Fish Publishing Flash Fiction Competition
Deadline: February 28, 2024
Writers from all nations eligible
Top ten stories will be published in the FISH ANTHOLOGY 2024
- 1st prize: €1,000 ($1,000)
- 2nd prize: Online Writing Course + €300 ($300)
- 3rd prize: €300 ($300)
Judge: Michelle Elvy
Submit unpublished stories up to 300 words (excluding title)
Results: April 10, 2024
Anthology Published: July 2024
Entry Fees: €14 ($14) for first entry, €9 ($9) each additional
See the complete rules and submit.
Please enjoy Susan Wigmore's winning entry from last year...
First Steps in Probability
We're kicking fag packets down the alley behind Tanners Lane and I let you win because I want to tell you I love you, there in the scrubby weeds and litter and dog-piss stink of it, and I do. Love you, Chrissy O'Connor. I love you.
You lean in as if to hug me but instead do that daft tripping thing your dad does and run off laughing. I brush grit from my knees. Your hair is so dark it shines blue like a magpie's wing. Prove it, you say, when I catch up, your hand already on the Merry Widow's gate. You push it open. Strung across the yard is a washing line with its straggle of clothes.
A pair of knickers, you say. I dare you.
We know she's home. We can hear her singing.
There's ivy on the fence, huge shovel leaves, veins yellow and fine, there's a tartan peg-bag and tights the colour of toffee, and look, there's my hand snatching the Widow's knickers. See the pegs fly! See my pumping heart flow in my veins, Chrissy O'Connor!
You're by the bin at the town end of the alley where your dad meets his girlfriends. The knickers are saggy and grey. I'll push them through old Harry's letterbox, I say. That'll set tongues wagging.
Silly cow, you say, and run across the road.
We do star-jumps at each other, cars jammed between us, and you hug me when I reach you, my mouth deep in your magpie hair. The thought of kissing you makes me gasp. Your bag slips from your shoulder and you push us both away. In your hand, the Widow's knickers filched from my pocket. I watch as you chuck them in a skip. Your slow smile. The thrill of it all –
