes—more than just feelings, but fragments of memories that had been locked away. It started small, like a flicker in the corner of her mind, but soon, the flashes became more vivid, more frequent. Conversations that she couldn’t fully place, scents that felt familiar but distant, moments frozen in time, like a firelit kiss or Raymond’s voice whispering promises in the dark. One day, after one such flash, she found herself sitting at a desk in their old tent, scribbling down every piece that came to her. She had started journaling, trying to make sense of the bits and pieces of her life with him that she could barely remember.

Nothing I said mattered. "Dad, if you want to tell me I'm in the wrong, go right ahead. However, if you want me to write off this 400,000 dollars as a gift to Uncle Liam, you don't need to say another word. I made this money by standing in front of a crusher for two long years. "I watched my fingers blister, heal, and blister all over again. It didn't just fall from the sky." Having said my piece, I braced myself for the inevitable torrent of lecture to rain down on me.

she said. The floor under our feet—once smooth stone—shimmered. Colors and textures bled through it, forming patches: cobblestone here, slick carnival board there, glass shards, grave dirt, neon‑slick pavement. With every throb of the pillar—and my own heart—tiny tremors ran through the mosaic, like the whole surface was holding itself together by habit. A text prompt finally manifested in the air above the pillar, big and brutal. SURVIVE THE CORE STORM UNTIL SYSTEM RESETS

She tightens as well, sending streaks up my skin. A flash. Dark, then light. Visible then blurry. My mind tries to assimilate, but loses its footing before it can. I can't. I can't think of— “Adrian.” It opens. Rushing wind. Cousring springs. Bolting power. My mind opens, my senses conforming to a date separate from reality. The flashes shift. Slower. Detailed. Wastelands. Cliffs. Plains. Streams. Forests. Every destination and information overlapping against themselves, folding and unraveling all at the same time.

The power flickered once, twice, and then died completely, plunging them into a darkness broken only by flashes of lightning that froze the world in stark, blue-white tableaus. They lit candles, dozens of them, until the living room danced with primal, shifting shadows. The air smelled of beeswax and ozone. Scarlett sat curled on the rug by the cold fireplace, wrapped in a blanket, watching the tempest outside. The chaotic energy of the storm seemed to seep into her. Jude saw it in the restless tapping of her fingers, the distant look in her eyes reflected in the glass. “Tell me a fantasy,” she said suddenly, her voice barely a whisper yet cutting through the rumble of the storm. “Your darke