Postcard fiction writing prompt: bottlecap


Hemingway said a story could be written in a little as six words, and used the example “For sale. Baby shoes. Never worn.” to make his case.

In 100 words or less, write for us a postcard fiction story– that is, a micro-flash fiction story, a very, very short story, but a whole story– in the comments section. Your story must feature this particular bottlecap in some way, but otherwise can be about absolutely anything at all. The winner will be profiled in an upcoming post. Ready, set, go!

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  • Read Books not Bottle Caps

    The world was amiss, as far as carbonated beverage corporations were concerned. $12 billion spent on gaming promotions for this year alone

  • The words

  • I take the Bible from the drawer and tossed it where the carpet meets the back of the hotel closet. I left behind a pair of slacks once, so I keep everything in the chest of drawers, even my shoes.

    At the bar, I watch lips move on television. There are words, but I'm too drunk to read them. Some guy chuckles. I look and he turns to me, holding up a bottle cap.

  • "This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, but with a whimper." It was the first thing that came to mind as I came to.

    As the haze subsided, I took stock of my surroundings. A dark diner. Things strewn about, no windows. What happened? Kitchen

  • Egestion

    The dumb cluck stuck the bottle cap in its mouth

  • (Based on an actual event.)

    Underneath the hard goo of the beercap, topping one of those pretentious microbrews that is brewed with Poppyseed and Coriander, something

  • He preferred the old bottlecaps, the playing card ones. At least you could make games of those, hustle somebody. This one only barked dogma.

    His parked car was good for drinking. Across the street, she looked out her fourth-floor corner window. The setting sun washed her face and the bricks of her building in muted orange-yellows, tree shadows. He remembered the entirety of their past.

    He cracked another beer. She was waiting for someone. It wasn

  • This place smells rancid. I told him we shouldn

  • The Fridge was Full

    The fridge was full. He tried to put one bottle of beer in but there just wasn't room. He yelled for his wife. She walked into the kitchen and asked what he wanted. He just opened the fridge door. She had the gall to ask

  • I hated my job. I didn

  • I spent my whole life collecting bottles; Coke, Sprite, and so on. Yesterday rummaging through trash looking for those little glass relics, I came across a bottle cap with a message somewhat out of the ordinary. Normally caps give nothing but worthless trivia, like frogs never drink or porcupines float in water. Not this one though. It said

  • Look at him strolling this way, like that conveyor to his left is not screaming along at 100 bottles a minute. His shoes give him away, all soft leather and heels on the factory floor. His smile gives him away. No one smiles like that down in the bottling room.

  • I use the cap as a screen in my left eye to block the moons rays, in my right eye the moons rays pour down onto the stream in a waking dream. I swap eyes with the bottlecap, in my right eye the moons rays reflected on the stream of a dream within a waking dream.

  • I cracked open my PBR and flipped the bottle cap up. It bounced on the bar, did a pirouette, and fell.

  • Benny smelled of beer, sweat and urine. Most of it was his. As he stared in the mirror he knew it was his Shawshank moment; "get busy living or get busy dying."

    Four years later, Ben smiled at the girl looking at the Twilight books in his store. Without being aware he was doing it, he touched the necklace he made himself.
    "Thanks, bottlecap."

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