{"id":100,"date":"2018-05-10T08:41:00","date_gmt":"2018-05-10T08:41:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.nationalflashfictionday.co.uk\/index.php\/2018\/05\/10\/micro-fiction-competition-winners\/"},"modified":"2018-05-10T08:41:00","modified_gmt":"2018-05-10T08:41:00","slug":"micro-fiction-competition-winners","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.nationalflashfictionday.co.uk\/index.php\/2018\/05\/10\/micro-fiction-competition-winners\/","title":{"rendered":"Micro Fiction Competition Winners!"},"content":{"rendered":"

Before we announce the winners of the micro fiction competition, I want to apologise about a technical issue that meant all of my lovely emails I sent out to authors who entered our micro competition or submitted to the anthology did not send. <\/span>

<\/span>As usual, there were hundreds and hundreds of submitters. We always send out an email to let people know whether or not they’ve been accepted via a link to this blog where the announcement is made. Only one set of emails actually sent; the rest were bounced back as a failed delivery. Obviously my mail box was working to Bank Holiday rules.<\/span>

<\/span>Apologies again if you haven’t received an email, but you can find out if you’re in the anthology or were shortlisted for the micro competition by checking out our previous blog post.<\/a><\/b><\/span>

<\/span>
<\/span>Without further delay, it’s time to announce the results of this year’s micro fiction competition!<\/span>

<\/span>Again, I want to thank our judges for doing such a stellar job of reading through all 600 entries, narrowing it down to just 24, and then again to only 10. Thank you to Kevlin Henney, Ingrid Jendrzrjewski, Angela Readman, Rob Walton, Brianna Snow, and Anne Patterson. <\/span>

<\/span>I also want to thank everyone who submitted, and to congratulate again all of the authors who made the shortlist — that, in itself, is a huge achievement. The quality was very high, and this made for a very tight race to the finish.<\/span>

<\/span>

<\/span>
<\/span>First Place:<\/span><\/b><\/p>\n

The Birth of the Baptist by Fiona J. Mackintosh<\/span><\/div>\n

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Second Place:<\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
Pull by Charmaine Wilkerson<\/span><\/div>\n

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Third Place:<\/o:p><\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
A Nice Bit of Linoleum by Rachael Dunlop<\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
Highly Commended Stories:<\/b><\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n

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Fifth Grade by Lisa Ferranti<\/span><\/div>\n
Death of a Friend by Amanda O\u2019Callaghan<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Forgetting, Remembering by Catherine Edmunds<\/span><\/div>\n
Things I Never Saw Again After You Dumped Me By Text Message by Rebecca Field<\/span><\/div>\n
1990 by Alan Beard<\/span><\/div>\n
Louise by Elaine Dillon<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
White Lies by Anita Goveas<\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n

Congratulations to all of the authors of our winning and highly commended micros! <\/span><\/h3>\n
All of the stories are published below, will appear on our website in due course, and will be published in this year’s National Flash Fiction Day anthology! We hope you love these micros as much as we do!<\/span><\/div>\n

