Flash Fiction Competition
Year 7 ACE classes put their writing skills to work
At the beginning of Term 3, 7G and 7H English classes took part in a Flash Fiction writing course. Flash fiction is any story that is under 200 words, sometimes even as low as six! The aim was to create a series of Flash Fiction stories starting with several prompts, for example, a one-hundred-word horror and a six-word story. At the end of the week, every student had authored five Flash Fictions. A couple of weeks later, 7G and 7H joined up to start the competition. Each person had to enter at least one of their stories. Then, the classes voted on their favourites.
Writing the Flash Fiction was a great exercise for improving word choice and honing our abilities to condense ideas. I found that when given a word count constraint, it was easier to formulate ideas and make my sentences more fluent. My story won the competition for 7G. Titled “99 Lufballons”, I was inspired by the 1980’s West German rock song of the same name. In the song, it details a group of balloons being mistaken for missiles, and nuclear war as a result.
The Flash fiction competition was very enjoyable, and it resulted in some well refined stories. There was lots of variety and some excellent writing skills on show.
The three winners from 7G:
- 99 Luftballons (Me)
- Saskia’s Flash Fiction (Saskia C)
- Brothers (Henry P)
James T, 7G
7H Results
Flash fiction is a short fictional story of around 100-200 words. It still includes all the things stories need to include such as an introduction, a plot and a resolution it is just much shorter. Flash fiction is fun because it only takes a short period of time to write but it is still a good story. It helped me improve my editing because it is actually quite hard to write a story in only 100 words and I had to edit my story down a lot to make it a short story. Our class (7H) had a flash fiction competition earlier this term, and everyone's stories were really good. But three stories came out on top, well done on their flash fiction stories!
The three winners from 7H:
- Pippi A
- Lucy P
- Jacqui B
Pippi A, 7H
Enjoy three of our Flash Fiction stories
Saskia’s Flash Fiction
Shivering, I curled into a ball. Try as I might, nothing could distract me from the fact that I was lost. Just plain lost. An hour ago, my tour group had been marvelling at the shimmering, icy spikes that hung like bats from the leafless trees. At the time, they had been breathtaking. But now the icicles only seemed to mock my incompetence. The group had left me frozen in awe, unaware of their departure.
Now, as snow began to fall, the forest didn’t seem nearly as beautiful. No, in my mind, the woods were a living death trap, just waiting to claim another soul from the cold. The thought, depressing as it was, shifted something inside me.
With a jolt, I realised – I wanted to survive. Deserved, in fact. And lying on the forest floor, the snow now almost up to my ankles, wasn’t going to be enough to save me. Slowly, I pulled my jacket tighter around my chest. I took one painful step, then another. Snow crunched and my breathing became shallow, but I couldn’t stop, couldn’t even think. Survive. It was only that word that pushed me on, each step harder than the last. And when, at long last, a faint, white light from a torch carefully probed through the branches, I finally allowed myself a small smile. Survived.
99 Luftballons by James T
The general, Krayev Nikitovich was his name, looked upon the large screen at the front of the bunker. They had been waiting for this moment for many years, and Nikitovich knew he would not let his motherland down. But this did not stop him from thinking of the future, how his actions would be looked back upon, if there was anybody left, that was. Sure enough, the Early Warning System showed four dots. Nikitovich looked at the vice, Yutilov Yakovich. He nodded, his hands in the pockets of his coat. Nikitovich picked up the phone on his desk in the tiered bunker. He waited for a tone, before speaking.
“We have something.”
“Missiles?” the man replied; his voice sombre.
“Da. Ten currently, the number has been increasing.”
In the office of the leader of the U.S.S.R, Khrushchev picked up the phone.
“There are ten missiles targeting Moscow and other military targets.”
“Launch is authorised. May god be with us.”
Nikitovich sat nervously. Then, with a shrill, the phone rang. He picked it up.
“Khrushchev’s ordered launch.”
Nikitovich called Yakovich.
“Keys?”
The men pushed the keys into the holes.
“Turn”
Both men turned the keys.
Nikitovich flicked back a safety on the launch button.
He pressed it.
Then, the world burned.
Brothers by Henry P
The sound of child laughter trickled through the air like a stream, the early morning frosty and dewy at the local park. A young teenage boy was playing with a little baby on the tambark, his smile infecting the air enormously. He beckoned to the baby, and together they crawled into a play-tunnel, their laughter echoing inside like braids of memory dangling in a wind. The mother walked over, finding a lady who had been watching them. “His big brother is so nice, playing with him...” the lady said sweetly. The mother froze. “He doesn’t have a big brother.” Suddenly the laughter turned sour, and a scream echoed from the melting shadows of the tunnel.