2022 Winners per language

  • Catalan: Perfect Harmony, by Núria Pelegrí Bobet
  • Czech: The Door to the Cellar, by Jana Sarasvatí Lukešová
  • Danish: The Future, by Mette Norrie
  • Dutch (Belgium): The Rain, by Kim Stessens
  • Dutch (The Netherlands): Hope, by Ingrid van Gaalen
  • English: Not a Children’s Story, by Frances Gapper
  • Finnish: The Paradox of Life, by Rami Bärman
  • French: Dead-end, by Nofan Bernheim
  • German: Interiorising Earth’s Interior, by Jeremias Heppeler
  • Hebrew: An Exercise in Non-Free Fall, by Shahar Blumenfeld
  • Portuguese: Combat, by Nuno Gonçalves
  • Spanish: Children’s Game, by Francisco Javier Cano Santa Bárbara
  • Swedish: Iron Sharpens Iron, by Johanna Lagerlöf

Catalan

Sintonia perfecta

El ding-dong estrident del timbre va sobresaltar en Bruc, que jeia endormiscat als peus de la Margot. Abans d’obrir la porta va ordenar-li que baixés al soterrani; ell va obeir. El convidat es deixà guiar per una Margot nua i juganera. Uns gemecs eixordadors i l’esclat de plaer, foren el senyal per irrompre a l’estança; el tentacle, llefiscós i infinit, envoltà l’home per la cintura i l’arrossegà passadís enllà fins a fer-lo desaparèixer. Després, silenci; trencat, només, per un estrèpit breu i ronc sorgit de les profunditats de la casa. «Bon profit, Bruc!», digué la Margot amb un somriure murri.

Perfect Harmony

The shrill ding-dong of the doorbell startled Bruc, who laid dozing at Margot’s feet. Before opening the door, she ordered him down to the cellar; he obeyed. The guest let himself be guided by a naked and playful Margot. Thunderous moans and the explosion of pleasure were the signal to burst into the room; the tentacle, slimy and infinite, wrapped around the man’s waist and dragged him down the corridor until he disappeared. Then silence, broken only by a short, hoarse clatter from the depths of the house. Bon appétit, said Margot with a mischievous smile.

  • Author: Núria Pelegrí Bobet
  • Translator: Franco Chiaravalotti
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Czech

Dveře od sklepa

Jsem moře, ve kterém smáčíš nohy, ale plavat v něm nesmíš. Kniha, ve které listuješ, ale číst z ní nemůžeš. Mandarinka, jejíž chuť neznáš, protože tak tvrdou slupku neoloupeš.

Marně bušíš na mé dveře. Zajímá tě, co skrývám. Kdybys je ale otevřel, spatřil bys moře, jehož hlubiny jsou příliš temné. Knihu, která nestojí za to, abys ji četl. Nahořklou mandarinku, která se jen na první pohled tváří, že je sladká.

Nechci, abys znal má tajemství. Mám strach ti ukázat svou pravou tvář…Ale čím víc před tebou schovávám klíč od mých dveří, tím více toužíš zjistit, co se skrývá pod povrchem.

The Door to the Cellar

I am the sea in which you wet your feet, but you must not swim in it. A book you flip through, but can’t read from. A tangerine the taste of which you don’t know because you can’t peel the hard skin.

You knock on my door in vain. You wonder what I’m hiding. But if you opened it, you would see a sea with depths all too dark. A book not worth reading. A bitter tangerine that only looks sweet at first glance.

I don’t want you to know my secrets. I am afraid to show you my real face… But the more I hide the key to my door from you, the more you want to know what lies beneath the surface.

  • Author: Jana Sarasvatí Lukešová
  • Do you like it? Vote for it here (you can vote just one text and not the text from your own country)

Danish

Fremtiden

Det vi gemmer i buskene i parken, vil forsvinde og derefter buskene og siden parken. Der vil bygges boliger hvor den lå, jorden vil skifte form og farve, kommunale træer vil rejse sig fra grunden, gro sirligt i cirkler og siden alléer og senere vælte i en storm. Dine hænders årer vil forgrene sig mens du leder efter noget i en lomme af dagen, på den yderste spids af april.
Beton vil skyde op gennem græsset; gråt over grønt, og til sidst forsvinder du, eller: du vil sidde langt herfra, bag et andet vindue end vores, snart helt visket ud.

The Future

What we hide in the bushes in the park will vanish, then too the bushes, then the park. Housing will be built where it used to be, the land will change shape and colour, municipal trees will rise from the ground, grow immaculately in circles, later in avenues and subsequently topple in a gale. The veins of your hands will branch apart while you search for something in a pocket of the day, at the furthest tip of April. Concrete will sprout through the grass, grey over green, and eventually you too will vanish, or else will sit far from here, behind a different window than ours, soon completely erased.

