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Weekly Contest #220
Cheyenne saw her aunt Maisie every Tuesday afternoon, like clockwork. It seemed sort of fitting that her funeral was also on a Tuesday. Cheyenne stood at the back, staying quiet as others spoke. Some of what they said was accurate. Some of it wasn't. A lot of it was simply ... curated. They said Maisie was funny, without admitting she had a sense of humor that would make a porn star blush or a laugh that could put a supervillain to shame. They said she was kind, without saying how cranky or no-nonsense that kindness could sometimes be. They...
Weekly Contest #127
“Find something you’re good at and stick with it.” Wise words from his father, to be sure, though Kyle was pretty sure neither of his parents had ever intended for him to be … well, saying a con artist felt a bit harsh. He was giving people exactly what they paid him for, in a basement room he rented for cheap that smelled like even cheaper incense, drowning out the world outside with thick walls and a white noise generator. It was better than a lot of alternatives. It started with the tarot cards, in more ways than one. Kyle knew a handf...
Weekly Contest #119
CW: referenced child death Originally, Cheyenne came for the view. She came to stand at the edge of the cliff and watch the waves crash against the rocks below while smelling the salt on the air and listening to the rush of the water. Instead, she mostly wound up staring at the little cottage farther along the cliff. Her cousin hadn’t mentioned it. But she supposed it wasn’t that noteworthy to the locals. Cheyenne wasn’t sure when her feet started moving, but soon enough, she was standing on the faded path that led to the cottage’s front ...
Weekly Contest #117
It had been an accident. Well, alright. Caleb had said it on purpose, but he had also been seven years old, head filled with Grandma’s stories of fairy rings, when he came across the circle of mushrooms just a few hundred yards from his home, in a gap in the trees that seemed perfectly sized for it. “I wish she would leave me alone,” he said to the circle of mushrooms, because no seven-year-old boy wants to be constantly followed by a three-year-old girl, and it didn’t matter how he asked or cried or begged their parents to keep her busy f...
Weekly Contest #116
There is a dog barking. Not the sort of barking that demands play. Not the ‘Look at that! Look at that!’ sort of barking. Not angry barking. Cheyenne has never not had a dog. She knows what those all sound like, whether the dog is big or small, whether it barks like a plush toy or like its trying to shake down the moon. It’s the rapid, high-pitched, desperate yapping of a dog demanding help. She’s never heard it from her current dog, but it’s a sound that pulls at her sternum like a deep-set instinct. She stares at the bright yellow ‘PRIVA...
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