7 DAY STORY WRITING CHALLENGE #4 WINNER

Prize: £500

Finalists

Western: Rebecca Brown

Paranormal: Lisbeth Tull

Thriller: Beatrice Jane Hussain

Magical Realism: Anne Forrest

Chick-Lit: Ronita Sinha

Historical: Grainne Armstrong

Horror: C. Bates

Dystopian: Rebecca Shahoud

Crime: Eamon O’Leary

Romance: Marie-Louise McGuinness

Science Fiction: Bethan Charles

Fantasy: E. D. Human

Honourable Mentions

The following are writers who just missed out on being a finalist!

Sydnie Hellman Science Fiction

Julie Meier Science Fiction

Alexandra-Cristina Bilanin Science Fiction

Shabnam Younus-Jewell Science Fiction

Heidi Mitchell Science Fiction

Jennifer Worrell Science Fiction

Peter F. Stine Science Fiction

Espen van der Meeren Romance

Amanda Hurley Romance

John Holmes Romance

Cindy Bennett Romance

Bethany Lucas Magical Realism

Ali Blevins Magical Realism

D. L. Taylor Magical Realism

Gail A. Webber Magical Realism

Christopher Bloodworth Magical Realism

Andrew Taylor Magical Realism

Daniella Idogho Western

James Bardez Western

Ariana Hagen Western

Lauren Hulme Western

Debbie Wingate Western

Chris Reed Crime

Nicki Blake Crime

Emma Uren Fantasy

Carleah Lihl Fantasy

Florie Kong Win Chang Fantasy

Kate Aranda Nye Fantasy

Kim Hasert Fantasy

Elizabeth Liang Chick Lit

Marie Martello Conway Chick Lit

Vincent Paiement Désilets Chick Lit

Maria Wickens Chick Lit

Jon Toews Chick Lit

Creshea Hilton Dystopian

Dhevalence Moodley Dystopian

Nanar Khamo Dystopian

Brittney Tracey Dystopian

K. Antonio Horror

Adele Evershed Horror

Justin Rulton Thriller

Joan El Faghloumi Thriller

Ava Sedgwick Paranormal

Judy Price Historical

Deborah Thompson Historical

Long List

The following are writers who just missed out on being an honourable mention!

Dystopian

George Frost, Linda Sprott, Niels Zwarteveen, Mairibeth MacMillan, Amanda Fox, Justine Harvey, Marilyn Caladine, Katie Holloway, Greg Yevko, Nimisha Kantharia, Miracle Eboh, Emmanuel Rey Cruz, Christopher Vivian, Sarah Haggett, Robert Burns, Anita Goodfellow, Genevieve Flintham.

Horror

Julie Black, Ronan Kok, Roger Nadin, Carys Tysoe, Krystle Hare, Karen Darger, Athena, Cassandra O’Sullivan Sachar, Micaela Cabodi Wilkes, Mikayla Hill, Allie Guilderson, Rachel Smith, Rhonda Zappelli, Rosie Cullen, Joyce Bingham, Dean Robert Holmes, Marlon John Anandappa, Kim M. Russell, Sarah Wain.

Fantasy

Linda Veenman, Sharon Pinner, Marilyn Briant, Sharron Machin, Anusha Shrestha, Patty Ann Smith, Isabel Flynn, S.C. Deutsch, Kathryn Clover, Ben Wakefield, Rep Mansion.

Paranormal

Alina Smith, Deanna K. Martin, Michaila Oberhoffer, Sandra Baker, Stephen Oliver, Eileen Sceski, Phil Scown, Sophie Mayes, Maria Dean, Chris Kok, Helen Dudley, Howard K. Seeley, Stewart Clark, Jordan Barnett, S. S. Tehreer, Maggie Long, Maddie Sherion, Ivor Frankell, Dominique Passos, Heather Haigh, Pamela Kyel.

Romance

Angelina Irene Laffrey, Colleen Hogan, Shubham Rai, Erica Ward, Ella Barnett, Destiny Jeffcoat, Patrick M. Heffernan, Fiona M Campbell, Edward Bretherton, Holly Sissons, Christine Leaf, Peace Merab Nakiyemba, Kerr Pelto, Emily MacDonald, Tony Litchfield, Susie Deslauriers, Derryn Pittar.

Western

Grace Laopradith, Ace of Swines, Busisiwe Ngwenya, Advik Swamy, Jonathan Braunstein, Judith Wilson, Findlay McCombe, Kimary Clelland, Felipe Orlans, Din Gusmirović, John Tummon, Caitlin Mazur, Maya Daou, Yasleh Hani Wati binti Mat Yassin, Connor Thornley, Julie Dron, Suzanne Pherigo, Julie Bissell.

Historical

Lucinda Sloan, Caroline Harris, Val Roberts, Ann Struck, Steve Bailey, Jelena Antic, Ruth Kardom, Michelle Fraser, Ruth Taggart, Jeremi Nowikow, Hannah Brown, JW, Joanna Garbutt, Rachael Frost.

