Flash Fiction Response to Writing Prompt
Several blogs ago, I covered down on this short story writing sensation called Flash Fiction. This form of short writing seemed ridiculous to me as it ranges from a sparse 5 words up to 1,500 words. Until...wait for it...I realized I have unknowingly participated in this craziness for years. Yep, that's right! Biggest duck in the puddle. Quack, quack.
How? Writing verse for greeting cards. Short and sweet. Texts. Short and sweet. Emails. Short and sweet. Facebook posts, X (formerly Twitter) Tweets, and on and on and on. Odds are if you're reading this, you have been all up in the middle of this yourself. Welcome to the party! That said, I decided to respond to the writing prompt I threw out 9 blogs back called, Finish THIS story: Writing Prompt. Hopefully you'll take the time and send your version to me, and maybe I'll use yours next time :-)
VERSION 1:
The early morning sky was a brooding noir. Unexpected movement in Illeana’s peripheral vision made her jump and sent her Ford Fiesta veering left. She reclaimed the black steering wheel with a claw-like grip and guided the tires back inside the right lane. "Shewwwww, thank God!" She squealed and exhaled staccato breaths. Luckily, the left lane was clear of any sideswipe victims.
Once she focused on the source of the movement, the bizarre scene caused her investigative mind to spin. A thin, dark man of average height and dreadlocks had burst out of the front door of a house and jogged down toward her. He turned left onto the sidewalk and his hair bounced against his dark hoodie and his wide-legged pants seemed to expand with the breeze of his motion.
Laced with running shoes, his feet kept a controlled pace as he moved on. He didn’t appear to be unhinged like he was being chased. Yet he wasn’t strolling. Where was he going? Did he just commit a crime? There was no visible murder weapon dangling from one of his hands. Did a drug deal just go down? The questions were daunting. Maybe he and his girlfriend had an altercation. Or, maybe he was simply late for work.
With curiosity strangling her sanity, she turned into a gas station dimly lit by streetlamps and whooshed the car around as the tires screeched against the concrete. She eased back onto the quiet four-lane road lined with sleepy houses and maintained a non-threatening distance. Yeah, she was going to be late to work again but she had to know.
VERSION 2:
She jumped as he burst out and ran.
She followed him.
She had to know why he ran.
Send yours to writerrobbins@gmail.com for review and possible publish.