Week Three

This weeks theme is ‘Important Objects’. Cinderella had her glass slipper, the Evil Witch has her poisoned apple and your fairytale should have a prominent object at the forefront of your submission. 

Submissions are to be sent to thecrystalslipper@outlook.com with a closing date of 7pm Monday the 19th of May.

Entry Details 

Entries must be the original work of the entrant. Entrants retain copyright of their work and if chosen for publication will be notified of their success the following Monday via email.

Works of Prose must be no longer than 2500 words.

Multiple Poems and Photographs may be submitted but are limited to three per person per week.


Witch – Stuart Henderson

Cookies in the carpet
Sugar in the ceiling
Shortbread roof-tiles
Bound with icing
And bricks
Made of cake mix

They call me Beldam
They call me Majo
They call me Vid’ma
They call me Baba Yaga

Candy-cane supporting beam
Sofa filled with buttercream
Furniture from gingerbread
Dreams in a marshmallow bed

They call me Penrihir
They call me Mala Mujer
They call me Dayana
They call me Hexe

This house is built from sweets
This house is good to eat
Toffee pennies grow on trees
Life is much sweeter with me

They call me Godless
They call me Guilty
They call me Heathen




Being An Evil Queen Wasn’t As Fun As I Expected – Mollie Barratt

Being born into a magical family wasn’t as fun as I had expected.

Every day that my powers didn’t appear,

My parents’ disappointment and doubt became more so.

Until at last,

I clicked my fingers and as the friction created the same old noise as the day before,

Sparks flew and flashed like fireworks on my birthday

In the air and in my parents’ hearts.

They loved me.


Being born with a predisposition of evil and wickedness wasn’t as fun as I had expected.

It was more so.

Setting people’s bags on fire

Setting people’s friends on each other

Setting people on fire with their friend’s bags

It was a blast.

(I blew up the school)

They loathed me.


Marrying a king and becoming queen wasn’t as fun as I had expected.

No you can’t kill the cook for over-doing your breakfast.

No you can’t suspend the horse boy from the stable using his intestines as rope.

No you can’t have an army of evil flying monkeys.

Where the public saw a just and loving king,

I saw a tyrannical husband.

But I will admit,

I loved him.


Having a beautiful stepdaughter who was cherished by all wasn’t as fun as I had expected.

Her incorruptible heart paraded around my castle day and night.

I could practically see the vile humility and detestable angelic glow radiating from her.

Her heart was so pure

I could see it every night as I slept and I wanted it.

I loathed her.


Having a huntsman so cowardly it makes one sick wasn’t as fun as I had expected.

All I wanted,

All I needed,

Was her heart removed and brought to me.

Her heart.

I bet it wouldn’t have glowed so brightly when lying bloody and bruised in my palm.

He couldn’t fail me in the end though.

I took his heart.


Ingeniously deciding to dress up three times corresponding with three different assassination attempts wasn’t as fun as I had expected.

It was exciting.

It was exhausting.

It was infuriating.

Having to be nice to that little princess before I murdered her.

Your body would look even more beautiful in this bodice

Please, try it.

Your hair would look even more marvellous with this comb

Please, try it.

Your skin would look even more youthful after eating this apple

Please, try it.


I took her life.


Being invited to a royal wedding and discovering,

With more horror and despair of an eternal Halloween,

That the stepdaughter you believed to have been killed by your hand

Was now giving it away to a prince,

Wasn’t as fun as I had expected.

She died in front of me.

But she didn’t.

She should have died in front of me.

But she didn’t.

I failed to destroy her happiness.


Being forced to wear burning shoes and dance until my death wasn’t as fun as I had expected.

The glow of the coals heating the white hot metal reminded me of Snow White.

Her radiance.

My evil.

Her beauty.

My pain.

The shoes were a perfect combination of us both and as I danced,

I felt nothing other than my skin melting and moulding to the iron

My nails falling away and collecting at the heels,

Jumping around as I moved

My bones burning to ash.

There was no rest of reprieve.

Did she watch?

I suppose not.

I danced my way to Hell.

She danced her way to Heaven.

She succeeded in destroying my everything.

Week Two

The week’s prompt is ‘Villains’. Your piece must focus on a villain, one of your creation or one already established in another fairy-tale.  Perhaps your submission will be about their origin story and rise to evil, or it could focus on a day in their life… even villains might need to do the washing up! 

