FlashFeeD 1.7

Hello there,

Thanks for the great stories and fantastic support.

New writing prompt below.

Full rules here:

Focus on the fiction writing element of: genre (pick any you like).



Stories will be limited to 2000 characters* (about 300 words), including the title.

*(The field itself will allow for 2050 characters, but this extra 50 characters is only to be used as contingency and it won't be increased).

Use the comment field to post stories, include your story title. Use the reply button on a particular story to provide positive feedback. Press the ‘like’ icon if you like a story.



40 Replies to “FlashFeeD 1.7”

  1. “That was fun! Get another datacube!”

    “OK! Randomizing…”

    “I never thought this… ‘library’ would be so amusing.”

    “Me neither. Why don’t we have this back home?”

    “I don’t know. Look, why don’t we upload it all and bring it back with us?”

    “Do you reckon we could? There must be… some exas, perhaps even a zetta, I think.”

    “Really? Well, we don’t need to do it in one go. And that way we’d have an excuse to visit.”

    “That sounds perfect! I’ll program the ship.”

    “Later. It’s finishing loading… Now.”

    “Ah! What do we have here?”

    “Looks like one of those… documentaries? Following the life of the natives?”

    “Apparently so.”

    “Look, what is that?”

    “Oh, oh, remember the one before the last one? We saw it then. That’s a male, that’s a female.”

    “What are they doing?”

    “Marriage? What is that?”

    “I think they’re explaining it…”

    “Oh. See, apparently it’s part of the mating ritual.”

    “But not necessarily?”

    “No. This is odd…”

    “So many cultures within the same environment?”

    “Yes. It’s so… strange? Do I sound like a xenophobe if I say so?”

    “Not to me. Or at least I know what you mean.”

    “The reproductive ritual itself is disgusting.”

    “I find it… strangely attractive?”

    “You were always a pervert at heart.”

    “Thank you.”

    “Hey, what’s that? Those datasets? What do they mean?”

    “Those statistics must be wrong.”

    “I agree. Given their reproduction rate, they couldn’t have spanned the galaxy, much less colonize it.”

    “Perhaps we have the time measurement wrong?”

    “Tell you what, I think you’re right. Let’s recalculate.”

    “While we wait, what was the name of this people? Or their planet?”

    “Did we check it?”

    “No, we just went directly to the fun part.”

    “Let’s see…”

    “The recalculation is done. Yes, this is much older than we thought…”


    “What’s it?”

    “Terra. This is Terra.”

    “Terra? As in the myth?”

    “No myth. This is Terra. These people… were our ancestors.”


      1. Thank you! Since the writing element was “genre”, I had this idea of going full scifi when walking my dog… and followed it.


    1. Wonderful science-fiction tale! I love that you told it in dialogue, and the voices reveal the characters, and a different perspective. Well-done!


  2. A Nice Day for a Wedding

    Can you imagine a future where we’re not together? she said and he said he couldn’t and that was when they knew in all the possible worlds, they were meant to be.

    They wanted an old-fashioned wedding, so they chose Renaissance Florence.

    She stood by the portals, waiting, pacing. Soon, the guests would arrive. He was late, as usual. She checked the coordinates again. Yes, this was the right time and place.

    Where could he be? Ah, here he is now! The breeze caught her veil, and she was airborne. He, too was walking on air. It seemed there was no gravity in this place.

    She wanted Leonardo to paint their wedding portrait, but he told them he had another commission right now.. Some girl with a very shy smile–and an ermine! How could they compete with that? Perhaps another time.


  3. Senator Hobbs had been feeling the pressure to marry for the last five years. It only intensified when he launched his campaign six months ago. “How many single men have occupied the White House in the last fifty years?” they told him. “The family man always plays well,” they said. “Shows stability and security.” “A good wife can make you look good.”

    Of course, finding the right marriage partner for a fifty-something Senator is not easy. Especially one with an appetite for young ladies. So when Camille came into his life, with her long, dark hair, perfect figure, and adoring sapphire blue eyes, he could hardly believe his good fortune.

    The wedding was a grand affair. A who’s who of politics, and popular culture. The press coverage alone would score well in the polls. And Camille was flawless. She said, “I do” with childish delight, and kissed him with her eyes closed, a hand tucked into his hair. They took pictures together, her smile radiant, and his proud. When she asked for a few moments to catch her breath, no-one objected. All the action was at the front of the church, so she slipped out the back. Inhaled some deep breaths.

    She pressed her left earlobe into her ear. Her long veil lifted into the air, turned a few times, then stopped.

    “Contact.” She heard a blip. Grinned. “The rite has been performed,” she said. “Phase one complete. Prepare to receive the sample in approximately eight Earth hours. Make sure the facsimile is ready before Earth daybreak. I will contact again when we are ready to make the transfer. Out.”


