New Talent Competition

This competition is now closed.

Details of the competition can be viewed below, as well as our two winners (Mark Anthony Cassar and Alessia Camilleri, recipients of €70 and €30 respectively).

There is no honourable mention. We encourage all authors to find a community that can help with the critical stages of editing and proofreading. 

 

 

First Place: Mark Anthony Cassar, 'Just for a Moment'

Mark Anthony Cassar is a Maltese writer from Cospicua who leans into fantasy, sci-fi, and comedy to explore the absurd, the magical, and the occasionally meaningful. By day, he works as a software developer; by night (and early mornings), he builds worlds one word and one map at a time. He hopes to one day leave behind a piece worth reading. This is his first published work.

I think the sun cracked my helmet. Not shattered—just a hairline, right across the top of my visor. I can’t tell if it’s new or if it’s been there since the crash. I think that was a few hours ago now. Either way, the light’s getting in. It bleeds red and orange over everything.

I’ve been walking, crawling for hours. Or minutes. Or days. My suit’s internal clock blinked out somewhere past the second dune, replaced by a slow-beeping warning.

[HEAT LIMIT: CRITICAL]
[HYDRATION: 0.4L REMAINING]
[HEART RATE: ELEVATED]

No shit.

I need help soon.

I thought space was supposed to be empty, frigid,  cold. That’s what they always say. But this planet—or moon, or whatever it is—is all fire and sand. A heat that forces its way under your skin just to burn you from the inside out. The kind that makes even your thoughts bubble and hiss.

I chuckled at the pure thought that they were at least a little right. It was empty. Hopeless.

There’s no movement here. No wind. No clouds. The sky is a dead lid, swollen and still. Not even a bird-shaped shadow to trick the eye, provoke the mind from just staring at the nothingness. I haven’t seen anything in hours. Or is it maybe days or minutes? Not even the suit’s fans seem to whir anymore. The visor’s display is static as if to conserve energy. It’s all sand.

I stop trying to understand why my arm and part of my breast are in pain, and look up to choose a direction that spells salvation.

And now, there it is.

Something on the horizon. Squat. Dark. Rectangular. Shelter? Is it possible there is still hope?

My lips crack when I try to speak. “Base?” I croak. “Visual contact. Possible structure ahead.”

No reply. Just my own breath bouncing back from dead comms.

Part of our training at the Space Academy was to keep speaking to base. Even if there was no reply. There was always hope they could hear you.

I crawl toward it. Because what else is there to do?

The suit warns me again, flashing messages across the display.

[HEAT LIMIT CRITICAL]
[HYDRATION: 0.25L REMAINING]
[HEART RATE: ELEVATED]

I press forward, one foot at a time. My legs barely listen anymore. The object ahead wavers, but it doesn’t vanish. That’s good, I think. That’s something. At least I am not making up some mirage.

I talk again, voice raw, croaking. “Approaching structure. Roughly ten meters tall. Brown. Civilian?”

I shake my head. “Ignore that. Visual distortion may be increasing.”

The sand glows now. Like embers. My suit beeps again—oxygen dwindling. Heartbeat ragged. But my eyes won’t abandon the shape ahead. I can manage this.

[HEAT LIMIT CRITICAL]
[HYDRATION: 0.1L REMAINING]
[HEART RATE: ALARMING]

Closer. It’s... brown? Fabric? No... can’t be.

I must be dead, or dreaming.

A sofa. Not just a sofa—that sofa.

One armrest is lower than the other, fabric scuffed. The cushions dip in the same lopsided way they used to when Mom sat down with her cup of raspberry tea. There’s even a faint stain on the left seat, shaped like an old spill. A memory I thought I’d thrown away.

My visor fogs. “Base...”

My voice is quieter now. “I’ve reached the structure. It’s... it’s home?”

I dive into the cushions, landing face-first and curled into the fetal position.

My suit groans. My body groans.

Even through the suit, it feels too soft. Too real. I sink, and the cushion cradles me like it used to on quiet Sunday mornings. Before space. Before command. Before the silence.

I run my gloved hand along the armrest. The stitching is worn, just like—No. I don’t know. Not fully.

