Flash Fiction Award 2025
3rd Place
'Defining Serena'
by Chris Swingler
After carefully tucking her long hair under her hat, Serena fills her backpack with leaflets and sets off.
The Chosen Ones will be patrolling the streets and skies looking for rule-breakers, so she plans to keep off the main roads, but stay near buildings, in the shadows. She knows the risks but is determined to get her message out there, so the people know they are not alone.
It's not long before a movement catches Serena's eye, she backs into a doorway as a people monitoring drone circles above.
The Government, made up of the Chosen Ones, has ordered the people to line the streets tomorrow to celebrate their latest diktat, and humiliate those who've dared to rebel. Just as these thoughts pass through her mind a group of Chosen Ones, waving beam guns and traps, rush towards her.
'You've broken a New World order,' says a Chosen One. 'Rule no 5, YOU SHALT NOT DEFINE YOURSELF.' Its pale veined hands, like talons, tug at her hat – revealing her crime. The New World order forbids hair. Serena's long dark hair drops from its hiding place, swinging like a hangman's rope. Slapping her face filling her mouth. Her voice silenced as her bag falls to the ground spilling its contents. A space hub lands nearby, scattering the banned leaflets.
The following day, the people line the streets as ordered. Serena drags her naked body draped in heavy chains along the dusty road. Some people throw mud, a few brave ones fling wild flowers picked from hedgerows.
Her head is publicly shaved. Her nakedness exposes dark patches covering her young body, like bruised plums. Armed space hubs and drones hover searching for signs of dissent. The Chosen Ones watch from a high platform, like Roman Emperors deciding the fate of those who dare to break the rules.
Serena is forced to stop before the platform. The leader stands, his pale skin pulled tight over his bald head. It’s then she notices its long white cloak showing a faint yellow line edging its collar.
The leader points a finger at her. 'You've broken rule no 5, Thou shalt not define yourself, and broken rule 3, the distribution of banned material.' Serena's fate is sealed, she lifts her head.
'So have you,' she cries. 'The yellow on your collar defines you as a leader.' She hears a loud muttering in the crowd, a hand strikes her.
Her chains clatter like hollow church bells as she's dragged away. Her head drops, a few stray strands of her shaven hair fall unnoticed to the ground. It's then she sees one of her leaflets curled in the gutter. She watches a young girl pick it up and read the words emblazoned across the top – YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO DEFINE YOURSELF.
The young girl nods to her, before secretly passing it to an older boy. Serena smiles.
It has begun.