I love the concept of flash fiction; given a writing prompt and a variable amount of time, write a story. I've done it a few times (ok, twice!) and found it to be fun to write, funny to read, and sometimes pretty amazing.
My friend and fellow writer (I keep wondering if there are just a lot more writers than I might have thought, or if us weird, wordly types are just drawn to each other because it seems like I have a lot of writer friends) did some flash fiction the other week that I enjoyed, but while I'd meant to send her a prompt, I fell face-first into my own work and never quite got around to it.
Here's what she came up with; (content warning, contains strong language, sexual themes, gay themes)
Yesterday, when I was out to dinner, I was idly skimming through the beer menu and came across this:
The first thing you notice when pouring a glass of this seasonal beer is the color. Samuel Adams® Octoberfest has a rich, deep reddish amber hue which itself is reflective of the season. Samuel Adams Octoberfest masterfully blends together five roasts of malt to create a delicious harmony of sweet flavors including caramel and toffee. The malt is complimented by the elegant bitterness imparted by the Bavarian Noble hops. Samuel Adams Octoberfest provides a wonderful transition from the lighter beers of summer to the heartier brews of winter.
I promptly sent her a text; I found your beer!
I was, however, driving, so I didn't sample it. (The husband had a terrible couple days at work and he drank a Long Island Iced Tea that was making my eyes water from across the table!) But I am seriously tempted to go over to the Total Wine and get some. It sounds lovely; and I'm ashamed to admit it, but I've never actually HAD any Sam Adams, despite being told it's one of the best American beers that exist. (I'm bigoted against American beer.)
Having started thinking about her flash fiction, I followed up with yet another text: Write me some flash fiction! Your prompt: airhorn, hockey stick, sushi, guttermouth. (Confession: I took those from four commercials on the radio, one from each commercial. Except for Tread Quarters, which was the "airhorn" one, I can't remember any of the commercials. Advertising semi-fail?)
She gave me a lovely little blurb, and then gave ME a prompt: phone, seashell, caramel, balloon. Tune in - hopefully later today - to see what I come up with (feel free to leave me additional prompts in the comments!). UPDATE! Here is my Flash Fiction...
I give you Liz's flash fic:
(Contains strong language, sexual themes)
The party was still going strong outside the closet. Inside the closet, it was dark and musty and hot, but Chris's mouth tasted of sushi and beer, spicy and bitter and sweet all rolled together, and Wayne held on tight, not wanting to let go. But then Chris's fingers slipped under Wayne's belt, fingers dancing, and Wayne gasped. "Oh, fucking... FUCK."
"Guttermouth," Chris accused, laughing, but those fingers were on Wayne's cock again and he didn't care.
Wayne grunted and pushed Chris back against the wall, knocking Wayne's old hockey stick from the shelf. It bruised his shoulder and then clattered to the floor, as loud in the confined space as an airhorn. Wayne cursed again, but his hands did not stop opening the buttons of Chris' too-tight jeans.
Out there, somewhere, was a birthday party Wayne had not wanted.
In here, he was unwrapping the one gift he'd never hoped to receive.