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Weekly Contest #345
Afterlife Customs DeclarationDEPARTMENT OF TRANSITIONAL MATTERS ARRIVAL PROCESSING — FORM 1AWelcome.All persons entering Post-Life Processing must complete this declaration prior to continuation.You are permitted ONE (1) STANDARD ISSUE SUITCASE for the transport of life contents beyond the checkpoint.Items placed inside must meet the following criteria:• Must represent a moment of lived significance • Must not consist solely of wealth, ownership, or status • Must fit within the suitcase provided Name of Deceased: Daniel Mercer Age at Death: ...
Weekly Contest #325
Elias Corbett arrived at the farmhouse just after dawn. Headlights sliced through fog so dense it pressed the world flat, turning the fields into pale, unbroken sheets of gray. The gravel drive wound between stands of bare trees, their black limbs slick with dew, leaning inward as if conspiring.Out the corner of his eye, he caught a flicker: tall, pale, gliding between the trunks, but gone before he could turn to see it properly. Only the hush of the misted field remained, though it seemed to breathe.The house sat on a low rise, roof sagging...
Weekly Contest #324
The priest no longer calls himself a priest.He doesn’t correct the mailman who says Father, nor the woman at the grocery who asks if he’ll bless her car, but he hasn’t worn the collar in seven years. His faith left him not in crisis but by degrees, the way the tide retreats: imperceptibly, until the bay lies bare and stinking.He lives in a cottage the church once rented for retreats, a mile from the parish and fifty yards from the sea. Built in the 1930s, when solitude was considered medicinal, the place now sheds its paint in scabs. The win...
Weekly Contest #323
It began with a small, deceptively simple gesture: I shook my head.Todd, karaoke host and self-appointed despot of the Rusty Lantern Bar, extended the microphone like it was the Holy Grail. “Your song,” he said. Not a song. The song. My song. The one that had become law, legend, and the unofficial national anthem of Tuesday nights: Journey’s Don’t Stop Believin’.I said, “Not tonight.”Clocks stopped. The patrons of the Rusty Lantern froze, their drinks paused uncertainly between tabletops and lips. A dart froze in mid-flight, trembling. Todd ...
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