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Weekly Contest #345
I have a suitcase.It is a trash bag.It cradles my life in the stretch of its plastic.Since it does not look like much, it insinuates to others that I have nothing of importance.However, everything in this disposable bag means something—at least to me.I tote this bag around from house to house. I have never once fully emptied the bag before moving to a different house.I might take one item out, only to place it back within a week. I am afraid to remove all the items at once; afraid for my new family to see the minor things that are so major t...
Weekly Contest #341
Autumn was seeking refuge from her reflection. She struggled to accept those almond eyes carved by the same hands that bruised her. Her shoulders quivered as she traced over her lips, carefully, like a child afraid to color outside the lines.Faint traces of her mother speckled her face, each figurative freckle a reminder of the memories they once shared. A tightness seized her chest as she cursed the woman whose presence she could never erase. This half of her, imbued with the essence of her mother, was forever a stain.It had been only a yea...
Weekly Contest #339
What have I done?Hands trembling, Clarice made her best attempt at gingerly placing her fork on the table. She scanned the room.Do they know?All it took was one bite to realize that something was amiss. Her heart pounded in her chest, clashing with the sounds of cutlery against porcelain plates. Air swirled with the scent of buttery sweet potatoes topped with marshmallow goodness—just like the ones mom used to make.She had forgotten why she was here and instead allowed herself to get caught up in make-believe plans. She thought she could sta...
Weekly Contest #337
I fidget endlessly in the unforgiving hospital chair, fluorescent lights beaming down, as if to interrogate me. An older woman sits to my right, anxiously rubbing her bracelet in the same worn spot. Her eyes veer from left to right, assessing the generic pictures that hang on these bleak, sterile walls. In her hands, a crumpled flyer suggests carefully worded steps to take regarding terminal illnesses.Giving in to curiosity, I take a quick peek at the images she has been scanning for the last ten minutes. A father-and-son duo smile back at m...
Weekly Contest #334
In a land far, far away…Dave was closing up shop at the “Catfé”, a coffee shop frequented by feline friends. He tugged at the bags beneath his eyes as he swept stray catnip from tables. An accidental glimpse into the glass tabletop revealed a cat he was still growing to know. With features that felt foreign and a tail he endlessly tripped over, he had yet to adjust to this new body of his, despite his six years being a cat.How much longer would he need to endure? How would he even escape this planet?These questions plagued him each day as he...
Shortlisted for Contest #333 ⭐️
“It’s burnt.”Of course it is. “It’s because you wait too long”, a reply laced with the tone that only a parent could have toward their child. I follow my father’s hands, worn with years of hard work, as they mix my bowl of bibimbap.“You eat like this. Now the rice will be crispy if you don’t wait too long”. Bibimbap — a Korean dish of rice and spicy mixed vegetables — is not only delicious, but occasionally served in a dolsot, or hot stone bowl. If you wait just long enough — but not too long — the rice at the bottom will have the perfect am...
Weekly Contest #253
After being plagued with anxiety for years about who I would become and where I’d end up, I can confidently say I’ve finally made it. Everything is in place: I have a car, a stable job, a home, loving partner, and man’s best friend —my dog. So why is it that deep down, it doesn’t really feel like it?This is the third time this week that I’ve braced myself just to step foot into the building. I am a stellar employee and borderline workaholic, but that’s only if I muster up enough courage to leave my car. Something about the office lights has ...
Weekly Contest #179
Trigger warning: Substance abuse, mental health, violence***She signed her name on the line for the fourth year in a row.Of course, in red ink.“Mom, you’re not supposed to write your name in red ink, remember?”After a long sigh, she swiveled my direction to ask if I really believed in such superstitious nonsense. For a woman who was paranoid out of her mind when it came to most things, she appeared unfazed by the cultural taboo she had just committed.“Well, I don’t want you to die…You should write in black ink instead,” I whisper under ...
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