“I bet…” I say softly, a crack in my throat, “I bet if I could smell the sofa, I could smell home.”

But the suit seals me in. No air. No scent. Just heat. And memory trying to claw its way out of the haze.

The sofa breathes with me now. Or maybe that’s just the wind?

I lean my head back and let the suit hum in my ears.

[HEAT LIMIT CRITICAL]
[HYDRATION: DEPLETED]
[HEART RATE: SEEK MEDICAL ATTENTION]

The warnings still flash across my visor, but they blur, fade, become part of the sky.

“Mission Specialist Maya to base,” I weakly murmur, “still transmitting. I need immediate assistance, please help me.”

I smile. I think I smile. Somewhere, someone is listening.

“I love you mum...”

The cushion holds me like arms. The heat no longer burns. It wraps. Cradles. Like summer sun through a window. Like home.

A shadow moves across the sand.

Could be a ship.
Could be a cloud.
Could be my dying brain.
Could be nothing.

I close my eyes.

Just for a moment.

 

Second Place: Alessia Camilleri, 'A Yearning for Warmth'

Alessia Camilleri is a researcher by profession. In her free time she enjoys writing fictional stories, both in the forms of fanfiction and original stories. This is her first published work.

The sun’s rays finally peeked over the horizon after a long and freezing night. The weak light it emitted urged her to finally poke her head out of the ground. She squinted her eyes and looked at her surroundings.

Things were the same as always. As far as her eyes could see, there was nothing but white, white and white. A wide and long stretch of ice covered the whole landscape, ending only at the horizon, where it met the gloomy grey colour of the sky.

Just looking at it caused her to shiver, but she had to get out nonetheless. She clambered out of her underground home and was immediately met with a sharp, icy wind. With a grunt, she pulled her woolly scarf up to her nose, protecting it from the elements. Before venturing out into the nothingness, she pulled out her flag from her belt and stabbed it through the ice. She looked up at it, its colour a bright, fiery red. A good way of knowing where home was.

She crouched back into the underground entrance and, with some effort, pulled out her backpack, chock-full of tools and supplies. Ones she could never do without. Once in hand, she made her way out into the vast expansion before her. The strength of the second gust of wind caught her by surprise, causing her to take a step back. In response, she simply grunted, furrowed her brow and trudged forward.

All she wished for was a day without shivering and tense muscles, without chattering teeth and frozen fingers and toes.

After an arduous walk, she finally made it to the frozen lake before her, a thick, expansive plate of slippery ice. She cleared her throat and crouched to her knees, carefully inspecting the icy water for any movement or colour. Once she determined a good spot, she opened up her backpack and took out her trusty hand auger. She removed its cap, placed the spiral end up against the ice and started to crank it with all her might. After several minutes of struggling with the thick ice, she finally cut through it. Using a thin metal plate, she pushed away the ice shavings that formed around the hole to determine its size. It was small but sufficient for a good catch to pass through.

As a novice fisher, she would often go through the unnecessary struggle of making multiple holes in the ice to create a larger one. She remembered a time her father had burst into laughter at a ridiculously large hole she had spent hours carving out. She could clearly hear the sound of his voice in her mind.

We're not catching a whale!

A small smile played on her lips as the warm memory brushed past her mind. Once it faded, she turned to her backpack and reached out for her fishing rod. But as she did so, something strange caught her eye, causing her to freeze. It was subtle enough for her to miss it, but her keen eye immediately caught hold of it.

Out into the distance was a flickering light, almost dancing; red, orange, alive and definitely unusual.

She squinted her eyes at it and leaned her body forward. But she couldn’t make up anything different. At first she thought it was her flag, but it was too close to the ground and too circular in shape. Leaving her gear behind, she walked towards it.

Like a mirage in a desert oasis, she wondered if she was merely seeing things. A figment of her imagination or desire. But as she walked closer, the light remained there, fixed in place. The closer she got, the more intensely it flickered, almost beckoning her. Soon, she was close enough to inspect it properly, but it only baffled her further.

