BLF 20:20 Flash Fiction Competition Winners

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Birmingham

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FLASH FICTI O ON M P E T I T I O N

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20:20 Flash Fiction Competition

20:20 Flash Fiction Competition Winners

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To celebrate the 20th year of BLF, and Virgin Trains’ 20th year based in Brum, we came together to launch the 20:20 Flash Fiction Competition.

The Birmingham Mail came on board to welcome submissions of stories up to 500 words. You could write about anything from train travel to Birmingham to the past 20 years.

After reading the 72 entries, we are proud to present our three esteemed winners.

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The 20:20 Flash Fiction Competition Collection is a publication of Writing West Midlands. We support creative writers and creative writing across the region and organise Birmingham Literature Festival.

More information about us can be found at www.writingwestmidlands.org Copyright of all the features in this collection remains with the writers.

Writing West Midlands - Company Registration Number: 6264124.

We are a charity - Registered Charity Number: 1147710.

Stuart Maconie with Our Three Competition Winners following their reading at the BLF ‘Secert Story’ event Image - Lee Allen ©

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Contents

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4 Luke Beddow Waiting

(18yrs + Category)

6 Sophie Blackwell Our Train Home (11-18yrs Category)

8 Rich Jones Noisy Travellers (18+yrs Category)

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Waiting

20 20 Luke Beddow

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Nothing moved in the village: sheep grazed on an almosttoo-green hill; the postman climbed onto a bike, basket overflowing with letters and parcels; at the station a small queue waited at the ticket office while a porter struggled to lift a heavy suitcase onto his trolley. A woman in a green coat stood at the edge of the platform, looking down the line. The rails began to hum. A horn sounded between the hills and a gleaming red-silver locomotive rounded the corner from the valley.

With a hiss, it pulled up at the platform. It waited. Nobody made to embark or alight, and when the time came, it buzzed back into life and disappeared into a tunnel, heading for distant cities, leaving behind the girl in the green coat and the village where nothing moved.

“Michael,” a voice came from down the hallway. “The rubbish needs taking out before you do my dinner.”

“Coming, mum.”

Michael lifted the locomotive carefully from the rails and flicked the switch underneath before setting it back down by the junction at the end of the tunnel. He took the bin bag from the kitchen, picked up his keys from on top of the JSA letter, and stepped out on to the balcony.

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He looked out at the lights from the station. Their flat was close enough that he could see the people on the platform – lone commuters coming home, groups of students heading out for the evening. Michael turned into the stairwell.

Rubbish was piling up around the bins. It had been weeks since the bin men had been, and the carpark smelled like sour milk, compost and vinegar. Michael arced the bin bag so it landed on top of the heap with a muffled thud, then turned back towards the flat. A girl in a green coat stood in the doorway with a suitcase, one side of her face illuminated by the screen of the phone she held to her ear.

“No, I know. I know,” she said into the receiver. There was a pause. “I’m just sick of waiting. If I don’t go tonight, I never will.” Another pause. “’Scuse me, have you got a light?”

It took Michael a moment to register that this part was aimed at him. He fumbled in his pocket and held the flame to the cigarette hanging from her mouth. The orange light glittered on her nose ring.

“Ta,” she smiled, then returned to her phone call. “I know, but it’s my life – I have to live it.”

Back in the living room, Michael looked at his mother, sitting in her wheelchair.

“You can have chicken, or beef and onion,” he said. “I’ll change your catheter bag while it’s in the oven.”

“Thanks bab,” she replied. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Through the window he could see the express train pull up at the platform. The doors opened, and a girl in a green coat climbed on, carrying a suitcase.

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Our Train Home

20 20 Sophie Blackwell

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We get on a train. It is the same one we got on yesterday; the same one we got on every day, every week. We share an unspoken desire for simplicity, relaxing in the embrace of regularity and routine. I tell you honestly, that for as long as we keep to the same in-time pattern day-in-day-out, no anxieties will worm and fester in the deep burrows of my mind. This pattern requires a thousand moments of organisation, but in each and every moment, I share them all with you. Out there the world is daunting: the landscape always evolving, rolling, and fading into the horizon. But you are here- beside me- with your hand in my hand. I hold onto you as the inescapable approaching land ever-nears. We are together.

