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Weekly Contest #339
She always started with the kettle. Even on mornings when her hands shook with tiredness. Even on mornings when he was still asleep and the house was quiet in that fragile way that felt like it might break if she breathed too loudly, when she could feel the exhaustion settled deep in her bones. Water first.Mug second.Then the coffee. Strong. Always strong. With creamer. No sugar. Never sugar. Even now, when swallowing was harder. Even now, when drinking anything came with a pause, a calculation, and a prayer. “Good coffee makes a bad day les...
Content note: This story contains themes of emotional abuse and recovery from a controlling relationship. Mara learned how to live inside other people’s moods before she ever learned how to trust her own. She learned to read footsteps. The weight of a door closing. The silence that meant tension instead of peace. Five years taught her how to survive by shrinking. Not physically. Internally. She made herself quieter. Smaller. Easier to manage. She learned how to exist without taking up space, because taking up space had consequences. She tol...
Content note: This story includes themes of animal abandonment, loss, and death. The first thing she knew in the world was warmth. Not just warmth, but belonging-warmth. The kind that pressed in from all sides. Soft fur against her nose. Her mother’s steady breathing. The milky smell that meant food, safety, and sleep. She did not know what days were. She only knew the rhythm: sleep, nurse, sleep, tiny dreams, then waking to her sister’s squeak or her brother’s paws pushing her away from the best spot. Sometimes her mother licked her face. ...
Weekly Contest #338
Marianne Holt was forty-three years old when autumn finally slowed her down. The park lay hushed beneath late-October light, the kind that arrived just before Thanksgiving, when the air sharpened and the sun slanted low enough to make everything feel borrowed. Near the entrance, a pumpkin patch spread across a square of grass, its edges marked by hay bales and thin twine. Families wandered through it in small, unhurried clusters, hands brushing over pumpkins of every shape and color—deep orange, pale cream, mottled green. Some were smooth an...
Weekly Contest #337
Content warning: This story contains themes of death, serious illness, and life-threatening accidents. Sixty Seconds to Spare The first time Cindy rewound time, she did it by accident—more reflex than choice. A toddler toppled from the top rung of a shopping cart, arms windmilling, the kind of slow-motion fall you can’t unsee. Cindy’s hand shot out. Stop. The world hiccupped. The child hung in midair like a puppet whose strings had been yanked tight. A spoonful of yogurt floated off his chin, suspended. The fluorescent lights above the d...
Christian only wrote at night. It wasn’t a matter of preference—it was the only time the words would come. The sun could blaze its golden fingers across his desk all day, yet leave his notebook blank and cold. But as soon as darkness slipped in, along with the hush of sleeping neighbors and the soft tick of the old wall clock, the air changed. The pages began to breathe. He’d developed a ritual over the years. At 8:00 p.m. sharp, he turned off every phone and silenced any ties to the outside world. No email. No messages. No static of expecta...
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