Winner, Young Writers’ Flash Fiction Contest

As an addition to our March online flash fiction day, Susmita Bhattacharya, who was a judge for the adult contest, and is a facilitator for the Mayflower Young Writers Group in Southampton, hosted a parallel flace-to-face flash fiction workshop for young writers. The young people also had their own writing competition. Flash Fiction team member, Alison Woodhouse, dropped in to their session to talk more about flash and to set a prompt. She asked writers to use an object as the focal point of a piece of flash to tell a story.

Thank you to all who entered. Alison has now chosen the winner! Huge congratulations to Katie Britton, a member of MayFlower Young Writers, @MayflowerYW who used a mirror as her focal point. Katie’s story is based on an actual mirror in her house, and we love that she has sent us her picture posed in front of it. Katie wins a special mug with the flash fiction logo, which has ‘Winner’ and her name written on the back.

Her excellent story is copied in below and here’s what Alison Woodhouse had to say about it:

A cleverly constructed story that repeats the refrain ‘Do you remember’ to mark the passing of the years as the reader ‘sees’ the narrator in a series of moments. The echoing of the opening and ending (we found you in a charity shop) literally mirror each other, a very good way to structure the story. I was really impressed by this tender story and the transition of the narrator from a child barely able to see their reflection to one who is ready to leave home and step out into the world. Bravo!

Katie Britton

Mirror in the Hallway

by Katie Britton

Do you remember how we found you, leant against the wall of a charity shop,
how we giggled at the luck of our find?

Do you remember when I came home, oozing with excitement after a day at the farm,
how I plastered you with my playdough creations?

Do you remember how I looked at you, everytime I left the house as if you were a portal to the outside world,
how I was really just proud I was tall enough to see myself?

Do you remember my new uniform which I smugly displayed to you,
how you soothed the butterflies that swirled in my stomach on my first day of secondary school?

Do you remember how I stood by you as I nervously awaited the arrival of my new friends, the first I had met without the guidance of my mother,
how I jittered at the thought of their first visit to my house?

Do you remember the many times you’ve seen them since then, how you’ve watched friendships grow and fade away?

Do you remember last week, when my closest friends, who you met so many years ago, laughed at the dried out bits of playdough, how we took mirror selfies, ridiculing the latest trend?

Do you anticipate my final glance in your direction, as I begin my life beyond this house, my return to the hallway far in the future,
how I’ll look and remember when we found you, leant against the wall of a charity shop.

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