#QUICKFIC 21/06/2019: The Winner

Well well, much like rays of light in the darkness your pieces came to brighten up my slow Friday. Hello to our new participants and to my old guard, welcome back! Here’s your prompt one more time:

Runner up: John Peter Horsam

La Fete de Sainte-Jean.

I knew it was solstice, well vaguely, Australians don’t celebrate such
things. Here in France it’s a very special occasion. It’s not banging
drums and being a Druid, it’s a Fete De La Musique. All the squares are
full of performers… jongleurs, minstrels, mountebanks too, possibly.
The ancient city is performing for me too, shadows and flashes on Gothic
arches.

It’s also La Fete de Saint-Jean. I’m called John, a musician too, so
it it really is my day.

Not the best of days for photos, overcast. It hasn’t been good for my
project, I’m after shooting stars. I’ve sat up all night, twice this
week, trying to catch just one. I get quite good star trails…. but
nothing untoward ever crosses my lens.

Tonight, I’m in the crowd, but not really. I’m the outsider. It’s
quite obvious. A woman, my age I’d guess, touches my arm.
“The best photos will be over there.” Good English.
It’s a roped off playing field. There’s a man eating fire…. bit
boring if you’ve hung out with as many hippies as I have.
“Get ready!”
She kisses me.
“For luck”
Didn’t see that coming.
“Camera now.”
The fire-eater has set fire to his hair. A French gasp is a lot
different from an Australian one.
I have my shooting stars. I’m bedazzled.

I’d love to tell you we’re now married, but she’s gone, faded away
before the last sparkles flickered out.

***********************************************

Runner up: Roger Evans

Anniversary

Sit here by me, daughter, and learn your history. Tonight you will start your future, just as I did with my mother all those years ago.

Out there is the Dreamer, living in his ramshackle hut. He is old, older than we know. He was old when I was young and sat where you are now.

Every night he dreams, not such dreams as you or I may have, but dreams of lives, short and long, rich and poor. And each morning he wakes and a new name is inscribed on the many faceted gem by his bed.

Tonight, midsummer’s night, solstice, the Dreamer will not dream. Instead he will bring his year of dreams to this barren patch of ground, whilst we wait. For we are the Watchers – as essential a part of this as the Dreamer; without us to Watch no-one would know of his Dreaming, no-one would validate its worth.

See the barren patch of ground? It is not devoid of life because of a lacking; it is ready, open, for the Land to listen.

Tonight those dreams will burst forth from his hand; incandescent, radiant, a rain of furious fireflies burning their days in moments, to fall flaming to the ground.

And the Land will remember.

Winner: Chloe Heskett

Illuminating

“Welcome to Grafton, Pop: 121.”

The sign flashed by me, and in the back of my mind I vaguely registered that I was passing through a town. If you could call it that. My headlights briefly lit a mini-mart, before leaving it enveloped in darkness behind me, along with the rest of the so-called town. 

The road felt endless, and worse than that unchanging—not even a curve in sight. What a place to run to. It felt like a cruel joke: I fled the mundanity of my life, but there my path stretched—endlessly, mind-numblingly laid out before me. You can’t get away, it whispered through the sounds of my tires on pavement, you can’t change your life.

I turned on the radio; nothing but static. The miles ticked by slowly. I drifted. 

That’s when I saw it: the light up ahead. Not headlights, not a town; it was like a cloudburst where each drop traced a luminous streak through the air as it fell. Dumbstruck, I didn’t even think to slow the car as I whooshed by. There was a man at the middle of it all. Solidly built, of late middle age and in a canvas jacket and jeans. 

The beauty of it, and the ordinariness of the man, filled my eyes with tears. I wished I had stopped, or at least slowed down. I peered into my rear view mirror and started—it, he, was gone.  Darkness filled the landscape behind me.


Many thanks to you all for your lovely submissions. A round of applause for John, Roger and Chloe — Chloe, what a wonderful debut! Welcome to the #QUICKFIC club.

I’ll see you all next week at the earlier (less monstrous) time of 9:50. Or does starting it earlier make me more monstrous? Who can say. Either way, until then, goodbye!

