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Weekly Contest #159
It took some digging, but Marjorie Lipman eventually found out which guard could be trusted with a favour. Rumour had it young Andrew Taylor was susceptible to bribes, so the next time Marjorie caught him in the prison hallway’s (not-so) secret blind spot, she flashed him her brightest smile along with a crisp tenner and her father’s Nikon. Without hesitation, the guard slipped the bill into his pocket, hung the camera’s strap around his neck and followed her into the infirmary where one of their most notorious prisoners laid up in waiting. ...
Weekly Contest #158
Alison McDowell burst through her front door, red faced and shaking, tears streaming from her panic-stricken eyes. As she leaned forward to pry off her shoes, she toppled over and fell head-first into the mirrored door of the front hall closet. Shards of reflective glass exploded all around her, as if to mock and magnify her pathetic state. She crumbled into a ball on the floor, tears and blood coalescing all around her. Daniel rushed down the stairs, half asleep. “What the… honey! Are you okay?” He slid his slippers on and waded through t...
Weekly Contest #156
TW: Mention of abortion. "It was the seventies!" Rose squawked, her hackles rising. All Ivy wanted was an easy answer. An easy answer to a simple question so she could finish the assignment and get back to her life. But now, Rose and Ivy glared at each other from across the kitchen table, claws out. Marilyn, not at all prepared for the role of mediator, slunk toward the archway that led away from the battleground and into the safety of the living room. "Mom!" Ivy whined. "Are you hearing this?" Rose swivelled her chair to face her dau...
Weekly Contest #143
1 The ad did say “must love dogs” but I expected common house pets, not actual wolves. As I pushed through the gate and fumbled with my luggage, two of the animals hung back, eyeballing me. A third was right at the gate with his huge white ears alert and his raggedy tail wagging. He looked me square in the eye and gave me what seemed like a mischievous grin. Smiling, I dropped my stuff to give him a scratch. My human host sauntered down the front steps then in a flurry of frizzy blonde hair, pushing her chunky, black-framed glasses up on...
Weekly Contest #139
As much as a long, deep exhale calms the nervous system, de-cluttering calms the soul. It’s been proven to help with anxiety; getting rid of junk helps the scatterbrained feel more collected and can cause the organized a level of satisfaction akin to orgasm. But clutter is the language in which the sentimental speak, and without it, it can render one feeling listless and alone. It’s for these reasons and likely more that I held onto these clothes as long as I did. They are a portraiture of a life long passed - a life I’d be hard-pressed to...
Weekly Contest #138
When the darkness takes hold, it is relentless in its grasp.This bout of black nothingness was more intense than any Audrey had experienced in the past. Her bipolar diagnosis was a distant memory now and she thought her psychiatrist had finally struck the right balance with her meds. Three years had passed since her last episode, since her dosage had been upped. Luckily, last time, the manic portion of the process had occurred on relatively stable ground. Peter was there; he was home from the rigs for the winter months. He’s the only person ...
Weekly Contest #55
“Can you keep a secret?” I can feel my eyes bulging in my sockets as I await Dora’s reply. I know she’ll say yes. She always says yes. And I always tell her, even though I know the girl can’t keep a secret to save her life. But I can’t resist impressing her, even if it’s only for a moment. “Of course.” She coaxes me by leaning in. Her head is tilted in an adorable, curious way. Like a puppy who hears a whistle for the first time. I never tel...
Weekly Contest #17
It’s odd. We speak the same language, we share the same Queen, but this country feels like a different planet. Everything is huge. The food portions, the cars, even the people seem bigger. Not fatter, necessarily. We have fat people in England, too. Just… louder. She swears she’s not American, but it all feels very American to me. But I guess it’s the red checkered flannel, the hockey caps, and the mandatory runs to Tim Horton’s that set them apart. Oh, and the lack of guns. She’s lucky I love her. I left my sophisticated, history-rich coun...
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