#WIPflash – Week 3


Welcome to #WIPflash!

Week 3


General Rules:

  • This is a Flash Fiction EXCERPT challenge. Your story should contribute to a Work in Progress (no one will come to reclaim your winner’s badge if you write a standalone tale, it’s just the principle of the thing).
  • Open: Friday 5:00pm (17:00) Eastern Time.
  • Close: Saturday 5:00pm (17:00) Eastern Time.
  • Word count: minimum of 100 words, maximum of 500 words.
  • Include your word count (or be excluded from judging).
  • Post your story into the comments of this post.
  • Please include your Twitter handle or email.
  • Generally speaking, winners will be revealed Saturday night or Sunday (depending on judge’s time zone, the number and length of entries, how much sleep I’ve had, Mercury retrograde, etc.).


  • You will be provided a choice of prompts.
  • Anything in quotations ” ” must be used as given.
  • Incorporate any or all of the prompts into your excerpt/story.
  • Note which prompt(s) you chose.


  • Winner
  • Honorable Mentions (up to 3)
  • Judge


Our Judge for Week 3:

Author of the wicked and funny Joe Vampire series…


Steven Luna | @joevampireblog

Steven has a brand new book o’ Joe out today, Joe Vampire: The Afterlife, and to celebrate Joe’s awesometastic sophomore outing, the winner of this week’s challenge will win an e-copy of BOTH Joe Vampire books! As Steven says, it’s like a one-two punch… with fangs. 😀

Challenge Time!

The Prompts. Do with them what you will and show us what your WIP is made of…

  1. “payment in full”
  2. the afterlife
  3. corpvamp
  4. “bloodsuckers”
  5. unrequited love/lust


And we’re off. The clock is ticking. Good writing and good luck!


17 thoughts on “#WIPflash – Week 3

  1. Prompt 5: Unrequited love/lust

    Taken directly from Current WIP: Fantasy Trilogy, YA.

    Word Count: 488

    Twitter: @ChessnySilth

    The Finder: Homecoming – Excerpt.

    Confusion filled her eyes as she became aware once more.

    “Bren?” she whispered, her eyes widening.

    “There you are,” he breathed, relief evident in his tone.

    “What are…” She looked around herself. “What are you doing here?”

    “I could ask you the same thing.” He folded his arms across his chest.

    Cayla raised her eyebrows, Bren waited for an answer.

    “Enjoying the scenery,” she said.

    “Who are you running from?”

    “None of your business.”

    Wrong. “Who are you running from?”

    Cayla sighed and turned her head, focusing on something in the distance.

    “You are running to something,” he corrected.

    “Freedom,” she whispered.

    He worked on controlling his emotions as pain threatened to tear him apart.

    “You have had a hard life.”


    “You don’t want to be here.”

    “Would you?” she challenged, and then she blinked unevenly.

    Bren tasted the Bond; the sedative was still in her system.

    “I have to get you back before they find out.”

    “You don’t want to tell Mrs. Rosin you caught me? There might be a raise in it for you.”

    “A raise of what?”

    Cayla started saying something but then changed her mind.

    Bren captured her chin. “I will never hurt you. If nothing else, you can trust that.”

    She looked into his eyes, and he became lost in hers. He held his breath as she raised her hand, pinching his hair between her fingers; her eyebrows creased. Deep within his soul, there was a change. The part of him that had gone missing, hiding itself those many years ago, floated to the surface.

    “I know you,” she murmured, placing a hand against his cheek.

    He sucked in a quick breath, closing his eyes. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to tell her everything. Bren reopened his eyes, about to explain the whole story, when the Chancellor’s words reminded him of the consequence.

    “If you tell her before she is ready, we may lose her forever.”

    Bren shuddered. “Let’s head back.” He took her hand, twining his fingers through hers.

    Her legs collapsed, and he quickly scooped her into his arms, holding her tightly. His muscles froze as an array of emotions assaulted his senses. This was where she belonged: in his arms, with him.

    He spoke through clenched teeth. “Are you okay?”

    Cayla nodded awkwardly. “Yes.” Her voice was weak.

    He didn’t want to put her down. The fence was near; he could run away with her. Kirunn agreed with this, and he almost gave in, but then she looked at him: eyes wide with shock and fear. She wasn’t ready.

    “Are we going back?” Her voice was soft, shaking.

    He took a deep breath. “Yes. Stay close, please.”

    Bren set her on her feet, but didn’t let go of her hand. He couldn’t have her falling down, potentially hurting herself, simply because she was too… He couldn’t finish the sentence. She was too everything, to him, at least.

  2. I don’t really remember the last time I got bit by a mosquito. Or maybe I do still get bit by them, but my skin is so flabby and wrinkled, the little bloodsuckers suffocate before they can get around to dinner. It’s one of the advantages of being old that nobody tells you about. That, and finally being quit of random strangers asking you if you’re pregnant when really you’re just a bit overly fond of Boston creme donuts. Certainly, I may have been rude a time or two in my life myself, or oblivious, which is worse; but given what I’ve suffered from others, especially youngsters these days—well, I’ve made payment in full and then some, is all I’m saying.

