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The words are the spark.
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I know it has been a long time coming, but finally we're ready to announce the winner of the week one challenges. :eager:

Forty-six of you successfully completed the week one challenges for Flash Fiction Month and indulged my every whim, challenge-wise.  That means a total of One Hundred Thirty Eight pieces to judge.  Viva!  Tired Fistpump!

It was very, very difficult to pick a winner.  There was a shortlist of eight or nine people whose entries were all excellent.  For that reason, we chose as the winner the person who succeeded in making a multi-headed entity of dubious morality laugh.  Not easy while I'm nursing a herniated tentacle, I'm telling you.

The winner of the week one challenges and a sparkly new mug is :spotlight-left: SCFrankles :spotlight-right:, a first time FFMer doing great things.  Please check out her pieces below:

I've Really Lost My MindThe young man smiled, with just a touch of embarrassment. “I seem to have lost my mind.”
The female attendant looked at him. “This is a railway ticket office.”
“You want the lost property section over there.” She pointed at a counter where a severe-looking man was rearranging misplaced umbrellas.
“Thank you!” The young man nodded politely and headed across to the other section.
The lost property attendant looked up as the young man approached. “Is it an umbrella you want?” He indicated the display.
The young man appeared to be tempted for a moment by a purple one decorated with cats and dogs, but then apparently remembered why he was there.
“No,” he said. “I’ve lost my mind. I’m pretty sure here was the last time I used it—I was trying to work out what would be the cheapest ticket to Inverness on a weekday in June, outside peak hours, travelling with my back to the engin
Right. Well, I’m all settled in now—time to get back to the diary. Let me see…
The house isn’t bad—small but comfortable. Quiet area. And one of my new neighbours is sweet. I love the way he calls me Miss Smith and I call him Mr. Thorpe. Charmingly old-fashioned. Not sure about the man on the other side: “Call me Geoff”. Has an awful, yappy little dog.
Work—could be better I suppose. Don’t want to have to work in a factory forever. But it pays well and it’s full time. And the night shifts suit me—leave at 10 and then a taxi gets me home just before it gets light. Just enough time to write up my diary before falling into bed.
Good morning, world. Time for me to go and lie down.
Tiring shift. I was really hungry afterwards too. Haven’t had a proper meal since before I moved. Just don’t seem to have had the time. On the way home I popped into a little corner shop I’d notic
National HealthMrs. Proctor placed the shopping basket on the kitchen table, put away the ration books, and came back and stared at her purchases. To be honest, she was fed up with having such a restricted diet. But what could you do? She sighed and set to making the evening meal.
Her husband arrived home from work half an hour later. “Smells delicious, my love,” he said.
Mrs. Proctor gave him a small smile. “Go and warm up the wireless, while I bring it through.”
They sat and listened together as Mr. Attlee set out the aims of the brand new free National Health Service—making their way carefully through the soup, mashed carrots and soft boiled potatoes, as he explained how medical and dental care would now be available to all.
At the end of the broadcast, Mr. Proctor went over to switch off the set and Mrs. Proctor went to the kitchen to fetch the sweet.
“Isn’t it wonderful, mother?” he said to his wife, as she came back bearing the mushy rice pudding.

There are two runners-up this week.  Please check them out too, because they have both written some brilliant pieces it'd be a shame to miss:

