Sarah Ann Hall

Reporting on writing in progress or, more probably, not.

Posts Tagged ‘flash fiction

#FridayFictioneers – 17/11/17 – The Allotment

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Every Wednesday Rochelle Wisoff-Fields publishes a photo prompt to inspire writers to write 100-words of flash fiction or poetry.

At any point during the following week, the Friday Fictioneers post their 100-word tales. Read the other stories by clicking below. 


I struggled coming up with a tale this week. Once I had the idea, I struggled to get it down to 100-words. I’m sure there’s a vitally important part to my story that has remained in my head rather than reaching the screen.

Thank you to Rochelle for hosting and J Hardy Carroll for the photo.


© J Hardy Carroll

The Allotment

(Genre: general fiction; 100-words)

The blue lights fade away. Foam shines against rich loam. Jim’s plot, usually neat rows and labels, is a sea of churned up boot prints. Greenhouses on either side are metal frames surrounded by glass shards sticking up at all angles.

‘What happened?’ I ask.

‘I was cold,’ Danny says approaching. ‘I nipped round the corner for some fags. A mouse must have knocked the candle over.’

Which lit the fertilizer in the corner: the flames took flight with the wind, jumped from shed roof to dry compost heap to petrol can.

I hug Danny. ‘Spring’s coming. We’ll sort it.’



Written by Sarah Ann

November 17, 2017 at 9:23 pm

OLWG #24 – George – #amwriting

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It’s prompt 24 for the New, Unofficial On-Line Writer’s Guild, and I played it safe this week with a 100-word cheery (?) tale. Somehow this week’s prompts felt as if they should stay together.




George slumps into his chair, head resting against an antimacassar thickened and stained with grease. The chair is an island in a sea of filth. The house hasn’t been cleaned since Maggie. There’s been no tidying, sweeping, or cooking. George moves about by sliding across the ever shifting rubbish strewn everywhere. Sometimes he’s sure it moves of its own accord. He doesn’t care.

There’s been no laughing since Maggie either. That he misses. The keen edge of his spirit was blunted by her passing.

Pills in hand, George cradles whiskey in a glass, his staple sustenance, and longs for release.



This week’s prompts are:

  1. Whiskey in a glass
  2. The keen edge
  3. Antimacassar

Use these prompts to write anything you like and would enjoy writing. Or ignore them and write whatever strikes your fancy. I like that idea too.


Written by Sarah Ann

November 16, 2017 at 4:04 pm

#FridayFictioneers – 10/11/17 – The Humungous Shop of Wonders

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Every Wednesday Rochelle Wisoff-Fields publishes a photo prompt to inspire writers to write 100-words of flash fiction or poetry.

At any point during the following week, the Friday Fictioneers post their 100-word tales. Read the other stories by clicking below.

I wondered whether I’d manage to come up with anything this week as I’m attempting NaNoWriMo. Needless to say I’m behind where I need to be with that. When I saw Marie’s picture, my title shot to mind, and then two possibilities. You’ve got both to pick over and critique below.

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting every week without fail, and Marie for this week’s prompt.


The Humungous Shop of Wonders Version 1

(Genre: children’s fiction; 100-words)

Edward looked forward to his weekly visit to his grandparents and their trip to his favourite toyshop. He walked reverentially through its pillared doorway, marvelled at the central hall with its balconies and mezzanines going on forever.

A pause, before Edward shot left, right, left again. He flitted, gambolled, skipped, ogled, touched tentatively, decided, shook his head, moved on. He flew up stairs, stamped impatiently in elevators, anticipating the next array of fantastical treasures.

After an hour Edward waited for his grandparents at the entrance, always empty handed, pocket money saved, looking forward to doing it all again next week.



The Humungous Shop of Wonders Version 2

(Genre: adult fiction; 100-words)

Ricky was having a shit day. He’d lost his artillery and needed a fix, quick. Guts churning, fingers trembling, he knocked tentatively. This was a new factory. The door opened and Ricky’s eyes popped.

Buttons, bennies, black hollies, crystals, dolphins, eggs, goofballs, hay, heaven, ice, Lucy, Miss Emma, pebbles, rocks, slime, yaba.