Chick Lit

Lady Sunshine, Nene Nwachukwu-Peters, Joseph Bowen, Nicole Connor, Ruby Vallis, Tinamarie Cox, Debbie Rainer, Viktoria Dahill, Rhian Yoshikawa, Ryan Fleming.

Science Fiction

Lisa VanGalen, Siobhan Weatherall, Keith R. Burdon, Andrea Doig, Leigh Watson, Angela Johnson, Amanda Ingram, Hilary Ayshford, Rachael Murray, Jenean McBrearty, Umama Noor, Abagail Summers.

Crime

Jo Ann Choong, Linda Blackshaw, Bunny Lynn Norton, Brandon Francois, Chris Hadd, Sara Radenovic Nicole McLachlin, Valeria Yarusova, Molly Andrew, Jignasa Parikh, Caroline Jenner, Sara Fanella, Ian Coldicott, Annette Schmidt, Lewis Freer, Linda Flynn, Rebekah Marriner, George McAlear, Aisha Olanrewaju, Maddy Coope.

Thriller

Sue Glamuzina, Paloma Corzo Torres, Anthony Lambert, Rachel Culp, Lynsey Calvert, Brianna L. Barrett, Sarah Katem, Lanie Benison, Kay Reeves, Marlene Pitcher, Hadyn Sparkes.

Magical Realism

Adams Ololade, Rachel Campo, Nelly Shulman, Elizabeth Corbitt, Morgan Sciacca, Angela Creasy, Thandi Gamedze, James Hancock, Diana Blaker.

and the winner is…

Bethan Charles

Born of Stars

(SCIENCE FICTION)

I sit below a field of paper stars, glinting in the spotlights illuminating the interviewer and me. His gaze lingers over my tailored jumpsuit as he reclines in his suede chair, punctuating my answer with his comments. The two-second delay amplifies the staccato rhythm of our conversation. When he launches another question, a miniature Apollo rocket shoots above us, trailing red and green glitter that settles on the interviewer’s bald head. It makes me giggle. How unprofessional.

‘I’m sorry.’ I turn to face the billions of avatars filling the audience. ‘It’s the gas and air.’

A wave of laughter ripples forwards, and I glimpse the monitor displaying what the world sees – my perfect complexion and blood-red lips stretched in a grimace disguised as a smile. All artificial, of course. No need to frighten the public with my actual appearance or dull their Christmas miracle with the reality of life. 

A familiar tightness rolls across my midriff, and I inhale to the count of three while checking the timer invisible to the bald man and his audience. Five minutes remain. It’s coming too early. I must leave, but before I can end the interview, I fold in pain, feeling like someone has lassoed a rope embedded with needles around my stomach. The world gasps. 

‘Apologies,’ I say in the voice I’ve practised my entire life. The calm competence I once used when talking with frightened patients. ‘This is perfectly normal. I’m in expert hands.’ I gaze towards the timer. ‘Recall, please.’

The paper stars vanish. The studio dissolves. Did the audience see through my lie? Will they be praying the way I used to before Mum died? 

Let the baby live. 

When the delivery room swirls into view, thirty doctors swarm around me, some I recognise from astropharmacy lectures. After I check my snow-white gown – no obvious signs of blood – I relax into the soft bed, readjusting the straps which stop me from floating away. The dome blocking the view of my feet ripples as my muscles squeeze, and I breathe the way Lunis taught me. In, two, three, out, two, three. When the worst passes, I scan the crowd of navy overalls for Lunis’ white scrubs. She darts through the mob and dabs the sweat beading on my forehead. The only person here capable of touching me. 

‘Mistimed contraction, that’s all,’ Lunis says. ‘Everything’s progressing well. Relax, Seren.’

Only Lunis uses my name. To the scientists and doctors buzzing overhead, I am Subject 5.140, making me easy for their algorithms to recognise. One hundred and fortieth woman on the fifth trial. I understand why they must see me as a data point. If our roles were reversed, I would do the same. It’s harder when you know their names. 

The chief doctor pushes forwards. His avatar is wearing the old-fashioned suit and stethoscope the President instructed him to wear. ‘Vitals are fine,’ he says. ‘I’ll be with you in person soon. Just landed.’ He had taken the last commercial flight before the solar storm hit. ‘You can continue the interviews.’

I press my head into the pillow as the contraction timer restarts, and my schedule flashes details of the following interview. The only information I read is that I have twenty seconds of rest. 

Lunis steps between the chief doctor and me, arms folded. ‘This is ridiculous. You’re putting her at risk by causing extra stress.’

‘It’s not up to me,’ the chief doctor replies. ‘Or you.’

Or me. I stroke the mound housing the world’s Christmas miracle. The timing’s not a miracle, of course. It’s scheduled, dictated by hordes of powerful strangers. However, my rocketing blood pressure brought their plan forward one week. New Year’s Day was the original target. ‘The twenty-first century is the last we’re born of Earth,’ the President had promised. ‘In the twenty-second, we’ll be born of stars.’ 