  • Author: Mette Norrie
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Dutch (Belgium)

De Regen

Lawaai toetert in de straten. Ik volg mam. Mijn pop valt. Ik wil haar oprapen, maar mama trekt me
mee. Een bliksemflits. Ver weg dondert het. De bliksem raakt de kerk. De toren is een kaars. Iedereen
roept. We lopen de trap af. We gaan onder de grond. Gaan we de trein nemen? Mam stopt bij het
perron. Het is druk. Er staan tenten. Dekens op de grond. Moeten we zo lang wachten op de trein?

Het onweer klinkt tot hier. Donder. Een flits. Ik zie niets meer.

The Rain

Noise is wailing in the streets. I’m following mum. My doll falls down. I want to grab her, but mum tugs
me along. A lightning flash. Thunder far away. The lightning hits the church. The tower is a candle.
Everyone is screaming. We’re running down the stairs. We’re going underground. Are we taking the
train? Mum stops on the platform. It’s crowded. There are tents. Blankets on the ground. Will we have
to wait that long for the train? The storm booms even here. Thunder. A flash. I can’t see anything
anymore.

  • Author: Kim Stessens
  • Translator: Liselot De Canck. 
  • Do you like it? Vote for it here (you can vote just one text and not the text from your own country)

Dutch (The Netherlands)

Hoop

Een gure wind blaast door de tunnel, die nog donkerder is dan dit onverlichte perron. De trams rijden niet meer, we zijn geïsoleerd van de buitenwereld. Opnieuw horen we vliegtuigmotoren en explosies. Ademnood, verkramping in alle spieren. Het zweet van de volwassenen ruikt zurig. Samenklonterend op en onder de dekens zingen we onze angst weg: ‘De uil zat in de olmen,’ een melancholieke melodie in canon. De kinderen zingen luid de echo mee: ‘koekoek!’. Dan luisteren we scherp, met bonzend hart. Heel in de verte, vanuit de tunnel, waar het volgende perron moet zijn, horen we stemmen: ‘koekoek’. We juichen.

Hope

A bleak wind blows through the tunnel, which is even darker than this unlit platform. The trams are not in service anymore, we are isolated from the outside world. Again we hear aircraft engines and explosions. Lack of breath dyspnea, cramps in all muscles. The sweat of the grown ups smells sour. Huddled underneath one of the blankets we sing our fear away: ‘The owl sat in the elm,’ a melancholic melody in a round. The children sing the echo loudly: ‘cuckoo!’ Then we listen sharply, with a beating heart. Far away, from inside of the tunnel, where the next platform is supposed to be, we hear voices: ‘cuckoo’. We cheer.

  • Author: Ingrid van Gaalen
  • Do you like it? Vote for it here (you can vote just one text and not the text from your own country)

English

Not A Children’s Story

Between the poisoned river and the industrial estate, in scrawny woodland I met a rough old badger who tried to lure me underground with talk of fried mushrooms and skinless tomatoes, hot toast and watery acorn coffee substitute. Being hungry I was tempted, but a young man put his arm around my waist and drew me away.

The anger builds up in him until he comes home jaunty and I know another girl is dead and buried. Often I’m sorry I didn’t go with the badger, although he might have been lying to me about breakfast.

  • Author: Frances Gapper
  • Do you like it? Vote for it here (you can vote just one text and not the text from your own country)

Finnish

Elämän paradoksi

Minut haudattiin elävältä. On pilkkopimeää ja tajuan että ystäväni ovat lähelläni samoin peitettynä – viskattuna maakuoppaan.

Haluan huutaa, mutta en voi! 

Maan lihakset alkavat puristua ympärilleni ja kuulen kastematojen kostean kiemurtelun. Alan tuntea voimistuvaa sykettä sisälläni ja paine kasvaa. Tuo pakottava voima, kuin hidastettu valtameren hyökyaalto, työntyy hitaasti minusta ulos. Alaosani venyy ja ratkeaa osiin. Samanaikaisesti pääni alkaa turvota hallitsemattomasti ja kalloni kuori antaa periksi.

Palasiksi hajoaminen kiduttaa. En kestä enää! 

Taivaan voima kutsuu minua ja alan kurottaa voimalla valoon. Sieluni alkaa laulaa ja ystäväni yhtyvät säveliin. Ymmärrän toteuttavani ikiaikaista tehtävää.

Murtaudun ulos kuopastani ja smaragdinvärinen versoni kurottaa hehkuen aurinkoon. Elän!

The paradox of life 

Buried alive. Thrown into a black pit with my friends.

I want to shout, but I can’t!

I hear the worms squirming closer as the dirt suffocates me.

My pulse quickens as pressure grows. That compelling force, a tidal wave in slow motion extruding from me. I break free. My head explodes, the skull cracks.

Decomposition leaves me in pain. Stop!

