June 22

Joani Reese – Texas, USA

FIRST PLACE

At the Crossroads Bar

“Last call,” Keiko flicks lights.

The one-eyed vet’s chair scrapes against bar wood. A father passes a window, eyes searching left, right, car radio streaming Tchaikovsky into winter’s white glare. An eye patch waits aslant his passenger seat. Hands grip the wheel. Each bundle trudging the sidewalk may be his boy.

The vet fits his cap, drops crumpled bills, ambles into biting air. Keiko watches him lift his collar, light a Lucky, pat an empty pocket. Her hand waves, then retreats to the deadbolts.  Brake lights flash, their red stars carve fresh wounds into night.

Joani Reese is a writer and poet living in Texas, USA.  Her most recent hybrid collection is called Night Chorus.  Reese curates the AWP offsite reading series Hot Pillow.

Image: Lonely Man by Nicolas Martin

June 21

Zoë Deans – Ōtautahi Christchurch, Aotearoa New Zealand

SECOND PLACE

Cast

Our talk has turned sore, again. I press my forehead to the car window and watch the hills unspooling. Beside the road there is a mound like a drowned cotton ball, like stacked sacks. “Pull over,” I say. The sheep is on its side, panting, one eye staring skyward. For once: something I know how to right. I claw its fleece into my fists and lean back. I feel the sudden thrum of muscle as the ewe thrashes, then all at once it’s standing, lurching away. Back inside the car, the silence pools like frost in a valley.

Zoë Deans lives in Ōtautahi. Their poems have been published in places like takahē, The Spinoff and Overcom. They have a lot of respect for anyone who writes flash fiction!

June 20

Sue Barker – Waipu, Te Tai Tokelau Northland, Aotearoa New Zealand

THIRD PLACE

Mānawa, breathing in the mangroves   

She drives fast, milk-water mangroves whip past both sides of the motorway. Fast through the misty half-light of this low cloud city. Needs to go, put down distance. Early morning rain rises in wisps as sunstrike hits, car veers, she overcorrects, takes flight, lands in the tide, upside down. Still clipped in – so time, but not much.

No matter where, he’ll unearth her. He will.

Stay here, sink to the silt floor. Water lapping her crown. His little princess, drowned.

No, slide out, shimmy up, pull through. Survive in the mānawa, thrive in the brine. Filtering, buffering, silently watchful.

Sue Barker lives in Waipu, rural Te Tai Tokelau Northland, Aotearoa New Zealand. She writes short form fiction and some poetry. She’s been published in Fast Fibres Poetry, Flash Frontier and two anthologies of Northland flash and in 2025 in Te Moana o Reo | Ocean of Languages.

June 19

Marie Gethins – Cork, Ireland

SHORT LIST

Anomaly

The physicist’s daughter lives an accelerated existence. After her mother leaves, she spins from child to house-manager in a split second. The physicist gives his daughter a domestic duties list coupled with daily observations on potential improvements. Yet, he appreciates the charm quarks that differentiate her. Inertia is the force that holds his universe together. Over time, she calculates optimum separation velocity. What kinetic energy is required to sustain her existence. On her eighteenth, a shockwave pins the physicist to his chair when she thanks him for his generous birthday cheque and exits, leaving him alone in residual fallout.

Marie Gethins featured in Winter Papers, Bristol Short Story Prize, Australian Book Review, REED, NFFD Anthologies, Fictive Dream and others. Selected for Best Microfictions, BIFFY50, Best Small Fictions, she is a Hawthornden Fellow, the Banshee flash fiction editor, co-edits for Splonk and lives in Cork, Ireland.

June 18

Slawka G. Scarso – Castel Gandolfo (Rome), Italy

SHORT LIST

When he comes home from work, his home is no longer his

When he comes home from work, his home is no longer his. His wife sits on the debris, crying dust. Behind her, bulldozers dig out their dreams. He tries to shout, but only rubbles come out of his mouth. He punches the air till his children hug his knees. He looks at them and swallows a roar demanding justice.

