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CONTEST ENDED – Thank you for submitting your stories!

#111: What Endures Through Time

Mary Wollstonecraft was a renowned philosopher and writer who, despite dying at just 38, published works that changed feminist thought and literature forever. Writing as she was in the eighteenth century, Wollstonecraft’s portrayal of unapologetic, strong, intelligent heroines was not only brave, but revolutionary — and today’s writers and feminist thinkers owe a great deal to the groundwork she laid over two hundred years ago.

Since this week’s contest falls on the anniversary of Wollstonecraft’s death, we want to reflect on her remarkable legacy — and indeed on the impact one person can make, even in relatively little time.

🥇 Winner

“Flour and fire” by Charlene 🧙‍♀️✨ Boyce

🏆 Winner of Contest #111

CW: alcoholism, domestic violence Flour is highly flammable, but maybe you know that. I remember once, when I was a teenager, someone at tailgate party tossed a cup of flour into the air over the fire we'd built. It went "WHOOSH" and lit the sky for miles up, or so it seemed. Thank God there was no wind. It was epic. I had had a few tokes and I was trying to articulate to my friend Clarisse how my mother worked with flour every day, making it into things, and yet, watching it become NOTHING was so much more spectacular. Claris...

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⭐️ Shortlisted

“The Collector” by Shane Ransom

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #111

I’m surrounded by his things. That’s what he’s left behind, things. Well, things and me, I suppose. There weren’t a lot of people at the service. Some neighbors, a couple of old friends, a smattering of relatives. Small but respectable. At least that’s what I told myself when the last of the guests arrived. It wasn’t at all like when Mom died, when the church was packed, standing room only. She had the advantage of dying young, young enough that the sheer tragedy of it compelled people, her people, to converge in their grief. I guess th...

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“Gift To The World” by Delia Strange

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #111

Hors d’oeuvres on silver platters were carried around the room by white gloved hands. Dr Tina Merriman, dressed in a glittering emerald gown and holding a flute of champagne, looked down at the crowd below. Perhaps two hundred people were assembled on the street, punching fists into the air or holding signs with misspelt phrases. Dr Mark Abbot joined her side and glanced at the crowd before tipping his wine glass in her direction. “This is the thanks we get for the gift we gave to the world.” “They’re angry because they’re frightened.” “A...

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“Eumonia's Monody” by Ashley Slaughter

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #111

There is another knock at the door downstairs, but I only play louder. I let the smooth, shrill notes of the violin fill the loft of my little flat as I run my bow across the strings. G, A, E, D, G sharp . . . Closing my eyes, the second movement of my work-in-progress comes together in a string of melodies— The door rattles again, and I squeak out an accidental B flat, derailing my rhythm. An irritated sigh passes my lips as I stand, glaring over the loft railing at the door. I know who it is, of course. I’d open the door, and my darling br...

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“Bottles” by Ruth Zschoche

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #111

TW: violence, animal crueltyThe bottle was a glass Coca Cola bottle salvaged from the barn that her grandfather had kept in a state of quiet disarray.There was a voice in the bottle. It was soft and low.Soft and rough. Sad and mad.Lorna shook the bottle. The voice sped up and there was a short wail. She stuffed the bottle into her faded and slightly frayed backpack and walked to school.Her science teacher at Redhorn High was a tired old man with whiskers and hair where there shouldn't be any. Lorna called him Mr. Miller. Mr. Miller enc...

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This week's prompts

An intelligent young girl solves a big problem, but becomes frustrated that no one wants to believe her. Write about what she does next.

Teens – 15 stories

Set your story in eighteenth century London, including a casual reference to something that changes the course of history.

Historical Fiction – 21 stories

Write about a character who wakes up in the future and learns that their legacy has outlasted them — for better or worse.

Character – 32 stories

Write about a child who carries on their parent’s work or legacy in some form.

Teens – 40 stories

Write about a group of friends who hope to use their combined skills to better the world.

