2025 February Flash Fiction Challenge: Day 6
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!
Today’s prompt is to write a eulogy for an idea or inanimate object.
(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 eulogy for an inanimate object:
Lamby
Dearest friends, family, thank you for gathering to mourn the loss of my beloved Lamby. This stuffy has seen me through a lot: The Great Move of 1997, the Vacation from Hell of 2004, and, of course, Mom and Dad’s Divorce of 2006. Thirty-one years. Thirty-one years that stuffed lamb stayed by my side, through resewn eyes, losing synthetic hair, diminished stuffing. He was there through bullies in high school, bad boyfriends in college, and the stress of my master’s. Late nights watching “Dexter” reruns, reading by the bedside table lamp. Early mornings on the back deck, watching the birds, a comfortable weight in my lap. He was there when I got my first job; he was there when I got married. Alas, a new puppy was the one obstacle he couldn’t overcome. I will miss you, my little friends, my confidant, my silent witness to my life. Here’s to Lamby, the best friend a kid, teen, or 20-something could ask for.
