2025 February Flash Fiction Challenge: Day 1
Welcome to the fifth year of our flash fiction challenge! I’m so excited to share this experience with all of you returning challengers and new writers. Everyone is welcome!
Some housekeeping:
1. There is no sign-up. All you need to do is visit WritersDigest.com every day this month and click on the day’s prompt.
2. You share your works in the comments section. To find the comments, just scroll all the way down to the bottom of the page, write your story right in the text box or copy/paste (whichever you prefer!), and hit submit.
3. You don’t need to share your work to participate. A lot of writers aren’t comfortable sharing their work here. That’s totally OK! The main thing is that you’re writing something every day.
4. The system will occasionally flag stories for review. There is nothing wrong with your work; our platform does it randomly. We will be going through and releasing stories periodically between the hours of 9 a.m.–5 p.m. EST Monday through Friday. If your story is flagged, just sit tight. It’ll be released!
For the first prompt of the 2025 challenge (drum roll, please!): Write about a garden.
(Note: If your story gets flagged for review, be patient—we will be releasing comments every few hours throughout the weekdays of this challenge. Our system randomly flags comments for review, so just sit tight and wait for us to set it free! If you run into any other issues with posting your story, please just send me an e-mail at mrichard@aimmedia.com with the subject line: Flash Fiction Challenge Commenting Issue.)
Here’s my attempt at a story about a garden:
Trophies
Under the heavy white rose bushes, he dug a small hole, deeper than it was wide. First, he dropped in a thin gold chain, stronger than he’d thought it would have been when he spied it draped across her collarbones. Next, a watch, the clasp broken but the tick tick ticking still going. Lastly, his most hard-won prize: a tooth. A canine, sleek and polished to a shine. He admired it, test the point against the pad of his thumb. Standing in his back garden, he closed his eyes and let the memories rush through him, the lingering adrenaline of the hunt still bubbling in his veins. His fingers fisted around the tooth, so small, almost weightless against his palm. After a moment, he forced himself to drop it in among the rest of the treasure and shuffled dirt back into the wound he’d made in the earth. He took care not to snap any of the rose’s branches as he rearranged them over the disturbed soil. Their scent was cloying, sticky on the back of his throat, reminding him of the tang of blood. He inhaled deeply and stepped back to admire his work. After another few heartbeats, he turned and left. With him, he carried nothing but the garden spade and the satisfaction of a predator glutted on prey.
