2.23 Promise The Ledger of Reminders The shop stood where the tavern should have been. James knew the corner. He had worn a path to it for years. The green door, the brass handle rubbed dull, the sour-sweet brea...

Been writing about a location from an old Dungeons and Dragons campaign I ran for #FlashFicFeb docs.google.com/document/d/1... #dnd #ttrpg #flashfiction

1/2 I've seen this quote by some AI hack & arguments that it also takes a month to polish AI slop.

I'm tempted to take the challenge, Can I as a human, write a novel in a month?

Given I've been taking part in #FlashFicFeb & writing daily. I think I could do it.

In April I'll attempt it.
#writing

Arcane Eye “Riding the eye is a young wizard’s game,” the aged stoner slurred. “Your minds are still malleable, and seeing in all directions at once won’t be quite such a mental strain. It can be hard, seeing yourself and seeing how other people see you all at once.” The old man went silent, stroking his long beard as he gazed into the fire. The assembled students looked between each other uneasily in the silence. Some looked back at the college beyond the copse of trees, invisible in the darkness cast by the camp fire. “Ah, never mind all that though.” He flashed a wide, warm smile. “It’s fun! It’s a fun spell. If you’re feeling sick or want to stop just say so or cross your hands in front of you like we talked about and I’ll dispel the eye. Just try not to float it too far off. Remember, it’s invisible.” The old man produced a small clay jaw and removed the lid. “Here’s the bat fur. Who wants to go first?”

Spells as Flash Fic - Arcane Eye

"You mentally receive visual information from the eye, which can see in every direction."

That's just a good trip, Wizards, you can't fool me. Pass that bat fur over here.

#FlashFicFeb

“Elsewhere” is now available on itchio as an e-zine you can play directly in your browser.

Thank you again to @storytellingco.bsky.social for the #FlashFicFeb challenge that inspired me to write this story.

lynnemeyer.itch.io/elsewhere

February 14, 2026: Scar February 13, 2026Write a scene without stating any thoughts directly, imply them only through character action. The more she looked at him, the more Mikey squirmed in his seat. A waiter came by and...

Been sick and not up to writing for #FlashFicFeb, with @storytellingco.bsky.social. Here's my take on today's prompt.
docs.google.com/document/d/1...

Antilife Shell Excerpt from Red Book Number 13 - The Lies of the Church and Defensive Magic Furthermore the Church’s priests do not teach spellcraft equally to everyone. As we have already seen and discussed at length in Book 12, The Lies of the Church and War, soldiers defending the Ecclesiarchy have increased utility and a different component practice in their offensive spells, making them far more destructive and cruel in their hands than any who graduate from their colleges. They also hide their spellcraft in their so-called “crowd control” and “self defense” spells. Antilife Shell is a spell designed for medicinal applications such as surgeries and amputations. The structure of the magic is such that it creates an area around the caster that prevents living things from entering. However if the caster, and therefore the field, were to move and come into contact with life, the spell immediately ends. This peculiar effect has been noted in several high-level meetings within the colleges of major arcana, including debates and published volumes. It is clear nonsense. A limitation of the spell manufactured by the Ecclesiarchy in order to hide its horrifying applications. There are first hand accounts of survivors from demonstrations in Crawford, Ecklein, and Brafftonn of Church agents applying the spell to Church guardians, who then marched forward into innocent citizens, forcing them to be trampled underfoot and crushed against their own homes and businesses as the magical fields forced life to move around them, much like the Church forces us to move around its own lies and limitations.

