The Commonwealth 2017 Short Story Prize

The 2017 Commonwealth Short Story Prize is open for entries.

The Prize is awarded for the best piece of unpublished short fiction (2,000–5,000 words) in English written by a citizen of a Commonwealth country.

All stories submitted must be unpublished, but both unpublished and published writers are eligible to apply. The competition is free to enter.

The international judging panel comprises one judge from each of the five regions – Africa, Asia, Canada and Europe, the Caribbean and the Pacific.

Please note that while the entries will be judged regionally, all judges will read and deliberate on entries from all regions. Regional winners receive £2,500 and the overall winner receives £5,000.

Short stories translated into English from all other languages are eligible. We also accept entries in the original Bengali, Kiswahili, Portuguese and Samoan.

Download the entry and eligibility guidelines here,

Submit your story via the online entry form, available here: Submit an entry

Entries close 1st November 2016.

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Introducing My Friend to Pomegranates

It was twenty-nine degrees Celsius one night in the middle of August. My big fan, the only reason why I’d been able to avoid buying an AC throughout that unbearably hot summer, was blasting at its second-to-highest setting. I was sprawled on my bed, watching Trevor Noah videos and ignoring my cramps, as well as my prior plans of going to bed at least a couple of hours before midnight that night. My friend, Grace knocked on the door. “Come in!” I answered. She opened the door slightly, holding a up a small pomegranate. ‘How do you eat this?’ We had gone grocery shopping together the previous weekend, and I'd spotted some pomegranates and picked up a few. ‘You have to try this!’, I'd excitedly told Grace, who had never had pomegranates before. I had only started eating them several months ago myself, and I had found them a more than suitable dietary companion in the cold winter months. I stood up and went to the door. ‘I’ll help you cut it.’ I took the fruit and we walke

Thank You for the Music: My ABBA Story

I must have been about eight years old the first time I heard ABBA. I remember the CD case cover, the black background of the graphic paper behind the plastic, the letters ABBA and Gold written in gold-ish color, so that one ‘B’ was turned the opposite way, resting its spine against the other B’s. I remember two small custom-made bedside wooden chests with single drawers in my parents' room, packed with CDs- ABBA, Michael Jackson, Celine Dion, Lucky Dube, Bob Marley, Westlife, Backstreet Boys and many others. There were movies too- Titanic, My Best Friend's Wedding, Prince of Egypt, The Lion King, Coming to America- some of the best of the eighties and nineties. Growing up, my father had music playing on a loop almost every evening, and certainly every weekend. Most of the tracks were classics, old school funk and RnB, lots of reggae. His room was, a sacred shrine of sorts to music- the lights would be off, but we heard the beats from anywhere in the house- boom ka, boom boom k

The Taste Of Cardamom Chai

Earlier in my adult life, I met a woman in her late thirties or early forties- I’ll call her Stella. I’d been looking for a cheap room for rent, being a post grad student on the tail end of my program, having recently moved out of a relatives home in search of a different living situation. I had found the listing online- the room looked pleasing enough; furnished, clean, well lit. Stella and I got along well on our first meeting. She seemed chill- too chill, like she really didn’t care if I took the place, but I could sense a slight hopefulness beneath it. She told me about the person who used to live there, how they kept on bringing kids over- kids who would just ignore Stella in the hallway. ‘How rude!’ I had exclaimed in agreement. Eventually I moved in. It was my first time living ‘on my own’ since I moved to the country, and although it was January and the temperatures were frigid, I was set afire with the excitement of independence. There were three rooms in the house- one belong

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