Middle School – 16 stories

Stories

“Flour and fire” by Charlene 🧙‍♀️✨ Boyce

🏆 Winner of Contest #111

CW: alcoholism, domestic violence Flour is highly flammable, but maybe you know that. I remember once, when I was a teenager, someone at tailgate party tossed a cup of flour into the air over the fire we'd built. It went "WHOOSH" and lit the sky for miles up, or so it seemed. Thank God there was no wind. It was epic. I had had a few tokes and I was trying to articulate to my friend Clarisse how my mother worked with flour every day, making it into things, and yet, watching it become NOTHING was so much more spectacular. Claris...

Read story

“The Witch Hunter's Grandson ” by Deidra Whitt Lovegren

Submitted to Contest #111

27 January 1736—London.Matthew Hopkins, III sat stoically with his glass of port at The Prospect of Whitby, a public house on the banks of the River Thames, four short miles from Parliament Square. The pub’s heavy oak paneling was a comfort against the cold, the glass window panes delicately frosted in lacy patterns of ice.Waiting, Hopkins was on edge, eyes unblinking as he looked out on the muddy brown river, its color owing to the riverbed’s silt as well as the filth tossed into it each day. It would be another hundred years and several ch...

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“The Collector” by Shane Ransom

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #111

I’m surrounded by his things. That’s what he’s left behind, things. Well, things and me, I suppose. There weren’t a lot of people at the service. Some neighbors, a couple of old friends, a smattering of relatives. Small but respectable. At least that’s what I told myself when the last of the guests arrived. It wasn’t at all like when Mom died, when the church was packed, standing room only. She had the advantage of dying young, young enough that the sheer tragedy of it compelled people, her people, to converge in their grief. I guess th...

Read story

“Gift To The World” by Delia Strange

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #111

Hors d’oeuvres on silver platters were carried around the room by white gloved hands. Dr Tina Merriman, dressed in a glittering emerald gown and holding a flute of champagne, looked down at the crowd below. Perhaps two hundred people were assembled on the street, punching fists into the air or holding signs with misspelt phrases. Dr Mark Abbot joined her side and glanced at the crowd before tipping his wine glass in her direction. “This is the thanks we get for the gift we gave to the world.” “They’re angry because they’re frightened.” “A...

Read story

“The Sum Total of a Legacy ” by Beth Jackson

Submitted to Contest #111

TW: Sexual ViolenceNo Divided by Yes“Don’t be rude, Kimmy. Give him a kiss.” Mum puts her hands on her hips and makes an angry-parent noise.Uncle Brian looms in the doorway, his bulky frame blocking the sunlight. His gut sags over his belt and wriggling chest hairs escape from under his shirt.“A kiss, Kimmy,” he says. “You heard your mother, don’t be rude.” He smells of sausages and shame.He puckers his lips. They’re thick and fat, like two pink slugs. Mum pushes on my back, her nails poking through my t-shirt.“Kimmy,” she hisses, and I...

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“Mornings Past” by CJ Rodgers

Submitted to Contest #111

London, 1861, April 29thIt was a cold gray day. Florence blinked tiredly at the tea set in front of her as she mechanically stirred in too much sugar and only a little cream. She forced down a yawn and accepted a scone from the maid, Emilia. “Is it bedtime yet?” She muttered, reaching for the butter. “Not yet, I’m afraid.” Emilia went to the fireplace to stir it up and add a log. “Your father should be along shortly.”Florence wondered if she could request coffee and have it arrive before her father did. Sadly, it wasn’t meant to be...

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“The Word Collector” by S. Thomson

Submitted to Contest #111

ㅤAlice sat on her hands in her father’s office, looking out over the chimneys of Holborn.ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤCHIMNEY. n. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ1. The turret raised above the roof of a house, for conveyance of the smoke.ㅤShe had been given strict instructions not to touch anything. Around her, thousands of slips of paper lay on writing desks. Each bore a word and a definition. In this cramped attic above a London townhouse, six men were writing a dictionary.ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤDICTIONARY. n.ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ1. A book containing the words of any language in alphabetical order, withㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤexplanatio...

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“The Mother Goose Murders” by Katharine Widdows

Submitted to Contest #111

TW: murder, injury.The coffee was going cold in his hands but the conversation around him was starting to warm. Mr Williams shook the wide, white, frill of his cuff as it escaped the edge of his black legal robes. He lifted a brown cup to his lips, drained the final, lukewarm dregs and looked up.Mr George was pushing his way through the coffee house door, removing his hat to reveal his neatly tied-back hair. The bright yellow thread detail, contrasted against the dark green of his tail coat and caught the candle light. He must have left his ...

