Flash Fiction: A brief intoduction

As an enthusiastic writer, flash fiction is a must have tool in my author's tool box. Now, before you ask, flash fiction is a very loose term. In essence, it is a short piece of writing, usually with a twist at the end. Some write "short shorts", only a hundred words or less. Others go for 500, to get a more complex piece. I personally write around two hundred words, allowing me to develop my idea, but only so much.

Interested in this new type of writing? Click "read more" below, or keep scrolling.


I love this style of writing, because it provides a challenge and a way for me to test possible story threads, but without the labour of writing a whole, deep, complex piece. Whilst that may sound lazy, it is important to keep creative writing light and enjoyable, as wading through hours of story building can drag down the fun of creating. 

The challenge of flash fiction is to build a climax, a character and a scene, all without the aid of previous character and story building. You soon find you need to be less precious with your words, as, to fit the word limit, you have to hack apart many a treasured sentence. There are many creators and competitions out there, so if this style grabs you, I would wholeheartedly urge you to join the fun!

Here are two of my favourites, that may inspire you. I hope you enjoy!

Not his job

Chapped fingers clutching car keys. A thick knitted jumper, its hems circling her white knuckles. Her long black hair clung to her back as she slid into her car. Sharp green eyes separated by a slender nose, with a small mouth breathing the fog that clouded the windows. Her car, driven through two years of college, coughed into life. Her phone chirped – that was impatient Yasmin waiting on the steps of Cheswick Dance School. She could almost picture her younger sister, dressed in a fluffy pink tutu, stomping and huffing in the cold. A quirky smile pulled at the corner of her mouth, as her numb fingers tap-tapped a response. She didn’t notice the shadow. She didn’t notice the cold glint of metal.

At least, he thought Yasmin was the victim’s sister. The man frowned, his forensics suit flapping slightly in the sharp wind. The victim, (Emma Blake, her driving licence said) must have been texting when she was attacked. He briefly imagined her, and her last few moments alive and unsuspecting. Yes, she must have been cold. Clutching car keys, probably. Her ebony hair, now spread out on the cement, would have stuck to her jumper. He sighed. That was not his job. His job was to take samples from the three stab wounds in her back. 

Perfect Chaos – 175 words

There was a storm coming. Tearing up the horizon, destroying the fields, swirling the sea into a thousand rabid dogs. Parents scoop up children, lovers clasp hands and run. I have no one to turn to, no one to urge to take shelter, no one to survive the storm with me. Even before the pier empties, I’m alone with the storm. It envelopes me, filling my senses, tearing apart my sanity as it pounds against the ground. Its hungry, impatient need fills me. I can feel the way the waves eat the sea foam, the howling wind as it cracks the windows. Everything has a place; even the raindrops fall where they should. This is perfect chaos, this is freedom, this is safety.

I greet the storm like a friend, craving its embrace and pouring my trust into its powerful presence. I stumble forwards, my bare toes reaching the edge of the drop. I’ve waited for this for the three long years since my “little incident.”  No more chains for me.

I smile. I jump.

 Found – 50 words

One foot in front of the other. Breathe pain in, breathe lies out. Found a gun in my pocket in a jacket I never knew I had. Found my father, not my father, dead. Found I have one less fragment of my heart, with every new body I shift into.