The Morning Coffee Writing Competition was created in association with Sonder Magazine to fundraise for the Dublin Rape Crisis Centre. For those who aren’t aware of their services, the RCC offer a free, confidential listening and support service for women and men who have been sexually abused at any time in their lives. They also run prevention campaigns. Please do consider donating directly at https://www.drcc.ie/donate.
1st Place: ‘Glorious’ by Lea Mc Carthy
‘Gloria?’ I whisper into the darkness of the ward. ‘Wake up.’ I have the torch of my phone lit so I can see her old eyes open slowly, all sleepy and cruddy. ‘D’you want to go to the zoo? To the black bears?’ I repeat myself twice to make sure she is certain. She nods wearily both times. ‘Grand,’ I say. I bring her to the bathroom first and sort her out, clean her up and dress her. She’s still hazy and soon as I strap her in the van between myself and Ben, she falls back into a deep…
Read More2nd Place: ‘Tigers Have Striped Skin’ by Davena O’Neill
The heart of a shrimp is located in its head. They say the heart can rule the head, but it can lead you into trouble. Maybe shrimp are romantic. Or dumb. Dad eats shrimp, pulls the heads right off, and sucks the liquid out. Mom says men’s brains are between their legs. Guess that’s why they hate getting kicked there, it could cause brain-damage. The average heart is the size of a fist. If I had the choice between a heart and fist, I’d be a fist. The heart pumps blood around but it can break too easy. A fist…
Read More3rd Place: ‘The Morning After’ by Anthony Bradley
‘It’s my fault.’ ‘There were two of us.’ ‘Still it was me who…’ he seemed squeamish on this point, ‘you know…’ ‘Look it doesn’t matter now.’ She didn’t want to discuss details on the street, for fear the infection of rumour (already palpable the night before) would turn into an outbreak, spreading among their friends like a red rash over vulnerable skin. The whispers were probably starting already, slipping frantically from mouth to ear, fingertips to phone screens. Whistling manically from person to person like the song of some demented bird. ‘So will I go in or…?’ ‘No, you can’t.’…
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