During a live interview broadcast in all one-hundred and fifty countries, Aurora had joked, ‘He’s wrong. Born of the moon, not the stars.’ She’d got in trouble for correcting the President, though she had shrugged and told me, ‘Not like he can punish us. We’re the world’s darlings. We’re invincible.’

If only we were.

I wish we could do this together.

‘Three seconds.’ Lunis squeezes my hand as if doing so will save me from hurtling into the next interview. ‘Two. One.’

Lunis dissolves, but she keeps hold of my hand. Her phantom fingers lace through mine – an echo of reality bleeding into this virtual world. 

‘Welcome, Seren,’ a woman’s expressive voice booms around a new studio. ‘We’re honoured to have five minutes with such an inspiration.’ 

Which interview is this? I raise my head, and the vast audience gasp and mutter. The interviewer shuffles on her stool, twirling her holly-green hair around a finger while discretely pointing at the monitor. I cough as I choke on my breath. The rendering team must have failed to prepare my avatar in time, so the world is witnessing the truth behind their miracle: sunken eyes, matted hair, mottled skin. Since Lunis induced me twenty-four hours ago, the relentless interviews have kept me distracted, but now exhaustion strikes me like the Earth on re-entry.  

‘I can only apologise for my appearance,’ I say.

The interviewer springs up, knocking over her stool. It falls on the floor without a sound. ‘Nonsense.’ She readjusts her overalls, which glimmer with snowflakes made of stardust. ‘Everything’s well?’ 

‘Perfectly normal,’ I reply. 

Phantom Lunis squeezes my hand. 

‘Excellent. We’re honoured to speak with you on the cusp of a new age.’ The interviewer gestures to an ocean of avatars. ‘Enlighten the members of Liberty to why you joined our programme.’ 

Now I remember – Liberty, the world’s largest women’s equality association, who sponsored my training. Two hundred years after suffrage, and Liberty must still exist. They’re the final interview before my call with the President. 

‘I signed up to further science,’ I say. 

My side cramps, and I break hold with Lunis to stroke my swollen belly.

‘And?’ the interviewer asks, rocking on her toes. 

She wants an elaborate tale, hooking her viewers, but I’m useless at selling my story. Aurora was the charismatic one.  

‘My mother,’ I say. ‘She died of a heart attack after her colleagues misread her symptoms. Made me want to be a doctor.’

‘Then you specialised in astropharmacy?’ 

‘I did.’

‘Must have been fascinating?’

‘It was.’

The interviewer runs her hand through her hair and glances at an antique fob watch clipped to her top pocket. I know she wants longer answers, but my thoughts turn fuzzy. I’m so tired. 

My contraction countdown flashes a two-minute warning.

‘How do you feel about the world’s Christmas miracle?’ the interviewer asks, and the avatar crowd cheers.

Terrified. ‘Very excited.’

‘This is your first child?’

I trace my fingers over my bump. My baby. I’ve avoided thinking of them as mine. If they survive, will I feel like their mother? Or are they humanity’s child? It took thousands of people to make them, after all.

‘Why do you think you’ve reached full term when so many others failed?’ the interviewer asks.

I snap my head up. ‘They didn’t fail. It’s not the mother’s fault.’ Aurora’s face replaces the interviewer’s. It wasn’t your fault.

A sixty-second warning flashes in the corner of my eye.  

‘Radiation exposure was the most significant hurdle,’ I say, distracting myself from memories of Aurora’s last moments and the ache growing in my back. ‘But I had regenerative therapy for cancer after my eighth flight here. We believe that helped because—’

Warm water congeals between my legs. Then my dormant nausea threatens to explode, and I’m recalled to the delivery room in time for Lunis to attach a suction mask over my face. It removes my sickness before it can float away, hanging in the sterile air like revolting baubles. 

‘Waters broke,’ Lunis says, stroking hair off my clammy forehead. 

My chest tightens. ‘It’s too early.’

The chaotic room echoes my panic. The scientists rush between monitors with blinking red lights, gesticulating in alarm or excitement. I can’t tell which. Near my head, doctors bounce between colleagues. 

‘Subject needs intervention.’

‘No. President wants it natural.’

‘But the subject’s heart rate’s too high.’

Blood thundering through my ears muffles the doctor’s arguments. I try to breathe in counts of three, but frantic scientists interrupt my rhythm, demanding answers to their endless questions. Lunis tries to push people away, but her hands sweep through their avatars as though they were ghosts.

‘Baby’s stressed,’ the chief doctor says. ‘She’s losing it.’

His words haul me out of my daze. He said the same to Aurora an hour before her skin turned to ice. I must save this baby. My baby. 

Everything shatters as I rip the lenses out of my eyes.

The room rings with silence. The bed, walls, monitors are the same, but the people are gone – all except one. Lunis freezes, staring at my lenses shimmering on the floor. She raises her gaze, locks her hazel eyes with mine, and her face breaks into a smile. 

‘Breathe. One, two, three,’ she says, hopping forwards and landing beside me. The plastic lenses crack under her boots. 

I exhale my tension, and my thundering heart slows. As I stroke the curve of my belly, I turn my head and look out the porthole, where above the grey horizon, the Earth rises in a field of stars.