In front of them: bulldozers and a crisscross of rifles, their bayonets piercing their ill-placed hopes.

Behind: prefab walls and roofs, new windows, new doors. And a family that looks much like their own but not enough.

Based in Italy, Slawka G. Scarso has published flash and micros in numerous anthologies and magazines including Ghost Parachute, Fractured Lit, Mslexia and Flash Frontier. Her debut novella in flash “All Their Favourite Stories” is available from Ad Hoc Fiction. More words on Bluesky and www.nanopausa.com

June 17

Kat Ziesler, Oslo, Norway and Aotearoa New Zealand

SHORT LIST

Grout Lines

The tiles over auntie Josie’s kitchen bench are made of fog and mountains. Ane sometimes leans on her elbows, and stares into the mist. Up close the grout lines slip from focus and she can smell cold soil and hear dew drops on ferns. If Josie joins, Ane inspects her hands, and sees a forest creature! Trapped, in a cave stream!  Ane’s fingers trace the bulging veins on Josie’s hand, and together they guide the creature to safety.

They breathe, relieved, say wow, quite the adventure. And they sit, with their hands stacked. Like a cairn, on a wooden bench.

Kat Ziesler shares her time between her native Norway and New Zealand – and is currently enjoying summer in Oslo. She graduated from Hagley Writers’ Institute in Ōtautahi-Christchurch last year, and was shortlisted for the Margaret Mahy Award. Her stories have appeared in Flash Frontier and Quick Brown Dog.

June 16

Jonathan Cardew – Milwaukee, Wisconsin/ Sheffield, UK

SHORT LIST

Rob Lowe Stares at Me for a Very Long Time

And he does not blink. He cradles a thimbleful of coffee–sips it like the world isn’t real. His eyes—glacial, vacant.

I want to ask him: Where does your hair learn such stillness? What pact did you sign to tame the wind?

But silence prevails.

I reach for my coffee—clumsy, doomed. I baptize the table. My rituals are messy. Napkins flutter like white flags.

Rob Lowe doesn’t move. Rob Lowe will never move. His gaze is now the law of physics.

Jonathan Cardew is the author of A WORLD BEYOND CARDBOARD (ELJ Editions). His short and shorter stories can be found at SmokeLong Quarterly, Wigleaf, HAD, Flash Frontier and other venues. Check out his author page: https://elj-editions.com/jonathan-cardew/ Instagram/Facebook: @jonathancardew

June 15

Tim Saunders, Papaioea Palmerston North, Aotearoa New Zealand

SHORT LIST

Magpies

Old Tom’s gone light in the head. He’s taking potshots at the magpies that never shut up or give him a moment’s peace. Old Tom’s got the barrel out the window, and feathered paint flakes to the ground every time he pulls the trigger. The sun has disappeared behind those bloody pines, just a sliver remains to slide over his face like red lips.

“Blasted magpies,” says Tom as they hide behind their black and white cars.

“Blasted magpies,” he says as they call for backup.

Quardle oodle ardle wardle doodle, their sirens say.

June 14

Malory Antony, Tāmaki Makaurau Auckland, Aotearoa New Zealand 

Road Story

First State Highway 39 came unstuck on the outskirts of Pirongia. A segment some fifty meters long peeled up and left a scab behind, though the worms moving through it seemed unaffected. Two days later, the same highway flaked up at the tip, and spat gravel at its successor that ran the coast down to Te Papaioea. Another week, and the infection saw the asphalt in Porirua shivering in weak pulsations. I felt it, when the concrete sickness reached the capital. I pressed my body to the pockmarks left by the continual rain, and felt it closer still.

Malory Antony is a dedicated slacker whose usual medium of expression is a power walk in the middle of the working day. They occasionally resort to prose when their thoughts get too big for their feet.

