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Weekly Contest #130
I remember my mother, soft and full of water, opening our front door with a Valentine’s Day gift in her arms. I was ten years old, making a fort of pillows and blankets for my little brothers when I saw her step inside. My mother’s arms were covered in a bulky knitted blue sweater, her beige skin flashing through the holes between the stiches. Her left arm like an L to her chest, carrying a small pink thing squished between wool and cotton swaddling. In the crook of her right arm was the baby car seat, the same one used for the last baby jus...
Weekly Contest #115
“If we’re together, I would like for you to actually be here with me.” “I know, I’m sorry, I’m just scrolling.” “Exactly, you’re just scrolling. It would be more fun to hangout. I mean, that’s why we’re here, right? After asking it I was swept with a cold sweat of shame. From my eyebrows to my lower belly. We were lying on the bed in a tiny hotel. Why were we here? He was just scrolling. I should do the same. I should be on my phone too. But I didn’t want to. We had met online several months prior. I had just moved to Italy for a relationsh...
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