The walls were shelved, stacked and labelled, full of goods to meet everyone’s pleasure; the works and rig too. His yen was over; he’d score, ride the wave, go on a trip and soon be zonked. Pity he didn’t have much lettuce. Now to find a shooting gallery.


If interpretation is required, click here.


Written by Sarah Ann

November 10, 2017 at 6:35 pm

OLWG #23 – #micropoetry, #amwriting

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To keep me on my toes and make sure I participate, I’ve gone for a haiku, an American Sentence and an American Cinquain again to address this week’s Unofficial On-Line Writer’s Guild prompts. Hopefully I’ll mix it up a bit next week but NaNoWriMo is currently taking up a bit of time.


Diamonds on my windshield
autumnal showers
parked cars await drenched walkers
glistening treasures


Try this
Bill skates, flips, slides, loops the loop, shimmies. Dan, watching, feels inadequate.


I think I have one right here
Jumps and dances
Grins, plays tricks, undermines
Attempting to make others laugh


Why not play along. Pick a prompt and spend 25-minutes writing something.

Written by Sarah Ann

November 7, 2017 at 11:03 pm

#FridayFictioneers – 3/11/17 – The Collector

with 34 comments

Every Wednesday Rochelle Wisoff-Fields publishes a photo prompt to inspire writers to write 100-words of flash fiction or poetry.

At any point during the following week, the Friday Fictioneers post their 100-word tales. Read the other stories by clicking below.

You might have thought it would be easier to write something to one of your own photos. Not for me. I look at the photo and remember the place and the day, where we were moored, the friend we were with, the necklace she spent a fortune on in the vintage shop just across the road, the beer we drank in the evening, None of that helped with forming a story; the one I’ve come up with is definitely lacking oomph.

Thank you to Rochelle for hosting and using one of my photos this week.


© me

The Collector

(Genre: general fiction; 100-words)

Uncle John always said I’d have his collection when he died.

When I visited as a child with my mother, she scoffed at the idea. ‘She’ll never have a house big enough.’

John waved away her protestations, and showed me his latest acquisition. Mother fretted about me breaking something. ‘She’s very careful,’ he’d say. ‘She’s a delicate touch.’

True to his word he left me the lot, house included, and a note. ‘Do with it as you wish. If you want to sell, sell.’ And with that freedom I have kept his home intact, in time to pass to another.



Written by Sarah Ann

November 3, 2017 at 3:30 pm

OLWG #22 – a haiku, an American sentence and an American Cinquain

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There are some things that, once started, are hard to stop. So it is that I’ve pitched up again with a response to this week’s OLWG prompts. Sticking to micro-poetry means I can actually respond to the prompt. I am not a poet, but I am having fun playing with these tight structures. Once again I’ve taken the prompts as my titles.


What happened here?
door hanging open
possessions strewn everywhere
neater than before


I have seen the devil
Social services: baby snatchers disguised as ordinary Joes.


She won’t be having any more
She hurts
Stomach bloated
Fizzy pop rebelling
Food dissolving, churning, turning


With thanks to the New, Unofficial, On-Line Writer’s Guild and TN Kerr.

Written by Sarah Ann

November 2, 2017 at 3:10 pm

OLWG #21 – American Cinquains

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As usual, I’m a little late with these as the new OLWG (#22) prompts are already up, but I’ve had fun this week attempting to write American Cinquains. These are 5-lined poems with a 2, 4 ,6, 8, 2 syllable pattern. For a more eloquent description, click here. The titles below are the prompts.


I’m gonna be late for work


But not in time

To catch the non-stop bus

Jump on bike, race away quickly

And hope



Mud caked

Grey wallowing

Bulbous flanks, massive jaws

River horses dancing in lakes

Thick skinned


Wait till your father gets home


She thinks I am

Know I’m supposed to be

But dad doesn’t care about me

I know


They had one greedy son


Ate for them all

Forty-inch chest aged ten

Racing towards diabetes

Too soon


King of Clubs



To upset he causes

Committee will have him replaced

In time


I do

He asked

I smiled, said yes

My life became weddings

Dresses, seating plans and favours




With thanks to the New, Unofficial, On-Line Writer’s Guild for these prompts and a new challenge.


Written by Sarah Ann

October 30, 2017 at 6:21 pm

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