The the for this season’s microfiction competition was ‘weather’ and you can read the full Judge’s Report here.
The next microfiction competition (autumn) will be announced later in the year and will be judged by BIFFY50 Editor, Barbara Lovrić.
037.Storm – Rachael Smart
When the waves scream black and the rain falls pewter, I go back. The very spot. Headland between St Anthony’s lighthouse and the liner where our gentle stroll soured under an iron sky, where the tightening’s came thick and a passing stranger had to ease off my tights. Grip on, pet. Reckon to leave the cord well alone.
And you: quick as a bream and blue as and all mine but only a shell. Sirens come in with the tide, they say. They did that night. Neon lights. Your eyelashes were minute: commas with rain drops on them.
Drought – Alison Woodhouse
“You’re so buttoned up,” the young gardener nods at my collar.
Late autumn sun beats down on the dead grass. I can’t remember the last time I used a sprinkler.
He’s drinking iced coke. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
I touch my pearly buttons; keep them fastened.
“Suit yourself,” he says.
I’ve seen him at the neighbours, watering her lawn under the moonlight. Her whole garden glistened.
He’ll go south soon, winter will be cold: I’ll need to warm myself with memories that burn.
I tell myself it’s not so difficult. Take it one button at a time.
Blaming The Rain – Hannah Whiteoak
It was the rain that did it.
Or rather, it was the combination of the rain and the pipe that burst under the road, sending water bubbling up from the drain and spreading across the street, bus shelter poking out of the flood like an urban Noah’s Ark. He arrived home an hour late, shoes soaked, bottoms of his new suit trousers soggy and stained, and understandably upset.
But that would take too long to explain, so she said she’d fallen down the stairs again.