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Weekly Contest #342
Every morning, Arthur woke before the kettle did.Not because he needed to. Not because anyone asked him to. It was simply the way his body had learned the rhythm of the house; the creak of old floorboards, the cold air at the bottom of the stairs, the familiar ache in his knees that reminded him he was still here.He padded into the kitchen in his slippers, careful not to wake Margaret.The kitchen was dim, lit only by the small lamp by the window. The world outside was still half-asleep, the garden pale with frost. Arthur stood for a moment, ...
He hated Valentines Day. Well, he didn’t hate it, he just didn’t know what to do with it. It felt like a celebration for people who already had someone; a day where the world turned up the volume on romance and it became impossible to ignore. He’d told himself he was fine, that he had friends, a job he didn’t mind, a warm flat, and enough tea to survive an apocalypse. But still, something was missing. When he passed the florist and saw the window showcasing hundreds of deep-red roses, his chest did that annoying thing where it felt like it w...
Weekly Contest #314
Entry 1: The First NightHi, it's me, Jamie.I can’t sleepMummy said I should write in a diary if I can't sleep, ‘cause it helps to get your thoughts out. She said I could use this old voice recorder instead 'cause my spelling is pants. So, um... here I am. Talking. To no one. But that’s okay, I think.I can’t sleep. Again. It’s not that I’m scared or anything. It’s just... my room feels funny. Like it’s too quiet, but also not quiet enough. And the shadows look like they’re moving, even when I don’t blink. But Mummy said it’s just my 'maginash...
I have no heartbeat. No breath. No sleep.But I wait.For millennia, I have stood sentinel at the threshold of the Underworld, where the very air hangs thick with ash and forgotten souls. Silence reigns here and not the gentle hush of peace, but the weighty stillness of oblivion. Beneath my claws, the stone is scorched black by ages of sorrow, etched with the footprints of the dead. My three heads do not slumber; my eyes remain forever unblinking. I am the final gaze that greets the souls of the departed, the last witness before their names ar...
Weekly Contest #128
It was the day. The door had been locked and wouldn’t be opened until the following afternoon. The man sat next to the chauffeur before calling out the destination he and his family desired to go to. While the man and the chauffeur were indulging in, what they considered to be, a fascinating conversation about an article they’d read in the newspaper, the man’s poor wife was trying to end a fight their twin daughters were having. The ‘battle’, consisted of scratching and mild hitting but the violent acts were not contained to just the t...
Weekly Contest #113
Tuesday, 27 September 1921. “Snovi Belleville, can you present your presentation now?” The teacher groaned, nibbling on her glasses. Snovi, feeling dauntless, casually walked up to the front of the class and took out a few pieces of paper. “My presentation is about dreams, in fact, my name means dreams in Latin” she started. The class looked highly disinterested already. “If you dream about something, it’ll happen,” she said joyfully. The whole class burst out in laughter, the response from the class caused Snovi to tear up but not cry or ...
Weekly Contest #112
It was a beautiful late afternoon in Kersey, England. Loren Stanton and her family were indulging in a picnic in the middle of a field they owned. The field was full of cattle. The grass was fresh and the flowers were gorgeous, they leaked a sweet pungent smell that filled everyone's nostrils. Evergreen grass blades were bowing to the wind that blew East. Every Sunday, the Stantons would have a picnic as it was the only quiet day but also because Mr Stanton, Loren’s father, was home the whole day so it was a full family. Mrs Stanton, Loren’s...
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