Antipathy/Sympathy Once upon a time an army marched upon the highlands, and their drums and trumpets could be heard like thunder. And for a fortnight those in Great Vella’s village complained of a storm that would not arrive, a calamity that would not show itself. But Great Vella knew the sound, for this was the Champion of Braft Town, who slew the trolls of the deep, who woke the spirits of the forest, she who had seen the world entire and laughed. And so she knew the armies of that vagabond called the Jester and what terrible carnage they hath wrought. And when the beekeepers and woodsman and fishers said that the army had crossed into the highlands, Great Vella went to the dragon, that great wyrm who hunts at night and shakes the mountainside. Great Vella went into the dragon’s lair, a cave that glittered with jewels, and said, “Great wyrm, fight for us! For we give you goats and stones that drink the light. And if the Jester has this village as their own there will be no goats or treasures to keep you sated!” And Great Vella grinned to herself, for she carried with her a branch she had enchanted with vinegar and honey so that the terrible wyrm would have a sympathetic ear. But the dragon said, “Begone witch, for I know your smell! You are she who cheated my cousin the Kraken of the Sea at his favourite game of chance! You are Vella the Liar who vexed the Sphinx beyond the mountains. You are Vella who hexes hearts against themselves, and I will eat you if I see you again!” And so Great Vella went from that cave and took council with the witches, and they sought council with the druids of the dale, and they took council with the fae folks beyond the veil. And when all were counseled and all their wisdom heard, Great Vella returned to that terrible dragon’s cave, with fifteen enchanted branches. And this time the wyrm did consent to Great Vella, ever convincing.

Trying to catch up on spells as flash fiction for #FlashFicFeb and couldn't think of any stories for Antimagic Field, and got realy held up on why Antilife Shell works Like That.

Also wrote Antipathy/Sympathy as an old myth.

"Elsewhere" by Lynne M. Meyer The revolution will not be televised. That’s a poem, right? Or is it a song? That’s the only part of it you remember and if you’re being honest with yourself, you’re not even sure you understand it. You push the thoughts away and sip your morning coffee, phone in hand as you walk back to your apartment. It’s hard to stop scrolling even though you know you should watch where you’re going. A journalist you follow is reporting from 7,000 miles away and talking about a ceasefire; behind him, a man sits numbly on the ground as he holds the hand of his dead daughter, her body crushed beneath the rubble that once was their home. Then, music. You look up and find your favorite street musician is busking again. Foot traffic is good and folks are tipping well. You add a dollar to the open fiddle case and climb the steps to your building, tucking your phone away as you reach for your keys. February days are never this nice—or at least they never used to be, you think—and you’re not going to miss the opportunity to enjoy it. You open the window and close your eyes. The sun is warm, the breeze is refreshing, and for a few moments, everything is perfect. No. Not perfect. Something is wrong. It’s too quiet for a Saturday. You open your eyes and look down the street. How long has it been since there’s been music? Where did he go? You hope he’s okay, that he’s on vacation somewhere. He’ll be back soon. You slip a vinyl onto your vintage record player and your mind drifts to people 5,000 miles away, sheltering in the train tunnels underneath their city. You heard a story about a musician who fled with his cello, a musician who now plays as the bombs fall. How sad, you think, and yet how beautiful. (cont. in next image)

(cont. from previous image) Your doctor appointment was an hour ago, and you’re in the waiting room trying to ignore the news blaring from the screen on the wall. In a city 1,000 miles away, authorities raided an apartment building in the middle of the night, driving the terrified residents out into the street with no protection from the winter cold. You glance at the screen. You see babies. The elderly. As your doctor finally calls you in, you think: Someone really needs to do something. You watch in horror as 500 miles away, two people who look just like you are executed in the street for trying to protect their neighbors. “I’m not mad at you,” she said. “Are you okay?” he asked. You idly wonder if you know where the copy of your birth certificate is. You haven’t needed it since you got your passport ten years ago, so it could be anywhere. Wait. It’s been ten years? That means your passport’s expiring. You add “renew passport” to your mental checklist and file it away for another day. There will be time. Yelling, now. The neighbors must be blasting their television again. Whatever they’re watching, the bass of it makes the floor rumble beneath your feet and you wish, not for the first time, that you had a decent pair of noise-cancelling headphones. No matter. You tell yourself it’ll pass. It always does. A young man closes his browser and steps away from the screen, the livestream still playing in his head as he refills his coffee. At least that can’t happen here.

