Past Winners
Sci-fi & Fantasy Contest – 2024
Laura J Packwood
Story: The Guardian
Genre: Sci-fi
Writing Prompt: (Plot Point) Characters are cryogenically frozen and awaken centuries later…
Word Count: 1238
Can you share a bit about your writing background?
I’m an amateur writer and mostly just write for fun as a hobby when I get the chance. More than this, I am a reader.
I teach English to teenagers as a day job so I’m often reading their short stories and creative writing. My advice to them for short stories is always to keep it simple, focus on one or two central characters and have an end point in mind. I often feel like a bit of an imposter so at least now I know I’m giving them at least a little bit of good advice!
What drew you to participate in this particular contest, and how did you feel when you found out which genre and prompts were assigned to you?
I just had an urge to do some writing. Work has been busy and I was looking for something to motivate me to write. I came across the competition, and thought I’d give it a shot. I love fantasy/sci-fi, they’re my go-to genres so I was drawn to this competition especially. Before receiving the prompts, I was hoping for fantasy – just because I thought it would be a more comfortable place for me. Although I probably do read more science fiction at the moment (I really love Becky Chambers and Everina Maxwell). When I received the genre, I felt a little out of my depth at first and I did spend a while thinking about the different prompts. I changed my mind a couple of times. I liked the idea of a character being somewhere that they felt totally isolated and that helped me settle on a prompt. I’ve never written to a prompt in this way before and thought it might be limiting. In fact, I found it really freeing and motivating. The prompt (and the fact that I knew I had to make it an important part of the story) made me really have to focus.
Can you share what your creative process was when tackling the writing prompts. How did you approach writing your story within the given constraints?
I dismissed the prompts that I knew I would struggle to write about. I think there was one about a busy intergalactic market place setting (which is something I would love to read about) but I just knew that I’d tie myself in knots if I tried to write about multiple characters in under 1500 words. Once I’d dismissed some prompts, I just let the others sit for a while and considered what I might do with each prompt.
Next, I asked myself lots of questions. Why would someone be cryogenically frozen? Where might they go? What might their purpose be? What would it be like where they ended up? What problems might it create or solve? Who would be invested in it and why? At this point, I’d met my protagonist.
Throughout the contest rounds, you had the opportunity to read and evaluate stories from both the sci-fi and fantasy genres. How did you approach giving feedback?
Honestly, reading all of the stories has been the best part of this. It was a fun, reflective and educational experience. Every story that I read was different and it made me start to consider things I knew I could improve about my own writing. Some writers were so funny and created memorable and vivid characters, other writers crafted beautifully poetic prose and evoked epic and mythical landscapes.
When giving feedback, I started by using the questions provided on the site to help me think about what to look for. I always made sure that I read the stories at least twice over (often more) so that I could think carefully about what it was I enjoyed most about the stories. I hope that the feedback is a good conversation starter and I’m really excited to read the feedback I get as I know there will be some great tips for me on things I just wouldn’t have considered.
Can you share any insights or tips for any writers who are considering taking part in contests?
Get involved if you think you’ll enjoy it or are in a bit of a writing slump. I never would have considered writing sci-fi before (although I love reading it) and actually I found the experience really freeing and a great reflective opportunity. It was about the same cost as a cinema ticket and I had just as much fun so I think it was definitely worth it.
Besides this contest, do you have any writing projects or goals you’re excited about pursuing?
I’m not a professional writer so I just write when I have the time. I think that simply entering this competition has given me a little more confidence in my own writing skills and taken away at least a little bit of imposter syndrome. Since entering, I’ve already been reflecting on my piece and have planned a longer narrative with a developed version of my story as a prologue. I enjoyed writing to a fixed prompt so much that I’ve created my own set of ‘mini prompts’ which together add up to a bare-bones frame of a larger novel. Who knows where it’ll take me, but I’ll definitely be checking back in with Writing Peers in the future and might even enter another competition!
