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Weekly Contest #346
cw: suicide Help was always a few feet away, just out of reach. The phone sits right beside Tamara—crying rings upon rings. It’s just a few feet away, she reminds herself. A few feet entails greater than arm's length, which is all her body is ready to permit. She’s slumped up on the couch, in front of a boxy old-timey TV screen that likely came out of a nearby landfill. Every so often, it starts fizzing up a grey discombobulation of error. This happens to be one of those times. “Maggie said homicide was fun,” Tamara mumbled, lost in thought....
Author's note: The piece contains a few details taking from Indonesian culture from a non-Indonesian. I hope I don’t misinterpret or miscommunicate. Also, the origin myth I’ve created is based upon the Indonesian belief, but I’ve added my own spin to it. Please do not take this as an accurate representation, this is only meant to be an exploration on my part. I can hear Ma distinctively now. She tells me, “Listen, dear, to the stars.” We’re sitting together on the coarse rooftop of -our- my rented residence, looking up at the specks of flick...
Weekly Contest #231
cw: implied death, mental health, substance abuseThe drunkard, the angsty teen, the depiction of an angel thriving inside of a picture frame, the bratty child, the squeamish toddler, and the go-nowhere-generation very much adult (or so he justifies) 25-year-old, all sit at the rustic now worn-down mahogany dining table with very-imagined, pleasant silence...That, a damned fantasy; the only silence they’d ever receive is one of awkwardness, haughty glares, and bombastic side eyes. It hadn’t been all that bad, four, distant years ago. As of no...
Weekly Contest #230
cw: implied death"The sky is green!" José said, looking up to me. My imagination, however, fails to adhere to the gleam of his eyes, but a mere distortion of his youthful figure. Perhaps he's sitting right there, outside the room I'm currently in. Waiting for me, as he always has. The room beseeched around me is engulfed in ivory, excluding the standard balsa furnishes and the black screen staring right at me. It- doesn't look too black, however. But then again, when has my eyesight ever been that good? I don't know, frankly. But that's not ...
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