Last weekend, my Patrons got first look at a flash fiction piece I wrote for @storytellingco.bsky.social's #FlashFicFeb challenge. It's not the story I thought I'd write, but it's the one I needed to write. CW for current events; I wrote this on Feb. 1, eight days after the killing of Alex Pretti.

2.10 Sweeping Sweeping The man came into the shop because the street had grown quiet behind him in a way that made him uneasy. He had been sweeping that street for years, long enough to know the proper sound of it...

Do you like quietly uncanny flash fiction? Well are you in luck! It's #flashficfeb and my entry of the day should fit the bill!

docs.google.com/document/d/1...

Animate Object The two thieves sprinted down the thoroughfare, dodging carts and horses and families out for a stroll. Behind them the city watch yelled for them to stop, weighed down by their armour and polearms. “Jezza are you familiar at all,” Ugilvie panted, dodging pedestrians, “with the Church’s Council of Tupick?” “Wha?–no!” Jezza wheezed next to him, looking behind her. “No you know I don’t! They’re gaining on us!” “Fascinating thing,” he shoved past a man leading a mule carrying a cart full of old clocks, rusted tools, and other assorted brick-a-brack. Possibly an estate sale, Ugilvie reckoned. “After a week-long debate, the Church ruled that no spell should be cast nor developed that could split a man’s soul to reside in the base things of this world. Something about,” he stopped and wiped sweat from his face, catching his breathe “something about the immortality of the spirit. Fascinating really.” Jezza turned to see her compatriot had stopped and ran back to him, “What are you doing we have to move!” Ugilvie waved a hand at her and turned to face the wake of confused pedestrians and the city watch a hundred feet behind. “Remember when I said it’s good sometimes to be an apostate?” Ugilvie winked at Jezza, then said a word she didn’t understand and pointed five fingers at the junk in the cart they had just run past. A desk clock sprouted wooden legs, as did a hand lathe, a broken barrel, a trunk, and a fetching wood-carved portrait of some scholarly looking older man that Ugilvie would have very much liked to know more about. The man leading the cart screamed, as did the Mule, who bucked and started to bolt as the objects hopped out of the cart and looked at Ugilvie expectantly. “Go get in everyone’s way!” He shouted at them and turned, grabbing Jezza by the arm, and running as chaos unfolded behind them.

D&D Spells as Flash Fiction - Animate Object

(multiple posts today as I'm catching up on missing one)

I really wanted to do another story about the existential ramifications of giving inanimate objects life and the capacity to understand language. Instead I did another heist scene.

#FlashFicFeb

“Is there no other way?” The assembled priests who were not asleep at their desks sighed or rolled their eyes. They had spent 3 days arguing this exact question. Of course the underpriest they delivered the message to would have this question. Of course all the small folk would have heard rumours. All those who had served them in this hall would have overheard their yelling and screaming and the fist fight on the second day. And no one had the energy to go through it all again with some underpriest still 2 years away from getting his robes and gazing upon the divine. “Boy no questions please,” said Leila, the priest from the Urtain Chapter. “Just say back to me what I told you so that I know you have the right of it.” The young underpriest nodded, frowning. “Find a volunteer in town. Magic work for the church. Compensation for families. Must know how to write.” “Very good,” Leila patted him on the shoulder. “On you go.” “What sort of compensation?” He insisted. “Why not simply do it yourselves?” Leila took a long, fortifying breath. “Because all we know about this spell is hearsay and conjecture, and much of it contradicts what we know of the divine. If god did make a rhyme with the world and breathed life into it, and all of us can return to the beginning and join with God when we die, then nothing can be left in the bodies we leave behind. Right?” The boy nodded and Leila put her hand on his back and led him out of the hall, speaking softly. “So if we animate a body and it knows anything it knew in life, there may be part of us trapped inside decaying flesh, not joining with the divine. Perhaps we have a connection with our remains. Perhaps it is an autonomic reaction of the body. Perhaps our souls leave impressions within the body like a mold, and there is no essential part of us inside. Perhaps a thousand things.” Leila stopped and pushed the underpriest ahead. “Now go! And remember they need to write! And write well! The dead can’t speak!”