Genre: Scifi
Prompt: (Plot Point) Characters are cryogenically frozen and awaken centuries later…
Word Count: 1238
The Guardian
Harvold strode down the tubular passageway, mimicking the confidence he knew they needed to see. His collar gaped and his hands twitched with the urge to reach up and readjust the itchy, grey tunic which had been lying in wait beside him when he woke. Eyes tracking loosely back and forth, he saw no sign of observation cameras along the length of the passageway. The curve of the dull metal walls mangled and distorted his reflection into a rough, elongated phantom. If only it were just him and his ghosts.
An involuntary hitch pulled at the corner of his mouth. Isolation was a luxury he didn’t have. The cameras were there. If he could count on anything, he could count on that.
Certainly, the images of his narrow frame, gliding with purpose along the sullen, grey corridor, were being transmitted beyond the ship across the Expanse to some distant station or exoplanet. Somebody, somewhere would be making damn sure that Harvold followed through with their plan.
A shimmering ring like a halo was emerging before his right eye. It’s likely you’ll feel some mild side-effects upon re-orientation, the doctor had said as he’d given Harvold the final all-clear for Cryo. In reality, the machines – which had been storing his almost lifeless carcass for the past eight hundred years – had been working hard for several hours to return him to something resembling the gasping, solitary mess he’d been hiding from his superiors before the journey.
A rush of vertigo jolted him to a sudden standstill. Pushing the heel of his hands into the sockets of his eyes, he remembered the last time he’d seen Emilia. Her fingers twisting through the bars of her cell, twining with his own. Her violet eyes radiating love even in her moment of deepest despair. Before being marched away to the Prisoners’ zone of the ship, she’d smiled and saluted, maintaining her gaze upon him until she was no longer in sight. Hazy and shimmering, that last memory had kept him company many nights as he’d undergone the rigorous process of vetting, interviews and clearance in order to be commissioned as Guardian. Nobody had ever found out he’d known her. Nobody suspected that he’d seen her again that one last time.
Soon. Tonight. He would finally be reunited with Emilia. Wrongly convicted. Wrongly imprisoned. Wrongly consigned to a future she hadn’t agreed to.
He remembered the day the panel had finally signed off on him to be the Guardian of the Prisoners. Despite scrutinising every part of his past for several months, the panel had discovered no trace of wrongdoing in his thirty-eight-year life. Not a stain. Not a blot. Not a blemish. Old school records, work history, community volunteering: all disclosed the humdrum mundanity of a life barely lived.
Rounding the corner of the passageway, the door to the launchroom came into view. Harvold clenched his jaw as he pictured what was in that room. He’d been prepared for this with military precision, everything was accounted for and his task was very clear. For him, it seemd mere hours ago that he’d had the final run-through of protocol and been secured in Cryo here on PDS-41. Prison Disposal Ship 41. There were forty prison ships launched before this one. Each one packed with even more souls than the previous. A perfect solution to the prison overcrowding problems of the 4600s. Adverts on the TLink promoted the idea as a ‘humane solution’ to ‘the criminal problem’. A world made possible by new developments in cryo-stasis. Ship all the prisoners into the next millennium; transfer their rehabilitation to the next iteration of humanity; make them someone else’s problem. Simple. It hadn’t been a universally popular decision but crime levels had been so high that, on the whole, most people were just willing to let it happen and see how it turned out.
Guardian of the Prisoners. The one soul who’s job it was to escort the prisoners to their designated time zone and arrange their imprisonment and rehabilitation with the governing bodies of the future. So the bullshit story went. In the future, we’d surely have solved the prison capacity problem. More planets would have been colonised or extraplanetary stations constructed to accommodate the prison population. Better yet, we’d have finally worked out a way to eradicate crime. In reality, Harvold’s task was nothing to do with guardianship, it was to chaperone the ship far enough into the future that nobody knew, or cared, what had happened to the prioners. Once there, he was to set PDS-41 to self-destruct.
