2026 February Flash Fiction Challenge: Day 1
Write a piece of flash fiction each day of February with the February Flash Fiction Challenge. Today’s prompt is to write about having just one more of something.
Welcome to the sixth (!!!) year of our flash fiction challenge! I'm so excited to share this experience with all of you returning challengers and new writers. Everyone is welcome!
Some housekeeping:
1. There is no sign-up. All you need to do is visit WritersDigest.com every day this month and click on the day's prompt.
2. You share your works in the comments section. To find the comments, just scroll all the way down to the bottom of the page, write your story right in the text box or copy/paste (whichever you prefer!), and hit submit.
3. You don't need to share your work to participate. A lot of writers aren't comfortable sharing their work here. That's totally OK! The main thing is that you're writing something every day.
4. The system will occasionally flag stories for review. There is nothing wrong with your work; our platform does it randomly. We will be going through and releasing stories periodically between the hours of 9 a.m.–5 p.m. EST Monday through Friday. If your story is flagged, just sit tight. It'll be released!
For the first prompt of the 2025 challenge (drum roll, please!): Write a story based on the idea "if you could have just one more."
(Note: If your story gets flagged for review, be patient—we will be releasing comments every few hours throughout the weekdays of this challenge. Our system randomly flags comments for review, so just sit tight and wait for us to set it free! If you run into any other issues with posting your story, please just send me an e-mail at mrichard@aimmedia.com with the subject line: Flash Fiction Challenge Commenting Issue.)
Here’s my attempt at a story about having one more:
Childhood Summers
Can of Coke fresh out of the cooler, still dripping ice shards. Jump in the deep part of the crick, right off the rocky bank, scaring the crawfish any which way. Driving the big truck, almost too small to see over the wheel, nosing it slowly down the field while Dad throws bales in the bed. Mid-afternoon naps to the tune of birdsong and the lawn mower out in the distance. Evening walks, dreading the bite of Mosquito Alley. Burgers grilled just right, sweet corn fresh off the stalk and steamed. Time suspended, infinite in every direction, adulthood a myth.









