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.
That's it for this year's FlashFlood! Huge thanks again to our writers, our readers, our editors , and everyone who submitted work....
We'd like to mark the end of 2020 with a little celebration of this year's FlashFlood writers. Congratulations to the following wri...
A shaft of sunlight fell across the worn herringbone floor, drawing his gaze upwards to the flawless blue sky beyond the row of windows, ...
The next FlashFlood will take place National Flash-Fiction Day 's 10th Anniversary, next mass-writing event taking place on 26 June 202...