A message comes up on my screen. Tells me by clicking ‘OK’, I agree to age at a rate of one year per second.
I click ‘OK’. Whatever happens will give me something to write about.
I was eight years old when the message came up. Now I’m fifteen, seventeen… nineteen.
I wanted to write about sharks, then space, then excess, young love… fading youth.
I’m forty-six now. 48. 49.
I take a few moments, to reminisce about my joints not creaking so much.
I just turned eighty. These words are all I have to offer.
The next FlashFlood will take place National Flash-Fiction Day 's 10th Anniversary, next mass-writing event taking place on 26 June 202...
We'd like to mark the end of 2020 with a little celebration of this year's FlashFlood writers. Congratulations to the following wri...
How’d you do it, girl? Waitressing part-time at Steak ‘n’ Shake since the day after your sixteenth birthday, working weekends through high s...
A shaft of sunlight fell across the worn herringbone floor, drawing his gaze upwards to the flawless blue sky beyond the row of windows, ...