#D&D Spells as Flash Fiction - Animate Dead

Oh to be a fly on the wall during a spirited debate on death and dying in a world where the dead can be animated. How, exactly, does a skeleton or zombie understand the languages it knew in life?

#FlashFicFeb

Animal Shapes Ty and Zeke were bejeweled, encrusting, almost doubled over in rings and bracelets and necklaces. The torches in the castle's courtyard caught a million points of light in the inset jewels and polished gold. They would surely be spotted, had they not spent the last of their money paying for a round of drinks at the guard’s favourite pub outside the walls. “We’re fucked,” hissed Zeke. “We’re absolutely fucked mate.” “Shut up,” whispered Ty. “She’ll be here, I told you.” “I can barely fucking move mate,” Zeke said through clenched teeth. “This is too much, I told you it’s too much. I can’t drive a horse like this, how the fuck am I even gonna get on?” Ty almost fell over when he saw a small flame flicker in the darkness of the nearby stables. “Y’alright?” A squat woman appeared from the dark, four feet tall, hair a tangle of brown curls and pale hay obscuring her face, but parting for a long wooden pipe. “The fuck are you–” Zeke started as Ty stepped closer. “Thanks Sammy, you’re a life saver. Got that spell handy?” Sammy nodded, “Yeah man, all clear. Told the horses to take the night off, y’know? Eat some apples by the orchard. Good shit.” She smiled. “Excuse me?” Zeke took several small steps to get closer to them, jingling as he went. “What do you mean you got rid of the horses? That was our way out!” “Not exactly,” said Sammy. “First thing they’ll do is send out riders to find us. Don’t gotta outrun horses, just gotta be horses, man. Hope you’re not allergic to hay.” Sammy cupped her hands, blew pipe smoke into them, and opened them quickly with a few words. When the smoke cleared there were not three thieves in the castle courtyard, but three noble steeds, exactly like the ones eating fermenting apples on the other side of town.

D&D Spells as Flash Fiction - Animal Shapes

The first thing I thought of when I read this spell as the scene in Oceans 8 where the thieves leave with their prizes in broad daylight.

#FlashFicFeb

Maybe Delete Flash Fiction February: Story Four

1/?

One thing I really like about both taking part in #FlashFicFeb #Flashfcitionfebuary & #VSS365 is seeing writers come together & support eachother in the same way artists do.

There's so much power in community, in sharing & discussions over art & writing.

Animal Messenger A report on the testing of spell number 69553, “Animal Messenger.” Students Teague and Wellows and Student Ryan of the Royal House Tell. Hypothesis: The spell will command the will of a small creature to deliver a message to a described recipient in a described place. Student Teague cast the ritual, described the recipient and place. Student Wellows was the recipient. Student Ryan kept notes. Testing by animal, alphabetical: Baboon: Emitted a series of terrifying shrieks. Badger: Performed rhythmic movements accompanied by snorting. Bat: Assumed prank nothing recorded. Cat: Sat and stared at recipient until spell wore off. Crab: Produces bubbles from mouth parts and gesticulation with claws. Eagle: Never arrived. Sender blamed the recipient for wearing a hat they had not worn in previous tests. Recipient said they were cold. Frog: Croaked several times. Words were reported that did not match message. Hawk: Screeched in a rhythm resembling the message. Recipient now aware of sample message due to technical difficulties of test. May have hampered subsequent tests. Lizard: No verbal communication. Owl: Repeated hooting that at several parts resembles language. Piranha: Confirmed prank. Rat: No sounds audible to recipient. Raven: Recipient noted words and language for the first time. Remarked that the words even had the accent of the sender. Message recorded and verified. I understand this is how things are done at this college but I must formally protest. I have heard that Sir Gray is leading a workshop to test an advanced version of this spell for purposes of animal labour. I would like to register my intent to join such an endeavour. I would much rather charm a goat to turn a mill then work with these two another day. I do not wish to press my heritage but please remember that if I am displeased and bored I have more reason to report my mood to my mother. Kind Regards, Ryan Tell, Lady of Lockfirst

