Chestnut Girl

28. April 2019 at 18:49 (flash fiction, Posts in English)

In March, I attended one of Vienna Storytelling Collective’s open mic nights. The host encouraged us to produce some microfiction (50 words max.) or „a story in a tweet“ on the theme of „When I was young“. And of course I couldn’t resist to share a memory… (I was too young to remember, but my mum told the story to me a few times and well, it sounds very much like me 😉 )

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As a child, I once lost a chestnut in a bus accident. The one who had the accident was the chestnut, not me.
Still, I cried. But the man next to me didn’t understand my sorrow.
I guess he had never lost a beautiful chestnut before.

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A prize-winning story

22. April 2019 at 18:35 (flash fiction, Posts in English) (, , , , , , )

Last Monday, I got an e-mail with some very exciting news: For the first time ever, one of my stories had won a prize! Throughout my writing career, I have taken part in many competitions, with the unwavering hope of being picked and a judge falling in love with my story… And now my dream has finally come true, in Write NOW’s monthly Postcard Story Contest, as you can read here.

And here’s the story:

Metamorphosis

The last strand of blond hair fell to the ground. Hannah dragged Emma’s chair around, huffing. She lifted the blindfold.

“How d’you like it, Em?” Hannah’s voice quavered as she met Emma’s gaze in the mirror which also reflected the faces of the onlookers at the back of the room. The girls started to snicker as Emma combed the remnants of her hair with her fingers in disbelief, blinking the tears away.

“I thought you were my friend,” she hissed, getting up to face Hannah. She was almost a foot taller than her hairdresser.

“Relax, Em, it’s just a game.” Hannah held up her hands in defence. “They’ll grow back,” she said and looked at the audience for reassurance. They stayed mute, but their grins spoke volumes.

“Just a game, yes?” Emma grabbed the scissors. “Well, then it’s my turn to play now.”

Hannah shrieked when Emma’s hands closed around her ponytail and the taller girl pushed her up against the mirror. Emma yanked Hannah’s head to the side. Pinning it against the cold glass with one hand, she cut the hair right beneath the pink ribbon with the other. Hannah wailed.

It was only when Emma felt the softness of the brown locks gliding through her fingers that she realised she was no better than her own bullies now.

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