The North & South Short, Short Story competition 2019 winners revealed

by North & South / 02 May, 2019
north & south short short story competition winner and runners-up

The winner and runners-up from North & South’s Short, Short Story competition.

At the beginning of the year, we invited you to compose a compelling and entertaining story in no more than 300 words. We received hundreds of entries – many of a very high standard – so thank you to all those who entered our flash-fiction competition.

Congratulations to winner Renata Hopkins of Christchurch for her poignant, beautifully crafted story “The End”. Originality of voice and distinctive writing styles also marked our runner-up stories by Michael Botur and Jenna Heller.

WINNER

The End

By Renata Hopkins

On Tuesday, he got Kelly’s name wrong for the first time. On Wednesday, he grimaced and flicked his hand at something beside her. That cat, he said. Put it down. On Thursday, the care home said Tonight. Downhill fast, like an Olympic skier.

When they’re buzzed into Dementia, Mercy is in the TV lounge, a tiny goddess in easy-care.

“I tried to get him back to bed, but no,” she says, waving at the resident who lies blocking the doorway.

“Stew-art,” she sings down to him. “John’s family has to cross over you.” As if the man in blue pyjamas was a river – the Lethe, the water of oblivion. They ford him, one by one, but are flooded, instead, with remembering.

In the small room they watch the work of breathing. They inhale fastidiously, trying to set a good example. His tongue looks parrot dry. They’re allowed to wet it with a sponge on a Popsicle stick, but his fierce commitment forbids it.

Instead, they make him an offering of himself: opera, sung sweetly drunken; engine oil on his hands; patient hours on sunburned ground, teaching them to bowl overarm.

You’re running a race, he’d told Kelly, the week before. There’s a black ribbon at the end and everyone cheers for you. They know about the war. It was lunchtime, and he’d frowned at his fish and peas. It’s lucky we don’t live here, he’d said, reaching for her hand. Kelly had felt guilty for enjoying the untethered poetry, for looking forward to what would come next.

He always could hold his breath the longest. She leans in, dazzled by the immaculate trick, and hears the muffled roar of a crowd through the wall. A game somewhere has ended, with no call for extra time.

north & south short short story competition winner and runners-up

RUNNER-UP

Magic Mirror

By Michael Botur

It begins when you’re having a couple lunchtime drinks on the toilet, closed door of course, private delight, gulping stinging nips of depressant to weight your floating feet. Dilute the anxiety. Wash off the boss-bully. The panel of magic mirrors shows the confident you, the you with strong legs and a friend.

Coming out of the stall you bump into Gerard Chan from marketing and he’s clutching some dark drink in a Pump bottle and at first you’re both going to leave the bathroom without a word but you pause at the door. Being ashamed is pointless. Gerard Chan meets you for more drinks at 4.

It’s not just the kinship or the wince, the stinging liquid lip. It’s the magic mirror. In the glass dimension there’s a happy you.

Paul Govind, too, is in with a grin. Wobbling back to your desk to send off emails gets you noticed, there are murmurs, noses peering over the cubicle, but one drink with you in front of the magic mirror, people come around. It’s a confidence boost. You help your team carry out business with boldness. You tell the cleaning lady you love her.

Bottles on the hand dryers. Ice in the handbasins. Little umbrellas, straws, chips of ice melting on the tiles. The stock price soars and lurches. The boss occupies the disabled loo, puts her feet up on the rail on the door, leans back, tells you she’s always admired you. Your resourcefulness. How you find creative ways out of problems.

Someone bangs on the bathroom door.

You grip the mirror, blink, splash water on your face, swig and swallow, stash the bottle in the curl of pipes beneath the basin.

Listerine and Lynx. Fix your tie. Tiptoe back to work. Steady legs. 

north & south short short story competition winner and runners-up

RUNNER-UP

The Change

By Jenna Heller

That she’d started sleepwalking at the age of 47 wasn’t completely unexpected. Creeping about the house at two in the morning, making tea, playing solitaire, even cleaning the fish tank. Leaving the house, though, that was new. At first, she’d wake at the bus stop just as the early commuters arrived, slink home to make breakfast for the kids, then send them off to school like everything was normal. But some days later when she found herself at the end of the pier one morning, walking the dunes the next, and searching for sand dollars in waist deep water the morning after that. Well. She knew then. Time was thin.

Her grandmother had disappeared in a pond at 49, her own mother in a lake at 48. After the hot flashes and mood swings, they’d slipped through the night in search of water. And now she watched her own body change in unexpected ways. The skin between her fingers grew sticky and webbed, her eyes red and itchy. And when five faint scratch marks appeared at both sides of her neck, she knew it was only a matter of time. Then one night, after a day of gagging in the thick summer heat, she stacked the diaries of explanation on the table and allowed the sea breeze to lull her to sleep.

The next day, the house was silent, the back door wide open, and her clothes found tangled in the kelp at high tide. 

HIGHLY COMMENDED

That Time We Didn’t Fall on the Floor Laughing

By Rachel Smith

We arrive late. The only empty table is close enough to smell the tang of alcohol on the comedian’s breath. She isn’t funny. We agree on that at least.

