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Weekly Contest #352
The Dead Girl in the Blue Dress Jenny hadn’t known the dead girl in the coffin. She didn’t care that Frannie Stern would be wearing a royal blue satin dress. That’s what her mother said she heard dead Fran nie would wear in the coffin. She didn’t know why it was important to go to the scary church, a church she’d never been in. As big as an office building, gray like wet cement, old, older than about anything she could think of except the lady who sat on the street corner in her wheelchair. That lady had a face like a white raisin, Jenny to...
Weekly Contest #347
Betsy’s Beliefs – pffft When she was ten Betsy had already discarded beliefs. At seven she told her parents: ‘Santa is way too big to get down our chimney. Besides, I saw him in lots of different places on the same day.’ Four months later, she told her parents: ‘I saw the chocolate chickens and marshmallow eggs in the market. I don’t believe any bunny brings them to us. I think you do.’ As for the tooth fairy, she said she was glad for the dimes under her pillow, but, ‘no, I can’t believe any fairy put them there, fairies, I no longer belie...
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 not know, but it doesn’t...
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 for Audrey. Her fingers froze on the needles. She couldn’t concentrate. Knitting wasn’t fun. It was a chore. The little potholder Bev started her with looked like someone with a bad cold had used it for a hanky. Audrey had fallen for Pete last mont...
Weekly Contest #132
The Snort After attending churches, synagogues, temples, prayer meetings, healing sessions, and gala gatherings at stadiums and in megachurches, Charlotte called it quits. What she meant by “it” was the search for God/gods/higher power/supreme being/true god from true god/the Trinity/Allah and so many other names she lost her common sense when she tried to remember them all. Quits had the same meaning for Charlotte as The End. She’d completed her search, there was nothing left to search for - End/curtainsclosed/donedeal/nomore/fini/over/col...
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 were ready to be donated to the little libraries that had been constructed on corners in towns. She thought them charming. Her mother, whose name was Dorothy, refused any of the nicknames for her daughter. Dorothy was proud to have named her only daughter after herself, never mind that it was long out of fashio...
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 w...
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