Submissions are to be sent to thecrystalslipper@outlook.com with a closing date of 7pm Monday the 5th of May.

Entry Details 

Entries must be the original work of the entrant. Entrants retain copyright of their work and if chosen for publication will be notified of their success the following Monday via email.

Works of Prose must be no longer than 2500 words.

Multiple Poems and Photographs may be submitted but are limited to three per person per week.

Rapunzel – Ashleigh Cutts

Once-upon-a-time I had a real life. I played in the street with the other kids; imagining princesses with long flowing golden hair and princes battling dragons to win fair maidens honour. The estate where I lived was grey and dull, covered in the grime of the nearby Power Station; but we transformed it into a fairy-tale paradise. Those dreams were shattered as soon as we went home. Every day at tea time reality set in and we went back to our grim existences. Single mothers, violent fathers and alcoholics. Mine was the worst.

 The drug abuse started when I was about three. My mother said she needed it to ‘calm her nerves’. It started once a week then escalated to frequent visits from dodgy, hooded men in the middle of the night. I didn’t know who her dealer was but I always stayed away from the ‘transactions’ hiding in my tiny box room. We couldn’t afford a bed so I would curl up onto the mattress on my floor and cry myself to sleep while my mother injected her way to oblivion. Eventually the benefits couldn’t pay for her habit anymore and she needed a way to get cash. Fast. We had already sold nearly all of our belongings and were living in a dump with no furniture. We couldn’t afford to pay the electricity bill, not that it would have been much use as all our appliances had been flogged months earlier. The only thing left was me.

 I was 5 when it happened. There was a knock on the door one day. My mother staggered into my room and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me off the bed. She reeked of alcohol and body odour. “You’ve been nothing but a pain since you were born.” She spat in my face. “You were a big mistake. All you do is cost me money. Prove yourself useful for a change” she slurred. Her hands shook as she opened the door to a bony and haggard looking woman, flanked by two burly men. “I believe you have the child?” she quizzed in a mouse like voice. My mother thrust me forward. “A little skinny, but she’ll do” snorted the witch like woman. She clicked her fingers and the men stepped forward picking me up. I screamed and kicked, lashing out and biting their hands but they weren’t fazed. “Please!” my mother begged. “I need the stuff now! I’m desperate!” The bony woman simply glanced at my mother, throwing a small bag of brown powder over her shoulder which my mother scrabbled subserviently on the floor to get. The men dragged me outside and threw me into the van, bashing my arms and face. They drove for what seemed like hours eventually braking hard and opening the van doors to drag me out again. I didn’t fight the second time.

 They took me into a rundown house with music blasting from the inside. “You can stay here with the others” said the bony woman, sticking her skeletal fingers into my shoulder and tossing me into a room. There were other girls there, some were older and looked ill, like mum did when she had taken the drugs. I was scared when I entered the house, now I was terrified. They were skeletal and malnourished. How had we come to deserve this fate? I could understand she never really wanted me, She always liked the ‘gentleman callers’ that came around much better. I slumped on the floor in the same defeated position as many of the other girls and accepted my doom…


 My name is Rapunzel. It’s strange I know, something straight out of a fairytale book you used to have when you were a kid, or like I had before my mother sold it to the first person who would buy it. It’s not my real name. I don’t like to use my real name in this place. So I created a fictional image for myself. In my fantasy world I can escape the beatings and the leering glares of the ugly men that come here to use, in more ways than one. I have been kept away from them, considered too beautiful to ‘waste.’ I’m destined for auction. The other girls think I’m strange and need to get a grip on reality. But I think they need to get a grip on their imagination. Why live in squalor when you can live in a palace in your mind. It beats living in this place. “Be grateful you have anywhere to live at all” the evil witch cries. “Some girls like you have to live on the streets and don’t have the tender loving care you receive.” She cackles. We are allowed out of course, but only around the rest of the dingy rotting house. It mirrors the emotions of the people inside it, depressed, hopeless and despaired. The girls don’t do what they do out of choice they do it as a way to survive.

