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Weekly Contest #257
Three dead men lay bloody and broken, inches from my face, their souls twisting into the air and drifting from their rotting bodies. I shake my head at the rough sketch, ripping off the page and tossing it to the ground. “Makes no sense,” I mutter, wiping my lead stained hands on my shorts. I’ve been up since 4 A.M, sketching, and I’ve come up embarrassingly empty– not a single reference point, nor an outline I feel even slightly satisfied with. I glare at the assignment sheet I’d printed out in my manic procrastination phase of finish...
Weekly Contest #175
(Trigger Warning: Story contains topics of death, abandonment, and drug use, as well as some cuss words.)I dug my fingers into the dirt, its moist crumble mocking my focus and distracting me from the task at hand. My pops had his hands cupped, a tiny white seed resting in his palms, still and serene. I told him he didn’t have to hold it, but he wanted to help me out, so here he sat, his beige khakis painted with mud. It was nearly triple digits outside, but his brown cheeks didn’t reveal how warm it was outside. The only indicator ...
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