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Weekly Contest #354
2,731 days. In the grand timeline of the cosmos, seven and a half years is less than a heartbeat. It was a rounding error in the life of a nebula. But for Eleanor, 2,731 days was an eternity of compressed oxygen and thinning light. It was the exact time since the universe had developed a hole and her son, Leo, had fallen through it. She kept the count on the silver frame of the hallway mirror. Every morning, before the kettle whistled, she etched a tiny line into the wood. The frame was now a jagged landscape of scars, a silver topography ...
Weekly Contest #353
My name is Pipkin and I am currently pinned beneath a blueberry.To you, a blueberry is a snack. To me, it is a five-ton sphere of indigo doom that smells faintly of summer and impending humiliation. I am supposed to be an Elder Scout of the Mossy-Knoll Tribe, a title that suggests dignity, grace and the ability to fly in a straight line. Instead, I am currently negotiating with a beetle named Barnaby to see if he’ll swap his leverage for a half-chewed piece of honeysuckle.“Listen, Barnaby,” I grunted, my face pressed against a damp patch of ...
Weekly Contest #352
In the textbooks, July is a riot of aggressive color. It is the scorching, unforgiving yellow of the midday sun. A light so bright it flattens the world into two dimensions. It is the artificial, celebratory explosions of red and white that scar the blue night sky, demanding attention with every concussive boom. But that year, the world lost its warmth. The spectrum shifted, narrowed, and cooled. For me, July bled into a singular, haunting shade of blue.It started with his eyes. They were a bright, crystalline blue that had seen decades of l...
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