Pulp Literature is hosting a contest, judged by 50-Word Stories Hall of Famer Bob Thurber. Here’s some information from their website:
The Hummingbird Flash Fiction Prize
Got something short, sharp and snappy to tell? Wow us with your most economical and brilliant storytelling. This contest is for short fiction under 1000 words. Want feedback on your story? Get a professional critique from one of the Pulp Literature editors for only $15 more.
Contest opens: 1 May 2017
Deadline: 15 June 2017
Winners notified: 15 July 2017
Winners published in: Pulp Literature Issue 17, Winter 2018
First Prize: $300
Runner up: $75
Judge: Bob Thurber
Entry fee: $15
Editorial Critique: $15
Early Bird fee (before 15 May): $10
Entry fees include a 1-year digital subscription to Pulp Literature.
This contest is for previously unpublished short fiction up to 1000 words in length. Multiple entries welcome. Total entries limited to 300.
Being alone was the least of his worries. Looking out at the void, the emptiness was hypnotic, enticing him outside.
His crew was sadly gone and two years remained until his arrival. “But who will need rescuing by then?” he thought.
He switched the ship to autopilot just in case.
Hogarth placed a wildflower bouquet at the weathered roadside cross. He couldn’t read the stranger’s name, but he knew, in reversed circumstances, he’d want the same.
It was only through the flash of headlights and screeching tires that Hogarth realized the cross’s name was his, the date of death: today.
Scott is an Amazon best-selling author and short story writer. He lives and works in Texas with his wife & their two boys. You can connect with Scott and find links to his stories on his website
The Story of the Month is chosen from the Story of the Week winners announced from the past month.
The finalists for May were:
Look Upon My Works by Bill Cox
The fortune-teller’s daugher, pt. 1 by Guy Preston
My Father, in Worcester, Massachussets by Jennifer L. Freed
Uncle Clifford by Margaret McGoverne
The winner of the May 2017 Story of the Month, and the $10 prize, is…
My Father, In Worcester, Massachusetts
The depth of this story is well matched by the beautiful delivery of its final words.
The story of the week for June 5 to 9 is…
Isn’t She Lovely by Suzan Lozano
God awoke in a restless state. Something was not right yet. God watched Adam and Eve frolicking in the garden. Perhaps one more creature, something simple and resilient, something that would survive the humans if they actually managed to blow everything up.
God slipped two cockroaches under the garden gate.
Robbie Gamble identifies primarily as a poet. When not obsessing about image and line breaks, he works as a nurse practitioner caring for homeless people in Boston, Massachusetts.
it’s been three days since your funeral
a white-crown sparrow pecks incessantly at the patio door,
wings fluttering madly to remain airborne, feet flailing the air
i blow a kiss, smile through fresh currents of briny dew and wave just as madly until,
satisfied, you fly away
one last time
Craig W. Steele lives in the lake-effect snow belt of northwestern Pennsylvania where, by day, he’s a university biology professor. He enjoys writing both short fiction and poetry and dreams of becoming a widely-read unknown writer.
She told me that she’d do anything for fifty bucks.
She was shocked by my suggestion, but a deal’s a deal, and I made her do it. We played chess, and I won all three games.
I’d better not tell my wife. She’s a grandmaster, and she just wouldn’t understand.
Harry Demarest has had 20 of his 50-word stories and a few longer pieces published. He has been playing tournament chess for years, and once played chess all night with a hitchhiker he picked up in Albuquerque.
It’s freezing, the air crisp. The moon… she rises slowly, her blue light washing over me, calling me.
I take out my guitar. I begin with arpeggios. Simple, I know… but soon, faint waves of violet, then teal, then orange dance in the sky.
Her hue warms, as does mine.
Joey realizes that the violin or piano may be the traditional choice of instruments in these circumstances but he can’t play those. If he tried, her ears would bleed and she would run away. Of course, she might do that anyway. Either way, you can visit him at joeytoey.com
The procession stomped past, kicking up red sand. Participants dressed in blue and green, holding banners in remembrance of Planet Earth, singing old songs.
Annie squeezed her grandmother’s hand.
“Nana. What are we celebrating?”
“It’s been fifty years since we had to leave,” she replied, gazing at the empty sky.
David Turton is a fiction author, flitting between science fiction, post-apocalyptic horror and straight-up terror. Look out for his published work across various online publications as well as a forthcoming Body Horror Anthology due in late 2017.