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Weekly Contest #254
Quill of the Scandal By Lady Theresa Donahue Courtship in the Ballroom at its Finest ‘Tis the season where love doth hang in the air, and much appreciation to the notorious Penningtons for a night teeming with oh-so longing looks, lingering hands, and lustful whispers in dim lit gardens. The glamorous ball held in their estate was a source to declare to you, dearest reader, of the grand, romantic charades taking place in the magnificent gathering. Courting that night was at its finest, young beaus stepping up to dance with strik...
Weekly Contest #250
I like to believe that we’re the biggest liability. We have access to every room, every key, every hour. We have some of the biggest power and yet nobody suspects us. Nobody suspects the janitor. We’re tired, overworked and underpaid, but we have eyes and ears everywhere. We know everything about everyone. I have colleagues who tell me to pay more attention to my surroundings, to gather dirt, and intel. I’m not a gossiper though, I couldn’t care less about what happens in this building. So while everyone else in the janitorial team gossips ...
Weekly Contest #245
It’s been four years. 48 months, 208 weeks, and 1,460 days. It feels like I’ve hit a milestone that with each passing day, wrenches my heart and slowly begins to rip it in half. It’s been four years without her smile, without her laughter, without that gleam in her eyes that lit up a room brighter than any star could. Four years and I miss the storyteller she was, laying down next to me, without a book, but instead she spoke words poured directly from her heart. I miss the adventurer she was, the way each night, she took...
Weekly Contest #243
I open my eyes and only one thing registers: I have a sickening sense of deja vu. A voice from ahead snaps me out of my trance:“Commander, we’ve lost the first engine.” The voice is distant, barely there. I can hardly hear it, but all I know is that my head is spinning and I can’t place my finger on why this all feels so…familiar. I can’t make out anything other than the fuzzy voice that slowly gets clearer as the time drags on. I lift my head, dark spots dancing in my vision until I can make out where I am. I’m sprawled on th...
Weekly Contest #242
The International Museum of Fine Arts is not an exhibit to be taken lightly. This beautiful museum made of smooth, ivory marble might be a gem to the outside eye, but the true treasures are hidden deep inside. This renowned museum attracts hundreds of visitors each year. They all come from around the globe to look at gorgeous works by world famous artists alike. But this museum has always had an even deeper treasure hidden within. It comes out only in the night, when the loud visitors are nestled away in their beds, our artworks come out to...
Roman Hallowe liked to think of himself as the ultimate collector. There wasn’t a single gallery that had been able to protect itself from his…let’s call it talent. Because that was the way Roman’s head was wired; his skills were God given, how could he ignore them? And after his last heist up in Northern Canada, where he managed to snag a once in a lifetime piece by none other than Paul Cezanne, his skills felt more perfected than ever. Of course, it had all gone rather smoothly. He went in, averted the security, took the canvas,...
Weekly Contest #218
Owen woke to the absence of the birds singing outside his window; their usual serenade was silent, no sound penetrated through the window or the cold, snow covered air outside. A slight chill tickled at his nose, making him shift uncomfortably. He brought a hand to the window, laced with an icy chill that pierced his skin to the bone, marking his skin an angry red. It was such a curious feeling, to feel cold. He had no idea when he had last felt cold but something told him a long time. He sat up in his bed, the sheets unu...
Weekly Contest #205
Kia screwed her eyes shut against the howling wind that buffeted the hood of her coat. The sharp moonlight slithered it’s way in through the patchy leaves of the trees overhead. A cold shiver rustled down Kia’s spine. Kia clenched her teeth, the screech of a nearby owl nearly scaring out of her skin. She pushed back the urge to pace impatiently when her mother, -the almighty Cassandra Green- shed the hood obscuring her face in a swift, liquid motion. The member to her right did the same, followed by the member on his righ...
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