Timber We grew tired of standing with no one reclining in our shade, climbing our trunks, or hanging swings or birdhouses from our limbs. What were we even

Suzanne Hicks I spent more and more time watching the sun go down alone, lying in the grass or climbing the tree that shed helicopters in fall.

A competition for microfiction up to 100 words. It is free to enter and aims to be a welcoming space for all writers. The competition is open to all forms of narrative prose. There is a whole universe...

We thought we were in line for a new bakery, or a pop-up shop selling those new collectible keychains. That one musician had been showing up in nearby cities, too, announcing shows just hours before taking the stage, so if you weren’t in line, you wouldn’t get a wristband. Once a few had gathered, others stopped too, not wanting to miss their chance. Everyone was relieved when the line started moving, when they were a foot closer to a cronut or a pafrufru or a concert ticket. We marched forward into the building, unsure what was to come but sure it would be well worth the wait.

So sick of being one of the crowd, crammed together with others who looked the same, but did they think the way he did? Did they hate the sun beating down, the feet crushing them into the buried glass fragments, the buckets stuffing them together before they’re hoisted to a height that made them dizzy, then punched down, collapsing back to the ground while screams rang out, cries for mommy only stopped after tromping across the expanse of them to the snack bar. He didn’t think anyone else noticed all this; it was routine by now. But he knew there was more out there. He had memories of being minerals, of being on land, far away from the water that washed over them, packing them even more tightly together, compressing them into one thing, “the beach,” though he wishes it could dislodge him, sweep him into the current and take him to another country far away, where he could finally see what else was out there.

I wriggle my fingers against his palm because I can’t believe it’s real. Can I nestle my head on his shoulder during a roller coaster ride? Does this mean we’re going steady? The cars pull up and we’re still touching as we step closer, our turn next. I sit down and before I know it, abracadabra he’s gone, and the attendant buckles a kid who’s already crying in the space beside me, snot on her chin, and I look around wildly, desperate to correct the mistake, but he’s gone. We race along the wooden tracks clunk-ka-clunk and I think I see him at the snack bar, laughing with those boys from school, but from this dizzying height I can’t be sure.   --- Prompt #17 involved choosing five words from a FlashFlood story. Source text: 'Coriolis Effect' by Mikki Aronoff   

Caught between an overprotective father and a manipulative stepmother, a young girl risks everything to discover who she's meant to be.

How far would you go to save a friend? A young man faces impossible odds deep beneath the red dirt of Mars.

We were happy once, not when we first met, both outcasts with no one to square dance with in gym, but we partnered up and became inseparable. Our friendship developed after the bell rang, when we could go to my house where no one was home and be ourselves. There, it felt safe to talk about how we felt, to share more than words until you felt stifled. Suddenly, it was too much, too wrong, and then you shared my secrets with the world. I walked home alone, sat in the house alone, wondered what you were doing. Made a plan so I wouldn't have to go to school tomorrow.

Before the pedestrian bridge was constructed we were separated by the highway. There aren’t tons of cars clogging up that road cutting through the orchards, but those of us on the side opposite our school couldn’t just frogger across it so they built the bridge. Long gone were the days we could only play at recess because no one was around to drive us to each other‘s houses. Now it’s summer and we meet on the bridge every day. We go up there to jump rope, play hopscotch, and practice our dance routine to “Love Story.” We’re the biggest Swifties in this little town. There isn’t a single person that we don’t know who crosses that bridge. The other day we asked Mrs. Johnson for a dollar when she was walking to the market. She patted us each on the head and said, aren’t you two cute, like we were messing around. I mean, we have our fun but it’s not all games up here. We’re the ones who started growling at Mr. Park and his ugly old dog to scare them off after he started walking it up here to take a crap every day. So you can thank us for not stepping in it. We don’t know who everyone thinks is making sure the bridge operates the way it should, but we run this crossing. And unfortunately, our services don’t come for free. Which is why we invite you all to our performance later this afternoon where we’ll be shaking it off like Taylor. Five dollars per head entry fee. No discounts for kids, old folks, and pets aren’t free. Cash only, please.