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  New England Writers' Centre

Flash Fiction Competition Winners!

Congratulations to everyone who entered our first flash fiction competition!

The standard of quality was very high making it hard to choose just three winners.

First place went to Thomas Penrose with 'Looking for George Gable'
Second place went to Trish Donald with 'Love Knocks at the Door — God'
Third place went to Jenni Del Mastro with 'No Doubt'

Below are their stories...
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First Place 'Looking for George Gable'by Thomas Penrose

 
The lanky man sitting outside the Post Office watched as the near new Holden pulled up in front of him.  The driver got out and went around to the front to inspect a large dent on the front left hand mudguard.  He was a big man, with cauliflower ears and a flat nose reminiscent of a rugby player or perhaps a boxer.
The lanky man got up and walked down the stairs.
‘Hit a roo?’ he asked.
‘Tree stump,’ said the big man shaking his head.  ‘Some old bloke in a tractor ran me off the road.’
‘A big red one, driving down the middle of the road?’
The big man nodded.
‘That would be Bob Turner, ‘King of the Road’ locals call him, get out of his way when they see him.  But you’re not a local are you? Don’t get many strangers here, being out of the way like.’
‘I’m looking for a bloke.’
‘Does this bloke have a name?’
‘George Gable’
‘How come you’re looking for him?’
‘He owes a friend of mine money.’
‘And you’re here to collect it?’
The big man nodded and rubbed his large hand over the dented mudguard.
‘You should get that fixed; otherwise the wheel will rub on it every time you take a sharp corner.’
‘You a friend of Gable?’ asked the big bloke looking at the thin man dressed in jeans and a check work shirt.
‘I wouldn’t say that, George hasn’t got a lot of friends. People round here thinks he’s too big for his boots. Went down to the city and came back saying how much better it was than living here.  That didn’t go down well.’
‘Do you know where I can find him?’
‘I could tell you someone who could tell you where to find him. Look, give me your car keys and I’ll run it over to my brother’s garage and he can fix that dent and charge it to Bob Turner. You can go looking for George.’
The big man looked at the local, then at his damaged car, then tossed his keys to the man.
‘Now, where can I find Gable?’
‘See the bloke over there stacking boxes outside the General Store?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Go across and tell him I sent you.  Ask him where to find George, he’ll tell you.’
The big man rubbed his hands together, showing knuckles that looked like they had been in innumerable fights.
He mumbled thanks and set off across the dusty road.
The shopkeeper saw him coming and stopped his work.
‘What can I do for you?’
‘Looking for a bloke named George Gable; that fella told me you can tell me where to find him.’
The shopkeeper stared at him.
‘Did you hear what I said?’
‘Sure did,’ smiled the shopkeeper, ‘That’s George driving off in your car.’

Second Place 'Love Knocks at the Door — God'by Trish Donald


When God made Love whole planets were created.  Stars exploded in the universe, meteors plummeted out of control into the earth and gouged out homes for future life. 
 
At first God was besotted, and he created exquisite gifts to mirror Love’s qualities, sunsets, waterfalls, dew.  He tried to capture her perfection in everything he created until the world was full of wonder.
But, as so often happens, the everyday boredom of domesticity started to take hold and God found his work turned to sheep, cows, and some very useful, but ordinary chooks. God began to think that Love was not having a good influence on him. He forgot to look at the sunsets and wonder at the dew.  Love started spending more time on her own and God responded with suspicion. What did she do, who did she meet? Scuttling spiders started to pop up everywhere, black scorpions stung whatever they could and a snake slithered past, spitting, when God could not control a nasty remark to Love as she walked in the door with the groceries.
 
Blackness descended upon him as he withdrew from his creations and scoped out a depthless pit under the sea to hide himself away. His brooding created deep-sea fish whose eyes were oversized in an effort to see.  And creatures beyond imagination, luckily hidden out of the light, sat waiting for easy prey on the ocean floor.
 
God’s brooding became a nagging headache that stretched around the earth and filled people with an unnamed dread as they slept.  They went about their work unsatisfied and started to pick fights with their neighbours over nothing.
 
Then Love did a remarkable thing, as only love can. She forgave his silliness, his cruelty and his malevolence; she reclaimed him with her warmth and with her forgiveness melted his despair.  He realised what a fool he had been and how much had been destroyed and how much brought into the world by his distorted views.  Loves actions reminded him of the God she had first met as he rose above his affliction and let it fall about him like the sands of time. Striding out to meet the world, reborn God spoke of his Love to others, but discovered in his absence the many religions that had gained momentum and now fought with one another to prove they were right and the only true path.
 