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“Chosen” by Phil Manders

Submitted to Contest #111

Warning: This one is nasty. Grey, lifeless water slid silently beneath her in the darkness. The lights from the village, where she used to play, blurred hazily on the horizon, merging with the inky sky. Her mind, unlike the numb air that clung to autumn cobwebs, had never felt more alive, more awake. The cold ironwork of the bridge felt like it had electricity running through it. Her feet dangling, she slipped off her shoes and watched them drop, drifting away into the night, bobbing in the flow like tiny boats. She loosened her gr...

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“Eumonia's Monody” by Ashley Slaughter

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #111

There is another knock at the door downstairs, but I only play louder. I let the smooth, shrill notes of the violin fill the loft of my little flat as I run my bow across the strings. G, A, E, D, G sharp . . . Closing my eyes, the second movement of my work-in-progress comes together in a string of melodies— The door rattles again, and I squeak out an accidental B flat, derailing my rhythm. An irritated sigh passes my lips as I stand, glaring over the loft railing at the door. I know who it is, of course. I’d open the door, and my darling br...

Read story

“To Boldly Go...” by Jude S. Walko

Submitted to Contest #111

John and Sarah Burroughs beget David, who beget Tyler, who beget Abner, who beget George, who beget Edgar. It sounded like some humdrum bible verse; the kind a monotone Quaker preacher might drone on with to his congregation, in a musty Massachusetts one-roomed church house, during the dead heat of summer. Sweltering humidity and palpable boredom lay about heavily.But it became a mantra for little Edgar; one that he would recite his entire life. It helped ground him in reality, in that it reminded him from when, and from whom, he actual...

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“Keira's Invention” by Graham Kinross

Submitted to Contest #111

Keira tried to fight the frown that was wrestling for control of her face. She didn’t want to look like a grouchy child on national television. “It’s cute. Really Keira, and I look forward to seeing what you do with your future, but-” Here came the truth following his lie. “It’s just not possible. Trust me, I’ve been in the energy business for decades pushing the technology to its limits,” he stopped to drink water from the table in front of him, “and this just isn’t feas...

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“Bottles” by Ruth Zschoche

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #111

TW: violence, animal crueltyThe bottle was a glass Coca Cola bottle salvaged from the barn that her grandfather had kept in a state of quiet disarray.There was a voice in the bottle. It was soft and low.Soft and rough. Sad and mad.Lorna shook the bottle. The voice sped up and there was a short wail. She stuffed the bottle into her faded and slightly frayed backpack and walked to school.Her science teacher at Redhorn High was a tired old man with whiskers and hair where there shouldn't be any. Lorna called him Mr. Miller. Mr. Miller enc...

Read story

“Numb” by Saptarshi Mukherjee

Submitted to Contest #111

“Where am I?”The white painted room with a bright white light blinded him momentarily.“What can you tell us about the pill Necrophilam?” a voice edged with steel threw the question at him. Her face was hard to make out against the blinding light which created a halo around her head.“What?” he asked her. “What is that?”“Ok. Let’s try this again. Do you know of the compounds moxizypin and edenovora?” she asked.He tried to think but the headache made it all but impossible.“What?”Without showing any visible signs of exasperation she repeated the...

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“The Stenographer” by Tori Routsong

Submitted to Contest #111

She looks young. Twenty-three, maybe? I’m biased, of course-- she reminds me of my youngest sister a bit. It’s the hair, I think, or maybe the clothes-- nice enough, but a little poorly fitting, like she’d gone out with her mother before starting the job and bought anything that seemed business casual enough to wear in a government building. “Marianne, right?” She shrugs, as if she isn’t sure. She’s still shaking. “You can call me Annie, I guess. Everyone does.” “Alright, then, Annie, why don’t you have a seat.” I tried to pic...

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$250

Prize money

124

Contest entries

111

Stories

Ended on 23:59 - Sep 17, 2021 EST

Won by Charlene 🧙‍♀️✨ Boyce 🏆

Title: Flour and fire

Submissions must be between 1,000 - 3,000 words and will be approved and published on Reedsy Prompts within 7 days of the contest closing.

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