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Weekly Contest #278
CW: Death of a loved one“I stole it,” Gran says, her voice pale and wafer-thin. “I stole the flamingo.”She twists her crooked fingers around the waffle weave blanket and strains to lift her head from the pillow. I lean forward, sure she’s going to say more.But she doesn’t.She just dies instead.#The undertaker collects Gran at five-thirty and we fill her absence with Chinese takeaways and gin.We eat slowly, scraping limp cauliflower through nondescript sauce, continuing through the motions. Our lives go on. Gran’s doesn’t.“You okay?” I ask.Gr...
Weekly Contest #277
Rain lashes the windscreen as the old Ford jostles the curb into the driveway, and we arrive, wipers thumping, suspension groaning and intentions looming. I curl my fingers around the door handle and push myself against the seat, sucking in a deep breath.It’s been a big weekend.I have an unpleasant task ahead of me.Vic pulls up the handbrake, and the car comes to a rest, the headlights casting a cone of illumination to the front door, catching the rain in their light.“Night, Madeline Beare. It’s been a fun retreat,” he says, doffing an imagi...
Weekly Contest #276
What happened?That’s the thing with a visible disability. People are never interested in present you, it’s always past you that gets the airtime. Your story always starts at the hiccup that changed the course of your life, stuck in post-accident purgatory. People define you by that single day, that past you, and all the thousands of choices that followed, what you made with the hand you’ve been dealt, the present you, that all pales in comparison with the big question.What happened?Yeah, nah.That’s not me.#The Beginning...“Can you feel that?...
Weekly Contest #264
“Well, you can go with Martin then.” Aunt Viv stares at me, and with the subtle lifting of her chin, the snare snaps shut.I fumble for an answer, glancing around the table, hoping for an ally, but everyone here is well versed in the art of dodging Aunt Viv’s ire.I’m on my own.“Pray tell,” she says, her gaze blasting through her mean little spectacles, “Is there a reason you can’t possibly accompany Martin to the wedding?”The clink of cutlery ceases, the gauntlet has been thrown, and in the silence, it roars. It’s a miracle her chin hairs are...
Weekly Contest #218
I nudge open the front door and the silence of your absence tumbles towards me in a deafening wave of inevitability. I stumble back, and the door slams, leaving me dithering on the front steps, breathing heavily, unable to cross the threshold and step inside the coffin of our relationship.One day I will.Just not today.#I cried at work today. Just in case you care. Mary from Accounts found me. The nauseating wave of expensive perfume and clacking heels preceded her presence. Her lips shrinking into a thin, mean line when she caught me leaning...
Weekly Contest #212
Kat hovers on the threshold, one boot raised, and the meagre scraps of fabric she considers fashion, flapping against her thighs.“And stay out of my room. Don’t rifle through my shit or anything,” she says.I blink. Vulgar accusations from my flatmate aren’t uncommon, but still, it smarts when she throws such slander with gay abandon.“I shall do nothing of the sort,” I say.“Whatever.”She strides down the front steps, past the patch of flourishing daisies, and towards the dishevelled deathtrap of rusting parts she affectionately calls her car....
Weekly Contest #187
CW: Swearing, a fat cat, drop-kick ex, some defecation, frogs...“I can’t take any more of this shit,” The Man says and walks out the door, slamming it behind him so hard the windows rattle and several of The Hellions begin to cry.The Lady gathers The Hellions into a pile, and they weep and wail, holding onto each other in a heaving heap of misery.While I don’t desire to exit as dramatically as The Man, I too cannot cope with the level of negative emotion in the room, and I flop off the couch and saunter outside to stare at the lawn muffins.#...
Weekly Contest #186
A schoolboy crouched in the alleyway, his red-rimmed eyes wild and desperate in his swollen, puffy face. He darted forward as Edmund passed, hand outstretched, fingers brushing his heavy woolen coat.Edmund recoiled, snatching his briefcase out of the boy’s grasp. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice brimming with indignation and more shock than he cared to acknowledge.“Sir, can you give—”“Most certainly not,” Edmund said, and strode on, staring resolutely at the bus stop ahead.He increased his pace, adding some distance between them, but the boy ...