 A man leers at me from the main room where I’m standing. “Hey sugar, looking for a good time? I can show you one.” I look away in disgust. “You couldn’t afford her” sneers the witch lady. “We’ve been saving this one. She’s special; no one’s allowed to touch her until she turns sixteen. “Ain’t that right precious” she says caressing my cheek before roughly grabbing my chin “she’ll fetch a pretty penny on the black market. They’re always wanting virgins. Probably fetch us a couple hundred thou.” The other girls glare at me. I feel sorry for them as they lead men by the hand to the back bedrooms. I know what goes on in there and it hurts my heart to watch them go, especially Penny. She’s only 13. She gives me a small smile as she follows a fat, balding and downright dirty man into one of the grubby rooms. I however am paraded up front in the main room. ”Got to protect looks like that” the witch sneers “all that pretty blonde hair and those big blue eyes, worth more than the filth we get in here, isn’t that right?” she cackles as she walks away to pander to her ‘clients.’ A man falls over in front of me. His eyes are glazed and he has a small satisfied smile on his face. “What’s up with him?” I ask one of the girls cocking my head in his direction. “He’s been chasing the dragon again” she said holding up two fingers to her lips. Aah… heroin, one of my mother’s favourite pastimes. I sidestep the man and look at him disgustedly, but really I feel sorry for him. I saw how it ruined my mother. One day without a hit and she would be curled on the floor shaking and vomiting crying for more. She was a slave to it. But then why should I pity her? She is the reason I am here. Destined to be auctioned off to the highest bidder when I have reached full maturity. The witch thinks I will fetch a high price for my virginity. Who knows what will happen to me afterwards, probably a similar providence to the girls in the bedrooms.

 Loud banging interrupted my thoughts. “Get down on the ground!” The girls in the bedrooms were screaming. I stood frozen. “Move! It’s a raid” screamed the witch. The men were scrabbling over each other, trying to pull up their pants as they ran for the exits. I started screaming along with the girls in the bedroom. The strange men in black uniforms were running around the house. The witch woman grabbed my wrist and tugged me along “you’re coming with me.” She hissed in my ear. She crouched low in the kitchen opening the pantry door. Once inside I could still hear the muffled screams of the girls as the men tried to round them up. They said that they wouldn’t hurt them, that they were here to save them. I tried to open the pantry door to shout to them but the witch broke down one of the wooden walls revealing a dank passage. “I’m not losing my most prized possession.” She scowled, dragging me into the tunnel. I squirmed, fighting her, but her bony fingers dug into my wrist. The muffled noises from the house got quieter and I knew they wouldn’t be able to hear me now.

 We emerged into what looked like another cupboard. She opened the door still jerking me along a dimly lit corridor and into a metal box. I remembered these from before. It was an elevator. The witch pressed a button and it began its ascent. The heavy metal doors clanked open revealing another dingy corridor. The witch continued to pull me along doors on either side of the corridor with numbers on them we stopped outside of313. She pulled a set of keys from her pocket, fishing through them until she found the one she was looking for. Sticking it in the lock the door creaked open. She pushed me through the door locking it behind her “I’ll be back!” she screeched through the keyhole, a voice like nails on chalkboard. The walls were not painted, with lumps of plaster knocked out making holes in the surface with damp creeping down from the ceiling creating a nauseating musty smell. I walked around; there was another room off to the side and a small mouldy bathroom. I sat defeated in the middle of the floor and sobbed until I fell asleep.

 When I awoke a bright light shined through the only window. I walked over to it noticing a small catch. I flicked it and jimmied the window open with a ragged movement before opening it fully. There was a small concrete balcony on the other side. I climbed through the opening and stood on the small grey sill. Peering over the edge I could see cars zooming along underneath me. I was extremely high up and there was no way down. I looked to the sides but there was no one around. I counted the windows beneath me. 13 floors up. There was no way I could climb down, unless I wanted my head smashed open like a melon on the street below. But there were more balconies below me. Some people had to live here. What if… no I would never be able to climb over the edge without falling. I would have to have some kind of rope. Then it hit me I had noticed grubby stained sheets on the bed in one of the other rooms. I could tie them to something and climb down to one of the lower balconies. I rushed and stripped the sheets off the bed, then ran back to the window looking for something to tie my makeshift rope to. I decided on dragging the bed closer to the window. I was pretty sure it was heavy enough to carry my weight. I only had to get down one floor, and I would be free. I was becoming giddy with the thought, grinning to myself as I ripped up the sheets and tied the ends together. I then tied it to the bed and climbed back through the open window to peer over the side. I wasn’t sure it would be long enough but I had to try.