June 13

Mikki Aronoff, Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA

Nest egg

“Let’s just call it a separation,” our hippie vet says, slowly plunging blue poison into my dog. “He’ll turn up again. But not like a bad penny.” Her gaze swings between me and Bandit, gauging our reactions to the needle. “Not tarnished like your ex,” she adds. She lives next door, doesn’t miss a thing. “Shiny. New.” I wish she’d shut up. This is a liminal space, and I like my transitions peaceful. Soon, Bandit sighs his last tiny breath, droops in my arms. Seven pounds never felt so heavy. I exhale, rise, deposit my sweet penny in the bank. 

Mikki Aronoff lives in New Mexico, where she writes tiny stories and advocates for animals. She has stories in Best Microfiction 2024 and in Best Small Fictions 2024 and upcoming in Best Microfiction 2025 and Best Small Fictions 2025.

June 12

Emily Macdonald, London, England

Mirror, Mirror in the Miniature Garden

When she rips the vanity mirror from mother’s purse, it’s only borrowing, she tells herself. Besides, mother is too old to need it. But the ripping is decisive, untidy. She steals a coin too, figuring mother won’t miss it.

Around the mirror pond, she mounds moss. Soft emerald banks, the kind a princess might lay upon to gaze at her princely frog. Snapped heads of narcissi make a snowy flower bed, bruised apple blossoms make a meadow.

Leaning in until her whole eye is reflected, she sees milky white, the star-burst green iris. And the endless black at the centre.

Emily Macdonald is published online and in anthologies. She has been shortlisted for the Bath Short Story Award twice and was nominated for Best Microfiction 2024 and 2025 by Raw Lit. Her collection of driving related stories, Wheel Spin and Traction, was published in 2023.

 Bluesky: @ekmacdonald.bsky.social

June 11

Clare Mariskind, Ōtautahi Christchurch, Aotearoa New Zealand

Communion

Early Sunday morning, long shadows. I walk to the cathedral as the city sleeps. An ambulance is parked beside a building. An open window high up, a shrouded lump on the pavement, two paramedics bending over. As I edge past, one lifts the cloth. Blonde hair splayed, ashen face, she is about my age. I stride away, towards sanctuary.      

I see her face as the priest raises the bread: This is my Body, which is given up for you.

In my kitchen, her face lingers as I finger my meds. Sunlight refracts through the glass of water: a benediction.

Clare Mariskind has recently moved to Ōtautahi Christchurch from Takaka, and is loving the creative jolt the city and its environs provide. She is currently in the advanced class at Hagley Writers’ Institute, and her writing has been published in takahē and NZ Poetry Society anthologies.

June 10

Viktoriia Vozharenko, Odessa, Ukraine & Lancaster, Pennsylvania, USA

To see the author read, go here.

Our messages hang somewhere

Our messages hang somewhere above, tangled in high-voltage wires, struggling to break through. The airstrikes cut off our connection over 24 hours ago. I was born, went to school, and graduated in a basement. Here I met you. I don’t know what your skin feels like, or what your laughters like without technical distortion. Outside drones hunt us; drones deliver our pizza. I keep refreshing my messages:

—Are you okay?

—Are you alive?

—Do you have connection?

Do you know I think of you, even when the signal’s gone?

A blast nearby shook the walls. The light flickered.

“Sent.”

“Read.”

“…”

Born in Odessa, Ukraine, Viktoriia Vozharenko moved to Lancaster, PA in 2018. Viktoriia writes fiction and non-fiction based on her experiences as an immigrant who also lived through war and violence. She publishes her works on https://medium.com/@viktoriavozharenko.

June 9

Rob Walton, Whitley Bay, England

Some things will end up being hard to swallow

Here we go. The old aeroplane routine. Wooden highchair, plastic spoon, elevated arm, unlikely noises. Sorry about the TV news blaring out, but let’s eat. This smashed avo is knowledge. It’s frowned upon these days, but we still think it’s good for you. Compassion and mashed carrot zooming in. Go on, have more. I’ll try some myself. Here it comes.

