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Submitted to Contest #325
Blue water runs up the white wall of my entrapment. The tide is low this evening. If I were duller, I might take the sea up on its invitation. However, I don’t have the time nor the death-wish necessary to battle the waves. As a lightkeeper my duties are simple: keep my tower clean and watch for fog and worrisome weather during the day then keep the lantern lit at night. Every six weeks my shift ends and I am relieved by Bud Kelley, a stout Irish man who may have one day had red hair before time had its way with it. Bud’s a good man. He doe...
Submitted to Contest #320
Content warning: this story contains depictions of self harm, implied suicide, domestic violence, and mental health. “Then leave, Adam. I know you want to.” Truman is wrong. He always is when we fight like this. Shutting down the second my voice raises above two decibels. He only likes words shared in whispers, saying there’s no need to be anything but gentle. But again, he is wrong. Truman has had the annoying privilege of never needing to be non-gentle, floating through his hug-filled life. Two parents. No heartbreak or pain clogging his...
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