All God could do now was enjoy Love and the world he had created, the darkness as well as the light.  But God was never quite the same. Embarrassed by his brooding and malice, he never allowed anyone to see his face again. Instead he let such things as the sunlight through clouds represent him.  He understood the unkind words that people spoke; he had created man in his own image after all. All he could do was pray for them and, when they died, do the best he could for their souls.

Third Place 'No Doubt'by Jennie Del Mastro

I glared across the bocconcini at them as we ate our pizza in small pieces with a fork.
It was that kind of restaurant.
They were that kind of couple — confident of each other, comfortable, floating on a sea of shared memories. They were one person, not two. They were so happy.
Not that I hated them because they were happy. I didn’t hate them at all. They were my friends. But I had a plan that would let off steam and stop my head exploding.
When the coffee came, I would say to her seriously: ‘You have to tell him about (insert random name).’ She would protest, truthfully, but in old clichéd phrases, because what else was there? And I would see a tiny flicker of doubt leap into his eyes.
Then I’d wink, and say: ‘Just kidding.’
I’d practised the wink in front of the mirror until it looked cheeky enough.
Maybe the doubt would linger, and grow, or maybe it would vanish. I didn’t care.

The coffee arrived. They sat back with twin gentle laughs. I leaned forward, very seriously.
‘You have to tell him about Mike.’ That was the first name that popped into my head.
They glanced at each other then stared at me. I waited, anticipating, watching his eyes.
‘How did you know?’ she said miserably.
‘What?’ I blurted.
He buried his face in his hands. ‘I knew it.’
‘Please…’ she murmured to me. ‘I will. Just … leave it.’
I stood up and stumbled back into someone, hardly noticing the complaints. I’d only wanted to shake them. That was all! I hadn’t wanted to break them.
‘I’m sorry,’ I mumbled.
‘Just go,’ he said through his fingers.
I backed into someone else, and turned. My heels clacked out of the restaurant through silence. Everyone had noticed the glitch in the smooth night. Their eyes followed me, but they hadn’t seen what I’d done.

It wasn’t until I was stepping into the taxi that I realised. I smacked my head as the guilt disappeared. ‘That look!’ I hadn’t callously broken open a pretty façade to expose the mould underneath. And I certainly hadn’t sown any doubt.
I left the taxi and went back into the restaurant. I stood behind the elaborate plant arrangement and watched them.
His arm was around her shoulder, her smile glowed up at him. They were laughing together, still comfortable, still floating. They weren’t broken or shaken. I’d wasted my time.

They smiled at me as I sat down.
‘You knew what I was doing,’ I said.
They gave me smug nods. ‘We know you very well.’
‘And you planned that little act with one look at each other, and no words!’
They nodded even more smugly.
‘Ooh.’ My eyes narrowed. ‘I really hate you.’
‘We realise that,’ he said.
‘We hate you too,’ she said. Then she gave me a cheeky wink. ‘Just kidding.’
 

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We acknowledge the Traditional Custodians of the lands on which the New England Writers' Centre is situated and pay our respects to Aboriginal Elders past and present.
  • Home
  • Program
    • 2021 Summer Micro Grants
    • Managing your creative business
    • On Point: finding a fresh perspective
    • Scriptwriting 101
    • Writing Romantic Thrillers
    • Inside Story
    • Short Story Crit Clinic
    • Life Writing
    • Structure & plotting when writing for children
    • Rural Crime Writing Festival
    • Discover your illustration style
    • The Illustrated Story
    • Editing Your Manuscript
    • Self-publishing with InDesign
    • Self-publishing & The Indie Author
    • Writing super creative kidlit
  • About
    • Our Board
    • Our Sponsors
  • Membership
  • Contact Us
  • 2020 Archive
    • Thunderbolt Prize 2020 >
      • Thunderbolt Prize 2020 Judges Reports
      • Thunderbolt Prize 2020_Winning submissions
    • Illustration Prize 2020 Winners
    • Varuna Fellowship 2020
    • Historical Novel Prize >
      • About the judges
  • Resources
    • Blog
    • By The Book video series
    • Stories Connect
    • Useful links!