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Weekly Contest #348
Ba-dump, Ba-dump, Ba-dump, is all I can hear, but not all I can feel. I can feel the soft pressure of the mattress pushing against my back, and gentle caress of the blanket on my legs and chest. I can feel the warmth of my daughter Becky’s hand wrapped around mine, and the rhythmic throbbing of my beating heart. I can feel the pillowy peck of my granddaughter’s lips on my forehead. My sweet, sweet, Emma girl. And I can still feel the dampness of Virginia’s tears on my cheek. Although it’s been quite some time since my body last purged itsel...
Weekly Contest #346
The day he changed my life After a long day of prepping and preening, the moment had finally come for me to step out of my safe space and walk among the bustling crowd. The noise of it was overwhelming, inhibiting my ability to focus on the task at hand. My eyes darted from side to side as my attention was drawn to the chaotic flashing of lights above and around me. It reminded me of Times Square on New Years eve. All I could hear was my favorite song, echoing so loudly in my ears that it was almost deafening. It’s angry beat and hatefu...
London Bridge is falling down, or so I wish. I’m sitting here at the Watchhouse, sipping a Flat White and staring at that gaudy, clunker of a river span. I’m so sick of being here. This was supposed to be a three-hour stop-over enroute to Rome, but here I sit, choking on pretentiousness, instead of savoring a velvety smooth Gelato with a genuine cappuccino to wash it down. I can’t help feeling like I’ve been targeted by MI6. As I wrote in yesterday’s entry, the supposed “mishap” that stranded me here was far too perfect in its execution. I ...
Weekly Contest #345
How long have I stood Generations of men with their fire and smoke have passed. Sharing with me the comfort of my shade while resting on my ground. They’ve built their homes and fortresses with the resources that I’ve offered, and yet, never once have I been repaid, or heard a word of thanks. The very air they breathe is mine, but they fill it with the sickening stench of their dead and with the death of my closest colleagues. Some of them recognize me and what I’ve done for them. And yet, ever-still, no thanks are given. Others come to...
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