For a look back at our previous #QUICKFIC flash fiction competitions, click here.

#QUICKFIC 21/06/2019

Welcome back, oh lovely #QUICKFIC-ers and welcome to our latest round of Faber Academy’s flash fiction competition #QUICKFIC. One week on from the Summer Party and the ritual appears to have worked, bringing heat and sunshine and rejuvenation etc etc. And also a new prompt!

First up, a whip through the rules of the game. Old hands, scroll down. New folk, read on:

  1. At the end of this post is a prompt (this week it’s a picture. Next week it may not be, but this week it definitely is!)
  2. Using that prompt, I’d like you to write me a single short piece of fiction. A piece of flash fiction, if you will.
  3. That piece needs to be 250 words or less. I’ve started checking, so stay honest!
  4. Title your work, pop it into the body of an email along with a note telling me the wordcount and send it to academy@faber.co.uk with the subject line #QUICKFIC 21/06/2019 no later than 2:50 pm GMT
  5. At 3:30 pm GMT I tumble back in with a new blog post revealing your winners

And what’s winning without prizes?! This week that luck person receives The Rapture by Claire McGlasson, In Paris with You by Clementine Beauvais, translation by Sam Taylor and In The City of Love’s Sleep by Lavinia Greenlaw.

 

(The rose is not included as I suspect it won’t survive the post.)

You do, as they say, have to be in it to win it though! So here is your prompt and away you go.

 

By entering Faber Academy’s flash fiction competition #QUICKFIC , you’re granting us non-exclusive worldwide permission to reprint your story on our website should you win.

#QUICKFIC 07/06/2019: The Winner

Ah, a staircase. The thing you fall down, walk down, curse at and, apparently, today produced some of the best paces of flash fiction it’s been my privileged to read!  You all truly out did yourself this week.

Here’s one last look at your staircase of dreams before we hit the runners up and the winner:





Runner Up: Ana Acapella

Eid Mubarak

“Eid Mubarak” she silently whispered to herself as the early morning sun streamed down from the skylight onto her bed.

Half asleep, she reminisced of this day a year ago. So happy. So full of love. So different.

Normally she’d have spent last night helping her mum preparing the Eid feast, listening to her father’s stories of his bygone days and adorning her hands with henna. Staring at her bare hands, she thought that they were the perfect metaphor for today.

She rolled over in her bed, reluctant to start her day. Downstairs, she could hear a soft, thudding noise gradually getting louder. Footsteps. She knew exactly who it would be, even before the door burst open into her room.

“Aisha, Aisha! Get up!” Jenna said, ‘’Go downstairs now!” Aisha looked up quizzically at her best friend.

“Why?” asked Aisha but before she could get an answer, Jenna pulled her duvet away and chucked her out of bed. Aisha quickly grabbed her hijab as she was pushed out of her room. While Aisha tied her headscarf around her face, the two best friends wound down the mahogany, spiral staircase slowly.

They both could hear muffled voices getting louder until they stood in front of Shirley’s office. The first voice was definitely Shirley’s (her case worker). The second was of a male and he was vehemently asking to see Aisha.

“Dad?!” Aisha blurted out from behind the door.

Almost immediately, the door opened…

“Eid Mubarak darling” said her father.

Runner Up: Katy Brinicombe

13 Steps to Freedom

13 steps.

That’s all it would take.

13 steps to freedom.

This day was a long time coming. He had spent sleepless nights imagining how he would feel on this day, at this time. It had remained elusive. Even now, a mixture of feelings threatened to swallow him up. Where would he go? What would he do? He had always known that the world was a scary place – he had witnessed enough fear and terror to know that no-one could be trusted – but he had always had the safety and security of his room. Somewhere to hide and feel safe once more. His space.

But now it was gone. Today it belonged to someone else and he had to go. He grasped the handle of his small, battered case a little tighter. It was the one he had arrived with all those years ago, and he was sure it would still be with him when he died. It carried each and every one of his meagre belongings that he had accumulated over the years. It carried his identity.