Laying his palm upon the scanner, he opened the door to the launchroom. Letting out a sigh as it opened, he felt the thrill of being the only person awake on the entire ship. Truly the Guardian. Although Guardian was definitely a misnomer. Mass Murderer would be a much more accurate moniker to describe his employment.
Inside the room, blue and green lights blinked innocently on the console. Here, the dull metal walls seemed to have melted away and were replaced with a curved translucent shell. Harvold tensed with each click of his safety harness as he settled into the chair beside the console. He hadn’t anticipated how much even the slightest of sounds could send shooting jolts down his spine. Turns out there were some side-effects.
Before him, the blinking console told him the date and the nearest possible docking location for his shuttle. Of course, they hadn’t expected the Guardian to commit to this as a suicide mission. PDS-41 had been programmed to only awaken him when he was within reach of a station or exoplanet that was habitable for him. He was now sitting in his escape shuttle which would be jettisoned immediately after the detonation countdown was triggered. The closest docking station appeared to be a station of a similar size to PDS-41 with under a thousand souls on board. Sparsely populated for a ship of that size, it was likely they could afford to accommodate one more soul. Of course, that wasn’t his intention. He intended for there to be two souls leaving PDS-41 tonight.
How could the panel not have realised their mistake? Choosing someone with never a moment of immoral behaviour and never a single crime on record. How could a person like that ever make the conscious choice to murder the twenty thousand people aboard this vessel? If Harvold had been in charge of the panel, he might have considered that only a criminal could have been trusted to follow through with the assignment. Only a criminal could commit murder. But all the criminals were currently frozen in time; sucked into airless tubes and stacked vertically above him and around him in a web-like maze. The corridors of the dead.
Gently brushing his fingers over the cold metal of the console, he sucks in a slow uneven breath through barely-parted lips.
As he grazes his gaze steadily toward the third button from the left, the blue one, he wonders what a ship this size might be like with twenty thousand prisoners awoken from a dreamless sleep. He wonders how long it might take him to find her cell.
He wonders if he’ll find her before the watching cameras bring him his consequences. He wonders if we’re all criminals, under the right circumstances.
He sucks in one final breath and, buried in his exhalation, her name. Emilia.
Trent Guillory
Story: The Final Reflection
Genre: Fantasy
Writing Prompt: (Location) A tranquil lake with reflective waters that reveal glimpses of alternate realities and possible futures…
Word Count: 1345
Can you share a bit about your writing background?
Writing fiction is new to me so winning comes as quite the surprise. Apart from enjoying a handful of creative writing projects in high school, I’ve never pursued it any further. Ten years on and we just recently had our first child. Something about the big change in schedule and time away from work pushed me to try writing a short story idea that had been bouncing around in my head. I had so much fun writing it that I’ve tried to make a habit of it. It’s been a rewarding few months.
What drew you to participate in this particular contest, and how did you feel when you found out which genre and prompts were assigned to you?
The concept of winning a contest has some allure, but as a new writer who doesn’t know anything, feedback seemed more important. Writing Peers was the only contest I came across that had any element of feedback from other writers. Plus, I like reading, so signing up was a no brainer. As for the genre and prompts, I had my fingers crossed that I wouldn’t draw Fantasy because I’ve never written it. But I was pleasantly surprised at the prompt options. Some were narrow and specific while others, especially a particular “Location,” which I ultimately chose, were pretty open ended.
Can you share what your creative process was when tackling the writing prompts. How did you approach writing your story within the given constraints?
I remember immediately deciding against one of the provided prompts. I just couldn’t imagine developing its concept. But deciding between my prompt and the other favorite took some time. I didn’t make my selection immediately. I gave myself about a day to imagine the different directions potential stories could go. At the root of it, I didn’t want the story to feel like it had been written for a prompt. I just wanted the prompt to be inspiration for whatever story came about. Eventually, a clear concept came to mind that I thought was moving, and I wrote the first draft. I let my wife read it and she told me it was pretty confusing. I was trying to do way too much in as few as 1500 words. So I changed some of the language to make everything clearer. Same story, less confusing.
