One year, I did what I called Shorts in Season, during which I wrote one new flash fiction piece every three months. Ha! Slacker!
Anyway, the long version of this story is here. Here is a 50-word version I tried out:
by Marian Allen
Dead end job. This box, then I send a tiny lead express package to my brain.
She dances on the gravel, grey braids flopping, house shoes flapping.
“It came! It came!”
The day ends with a beer, not a bullet. A black wreath doesn’t suit Father Christmas.
WRITING PROMPT: Does the micro story capture the essence of the “longer” story? Experiment with finding the “heart” of classic stories. of your stories.