#D&D spells as Flash Fiction - Animal Messenger

I initially misread the spell and thought you could maybe use this to force goats or other beasts of burden to turn wheels for mills, etc. for a day at a time. Alas, communication via crab it is.

#FlashFicFeb

Animal Friendship “Why didn’t you use that spell with the monster?” The hired guide asked the ranger. “What spell?” the ranger asked as she unpacked her bedroll next to the camp fire. “The one you used on the squirrels who found us them nuts to eat.” The guide spread his own bedroll on the other side. “Would’ve been a lot easier to mutter some things with a bit o’ bread and tell the floating eye thinger to piss off.” “Beholder” the ranger sighed as she laid down and closed her eyes. “It’s called a beholder and it’s not a beast.” “Not a beast?” the guide laughed. “Covered in eyes, big ol’ mouth o’ teeth, floating all over and shooting magic every which way. Sounds like a right beast t’me.” “Well it isn’t. The spell wouldn’t work,” she turned away from him. “It needs to be a beast.” “Who says?” The fire snapped and crackled. The ranger sighed and rolled over to face the guide. “What are you getting at?” The man shrugged, “Just sayin’ seems a bit off that you’d go through all that trouble of making a spell in the first palace but think, ‘Well, it would work on squirrels and dogs and a wolf or two but we must not worry about beholder things or other things what got tentacles or can float about with no wings.’ I mean who gets to say what a beast is and isn’t?” The ranger shook her head and turned on her back to look at the stars. “I don’t know. The college or Major Arcana I guess.” “Hmmph. Well I’ve been called all sorts of things by those fancy priests and learned folk, not yourself for sure, but I’ve been called an animal and a brute and a base beast and everything that God protects. That mean you could work that spell on me? Send me up a tree for nuts?” The ranger didn’t reply. The guide picked up a nearby stick to poke at the coals of the fire. “Strange thing, magic is,” the guide said to the night.

D&D Spells as Flash Fiction - Animal Friendship

Spells aren't just tricks or weapons. They contain metaphysical classifications that often go unremarked on and create fundamental assumptions and hierarchies in your world.

#FlashFicFeb

So, for today's #flashficfeb story with @storytellingco.bsky.social, it was all in the details. Which during a heist can be kinda important.

Alter Self He stood in front of the mirror in his room, alone, sweating. He wore only a loose tunic, something a classmate had left behind after a tryst one night. He heard boys chasing each other through the dormitory halls outside. He would graduate from the college of Major Arcana at the end of the year. He took a deep breath and stared into his own eyes. He was focusing on a simple spell from his fundamentals of transmutation class. It had no material components. It wasn’t animating a cauldron or gifting a beast with language. The professor had described it as having simple but vital utility. Growing gills and webbed fingers to avoid drowning. Turning hands into talons in case you were ever ambushed by brigands. But there was another application for the spell. A thing you could do if you took your time on the last three syllables and moved the somatic gestures away from the neck and fingers and instead focused on the face, chest, and pelvis. Something transgressive that beautiful students whispered to each other in dark corners late at night where something inside him feared to go. He readied his hands and fixed an image in his mind: a painting of a knight that hung in the hall outside the cafeteria. It portrayed a young woman standing in front of a mirror as she was attended by her squire. He cast the spell and his breath caught in his throat. A wrong had been righted. A scale tipped towards balance. A knot inside untied. And she cried as she looked at herself for the first time.

