Flash Fiction Winner: My Dearest Lydia by Mackenzie Hicks

Please join us in congratulating the winner in Page Turner Magazine’s second flash fiction contest: “My Dearest Lydia”!

Mackenzie Hicks warmed—then shattered—our hearts with a tale of yearning and lost love. It is with the utmost of romantic melancholy that we present to you, “My Dearest Lydia”.

My dearest Lydia…

The words stood out in their blackness against the soft cream pages of the book. Lydia kept staring at them as she clipped the white roses, readying them for a vase. The clip of her silver scissors against the stems matched the jump in her heart as she tried to read past those three words.


Flash Fiction Runner-Up: Spring Forever by Erudessa Gentian

Please join us in congratulating the runner-up in Page Turner Magazine’s second flash fiction contest: Love In Paris! Erudessa has penned a heartwarming tale about a love that transcends the vagaries of time and place. It is with the highest esteem (and not a small amount of wistfulness) that we present to you, “Spring Forever.”

Thin, wrinkled fingers turned the faded pages of her well-loved book with a strength that hadn’t failed for over sixty years. Frowning slightly, Rose glared toward the whirring machines in the room that would not stop their infernal beeping. At least the steady rhythm assured her worrywart niece that everything but her blasted leg was in top shape.


Flash Fiction Winning Entry: The Dragon of Ják by Anna O’Connell

Please join us in congratulating the winning entry in Page Turner Magazine’s very first flash fiction contest: The Dragon of Ják! Anna had crafted a compelling narrative in which a clever priest finds himself pitted against a merciless dragon. Who will triumph, and who will meet their fate?

In the village of Ják, Father Peter was washing the soot from his hands, following Compline on the Day of Ashes. He had remained to extinguish the candles and stepped outside and over to the trough to the side of the door, where he poured water from a small pitcher over his fingers. He had a brief pang of hunger and allowed a sigh to pass through his lips, the wordless sound steaming in the frigid night. Outlined by the sliver of moonlight, the mist seemed to take on a deeper shadow. Rubbing his eyes, Father Peter blinked with a grimace as the grit worked across his face. 

Before him was a fearsome creature, a serpent with a flared, horse-like nose and great rooster claws. The beast bared its teeth at Father Peter, who, still scrunching his eyes, tripped onto the stone stair of the dormitory. He clutched the lintel as the beast spoke.