"100" Competition: Results

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100 Word Mini-Tales Competition

  Results from Previous Rounds

Here you can see winners and runners-up for previous competition rounds, along with their stories.

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The Write Path 2016

Many of the competition winning entries, along with full judging notes, are available in our anthology, The Write Path 2016, including:

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The Write Path 2017

Many of the competition winning entries, along with full judging notes, are available in our anthology, The Write Path 2017, including:

Why not order your copy today? Click the image for details.

Round Winner Runner-Up Judge
1 Tracey Glasspool Jeanne Waddington Marvin Close
2 Helen Meikle Nemone Thornes Dave Simpson
3 Sylvia H Thomson Diane Simmons Diane Whitley
4 Clarke O'Gara Angela McCrann Tim Wilson
5 Jill Mirza Edmund Piper Simon Whaley
Round 1
Winner Runner-up
Faces by Tracey Glasspool The Accident by Jeanne Waddington
They took Gran away after she threw the kettle at me.

She didn't mean to. For months she'd been seeing a stranger's face reflected back at her from mirrors, windows, puddles. That day it was in her copper kettle. She'd just boiled it for tea.

The burns have healed now, just a little scarring on one leg. I visit Gran every day and she's much happier at the home. Nothing shiny in her room, no reflections anywhere, no more screaming.

Everything should be good.

But this morning, in the mirror, I saw a face looking back.

And it wasn't mine.
Percy's had an accident but he daren't tell. He sits in the warm, wet patch, hoping it will dry before the lesson ends. Next thing, the Headmaster bursts in. "Lovely, sunny day outside. Early playtime everyone!"

The children rush outside cheering. Percy remains rooted to the spot.

"What's wrong Percy?" asks Mrs Gently, walking towards him, sipping from a plastic cup.

"Nothing Miss." he mumbles.

She lets the cup slide and cold water fills Percy's lap.

"So sorry Percy. Clumsy me! Run outside and dry off."

Percy skips off into the sunshine and joins his mates.

"What happened to you?..."
Round 2
Winner Runner-up
Seeing Jacob by Helen Meikle First Meeting by Nemone Thornes
She sees him at Wynyard station, taking the stairs up two at a time.


But he doesn't look back, and she's sucked away on the escalator down.

At the bottom she breaks free, swings around the barrier, hurls herself upwards just as he reaches the top...


...shoves frantically through the crowd on the concourse, sliding through gaps, elbowing space, dodging and weaving, catching her breath from fear and the heat. Sees his broad back...


...reaches him by the flower stall and grabs his arm...


He turns.
A stranger.
It's as if he's died a second time.
For years, Amy had begged her mother to tell her. One day, she asked yet again: "Who was my father? I need to know."

"Perhaps it's time," her mother said. "Prepare yourself for a shock."

Amy's mother had become pregnant accidentally. She'd felt tied down by having a child and had run away, leaving baby Amy with her boyfriend. But he had a secret that was ruining his life. Eventually, he'd taken radical, irreversible action.

It was an astounding story, but looking afresh at her mother's large hands and big feet, Amy knew it for the truth.

"Dad ..." she said.
Round 3
Winner Runner-up
Lavinia by Sylvia H Thomson Robbed by Diane Simmons
She abandoned me at birth. A note pinned to my shawl read 'Lavinia'. They found her, but she wanted me adopted..

The feelings I experienced when my own children were born hardened me against her. I needed to find her; to ask questions.

I traced her to a special Dementia Unit. I wouldn't get much sense out of her, they said. She was pacing the floor and cradling a doll in her arms, eyes staring blankly into space. I touched her arm but she turned away and began to speak softly to her doll. "Lavinia," she crooned, "Lavinia, don't cry."
I wipe Holly's tears. "Are things bad today?"

"Yes. But you go, Mum."

"Perhaps ...if you can get out of bed ..."

She struggles to sit up, then slides off the bed and crawls along the landing. Slowly, she shuffles down the stairs.

When she's settled, I put on the 'Hamlet' DVD, but she closes her eyes, even the film beyond her. The M.E. has robbed her of her brain, of the ability to concentrate.

At work, I cuddle a nervous child on my lap as I read to my class, try not to think about my own child, alone.
Round 4
Winner Runner-up
Virginity by Clarke O'Gara Bump by Angela McCrann
"Tell us how you lost yours," says Janet.

"I bet you lost it really young," says Alexa, she stops herself "I didn't mean to say you're a slut."

"You're such a spastic, Alexa," says Janet. Everyone is laughing generously.

But I know I am a slut. I'm drunk. I'm angry at the bride-to-be sash around Janet's torso. So I tell them.

"I'd known the guy for years. I was 16. It hurt. I was bleeding. The usual stuff. Afterwards he said to me, 'Clean yourself up quick. I don't know when your mum is coming home.' I said, 'Thanks, Dad.'"
Call me Bump. A small bump beneath her clothes. She knows I'm here. Him too. I hear them talk.

They worry me; so young and vulnerable, while I'm what they call an old soul. I've seen species evolve and empires rise and fall.

He frets about money, but I've lived my lives in palaces and slums. It's love not cash that makes for happiness.

She fears they'll crush my unborn self. He sulks, missing the nightly bump and grind that put me here.

No name yet -- they can't decide. It's all the same to me. Just don't call me Ishmael.
Round 5
Winner Runner-up
The Beating by Jill Mirza Just in Time by Edmund Piper
I am pushed to the floor. Punched, kicked. Eventually the beating stops, but out of the corner of my eye I can see two feet circling round me, like a boxer waiting for his opponent to get up. I daren't move. The smell of carpet fills my nostrils. Only when I hear the door open, then close, do I roll over onto my back. I wait for my wife. I know she will come soon. She will kiss me, tend my wounds, and then, just like she always does, she will say sorry and promise never to do it again.
Justin Thyme. Eponymously condemned to a lifetime's struggle against the clock, one desperate deadline scramble after another. Everything left to the last moment, no time to spare. Forever playing catch-up, good intentioned, but always last to arrive, out of breath, full of excuses. Even in love, a forgiving bride kept waiting at the church.

True to form to the very end, the cortege ground to a sudden halt. Burst tyre. A slick wheel change, an undignified dash to the crematorium, a breathless service happily concluded just as the next funeral party drew into the chapel entrance. Just in time.
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Article Information
Author: Kevin Machin Date: March 12, 2015 11:52 am
Categories: Competition Results, 100 Words Competition Tags: None
Comments: 0 – disallowed Article: 3817 – published

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