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Weekly Contest #48
I once had to fill in a job application form that asked, “If you had a superpower, what would it be?” and I wrote down, “photoshopper”. Now, I realise most of you will probably tell me that’s NOT a superpower – I mean, we’ve all tweaked stuff on our phones, haven’t we? (I have a particularly fetching photo of myself with a friend where she is surrounded by stars and I am sporting reindeer’s antlers and a little black button nose.) But I want you to try reading that word again: it’s not photo shopper but photos hopper. For some reason I can’t...
Weekly Contest #47
Suitcase in hand, you head to the station. Your lover is waiting for you on the platform. Despite the years since you have seen each other, you recognise him instantly: it’s as if your heart never let go of him so long ago. You drop the suitcase and run towards him, not caring who sees as your lips meet his. Taking your hand, he walks with you to retrieve your case and then the two of you step onto the train and begin the rest of your life. That’s the dream, the plan. There might possibly be the sound of Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto no 2 i...
Weekly Contest #46
Jennifer stared at Brad defiantly. “It’s not your baby! That’s why I’m walking away from you forever!” He gazed at her in bewilderment, wondering how the mouth that said she loved him only a few short weeks ago could now be framing words as devastating as this. Then, before his mind could register what his body was doing, Brad’s hand punched the wall behind Jennifer’s head. No! That bit just didn’t work. Sure, Brad was annoyed, but hitting the wall? Probably better that than hitting Jennifer, he thought; but it still seemed awkward, clumsy...
“So, if no one else has any important notices,” Zach looked at the motley bunch of would-be writers gathered round the long table, “we’ll move onto the anonymous manuscripts. Would anyone like to give a brief summary of ...” He consulted his notes. “... of ‘Don’t Go Baking My Heart’?” An awkward silence ensued as everyone stared at the table. “Okaaay. I guess that’s up to me then,” Zack said eventually, trying to keep the despair out of his voice. DGBMH was one of the worst stories he had ever read, but someone sitting at this table now ha...
Weekly Contest #45
Miss Abebe looked around her classroom, noting how the six-year-old children were working happily in small groups. Children this age were so uncomplicated – just look at Candice with her corn rows and beautiful black skin taking charge of her group and telling blond haired Tommy and redhead Archie how to do things properly! These little ones had no concept of racism: to them, ‘color’ was something to use in their artwork. They had never heard of George Floyd; had no idea that many adults in the world they lived in were too narrow minded to s...
Weekly Contest #41
“Have you ordered my unicorn yet, Mummy?” Pixie planted both hands firmly on her hips and regarded her mother with all the sternness her six – soon to be seven – year old self could muster. Julia Jenkins regarded her daughter warily. She knew for a fact that unicorns were in short supply of at the moment: after a recent Instagram snap of Kim Kardashian’s children with a whole string of rainbow horned creatures, the world had decided that nothing else would do as the ‘must have’ present. “I’m going to look on Amazon later today,” she lied. “M...
Weekly Contest #40
May 1st, 3am, Emma:Mandy – my lovely Mandy; my best friend. Tears stream down my face as I look at her. I know that life will never be the same again.May 1st, 3am, Ally:I still can’t believe it’s happened. The red blood spilling from Mandy’s neck looks strangely artificial – almost as if it’s a staged scene for a whodunnit; but the police presence and the murmur of voices in the corridor outside and the shocked faces of Ken and Emma all conspire to convince me it’s real. And I know that at some point I’m going to have to explain what happene...
Weekly Contest #39
I lie on my back, looking up at the stars. Above me, billions of pin pricks of light – far too many to count – cluster in faraway galaxies, and I wonder about the people who live on the distant planets and whether they too are looking at the stars and contemplating life in another universe. After I while, I begin to grow cold. Yellow fog is rolling in from the Olympus Mons, bringing with it the chill of early autumn. Many cycles ago, my father travelled to the polar ice caps – it was some sort of data-gathering mission for the government – a...
Weekly Contest #36
Haworth, November 24th 1824Tomorrow I am to start a big adventure and join my sisters, Maria, Elizabeth and Charlotte at the big girls’ school at Cowan Bridge. I am a little fearful at this prospect – not because I think I will be regarded as stupid (I can read and write and do arithmetic, and I already know ‘être’ and ‘avoir’, thanks to my aunt’s tutelage) - but I am afraid of missing Branwell and Anne, my playfellows. I have asked Papa if I might not remain at home and share Branwell’s lessons, but he is resolute. I intend to keep a r...
Weekly Contest #35
Our conversation over, you move away from me; and now I feel totally alone. The late afternoon spring sunshine filters through the trees as I stand and watch you walk away. Cries of children echo through the park and, momentarily, I find myself wishing that I was still six or seven, secure in an age where my only concept of sadness was a scraped knee or a fallen ice-cream. A cool breeze tugs at my clothing – it’s still not warm enough to be out without a...
Weekly Contest #34
Fri 10 Jan, 13:06Hi Gorgeous. Looking forward to seeing you tonight. J xxxWho is this?Stop messing around! No, seriously. Your number’s just coming up as Unknown.Fran?Kate. And you are?OMG – I’m so sorry. I must have mistyped my girlfriend’s number.You mean she’s not saved in your contacts?I’ve got her number saved on my phone, but I left it at home so I borrowed someone else’s to text her. I thought I remembered the number, but obviously I was wrong.So you’re texting from someone else’s phone now?Well, yeah, otherwise I wouldn’t be texting ...
Weekly Contest #29
I fell in love with Thomas Hardy’s novel ‘Tess of the d’Urbervillles’ at the age of fifteen Written and set in 19th century England, it tells the story of a young and innocent country girl, Tess, who is romantically torn between two men: a moustachioed, upper-class villain, Alec d’Urberville, who rapes and impregnates her; and Angel Clare, a seemingly gentle and virtuous young man who marries Tess but then rejects her on their wedding night after she confesses to her past. My passion for Hardy’s novel later impacted my own love life so that ...
Weekly Contest #27
The train is just about to leave as she arrives at the station. Breaking into a run, she manages to scramble aboard, knowing that this is a journey that will change her life. Jess sinks down into the first available seat, thankful that the train is not as tightly packed as the one she usually takes to work. If this were a normal day, she would have left hours ago; but instead, she has a day’s booked leave and an appointment at 11am. She checks her emails anxiously on her phone, just to make sure that she hasn’t remembered the wrong time or p...
Weekly Contest #22
The room is hot and crowded with far too many people, some of whom she knows but mostly strangers – friends of Beth’s from university. Alice takes another sip from the glass that was thrust into her hand when she arrived ten minutes ago, wondering why she is here instead of celebrating the new year – the new millennium – with her family. “Because Beth’s your best friend,” she whispers to herself. “Always has been.” But she knows that’s not true anymore: the confident girl who’s knocking back shots almost as fast as a comedian delivering non-...
Weekly Contest #13
The Haunting of Haddon Hall “Does the hotel have a ghost?” an old lady asks hopefully. I listen with interest. Haddon Hall is a beautiful building that used to be a family home back in the Victorian era. It’s only recently been turned into a hotel after spending years in a state of disrepair. The tour guide consults her notes. She’s a severe looking woman with hair scraped back into a tight bun and spiky shoes that clatter on the restored parquet floor of the large reception hall. “Well, you know we can’t promise any actual sightings ...” s...
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