Nyowwmm. Bit of empathy with your breadstick? Righteous anger while your dad’s out of the room? Part of a balanced diet, my love. Here’s your grippy-sippy-tippy cup. Drink to all of us, darling. Pray for us and drink to us.

Rob Walton is from Scunthorpe, and now lives in Whitley Bay, England.  His work has appeared in various anthologies and magazines worldwide.  Arachne Press (UK) published his collection, This Poem Here, and The Emma Press published his quirky MG story collection, Please Don’t Read The Footnotes Please in 2025. @robwaltonwriter https://robwaltonwriter.co.uk/

June 8

Karen Walker, Ontario, Canada

Calgary is so far away, and Dan has gone glam 

Pop’s know-it-all Naugahyde recliner always knew my marriage was doomed.

Every day, Mum’s purple velveteen dining room chair forgets I’m divorced. Every night says, Your husband is late for dinner!

I’m going mad in a tiny studio apartment.

Sandra can’t/won’t take them, shipping to Calgary being pricey, potentially damaging for a tired recliner and a confused chair. “No, will remember Pop and Mum @ home.”

My brother can’t/won’t take them either, his fiancée being fancy. Dan sends a photo of their new baby – a cream linen tufted sofa with mink cushions – and a message: “Miss and Love U, Parents.”  

Karen Walker (she/her) draws and writes in a low basement in Ontario, Canada. Her recent work is in Stanchion, Exist Otherwise, Mythic Picnic, Misery Tourism, coalitionworks and Does it Have Pockets.  

June 7

Jude Higgins, Bath, England

A Late Lunch in Oxford the Weekend of The Grand National 

I was drowning in booze and nostalgia when you dashed off saying it was worth taking a punt, and I thought you meant literally stealing a punt like we did that moonlit night near St Hilda’s, when you proposed to me then fell in the water before I had a chance to say yes, so I staggered to the Cherwell to find you, and was loosening the ropes on a lovely punt when a policeman nabbed me the very moment you phoned to say you’d bet everything on that horse with my name but it hadn’t come through.

Jude Higgins is a writer and writing events organiser. She’s published widely in magazines and anthologies and her flash fiction collection Clearly Defined Clouds was published by Ad Hoc Fiction in 2024. She founded Bath Flash Fiction Award and directs the small press Ad Hoc Fiction and Flash Fiction Festivals, UK. Judehwriter2.bsky.social judehiggins.com

June 6

Sarp Sozdinler – Haarlem, the Netherlands / Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA

Chef’s kiss

Funny how no one tells you that memory has a flavor. Not sweet, not bitter—just present. There’s a reason some meals hit harder than the others. It’s not the ingredients; it’s the ghosts. That time I burned the risotto because the adoption agency called to say yes? Or that morning we ate pancakes in silence after the test came back positive, neither of us saying a word? The long nights that followed? They all made it onto the plate. They linger in the steam, sharpen the seasoning. You won’t know it, but you’ll feel it when you taste it.

A Turkish writer, Sarp Sozdinler has been published in Electric Literature, Kenyon Review, Masters Review and Fractured Lit, among other journals. His stories have been selected for anthologies including the Pushcart Prize, Best Small Fictions and Wigleaf Top 50. He is currently at work on his first novel in Philadelphia and Amsterdam. @sarpsozdinler 

June 5

Bronwen Griffiths, Southeast England

What he does not know

He does not know the bird, how it wings its way into the sky and sings with the trees. He knows not sky or trees, only the flicker of fluorescent light, the metal bars and the slow murmur of the women in the cell, the softness of his mother’s hand. There are no fathers here, only men in uniform with knives for eyes, men who have forgotten the scent of roses and the tenderness of small smiles. He does not know the desert or the mountains or the sun blinding the water, and that tomorrow they will be free.

Bronwen Griffiths lives in SE England and writes both flash fiction and longer form fiction. She has had many flash pieces published and recently won the Mslexia Flash Fiction Award.

