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Weekly Contest #309
Let’s get something straight before we begin. There is no other academia than “dark”. There is no such thing as light academia, or cozy academia, or even an academic aesthetic – academia is exclusively a place of darkness, of obtuse speech and veiled motivations. There is no hope in academia; there is no love in academia. There is only the cold, hard call of grants and cutthroat office politics pulling you over the edge into the void of retirement. It’s not Harry Potter - more like The Secret History, but worse: it’s not fiction. That’s why ...
Weekly Contest #294
“I do.”That’s what I said many years before I met the man of my dreams. The man in front of me as I said it wasn’t even smiling; to be fair, neither was I. Both of us were just desperate to get the whole ceremony over with so we could go back to being ourselves: the people we had dated and fallen in love with over the past five years. We weren’t suited to suits and gowns – still aren’t – let alone suited to upholding the expectations of every person in an overcrowded room. Though it felt interminable, eventually the day and night did indeed ...
Weekly Contest #237
It had been an absolute eternity since he had last been on a date. This was only partially by choice; he had a long history of sleeping through appointments, and frankly rarely left his home – at least recently. In fact, he hadn’t anticipated leaving for quite a while, but his dreams had recently been … disturbing. Surprisingly lonely. It had been a stroke of luck that those archaeologists had stopped by and left their device before being devoured, really – since his typical avenues of information-gathering were lost to him, he could resort ...
Weekly Contest #225
It had been a long time since her old friend had visited her. Usually, it was Blessing that did the visiting. The emphysema had stopped that quick enough. These days, Blessing only saw Pleasant Drive from outside the curtain-framed window: its pedestrians on sunny days, usually hearses at least once a week. Still, life could be worse at Saint Cyprian’s Hospice; Thursdays meant Zuzanna’s shift, which inevitably lead to illicit cookies, and Sundays brought her weekly visits from Father Peter with his air-light voice and his treasured ukulele. ...
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