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Weekly Contest #315
I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit in this job; somehow never gets easier. First day as a detective I get called into a murder suicide. Man kills wife. Man kills self. It wasn’t the blood that got to me. It was the stench, so sour it was almost sweet. It was the way the bodies had fallen. Looked like a marionette and its puppeteer. Like somehow he'd found a way to control her even in death. All that was missing were the strings. That scene set the tone for my entire career. Case after case of someone needing control. Control over someone else. Co...
Weekly Contest #298
What the fuck even is a Farmer’s Market? I mean I understand the general concept, being that it’s quite literally in the name; but how is it different, really, than a regular grocery store? Don’t grocery stores buy their produce from farmers? I’d understand if the prices at the market were cheaper than at the grocery store—being that they are presumably coming directly from the farmers themselves—but I’m staring at a $2 Gala apple and wondering why I wouldn’t just walk across the street to the Whole Foods and get one for 73 cents. ‘But the l...
Weekly Contest #290
I breathed a sigh of relief as I pissed on the wall. It was one of those bars that thought having a wall of tile to urinate on made them unique—something about the innate yearning of men to piss on things that aren’t traditional toilets—but in reality it just broadens the animal stench of territories marked, increases the spray-back factor so that you leave speckled with dots of what you’ll lie is water from washing your hands (which you won’t do). I’ve always had a weak bladder, it’s inconvenient most of the time but it also gives me a nice...
Weekly Contest #287
There’s something intoxicating about a dive bar, besides what they put in your glass. Perhaps it’s the aroma, not just the fumes of the liquor and beer but something else: piss? sweat? mold? Or maybe the fact that it could be any time of day and it would still be so dark you have to squint to read the book you brought; a book you probably won’t read anyway. Or the sound of pool balls crashing into each other, the tapping of feet on the foot rest in front of your barstool, the rock music playing slightly too loudly on the speakers. Most likel...
Weekly Contest #231
December 31st. Every year, the last day of the worst year of my life. A new chance to make the following rotation around the sun the one that turns things around. One single year marginally better than the last and I can tell – I know – the ones that follow will only get better and better until each year is the best year of my life.And so this year, rather than tell them to my mom on one of our maybe five phone calls for the year and then forgetting about them until the following December, I have decided to write down my New Year’s resolutio...
Weekly Contest #147
Portia’s hand tightens excitedly on Reed’s hand. The screen flashes brilliantly, only for a moment, and then goes dark. It’s the kind of sudden change in light that disorients. Where your mind can’t keep up with your eyes and the darkness seems to swirl with color. The theater seems pitch black. Any second, Reed thinks, the credits will roll and the theater will again fill with light. Any second, he’s sure, there will be the shuffle of feet, the excited murmurs of couples or friends or lone strangers seeking conversation. Popcorn wil...
Weekly Contest #119
Tom dreams. He won’t remember the first dream or the second one. The third may come through only in flashes. The fourth and fifth will meld themselves together to create something odd and mystifying. In this narrative nightmare of a dream Tom is running a marathon, right foot forward, left foot forward, sweat dripping, in need of a cup of water. Only he’s not running, is he? He’s lying on the beach, a woman and a child playing next to him in the sand. He’s reading a book of poems and stories by Edgar Allen Poe. A...
Weekly Contest #116
It was very late in the night when she texted me: ‘Meet me at Queen Dumpling tomorrow night. Nine.’ It was odd seeing her text that way – proper punctuation, to the point – but then again I hadn’t gotten a text from her in two years. People change and their styles change too. I only wished that she had called. I missed her voice. I had this voicemail saved on my phone from when we were married. I listened to it on lonely, drunken nights. She’d been drinking and I was out of town, sleeping. The voicemail was mostly thoughtless rambling. She...
Weekly Contest #63
Steam rises from the paper cup and brings the sweet smell of cider to my nose. The warmth of the cup feels nice in the grip of my cold, hard hands. It tastes of apples and cinnamon and brown sugar. It soothes the sting in my throat and chest. I feel it warming my belly my legs my toes. She said she’d be here 20 minutes ago. We met on a dating app. 8 million people in New York City and I had to meet someone over the phone. It’s been normalized, though I still feel weird about it. I wonder what my dating life would have been like in the fift...
Weekly Contest #59
I wake up, as I do most mornings, to the sound of ambulance sirens. I look at the clock, nine, too early for a Saturday morning. My head is throbbing, my eyes feel like they may fall out, last night’s sweat has dried into a sticky, smelly goop all over my body. I smell of old gin and tonics. I can’t imagine looking into a mirror. I decide to go back to sleep. At 10:30 I wake up once again, this time of my own accord. My window faces east and normally around this time I’m shielding my eyes from the sun, but today there is no sun. I look out...
Weekly Contest #57
“Mom, Dad,” Amy paused, “Mom’s lover Dave. Dad’s lover Peter.” She sighed and pinched her nose. “I’ve gathered you here because I wanted you all to hear it from me.” “What is it, sweetie?” her mother said. “Should we be worried?” Peter said. He had his arm around her father’s waist. “No it’s not that big of a deal.”  ...
Weekly Contest #56
She’s doing her hair for the first time in months. She even broke out the bobby pins – new ones, not the ones rusting on the floor of her tiny bathroom – in an attempt to give those stray strands a little more purpose. He’s shirtless in his bedroom checking out his body in the mirror behind his door. He’s gained some muscle in the past few months. He’s feeling especially great about himself. He even trimmed his beard a little shorter and neater. It was getting pretty itchy anyway. She puts on mascara but it’s so chunky she has to wash ...
Weekly Contest #49
Tonight, I hate that screeching noise the bag of pretzels makes when I pull it apart. I pull too hard and the side of the bag rips. I have to put my hand to the tear so none of the tasteless, chalky pretzels come falling out. I eat a few but they make me sick to my stomach so I roll up the bag and set it on the chair next to me. The waiting room here is terrible. The magazines are all wrinkled or torn, the water cooler is empty, and the only thing I could get to come out of the vending machine was that bag of pretzels. My phone died a...
Weekly Contest #47
You’ve done it so many times before it’s almost like the suitcase just fills itself. Start with the pants, those go on the bottom left, they create a nice base for what you’re about to add to the top. Three pairs of long pants – chinos, jeans, sweatpants – and boom you’re good to go. On to the next thing. On the bottom right you put your button ups. Three of those as well. Here you can pick and choose. Today you decide on a fun pink color. Bold to wear pink in the winter, you k...
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