He remained on that top stair, still unable to move. He looked at his feet, in the worn-out leather brogues, and willed them on. He took one last look up the stairs, at the scratched wooden doors, and of the ghostly faces that peered at him through the balustrades.

One deep breath. One step. Towards freedom.

Go.

Winner: Gillian English

History Lesson

Instead of the usual fast-talking twenty-something, the estate agent looked well past sixty and seemed to be struggling for breath.

“How long has it been empty?” I asked. He muttered something and then coughed violently, clamping a greying handkerchief over his mouth.

“You sit here, I’ll look round myself” I said, helping him into a chair. He was still bent over his handkerchief, taking long hoarse breaths.

I wasn’t going to be long – I could already see this was far too big for us. It even had two staircases leading to different parts of the building. Used to be a school, so someone told me.

I was on my way back down the stairs in minutes, wondering if I should take the old man to a doctor. But then I stopped. In front of me was the door to the front entrance. But now it had a large wooden noticeboard nailed across it, blocking it up. I must have come down the other staircase to the back of the building.

I went up and came back down the other way. And there was the blocked door. No sign of the old man either. I went up and down the stairs two or three more times, becoming increasingly short of breath, always ending up at the blocked door.

Then, wheezing slightly, I walked up to the blocked door and read the single dusty notice on the board.

“Influenza – school closure, 17 June 1918”

And I began to cough.


Big congratulations to Gillian, Katy and Ana. Thank you one and all again — this week was one of the toughest to judge, but you all knocked it out of the park. 

I’ll be gone again next week, trapped in a Summer Party induced haze, but I’ll see you again the week after that!

For a look back at our previous #QUICKFIC flash fiction competitions, click here.

#QUICKFIC 07/06/2019

Oh well hello and happy June to you all! Welcome to #QUICKFIC, Faber Academy’s Flash fiction  competition where the prompts are wild, your stories are wilder and I, your faithful prompt master, am wilder still. It’s the first #QUICKFIC of June and I know you’re all keen to get started but first, let me tell you the rules of our fair game.

  1.  You’ll see a prompt (this week it’s a picture. Next week it may not be, but this week it definitely is!)
  2. Let the prompt get that creativity flowing and channel that into writing a piece of flash fiction
  3. That piece needs to be 250 words or less. And I check, so no cheating.
  4. Title your work, pop it into the body of an email along with a note telling me the wordcount and send it to academy@faber.co.uk with the subject line #QUICKFIC 07/06/2019 no later than 2:50 pm GMT
  5. Wait patiently as I devour all your lovely words then report back at 3:30 with your winner

As the winner you do also win a prize. Alongside our friends at Faber & Faber we’re celebrating their ninetieth anniversary. Current staff members were asked to pick their three favourite Faber books. This week you have the opportunity to win two of the books on that list and my own personal favourite:  Four Quartets by T.S Eliot, Rip it Up and Start Again by Simon Reynolds and I’ll Be Gone in the Dark by Michelle McNamara. 

 

So: you’ve got five hours, three books to win and 250 words or less to produce for me based on a prompt that you’re able to view…

 

 

 

 

Now:

By entering Faber Academy’s flash fiction competition #QUICKFIC , you’re granting us non-exclusive worldwide permission to reprint your story on our website should you win.

#QUICKFIC 24/05/2019: The Winner

Drop your pens, you styluses, your meme generating software (Thom) and still your fingers on your keyboards, for today’s flash fiction competition is over and done and a new winner we must crown.

Here’s one last look at your prompt:





Runner Up: Jessica Joy

Buoyant

He watched the yacht drift away. The sea lapped the hull like a thirsty dog.

The tide had turned and, with no energy to swim, he floated on his back; away from the shore, away from any chance of rescue.

He never imagined it might end like this. He thought he would be shot down by the Board, hung by his shares or crushed by his assets. This seemed so benign. No heart attack at the gym, no Monday morning stroke in the coffee shop. Instead, a slip, a twang of rope, a snap of bone, a yell, a splash.

The water changed colour to a bruised purple. He felt his life force seep into the ocean. The life force he had driven into contracts and deals and negotiation. The life force that had paid for the house and the boat.