I hear a force from heaven calling me and I reach towards it. I start to sing and my friends join the song. An eternal mission accomplished.

I escape the pit and encounter the sun. I’m alive!

  • Author: Rami Bärman
  • Translator: Kari Silvola
  • Do you like it? Vote for it here (you can vote just one text and not the text from your own country)

French

Cul-de-sac

Quand les sirènes ont chanté    j’étais prête   Quand l’immeuble s’est effondré   j’étais déjà partie Quand il a fallu traverser   je n’ai pas regardé   Quand j’ai vu les corps  je n’ai pas pleuré   Quand la mer a débordé   je suis allée plus haut    Quand j’ai vu les rats en colonne serrée.   je les ai suivis Quand un raton a couiné   j’ai laissé tomber une miette   Quand c’était un cul-de-sac je me suis retournée  Quand l’eau est montée dans le tunnel j’ai respiré   Quand le plafond s’est rapproché

j’ai pensé à toi.

Dead-end

When the sirens sang… I was ready…. When the building collapsed…. I was already gone… When it was time to cross… I didn’t watch… When I saw the bodies… I didn’t cry… When the sea overflowed… I climbed higher… When I saw rats moving in closed ranks … I followed them… When a baby rat whined… I dropped a crumb… When there was a dead-end I turned around… When the water rose in the tunnel… I breathed… When the ceiling got closer

I thought of you.

  • Author: Nofan Bernheim
  • Do you like it? Vote for it here (you can vote just one text and not the text from your own country)

German

Erinnere das Erdinnere

Im Kindergarten haben wir angefangen ein Loch zu graben.

Einfach so. Kinder halt. Als wir dann den ersten Belag des Sandkastensandes abgetragen hatten und auf Lehm stießen, machte das etwas mit uns.

Das Spiel wurde zur Arbeit. Wir teilten uns in Schichten. Entwickelten Hierarchien.

Im ersten Monat war ich Bauleiter, im siebten stieg ich zum Bandenchef auf. Ich wurde manisch.

Wir gruben und gruben. Schicht nach Schicht. Umkreisten Rohre. Skelette. Schätze. Kinder gingen verloren, Häuser rutschten in den Schlund. Wir weckten jahrtausendealte Flüche.

Im dritten Jahr durchbrachen wir die Dunkelheit und ein Gleißen, das alle Frage beantwortete, verschluckte uns. Licht!

Interiorising Earth’s Interior

In nursery school we began digging a hole.

Just like that. As kids do. Then when we had removed the first layer of sand from the sandpit, and struck clay, it did something to us.

Play became work. We divided ourselves up into classes. Developed hierarchies.

In the first month, I was site supervisor, in the seventh I rose to gang leader. I became manic.

We dug and dug. Layer after layer. Cleared around pipes. Skeletons. Treasures. Kids went missing, houses slid into the gorge. We awakened curses that were thousands of years old.

In the third year we broke through the darkness and were swallowed by a glow which answered all questions. Light!

  • Author: Jeremias Heppeler
  • Translator: Peter Waugh 
  • Do you like it? Vote for it here (you can vote just one text and not the text from your own country)

Hebrew

תרגיל בנפילה לא חופשית

איש יוצא מנקודה א’ לכיוון נקודה ב’, בעל מסה מינימלית ובווקטור שלילי. הנוסחאות במנדרינית ששינן בילדותו לא נשלפות. ובכן, נשמטה מדפי הנוסחאות האקסיומה כי מהירות הגוף מביסה את מהירות המחשבה, ואולי טוב שכך, כי כשחושבים עלולים להתחיל להתחרט על דברים. ואם הוא בעצם עדיין נופל אז הוא כבר נופל די הרבה זמן, ואם הוא כבר נופל די הרבה זמן, אולי מדובר בחלום שהיה לו אחרי מה שקרה לילד, בו נראה לרגע שהפיגומים ממשיכים לנצח, צומחים מתחת לקרקע ובונים עוד מיליוני דירות ובתים, והוא עוד שנייה יתעורר והכל יהיה בסדר, ואם הוא עוד שנייה יתעורר והכל יהיה בסדר אז

An Exercise in Non-Free Fall

A man exits from point A to point B, with minimal mass and a negative vector. Well, the axion that the body’s speed defeats the thought’s speed is missing in the formula sheets, and it may well be so, because when you think, you might start regretting things. And if he’s still falling then maybe it’s that dream he had after what happened to the kid, in which it seems for a moment that the scaffolding continues forever, growing underground, building millions more buildings, and he’ll wake up soon and everything’ll be fine, and if he’ll wake up soon then.

