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Weekly Contest #318
Bruce Wayne, upon Alfred’s request, opened the webpage and began reading. * * * Entry 1: You know, I've been thinking - had it not been for Bruce, I would have been the one Stan Lee created first. Nowadays I'm only thought of as the sidekick, but times have changed, I don't need Bruce anymore; I'm a free bird. So let the rumors swirl - blah, blah, blah - that's the reality of it; but people forget, the bat only comes at night, and a robin soars in the daylight. If you're wondering about Alfred, he's gone too. It's only Bruce and his cave no...
Weekly Contest #317
Tonight, I am going to share with you the tale of five brave ducks. These were not your typical ducks, but ducks of grave importance - responsible for the very survival of Earth itself. This is not only a tale of bravery, but one of uncertainty and loss. I tell it with a heavy heart, one of admiration and sorrow. But had it not been for this team of intergalactic space-ducks, you, me, our families and friends, would have ceased to exist. My name is Hans Frederick Ducksworth, and I was Second in Command of what would later be known as The Duc...
Weekly Contest #315
CW: Graphic sexual content, sexual violence, physical violence and gore It was the kind of house that is always inhabited by an elderly lady living alone. It was old and square with a pointy roof that had a single attic's window. Around the door were wild rose bushes, heavily fertilized by rotted tea leaves. Rows of vegetables grew in the little front garden between a pair of trimmed hedges, and adolescent strawberries dangled from runners in an old wicker basket. There were soft blue curtains at the bay window and the approaching gate creak...
Weekly Contest #314
For the better part of a month in the Mojave landscape of Bullhead City, Arizona, Rudy Sinclair found herself starting her mornings at 4 am. A car crash had left her with a herniated disc, the sciatica a relentless fiery stab down her leg, mirroring the blazing desert beyond her window. Rising from bed was a struggle. She eased herself down to the cool hardwood floor and, with gritted teeth, arched into cobra pose, the gentle stretch coaxing sweat from her brow. Another month, she figured, until her body moved freely again. Until then, sleep...
Weekly Contest #274
The vessel made landfall on the evening of a warm summer’s day. Etched on the side of the hull was a fancy cursive that read The Hercules. She was a massive vessel, a trawler, loaded with tons upon tons of fish kept on ice in separate quantities. It had gone aground and dropped anchor. The Captain had worn a stern look for most of the voyage, conscious of concern, weary of his surroundings. But his crew was strong, they were of good health, and God knows the weather had been in their favor. As the vessel made landfall, the sun began to ...
Weekly Contest #272
When she picked it out, he had no idea how it had gotten there. It was a rustic red color, with pearl reflective windows and chrome rims that looked like they had been polished with a green fungus. It had a price written on it in large bubbly numbers—$500. When she asked for a drive, the man scoured his pockets and told her he didn’t have the keys—that the car wasn’t his. But the girl was determined—it called to her. She walked to it and tried the handle, and to her prevail the door opened with a long, croaky whine. The man looked unwell, bu...
Weekly Contest #270
Content Warning: Language, GoreIt was half past ten and Ronald Gibbs was thinking about closing for the night when the woman with tattered overalls and blood-stained tee-shirt stumbled into Ron's Diner holding an infant and looking like she’d seen something fierce. It was the second of July, the time of year when neighbors set off firecrackers at 2 AM and the smell of burgers and dogs sizzled over charcoal grills filling the air with good, old-fashioned patriotism. Sure, you’ll have your occasional accident or two, fireworks are dangerous, b...
Weekly Contest #217
Warning: Language“His name is Daphne, sir – Rupert Daphne.”“Daphne?!” Bill Hargrave blurted disdainfully. “You must be joking, Burnsley.”He lurched over Burnsley’s shoulder, prying the printed list from his hands. His eyes jerked up and down the pages hoping it were a gag.“’Fraid not, sir. Daphne was, is, the only recruit we deemed worthy of such mentorship. He’s a bright boy, sir.” Burnsley responded cheerily. “He’s not quite like his father; rather brilliant actually.”Bill ran his hand through his greying hair as he made out Daphne’s name ...
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