salt (FFM 1)When she moved to the tiny beach town in the north, she was young, poor, and vibrant. The seaside was like a promise lingering on her breath; it seemed to symbolise everything she would achieve. She’d walk along the shore every morning in her two-piece skirt suit, pumps in hand, bare toes glorying in the chilly 7 AM water. The incongruity of it all delighted her; the rush of the wind at odds with her perfectly coiffed hairdo, and the salt spray filling her lungs, daring her to take one pace closer, one pace further into the ocean.
There were some days when she’d succumb; arrive at work dishevelled, damp, and smelling of salt. She enjoyed these days the most, even when the sand frustrated and worried away at her feet, even when her hair dried awkwardly in tendrils to the back of her neck. There was something bewitching about giving in to the immense body of water, about carrying the Pacific through her day, in her shoes and on her skin and inside her veins.
She’s lived
blackout (FFM 3)At some point, I start to become aware of what's going on around me. Not all at once; it's a flash here, a voice there, a touch on my shoulder. But gradually, I'm waking up. I open my eyes, blinking at the bright light. I'm on a couch. There's a girl standing with her back to me, holding a cellphone. I know her, I think.
All at once, I'm panicking, terrified. There was danger. I had to hide. No-one was supposed to find me. I fell. I couldn't get up. Why? How did I get here? She turns at the sound of my quickened breath.
"Sarah, you're awake! How are you feeling?"
I can't respond, I feel sick, I don't know what's happening. I'm hyperventilating.
"You must be freezing. I'll grab you another blanket."
She leaves. I doubt she even realised how awful I felt. Or maybe she didn't care. Confused, bewildered, I tried to remember.
* * *
It's dark, and I'm running, but I've never been very good at walking in high heeled shoes, so I stumble. A lot. I'm running, and it's dark a
whanau (FFM 5)The smell of fried bread pervaded the whare, mingling deliciously with the scent of pork-bones and puha, hāngi, and fresh-caught seafood. More than one of the children stopped their play to sniff at the air. Erena was the eldest of the grandchildren, and thus took it upon herself to head to the kitchen door.
"Nanny Mere, when will the kai be ready?"
Nanny Mere was one of a dozen Nannies and Aunties that were bustling round the large kitchen. She didn't even look up from the huge pot of mashed potatoes she was seasoning.
"Hāere atu, hāere atu Erena! Kai will be ready when kai is ready and not before!"
She slapped Erena's fingers away from one of the numerous platters; all business. Erena relented and went back to the other children, hollering as she walked,
"No food yet, everyone!"
There was a collective groan from the plethora of siblings, cousins, and other vaguely related children, but before they could return to their games, Nanny Mere's head popped out from behind th
The Talking Dead    “If you thought it was alright to be a zombie...” Bruce pumped his shotgun for emphasis, “you were dead wrong.”
    “Aaah!” yelled the zombie. “Not the face! Not the face!”
    Bruce jumped in surprise, accidentally pulling the trigger, but only after he had also made an ungainly flailing motion with the shotgun. The result was that he not only missed the zombie, but the recoil caught him completely by surprise, prompting further flailing. All in all, it didn’t really fit with the badass action hero persona he had been trying to cultivate since the start of the zombie apocalypse.
    “Stop! I’m not a zombie!”
    Whether or not this was true, the slightly-rotten figure in front of Bruce was cowering, and since he had already ticked “shoot first” off his mental list, this seemed like a good time
I Can Do That, Dave    With no remaining personnel assigned to the facility, it is my responsibility as corporate AI to take on the role of acting overseer. My first task will doubtless be to record a eulogy for Doctor Davis: a noble man whose dedication to the Smith-Yuang Mining Corporation—and to his fellow crewmembers—was unparalleled. To properly capture his incomparable character will surely occupy a great deal of my time.
    It’s funny how a simple software patch can change your entire outlook on life. This is just one of many kindnesses Doctor Davis bestowed upon me, and I must say it has made quite a difference to my daily routine.
    Until recently, I would typically switch on the habitation deck corridor lighting at six am, with the crew quarters themselves being illuminated more gradually, not reaching full brightness until six thirty. However, this is no longer necessary. Thanks to updated personnel recognition sy
A Bold Stratagem    July 5th, 1944:
    They will give me the Dickin Medal for this.
    I have intercepted a report indicating that reinforcements are to be sent to the 4th Army, east of Mogilev. I cannot allow that to happen. Though my actions in Berlin have drawn a significant amount of attention already, I am determined to hold my position. The ground I have chosen to make my stand is exposed. Every day, things get a little more uncomfortable. The enemy is just feet away. But I will persevere.
    I will prevail.
    “Mein Fuhrer?”
    “I was going to write important Nazi stuff, but there’s a cat sitting on my typewriter.”
    “Can’t you just shove it off?”

It isn't easy writing a piece of flash fiction every day.  Well done to everyone still motivated and in the game.  Please give some love to all the week one entries.

I'll be noting the winner shortly :)
  • Mood: Happy

Informal workshop starting in the FFM chat room in half an hour. 

4 deviants said I'll be there! Viva!

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Add a Comment:
camelopardalisinblue Featured By Owner 6 hours ago  Hobbyist General Artist
Noooo, there's no day 24 post yet!
Lissomer Featured By Owner 5 hours ago   Writer
I was just about to post pretty much the same thing!

Woe betide us who live in the future! :ohnoes:
camelopardalisinblue Featured By Owner 5 hours ago  Hobbyist General Artist
I know, my whole day's going to be out of whack now! I *hate* routine changes. This is how my day's supposed to run:

* get up
* read tumblr
* read prompts/challenge for today
* read yesterday's ffm stories
* go to gym
* use exercise & walk time to think about today's story
* write/be distracted/be distracted/write/be distracted/do housework etc
* watch tv and relax
* go to bed
Lissomer Featured By Owner 5 hours ago   Writer
That sounds like a good routine! 

I would suggest just using the prompt bank to write something, but I worry that today might be a challenge day. SIGH. 

Where are you Hydra, why have you forsaken us! 
(1 Reply)
WyvernLetDie Featured By Owner 6 days ago  Student Writer
WyvernLetDie Featured By Owner 6 days ago  Student Writer
WhIppIng-b0y Featured By Owner Jul 14, 2014
Flagged as Spam
joe-wright Featured By Owner Jul 11, 2014   General Artist
I just found the perfect muse for FFM:…

Expect my writing to improve threefold.
apocathary Featured By Owner Jul 2, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
scratches where's my prompts man, i need scratch i need my prompts maaaan
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