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Weekly Contest #344
CW: Mild sexual content. Journal of Eteri Sibrdzne 2024.11.15 Morning Preparation I dreamt last night that I was deep in a birch forest of the sort one finds in the North of Russia. Now this forest, being a dream forest, was also a library, and I was its caretaker. I moved freely through the forest, sometimes along foot paths and sometimes along canals, paddling a small canoe or kayak. But mostly I just flew. Each tree bore a multitude of texts in its bark, which it yielded when asked and then regrew. I was gathering texts for something, imp...
Weekly Contest #306
Journal of Eteri Sibrdzne 2024.11.15 Morning Preparation I dreamt last night that I was deep in a birch forest of the sort one finds in the North of Russia. Now this forest, being a dream forest, was also a library, and I was its caretaker. I moved freely through the forest, sometimes along foot paths and sometimes along canals, paddling a small canoe or kayak. But mostly I just flew. Each tree bore a multitude of texts in its bark, which it yielded when asked and then regrew. I was gathering texts for something, impelled by ... I am not sur...
Weekly Contest #226
Warning: This story contains references to (but no descriptions of) corporal punishment. It is set in an alternate history in which certain peoples are depicted in roles which they did not have in our own history. There is also a graphic image of a beating human heart. Matangi stood before Binah, the novice mistress, with her head bowed and her hands clasped behind her back. “This is the third time,” the older woman said to her. “It is an entirely unacceptable way to treat one of your sisters.” “But her claim was ridiculous! The ve...
Weekly Contest #214
Every summer —and sometimes over Winter and Spring Break— it was the same story. Sonya’s mother and sister would pack their bags and head off to someplace no-one had ever heard of before. Least summer it had been Lahore. The summer before it had been Kodiak Island. This summer they were, quite literally, headed to Timbuktu. Like IRL. And every trip went more or less the same. They almost always stayed with “friends,” of which Sonya’s mother seemed to have an endless supply, though none of them were ever people she had heard her mom mention b...
Weekly Contest #211
The Hidden Anthony Mansueto No one would ever have expected that Salvatore Albatini would earn his living talking to people he didn’t know. He was an introvert’s introvert, socially awkward beyond measure, and almost certainly an undiagnosed autist. He excelled at things even most other students at the University of Chicago detested, like reading Hegel, something his dissertation advisor had forbidden him to do at least until he finished, for fear it would render his writing as incomprehensible as his conversation. But he was as passiona...
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