D&D Spells as Flash Fiction - Alter Self

This one speaks for itself I think.

Shame it only lasts an hour.

#FlashFicFeb #D&D

Exact Change Exact Change Jacobus found the shop while he was looking for a place to shelter from the wind and cold. It was too cold and too dry for proper snow that evening, and yet there it was: tiny, pristine f...

Latest piece for Flash Fic February

docs.google.com/document/d/1...

#FlashFicFeb

I'm writing #flashFicFeb stories with the @storytellingco.bsky.social Check out their website, the best part is that it is absolutely FREE, and you get t into the habit of #writing daily.

Alarm To the Esteemed Dean of Major Arcana, Thank you again for sending your new spell to our humble cloister for testing. It took us a time to secure enough bells and silver wire, but rest assured we have spent the last month deep in practice and reflection. There was some initial confusion as to the volume of the verbal ingredients of the spell, as the described effect seemed to happen each time we completed the spell in initial testing. But then one of our brethren recalled being a guest at a lecture you gave at the blessed Cathedral of Hanam last year, and your wise preference for a softer cadence. Having applied a volume barely above a whisper, we found success in testing the spell with the intended effect: if a person crossed the marked territory the sound of a bell did ring out. Moreover we found the same effect with cows and pigs we keep here in abundance. We also found that while casting your spell, if a louder verbal component is applied, there seems to be an inverse relation to the size of creature that can cross the threshold without raising the intended sound. A whisper produces the effect as described above. Saying the verbal components at a volume at a mumble or quiet prayer, the alarm will only sound if something the size of a dog or chicken crosses the threshold. Producing the verbal material at a level we would describe as below conversation, the spell only triggers an alarm when a mouse crosses the threshold. We are excited about the various practical applications this can provide you and your college, and the imminent wisdom in your choice of naming the spell “Alarm.” May we be so bold as to ask a question of you and your college? To return to our initial observations of the spell when cast at a loud speaking volume, such as at a pub or spirited school debate, the alarm is triggered almost immediately. Is the college aware of any creatures that could cause this alarm that are smaller than the eye can see?

D&D Spells as Flash Fiction Day 3 - Alarm

A fun thing to do with spells in a typical European medieval fantasy-ass setting is think how they overlap with the natural sciences. For example if the alarm spell is tripped by "creatures" what if that gives you a hint at microscopic life.

#FlashFicFeb

Flash fiction for the 2 Feb prompt, "Steal" #FlashFicFeb

Getting gently back into writing this month with Story Collective's flash fiction project. Here's my piece from 1 Feb, for the prompt "Elsewhere". #FlashFicFeb

Aid “Why a white strip of cloth?” the High Priestess demurred. “We are not sure, your eminence,” Sister Vogo replied. “The magical force was detected only when white cloth was used in conjunction with the words and gestures as you have seen, we attempted with–” “What do you mean by detected?” the high priestess turned to face Vogo. “Well ever since the Church declared that all magic should fall within its jurisdiction, this humble nunnery has attempted many experiments to detec–that is discover various arcane uh… behaviours, using the materials at our disposal.” The High Priestess folded her arms in front of her as she stared down at Vogo, who became fascinated with the bricks beneath her eminence’s shoes. “Are you telling me that you have had these women speaking gibberish and making hand signs in an attempt to discover new spells?” Vogo’s mouth opened and closed several times in an attempt to respond. “We uh, we have found with the spell in question that the magic seems to increase blood production substantially, not in a way that overflows the body, but replaces blood that is lost. Some sisters wish to put forward a theory that there exists in blood some materials that seal cuts, diminish bruises, and maybe even make the sick and elderly well, your eminence.” Vogo closed her eyes as the high priestess sighed. “So would you say that this spell causes a… youthful vigor in the recipient?” Vogo nodded quickly, “Absolutely your eminence. We have had many subjects report so.” “Very well, sister Vogo. Your nunnery shall receive another year of protection from your Chapter and the Church. And I would like to experience the effects of this spell in my chambers before I leave. Attend me this evening, after dinner.” “As you wish, your eminence,” Vogo bowed and sighed, relief flowing through her.

