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Weekly Contest #376
CW: violence/gore, light implied sexual content, dissection “It’s alive!” The exclamation springs from my lips not as a cry, but as a disbelieving gasp. My creation is stretched on a flat black lava rock, bound in restraints, his mismatched limbs twitching faintly in the fiery light of the lava tubes. I could almost mistake the movements for the ebb and flow of the ocean current, but they’re too deliberate. I swim closer, my eight mottled tentacles anchoring me to the ocean floor as I crouch at my creation’s side. The grotto in which I’ve s...
Weekly Contest #375
“Are you well, Inkling? You seem…perturbed.” Inkling ruffled midnight-black feathers, embarrassed. He’d been distracted during his and Ven’s weekly gossip session, but he’d been hoping the demon hadn’t noticed, “I…yes. I’m fine.” Ven appraised him with serious, yellow-slitted pupils. Technically his full name was Kiss of Rattlesnake Venom Under New Moon’s Darkness, but Inkling just called him Ven, “It is obvious to me that you are lying.” “I’m not-” Inkling huffed, “I don’t want to talk about it.” “As you prefer,” Ven rumbled. There was an a...
Weekly Contest #374
These fries were an affront to the gods. Every last one of them. Axle, god of redwood forests, beer, motorcycles, firearms, the American flag, and eagles (but only the bald variety) leveled a stern glare at Jared. Axle was lumberjack perfection, and his glacier blue eyes and corded muscles made even the manliest of men quake with fear and envy. But Jared, the god of fast food, gig apps, plus size clothing, and cardiologists, didn’t pay him a moment of attention. He was busy wolfing down a burger piled precariously high with four patties and ...
Weekly Contest #373
“I need to report a crime.” The officer is running double duty, likely a receptionist, office manager, and accountant on top of his policing duties. And yet he still manages to look bored as he glances up from his report. I don’t blame him. The last true crime our village had was Anna’s report that someone was vandalizing her garden. The offender turned out to be a particularly mulish sheep. And that was ten months ago. The officer’s eyes brighten, however, when he sees me. I hold in a sigh. I’m considered plain by the standards of my specie...
Weekly Contest #372
Contains depictions of violence, gore, animal harm/death, and suicide. Mangos. The tree is full of mangos, perfectly ripe, some even oozing flame-colored juice. I tremble slightly at the sight, my hollow belly aching. How many days has it been since I’ve eaten fruit? Or anything at all? For a moment I’m paralyzed, unable to choose with some many succulent options. But I’m so hungry that I finally force myself to select a mango the same rosy red as the sunrise. I open my beak to take a bite- And the mango screeches at me, nearly bowling me o...
Weekly Contest #371
“Lilac, will you accept this french fry?” “Yes!” There was a barely-restrained squeal to Dahlia’s left as Lilac eagerly waddled forward. Like the rest of the lineup she was a cream and chocolate-speckled duck with bright orange legs, hazelnut eyes, and iridescent purple wing feathers, known by birders everywhere as a mallard. She dipped her head and accepted her fry with an eager ruffle of feathers, brushing her beak against Cedar’s as she did so. Dahlia looked down, embarrassed at the shameless flirtation. Lilac flounced back to her place, ...
Weekly Contest #370
February 18th, 2026 10:00 Is this thing on? The light’s red, so I’m going to assume it’s recording! Hello, everyone! Due to a truly spectacular level of personal disorganization, I am literally incapable of taking notes. You can ask any one of my supervisors, and they’ll tell you my last six reports are nowhere to be found! So in an effort to keep my job, I’m going to give voice recordings a try. Hopefully there’s some tool out there to transcribe them for me. Not AI-based, I hope. I’m so worried about all that water usage- But we’re not her...
Weekly Contest #369
The husband did it. The husband always does it, right? Or the boyfriend, the fiancé, the lover…you get the gist. A woman goes missing, and you almost never have to look farther than the man closest to her. I just had to prove it. Sky Hawking is an unusual woman to go missing. Eighty-six, happily married with two adult daughters, five grandchildren, and four great-grandchildren all within walking distance. A former eighth-grade teacher, she taught science to half the town before she retired. She’s still an active member of her church and the ...
Weekly Contest #368
“Who had the avocado egg rolls, Cuban sandwich with sweet potato fries, and the slice of triple berry cheesecake?” Our waitress is petite, blonde, and harried in the wake of our sizable lunch. “That’s mine,” Selina doesn’t blink her arresting turquoise eyes as she holds out a hand for her check. She’s even smaller than the waitress, with milky skin and straight black hair pulled up in a bun. “And next,” The waitress pauses to read the next receipt, “I have sweet corn tamale cakes, shepherd's pie, and carrot cake?” “That’s me,” Luna’s eyes, h...
Weekly Contest #367
“I didn’t lay that egg.” Mrs. Reed Warbler sat side-by-side with Mr. Reed Warbler on the edge of their nest. Together, they considered its contents. It was the same cozy woven bowl of grasses and reeds that it had been before, but there was a problem. A number problem! When Mrs. Reed Warbler had left the eggs to get a drink of water, there had been three perfect beige orbs with cocoa speckles tucked into the bottom of the nest. When she’d returned the briefest of moments later, there were four perfect beige orbs with cocoa speckles tucked in...
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