On Monday mornings, I send out a story via email: ultra-brief tales of 1,000 words or more, usually in genres including horror, science fiction, and the supernatural. Those stories collectively are called Once Upon A Time. I’ve also published several ebooks and compendium volumes of those stories so far.

I’d love to have you as a subscriber to the weekly free story. You can subscribe via email here. Unsubscribe any time, from the link in every issue.

Here's story 142, of 240 so far.

The Award

The venue was beautiful, and lavishly decorated. Marble columns strung with elegant lights, polished floor with plush swathes of carpet, gilded furniture, and immaculate staff poised attentively all around.

It was an exclusive gathering, with the television cameras and online journalists all camped outside, flashbulbs firing incessantly as each expensive vehicle drew up and deposited its well-dressed occupant amidst outstretched microphones and ravenous photographers.

The main chamber had been converted into an auditorium, with a raised stage and an elaborate lighting rig. The air carried the scent of a hundred different brand-name fragrances, including some whose wearers appeared in their advertising. The collective net worth of the assembled attendees was beyond reckoning, and private airfields in all of the surrounding districts were currently at capacity with personal aircraft ready to ferry their owners back to preferred residences both domestic and foreign.

The lights dimmed, and the recognisable faces all looked towards the stage, having to wait only a few seconds before the presenter walked out to polite applause. Her own face was well-known too, and she was a safe choice for a ceremony like this. Likeable and amusing, able to poke fun at the great and the good, but unlikely to stray into controversy. After all, her own television show relied on many of those in the audience as guests to draw in viewers.

Her opening speech was the same as all such speeches, thanking everyone for being there — as if it wasn’t an opportunity to be seen, and to be admired, and to be seen with those who were being admired. The ceremony was being broadcast worldwide, and in total many hundreds of millions were watching. Social media was buzzing incessantly, and many of the attendees could be seen to periodically check their personal devices, no doubt in response to automated alerts regarding mentions of their own names online.

The preamble wasn’t long, and everyone shifted in their seats as the first category was displayed across the enormous screens which lined the room. A few of the faces lit up, some in eagerness to see the winner, and some because they were shortlisted to win.

Best Avoidance of Income Taxation, the banner read.

The victor was a short, wiry man with gold-rimmed spectacles, Scandinavian and burly-looking despite his jewellery, and he accepted the statuette with a certain controlled arrogance and unflappability which the crowd clearly approved of.

He went off stage to more applause, running the gauntlet of reporters in the press room at the rear. He repeated some of the thanks from his speech; to his parents, to his wife, to his accountant and his attorney, but most of all to his children, for whom he did it all, ensuring that his own earnings would go to his family and not to the state.

The pageant repeated itself all throughout the evening. Best Art Acquisition went to a South American heiress, who had obtained one of the supposedly-lost Fabergé eggs via dubious means, and now displayed it in the entrance hall of her penthouse in Manhattan. She thanked the international administrators of the former territory of Russia, who had facilitated the purchase following the capture of Moscow.

The categories had become more eclectic year by year, lengthening the programme, but no-one minded. There was more than enough advertising to run in all of the breaks, and a twenty-four-hour viewership worldwide to consume every last drop of what was offered.

There was a great deal of enthusiasm for Best Acquittal, and a good time was had by all during the presentation for Best Nepotism in a Government Role, especially since the same nominee won both categories.

The crowd was well-lubricated with alcohol by the time the most interesting categories rolled around, as the schedule intended, and there were smiles on all faces when the names were read out for the Best Super-Injunction award, each one punctuated by a cheer.

The winner was a foregone conclusion; a petrochemical industry magnate who had successfully prevented the global press from ever publishing his name in connection with a decade-old sexual assault case involving his then-assistant. It was the man’s third nomination in the category during his career, but his first win. His tears when giving his on-stage acceptance speech were partly from gratitude, and partly inebriation.

When the top-tier part of the evening arrived, for which the broadcast was shut off and the reporters sent outside, the hall resembled a party rather than a ceremony. The evening’s additional guests, present only for a handful of categories, filed in with their security surrounding them, and were kept waiting for only moments between the announcements of winners and their own acceptances.

Arms dealing and ethnic cleansing were rewarded, as were acts of religious purification and refugee deportation. But the premier category of the night was also the final one. Bleary eyes brightened again, jackets and dresses were straightened, and attention was paid.

The large screens changed in unison, and the excitement was tangible as the title of the award that was most coveted was shown at last.

Best Overthrowing of a Democracy, it said.

JINX

KESTREL face a new and terrifying enemy: an all-seeing mastermind who already knows exactly who they are, and many of their deepest secrets. Nothing stays hidden forever, and the line between privacy and liberty is razor-thin…

Book 3 in the KESTREL action-thriller series.

Find Out More

I'd love to hear any feedback or other thoughts; you can find my contact info here.

I encourage you to share this story with anyone you think would enjoy it. If you’d like to receive a tale like this via email every week, you can sign up to receive them here.

Thanks for reading.