Somehow your handbag ends up on the stage, right at her feet. You would say – later on the car ride home, the windows steamy with unsaid words – that I’d pushed it up there with my long fidgety legs.

She empties it onto the dirty wooden floor, picks out a couple of condoms, one blue pen, the glossy business card of our fertility specialist, a Post-it note with the name and phone number of some guy. A packet of mints, peach lipstick. Laid out there, your life seems less than it should.

“So are you trying or are you not?” she asks, and lets rip one of those jokes about putting it in the right hole. The same line as your brother at Christmas two years back, when he asked if we were ever going to get procreating.

Both times we up and leave. You are always hard to read after one of those moments: when a friend, worn bare by lack of sleep, passed you her newborn and pleaded for just one moment of peace, or that time your work colleague joked about getting knocked up again, as if she hadn’t learnt the third time round.

Tonight you pull into the drive, leave the engine running. I wait. You clamber out of the driver’s seat and onto mine. Hike up your dress, tug open my pants. I hear our breath fill the empty spaces, wait for the sound of your laugh, brittle as a single blue line.

HIGHLY COMMENDED

Persephone

By Catherine Clarke

Isabel thought she would be condemned to a life of alopecia, her scalp pale and freckled like a monstrous quail egg. “You’ve been under a lot of stress, Isabel, give it time,” her friends had commiserated. Indeed, the hair she’d lost grew back in a fuzzy auburn halo that bestowed a saintly aura, as if she’d stepped out of a Renaissance painting.

She remembered going to see the recreation of an 18th-century silk-weaver’s house in London. Visitors were asked to imagine what they had only just missed, domestic scenes which their sudden intrusion had forced the inhabitants to abandon: a letter recently opened, a cup of tea half-drunk, the whiff of urine from a chamber pot, an overturned chair. Now, Isabel lived her own contemporary version of this still-life spell.

If she had fed her lover pomegranates, Isabel wondered, would he then have stayed? Sometimes she caught a fleeting glimpse of his loping stride, the set of his shoulders, the whorl of an ear, a certain angle of his jaw, but with the face of a stranger. She imagined that he followed her – but like Orpheus, if she turned to look, he would vanish. Isabel donned a Victorian mourning cape adorned with ostrich feathers. She prayed that once she had departed for the service, he would return.

Down by the harbour, the celebrant resplendent in a red and gold brocade coat shivered in the whittled air. Men in black coats turned up their collars while they waited for the rehearsal of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture to begin. Isabel stood on the wall above the promenade and covered her ears when the cannons fired. A smoky haze of cordite drifted back, as her lover’s gritty ashes sprinkled like rain on the dead calm surface of the sea.

Read the 2018 Short, Short Story winners here.

These stories were first published in the May 2019 issue of North & South.

Follow North & South on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram and sign up to the fortnightly email.

Latest

Pulitzer Prize winner Jared Diamond on the need for nationhood
105738 2019-05-18 00:00:00Z History

Pulitzer Prize winner Jared Diamond on the need fo…

by Andrew Anthony

Jared Diamond’s new book about empowering national identity to respond to crises is bound to tip off yet another controversy, but...

Read more
Jared Diamond: Finland shows how nations can survive adversity and thrive
105744 2019-05-18 00:00:00Z History

Jared Diamond: Finland shows how nations can survi…

by Jared Diamond

Today, Finland is one of the world’s richest countries, but it’s had to fight for it, as this edited extract from historian Jared Diamond’s new...

Read more
Musician Warren Maxwell returns to his roots to connect Wairarapa Māori
105544 2019-05-18 00:00:00Z Music

Musician Warren Maxwell returns to his roots to co…

by Sarah Catherall

Trinity Roots frontman Warren Maxwell is laying down history, recording 25 waiata composed and sung by Wairarapa Māori.

Read more
George Clooney is the driving force behind a new adaptation of Catch-22
105911 2019-05-18 00:00:00Z Television

George Clooney is the driving force behind a new a…

by Fiona Rae

World War II-era Catch-22 swings from drama to comedy as John Yossarian slowly loses his mind.

Read more
How to listen to your body's cues for the optimal time to eat
105454 2019-05-18 00:00:00Z Nutrition

How to listen to your body's cues for the optimal…

by Jennifer Bowden

Your body tells you when it wants food, so you just need to listen.

Read more
Why Te Papa's latest shake-up is raising alarm among experts
105796 2019-05-17 00:00:00Z Social issues

Why Te Papa's latest shake-up is raising alarm amo…

by Sally Blundell

Te Papa’s new nature zone is just one of the big shake-ups at the national museum. Another involves restructuring that some experts warn will...

Read more
MMA fighter Shane Young is on a mission to fight bullying and toxic masculinity
105994 2019-05-17 00:00:00Z Social issues

MMA fighter Shane Young is on a mission to fight b…

by Noted

Napier-born Shane Young is calling out the idea that sharing your emotions is weak.

Read more
The 'Christchurch Call' is just a start. Now we need to push for systemic change
106007 2019-05-17 00:00:00Z Social issues

The 'Christchurch Call' is just a start. Now we ne…

by Kevin Veale

A great deal of evidence suggests that algorithms designed in pursuit of profit are also fuelling radicalisation towards white supremacy.

Read more