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Weekly Contest #327
Tabby Rules Me, here, name’s Tabby. Not original for a cat. But then my owners, two of them, are unoriginal sorts. They wear black and gray. I’m black and gray. We kind of match. They adopted me from a shelter down in the city. The city was mostly gray, as was its sky. Of course, it was black at night. Except for the moon and stars. But even they looked gray because of pollution. My motto, for what they call these days a dysfunctional couple, is that I rule. I call the shots. Where’d that come – call the shots? I do n...
Weekly Contest #133
The Sweater That Didn’t Happen Audrey, 18, at an all-girls school, had her mind on boys all the darn time, Audrey determined she’d have to find something to fill her nights besides fantasies about imaginary boys. Bev knew how to knit, said it was easy and she’d teach Audrey. Knitting wasn’t easy fo...
Weekly Contest #132
The Snort After attending churches, synagogues, temples, prayer meetings, healing sessions, and gala ...
Weekly Contest #130
The Locked Door Dorothy, aka Dottie or Dot or Deetee, depending on who was speaking to her, had enough of Lance. She’d spent all day, well not all, but she told herself was a considerable amount of the day tidying. The bags of books ...
Weekly Contest #103
The Sign Jack Saunders couldn’t find the darn sign he’d made for the protest. How could that be? Just yesterday he’d toiled with markers and contact paper and wooden slats and Oaktag to make the sign. This morning he was to carry his sign of protest in the back of his car covered by a tarp to the corner. The corner was crucial. He’d not designated the corner. A woman named Nancy Chopin had told them via email she hoped it was satisfactory to everyone. They’d be peacefully protesting at the corner where the entrance and exit to the highway wa...
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