Random Short Fiction: Friday Fictioneers

 

Given how often I contribute to the writer’s blog Friday Fictioneers,  I started to notice how cluttered overview page of my random short fiction was starting to become. In order to try to alleviate some of this congestion, I decided to move all of my Friday Ficitoneer work onto this here page. The setup is still the same, though: chronologically ordered going from most to least recent.

As a quick overview, Friday Fictioneers is a blog that weekly gives out a challenge for writers where they must write a cohesive story based off of a picture (although, I’ve heard that music might be a potential focal point as well) that can have no more than 100 words in it. Well, 100-ish. I manage to get away with about 114 at one point, but if one comes too close to the 200-word threshold, the literary demons will take their heathen souls into literature hell. Then the poor victims will be thrown at the feet of Emily Dickinson and be non-sequitured to death.

 

So, for your convenience and enjoyment, here are my entries to the weekly Friday Fictioneers writing challenge.

 

Have fun~

 


 

The stupidity of youth rears its adrenaline-pumping head yet again as two young sprouts put themselves in serious mortal injury. Judging by the title, I don’t think it will end every well.

 

When I went to Vegas in high school, it was a lot like this, actually. And yet I still loved it there. I guess I’m slightly more deaf now.

 

Despite having an obnoxiously long name, this 100-word story tackles the creation of the dumbest superhero since Arm Fall-Off Boy. Yes, that’s a real thing. Look it up.

 

Like Thoreau’s Advice act 2, this little snippit of a story invades the privacy of a man talking to somebody who probably doesn’t exist.

 

A personal favourite of the author’s (who is writing in third person now, for some reason) about the pursuit of a different, better place and time than the here and now. Also, there are ducks.

 

Free-indirect style runs absolutely wild as the horrors of waking up are presented for all to see in startling clarity and detail.

 

In a more melancholic entry, a youthful chap (or chapess, I never decided) dreams about bigger, louder things.

 

The snarkiness of youth is strong in this one. Watch as two unnamed young’uns use their valuable days of youth tormenting each other with a mysterious object.

 

Stream-of-Consciousness is applied to observations about a nearby hospital. It involves colours! Everybody loves COLOURS.

 

A man whose brain is probably upside down or at least not of this dimension looks at himself in the mirror. Insanity ensues.

 

The all-important “what if the Sims was real?” question is posed and, in 100-ish words, is answered.

 

Sexual tension between a man and his boyfriend erupts as they go on a camping trip. Except, it doesn’t erupt. That’s why it’s called tension.

 

Memories of childhood, particularly those of the ideas of a young apothecary are explored as a brother and sister through random things they found into a pot.

 

A man late to see his dentist finds that the quickest way to his appointment is through a rather conspicuous shortcut.

 

Teenage human depravity is explored as a boy and girl explore a house that may or may not have some ambiguous important thing in its safe.

 

For whatever inconceivable reason, I decided to make this entry a bit more sober than my last five. In it, I look at a boy with a debilitating illness and his mother who may or may not be insane. Really, it’s a fun time for the whole family.

 

Written in a state of sleep-deprived delerium and inspired by my adventures during the day it was written, I write a tale where Satan is blamed for the mishaps of a plane stuck on a runway. Maybe it’s one of his hobbies he just happened to pick up.

 

Writing again of childlike whimsy, The Battle of Dinnerplate 6 shows a child turn into an omnicidal maniac as he ruthlessly destroys his peas. He’ll probably turn into a serial killer/criminal mastermind one day with this kind of childhood.

 

Working off of a much more, shall we say, “unnerving” picture this time around, I try my best to spin a tale that is 100 words or less that deals with guilt, and haunting, and scariest of all, RAMS.

 

Putting aside my Serial Serialization Syndrome, I tackle a picture of a cloudy sky and write a story in 100 words about a young Frankenstein about to have his/her (I never really decided which) dreams crushed by brutal reality. A real spirit-lifter of a tale!

 

 

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