Flash Fiction Challenge #8 Results

by Neviena Dēls

Likes: 5
Words: 199

On the first warm Saturday of spring, Laura Bennett climbed into the attic with a broom and a box of garbage bags. Dust floated in the sunlight as she sorted through forgotten things.

Behind a stack of suitcases she found a small wooden box. Taped to the lid was a yellowing note in careful handwriting.

Wait until Spring.

Laura smiled faintly. It was her father’s writing. He had died the previous autumn.

“Well,” she murmured, “it’s spring.”

The tape peeled away easily. Inside lay a tiny envelope and an old brass key.

She unfolded the note.

Laura, if you’re reading this, you waited like I hoped. Grief feels endless in winter. Everything does. But people need spring to see clearly again.

Her throat tightened.

Use the key. You’ll know where.

Laura stared at it, confused, until memory stirred. The old oak in the backyard. When she was little, her father had nailed a birdhouse high on the trunk.

Minutes later she stood beneath the tree, heart racing. The key fit the tiny lock.

Inside the birdhouse sat a small ring box.

Her father’s final note rested beneath it.

Life keeps going. You should too.

Laura laughed softly through tears.

by Roger Faubush II "Author page"

Likes: 5
Words: 200

The attic smelled of cedar and sun-warmed dust. Grandma had declared it a spring cleaning day, and George, Alison, and James were hauling boxes toward the door when the old one stopped them cold—a yellowed note taped to the lid in Grandpa's careful hand: "Wait until spring."

Alison glanced at the window. Cherry blossoms swayed beneath the glass. "It's spring," she said softly.

George tugged the light bulb chain. It snapped uselessly. He then pushed the curtains wide, and sunlight flooded the attic floor.

James pried the flaps. Inside rested an old brass pocket watch, tarnished but heavy, its chain coiled neatly beneath it. Faint etchings like spiraling clock hands marked the case.

Alison lifted it into the beam. The moment sunlight touched the crystal, the hands jerked—then spun backward in a smooth, impossible whirl, ticking louder than any watch should.

"Grandpa used to tell us bedtime stories about this," George whispered. "How the equinox thins time between now and then. Between here and somewhere else."

The spinning slowed, waiting.

Outside, the cherry tree rustled in a wind that carried something like children's laughter from another season.

The attic was empty now.

The boxes never made it downstairs.

by Mary Zuelke Author

Likes: 5
Words: 200

Sandi grabbed the box, ready to toss it into the dumpster when she spotted a note: Wait until spring. She laughed—it was the first day of spring. Her fingers picked at the yellowing tape, wondering how many springs it had waited.

“I’ll look at you later.”

Her grandmother had been gone over ten years, and everything was still just as she'd left it.

“What’s in these boxes?” Jaryd asked.

“No idea! I saved them for us.”

“Which one first?”

‘Ha. That one.” Sandi pointed to the yellowed paper.

“Hmm, wait until spring. Funny, it’s—”

“The first day of spring.” Sandi laughed “Open it.”

Jaryd pulled the flaps apart; the note clung to one side.

Sandi peeked in. “Oh, that smell.”

“Like earth.”

She shined a light inside. A box of dirt.

They stared.

“Grandma wasn’t this silly—”

“But grandpa was.”

“That was over thirty years ago.”

“Go on. Put your hand in there.”

Jaryd grimaced, reached in, then pulled out his hand. Three beans. Their eyes met.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Jack and the Beanstalk,” they said together.

They planted the seeds in grandpa’s old garden and laughed.

“Wonder what's in the next one.”

To be continued…

by Author Lisa Marie

Likes: 4
Words: 200

Wait until spring, Thus goes my ritual of cleaning. Time marches on, Taking with it, life’s meaning.

Wait until spring, Is my children’s request. As if time will stand still At their simple behest.

Wait until spring, And then I’ll retire. Ten years to go, then five But time is often a liar.

Wait until spring, Says the note in the attic On a dusty old box, So clear, precise, yet still enigmatic

Wait until spring Echoes the words in my head. Was it one from years past? Or the one still ahead?

Wait until spring. What if I’m tired of the waiting? Right or wrong, I sit here, debating.

Wait until spring, I ignore the note’s plea, Opening the box, To find letters from me.