June 4

Gaynor Jones – Oldham, UK

The development of language

Neenaw, neenaw – distant sirens soar, basic childhood mimicry now a painful wailing that weaves through the wide-open window where the mother (I will always be his mother) stands at the sink suds-deep in sorrow while in the garage the father (Was I a good enough father?) fixes and fidgets and tries to ignore the bike, the boxes, the boy, the man he might have become, the baby he once was, cooing and calling, Mama, Dada. A trundling train says choo choo. A soaring siren says life will never be the same again.

Gaynor Jones is an award-winning writer based in Oldham, UK. www.jonzeywriter.com

June 3

Rebecca Ball – Ōtautahi Christchurch, Aotearoa New Zealand

When our laptop stopped

You took it to your bench, swabbed its bones with a cotton bud. Held your ear to its pulse. Prised out that silent hard drive with trembling fingers. Placed it on a shelf beside the film canisters, the chinking bullet casings, shining twists of flint and fishing flies.

Before you died, you moved its files to the desktop: to sort and then delete.

Every day, I see this folder and think of an etched bench, a clinking shelf. Compartments of nuts and screws. Black bike chain draped over a lathe. Hang of oil in the air.

Rebecca Ball is a teacher and writer based near Ōtautahi Christchurch, Aotearoa New Zealand.  She writes poems and stories which you can read in places like Flash Frontier, Landfall, takahē, Turbine | Kapohau and Poetry Aotearoa Yearbook. Her story How it is in dreams won the 2024 Sunday Star Times short story competition.

June 2

Judy Darley – Clevedon, North Somerset, UK

Gen A Will Disapprove of the Choices We Made

We swarm together, amassing, cameras aloft; gawking into greenery; thirsting for awe.

The flying fox’s graceful fall doesn’t quench us, nor the vespa tropica hornet’s dance with spider prey. We have but one wildlife specimen to tick off.

Bucket-lists wrinkle in pockets. Sweat shimmies down spines.

A matronly girth swings on stage, ginger locks fierce against rattan leaves. Intelligent eyes cast shade. Cradling her young, she spurns clicks and coos, drawn only by sweet berries and dragon fruit.

Tomorrow, we’ll speed past Mount Kinabalu into airline limbo, and pride ourselves on visiting paradise just in time.

Judy Darley is the author of The Stairs are a Snowcapped Mountain, Sky Light Rain and Remember Me to the Bees. Her words have been shared aboard boats, in museums and on BBC Radio. She likes to infiltrate poetry open mic nights with flash stories. Find Judy at @judydarley.bsky.social

June 1

Sudha Balagopal – Phoenix, Arizona, USA

July, 1969

On the day Apollo 11 lands on the moon, we’re released early from school. Nina and I slosh through Mumbai’s monsoon rains in shin-high gum boots. She unwraps a bar of Cadbury’s, declares her father works for the company. I lift my face to rain-wetness, say my Pa’s an airline pilot; he flies among stars.

At the apartment, there’s no answer when I knock-tap-knock-tap. From next door, Nina smirks. “My mother’s home. Where’s yours?”

I invert my soaked boots; water splatters. “She’s with my Pa, silly, traveling to the moon.”

Nina’s chocolate plops into the puddle, brown mingling with brown.

Sudha Balagopal’s recent work appears in Doric Literary and Fictive Dream among other journals. In 2024, her novella-in-flash, Nose Ornaments, runner up in the Bath contest, was published by Ad Hoc Fiction, UK. She has had stories included in Best Microfiction, Best Small Fictions and the Wigleaf Top 50.

2025 Judges

The 2025 Micro Madness judges are Renee Liang and Nuala O’Connor.

Past judges

On the radio: Micro Madness on Standing Room Only

2015 judges Nod Ghosh and Eileen Merriman talk about the competition’s first year, featuring micros by Sally Houtman, Patrick Pink and Heather McQuillan

Listen here.