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Weekly Contest #362
“I’d really like some pie,” Kelly said to an empty room. It didn’t matter that it was 2:00a.m., or that there was nothing open. It didn’t even matter that she had never made pie before. Kelly was a self-starter, and she was going to do it herself. This was not some hormonal hallucination. It was not an avoidant coping mechanism, given the state of things. No, she simply wanted pie in the middle of the night. Who would blame a girl—or, more accurately, a grown woman? She started with the crust. The image was clear in her mind: flawless, chise...
Weekly Contest #361
Finlay stood with her toes curled over the edge of the dock. The water was murky; a bottomless pit ready to swallow her. “Jump, Finnie!” Dad called below. He treaded effortlessly. “She won’t do it,” Joshua observed at the top of his voice. Finlay balled her fists, ashamed as her brother announced her cowardice to the entire swimming area. “Josh already has his shoes on and his sand toys cleaned up. Jump now, or we won’t have time to get ice cream.” Her mom shook the sand from beach towels, collapsed lounge chairs and folded the umbrella. “Yo...
Weekly Contest #360
The walls of the workshop were lined with clocks: antiques, art pieces, vintage, modern, and run-of-the-mill. Tyler was a detail-oriented man, committed to the craft of clock repair. He’d configured his inventory to tick in unison. The synchronized pendulums and second hands were music to Tyler’s ears but probably unnerved customers. The shop was consistently empty. Business was slow. So was one of the clocks. It was a half-tick behind. He could hear the offending timepiece: the cottage clock an elderly gentleman dropped off over three weeks...
Weekly Contest #359
The train was packed at rush hour. Trixie stood, sandwiched between a bulging duffel bag smelling of used socks and a slim laptop backpack. The track descended underground, sending her off balance. A strap hung above her, but she refused to remove her hands from her deep pockets. Her yellow cardigan was knitted especially for her purpose. A crowded train offered plenty of opportunities; she just needed to look carefully and read body language. Who wore the tell-tale signs of distraction: shoulders slumped over a phone, foreheads pressed to t...
Weekly Contest #358
I crave the sun, but there’s so much between us. The soil, the terracotta vessel I call my home, the wooden shelves meant to imitate trees, and finally, thick panes of glass encasing this room. The other botanicals assure me I’m in good hands. “Don’t worry, Rapaceum. Rhea tends to us daily,” they say, blinking and waving from petals, leaves, and branches. “She’ll make sure you get what you need.” I’m still waiting for my turn. Rhea gives plenty of attention to the beautiful ones; flowers and herbs in window boxes and hanging planters in clea...
Weekly Contest #357
June 12Lindomar Hollow is the perfect place to settle down. Each bedroom in our rental cottage has a little desk with a view of the ocean. I bought a computer with the loot from our last heist and ordered a jigsaw puzzle that arrived yesterday. Retirement suits me. If only I could say the same for Imogen. This morning, I woke to a scream of agony. I should be used to it; I’ve spent years falling asleep to the wails of victims or Imogen’s tyrannical laughter. I leapt from my bed and raced down the stairs while tugging a dressing gown over my ...
Weekly Contest #356
“It’s easier to breathe in the woods,” Iris said. Fireflies ambled lazily as the breeze wove between the trees, whisking tall grass against her Converse high-tops. Harry trailed after her. He wiped his forehead, skewing his hair skyward. “When you suggested going for a walk, a hike was not what I had in mind.” “C’mon Harrison, I doubt you’d rather be crushing Capri Suns and eating superstore pizza at the party,” Iris called to her longtime partner-in-crime. She swung her ponytail over her shoulder. “We needed the space.” His fingers itched t...
Weekly Contest #355
Cass checked her phone. Isabella’s never late. In their twenty-year friendship, Isabella had been late maybe one time: after a fender bender she “did not cause”—a point she continued to insist upon. Between her friend’s reckless driving and sheer force of will, something was wrong if she missed an appointment. And while this was a simple mani-pedi, in two days all attention was going to be on one of Isabella’s fingers. The one on her left hand, directly connected to her heart. “It’ll just be another minute or so,” Cass said. The recepti...
Weekly Contest #354
Before the sunrise filtered through the low hanging cloud of smog, Posie started her car. This was Los Angeles. She could either commute early, tolerate the traffic, or not go to work at all. If she were a librarian with more senior standing, her commute would be less arduous. She’d only need to take one highway to get to the Central Library from her studio in Silverlake. Though the 101 was less than glamorous, Posie fantasized about pushing a book cart beneath the main branch’s ornate tiled dome, or taking her tea breaks beside the fountain...
Britta could not hear herself think, but for the love of all things holy, it’s the one thing she needed to do. It was 5:00 p.m.: quitting time anywhere else in the world, but in Britta’s house, things were just heating up. Dinner simmered on the stove, a long-winded co-worker yammered in her earbuds, and her irascible children clamored for a snack. Outside the house, construction vehicles beeped and clanged a few lots down, adding a new building to their condominium complex. A woman with a neon sun visor rummaged elbow-deep in Britta’s ga...
Weekly Contest #351
A stair creaked, but Bridget was sure she’d stepped over the noisy one. She balanced in her socked feet, straining her eyes for any signs of movement. The halls of Pinecrest Academy for Girls were cloaked in darkness. Nobody should be out of their room—least of all, Bridget— but she was hunting for a trophy. It needn’t be anything specific. She wanted something that would fit in her palm; to hold in her hand or tote in her pocket when she needed it. A perpetual reminder that something belonged to her. There was another sound, the scuff of a ...
Weekly Contest #350
Andrew was surprised to receive Nick’s text. He hadn’t heard from him in months. They used to hang out every Friday night until Andrew outgrew the bar scene. Now he spent most of his time at work or playing with his dog, Boots. Nick hadn’t done the same. The text promised big news, and what better place to share big news than at the pickleball club? Nick waited on their reserved court, twirling his paddle with one hand and texting with the other. “You look good, man,” Andrew said as he approached. If anything, Nick was overdressed. Surely pi...
Weekly Contest #349
Arra cried silently, stooped over the cutting board lest anyone in the compound notice. Orion sat at the table behind her, absorbed in his logbooks and storeroom inventories. Leda bustled nearby, mending clothing and linens. Through the blur of saltwater, Arra could see Titus chopping wood outside. She matched his rhythmic cadence, aligning her knife with his axe to steady herself. She’d prepared any number of excuses. She was chopping an onion, and the juices wreaked havoc on her mucus membranes. It was an onion she’d planted, tended, and p...
Weekly Contest #348
Evanna tipped her canteen beneath the scarred carafe, capturing every drop of rationed orange beverage. Her stomach turned at the acrid scent. The sludge wasn’t appetizing or filling, but promised vital nutrients. Behind her, Dillon shifted from foot to foot. His canteen was the one he got on their first day in the hostel, with the dent and a ring of filth around the neck. Second or third hand, just like everything else. “Move along, assignments start in five minutes,” Mr. Coney growled. Evanna stepped aside to let Dillon get his fill. If he...
Weekly Contest #347
You’re never up this early except for something good, like coffee and a pastry. No —don’t think about pastries. No one at this gym is thinking about pastries. How could anybody think about pastries when the smell of sweat, rubber mats, and disinfectant assaults you with every turn? It’s been so long you set foot in a gym, you’re mildly surprised the peeling plastic keyfob still works. A few months ago, this place was packed with good-looking people squatting, curling, and sweating in front of unforgiving mirrors. Now it’s less cr...
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