Yes, this was last year.
Yes, I never finished with it then.
That's why I'm going to do it now! (Plus, they're starting a similar project in November this year, and I want to get the old one finished before that, which means two stories a day which is practically impossible, but yeah.)
The Flash Fiction Project at Google+ has something new going on! There will be a visual prompt for every day in October, and I'm going to try to write a (very) short piece for it every day as well. Due to time zone differences, I'll try writing and posting mine early in the morning, so it's a day after the original post for me, but still the same for them.
Let the fun begin! Here is the prompt for October 26:
"There are stairs, steep and narrow. There are sixteen steps which you will have to climb to reach the door. This door will be closed to you until you're worthy to open it and access the treasures beyond. Climbing these stairs is dangerous, but you will have to do it some day."
These were, more or less, the words of his late grandfather, shortly before he died. He had been quite demented by then, but Tim had loved his grandfather and he had found the stairs.
They were indeed dangerous, without a handrail separating a man from the street, and the steps just wide enough for both of his feet. Every day, Tim climbed the stairs and tried the door at the end of them. Every day, the door was closed.
That was why, one day, he decided to try it at night. It would be very dangerous indeed, and maybe that would prove his worth.
Moon and stars were hiding behind a blanket of clouds. There were no street lamps close by, everything was bathed in darkness. The light cone of Tim's small torch crept up the stairs, trying to get through the shadows. Carefully, he climbed up; one step, the second, the third. By the time he had counted to ten, he was confident that there was really no danger here. He'd climbed the steps so often, he knew them by heart.
Fixing the light on the door - it just had to be open this time! - he continued. On step fourteen his foot hit something soft. A screech, movement beneath him and he lost his balance. He fell, head-first, into the dark.
Tim was climbing the stairs. It was a nice day in Spring, the sun was shining and birds were singing. His hand rested lightly on the handrail for support and security.
He reached the door, and it opened before him.