In front of her was a spherical object, the size of a bowling ball, emitting a glowing, warm light. She hesitated, inspecting its surface which shifted and flickered like a welcoming fire. The light it emitted now was yellow and pinkish with a nurturing glow. No longer the intense reddish glow she spotted in the distance. Noticing that it was levitating, she knelt to the ground. The ice underneath it had completely melted, leaving a warm puddle of water. In confusion and disbelief she reached out to the water, her fingers creating a slight ripple.

Kneeling close to the orb-like thing as she was, she felt it: a warmth, radiating onto the skin of her face. It was a warm caress, a relief from the cold, unrelenting, and cruel character of her home.

She looked up at it, hopeful and full of yearning. She quickly stood up and took off a glove, revealing her red, frigid fingers. As they inched closer to the orb, her pupils dilated and a small, eager smile formed on her face. She could already feel its warmth radiating onto her fingertips, causing her heart to beat faster in anticipation.

But before she could touch it, a strong gust of wind caused her to lean back. She exclaimed and covered her face, the wind feeling like a barrage of icy knives scratching at her skin. It was as if the wind was warning her, in a stern, motherly tone, not to go any further. But once it subsided, her eyes immediately fell back to the orb. Despite the strength of the wind it also remained in place, floating, flickering. Unbothered by its sudden but passing presence.

She stepped closer to it and reached out with her bare hand. This time she did not hesitate and grabbed onto it swiftly. Its surface was solid, unmoldable and warm to the touch, like a hot plate serving a hearty, warm meal. She sighed out in satisfaction and relief feeling the soothing warmth on her skin. She moved closer to the orb and wrapped her arms around it, melting into a possessive embrace. The warmth loosened her stiff shoulders, gradually reaching her back as it radiated throughout her body. She closed her eyes, rubbing her face greedily onto its glassy surface. She wanted to keep it in her embrace forever; as the cold wind intensified, like a jealous, possessive contender, she held onto it even tighter. The stronger her desire for warmth, the hotter and hotter the sphere burnt. Until it engulfed her completely in a heat which lulled her into a sweet, comforting sleep.

**********

The darkness came quickly, snuffing out the sun’s natural light and the little warmth it provided. Despite the dreadful bleakness of the icy plane, he poked his head from underground. Looking up, the flaming red flag still fluttered proudly in the wind.

He climbed out from his home and ventured out, arming his backpack with a torch and some food, unsure of what to expect. Her tardiness was unusual, but he tried not to jump to conclusions. He followed the same route to the frozen lake. Despite the troublesome blow of the wind as it violently hurled specks of snow and ice past him, he slowly and patiently paced forward.

That was until it brought something unexpected with it. A woolen scarf, which flew up to him abruptly and covered his eyes. He latched onto it quickly and recognised it immediately. The faded red colour, the small fish carelessly stitched onto it. His heart sank, but he trudged onward, still hopeful. Soon, the lake came into view but its presence was meagre, compared to what suddenly materialised in front of him.

It was a large, red, hot sphere, twenty times his size, blazing with roaring flames which fluctuated over its surface. Beneath it, water pooled around a wide ring of slushy and rapidly melting ice. His eyes widened, horror striking his face.

How was it possible that he was only seeing it now?

How did he not catch a glimpse of it on the horizon?

He stepped closer, first with caution, but suddenly picking up speed as a sunken feeling crept over him. The heat that the sphere emitted, combined with his physical effort, caused sweat to dot along his brow. He quickly ditched his jacket, leaving it behind as the temperature soared dangerously.

It was like approaching a second sun. Its bright light, eerily similar to natural daylight. The closer he got, the brighter it shined, to the point of blinding him. A million thoughts rushed through his mind, some clashing, others adding to his panic.

Then all came to a pause as he spotted a lump of clothes out of the corner of his eye. His shoulders drooped. If it weren’t for the immense evaporating heat which stung his eyes, tears would have been shed.

She always loved the colour red. Its vibrant, lively, energetic and bold characteristic was well reflected in her. She would wear it on her; a red fiery speck against a white, stark world. But now, her colour was dulled by this massive, alien sphere which burned. Hot enough to set her ablaze.

With nothing but an isolated existence awaiting him, he stepped forward, allowing the heat to claim another.