Fiction by Antoinette Bekker
First Place in the 2024 Dreamers Flash Contest

A homeless Deer takes shelter at the ramshackle tent near the bottom of the field. I think she is homeless, or at least tribeless. She stands there most days, alone, between noon and two o’clock, nearly invisible among the sad detritus of the empty highway lot, nibbling on struggling spring grass and yellow dandelion heads.
I wonder what became of her family.
Cars make neat strings on the road. No, not strings of pearls. Get real. Exhaust fumes, diesel burning: humhumhum. When it rains: swooshswooshswoosh. Road-music. Two rows, one moving up, the other moving down. I think: the system works when we do not touch.
Deer steps daintily between discarded milk jars, plastic bags, broken bottles, blue paper masks. Her hooves are high heels. Such pretty shoes.
Once.
Daintly strappy sandals, tasselled leather loafers, little beaded flats.
Huge ears—paper cone bags filled with fries bought from a street vendor in Amsterdam—move when Crow lands in Poplar. They talk for a minute; Crow takes off.
I watch her from my window, this windblown window on this endless highway. I see one horizon only. I wonder if you ever went back? We talked about it, until we didn’t.
Nothing ever happens but for homeless Deer, black Crow, and occasional disruptions in flow when cars unintentionally connect. Sometimes I take a phone call. Mostly I wait, scrolling aimlessly through Facebook, looking for a sign or a name.
I see him come along the shoulder of the Trans-Canada, his bicycle laden with saddlebags, a backpack on his back. He wears no cycling helmet, a ponytail snakes down his shoulder, a red bandanna curls around his neck.
Why are bandannas always red?
His knees are bony cups standing on their rims, his legs brown sinews, slowly pumping up the steep hill. I cannot see his eyes, but imagine they are blue.
He turns down the service road, up another hill, pedals to the tattered tent built last year by a wanderer and left when winter came.
Deer stiffens when she hears Man. Alert, her ears forward—all the fries spilling—she stops eating. She watches him. He dismounts, leans his bike against Poplar, removes his pack, shifting first the right shoulder, then shrugging the left, grabs the pack by its strap. His arm strains, the forearm muscles contract. The pack drops in a puff of dust. Man stumbles, his back and legs stiff, rolls his head sideways—a nice stretch. He rubs his face with the bandanna. Perhaps it’s pink?
I want it to be other than red.
I’ve had my fill of red.
Man is old. Stooped. Bow-legged. He moves slowly, determined, like his pedalling up the hills. He takes his water bottle and sips. The back of his hand wipes his mouth. He turns around, walks towards Deer, bottle extended. She tips her head and drinks. I turn away from the window, my body suddenly full, filled with two horizons. My sign has come. I phone you. I’ll wear high heels tonight.

About the Author – Antoinette Bekker
Antoinette’s writing is informed by her experiences as an immigrant, her love for the prairies, and her profession as a psychiatrist. Immigrant explores not only the sense of isolation an immigrant experiences but also the loss of connection to what was and what is. The story evokes feelings of loneliness and hope by imbuing an autofictional account with magic realism.
She has been longlisted for the 2024 CBC Non-fiction Prize and won the 2024 Writers’ Guild of Alberta’s Jon White Memorial Prize for her essay, The Sensibilities of Dogs. A short story will be published in the Canadian Independent Publishers 2025 anthology. Her latest novel, written in a satirical voice, is a comedic romp through small prairie towns of Alberta and Saskatchewan and stimulates discussion through its themes of ageism, animal rights, sexual expression, and self-actualization. She is working on a short story collection and will graduate from the University of King’s College (Halifax) in 2025 with an MFA in Fiction.
Antoinette lives on an acreage with two saintly horses, two ungodly Goldendoodles, and one husband. Her town sports the biggest teepee in the world, the best greenhouse tomatoes, and hardly ever any traffic jams.
Meanwhile, at Dreamers…
Results of the 2024 Dreamers Flash Contest

Congratulations to the winners of the 2024 Dreamers Flash Fiction and Nonfiction Contest. There were so many incredible stories this year!
Dreamers Magazine Issue 19 Now Available

We’re pleased to announce the release of Issue 19 of the Dreamers Magazine, featuring our Flash Contest winners. Get your copy now!