As is often the case with 100-word flash fiction, this is more of a teaser than a story. From here, I could revisit what is essentially a beginning and see what happens next. Often, I make mental note to do just that with these super-short tales.

But not with this one.

Instead, I want to invite you into this one. If this set-up sounds intriguing to you, close your eyes. See it. Then release the tether that ties to you ‘my story’. Let it just be ‘a story’. And eventually, ‘your story’. Let the beginning play out in your head a couple of times, and when it feels like it has some momentum, roll with it.

What happens next?

It doesn’t matter if what you imagine is complex or simple, short or long, plausible or inconceivable. What matters is that you tapped into the power of fiction. If you’re not a writer, that’s fourteen times as impressive because that little exercise is how a lot of us literary folks craft our own tales. You just proved you can do it, too.

Cool, huh?

As is always the case with these 100-word pieces, the prompt for this one came from The Prediction:

100 words maximum, excluding the title, of flash fiction or poetry using all of the three words above (‘evergreen’, ‘redundant’, and ‘tilt’) in the genres of horror, fantasy or science fiction.



The tilt of the evergreens is a dead giveaway. It was here. The footprints are redundant. Only something huge, and I mean fucking enormous, could have changed the angle of these trees.

It’s not hard to track an elemental. Only dangerous. Okay, dangerous and foolish. Hey, whatever pays the bills, right?

I take out my summoning stone, hoping it’s still near enough to hear the call. When the earth rumbles, I have my answer.

The ground shakes. Rocks split. The wind howls. Jǫrð rises from somewhere below. And he looks pissed.

Shit. I was kind of hoping that wouldn’t work.