  4. Alva Holland
    244 words

    Up Up and Away

    ‘Finally, the location is perfect, the dress is a dream and the model the epitome of calm and beauty.

    Now, how can we ensure that the veil rises into the air at just the right time?’

    ‘Wait for a windy day?

    ‘Not helpful, Jamie. We need to create our own.’

    ‘But we can’t create wind from directly underneath the veil to get it to rise straight up and fly the way we want.’

    ‘True, unless we recreate that famous Marilyn Monroe Flying Skirt scene.’

    ‘What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

    ‘Jamie, you cannot be in pictures if you don’t do research, if you don’t read, know all about the classics, the iconic images, the scenes that go down in history. Marilyn Monroe’s scene over a subway grille is one of those unforgettable images.’

    ‘Right! Well what do I have to do. We have no subway, no open grills, just ornate columns and decorative doors. This is where you want the scene shot, right?’

    ‘Yes, find me a wind-creator. A vertical one we can hide behind the wedding dress as it flares out in front of the door on the left.’
    ‘A wind-creator?’

    ‘Jesus, Jamie. Do you know anything about scene set-ups? How long are you in this business?’

    ‘Eh, two weeks.’

    ‘Son, you’ve a lot to learn. Go to props, speak to the technical manager, tell her I need a vertical wind-creator, now please before we lose the light for this shot.’


  5. A Veil Lifted

    A veil lifted. Mist crept down to ancient doors, eased around those waiting to enter, hid others who had not been invited. A siren sounded in the distance. Another air raid imminent. Elizabeth recalled the last one. The death and destruction. The devastation visited on her family, on her. She had lost everything and everyone when it should have been the happiest day of her life. But now she had been given another chance. She shivered, watched the guests disappear into the building, tried to identify the shapes and shadows who drifted past her. She could not follow yet. There was one who had promised to walk her down the aisle and he had not yet come. The temperature dropped further, ice-fingered tendrils probed the air, nudged closer. She could sense him now. Took his arm.

    “Ready?” he asked.


    “You’re sure this is what you want?”


    The door opened to admit father and daughter. Together they walked slowly forward, music haunting their progress just as before. Ghostly faces turned in their direction, murmuring approval whilst others waited in the transept. But first was the blessing. Elizabeth picked up the chalice from the altar. Drank the wine. Felt its chill crawl through her. Gradually she felt the weight drop away, stepped out of her skin, left her shell of flesh discarded at her feet. The congregation stood. And amongst the burned-out ruins of the church, Elizabeth finally took the vows she had been unable to complete.


    1. Powerful story! Beautiful writing. -“she felt the weight drop away, stepped out of her skin, left her shell of flesh discarded at her feet” –what a great line!



    Sally pushed her hands down on the billowing layers of white lace, she knew she was looking mighty fine.

    Daniel took another few shots, stopping only to shout out occasional instructions. But she seemed to know what to do in front of the camera and he had to admit the weirdo looked damn fine in front of the towering church doors.

    ‘That’s it, love. Fantastic … ‘Sure you’ll love some of these.’

    Sally was sure too.

    Bill and Brenda looked out from the top deck of the No. 17 bus bemused.

    ‘That’s whatshername from across the street,’ said Bill.

    Brenda peered out through her thick glasses at the woman in white over by old St Saviours and sighed. ‘Yep. What the hell is she doing?’


    Brenda shook her head. ‘Such a shame. Such a nice normal girl growing up. Such possibilities. I blame her mum, you know.’

    ‘I know.’ Agreed Bill, remembering countless discussions on Narky Nora. ‘What is her name? We’ve called her Nora or Narky for so long now I’ve forgotten her real name.’

    ‘Sally, dear. Sally Overton.’

    Bill nodded. ‘That’s it. Glad I’ve got you to help me remember. Weirdo.’

    The bus turned the corner and Sally disappeared from view.

    ‘Why do we call her Narky anyway?’ asked Bill. ‘I don’t remember her being bad tempered.’

    ‘You’ve seen all the mirrors through the windows. She just sits there looking at herself. Spends all her time doing her hair and makeup. I dare say taking selfies these days too.’

    ‘Oh yeah, Narcissus! Not narky as in angry …’

    ‘You’d forget your head.’

    Sally was twirling around in her ideal wedding dress. It was the day she’d dreamt off. A wedding day without a groom. No-one was good enough for her, the only one who ever came close was her reflection.

    She shouted at the photographer. ‘I’ve finished now. I’m going home. Send me over the best photos … no send me them all. And can you do me a favour and go and get the mirror out from the church and take it back to mine?’

    ‘I’m gonna give the mirror such loving later,’ she whispered.


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