Memories long forgotten, Faces I no longer see. Time marches on, Taking with it, what’s left of me

Wait until spring With early March blossoms. The sun rises and sets, Years of plenty, then autumns.

When winter comes, As often it will, Taking sunshine and green, Replacing busy with still.

Remember the best, And hold your little ones close. Let go of the busy, the bad— Remembering what matters most.

Don’t wait until spring.

by Eolas Pellor

Likes: 4
Words: 200

“Wait until Spring” the note taped to the old box said. Clearly many springs had come and gone while the box rested in the attic, and I pondered whether the note was intended for whoever left it there, or for whoever found it.

I ran my fingers along the edges of the plain wood. Either the person who made it had stained it, and never bothered to varnish it, or age itself had darkened the wood to a ruddy brown that deepened to black where the cleats held it together. In most attics, you’d expect such a box to hold Grandma’s keepsakes, some old china that had never been used, or perhaps some antique silver. Somehow, given everything that had happened since we found Butch’s remains outside the door of the old tomb, I expected whatever was hidden inside to be something worse. Much worse.

I ran my fingers lightly over the surface, leaving streaks in the dust. There was a slight motion within, as if a creature was stirring to life after sleeping for years. It soon settled into a rhythmic vibration and the ghastly notion entered my mind that it held the still beating heart of Simon Tolenaar.

by Jesse R Traynham - Author

Likes: 4
Words: 200

They say everyone has a box. You know the one with all your hopes and dreams? I lost mine.

One day, I found it in the attic. My younger self had scribbled "wait until spring" on a note and duct taped it to the top. The whole box was taped shut.

I remembered then. I’d packed the box the day before my thirteenth birthday.

I flicked my knife open, cut through the duct tape, and wriggled the lid off. A stack of papers awaited inside. The top one simply said:

"In case you forgot."

I forgot.

I kept digging. Found a poem about stars. A short story about treasure. Plans for a treehouse.

I never did build my treehouse. Well. Not exactly. I built one like it when the boys were young.

I never wrote about the stars. Wait. No. My first novel was all about the stars.

Never found treasure. Unless you count my wife and kids.

Last note read, “Put back for next time, and don't forget.”

I resealed the box with fresh duct tape. As I was hiding the box for next time, I noticed my young handwriting on the bottom:

"Have you found the other box?"

by Kathy Goddard writer

Likes: 3
Words: 200

I shiver as I stare down at the last box in Aunt Agatha’s attic.

‘Wait until spring.’

I pick at the dry tape, barely holding the yellowing paper in place. My aunt became melancholic every winter, her asthma worsening as the days grew colder. How many years has it been here? Now my only relative has gone, the disease having claimed her as she feared. She brought me up after my parents were killed in a car crash. She didn’t have children of her own - never wanted them, she said, but welcomed me with open arms and a warm heart. The inked words blur as tears fall.

‘Hurry up, child. Open it.’

I can hear her voice as clearly as if her ghost is whispering in my ear. I wish it was, so I wouldn’t feel so bereft.

The box contains a few documents. A letter at the top says, ‘Read this first.’ I squint in the dim light, trying to make out the words.

‘You’re not alone. I had a daughter, two years older than you, given up for adoption. She’s looking for me, but I can’t face her. If you choose to accept her, you have a cousin.

by Mark Traynham

Likes: 3
Words: 200

“Mom,look what I found in the attic” She showed her mother the small chest, there was a pale yellowed note ”wait until spring” it read.

“Master Chief Arsenault, this was your grandpa’s. You may not know this, but he spent almost a year in a Japanese prison camp.”

Inside was an old journal. Lindsey sat down and began to read.

“Our PT boat was captured when it ran into a reef. The crew were taken to a prison camp, only four crewmen survived. Lieutenant Jensen was severely injured. In his pocket he had a packet of seeds his wife had sent him. He asked me to plant them hoping to see the flowers.

"We were poorly fed, we did our best to keep him alive. We planted the seeds and told him to just wait until spring. Winter was harsh and many men didn’t make it, but Lieutenant Jensen just kept on. Wait until spring, he would say.

"We all huddled together around him for warmth. the days warmed, so we Planted the seeds. They soon sprouted, even the guards would bring water. He lived. We were rescued. No matter your problems, just wait until spring.

Forget Me Nots