Flash Fiction 2018 Submissions

“No one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark” – Warsan Shire

Crossing Borders is the theme for this year’s Flash Fiction competition. You can write in any genre and cross any creative thresholds you want but keep it sharp; you have 500 words maximum to tell us your tale.

Entries are invited from age 16 upwards and be written in any genre as long as they relate to the main theme. Your entry must not have won any other competitions.

The Flash Fiction Competition Winner will be announced at our Pulp Idol Final on the 30th May at an exciting event soon to be announced. Deadline for submissions is 5pm Monday 30th April. Submissions will only be accepted that are uploaded via the form below. 

Look below for last year's winning entry. 
 
The links below may also provide further guidance on writing Flash Fiction:
http://www.flashfictiononline.com/ 
http://flashfiction.net/ 
http://www.mslexia.co.uk/magazine/features/joyof_32.php

3000 Characters left


Caroline Barden
The first step
I’ve been left in a draughty corridor, my stomach in a painful knot. No-one has made me feel comfortable, but then I don’t deserve that.

I hadn’t been going to come at first. I’d thought about it, but it scared me, and I didn’t think I would have anything to add because lots of people were there. But I couldn’t sleep, there was too much blood in my dreams and the screams of the young man kept ringing in my ears.

I’ll have to tell them how I watched the crowd gathering, phones held high to catch the action. How the minutes went slowly by until the pavement was stained with blood and the young man looked like a heap of rumpled clothes. And how I didn’t help. I didn’t even call the police, but someone called them because I heard sirens approaching. That’s when I slipped away.

A week’s gone by. I’ve looked up the young man’s home town on Google maps now. It didn’t make much sense, and it’s nowhere I’ve ever been for a holiday. I’ve also remembered how, when I was in hospital, my Mum visited me every day. I heard that this man has only got two friends in the country, no family, no neighbours. That made me cry when I thought about it. I’ve been scanning the crowds in town looking for his friends, to see if I’ll recognise them, willing them to be OK and back to normal. I haven’t got much to go on though – dark hair and blue anoraks and both so skinny.

I wish I’d called the police when I first saw things brewing. I’d seen the gang taunting the young man using hateful language, he smiled at them at first before he realised. Then the beating, on and on.

I went to the hospital this morning, I took some fruit and left my name with the nurse. I’ll go again next week. Maybe he’ll have a coffee with me when he’s out, maybe he could use a friend, even one who did so little.

The policeman is calling me now …