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Weekly Contest #362
“What’ll it be, Zev?” the whey-faced guard, holding the baton, commanded. Who does he think he is? Why is he playing like them? Zev thought to himself. Shakily, Zev sat up from the wooden bunk and planted his bare feet on the cold floor. “I’ll have the venison and truffles, sir.” “Venison and truffles, you say? A last meal fit for a king.” The guard narrowed his eyes. “Tell me. Do you fancy yourself a king?” “N-no, sir.” “Stand up, boy.” Zev stood and steadied himself before the guard. The chains rattled against the concrete. “For yo...
Weekly Contest #236
Matt sat at his desk, the rhythmic scrape of the pencil sharpener filling the room. As he honed the point, intrusive thoughts barged into his mind like uninvited guests. Disturbing images flashed—fragments of what seemed like a past trauma. Uncertainty gripped him, and he couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that these thoughts weren’t mere figments of imagination but buried memories clawing their way to the surface. “I’d know if something like this happened to me; I’d just know,” Matt muttered, his voice a mix of conviction and self-reass...
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