Now, he and the sea were in accord. The brine welcomed him with puppy licks round his ears and affectionate nibbles at his toes.

Later, the waves would bowl him over and drop him on the beach in their own macabre game of fetch. He would crunch and flop on the pebbles, a much-loved toy.

For now, he watched the rippled reflection on the stern, the shimmer of his villa in the midday sun and the sparkle of water droplets on his foot, as it bobbed past his head. With equanimity, he realised none of them mattered to him anymore.

Runner Up: Nafisa Muhtadi

The View

I stretched my arms out as the sun rays warmed my skin and wind whipped my hair. I quickly retracted my arms as I was still wobbly. My sea legs hadn’t arrived yet so my land legs were working overtime. Jamie didn’t have his sea legs either but he was sat on the deck, eyes glued to his phone. I squinted in his direction.

“Can you even get a signal out here?”

“I’m hooked up to the marina.” His gaze didn’t stray from his device.

“Didn’t this boat cost, like, 20 million dollars?”

“We’re renting it, sweetheart.”

“So?” I bristled at the term of endearment, a sign that he was miles away. “We should still enjoy it.”

Jamie had developed a hugely successful app game, where fruits and jewels tumbled down the screen, which had paid for our trip. It wasn’t that I was ungrateful but more an exercise in cultivating gratitude and mindfulness. I grabbed the phone from him.

“Hey!” He stood up, feet unsteady, and before he knew it I pushed him overboard. It’s okay. I knew he could swim. The sea shimmered and Jamie thrashed in the water, mouth gaping like a stunned fish.

“Take in the view, sweetheart.” I waved a hand like everything the sun touched belonged to me.

He eventually stilled himself to a gentle float. “I can’t wait for your turn.”

My feet were firm on deck. The horizon met the sea in a thin-lipped kiss. “Gotta catch me first” I winked. 

Winner: S.F

Hell or High Water

The skin on my nose is turning crisp like roast chicken skin. What would mother have said about my lack of suncream? Nothing good, I imagine. Never mind the fact that I’m swimming a mere 15 minutes after a large, alcohol-fuelled lunch.

What is it about the sea that brings some primordial comfort? That old cliché about feeling small, perhaps. My life has been spent in the pursuit of largeness, of trying to intimidate, to overpower, but now the feeling of insignificance and dissolution is euphoric. I laugh, out loud?

The sensation of being on the border of drunk while the waves rock my body is neither pleasant nor unpleasant. It just is. I squint my eyes half shut, so that the shapes of the boat and of the clouds and the sun swerve and blur.

I wonder vaguely if my feet would reach the bottom – is it my imagination that the boat is getting rapidly further away?

I tip my head back, so my ears and my hair are submerged. I shake my head from side to side, like I used to in the bath. The old, familiar feeling of my hair swirling around my head is a punch of nostalgia. I hear myself gulp in air or out tears, impossible to tell.

In the distance, I hear shouts.

“Theresa! Are you coming back for dessert?” Philip’s voice.

Am I?


As I should have predicted, there were many characters meeting their unhappy ends this week, but sprinkled in there were some joyful moments! Big congratulations to S.F, Nafisa and Jessica. Thank you one and all for your wonderful pieces. 

Until next week!

For a look back at our previous #QUICKFIC flash fiction competitions, click here.

#QUICKFIC 24/05/2019

Welcome, one and all, to a super sunshine edition of #QUICKFIC, Faber Academy’s Flash Fiction competition. Whether you’re writing from a desk, desperately soaking up the sun from the window at your back and wondering when it’s late enough you can justify having lunch outside (solidarity, if so), curled up in bed, waiting for the day to begin for you or luckiest of all outside in the world, I’ve got a prompt to brighten your day even further.

