Here are the top entries from our recent Flash competition on the subject of “Utopia”.
1st place – “2046” by Catherine Ogston
Rosa loves to pull objects out of the box and prise them open like clams, toggle the tiny switches, watch the light reflect off their redundant screens. What are they called, she says and Polly tells her: calculator, mobile phone, kindle, memory stick. What did they do, Rosa asks and her mother tries to remember why each one was useful. But it’s the laptop Rosa loves the most and she wants to know just how all the information of the world could fit into one slim box. Polly explains the internet again, how it should have changed the world for the better but it seeded division and lies and hatred. Wow, says Rosa, squashing the keyboard buttons, pretending to join the information superhighway. It’s better this way says Polly as her daughter wanders off, leaving her to tidy up. The box in her hands, she gazes outside at the stars and watches as each one turns into computerised letters and numbers. They glow in white and neon brights, increasing in size until they join together and zip across the sky, forming streams of text and garbled audio and animated pictures. Digital photos flip like a stack of cards in the wind and a line of emojis dance as if in a ticker-tape parade, while in the air there is a buzz of electronic connections and strangers talking to each other. Rectangles containing friends on video calls ripple like flags against the black expanse and …then her daughter’s call startles her. When she looks back the night is dark, the stars are only tiny diamond dazzles. There is silence, stillness and Polly feels alone. It is better this way, she tells herself, as she goes to kiss her child goodnight. Of course it is.
2nd place – “A Step Too Close” by Julie Bardill
Today she is wearing her blue summer dress, the one that he hated, and comfortable shoes. She is happy, so happy she wants to skip like a child. She feels as though the world sings in honour of her freedom. Hell’s gaping maw was ready to swallow her very essence, and now she is saved. Relief.
Her days of pain and despair dumped in the hallway, alongside the bags she was unable to carry. She goes forward with her newly found courage, so much lighter she could float. Only the weight of the baby growing inside her holds her down. It’s time to savour. Everything.
A new home, surrounded by enticing mountains. She decides to climb; keenly sensing how this represents her struggle. Each step pushing her upwards into a different future. Positive.
She won the lottery, literally, and totally unexpectedly. The only possible escape route landed magically on her doorstep. Who could have imagined? Her cold, vicious life dismissed as if he never existed. Fate.
As she reaches the summit, hope encircles her, a culmination of joy. She must capture the incandescence of this moment forever. There is a hint of drizzle in the warm, descending mist. She sees rainbows dance and flicker around her. Ephemeral, here then gone. The sea shimmers in the distance. Mesmerising.
She poses. A perfect pose for the perfect picture. Up on the crag, arm outstretched, she turns and arches her upper back away from the lens to encompass it all. Her expression, her belly, the wondrous vista. She lengthens, a fraction more, unfurling towards the unreachable horizon that beckons. Her hair wafts, the trace of a breeze, like the innocuous swish of a cat’s tail. Bliss.
Just one more careful step. A smile. A gasp. A fleeting taste of Utopia as she falls.
3rd place – “Sanctuary” by James Edwards
She collapsed to her knees, and wept. She knew that the tears were a waste of fluids that her body was desperately starved of, but it was an uncontrollable reaction. She had made it. After travelling through hell, at last she had arrived.
She saw a man approach and instinctually stiffened, fixing her face-covering that had become dishevelled during the long and torturous journey. He held out water for her.
“Here, drink”.
She stared into his dark eyes, searching for malice behind his words, but could find only warmth. Still, her suspicions were strong. She had seen many eyes during her travels, eyes laced with wrath, and lust.
But her hands betrayed her and reached out for the cup. She drank greedily. Then panic again. She had nothing to bargain. What did this stranger expect in return?
The man read her thoughts. “It is okay. You are safe now. Come with me.”
With trepidation she raised to her feet and walked behind the man. She saw white structures gleaming bright in the blistering sun. Then a sound, that shook her to her core. A high-pitched trill that seemed, at first, alien to her. Children’s laughter. It filled her with joy, and heartbreak, in equal measures.
A second man up ahead called, “Take her to one-six-seven. Still space there.”
She smiled at a child playing in the dust. The child’s mother sat under the shade of a tarp, a glazed look on her face, looking down at the ground to avoid the newcomer’s gaze.
The man called back, “Got another 200 tents arriving later, God knows where they expect us to squeeze them all in. This is no way for people to live.” She walked further into the camp, exhausted but relieved, feeling at last she had found her sanctuary.
Highly Commended & Top Newark Entry: “Heaven on Earth” by Isaac Martin
“Ambrosia – food of the gods.” That’s what Mum always said. Every Sunday afternoon, without fail, she would reach into the cupboard and say the exact same thing, and every time, as she pulled out the tin of custard, her face would light up. Even after all her hair came out and she had barely enough strength to use the tin-opener, her smile would still light up the kitchen.
On Mum’s good days, it was Ambrosia with crumble from the freezer, snuggled up together watching Finding Nemo. On Mum’s bad days, it was Ambrosia and Skittles for me, while she fought to keep her eyes open. The very last time was at the hospital – Ambrosia and Skittles, with hundreds and thousands, squirty cream, and sparklers – and even though Mum still had her smile, I could see she was crying.
At the funeral, Grandma put a tin of Ambrosia in with Mum for me, to take with her. Afterwards, when I lived with Aunt June, she would take me to visit Mum on Sunday afternoons. I would bring my schoolwork and my swimming badges, but Aunt June said we didn’t need to bring a tin with us, because Mum had one with her for always.
One Sunday it rained so badly that Aunt June said we couldn’t go, even though I wanted to show Mum the gold star I got that week at school. While I cried at the kitchen table, Aunt June looked through the cupboards and did something I’d never seen before. When she was finished, she placed two bowls on the table, one for me and one for her, and handed me a spoon. I was transfixed. It tasted exactly like Mum’s smile. Whole milk, corn flour, egg yolks, white sugar, vanilla paste – food of the gods.
Congratulations to the winners and big thanks to our judge, Anne Howkins. Thank you too to all of those who entered and made Anne work hard to pick the top 4!
All images generated from Hotpot.ai
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