Congrats to all who participated in the write-a-thon writing contests. We’re publishing the winners below for each category. The contest entries were all written within a two hour window during the write-a-thon, for prizes of $25 in each category.
Special thanks to our judges, Mat Johnson, Tony Hoagland, Kevin Prufer, and Aaron Reynolds.
Limerick Award Winner: Scott Chalupa
Judge: Tony Hoagland
A woman consumed with her weaving
discovered her husband was leaving
then opened her blouse
to all sorts of louts
and bedded her way through the grieving.
Shortest Story Award winner: Melissa Dziedzic
Judge: Mat Johnson
The bearded lady, passing a mirror, went to the store to buy scissors and a razor.
Haiku Award Winner: Rebecca Wadlinger
Judge: Kevin Prufer
The wooden swing moves
April’s wind is hard and strong
but the child is gone
Flash Fiction Winner: Jenni McFarland
Judge: Aaron Reynolds
When George came home, Alice was reading his email. Without looking up, she clicked the message, marked it “unread,” and closed out the tab. She left open her own email, and a few innocuous Wikipedia pages.
She was better at this game than he. He always greeted her too eagerly when she came home; with shaky hands, he’d close out the porn he’d been watching before she made it over to kiss him hello.
“Did you know Madonna went to U of M,” she said. He kissed her, looking over her shoulder at the computer. She knew he would. “How was your day?” She figured she’d clear the browser history when he went to wash his face.
“Not bad,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. “Mind if I hop on? I need to email my professor.”
No problem. He’d have no reason to suspect she’d been snooping.
She passed his laptop, then sat picking at her fingernails.
He wasn’t typing. He watched her over the top of the screen.
She smiled. “I’ve had ‘Like a Virgin’ in my head all day.”
He was clicking the touchpad, still not typing. He’d probably gotten side-tracked reading Madonna’s Wikipedia page.
“We should go to a concert,” she said.
“Sure.” His monosyllabic response was disconcerting. He still wasn’t typing. Perhaps he was reading her email. That didn’t worry her. She kept the emails from his brother in a separate account. So why the grunted response? The narrowed eyes? He glanced between her and the screen.
Then it hit her. She’d only closed his email out; she hadn’t signed out of the page. He would have found his email already logged on. She waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. He just handed the computer back to her, and went to wash his face.