 My head snapped round as I heard a key turn in the lock. My heart was in my mouth. She was back. It was now or never. I shimmied over the side. My breath hitched as I heard her calling for me. Then she noticed the open window, the bed and my rope. I was almost half way down now. Squeezing my eyes shut so I couldn’t see how far I had to fall. She let out a blood curdling shriek and I heard her heavy footsteps rush towards the window. I opened my eyes peering up at her. She had a knife in her hands. She put it to the rope. “You can’t escape me!” Her eyes were crazed orbs of fury. Time seemed to slow down as she sawed through the sheets. “No!” I screamed as I felt my weight begin to plummet towards the streets below. I swung and the rope snapped sending me flailing, gravity taking over. I shut my eyes waiting for the inevitable crunch of my bones. Instead there was an earth shattering smash and I howled in pain. I had fallen onto the balcony below and rolled through the window, smashing it as I went. Glass protruded from the open wounds on my arms and legs. I looked up to see a young man running towards me “Are you alright? What the hell were you doing?!” His voice was distant and his face blurred as tears came to my eyes. “You’re safe now.” He shushed me. “I’ll call an ambulance.” I sat on the floor in the small flat, blood trickling down my face and body, and then it hit me. I was free…

A Different Tower – Mollie Barratt

   It has taken a lot to adjust to living in the big city. It’s nothing like the little farm house I was used to as a child, helping out my father with the animals and thinking that riding on the tractor in the warm sun was the most exhilarating thing any human could do. That was before I was old enough to ride the horses though, after that the tractor seemed dull and clunky. Downtown Chicago was very different indeed.

   Every building was a skyscraper with metallic and cold windows and walls, dark grey suits littered the place speeding through the streets without a thought of whom they may bash into on their way to the very important meeting with head office. The structures had no life to them but the kinetic energy of the inhabitants and the neon lights during the night kept the city alive. I settled into my office job on West Monroe Street, a little ways up from the Bank of America Theatre. It was one of the reasons I took the job here rather than anyway else, I just love musicals. In fact it got me a few disapproving glances during my first days when I absent-mindedly start singing to myself while filing some paperwork away. Self-expression was not something celebrated in my particular office block, although my boss didn’t seem to mind.

   She was a nice lady, somewhere in her early to mid-fifties with a very practiced smile; I watched her during my first few months trying to figure out the best way to act around her. I had been given some advice a friendly co-worker, Liz – although in my head I used her full name Elizabeth, I just preferred it but never told her – who advised me to act differently while the boss was around. People stopped gossiping, started typing when they hadn’t touched the keyboard in half an hour, some even photocopied blank pieces of paper in the hope that their illusion of working hard  would be opaque enough to not be challenged. I nodded politely at Elizabeth and thanked her for the advice but deep down I knew I wouldn’t use it, I was there to work and work I would do.

   The first time I properly spoke to my boss was at the end of my first week when I was called into her office. As I tentatively walked from my desk to her door, I went over in my head what I could have possibly done to warrant a meeting; I hadn’t been late, all my documents had been filed correctly and on time, my desk was never cluttered nor the area a disturbance to anyone. Well, other than that one afternoon where I accidentally hummed the tune to various Wicked songs without realising until someone threw a screwed up post-it note with the words ‘stop humming’ on it. I think my face went as red as the pen I was using to point out spelling errors in a report. I knocked on her door as a child would knock on their parents’ and cautiously poked my head around.

   “You wanted to see me?” My voice fell on the same trail as my knock.

   “Yes I did, please take a seat.” She looked up from her desk and smiled. I entered the room, looking around at the labelled boxes on the shelves and the generic motivation posters on the walls. “Do you know why I called you in?” Her eyes were piercing but with a hint of softness although I was sure it could be evaporated in a split second if she didn’t like what she heard.

   “I-I don’t know, Ms. Gothel. Did I file or format something wrong?” I tried my best to act like the adult I was but I couldn’t help the feeling of being a student in front of a teacher.

   “Oh Heaven’s no, flower! I just wanted to see how your first week was going. I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have said ‘do you know why I called you in’ like that,” she exaggerated how seriously she had said it the first time around with her hands resting on her ribs and a frown covering her face, “it’s just a little joke I like to play on the new workers. I once had a fellow in here who worked himself into such a state he sweated himself into an unconscious nap.”  She laughed, seemingly at everyone else’s expense.

