Enter the Place and Home Writing Contest

Submit your stories of migration and/or your sense of place, of home or lack of, and your empathy to the plight of migrants around the world.

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Results of the 2021 Dreamers Flash Contest

Congratulations to the winners of the 2021 Dreamers Flash Fiction and Nonfiction Contest. There were so many incredible stories this year!

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Elevator Pitch

The hypnotic tingling draws her inward. Her mind starts humming a tune she never dreamed of singing.

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Dislodging the Hook

My uncle once brought me fishing at his gun club, another family conspiracy to masculinize me. We were deep in what some locals call Swamp Yankee territory...

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A Chunk of Ice Tumbling in a Thunderstorm

We are in my girlfriend’s apartment in Lawrence, a room of white walls and carpet crisscrossed with fresh vacuum trails...

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Collapse

Dark hair matted to the little girl’s head. Her lips were dried and cracked; her eyes sunken. Despite her olive-toned skin, she was pale.

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Sprinkling Fairy Dust

With trembling hands, Millie gently removed the lid of the urn and exhaled with the first release of gray powder.

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Shadow

She could choose, at least, which parts of him to cherish, and which parts to use as examples of how not to behave.

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Down to a tea

Sit, sip, start again, from when our moments were simple and sweet, like the people we ideally chose to become.

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Lay it Down

Its white wings spread wide against a crystal blue backdrop and I smile, knowing you are smiling, too

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Bird Without a Song

Hana leans into the second verse, singing about the loneliness of a songless bird. The music in my life is missing.

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Shoulder Season

Our names were announced over the booming horde hailing the local girl making history. The bell tolled.

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Recipe for Life (With Butter and Sugar)

I feel safe and warm, and I drift to sleep with the smell of apples, sugar, and butter gently filling my nose.

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Train of Souls

I am drawn to the train tracks and find the memory haunting. Because that’s how you died, my little brother.

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Inside her Belly

I lay down on the couch ushered by my anguish. The clock ticks, backwards. I’m four again.

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translate my heart

I ache to whisper the fullness of my heart, but can’t decode it swift enough to speak. It’s a foreign language.

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Snow Ducks

The late November grey hung in curtains all around them. And of course, greyest of all, on Leonard’s mood.

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Book Review: The Wild Heavens

Sarah Louise Butler’s new novel contains a mystery, intrinsically connected to nature and reader perception.

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