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Weekly Contest #341
The truck’s tires crunched through the slush and snow as I pulled out of the driveway. Under an onyx sky, I drove down the main coastal drag. My knuckles were white as ghosts on the steering wheel. As my dad’s truck snaked its way through the darkness, I leaned in, squinting. No fucking street lights in this town. Gnawing my cheek, I hoped I wouldn’t nose-dive right into the heaps of snow that crowded the road. I didn’t have time for that. I had an important meeting to get to. I can’t be late. The Remnants will be waiting for me. My left kne...
Weekly Contest #323
Carol-Anne’s grey, mermaid hair draped over her weathered face as she held me down in my chair. She was comforting yet authoritative, like some kind of militant golden retriever. She tightened my restraints. “Easy now. Just a little bit longer.” Muffled by the Belmont pursed between her lips, her voice was rickety yet steady. She always knew how to keep her shit together, and she’d been training me to do the same for quite some time. Ash fluttered off the tip of her cigarette like an early November snowfall. My nails dug into my seat. I was ...
Weekly Contest #290
Steady, Ephraim. Steady. The wave-washed bedrock barely held up my weathered bones as I made my way up towards the lighthouse. I could faintly see the structure a few hundred metres ahead. The fog was dense. Unrelenting. It seeped into my peacoat, weighing me down like a lead cloak. The old thing was stiff and salt-stained and a lot like me; torn at the seams. The tower’s mournful drone kept me on track. Behind me, the hush of the ocean breathed in, preparing for its next crash. Intriguing, isn’t it? What some people call unsettlin...
Weekly Contest #288
Warning: contains themes of miscarriageThe summer was proving to be an exceptionally hot one; a rare occurrence for this small, coastal community in Nova Scotia. The refreshing sea breeze had been stunted by the sun’s dead weight for a few weeks. Vivienne had been dragging around this heaviness for a while, too, unsure who carried more pressure—the air or her.Vivienne had worked all day at the flower shop, assembling the most cheery and vibrant bundles of sunflowers and pastel peonies. An uplifting symphony of floral scents surrounded her, y...
Weekly Contest #269
It was darker than usual, in the abyss I’d called home for the last while. There was a certain kind of chill crawling through my bones, as though mites were nipping at my marrow. Fluidly, I gave myself a hug to keep warm. Everything moved at a glacial pace, being pinned down by the titanic weight of an entire ocean. “I could go for a nice gelatinous jellyfish snack right about now.” Cooper’s paddle-shaped flippers swayed up and down like a seagull flapping its wings in slow motion. Sighing, I blew out bubbles. My stomach felt like ...
Weekly Contest #266
The puffed sleeves of my peacock blue dress graze my cheekbones as I feather them a murderous shade of strawberry. I cough as I spray in just a bit more Aquanet, the floral bouquet of chemicals filling my lungs. That’s the price you pay for hair teased as high away from hell as possible.My heart swells in my chest, roaring in time with the tide crashing outside my bedroom window. My bare ankles cling to the cold steel legs of my vanity stool. The mirror reflects back a portrait of myself —a living, breathing over the top paint palette—yet no...
Weekly Contest #258
I once embraced the “starving artist” cliché wholeheartedly, belting out endless raspy laments in dive bars. Before dawn, I’d scrub grungy toilets, often cursing my talents on hands and knees, only to sling skunky pints until 2 am.That’s why when a prophetic, black and white image from 1978—four years ahead of our present day in 1974—found its way to me, my eyes were like lightning bolts striking the earth.The photo in question was a picture of me and my band, one that up until later that night, wasn’t even official yet. I nipped the corner ...
Weekly Contest #255
The comforting tar burned down my throat as I took a drag from my Marlboro. The cigarette felt sticky between my lips, coated with excessive cherry gloss. It’s a bad habit—the cigarettes, not the Lancôme—but I get a sick pleasure from it, doing whatever the fuck I want.Between puffs, I breathed in the briny air, pulling my leopard coat tighter around me. When summer decides to be over on the Atlantic, it’s over.Through my knock-off Tom Fords, I zeroed in on the digital sign outside the arena.Jordan Holly vs Frederick Callaway: Friday, Septem...
Winner of Weekly Contest #252 🏆
My eyes felt like galaxies—holding the swirling glow of countless memories—as I took in our childhood home. Its siding looked like remnants of driftwood after a bonfire. I swore I smelled the smoky char of pine creep into my nostrils. It’s wild how the past stays with you like that. It can feel more visceral and real than the tangible things right in front of you. “Jesus, it feels like just yesterday.” I placed a trembling hand over my heart, struggling to steady my breath.My brother, Perry, pulled me into a tight embrace, his strength ...
Weekly Contest #237
It’s 1998 and I’m in grade eight. It’s kind of cool sounding if you ask me, how every year will match my grade up until I graduate. I’m just one semester away from diving head first into my freshman life. I already have an empty hot pink binder, ready to fill with that chapter of my journey. My cheeks get hot as I admit this, but I’ve also decorated it with stickers; peace signs, Ring Pops, shooting stars. I have a Lisa Simpson on there, too. I know it’s a cartoon, but my eyes turn into big, red balloon hearts whenever she plays the sax...
Weekly Contest #228
I have always been addicted to potato chips. It’s true. The crumpling sound of a bag opening makes me salivate like a Pavlovian dog. Scooping out that first handful makes me perspire. The grease between my fingers shape-shifts me into some kind of wild, heaving creature. And that first bite, well… my eyes couldn’t roll any further back towards the heavens. Potato chips are the greatest love affair I’ve ever had; mostly, because I never allow myself to have them. For most of my adult life, I’ve lived in a low carb hell of my own making. ...
Weekly Contest #225
I was answering my forty-seventh email of the day as I hurried my way down that bustling NYC street. My Stuart Weitzman knee high boots raised me six inches off the pavement, and I was counting down the seconds until I could get home and kick them off. Stopping me mid-hustle, the mirror in the window of the antique shop caught my attention. “That would look stunning in the upstairs hallway.”I’d become somewhat of a shopaholic over the last couple of years, and my tongue pressed against the roof of my mouth once I saw the handwritte...
Weekly Contest #224
I live in a crowded city on the forty-second floor of a towering building. With each day's end, I stand barefoot on my balcony, admiring the handful of stars that manage to pierce through the light pollution. I sometimes imagine myself jolting back to life, if only I could touch them. My view is a concrete ocean. The headlights from the traffic below flow like lava. The roar from the engines is so loud it cancels everything out; a white noise of sorts. It's a welcome distraction from my constant state of paralysis. I scan the thousands of il...
The sunset was particularly pink that winter night in 1986. It was March 13th to be exact. A big snow storm had just passed through the coastal province of Nova Scotia. “A nor’easter’s on its way,” the locals had been saying; their own term for describing the winds from the northeast that create the often turbulent—yet commonplace—weather for that time of year in Atlantic Canada. The power had been out for well over a day but had finally been restored. Marjorie stood by the window above her kitchen sink, steeping her tea. She always had...
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