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Weekly Contest #380
“I’ll take one, how much?” Sydney rummages through her purse to find her last notes of cash. “It’s gonna be seven hundred this week, Syd.” Sydney stops rummaging, doesn’t look up, but closes her eyes against the pain knocking against one side of her cranium to the other, “That’s almost three times as much Ed! What the hell.” “I know Syd, I’m sorry. They’re cracking down, everything’s at a mark up. But this is the good stuff, stronger. You might want to break it in half this time.” Sydney nods, her hand clamped around the cash and slowly pull...
Weekly Contest #377
It started slowly, so insidiously quiet that I was none the wiser. I was grateful for everything, my body and its movement. My ears and the way sound slipped in and hugged the space so I could hear the sound of my children’s laughter, my husband's hushed curses when he burned himself cooking dinner, music. But above the rest, and often I now wonder if it was my love for it that caused it to flee, were my eyes. My eyesight. I drank in all that I could. Traveling to other countries to witness the culture, the architecture. Watching my children...
Weekly Contest #376
They say children should outlive their parents. While I regret that my father is the one that had to carve into the wood of one of the many colossal thick trees found in our town’s Woodland Memorial, a small part is glad I don’t have to help hollow out a space for him or my mother. Sorry, brother. This massive grove is our final resting place. In this way, the Earth embraces us forever. A forest of birth, death and rebirth. As a child I watched others carve out the bark for their dearly departed. Watched Grief in all its forms, but at a dist...
Weekly Contest #281
It’s December, and I am stuck in a constant state of irritation and perpetual wincing at the mere mention of jolly ol’ Nick, the happy festivities and the hope of a snow filled Christmas. And who can forget about the biting cold? But there is nothing happy, at least not for me, I am not a holiday person. Don’t call me Scrooge or the Grinch, they at least got some heart to them at the end of those stories. This is not such a story. I work a monotonous job, hour after hour spent hunched over a desk, day after day. And at the end of those d...
Weekly Contest #213
“How are they today?” I cup her cheek with my hand, gently rubbing my thumb across it. I know her cheek feels warm and soft; she smiles up at me as we lay together. I move my hand to cup the back of her brunette wavy hair, cradling her beautiful head. Then run my hands through her hair. My fingers get caught slightly, so I carefully detangle it for her. I know it feels soft too, but right now I can’t feel it anymore. Not with these hands. I’m unsure how to tell her. I sigh and kiss her forehead, holding the back of her head again, trying to...
Weekly Contest #146
A woman in her late twenties with shoulder length dark brown hair, sits down at a worn mahogany desk in her study. A desk that once belonged to her father, the one he used to work on when writing his stories for his publisher. The one she’d sit on as a child and enjoy hearing those same stories read to her, because he always valued her opinion. A large window is behind her, which shows a forest shrouded in moonlight and shadows. She’s surrounded by bookcases on either side of her. A small white table sits in the corner a little ways away, a ...
Weekly Contest #108
“You know you can’t keep doing this right?” He asks me gently, running the ruggedness of his fingertips along my hips. I try to relish in the warmth, but still, I come up short. Still feel cold. “Keep doing what exactly?” I murmur back, turning slightly to face him on the bed. He looks down at my form, his touch is light, but I can feel the weight of his desire building. Doesn’t it always come back to this? He places his head on my shoulder and breathes in. “Does this help you?” He asks, not lifting his head, but moving his fingers along m...
Weekly Contest #81
All things end. Empires, stories, even love. They don’t tell you that though, it’s like a secret initiation nobody tells you about. Until you’re already head over heels in love. Until it’s too late. They made Love out to be this thing, immune to end. But Love was a choice. You had to choose to love someone everyday because otherwise the feelings fizzle out. Otherwise you would come to the harsh realization that people and their feelings could change like the morning wind from fall to winter. Causing this bone curling chill that runs itself d...
Weekly Contest #68
Finally the sun rose, and with it shades of orange, pink, and purple to breathe life into a new day. Charles Punk sits on freshly cut grass, his hands pricked by the sharpness of nature. Charles is twenty-eight, with a muscular build that hints at years of routine gym sessions. He sits near a lake that borders the end of his property, the sun's golden rays begin to lavish the water with warmth. This same warmth caresses his freckled peach-colored cheeks, as the crisp morning air bites at his fingertips. Suddenly, he hears the rustling of fe...
Weekly Contest #54
“You said I have until your popsicle melts.” He says jokingly, with a hint of a sad smile. “Yeah,” She says softly, looking down at the red sticky liquid running down her hand, “I know what I said. I was joking, mostly.” They remain quiet for a few minutes, sounds of children laughing in a nearby playground and moms huddled in conversation of gossip fill their silence. It’s funny, isn’t it… The way heavy silence can fill only two peoples' world, while the rest of the world speeds on by with noise and chaos. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea?...
Weekly Contest #46
The click of the lock and the creek of the door as it gingerly swings inward, leaves the faintest trace of a smile on Arthur Maude’s weathery face. Arthur is sixty four years old, and has loved many things in his life. From things as simple as food or books, to things of greater consequence… Like money, or women. Though there has been one love, above all the others… The room smells like old books and heat, sunbeams stream through a small window on the left side. The bright warmth of the light finds its way across a wooden desk and chair wit...
Weekly Contest #44
“We’ve never been good at this, have we love?” He says solemnly, placing the tips of his fingers against the gentle warmth and softness of Olivia Barne’s cheek. This is her husband, Samuel Barne. They sit on a wooden park bench, surrounded by freshly cut grass, trees and the warmth of the sun. It feels like this could be a dream. And of course it is. It’s the only way Olivia can speak to her husband now. In short dream sequences, or nightmares where his smile haunts her memory; because she remembers the way it contorted into screams of her ...
Weekly Contest #39
November 20, 1998 Launch of International Space Station (ISS) This Journal Belongs to Travis Binkley Gifted to him by his lovely wife... Stay safe. I love you. Can't wait to hear your stories when you've come back to me. - E.B. Entry One November 21, 2000 Words have easily captured the beauty of love, the suffering of longing and every other human condition in between; but this. This is something words can’t capture. There aren’t enough ways to properly form the words to express the marvel of this sight. Can you imagine the Earth fr...
Weekly Contest #37
“What’s happening with your face?” A soft male voice asks suddenly out of thin air. A young girl, no older than fourteen, is sitting at the base of a large redwood tree crying. She’s in the woods that border the backyard of her home, surrounded by many redwood trees and fern moss growing along the floor and on the roots. The girl looks up, looking around her in haste to find where the voice has come from. She sees nothing around her but trees and shrubs. It’s only when she looks down, to lay her head back on her knees; that she notices a s...
Weekly Contest #35
There was something about the way sunlight hit snow. Something overly bright, and quiet about it. It was as if in that moment the world was still, and Walter could use a still world right about now. He usually resided in New York, where people were always moving. Always rushing. Walter often mused to himself about this, “Rushing to get to nowhere” he would say. He works for a very successful stock company, and while he’s very good at what he does, he feels suffocated by numbers and the loudness of the city. So loud, sometimes he can barely h...
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