Day 2 of #FlashFicFeb D&D spells as flash fiction.

The Aid spell raises some interesting questions. Like why exactly does it need to be a white strip of cloth? I like to think photons are involved somehow, but I don't think these fantasy nuns know about those yet.

The Day 2 prompt for Flash Fiction February is done. 432 words using the prompt of "Steal".

If you want to read it, join the Storytelling Collective Discord or the FFF course (for free even!).

www.storytellingcollective.com/courses/flas...

#writing #fiction #flashficfeb

Har's Flash Fiction February 2026 Har's entries for this challenge, updated every day.

#FlashFicFeb 2026 day 2 done!

Acid Splash My name is Glim and I make acid. I was ten when folk from the city came ‘round looking for those who could do sums. There was work to be done, they said. Ma and dad told me to go off with them, small as I was, and near useless at the farm. The men of the factory made us stand and answer math problems when we got there. I got all three right without much thinkin’. Those who passed were taught the acid spell. Say some words and make a gesture with a hand, and it appears nearby in a great bubble. If you aren’t careful you’ll burn yourself awful. Some got hurt so bad they couldn’t make the signs or mouth the words. But those who could make the bubble burst in a brick well ten times in a minute were named first apprentices of the first Acid Works. There was a great party. Priests came ‘round to bless us. Time went on, they taught us how to make different acids. If you changed how you said the words and moved your hand, they’d be useful for different things. The sing-song acid was good for fertilizer and mining. The hard slap was good for clearing rust. The shout acid for artisans and alchemists. We had to keep track of each spell we did and for what acid and tell the foreman after each shift. If you couldn’t remember or said the wrong amount or hurt yourself, your pay was docked. If you made too much fuss or spoke of the Crows who cawed outside the factory and said awful things about the Church, you got sacked. When I was apprentice second class they made a dorm for us all so we didn't need worry about rent in the city. When I was apprentice third class one of the brick wells caved in and some of my friends fell into the vats below. The foreman said there was an award for turning in those you thought might be Crows, who he said sabotaged the mortar in the wells. I’m apprentice fifth class now, and eighteen years old. My throat hurts when I say the words. My fingers are stiff from all the scars. I wonder what I’ll do when I can’t make acid.

First day of #FlashFicFeb is Acid Splash.

Meet Glim, an acid maker in a medieval factory who I am sure will have a long and happy life.

I've been thinking about D&D 5.5 and spells and how pretty much every one could make for interesting questions about magic and industry and life in a world where these are common.

So for this month I'm doing #FlashFicFeb and each day will be a very short story about a spell, in alphabetical order.

Okay I did my #flashficfeb for today

Flash Fiction February (2026) Join the Storytelling Collective for 28 days of flash fiction prompts, shared once a day throughout February 2026! Write flash fiction daily and contribute to our community anthology.

The Day 1 prompt of Flash Fiction February is done. 811 words using the prompt of "Elsewhere".

If you want to read it, join the Storytelling Collective Discord or the FFF course (for free even!).

www.storytellingcollective.com/courses/flas...

#writing #fiction #flashficfeb

Har's Flash Fiction February 2026 Har's entries for this challenge, updated every day.

Gonna collect my entries for #FlashFicFeb 2026 in this post. Feedbacks welcome!
diceless.substack.com/p/hars-flash...

Submitted my #flashficfeb story to @storytellingco.bsky.social.

Homework done. Even had beta readers read over the story, and they LIKED it.