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Weekly Contest #373
In a waiting room of beige and bleached yellow, where a straw-bladed ceiling fan stirred muggy air to little effect, Alfred Spectre leaned against the backrest of a plastic chair to subtly scratch at the itch of sweat trickling down his back and watched the red-headed man two chairs down get up and head to the back for the third time. Of course, the man had not actually gone in for his exam three times now, but the echo of his departure had lingered unexpectedly long. Absurdly long, if Alfred was being blunt; how strong really could the emot...
Weekly Contest #347
He found her hiding behind a cloud of cigarette smoke. The empty beer bottles clustered on the scratched plastic table like flies on a carcass might have explained the red rimming her eyes and the tremble in her hands as she lifted another half-empty bottle with resigned habit. Her mascara must have been waterproof, because there were no smudged tear tracks, but her face had recently been scrubbed, bare of the blush she always wore, paled and gray in contrast to the scalding red of her lips. That was how he knew she had been crying, half her...
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