'Music is a Snapshot' by Amy Wilson

At age six I’m obsessed with a cassette tape of songs from a children’s club tiger. They’re supposed to teach us to be environmentally responsible, but for my sister and me it’s more about the memories of our first real holiday.

At age 10, pre-teen, it’s all about boy bands. I mime to re-imagined pop classics and cry when mum won’t let me go to concerts with my friends.

At sixteen, I deny ever liking those bands. It’s all about heavy metal and I learn to navigate the mosh pit as I learn to navigate my impending adulthood.

'Tin' by Sheila Scott

Her gran told her paper was the traditional first anniversary gift. She got up early that morning and locked herself in the bathroom with a ten metre roll of gift wrap and selotape. Having stripped naked, she wound the gift wrap around her body folding and taping to the curves of her flesh. Unwrapping his present had been her gift to them both.

Today marked a decade together, sharing lives, children, and her best friend. She scraped the beans into the bin and smacked the emptied can onto the wedding china set before him on the table.

‘Happy anniversary arsehole.’

'Twin Lives' by Rachel Canwell

Two incubators, two stuttering fluttering hearts, held in fragile days. 

Sleepless nights in tandem, tiredness almost impossible to know. 

Two pairs of shoes, four stumbling steps. Measured in chalk against the door. 

First days at school, together. First friends, sometimes apart. 

One football, two different shirts. Rivalry that grows, retreats and moves in fits and starts. 

Every year two cakes, candles flickering on mirror images. 

One day, two kisses at the door. One call, one goodbye. Half life goes forth. 

'A decade of growing and learning together' by Kristina Thornton

 Nose to nipple, you focus on not falling asleep.

 

Covering hard edges and locking cupboards from wobbly legs.

 

You cut toast into QUARTERS and give him milk in the RED cup.

 

‘Share! There’s plenty of toys.’

 

Welling up at the little white shirt and emblem jumper.

 

‘What did you have for lunch?’

‘Don’t know,’ he shrugs.

 

You listen to his football, cycling and gaming monologues.

 

He tells you disgusting facts, ‘when mummifying, Ancient Egyptians pulled brains out through noses!’

 

At the gates, you reach out.

‘Bye, Mum.’

 

‘Is Santa real?’

You explain.

He cries, then asks about the tooth fairy

'A Ten Year Marriage' by Valerie Griffin

 The mediocre honeymoon; the dinner parties with variations on prawn cocktail, steak and chips and black forest gateau; the overflowing laundry basket you refused to empty; the food mixer, the hoover, the teas-made, the microwave, the dishwasher, all presents to make my life easier; the son who lost his valiant battle; the empty cot, the chiming mobile hanging above; the blanketing silence of blame; the void; the smile that began to resemble a sneer; the precious memories locked away, unshared; the sudden late nights; the sudden business trips; the end of a marriage; the sunshine back in my life.

3650 by Martha Lane

 

It’s been a year since.

It’s been two years since.

Three since.

Four.

Five. God, really? Already?

Six, seven.

Eight or nine. Is it nine? No. Eight, definitely eight.

Nine.

Ten. 3650 days since I didn’t bother saying goodbye on my way out to work, and I’ve counted every single one.

'Fatima's journey' by Maggie Seren

 

2008

Fatima waited. 

 

Her mother showed the “tickets”, bought with six months’ salary. Taking the one remaining lifejacket, she clipped it round her daughter and kissed her silver amulet. Men gestured them aboard. 

 

The sea was high, huge foam-flecked waves battered the dinghy. As it took on water, the motley group wailed and prayed. Then a shout went up.

 

“Land!” 

 

A man laughed maniacally.  

 

*** 

2018

Fatima waited.  

 

“MA in International Law, Fatima Hassan.” 

 

On cue, resplendent in her black gown, a tiny hamsa hand concealed beneath the hood, Fatima strode confidently across the stage to shake the Chancellor’s hand. 

 

'165 Candles' by JP Relph

12 candles

Ruffled like cupcake frosting. Coltish legs, battered satin slippers.

Strawberry pony flying. Grimy, grinning face, too-big hat rocking.

Racing frothing wavelets. Dimpled knees pumping, ladybug swimsuit.

14 candles

Bed blanketed in books and intention. Slim hand composes, cat-eye glasses.

16 candles

Marigold-bright taffeta glides a beige carpet. Anxious eyes, mascara-heavy.

18 candles

A hundred berets flying. Flushed, joyful face, olive-drab fulfilment.

21 candles

Crackling connection to a cruel desert. Bluffing smile in windburned face, torn flak jacket.

22 candles

Repatriated on a gorged C-17. Heavy on six pressed shoulders. Marigolds on the red, white and blue.

'The Decennial' by Babs Kirby

 

We met in 2008. I’d had enough of my freedom and independence and was ready to prove I could actually do a long-term relationship. 

What was it like to get past the seven-year itch? What was it like to be married for twenty-five years? 

When he had his heart bypass in 2010, I told the surgeon I wanted him to last another twenty-three years. Minimum. 

I visited him post-op and he was shivering violently. I dreamt of his heart being packed with ice.  

We’ve long passed the ten-year milestone and are rolling on into our dotage. 

NFFD 2021: Prompt #13

 The Decennial

It's National Flash Fiction Day's tenth anniversary, and we'd like to celebrate ten years of microfiction competitions.  We've had amazing writers and judges join us over the years, and you can read our entire archive at the NFFD website, under the 'Competitions' tab.

Our microfiction competition has a maximum word limit of 100 words (excluding title), so for our next 2021 prompt, we'd like to challenge you to write a flash of 100 words or fewer that spans a decade.  Feel free to employ flashbacks, flash forwards, segmented flash, jumping through time, or any other means to pack a ten-year time span into a mere 100 words.

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If you’re submitting this to us, make sure to note that this is a response to Prompt 13: The Decennial.  

You can submit responses until 23:59 BST on Sunday, 27 June 2021 for a chance to be published here at The Write-In.

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Of course, we warmly invite you to submit your polished microfictions to our next NFFD Microfiction Competition.  Our submission window is from 1 December 2021 to 15 February 2022, and you'll be able to find our full submission guidelines here closer to the time.