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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Clara’s Christmas Wish: Part 23

23. Dezember 2015 at 06:08 (Clara's Christmas Wish) (, , , , , , , , , )

This story works like an Advent calendar – until the 24th of December, I will publish a part of this story each day. Please start your reading with Part 1.

The day of the 24th passed like any other day, only that the girls’ mother was more stressed out than usual. She hated it when the shops closed for more than one day, especially since she had begun to dislike Christian holidays nearly eight years ago. A faint slur of curses would emanate from the kitchen for the next two days, finding fault with the quality of meat or the crispness of the vegetables. She hated the idea that people were feasting in every other house at the price of their meticulously counted money bills – because anyone knew that everything was more expensive just for the sake of the holidays.

Clara felt jubilant when she could finally put Marlene to bed, with the prospect of being able to wake her up a few hours later, to a silent house and burning candles. Clara lay down on her bed, too, just to rest her eyes for a few seconds…
Until she woke with a start.
So did Justin, a few streets away.

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