  • Author: Shahar Blumenfeld 
  • Do you like it? Vote for it here (you can vote just one text and not the text from your own country)

Portuguese

O Combate

É um dos poucos santuários de diversão que ainda resta nesta cidade apática. A entrada faz-se por um alçapão desengonçado que se abre a uma larga cave húmida, iluminada por inúmeras lâmpadas despidas caídas do teto. Não me venham falar em riscos, perigos ou proibições. Preferia a vida no cárcere a ter de abdicar da emoção das vitórias. Percorro o espaço estreito entre os bancos já ocupados até encontrar um lugar livre. Ouve-se o acelerar dos corações antes de se iniciarem as hostilidades. Sento-me, tiro o relógio, fito o meu oponente e começo. Avanço o peão do rei duas casas.

Combat

It’s one of the few sanctuaries for fun left in this apathetic city. The entrance is through a loose trapdoor that opens onto a large damp basement, lit by countless naked lamps that hang from the ceiling. Don’t tell me about the risks, dangers or prohibitions. I’d rather spend my life in prison than to give up the thrill of victory. I make my way through the narrow space between the already occupied benches until I find a free seat. Heartbeats can be heard before hostilities break out. I sit down, take off my watch, stare at my opponent and start. I move the king’s pawn two squares.

  • Author: Nuno Gonçalves
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Spanish

Juegos infantiles

Cuando el ogro se va empieza el mejor momento del día. Jugamos a la gallinita ciega, a la rayuela pintada en el suelo bajo el colchón. También saltamos a la comba con las cadenas, cronometramos con la mente a ver quién se suelta antes los grilletes y, según el día, nos entretenemos jugando a las tabas con nuestros dientes. Hoy, Luisito ha visto un manojo de llaves en el suelo del sótano. Nos hemos liberado y le he dicho que escapemos, pero él no quiere irse sin echar otra partida.

Children’s games

When the ogre leaves, the best part of the day starts. We play Blind Man’s Buff and hopscotch on the floor underneath the mattress. We skip with the chains, in our heads we time who can get rid of their shackles first and depending on the day we have fun playing Jacks with our teeth. Today, little Luis saw a handful of keys on the floor of the cellar. We freed ourselves and I told him we should escape, but he wants to play another game before going.

  • Author: Francisco Javier Cano Santa Bárbara
  • Do you like it? Vote for it here (you can vote just one text and not the text from your own country)

Swedish

Järn skärper järn

Vagnen skramlar, metall mot metall. Hon har varit här många gånger förut. Forsande fram under gator och torg, restauranger och lägenheter. I detta ogenomträngliga, ursprungliga mörker mellan solupplysta uppgångar. Hon drar likväl efter andan, sluter ögonen.
Av jord är du kommen och av jord ska du åter vara.

Hon känner hur det rör sig i djupet, hur marken skakar. Allt är i skälvande rörelse. Långsamt andas hon ut.

Det gnisslar, metall mot metall. Hon öppnar ögonen, ser hur vagnen kastar gnistor i mörkret. Skärvor av eld i den kalla jorden.

Iron Sharpens Iron

The carriage rattles, metal against metal. She has been here many times before. Rushing fast below streets and squares, restaurants and apartments. In this impenetrable, primeval darkness between sunlit exits. She catches her breath, closes her eyes.

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

She feels it moving in the depths, the shaking of the ground. Everything in trembling motion. Slowly she exhales.

It squeaks, metal against metal. She opens her eyes, sees the carriage throwing sparks in the dark. Shards of fire in the cold earth.

  • Author: Johanna Lagerlöf
  • Do you like it? Vote for it here (you can vote just one text and not the text from your own country)

International Jury and Voting System

In this second and last round of our Flash Fiction Contest, 13 European representatives (one per each leading institution) will empanelled our EACWP jury. The general voting guidelines are directly inspired by the Eurovision contest, which regards the following rules:

1) The international jury cannot vote for the winning text of their own country.

2) The international jury will divide the points as it follows:

    • First text: 12 points
    • Second text: 10 points
  • Third text: 8 points
  • Fourth: 7 points
  • Fifth: 5 points

3) The text with more votes from the popular vote will be awarded with 3 extra points.

The final winner will be announced in July, 15, 2022.

EACWP Jury 2022

  • Andrea Holland (University of East Anglia)
  • Conceição Garcia (Escrever Escrever)
  • Daniel Kubec (The University of Creative Communication)
  • Franco Chiaravalloti (Escola d’escriptura del Ateneu Barcelonès)
  • Magnus Eriksson (Linnaeus University)
  • Maja Lucas (University of Southern Denmark)
  • Germán Solís (Escuela de Escritores)
  • Marie-Pascale Lescot (Aleph-Écriture)
  • Peter Waugh (Vienna Poetry School / sfd)
  • An Leenders (Creatief Schrijven)
  • Aya Gilad (Sadnaot Habait)
  • Frederike Luijten (ArtEZ)
  • Tomi Sirviö and Annemari Ahoste (Jyväskylä University)