In A Flash

We had wonderful entries and it took us quite a while to pick the winners but here they are:

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The winners of our first Flash Fiction Writing Competition "In A Flash":

1. Jane Broughton - Cushioned

2. Chris Cottom - Soundtrack

3. Ariana Hagen - A Grave In The Sky

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Congratulations everyone!

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Read the stories below!

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1. Jane Broughton - Cushioned

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Francis used to be soft and plush like me. She’d bought me new and after the bustle
of my delivery I’d settled into her room. We’d luxuriate for hours as dusk draped the
garden outside the window, she stroking my emerald cushions, me dreaming. We
were happy, cocooned in the warmth of her home.

She used to be soft until he arrived. They’d cuddle up and entwine. His
dreams became her dreams. They lay together and her hair became static, striking
sparks as they moved together against my upholstery. Her body was that of a
stranger’s, oyster salty, slippery.

She used to be soft but there were days when she barely sat down. She
fluttered about him, trying to anticipate his demands. He’d slouch across my length
or thump down heavily on my ample frame. My coiled springs sagged.

She used to be soft but I supported her. One evening she came home and our
house was silent. I thought it a rare blessing but she read his note and swooned onto
my arm. I moulded myself to her curves and held her.

She used to be soft but over the next few weeks she diminished. She’d fall
asleep in my lap, like a small sparrow in a nest.

I used to be soft but soon there was no resilience left in me. I was useless,
helpless and my wood splintered beneath its threadbare cover. My once tightly
packed stuffing became displaced and wispy.

We remembered when we’d been soft and our bodies had been generous,
giving. We watched crimson roses through the window. How they flowered then
faded, petals scattered by a careless wind. Bare branches scraped and scratched
against the glass. In the morning red stains bloomed, clashing with my green
cushions, seeping into my velvet heart.

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2. Chris Cottom - Soundtrack

Clack
The castanets of a flamenco-frilled Felisia.

Stomp
My Cuban heels as I cheer ‘Olé’, fancy-dressed as a tight-trousered toreador.

Stutter
My stumbled suggestion: ‘the tapas bar in Tolworth?’

Chomp
Felisia chewing chorizo, confessing she dreams of Manuel from Fawlty Towers.

Whisper
Her hint of skipping dessert to vamos back to her place, shorty white jacket provided.

Drone
Her father advocating ISAs over Sunday lunch. Her mother comparing marquees.

Pop
Felisia explaining she won’t be sprogging bambinos until she makes partner.

Fizz
The case of Cava twelve months later ‘because Mamá knows best’.

Wail
Baby Juan hailing me from dreamland, where I’m fending off a phalanx of harem lovelies, insisting they find me a condom (heck, make it a couple).

Whirr
Felisia with her food mixer, Bake Off on her iPad.

Tap
Me in M&S webland, typing my complaint about flex-fit waistbands.

Blare
The radio of a delivery man with a complimentary Percy Pig Fabulous Goody Basket.

Munch
My molars masticating phizzy pig tails (off-diet but delicious).

Crack
Metatarsal pain from a Juan-tackle as I go for goal in the garden.

Squelch
The fanny fart that’s no longer funny.

Mumble
The pretend-sleepy ‘no thank you’ that means ‘no way’.

Throb
My testicles after a knee scuppers my Valentine’s Day hopes for another year, and probably
forever.

Echo
The senorita who seduced me, buried somewhere deep within the matron I’m married to.

Tinkle
Laughter like I’d forgotten, washing me young again. Paige from Payroll, half my age, half my
weight, and bendy like a willow.

Grunt
The body blow when my boss ‘suggests’ I resign.

Thunder
My robust response: unproven allegation, twenty-three years, legal advice.

Bang
Me in the dark, bladdered from the Badger and Tulip, bashing my bald spot on the Corian
countertop after my Snoopy-socked foot slips on a mouse sicked up by Gomez the tabby.

Snap
The letterbox announcing my divorce papers, their creamy envelope shouting ‘expensive’ even
before I slit it, hoping it’s a card that belches upon opening, or a plea to join my tanned, newly
toned wife poolside in Palamós, where she’s realised her toyboy Antonio is no more than a
chancer.

Hiss
My mate’s soon to be airless airbed, protesting at my seventeen stones. My sigh as I lie, cold on
his carpet, remembering that long-ago fancy dress party, and imagining the soundtrack of my life
if I’d gone as an Italian.

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3. Ariana Hagen = A Grave In The Sky

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   I stare at the night sky. The twinkling array of stars overhead never ceases to amaze me.
How can I begin to fathom the endless universe that stretches above me like a glimmering
tapestry? How can I begin to fathom the endlessness of it all?

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   “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” My sister asks.

  I smile at her, watching her face crinkle into a grin as the moonlight reflects from her
crystal blue eyes. She looks just the same as she did when she was twenty years old, my big
sister, while I have aged a lifetime.

  “It is,” I agree. “Still... I can’t help but hate it in so many ways.”

  “Hate it? Why would you ever hate the night sky?” My sister questions. She turns to me,
baffled that I would say such a thing. “You’ve always loved looking up at the galaxy more than
anything. Ever since we were kids. You used to tell me all the time that we would go exploring
the universe, like old-timey pirates,” she teases softly.

  I reach out my hand beside me and link my fingers with hers, gripping them tightly, as I
swallow a painful lump in my throat.

  “I know,” I whisper. “But that was before space took you from me.”

  My sister stares at me, searching my face for meaning. I can see that she doesn’t
understand.

  “End simulation,” I choke out.

 
  My sister’s fingers disappear from between mine. Her lovely blue eyes wink out of
existence beside me. Tears roll down my cheeks as Earth’s endless sky gives way to metal walls within the Hologram room. I get to my feet shakily, leaning against the walls for support. With
practiced reverence I pull a picture from my suit’s pocket.

  There, in a faded photograph creased with the years it has spent folded against my heart,
my sister and I stand together, arms linked, on her day of Enlistment. She looks so gorgeous in
her navy-blue suit, her shooting-star pin marking her as a Chief Officer aboard the Comet. It was
the last time I saw her before she stepped foot on that spaceship. It was the last time I saw her
before the stars swallowed her whole.