RESULTS – Microcosms 55


Thank you to everyone who submitted a story to Microcosms 55. We had 17 entries again this week.

Please keep returning to Microcosms, and retweet / spread the word about this contest among your followers and friends.

Don’t forget that Microcosms exists primarily to provide a platform for the flash fiction community to hone their skills, and secondarily to give entrants a chance of receiving an accolade from that week’s judge. We also have the vote button for anyone – not just fellow entrants – to register their favourite/favorite(s) and thus establish a Community Pick.

Remember, you can reply with a comment to any and all of the entries AT ANY TIME: It’s good to have feedback.


Many thanks to Geoff Le Pard for judging MC 55. Here’s what he had to say:

This week we had a lot of poetry, perhaps inspired by the Lennon-McCartney lyrics underlying the song titles on offer. Will this be a new feature I wonder? As always I was delighted to read the varied offerings which, given the light tone of a number of the songs, took on a macabre tint. Quite a contrast. The writing – as is usual – was crisp, full of sumptuous metaphors and lyrical similes, though perhaps I would ask for a few more surprises, a few more ‘I didn’t see that coming’ moments. I do enjoy a good twist, people.

So to the judging…



Favourite / Favorite Lines


John Herbert – A gentleman, he was, but etiolated, wan until he bit our Mr Kite.
Bill Engleson – She had these little dead fish eyes, like she had just swum upstream, spawned, took on semi-human form, and put on a uniform.
C R Lackling – Her father’s tears made reality bleak
Nicola Tapson – He was sprawled against my pillow like a bear rug.
Alva Holland – The stickers on her bedhead remain as a reminder of the stories I will miss at bedtime.
Ronel J. van Vuuren – His right eye ticked, the ear-plugs had stopped working by the time the fourth maiden had opened her mouth and all the bacon in the world couldn’t make him feel better.
A V Laidlaw – He scratches at the leather strap around his neck until his throat bleeds.
Angelique Pacheco – I can’t wait for the drudgery of my working life to end.
Geoff Holme – Now they know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall
Steve Lodge – All he asked was if it came with a basket.
Sian Brighal – “It is slightly more expensive, and for obvious reasons requires some precautions on your part.”
Richard Edenfield – Single cloud reflected in the sea like a bow on blue Christmas paper.
A J Walker – As Mr. Kite throws them on a heated ring, it wont be great!
Nancy Chenier – Marilyn was engaged with the bedroom-eyed Pierre up on the 32nd floor.
Steph Ellis – Tell me, would you like to earn enough that you never have to entertain the cold again?’
Laura Besley – If you’re seventeen and you want to get laid, you need to be in a band.
Geoff Holme – When hence the fleeting years expose my pate, Love tokens shall I yet receive from thee?


Special Mention

Richard Edenfield – LSD Beach

The writer either has a fabulous imagination or a rich and misspent youth; their inside knowledge of a LSD trip made for the most surreal piece of writing since, well, a recent acceptance speech.


Honorable / Honourable Mention

A V Laidlaw – Good Morning

This writer provided a lovely twist with the use of a bird of prey – a red kite – as the recipient of the ‘benefit’, and they surely nailed the horror concept with the murderous Maxwell and his provisioning for the birds.



John Herbert – A Visitor at Whitby

I loved how the writer takes us on Kite’s journey to vampire-hood through the eyes of his beast of burden who ends ruing his useless hooves. The grim horror of the show and the victims being taken, set against the powerlessness of the nag, was well done.


And now, without further ado, we present the winners of Microcosms 55.


(insert drumroll here)


 Community Pick

Alva Holland – Please Don’t Go

She’s Leaving Home / Memoir
298 words

She’s leaving home. I’m bereft and feeling alone among eight people remaining in our small house. Nothing’s fair today. Her scent lingers but will soon disappear. The shelves and drawers in our shared room are empty of her things. Her socks will no longer conveniently be confused with mine. She will no longer have to forgive my pilfering (borrowing, I call it). The hooks on the back of the door hold my dressing-gown and coat. Hers are packed away. The stickers on her bedhead remain as a reminder of the stories I will miss at bedtime. Who will read my books with me now? She’s leaving home.
She’s been measured for her new garb. What’s wrong with her? Why has she made this choice? I want her to stay. If I tell her I will miss her, will she change her mind? Too many questions. Not enough answers. Her departure is happening without much input from me. They’re all so busy organising her leaving, they don’t notice my despair, my sadness. Am I selfish? Don’t let me be selfish. I love her. If she wants to do this, I shouldn’t mind. But I do.
The suitcases are in the hall. Da is looking a bit unhappy. Good. I am not the only one then. We’re lined up to say goodbye. ‘When will you be back? How old will I be then? Will we recognise you? Will you be happy? As happy as you were here with us?
Ma’s given her new rosary beads. I guess she’ll need them more than ever now. She’s wearing a small cross around her neck in place of the plain chain I wanted to borrow.
‘Come back soon,’ I say with a vicious hug. ‘Don’t let becoming a nun change you too much.’


Judge’s Pick

Geoff Holme – Elizabethan Sonnet (Source Material for Paul McCartney)

Oh I love sonnets, so this was a sucker punch for me. This was beautifully drawn and written in a style that melded the classily Shakespearean with the earthily Donne. As a love poem, this was perfect and the ending, just delightful; we would all wish for this (those of us, at least, who have yet to reach three score years and four!):

Wilt thou of me have need, and board allow,
When four and sixty winters score my brow?

119 words
When I’m Sixty-Four / Poetry

When hence the fleeting years expose my pate,
Love tokens shall I yet receive from thee?
If, in my cups, I stagger home when late,
Wouldst bar the door, not grant ingress to me?

My worth I’d prove when I to chandler hie,
Lest thou, sans candle, shouldst go dark to bed.
And thou might knit attire the fire by;
On Sabbath, we a primrose path might tread.

Sweet letters I would fain receive from thee
That would make known the pining of thy heart;
Make answers evident and clear to me,
And with such words of love I ne’er would part.

Wilt thou of me have need, and board allow,
When four and sixty winters score my brow?



Congratulations, to all awarded accolades. Alva and I have acted as judge in recent weeks. So, in order to spread the love, the invitation to judge Microcosms 56 is extended to this week’s Runner-up, John Herbert. Please let me know whether or not you are interested ASAP!

RESULTS - Microcosms 56
RESULTS - Microcosms 54

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