Throughout the contest rounds, you had the opportunity to read and evaluate stories from both the sci-fi and fantasy genres. How did you approach giving feedback?
Honestly, I was blown away by the creativity of other writers. The whole time I was thinking there’s no way I’m going to win. For that reason, positive feedback was easy. Each story had really compelling concepts and some felt like genuine, publishable shorts that you might read in a magazine. As for critical feedback, I just tried to remember why I signed up for the contest — honest input from others. I did my best to word critical feedback with an uplifting tone, but it helps that there was a time limit for submissions. I don’t suspect that anyone was emotionally connected with their story. It’s hard to get attached in just a few days, so I don’t think critical feedback should be taken too harshly.
Can you share any insights or tips for any writers who are considering taking part in contests?
Just apply. Winning this is a major surprise to me and I’m eager to put all of the feedback to work. I don’t think any contest winner ever sees it coming (unless you’re toxically self-assured), so I think it’s good to remind yourself that doubt is expected.
Besides this contest, do you have any writing projects or goals you’re excited about pursuing?
I’ve got a handful of short story drafts that I’d like to fix up and submit to popular sci-fi publications. There’s one submission pending at the moment, and of course I’d like to see it go through. Apart from that, I plan to simply keep at it. The recurring feedback I’m hearing from all angles is “just keep writing.” It’s fun, so why not?
Genre: Fantasy
Prompt: (Location) A tranquil lake with reflective waters that reveal glimpses of alternate realities and possible futures…
Word Count: 1345
The Final Reflection
On his son’s first birthday, Timothy decided to start a yearly tradition for the two of them. A hike up to the Lake of Dreams. It was just a half-mile past the village and a short ways up the mountain. It made for a perfect evening stroll for the two. Today marked the fifth anniversary of the tradition.
Timothy looked out the window of their home at the picturesque village outside, teeming with life. An orange sun hung low above the horizon, casting a dreamy, amber glow on all below. An elderly couple walked along the cobbled pathways. Closer, a group of children ran back and forth across a padded, green field. He wished his evening could be this simple.
He packed his bag and his son’s worn-in, one-eyed teddy bear and set off up the trail. For being perched at the top of a mountain torn by wind, the lake maintained an eery stillness. Walking up to its edge felt as though you might next step into the sky.
In his opinion, sunset served as the best time for the yearly hike. As the day began fading into night, the sky would cool from orange to purple. Two of his son’s favorite colors. Truly, there was no better time to sit on the shore and lean forward, casting your lot on what reflection the lake might have in store.
The lake had earned its name for a reason. It would often cast a vision of tomorrow, or the next decade. Occasionally, it would reflect an alternate reality of the current day.
As he crested the final hill before the Lake of Dreams, Timothy smiled as he conjured up the memory of his son’s very first visit. Secured tightly to his chest, the little one giggled with every other step. Even without fully understanding the world, he fully immersed himself in it, and savored the joy of the experience. At the lake’s edge, Timothy sat cross-legged with the boy in his arms as they leaned forward together. Staring back at them was a much older man, laughing loudly as an unruly teenager wiggled free from his arms. The child in his arms let out another giggle, and he couldn’t help laughing himself.
At around the two-year mark, when his son was getting more independent, they stood at the water’s edge, hand in hand, peering down. This time, his son laughed out of partial understanding. In place of his tiny stature stood a fully grown man, dressed like an adventurer. The boy looked up at his father, his face filled with awe, as if he was proud of this courageous man he may someday become. A tear snuck into the corner of Timothy’s eye at that moment, happy the boy hadn’t noticed the elderly man standing stooped beside him.
The year before had been disappointing, if Timothy was honest with himself. The four-year-old had high expectations as they crested the mountain. He skipped and sung, running far ahead of his father. He shouted back his findings before Timothy could join him.
