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Weekly Contest #338
Dominic arrived in winter like an angel amid hellfire. He was a case of the offspring born into impetuous conflict, the one delivered in the middle of a chaos. For all the miracles that stood before him, Dominic had been the one to inspire hope, his countenance so ethereal it almost distracted the villagers from present turmoil. He had turquoise bright pupils that dilated upon his mother’s gaze, like an ocean of endless waves, rosy cheeks that nested just between his lips, a smile timid and puerile en face every commoner that stood before hi...
Weekly Contest #335
The town had changed dramatically once the Bravest arrived. One could not simply call it a riot, neither a cleansing. The Bravest preferred the term Metamorphosis, a term that allegedly benefitted both the town and the eclectic Hundreds. Robert knew he was the 100th. He kept getting reminded with each headline on the news, all so different yet so similar; Global warming, the war in Europe, a hailstorm in a neighbouring place and then the capture of the Hundreds, with yet another one fleeing the city. Each time he stared at the white sealed e...
Weekly Contest #311
1970 The moonlight hits my eyes softly, just enough to illuminate our presence. Our dancing shadows are casting shapes beside the water, the whole summer’s eve spent with our embracing reflections. Her siren brown eyes are glowing under the moonlight, her tight brunette curls all watered down with sea salt. My scrawny arms are around her, my blue eyes looking through her smile, a smile full of elation, warmth, safety. As our bodies collide, brushing against each other, nothing matters anymore. No warm night, no humid water, no glowing moon. ...
Angelo and Sarah met in Rome. They bumped on the steps outside the gelateria, one smothered in pistachio ice-cream, the other covered in cone scraps. A simple smirk from Angelo convinced her, despite his ice-cream covered face and his little gray tufts appearing in between his black hair. He looked dreamy, a modern day Romeo that came to life. She, on the other hand, was a lady of the Botticelli paintings, blue eyes and blonde curls of an angel, a lover of nature, animals, humans and life, in no particular order. And so their story began, sl...
Weekly Contest #275
Mommy never lets me past the staircase; says it is too dangerous for a little girl, too risky for the bits and pieces made of glass. The staircase oversees the entrance door. It is covered in a red, silky ribbon for Christmas and gold decorative lights. Right next to the door, we put up our Christmas tree. I helped Mommy decorate it. The front entrance looks like it’s covered in snow, white marble covering the entire room and a grand fir tree standing tall and proud in the corner. I love my house. Mommy likes to paint. At most ti...
Weekly Contest #240
Anna took slow, meticulous steps. One foot after the other, left, right, left, right. The evening breeze brushed upon her rose cheeks, as the waves swept and crushed upon her feet in vigorous rhythm. She stepped on the smooth, white sand with care- after all, she almost forgot how the water feels like. As she got closer and closer to the water, she realized her reality could not be further from it. Three whole years without surfing felt like torture. Now it was time for him to feel it.In Anna’s current reality, two hobbies made sense: ...
Weekly Contest #226
March We blossomed in Spring. That warm Sunday afternoon, our eyes locked across the tulip lake, like two swans finding their way to each other. You approached me boldly, confident footsteps striding to meet their other half. You wore a black, suede coat, blue jeans and a pair of leather boots that made you appear taller. When you finally got close, the palette did not matter. You stopped and stared into my brown eyes and suddenly, all the greenery in the park became your emerald eyes. Hey, I’m Mark’, you said with a smirk, handing me a tuli...
Weekly Contest #195
The big, white clock New York, USA 24 May 1924 2:00 p.m. I sit at the very end of the high-end table, taking long, dreaded sips of bootlegged gin. The table stretches out to a surfeit of pretend, intoxicated strangers, all talking and mingling as if they have anything else in common other than their own riches. I turn to look at the big, white clock. For a moment, it appears that we are both staring at each other with complete stillness. Both isolated, placed in a room of unknown dispositions and mindless conversations. I am the big, wh...
Weekly Contest #190
Home at last cw: foul language, swearing “Speak now.” “Mary, please... Don’t look at me like that...” “Who the hell is this??” “Her name is Lucy.” “Really Andy?!” “Mary… I can explain…” “After I specifically told you not to!” “Yeah but..." "No buts." “I promise, I’ll make this right!” "Only if you kick her out." "Okay, okay..." “Geez, on our counter too? Disgusting.” “Mary, wait!” Andy dashed out the kitchen, his mouth running faster than his feet as he chased Mary down the hall of ridiculously expensive artwork. Mary typed and t...
Weekly Contest #185
Mr. Smith’s storage unit By Corina Pitt cw: foul language Mr. Smith’s storage unit rests on a quiet street in north London, just behind St Pancras. It stands between an abandoned Chinese restaurant and a non-operative costume shop, its exterior unrevealing of its purpose. I remember the first time we passed by it, the mortified look on my mom’s face as she pointed towards the dark blue door and warned me never to step foot in there. When I asked her why, she would always reply with the same mysterious tone: ‘He is a dangerous man’. G...
Weekly Contest #182
Something is burning By C. Pitt ACT I Scene 1 Setting: We are in the bathroom of the Green Mansion next to the kitchen (first floor). A fire alarm is going off. In the background, the music is mixing with the siren sound. The two friends are paranoid that they started the fire and are considering their next steps. At rise: The two friends are sitting on the bathroom floor. They are sharing a joint. Next to them are leftover fries, plastic cups, cigarettes and some toilet paper. Friend 1: (stoned, slow-paced) “Dude, we can’t hide in ...
Weekly Contest #173
A chosen prisoner By C Pitt December 24th 2021. This is the happiest day of my life. After years of waiting, hoping, praying, I am now released from my cage. The procedure is typical. The crowd watches, observing the prisoners closely. The non-released prisoners watch the released prisoners (or the lucky ones as we are often referred to), slowly getting out of our cells and setting foot into life. Jealousy outlines their poor, tired faces, wondering when is it going to be their turn. I was one of them in the past. Now, my time has come to ...
Weekly Contest #172
Until Monday morning By C. Pitt They took you away from me. Right there, at plain sight. They asked how I felt; Violated, vain, dazed, I let out. I am laying on unfamiliar ground, my body floating in the furthest of spaces. My heart feels heavy, so I check if it is still beating. Positive. My mind feels betrayed, invaded by an inevitable wave of authority. I knew the rules all along; they were unchanged since I was a little girl. “Calculated actions lead to a happy life”, my grandma used to say. I calculated them all my life. However...
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