Mar 23, 2013

Flash Fiction Entry

A while ago, I entered a flash fiction contest.  I've had some ask me what flash fiction is, so I'll explain.

Flash fiction is a super short story.  Different contests request different word counts, and the contest that I submitted to required 250 words or less.

Below is the story I submitted called, Steam.

Yes, I'll admit that The Race is cheesy, but with all that's been going on in the world, I thought a change for the better was what I wanted to do.  Sometimes, we all need happy endings in our life. :)

This is a really fun challenge, and since it's free, you should give it a shot next year!


The hard tip of the green bean fell into the metal bowl by my feet.  My red painted porch was littered with the ones that had bounced out. Snap!  Snap!  Snap!  I quickly broke a handful of beans into thirds, dropping them into an almost-full bucket.  Across the street, spectators from the high school football game roared to life, their cheers echoing in the cool evening air.  A loud horn sliced through the commotion. Touchdown, I suppose.

I wiped my wet and dirty hands onto my jeans, then brushed some strands of hair away from my eyes.  Two hours of snapping beans meant an hour and a half of bottling them.  I loved the hot, sweet smell of cooking beans that saturated my house on summer nights.  The steaming of the pressure cooker took me back to the old times, when Tom was still alive, and little ones swarmed my feet like ants to honey.  I regret now ordering them outside with a stern finger, eager for some silence and space.

They say that nothing big ever happens in this town, and I guess they’re right.  Nothing big to the right people, anyway.  But for my little family, a cell phone and a speeding SUV were monumental. 

I don’t need to bottle beans anymore.  It’s just me, and I’ve grown tired of eating them.  I guess I do it for the memories.  I stand up, stray bean tips falling onto the porch, and I stretch my aching back.  I pick up the bucket, heavy from my day’s labor, and swing the squeaky storm door open.  As I enter the kitchen, sweet, hot steam envelops me, reminding me of the arms of my little family, and the hugs I’ve been missing out on for four long, eternal years.


  1. Kimby, that story actually choked me up. I LOVE IT!!! I love how you write!!!

  2. Thank you so much! I'm so glad you liked it so much.