    And that, if you’ve followed me this far, is a big part of why I firmly shut up that part of my life and moved on to this new one. And also how, in case you were wondering, I ended up on my back on sweat-stained blue mats, staring up at a pair of very nice, dark eyes.

    Others might have called the look brimming over in those eyes irritation; I called it deeply concerned, and glued on my prettiest smile.

    “Help me up, please, sir?” I said (so funny, calling a college-aged boy “sir”!), stretching the smile a hair wider. Had I sweated all my lipstick off? Was any on my teeth (confession: apparently a recurring problem for me)?

    The dark eyes glittered. “Are you injured, ma’am?” (Even his voice glittered. Remarkable young man!)

    “How does one determine such a thing?” Lying there looking up at those eyes, I thought, was actually a rather nice way to spend my Saturday morning; definitely a big step up from working at the same 1,000 piece puzzle of Mount Hood that’s hassled me for a good two years now.

    “Don’t move, ma’am. I need to call Master Kim.”

    “That’s silly. Surely we don’t need to bother Master Kim! You are so strong, with such nice, big hands. I am sure you can help me up yourself.”

    “It’s not a bother, Mrs. Mason. It’s corporate liability. Master Kim would kill me if you hurt something and I didn’t call him. You should have bought the better pads.”

    “Those cost a hundred dollars more, young man, ninety of which goes straight into Master Kim’s pocket. Or it would, if these white pajamas had pockets.”

    “Kindly do not disrespect Master Kim, ma’am. He is a good man whose only motivation is training others to defend themselves.” Righteous anger made his dark eyes glow marvelously brighter against his chestnut skin. Sweet, magnificent boy!

    “My apologies. You are a noble young man. So rare these days! Go ahead. Have someone call Master Kim, if that sets you at ease. But I do have one request.”

    “Yes, ma’am?”

    “I’m feeling a wee bit faint. Wait here with me and hold my hand?”

    486 words
    WIP: The Change

  3. Three thoughts went through Simon’s head as soon as he saw her. The first, and most pronounced, was nothing more than an uncontrollable babble of “Emily, Emily, Emily, Emily, Emily.” The second was a panicked fear that after all this time, she wouldn’t be as excited to see him as he was to see her. And the third, just a glimmer at first, and then rising with great alacrity, was the realization that Emily was the woman Marcus had fallen in love with, and that he could do almost anything once he found out the truth. He could hear Marcus saying something to him, but it was lost in the buzz of his thoughts, and he struggled to find a way to react that wouldn’t blow up in his face.

    130 words
    Prompt 5

    1. I love how you so perfectly described that feeling everybody’s faced, finding “a way to react that wouldn’t blow up in his face.” Though now of course I’m wondering if he found that way…

  4. “So Grand An Entrance”

    Mircea waited until I looked up at him before continuing. “My position demands a great deal of loyalty and responsibility but it also affords me untold benefits. My master made payment in full before I assumed the title.”

    “And that’s how you can stand there in the sunlight so fearlessly?”

    He smiled. “There will be time to discuss such matters later, Madam Ambassador. Right now, they are expecting us in the dining room.”

    Together, we descended the stone stairs, though our progress was impeded on the landing when the house steward handed us champagne flutes.

    Strangely, no one offered a toast until the sound of dozens of boot heels echoed off the stone floor and walls.

    The rhythmic stride drew closer until a column of black clad bodies burst from the darkness, unseen one moment and bearing down on us the next, five men across, ten men deep.

    The man front and center was powerfully built, with skin as fair as mine and black hair billowing behind him, and I realized that he was my host, Lord Dragomir Vasile, looking much more lifelike than his dossier photo.

    My surprise was waylaid when a sharp pain seared my hand. Everything went black. Voices murmured far away. Something cold wafted over me. The pain retreated. My eyes fluttered open.

    I was on the floor, my back propped against Lord Vasile’s thigh, my skull cradled in one of his large hands, my entire body sheltered under the expanse of his cloak as if it were normal for the father of all predators to be hovering over me like an anxious parent or attentive date.

    His mouth, before it opened, was a sinuous slash of scarlet. Once open, it was full of beautiful, even, white teeth and a voice like wind rushing through trees – sonorous and mesmerizing. “You’re bleeding on me.”

    He lifted my hand. My palm was bloodied and the sheer white sleeve of my blouse splotched with blood.

    Horror crept over me as the reality of the situation broke through my foggy mind, a horror that multiplied a hundredfold when he drew my injured hand upwards and bent his head over my upturned palm but instead of putting his mouth to the wound as I had expected, he reached into my palm with long, steady, elegant fingers, plucked out a shard of glass embedded beneath my skin and dropped it into the pile of glass that was the remains of my champagne flute.

    Tearing the pocket from his shirt, he fashioned it into a makeshift bandage, freed the ruffled cuff of my sleeve, and folding it lengthwise, bound it around my hand to keep the bandage in place.

    My hand was now a cacophony of color – crimson blood, black linen and white organza.

    – – – – –
    Prompt # 1
    From my WIP “Ravenstone”
    @bullishink / 463 words

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