But enough waffle! First, the rules of the game, if you’ve never played before. If you have, keep on keepin; on, for below lies your prompt:

  1. On Friday at 9:50, a prompt will be posted both on the blog and on the Faber Academy twitter.
  2. Inspired by the prompt, I’d like a piece of flash fiction of no more than 250 words (though you can, of course, write less).
  3. Give your piece a title, copy it into the body of an email and tell me the wordcount.
  4. Send that email at academy@faber.co.uk with the subject line #QUICKFIC 24/05/2019 no later than 2:50 pm GMT 

And after that, that’s your bit over with! From 2:50 onward I’m tasked with reading your wonderful words and picking a winner. That winner receives my undying admiration and three books. This week’s books are all about, fundementally, family. You’re in with a shot of winning Sarah Hall’s The Wolf Border, Laura Lipman’s Sunburn and Barbara Kingsolver’s Unsheltered:

 

And all you need to do to snag those beauties is look right down here at this oh so summery prompt:

 

Write away, #QUICKFICCERS!

By entering Faber Academy’s flash fiction competition #QUICKFIC , you’re granting us non-exclusive worldwide permission to reprint your story on our website should you win.

#QUICKFIC 17/05/2019: The Winner

Typing fingers, halt! We’re over, we’re done and my choice is made. Here’s your prompt:

And here are your winners:

Runner Up: Jose Varghese

Escape Route

“Art is dead, honey. They draw things that look like dog shit, superimpose photos of vulgar body parts or huge construction sites and call it art these days.”

His hands move over her shoulder blades, fingers pressing down the flesh between them with each emphasis. She doesn’t have the courage to tell him that he has to stop doing that. He’s too dumb to notice that she’s neglecting his rant, and goes on speaking stupid.  

She fishes out her pencil and notebook from her bag and takes down a number from a poster.

“Come on honey, let’s have a nice lunch together. Where do you live now?”

“Would you stop calling me that?” She turns to face him.

“I used to call you that at school.”

“That was then.”

“You being tetchy? You’ve changed so much.”

“You should leave me alone now. Enough of courtesy, my mistake!’

“So, you don’t consider me a friend anymore?”

“Why should I, if you’ve turned out to be this in two years?”

She extends her hand for a goodbye, but he just stands there staring at her. She catches a glimpse of his glassy eyes. He looks weak and lost, but creepy too.   

She turns away from him to walk towards the bus station. He follows her.

“Honey, care to buy me a ticket too? I won’t mind…”

“No. Sorry. Art is all about shit, as you know.”

She graduates to a trot, waving him off. He stops, to smile at a middle-aged woman. 

Runner Up: Daniela Azzopardi

Something New

Rex scanned the noticeboard, vibrant posters screaming out for attention. He scrutinized adverts for upcoming concerts, realizing he was no longer alone only after he was done being disappointed over the fact that only cover artists were performing.

“Couldya tell me what the flyer up top’s for?”

Rex jumped and spun around. Besides him stood a man beyond retirement age, judging by the wrinkles etched into his skin, wearing a striped shirt and beige trousers. He was pointing steadily at a flyer above their heads.

“Skydiving.” Rex answered.

The old man he frowned minutely, his brows furrowed in contemplation, before ultimately shrugging.

“I’ve already been skydiving twice in as many ‘ears. Feel like something new.”

Rex wished he had taken up his mother’s suggestion to get his ears cleaned.

“Skydiving?”

“I said I’ve already done ‘at. And no more tattoos right now.” He continued as he disregarded another poster.

He inched closer to a piece of paper showcasing a woodworking class. “This looks new,” he mused as he tore a stub off the paper with the contact details on it. “A more relaxing activity every now and then’ll do me no ‘arm.”

The man saluted Rex as he sauntered out of the community building. The youngster shook himself as if waking up from a daydream.

The chaotic chorus of colours beckoned him back to the noticeboard. He reached out, not knowing where his fingers would land but knowing he would not be leaving empty handed.

Winner: Sarah Nash

BABY I LOVE YOU

Baby I love you.

Did I tell you how much?

Heat rises from the sidewalk with relentless intensity. The kid upstairs is yelling so loud it seeps into my brain. The shop opposite is boarded up, has been for months, the corrugated sheets covered in bills.

Promises: the land of milk and honey.

The stench of summer is in my nostrils.

We came here together, through the tunnels, hoping for a better life. Thought we could be the new Ike and Tina, with just the loving, not the other stuff.

