I frequent the forums at Absolute Write (which is an excellent source for any writer, aspiring or published. There are forums for query critiques, beta readers, questions about agents/agencies, and the answer to pretty much any writing and publishing question you might have.), and have recently found the Flash Fiction Challenge. Basically, every Sunday night, a moderator posts a prompt. You have 90 minutes to write and edit a story based on the prompt and post it. It’s a great exercise to get your mind working and to get you writing. I decided to start posting my flash fiction here each week. Bear in mind, these are things I came up with on the fly, so they won’t be perfect.
To kick things off, here is last week’s story. The prompt was “Pleat”. What kind of story (or poem) would you write based off the prompt?
Maria smoothed the wrinkles out of her skirt and took a deep breath. A thin sheen of sweat covered her arms and face. She slid over to the nearby water fountain and took a long drink. Don’t throw up. Whatever you do, just don’t throw up. There wasn’t time to be sick. And this was her only shot at proving herself.
She glanced at her watch. Eleven minutes til two o’clock. The second hand crept around the face. Maria closed her eyes and breathed deeply again. The bell clanged from somewhere up the hall. Doors flew open on either side of the hallway and students poured out, yelling to one another and chattering about whatever class they’d just left.
No one noticed as Maria slipped into the throng, weaving seamlessly among the actual students. She glanced at the other girls’ skirts as she passed. I didn’t do such a bad job after all. Her hand rubbed the pleats again. It didn’t seem like anyone would notice her homemade skirt anyway. They were all too absorbed in their own worlds. Talking about the classes they just left, or the boys who passed them notes.
This would be easier than she thought.
A large clock on the wall caught Maria’s eye as she passed. Eight till. She’d need to pick up the pace. She hitched up her backpack and quickened her step. The crowd thickened as she approached a bank of lockers. Maybe I should have done this during the class period after all. She pushed through, keeping her head down but her eyes on the prize. No. I’m less likely to be noticed in a group.
The hallway intersected with another, making a “T” shape. There, centered on the wall was the statue. A twelve by ten gold leaf eagle. Its wings were tucked in and its eyes stared directly at Maria. She pushed towards it and swung her backpack around to her chest. Within seconds she had it unzipped and ready.
It was now or never. She’d only have one chance and if she flubbed, well…she would have more to worry about than whether she got into the Anchor Society.
Maria approached the statue and in one fluid motion swept it off the base and into the backpack. It just fit. The hall was too loud to hear her skirt rip, but she felt it snag on the corner of the pedestal as she walked away. She zipped up the bag and slung it back over her shoulder, then glanced at her skirt.
One of the pleats was torn. A single red thread waved in the wind she created as she hurried to the exit. Oh well. Not like I’ll ever wear it again.
The cry erupted as she reached the double doors at the end of the hall.
“Hey! Where’s Spirit?” a boy shouted.
Maria didn’t wait for a response. She pushed open the doors and strode out into the warm afternoon, pleased with herself. By the time the bell rang for last period, Maria had put good distance between her and the school. They’d have to let her in now. No one had ever stolen such a grand prize for their admission challenge as this. And from their rival, Weston Prep!
The golden eagle in her backpack was her ticket to popularity. She’d have to make sure and wipe her fingerprints off of it before handing it over to the Anchor Society though. If she played her cards right, it wouldn’t only guarantee her a place in Carson High’s elite, it would be the first rung on her climb to domination. The second would be unseating Amanda Malone from the top of the food chain.
And Amanda’s fingerprints on a stolen statue would do the trick nicely.
Maria stepped into the bushes in a nearby park and stripped off her homemade Weston Prep uniform. By the time she stepped out back on the sidewalk, she was just another scantily clad teenager walking home from school.
No one noticed the plaid pleated skirt and red sweater she left behind.