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Weekly Contest #373
CW: Depictions of blood, graphic injuries, and themes of severe physical trauma Blueberries are not supposed to be red. But they can be, if sprinkled with fresh blood. There were tiny puddles of it on the ground, on the grass, dripping from weapons still stuck in the tree bark. Some of it belonged to the dragon. Some - to those who came to slay it. Most of it – to those who came to slay it… Nevertheless, laughter and joyful whoops echoed through the clearing. The beast is dead. Its massive body is lying motionless, never to get up and wre...
Weekly Contest #371
This fabric softener did smell good, in all fairness. Maybe - just maybe - because it was stolen from a person who lived in your dingy apartment before and didn’t bother to clean out all of the cabinets. Can this even be considered theft? Or more like an involuntary inheritance? Whatever. Usually, when that happens, you just accept that you always liked your clothes to smell like someone’s grandma spilled her perfume all over the closet. Ellen’s grandma has been dead for at least five years. And she never used perfume. Probably didn’t even...
Weekly Contest #271
The trees leaned towards each other to the point of weaving together into one black canvas. Moonlight could only pierce through the leaves here and there. That wasn’t enough to see a path underfoot—if there was one at all. His feet drowned in crunchy piles of what had already fallen. This year, as it seemed, the trees turned yellow earlier than usual – autumn wind did not chill his skin yet. In fact, it felt like the air itself froze into an unmoving veil. Kelsie strained his ears for an umpteenth time, hoping to hear at least a cricket some...
Weekly Contest #267
Drops of condensation rolled down the glass, and Edith felt as if in this stuffy basement she herself would soon turn into steam and run down the wall somewhere in the corner, between the blaring speakers and the straining air conditioner. After all, the "Old Barrel" lived up to its name with its arched vaults - one could hide somewhere in the shadow and hope that at least there they would be able to get rid of the smell of alcohol and burnt oil coming from the kitchen. The hands of the clock have long since passed half past ten. At such a t...
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