2025 February Flash Fiction Challenge: Day 2

Some first-week reminders:

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 today’s prompt, set your story in a retirement home.

(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 set in a retirement home:

The Final Girl Retirement Home

They always served tacos on Tuesdays, and Diane was always pissed about it.

Every damn Tuesday. I wish he’d just finished me off, she said.

The little robot she used to communicate sounded almost human since its most recent update. She eyed Sally’s plate glumly. Before she was an almost-murder victim, tacos had been her favorite fast food, the way the grease made the crunchy shell soft and the creamy mess of the sour cream. Now, with most of a jaw missing, she subsisted mostly on mashed potatoes, protein shakes, and spite.

“Trust me, you’re not missing much,” Sally told her.

That’s because The Scorcher took your tastebuds to the grave with him, Diane griped.

“The Ember Executioner,” Ellen said immediately.

Jess was on her heels with, “The Fiery Phantom.”

“The Cinderslayer,” Laurie said.

The rest of the women oohed. Sally smiled, the burned part of her face pulling grotesquely in a way her friends loved to see. Sally hardly ever smiled anymore, self-conscious about the extensive scarring.

“Ross, 12 o’clock,” Ellen hissed.

The women all took a vested interest in their lunches and let the sounds of the lunchroom roll over them. Sure enough, Dr. Ruth Ross, psychiatrist and famed author of Last Gasp: How Women Become Final Girls appeared at Diane’s elbow, her eyes wide and wet behind her massive frames.

“Ladies,” she said, soft and buttery. “How are we feeling today?”

No one spoke. This was a rule of theirs. Ross and her tiny stature and faux sympathy could stuff it.

“Well, I hope you’re ready for group today,” Ross continued, undeterred by the handful of silent seconds. “We have some special guests coming.”

“Press?” Sally’s face crumpled in.

“No, not press,” Ross said quickly.

She already got everything she needed from us, Diane’s speaker said. Unless you’re writing a sequel?

Ross’s expression was comically aghast. “Now, Diane—”

“Perhaps you can spoil the surprise for us, Doctor. As you can imagine, we don’t take too well to surprises,” Jess said.

Ellen put her hand over Sally’s. The women noticed Ross notice the movement.

Ross cleared her throat. “Well, if you promise not to tell any of the others.”

There was a beat of silence.

“The girls from Heart’s Hope will be coming for their first visit today,” Ross said, clearly dejected by their refusal to play along.

No one relaxed—kids weren’t any better than the press, really.

What a shit day this is shaping up to be, Diane said.