   “Well I think it’s going well so far, I’m not finding the work too challenging and I’ve just about figured my way around the office although the filing system in the records room does trip me up from time to time.” My chuckle was not reciprocated as Ms. Gothel was too busy writing something down. I cautiously peered over but couldn’t make anything out until she looked up at me again with a smile.

   “Oh yes, it’s definitely one of those things you master in time. Have you had any problems or concerns you wish to bring up? Any issues you’ve had while you’ve been here? I can see from your file,” Ms. Gothel lifted up a few pages looking for the information she wanted, “that you were born a little ways out of Little Falls, Minnesota. How are you finding the big city?” Ms. Gothel rested her elbows on her desk and her chin on her hands, almost intently anticipating my words.

   “It’s very different to say the least, there’s a lot more people and traffic, a lot more of everything really but I’m adapting.” I repeatedly looked away while speaking but her eyes never wavered.

   “I think you’re adapting marvellously, much better than some of the other people I’ve had in this office.” Ms. Gothel was a little too cheery and it made me wonder what she was like with other people.

   “Like the passing-out-from-sweating guy.” I recalled with some measure of concern. Ms. Gothel however laughed instead.

   “Exactly! Oh you should have seen him when he got fired, I nearly had to get new carpets installed!” It was bordering on disturbing how much she seemed to enjoy the poor man’s torment and with that, I took a chance on leaving.

   “I’m sure it was a sight to see. If that is all, Ms. Gothel, I would like to get back to work, I’m sure I’ve got a few more papers on my desk by now.” As I stood up to leave her expression changed from happiness to, what was it, worry? Longing? I wasn’t sure but wanted to leave.

   “Yes that’s fine, you go right ahead my little worker bee and please, call me Rhiamon.”

   “Right, thank you, Rhiamon.” I knew from then onwards that I would never use Ms. Gothel’s first name. It felt wrong somehow, like calling one of your parents by their name rather than relation. I headed towards the door with a weak smile and walked quicker than normal to my desk. I noticed a few co-workers looking at me, figuring out whether I had broken some rule or even told Ms. Gothel about the passive aggressive post-it note but I didn’t see the point of bringing it up and sat down, burying my head in my work as always.


   Months passed and I settled in nicely, made friends with some of the co-workers and avoided others, and seemingly became the not-so-secret favourite of Ms. Gothel; she gave me the best cases and so I got one of the highest bonuses in my department at the end of each month. On a few occasions I found peanut butter brittle on my desk with a note saying something along the lines of ‘well done on Mr. So-And-So’s case last week, flower!’. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I didn’t like peanut butter brittle and so stashed it under my spare stationary in my desk.

   Not long after, the job started getting monotonous and boring; the same old clients coming back even though we’d resolved their issues, the same stories being told, the same answers being given. The only interesting thing I had in the months running up to my one year anniversary of being there was watching the construction of the office block next to ours. Elizabeth and I would watch the workmen on our break. Well, she would, I would do some less taxing work while sitting next to her and occasionally looking up to see what she was making strange noises about – mostly it was topless men, Chicago does get rather hot in the summer. After the building was completed and inhabited by the same kind of people around me, we would – she would – people-watch on our breaks. And that was when I saw him. He sat facing the same way I did and I caught him glancing over a few times but just put it down to Elizabeth obviously staring at him.

   “Isn’t he handsome?! I mean, have you seen that jawline? I could watch that harsh angle all day.” I laughed at Elizabeth and looked over to the other building. He was typing away on his computer, checking his papers, typing again, finishing his coffee – I couldn’t see what was in his cup but he looked like a coffee man – and stood up. He buttoned up his light grey suit and adjusted his dark red tie before tossing an embarrassed smile at the group of women gawking at him in my office. His blue eyes looked to mine and seemingly got locked in place, my gaze only broken my Elizabeth bashing my arm. “Hey he’s looking right at you! Wave or something! Go on, do it!” I tentatively raised my hand. What if he wasn’t looking at me? What if I wave and he doesn’t wave back? What if I spend too long asking myself questions and he walks away? So I waved and as he waved back, his smile turning into a grin. We only realised our hands were hovering when his boss walked over and startled him, breaking the moment and sending me crashing back to the reality of the giddy women around me.