But it got to us – the trying, the waiting, the failing.

It felt good to hold you.

I remember nights like this when we would lie for hours, dreaming and listening, my arms around you, hot and sticky in the faint light from the neon sign on the street below. For ever, we said.

Then, when I was working down under, on the subway, you packed your bags in the darkness and you left.

Did you cry?

My heart curls at the edges like the posters opposite. I hear you calling my name in the rush of the traffic, the hum of the generator, the cursing of the janitor.

I wore those lyrics out. They swirled around my head, the tune buzzing in my ears. There never was another woman for me.

Now, my heart can’t wait another day. It has dried, in the heat, to a stone.

I sit on the ledge. Can’t live without you.

Soon, I’ll fall.

Huge congratulations to Sarah, Daniela and Jose! Daniela, if you keep being this good I’m going to have to temporarily bar you from competing. Thank you as ever to all you wonderful flash fiction writers. You keep my Friday’s bright.

See you soon!

For a look back at our previous #QUICKFIC flash fiction competitions, click here.

#QUICKFIC 17/05/2019

It’s Friday,. You have a whole busy day ahead of you. The day? It’s grey. But never fear, for another round of QUICKFIC, Faber Academy’s Flash Fiction competition is here to make your day just that little bit brighter..

If you’ve QUICKFiC-ed with us before, head on down to the prompt. If you’ve no idea what this is all about, have a quick read through the rules:

  • On Friday mornings (so, now) I present to you a prompt. Images, playlists, other far better writer’s words, you name it and we’ll prompt you with it
  • Your task is to create a short story of 250 words or less inspired by that prompt.
  • Paste your story into the body of an email, including a title and your word count, and send that email to academy@faber.co.uk by 2:50pm on the Friday afternoon.

Should your piece of flash fiction be chosen as the lucky winner we’ll send you off a lovely stack of books. This week our heart’s have bee set all aflutter thanks to Faber Members’ upcoming event, Making Debuts. So why not celebrate some of our brilliant debut authors by giving away their wonderful debut novels! Our winner receives Akwaeke Emezi’s Freshwater, Bev Thomas’ A Good Enough Mother and Sally Rooney’s Conversations With Friends:

 

So after dangling those beauties in front of your faces place run, don’t walk, to this week’s prompt.

 

Get writing! See you at 3:30!

By entering Faber Academy’s flash fiction competition #QUICKFIC , you’re granting us non-exclusive worldwide permission to reprint your story on our website should you win. 

#QUICKFIC 10/05/2019: The Winner

Well. despite me initially getting the date wrong (I did tell you all I thought it was Thursday all week!) that was a wonderful batch of #QUICKFIC pieces. Excellent job, all! Let’s take another look at your prompt: 

And on to the winners:

Runner Up: James Atkinson

Shouting Across the Bar

She shouted across the bar, pointed to the little map.

He listened, didn’t hear and shouted back.  

It went back and forth.

They got nowhere.  

Well, they got lost.

They asked for Becks, he gave them Metz.  

They got irate, refused to pay and stormed off.  

He, shamefacedly, had to explain to his boss.  

And paid.

He didn’t recognise them.

He couldn’t understand their annoyance.

He let someone else take over.

He didn’t see them.

For over forty minutes.

No wonder they soaked him.

Immediately after, a frequent customer smiled kindly and asked for his number.

He gave her a flier, underlining the bar’s number.

She asked again, he gave an annoyed look and jabbed the flier.

She pushed it back and walked away, normally he had much more to say.

He shrugged, carried on.

It was only later he realised it was her.

And, while pouring her usual for someone else, he wondered… and spilt the drink.

And was ordered away from the bar.

It was just one of those shifts, one spent well outside the required zone.  

One not taking in anyone’s words or faces, just order, fulfillment, order, fulfillment.

A buzz filling his head.

Why did they play the music so loud?  

Often he dreamed of sleepy seaside tavernas.  

While collecting glasses outside he spotted his regular drinking alone across the street.  

In the relative quiet of the nightlife he crossed toward her preparing his apology.

