For those of you who are unaware, Flash Fiction is a "genre" of writing that isn't very long (hence the "flash" part).
Having taken a college course on this, I can tell you it's pretty stupid.
I personally don't believe fiction should have boundaries, I don't think one should limit one's self to a specific length (and therein syntax, dialogue/exposition/plot limitations) because, in the end, fiction should write itself. You should never struggle to get something out, never tell yourself you have too many words, or force yourself to choose one specific word over some unnecessarily long and wordy paragraph.
In the spirit of the contest, however, I took the challenge and wrote one up using the 350 word count as a plot device rather than a limitation.
The contest was called 'Forgotten Futures', or how the present looked like "The Future" to the past. Think "The War of the Worlds and Nineteen Eighty-Four as masterpieces of speculative literature, but have somehow or other lapsed into obscurity. Each is a forgotten vision of the future."
At least, that's how I interpreted the task:
BSOD
He stared at the wall blankly, barely emoting a response to the clip playing across his vid-screen projection. His eyes furiously absorbed all the data, calculating, databasing and cross-referencing the material against the extensive catalog, mathematically dissecting the information to ascribe a location on the scale of comedy he used to rate the clips. Though the actions of the subject in the clip had humorous happenstances appropriate him by surprise, the extreme length of the clip at two minutes and fifteen seconds was enough to score it a low 2.
A beepbeep and an avatar on the screen brought attention to the incoming call. He thought about answering. The clip vanished and a large face appeared,
“Hey, did you see what's happening downtown?! Boot up NewsSoft® and cli...”
The face disappeared, the room darkened.
He thought about booting up NewsSoft®. Nothing Happened.
He tried to look outside, but Windows© did not respond either.
He calculated possibilities: power-surge, power-outtage, malware, terrorists or, worse: terrorware. Except ListPro2010® couldn't access decisionbot.com so the query could not even ping let alone be answered.
His heartbeat raced, he grew concerned but the threshold unknown because he couldn't access his health statistics via LifeMonitor®.
He thought about calling for help, but that failed too. That's when he realized Open Air® 2010 edition wasn't filtering the oxygen. He thought about leaving the room, he thought about a door – nothing. At this rate the smog would choke him to death in 100 seconds.
He slammed his fists on the wall hoping the neighbors would hear him. 86.
He thought as hard as he could about 911™, and an Ambuship™, and Medi-Bots™. 71.
He clawed at his throat, gasping for oxygen, the panic causing him to hyperventilate. 56.
He searched through his closet for the obsolete Cellular Telephone he tossed last summer. 41.
How he longed for the days of pen and paper and snail mail, even an archaic text message could potentially save him. 18.
He regretted wasting those last 22 seconds reminiscing of antiquated technologies. 6.
He gasped and collapsed to the floor. 0.
You better be submitting this, it's great.
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