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Submitted to Contest #300
You named Rainier your nemesis. The American Everest, your mortal enemy and forbidden love. Thrice you attempted to summit its peak and thrice you were foiled. Once by hubris, once by equipment failure, and once because of that storm that never showed, but still cancelled your flight. Each time your hate-filled fascination for the mountain drove you to raving. I remember days where you’d visit me at university and with much pacing and waving of hands you told me of your next plot to, at last, conquer the mountain. You always spoke with grim...
Submitted to Contest #287
Mr. Kehepti knew what kind of cup you were. It was the fifth thing that the people in the bazaar knew about the old brewer on Hekha Street, and it was true. From the very moment you walked into his shop, Mr. Kehepti could tell if you were a tall porcelain highball or a squat clay gourd. He knew the enthusiastic and fidgety shot glass from the proud, eager flagon. He read every face, every walk, every shadow that darkened his doorway, and translated it into the beautifully simplistic language of cups. He knew what you’d ask him to fill the cu...
Submitted to Contest #286
Aronn Dameus Tamanayan the First wielded his pen with practiced confidence as he prepared to write the most important words of his life. Weeks of negotiation, deliberation, and revision among his high judges and royal barristers had led to this moment, this treaty, which would at long last sign into law the free and open practice of high magic in his empire. He would be the savior that dissolved the pact that had taken advantage of the mages under his bloodline, binding them, oppressing them, for centuries. He would take the step that every ...
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