Winners

Eileen Merriman
Inaugural Award Second Prize

This Is How They Drown

by Eileen Merriman

Connie is lying on the sun-baked sand, her cousin Luke beside her. They are fifteen and feckless. Twenty metres and a lifetime away, Luke’s twelve-year old brother bobs over the swells.

The tide is turning.

Ferg is floating, the sky like cut glass and the sea soft and yielding. The sun beats on his upturned face, and the waves beat on the sand, but they sound very far away. That’s when he realises he’s drifting very fast, like he’s in a –

A wave breaks over his head.

Luke’s tongue flicks into Connie’s belly button. She tastes like salt and sunblock and girl. Connie whispers, ‘careful,’ because if their parents find out they’re dead. But then she wraps her fingers around the back of his neck, her tongue slipping into his mouth, and they forget about careful.

Ferg is floundering. The waves are so strong, and he goes under eyes wide water clear as glass and sharp in his lungs, and as his head breaks the surface he lifts his arm, help –

Connie pushes Luke’s hand away. Luke, frustrated, sits up, blinking into the metallic glare of the sun. That’s when he sees it, the flat area of sea between the breakers. ‘What’s wrong?’ Connie calls after him, but he’s already running.

When Luke reaches Ferg he is glassy-eyed, but his arms lock around Luke’s neck, and he’s an anchor dragging them down. Ferg, whose heart feels as if it’s exploding in his chest, takes one last gasp and the sea rushes in.

Luke’s larynx goes into spasm, so he can’t breathe in or out. But his oxygen-starved brain thinks it’s Connie’s arms around his neck, Connie’s honeyed breath in his air-locked lungs. And as the sequined water passes over their mirrored eyes his heart beats its last, forever in love.

About the Author

Eilleen MerrimanEileen Merriman’s work has been published in the Sunday Star Times (NZ), Takahe, Headland, Flash Frontiers, and Blue Fifth Review and is forthcoming in the 2015 Bath Short Story Anthology and F(r)iction. She was commended in the 2015 Bath Short Story Competition, was awarded third place in the 2014 Sunday Star Times Short Story Competition and has recently won the 2015 Flash Frontier Winter Writing Award. In 2015 she was awarded a mentorship through the New Zealand Society of Authors for work on her YA novel ‘Pieces of You’. She tweets @MerrimanEileen.

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Mark Ralph-Bowman
Inaugural Award Third Prize

The Most Amazing

by Mark Ralph-Bowman

It goes dark at 11.43. I’d fixed the toilet. Flushed a whirlpool. Not completely dark. Like the Hollywood blue nighttime filter. I see Amy out there. Two doors down. All tits and brown eyes. In the street.

– What’s going on, Will? She asks when I rock up. Cool as Smithy.

– Like I know, man? I just flushed and. Well.

– You flushed the toilet?

– Yeah. I fixed it.

– Awesome.

She scratches at the pink nobble of a button on her blouse. Looking away into the midnight blue. Up where the library was. Kia dealership now. I’m wondering what she’s thinking. No. I’m wondering if she’s thinking. Like I do. Blokes. You know. Every three seconds.

– You play that game? She asks. When you was a kid? What would you do if you knew the world was ending?

– Oh, yeah.

Where’s this going I think.

– What did you say?

– Depended?

– On?

– If there was girls.

– And if there was?.

– We talking back then?

– Whenever.

I look up at the sky. Getting darker. No stars up there. But I can see just fine. Probably my eyes adjusting. They do. Fifteen minutes it takes.

– Whenever? She says. Then or now.

– Back then it woulda been I’d find the girl I never told and I’d tell her.

– What? What would you tell her?

– You’ve got the most amazing eyes.

– What if she didn’t have?

– You’ve got the most amazing eyes.

Her smile breaks out like a timelapse flower opening. Lips glossy as Ramiro pepper skins. The tiniest mole, all on its own at the end of the line of her eyebrow. A full stop.