“Daddy, I just look the same!”
It was a shrill complaint. This would have been the first year he could fully appreciate the lake’s power, but now it played coy. And sure enough, Timothy looked the same too. He leaned closer to inspect the oddity. What was different? Then, he saw it. An imperceptibly small detail. This was the week following the teddy bear’s tragic loss of his left eye. A teddy could only survive so many raucous adventures, after all. Timothy leaned forward with the stuffed animal in hand, and happened to notice it had been fully restored.
“Ah, look here! Your teddy is the one enjoying an alternate reality today. You and I are the same, but he’s been fixed.”
His son smiled briefly, but didn’t seem too impressed.
The Lake of Dreams stood as a stark reminder of time’s passage, and one’s inability to control it. Some days, like last year, things weren’t too different. Other times, it was shocking. Timothy’s elderly reflection during year two was one he’d never forget.
As he crested the final hill, the mirrored surface of the water reflected sunlight into his eyes. He looked down quickly, and clenched his teeth, reminding himself that this was for his son. A tradition that he would never break.
As he approached the ground’s transition from grass to sand and pebbles, he removed his shoes and tiptoed carefully across. The cold, damp earth felt unwelcoming today. A sharp stone pressed uncomfortably between his toes. He prepared himself for what unknown reality may be revealed this time.
At the edge of the lake, Timothy looked down, coming face to face with the lake’s invented, could-be reality. He grimaced, seeing the reflected version of reality he feared most. His eyes darted back and forth across the water’s surface, making sure he wasn’t missing something. Instead of two figures reflecting back at him, there was only one. A version of himself stared back. He swore he could feel his son’s hand in his, and the teddy in the other, but in the reflection, his only companion was the stuffed animal.
Timothy lowered himself to the shore, small stones pressing into his knees. He leaned closer to stare closely into the eyes of his double. The reflection looked tired, eyes red with the after effects of mourning. Tears welled in his own eyes, fell, and disturbed the water. He whispered so that only his fictional double could hear.
“Why would the lake torment me like this?”
He sat this way for a moment, eyes closed, processing. He wasn’t sure he could bear to open them again, much less make any more visits here. This would have to be the final reflection.
Time’s passage, the lake’s most powerful reminder, seemed to stop in this moment. He clenched his eyes shut so tightly that shapes began to form in the darkness. The dark shapes danced and twisted mockingly, preventing his brief escape from reality. Why would the lake do this to him? He couldn’t imagine a reality any worse than one without his son.
A small poke stirred him, followed by eager laughing. “Daddy, look! I’m invisible!”
Timothy pulled himself out of the lake’s dark whirlpool of emotions, and watched his son. He was hopping up and down the shore, pointing at his own missing replica in the water. “See, there’s nothing!”
Timothy turned again, studying his own face in the reflection. At first, he thought the reflected version of himself looked older. A future filled with despair. But now he wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the weight of the fictional tragedy that aged his double. He moved the teddy bear down towards the water, yearning for confirmation. He held his breath as he inched the furry animal closer. Holding the bear a few inches from the water, a sigh of relief burst from his mouth, and he choked on a surge of tears. The bear still had both eyes. In fact, it was in mint condition. Even its tag looked freshly snipped, its edges dangling from the bear’s seam.
He retracted into his lap, head hanging in relief. In the background, he could still hear his son shouting with excitement at his new superpower of invisibility. Before turning to join him, he threw a handful of rocks into the face of his watery likeness, banishing it from existence.
He jumped up and played along with his son. “Where are you, buddy? I can’t see you!”
His son squealed with laughter as he ran around, pretending he had superpowers. By the time Timothy finally scooped up his son from their imaginative, one-sided game of tag, the sun had almost fully set. They headed home, hand in hand.
“Daddy, that was the best lake trip ever.”
Timothy fought back tears with all he had, and forced a smile back at his son. He searched for the best way to explain how he really felt, but the true darkness behind his son’s superpowers were best kept a secret.