Hoping it was necessary.  

He had often dreamed about her too.

Runner Up: Paul Jenkins

Nobody Knows Your Name

I’ve worked a lot of bar jobs. Student bars are easy but they’re also the worst. They are unfailingly polite, but irritatingly loud and they puke the most.

Regular bar, you don’t get so much puke and noise but you get more aggro. Like everything else in life, there’s a trade-off.

The girls get louder, they’re at the age where they know what they want. The boys are at the age where they just think they know. Neither the boys nor the girls will end up getting it and the pain of that realisation is where your humble bartender comes in.

This one girl, Sonia, she comes in more nights than she should but this isn’t social services. I just pour the drinks and take the money and clean up the puke.

“Can I get you a drink?”

She is very beautiful and very drunk and the kind of girl who’d drive a sane man crazy. But I’m crazy so her magic doesn’t work on me.

“I’ll take a half, thank you.”

I pass her a tray of vodka jellies and place a half pint glass beneath the pump.

My father doesn’t drink anymore, but did when I was a child. The smell of beer in my nostrils brings him back out the box, tearing upwards through the earth with his calloused fingers, shaking the dirt off his one suit and running at the speed of death to hammer his unmistakable fists upon our door.

But still I pour.

Winner: Daniela Azzopardi

Exploration

His hand hovered over the bottle hesitantly.

“Come on, I haven’t got all night.” Her eyes shone bright despite the low key lighting in the establishment. The chatter of his other patrons seemed to drown when compared to her husky voice.

“It’s not a mix I’ve ever heard of.” He picked up a bottle of clear spirit and unscrewed it.

“I know what I like.”

She smiled, directing him on the exact measures for her drink. Her accent sounded local, but something was off; she couldn’t recall certain words and would occasionally elongated the odd vowel.

“Is this it?” He asked, looking at the concoction sitting in his work space. A heavy blue settled at the bottom of the glass swirling into green, and then yellow at the top.

Before he could move, she reached over and grabbed the drink, examining the contents. Her nose twitched like an excited cat and her face broke into a smile.

“It’s going to taste like liquified sugar.” He warned as she put the glass to her lips.

One more smile, and half the drink was gone.

“Just as I like it.”

She put down the money for the drink together with a generous tip and waltzed away from the bar into the crowd.

The barman shook his head incredulously as he wiped his bench. Ever since humans started frequenting his bar, his alcohol stocks had started depleting shockingly fast. He had never met a species so capable of adapting and with such thirst. 

loved the tendency towards final lines that packed one hell of a punch her everyone! Congratulations to James, Paul and Daniela and thank you to everyone that played along this week. See you again soon for another round of #QUICKFIC!

For a look back at our previous #QUICKFIC flash fiction competitions, click here.

 

#QUICKFIC 10/05/2019

Hello lovely flash fiction fans and welcome back to #QUICKFIC, Faber Academy’s (in)famous flash fiction competition. What a week! I, for one, was bamboozled by the Bank Holiday and have been convinced it’s Thursday every day. Luckily it’s finally reached Friday and your #QUICKFIC prompt is now within your reach.

First up, the Laws of the Land.

  • In however many minutes (or seconds, if you cheat and jump to it) it takes you to scroll and read the rest of this post, you’ll see a picture prompt.
  • From that prompt, I’d like to read whatever piece of flash fiction it inspires within you
  • Whittle that piece down to 250 words or less. Strictly no more than that!
  • Place your work of art into the body of an email, making sure to include the title and the word count, and send it to academy@faber.co.uk by 2:50 pm today. 

After that, you simply wait and wait until 30:30 pm when I reveal the winner!

That lucky person wins two very special books this week. This year Faber celebrates its 90th anniversary and so, to celebrate our long history and the fantastic new authors we’re lucky to publish, our winner receives Toby Faber’s history of the company and Rachel Cusk’s Kudos: 

With all that, are you

Ready

For

A

Prompt?

Here you go!

By entering Faber Academy’s flash fiction competition #QUICKFIC , you’re granting us non-exclusive worldwide permission to reprint your story on our website should you win.