About the Author

Mark Ralph-BowmanMark has been involved in education and performance in Uganda, Nigeria and the UK, enabling writing and performing opportunities for people of all ages. He writes plays for both adults and young people, has a novel nearing completion and writes short stories. He is currently preparing a touring production of his play “With You Always”. He tweets @Emahbea.

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Sarah Henry
Inaugural Award Commended

Sailboats

by Sarah Henry

“He’s a sales associate,” she said, liberally shaking more vinegar onto her fried fish. She added extra salt for good measure.

Her father carefully avoided making eye contact. He only did this when he disapproved of what she was saying. His parenting style was more laissez-faire than authoritarian.

He made a noncommittal noise, raised both eyebrows, and then gestured the waitress over for more oyster shooters, an appropriate way to get a little drunk before 5:00. Besides, she loved the tangy taste of cocktail sauce combined with the meaty oysters. That, or she had a zinc deficiency.

“We met at a friend’s wedding. It was great to find someone I was actually attracted to, you know? Weddings can be such a drag otherwise. Seems like everyone is getting married now.” She used her finger to wipe away the condensation marks left on the table by her warming beer.

Her father looked up at the mention of a wedding. He was currently on wife number five. Two before, and two after her mother. Symmetry.

“I just want you to be happy,” he said finally, his concession to her dating someone, in his opinion, below her status. Her father did believe in coincidental romances, having followed that fairy path several times himself.

Lily leaned back in the wicker chair, finally satisfied. She knew her father was right about this guy, that she was forcing him to be something he could be in her mind. She also knew that inevitably his dirty socks would gradually find themselves further away from the laundry hamper, and that beer rings on the coffee table wouldn’t seem so endearing when she was doing the dusting. She sighed, took a drink of her sweating beer and watched the sailboats make their slow progression out of the harbor.

About the Author

Sarah HenrySarah Henry is a high school English teacher living in Fort Collins, Colorado. She enjoys writing flash fiction because of the challenge it provides of saying so much in so little. Two of her stories, “Violet and Gray Teeth” and “Phyllis” have been shortlisted in Mash Stories Competitions 5 and 7. Her story “The Shadow Figure’s Philosophy” won The Other’s Award for Needle in the Hay’s writing competition, and her try at cyberpunk climate fiction, “Batteries,” was shortlisted there as well. She tweets @SAnnjelee.

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Damyanti Biswas
Inaugural Award Commended

Picasso Dreams

by Damyanti Biswas

Jezebel owned a blue betta fish. She’d named him Moby Dick, hoping one day an Ahab would seek him, and find her instead.

Moby Dick swam about, flashing his colour, surfacing to check on Jezebel with his rotating eyes, begging for food from time to time. When he thought himself ignored, he curled up and moped at the bottom, behind a plastic rock and a lime green plant.

Moby Dick didn’t know Jezebel lived in a world of Picasso dreams or that she’d imagined him into being. A girl who liked appearances as much as she hated responsibility, Jezebel loved the bowl because its water never grew dirty, and the fish didn’t need feeding.

She could easily have given Moby Dick a large aquarium of his own, with a harem of betta wives, swimming in circles around floating plants, but she kept him alone, waiting.

Jezebel didn’t know she lived in someone else’s dream, a tousle-haired young man who sat chewing his pen by the window, waiting for his Muse.

He wrote about Jezebel, her betta fish, because he himself owned one. It swam around its bowl, mocking his efforts at poetry. He slammed the notebook down and went out to seek his writing friends. He needed to gripe.

His didn’t open that notebook again. Jezebel waited for Ahab. Moby Dick didn’t get fed. His scales remained bright, and their blue clashed against the lime green of the plant in Jezebel’s dreams.

About the Author

Damyanti BiswasDamyanti’s short fiction appears at Bluestem magazine, Griffith Review Australia, Lunch Ticket magazine, The First Line, Ducts.org by New York Writers Workshop, and other journals in the USA, Singapore and India. She’s featured in print anthologies by Twelve Winters Press, USA (Pushcart Nomination), and by major publishers in Malaysia and Singapore. She’s currently hard at work finishing her first novel. She tweets at @damyantig.

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