Shortlisted for Contest #183 ⭐️
“We’re just too different,” I say, and shoot him. Point blank. One to the head. Bang.He collapses in on himself, folding and contorting into a crumpled heap of offal, leaching his blood onto the thirsty ground.I toss the gun on the grass beside him and jog through the summer flowers towards the trail down to the beach.#And here I am. Choking in the city. Assaulted by the cacophony of nighttime suburbia, scuttling through the light, creeping through the darkness. Staggering towards the sanctuary of the lab.Across the road, a red dress flaps, ...
Weekly Contest #161
Grace wiped a spot of blood off the table, smearing it back and forward with her index finger. She glanced at the clock under the security camera. Nearly lunchtime. One more to go. “Come in,” she called. Footsteps clomped in the hallway, and she nudged a glass of water towards the centre of the table. And then slightly to the left.One more. She could do this. “Ready, Doc?” a guard asked, pausing in the doorway. He was gripping the shoulder of her next client, his meaty hands forming dents in the man’s pale skin. She...
Weekly Contest #157
“Vince and Sal have invited us out on their yacht next weekend.” Ben glances at me before dropping his gaze to his phone.The lounge is cold. I sip my coffee and stare at the wilting pot plant in the corner. And the silence hangs over the casually thrown gauntlet.He coughs. “I’ll tell Vince no, then?”I grip my mug. He’s serious. Tiny ripples of horror radiate through the coffee.He waits for my answer as though he’d asked if we wanted to spend a weekend with our closest friends.“You can’t seriously expect me to go?” I ask.“This might be a good...
Weekly Contest #156
“Go to hell, you saggy-faced frumpy old bag.”The words hit me, piercing the tender space between my chest and my heart. My daughter. Screaming at me. Rage puckering her acne ridden face, and her limp hair clinging to her scalp as she flicks it in defiance, stopping short of giving me the single middle finger.The door slams. I blink. My Cassie. Screaming at me. How the hell did we end up here?I walk into the kitchen and grip the bench, my knuckles white, heaving shaky breaths to fight off the rising panic and quell the looming self-doubt.I st...
Weekly Contest #151
“So, tell me why you’re here?”Len picked at a thread on the couch and avoided eye contact with the psychologist. Why was he there? Mostly because of his heartless, cheating, thieving monster of a wife, he supposed.Ex-wife.“Closure,” he said.The psychologist nodded, her face impassive behind her steel-rimmed glasses. She glanced down at her notes.“I see here you’re suffering some health issues?” she asked.Len shrugged. He was sixty-eight, of course there were health issues.“Care to elaborate?”“Not really.” He picked at the white patch of skin...
Weekly Contest #150
“Nine, eight, five, three, three…”He reads the numbers, and my face burns. I stand at the edge of the hallway, somewhere by the swinging doors, and posters advocating Girls in Science. A group of teenage boys loiter by the pinboard.The first tests results are out. The scores printed next to the ID numbers. And there’s unrest amongst the troops.“Is it you, Troy?”“James?”“No, he didn’t finish.”“Cody? Surely, it’s not you?”The boys mill by the pinboard, accusations flying, suspicions looming, ID cards waving, intent on deciphering the owner of ...
Weekly Contest #149
CW: Mention of bloodA light flickers and I open my eyes. I’m nowhere. Drowning in white. I roll onto my knees and cough.Streetlamps stretch into the fog, and I stagger to my feet, stumbling towards the light. A man leans against the closest streetlamp, and I freeze. I look at his shoes.Boots. Heavy black boots, with scuffed toes and worn yellow stitching, frayed laces tied in a clumsy bow.The pressure in my chest eases, and I run towards him. He turns. His face is blank. A featureless circle of pink.I gasp and stumble, clawing at the ground,...
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