The GB Weekly’s Very Short Story Writing Competition
The GB Weekly is delighted to publish a selection of adult entries in this year’s competition. Judging was very difficult because of the variety of approaches adopted by the writers and because the standard was so high. The 60-word restriction had little effect on the creativity of the best entries: with a few deft touches they created mood, built up pictures, conveyed wonder, love, need, resignation and whimsy. Some engaged our sympathy, others made us laugh.
In short - and they were in short – the best stories worked the kind of magic that well-told stories always do. Thanks to everyone who took the chance and entered.
Here are the prizewinners and some highly commended entries. Each prizewinner receives a voucher to Takaka Infusion.
Prizewinners:
The minimalist. Being blameless carries its own sort of poverty. He gave away his grandfather’s medium-format camera. He gave away the turquoise tape called ‘Animals can talk, too!’ (a gift). He gave away the auction photograph, the cardboard sketch of Whitman, his copy of Godot. He gave away everything he didn’t wear, which was clever, and then everything he did.
Joan Fleming
Something happened that day. The sun became brighter, the world got smaller, the life became vulnerable. It was the day I took off my bullet proof vest and my rose tinted spectacles. She changed me like no other woman could or ever would; even today her and her sister have first claim on my heart. That day she was born.
Alan Cockman
Karearea pauses, poised at the peak of flight, winglets aflutter, bleeding off speed. Far below the hard wind’s buffet, lizard’s cold eye flickers over sun-warmed rocks. In a flash of silver he darts out from the cool of the overhang to bask there, baking, as still as night. But Karearea sees it all, each sinuous switch and, talons extended, plummets.
Andy Cole
The sky was blue, the sea sparkled. Bones and Jake passed a dinghy on a beaching trolley.
“Nobody around,” said Jake, “Give us a lift. Let’s go.”
Once launched, they headed for deeper waters. Soon Bones complained -
“My bum’s getting pretty wet.”
“Hell - no wonder! Where’s the bung?” yelled Jake.
“I said bum,” replied Bones, shifting position. “What’s a bung?”
Mona Randall
Jack and Jill’s mother was prosecuted for sending her children on unsupervised errands resulting in injury. She now keeps them indoors at all times. They watch television and play computer games. They get no exercise, eat unhealthy food, are overweight, diabetic and a drain on the taxpayer. She pays for a reticulated water scheme. This is considered to be progress.
Tonie Watts
In the silence and dim light of his room, I felt my heart melt inside my chest as his hands cupped my cheeks and he leant his forehead on mine. The sweetness, tenderness and love contained in this physical connection blew me away. No-one could have prepared me for the depth of beauty in my one year old son’s affection.
Ruth Langford
Could he be the one for you? His gaze lifts till it meets your own. Beautiful eyes. Brown. Your pulse quickens. You take a step in his direction. Beautiful eyes, inquisitive eyes remain on you, questioning. He is gorgeous. A natural blonde. You reach out. He tentatively sniffs. Then, with a hasty lick you realise it’s love. It’s puppy love.
Jenny Malloy
Silence, broken only by the thrill of the tui. Air, fresh, clean, almost intoxicating. Beach, ever changing, footprints wiped clean by the incoming tide. Patterns in the sand, a scattering of sea shells, driftwood. Sea birds soaring, diving, white against the azure sky. Rocky outcrops edging the shoreline, imaginary faces peering from their bony structure. This is our Golden Bay.
Lyn Cook
Like the rumbling, shuddering and thudding of distant thunder, or the howl of a passing motorbike, other times the chirp of a dawn avian... or the creak of a leather shoe, a lonely door. Sometimes a lover’s low moan or even the sound of an autumn breeze, always unique, this olfactory utterance, page 528 of Collins English - fart (taboo).
Des Molloy
Highly Commended:
The extremes of their bodies got banged about, bringing purpling and proof of a mountain. Their heart rates were stellar, and so quick as fishes, that they laid down anywhere - on sharp grass, on spanish thorns, on the claws of mountain crabs. Only afterwards did they feel the cuts, all the tiny tiny cuts, like a forest of proof.
Joan Fleming
Her brother travelled from England and her sister from Tanzania. His brother flew in from Timaru. The garden luxuriated in autumn sun. On the terrace meat rotated on the spit and champagne cooled. Soft music greeted the glamorous bride as she floated down the stairs. Cameras whirred. The day was perfect. Unfortunately the groom’s divorce had not yet been finalised.
Shirley Burt
Beanstalk climbing’s harder than it looks.
Jack struggled up a bit higher. “...wish... I’d stayed... on the ground...”
But Jack’s natural urge was to conquer. Some primeval feeling compelled him to keep going upwards.
He was felling hot - was he really that close to the sun? How much further?
THWACK! Jack went flying.
Caterpillars aren’t loved by human beans.
Tama Kraal
Hannah admired her reflection in the opshop mirror. A bargain! She needed a gown for the Awards. The burn mark under the arm needed fixing. No trouble.
On stage the National President held Hannah’s gold medal deliberately aloft.
“Well done,” she said.
Hannah wondered whether she meant for achieving first prize or the neat patch on the other’s pre-loved gown.
Mona Randall
Today bit out her heart like a quiet rat. She’s whiter than drainpipes. Where’s my sunny sun, my rainy rain? Where’s my kitchen clap-clap, after my afternoon nap? The garden’s leaf littering in teams, and she’s trekking in shed glitter, all hapless inhalations. Grassy pleadings have left stains on her knees. The sun’s got a shiny boyfriend she never sees.
Joan Fleming
When Georgie Porgie tried to kiss the girls, he was accused, found guilty and fined for sexual harassment. The girls received counselling and grew up to be cabinet ministers. Georgie went off women, came out as gay, and lived happily ever after with little Jack Horner. They planted a plum orchard, and Georgie achieved fame for his puddings and pies.
Tonie Watts