You get on a train. You always get on a train- once alone and once with me. Your work would have finished three quarters of an hour ago. You should have arrived ten minutes ago. You should be leaning on this pillar right here in front of me, and taking my hand so we could wait for our train. But you’re not. You’re not here. You’re not here at all. Where are you?

I get on a train. We used to take two trains each after

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work, do you remember? One would lead us back together, and the other would lead us both home. I used to find you at the station, but now I never do. I’ve taken the final train home alone for so many months now. I don’t really remember how I got home the first time you weren’t there. I remember searching for you and wishing and waiting for hours on end but I must have given up and forced my feet to the train. Why couldn’t it have been a bad April fool’s prank? I could have forgiven you for that. Now I am stuck in some phantom world of consistency. I still leave your seat empty; I still tell you about my day in my head; I still look for you at the station... The world is constantly changing and you were my constant, but now that you are gone, you still are in some ways. I may not see you ever again, but I will not allow myself to forget or allow myself to give up on some dimming hope that seeing you is not impossibility, just improbability. I never want to forget you: I still get on those trains alone.

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Noisy Travellers

20 20 Rich Jones

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The carriage was empty, apart from two young boys, Tom and Sam, squabbling.

The door slid open, and a small, old lady with a large cane walked through. She moved carefully down the aisle and sat down at the table next to them.

They stopped and looked at her.

She looked back.

“Where are your parents?” she enquired.

“Down there.” Tom, the oldest, replied, pointing towards the next carriage.

“Why aren’t you with them?”

“We’re too noisy!” announced Sam, proudly.

She leaned forwards and peered over the top of her glasses.

“I see.” …

The boys started to fight again. She interrupted them.

“Going far?”

“Miles and miles and miles” replied Sam. “Birmingham” explained Tom.

“Hmm. So am I.” 8

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“You’re going to be noisy all the way, aren’t you?”

“Probably.” smiled Tom. …

Just as the boys were about to argue, the old lady pointed out of the window.

“Look!”

“What?” they demanded.

“What can you see?”

“Dark” said Tom. “Lights” said Sam.

“Lights! Well done.”

Sam beamed.

“So?” asked Tom, sticking his tongue out at Sam. …

“Look again.”

The boys pressed their noses up against the glass. They were about to turn around and complain that they couldn’t see anything else when two of the lights started to grow brighter.

The lights blazed and then grew in size, one of them much bigger than the other. As it grew it started to take on a very recognizable shape.

“A dragon!” exclaimed Tom. “It’s a dragon!” shouted Sam, just a moment behind. Before they could argue about who said it first ..

“Look!”

The other light was changing. A knight, growing, turned to face the dragon. The boys were transfixed. …

The dragon leapt up, fire blasted across the sky. The knight sheltered behind his shield, then swung out with his sword as the dragon flew close. A blow struck the dragon’s

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nose.

The boys cheered.

The knight started to jump around and celebrate. He then bent over and waggled his bottom at the dragon.

A big mistake. The dragon aimed, and snorted flame right at the waggling bottom.

The knight leapt in the air, frantically patting at the flames.

He then tried to hit the dragon’s nose again. The dragon tried to hit back with its tail.

“They look so silly!” laughed Sam.

“Yes, they do, don’t they?”

The old lady, almost forgotten behind them, reached out and tapped the window with her cane.

“That’s quite enough of that, you two”.

The dragon and knight stopped at once. …

There was a flash, and then it was dark.

A sudden announcement startled the boys. “The train will shortly be arriving at Birmingham”.

“Tom? Sam? WAKE UP. Get your things.” their parents called from the carriage door.

The boys looked round. There was no sign of the old lady. There was nothing outside.

On the table were two models, a knight and dragon, and a note …

“They did look silly, didn’t they?”

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Luke Beddow

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Luke lives in Erdington with a scientist, three cats, two guinea pigs and a lizard. He works in a south Birmingham secondary school, where he runs literacy interventions for students with additional learning needs. Luke once co-wrote a novel with nine other authors, and he also writes poetry.

Sophia Blackwell

Sophie is 15 years old and attends Perryfields High School in Oldbury.

Rich Jones

Rich is a university tutor, who lives and works in Birmingham. He has taught students in the UK, China and Japan.