   From that day onwards, we waved every morning when the last one of us would arrive and take a seat at our respective desks, and in the evening when the first one would get up to leave. Even though my job hadn’t changed, the work was less of a bore since I could look over at my handsome stranger any time and feel butterflies when I realised he had been looking at me. One day, when our offices were quiet and we had nothing much to do, we attempted to engage in proper conversation through holding up pieces of paper to the window. It took a few attempts to get the handwritten font to the right size so the other person could read it and that meant there was little space on the page for much of a message so our exchanges started off small with ‘hellos’ and ‘how are yous’. Normally, I was very mindful of where Ms. Gothel was as I had been inadvertently appointed look out for everyone else and would subtly alert them when she was inbound, however this day I was preoccupied and was startled when she appeared behind me at my desk.

   “As charming as that man may be, I hope he’s not distracting you too much from your work.” Her tone was not the usual overly pleased to see me but had an element of authority and maybe even a hint of hurt.

   “Oh no, Ms. Gothel, I was just… um on my break, I’ve finished the report you wanted on Mrs. Rogers,” I hurriedly moved things on my desk trying to find the right paperwork and discard my messages to my new friend, “and everything is ready for tomorrow’s meeting.” I could feel my face glowing scarlet as I tried – and failed – to calm down.

   “Thank you.” Ms. Gothel snatched the folder from my hand and turned to leave. “One more thing, that office over there is part of Guardian, our rival company. Just be mindful of that when getting close to your… new friend.” Ms. Gothel almost stormed away to her office and ignored Anderson as he tried to talk to her on the way. I could see a few people look at me in surprise and turned to Elizabeth.

   “I think she might have a problem with me and the handsome stranger.”


   The next six months went on as before; same old work, exciting handsome stranger, notes held up to windows and the constant sense of anxiety that Ms. Gothel knew what I was doing. Gradually, her mood changed towards me – the nickname of ‘flower’ had long since been forgotten – and I had stopped being given the best cases. However, on one particular Tuesday something was different.

   “Where’s your pen pal?” Elizabeth perched on my desk and grinned.

   “I’m not sure, he wasn’t here yesterday either.” Was he ill? Had he moved desks? Had he taken a holiday and not told me? As I went over possible explanations, both logical and extremely illogical, one of the gossip girls came bustling into the office and over to us.

   “Have you heard?! Handsome stranger, whose real name is Henry so now he’s Handsome Henry, was in an accident last night!” I stood up from my desk – a little too quickly – and stared at Doris.

   “An accident? What kind of accident? Is he okay?” I couldn’t hide the fear in my voice.

   “Apparently he was walking home and got run down by a car and he went flying into someone’s garden! But that isn’t even the worst part!” How could this possibly get worse? “The worst part is… his suit got ruined!” Everyone gasped, some out of genuine shock, others because it was preposterous.

   “Doris?!” Elizabeth was the latter.

   “Oh wait that’s not right. The worst part is… he went flying into a rose bush and the thorns… they blinded him.” No sound was made after that. Everyone silently shuddered and prayed for his recovery.


   The next few weeks were the least enjoyable of all my time working for Ms. Gothel. Every day I’d leave and return but it felt like I never really left that metallic tower. Every day I hurriedly left my office and kept my head down as I pushed through the crowds, but on one particularly day I was stopped when I bumped into someone and started apologising vehemently.

   “Oh my I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention—“ I suddenly realised who it was.

   “Sorry, I have a little bit of trouble seeing nowadays.” He chuckled and as he pointed to his sunglasses, it broke my heart. “My name’s Henry” He extended his hand to my right side and I moved to shake it properly.

   “I’m Rae. Rae Punzelle.”

Week One

Welcome to The Crystal Slipper!

This week’s prompt is ‘Contemporary Setting’. Your Fairytale submission must take place in the modern world, representing the here and now.  You could choose to adapt a well known, traditional fairytale  or completely create your own new story. Submissions are to be sent to thecrystalslipper@outlook.com with a closing date of 7pm Monday the 28th of April.

Entry Details 

Entries must be the original work of the entrant. Entrants retain copyright of their work and if chosen for publication will be notified of their success the following Monday via email.

Works of Prose must be no longer than 2500 words.

Multiple Poems and Photographs may be submitted but are limited to three per person per week.