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<\/span><\/div>\n
First Place:<\/span><\/b><\/p>\n
The Birth of the Baptist<\/o:p><\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
Fiona J. Mackintosh<\/o:p><\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Slide the 100 lire coin into the slot. Watch the lights flare, the fresco spring to life, Ghirlandaio\u2019s pinks, blues, and greens. Watch your girl in denim shorts stare upward, lips parted, eyes roaming over the ancient stone wall. See her smile at St. Elizabeth reclining, at the wet nurse suckling the infant John the Baptist. And when the coin runs out and the chapel snaps back into darkness, know that you too are just the forerunner, that one day she\u2019ll leave you in your own private wilderness with the taste of locusts and wild honey bitter in your mouth.<\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n
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<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Second Place:<\/o:p><\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
Pull<\/o:p><\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
Charmaine Wilkerson<\/o:p><\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
When their fathers went to the cockfights in the next parish over, the girls begged rides from the neighbour boys. While their dads wiped flecks of blood from their faces, the girls left their shoes and dresses on the sand. While the boys watched, rapt and rigid, from the powdery shore, the girls plunged, head first, into the warm saltwater, pulling through the waves, pulling through their fear of sharks, pulling through the sting of rays, pulling against lactic acid and breathing in gulps of their future as champions, their ticket away from this island.<\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n
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<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Third Place:<\/o:p><\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
A Nice Bit of Linoleum<\/o:p><\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
Rachael Dunlop<\/o:p><\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The smell of lavender floor wax accompanies her out of the house. She\u2019d rather have linoleum in the hall but parquet has more cachet, he says. She sniffs at her cardigan cuffs. She could have tucked them better into her housecoat this morning. At the greengrocer\u2019s she runs a nail along the silky gills of a mushroom and inhales, longing for a life lived in the leaf-mould litter of a forest floor, peaty earth under her stockinged feet. Failing that, she thinks as she drops the mushroom into a torn-cornered paper bag, she\u2019d settle for a nice bit of linoleum. <\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Highly Commended Stories:<\/b><\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Fifth Grade <\/o:p><\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
Lisa Ferranti<\/o:p><\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Fifth grade was the year we giggled through the school nurse\u2019s explanation of menstruation. The year boys were not separated from girls, and Jimmy M. fainted, fell at my feet. The year we ogled bare-breasted fertility statues at the art museum. Told we were forbidden to touch. I waited for the teacher to round the corner, pointed my finger a baby\u2019s breath from the carved stone. I swung my hair, tried to catch Jimmy\u2019s eye. Fifth grade was the year I learned to say without saying: Dare me?<\/i>The year a blue-blazered security guard grabbed my arm.  <\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Death of a Friend<\/b><\/o:p><\/span><\/b><\/span><\/div>\n
Amanda O\u2019Callaghan<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
When she met her gaze, that last time, she remembered the mouse. Once, standing on the back verandah, night sunk deep into the trees, she\u2019d heard the sound of bird\u2019s wings, wheeling close. She knew it was the owl; she\u2019d seen it, days before, perched on the sheeny muscle of ghost gum, turning its domed head. But this time, she could see nothing. There was only the lethal fold of feathers, swooping down, close to the grass. Then, a tiny creature carried aloft, shrieking from its miniature lungs, the shape of its outrage borne away, beyond a pitiless moon. <\/span><\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Forgetting, Remembering<\/b><\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n
Catherine Edmunds<\/o:p><\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The gulf between us is a river in spate. We nudge each other when the snoring becomes intolerable, but our arms remain empty. <\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
You go up for an afternoon nap, and don\u2019t come down again. The paramedics ask me my name. I don\u2019t know any more.  <\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Later, I iron all your shirts, your socks, ties, hats, documents; I iron the bedsheets and spray them with starch until the river has subsided. I lie on the hot, alien sheets and scorch my back and buttocks until I remember my name.<\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n
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<\/div>\n
Things I Never Saw Again After You Dumped Me By Text Message<\/o:p><\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
Rebecca Field<\/o:p><\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
My toothbrush. My spare contact lenses. That Bob Dylan album I lent you. The old Iron Maiden T-shirt you gave me to sleep in at your place. My Fight Club video. Your housemates, except for that one time I saw Dave in Fulton\u2019s Frozen Foods and he blanked me. Your house cat \u2013 I wonder who fed him once I wasn\u2019t there anymore. You in the morning with the shakes, thinking about your next drink. All the money I lent you to go out drinking without me. Best of all, that look my mother would give me when I mentioned you.<\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
1990<\/o:p><\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
Alan Beard<\/o:p><\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Girl in a Blockbusters smelling of Shake \u2018n\u2019 Vac, stares blankly in her soft plumpness and soft permed hair at the pop video playing. Vanilla Ice. She thinks of customers\u2019 lives, their homes as they return last night\u2019s film: Ghost, Petty Woman. Evenings ahead with her husband watching videos, maybe this boy who hangs around, chats to her between customers. Does she even like him? He has big brown eyes. He says put on heavy metal. Ugh, she says, not likely. She\u2019s old fashioned, likes the Carpenters; the woman starved herself to death, but sang beautifully before she did.<\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Louise<\/b><\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n
Elaine Dillon<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The thunder that meant the end of summer sent us running inside, just as the rain started hissing on the path. Fat drops topped up the paddling pool.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
We sat in the doorframe and dared Louise to do something we wouldn\u2019t, for fear of a leathering.  <\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
She pulled off her swimsuit and exploded over the threshold. The grass licked her heels and her fine hair soaked dark against her back, as she sprinted towards the leylandii and launched herself through, like she was diving into a deep pool.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
We sat with our mouths open and a towel across our laps.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
White Lies<\/b><\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n
Anita Goveas<\/o:p><\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
It’s a tradition for Block B, Mary Gee Hall to eat together every Sunday. The first week of the Easter holidays, there’s only three students eating lentil spag bol.<\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n
Shaven-headed Angus and curvy-hipped Lei are touching feet under the table, and mumbling about their individual plans for the week to their kitchen-mate. Peony-faced Kate cries at wildlife documentaries and once filled Lei’s bed with rose petals for Valentine’s day.<\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n
Leicester University is teaching them essay-writing, what happens when you put a black sock in with your whites, and that what you don\u2019t say is more important than what you do.<\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/span><\/b><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/b><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/b><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Before we announce the winners of the micro fiction competition, I want to apologise about a technical issue that meant all of my lovely emails I sent out to authors who entered our micro competition or submitted to the anthology did not send. As usual, there were hundreds and hundreds of submitters. We always send out … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[29],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-100","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-news"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nationalflashfictionday.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/100","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nationalflashfictionday.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nationalflashfictionday.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nationalflashfictionday.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nationalflashfictionday.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=100"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.nationalflashfictionday.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/100\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nationalflashfictionday.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=100"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nationalflashfictionday.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=100"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nationalflashfictionday.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=100"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}