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Weekly Contest #349
“It’s Thursday, your turn to go shopping.” Tom flashed his usual sarcastic smile as he held out a pair of bolt croppers. “There’s a backroom to the store on Harding Street. I spotted it two nights ago. Could be supplies or money in there but it’s padlocked. You’ll need these to get in.” Reluctantly I took the bolt croppers, swallowed the nauseating anxiety. “Thanks, very good of you,” I said, “but would you care to come with me? For moral support?” I should have known my plea would have no effect. Since the apocalypse, compassion was a t...
Shortlisted for Contest #221 ⭐️
Feast It’s 2 a.m. Cassie’s mournful dirge drifts up from the pantry. I lie in bed staring at the moonlight through the open window, exhausted from the absence of sleep, pondering whether tonight is the night I start to set boundaries, feign ignorance to my daughter’s call for attention or go downstairs to take care of her needs as I have done every night since she died. The illuminated hands of the clock read 2.30 a.m. by the time she falls silent. For a moment hope offers me its hand. Has the torment finally ended?...
Weekly Contest #41
Getting the Longhorn HomeThere was a cow on the train line this morning. English Longhorn, rare breed. I know this because my Grandpa used to keep them before the bank forced his farms’ closure. Grandpa lived for his farm, his Longhorns especially. He had fire surging through his seventy year old veins and I believed every word when he said “over my dead body will they take this farm and my cattle away from me.” I assumed he never meant those words literally but the day before the bank took possession of Grandpa Oswald's farm, one of the far...
Weekly Contest #31
Something SimpleHenry doses the top loading machine with detergent and fabric conditioner, turns the dials to the required wash cycles. He watches the water gush in until it reaches capacity then drops in garments – colored's today - gently pushing them below the water’s surface to ensure they are covered. The agitator starts to turn. It’s the part he likes most, watching the agitator turn back and forth, the myriad colors of the garments swirling together like spilled paints, the calming rhythmic slush-slush sound of the water. He could sta...
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