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Weekly Contest #364
OneWhen I was a boy, I remember that my next door neighbor died suddenly. There was much talk in my village about his death. He was skilled at making shoes and was valued by everyone because of this. I remember that he was quiet but often very kind to me. Kind to my sister as well. He and his wife had no children. There was always a movement within the community to include him in the things that we did. If there was a meal for Purim or Passover, he was always invited. You see it was because of his wife. She was ill. My mother once told my fa...
Weekly Contest #363
The rain leaves the dead exhausted. It makes it harder for them to float through the world of the living. It slows them down. A raindrop bounces off of a bony shoulder or catches an eyelash, and it splashes in an unnatural way. Rarely would the living notice this, but I always do. The dead are actually everywhere. Like a fog rolling across a lake, their invisible bodies clog the streets and circle the lampposts. They are packed into the same spaces as the living. No one really ever detects them. No one except for me. I am dead, but I look al...
Weekly Contest #362
I cut the tomatoes thin. I don’t want them to be too juicy on my sandwich. It’s just ham and cheese with mayo, lettuce, tomato, and banana peppers. I take a bite before I even sit down. I’m hungry, but I also enjoy the expectedness of the sandwich. I’ve made every day for a hundred days. It’s safe. I know what I am getting. It’s like there is some part of my brain that wants the reliability of it all. There will be no surprises and no joy. No excitement. The boldest choice I make on this sandwich is to use aged swiss cheese. One ...
Weekly Contest #359
When I was a little girl, we lived in a small house with a small bedroom, a medium bedroom and a master bedroom. There was a cellar (not a basement). It was crowded with junk, but I found a way to carve out a little office for me and my staff of stuffed dolls. Two old suitcases stacked one on the other served as my desk. I owned businesses. I was a captain of industry. I demanded more from my team than they had it in them to produce. I spent hours berating them. They stared at me, not once blinking. I stomped my feet and beat the su...
Weekly Contest #357
The Youngest I was born in a home where there was nothing hanging on the walls. The walls had not been painted in decades. The furniture was older than I am now. It's still there. That home is still there. My sister and I have both moved out, but our mother and father are still there. Still married. Still arguing. Nothing is on the walls but the stains we made with cheese curl fingers or the blood of a fight. We weren't going to clean them and neither were they. My father is a writer. In a very small circle of scholars, he is famous. He writ...
Weekly Contest #356
It was a silver morning. The breath of god was circling the low plains, trying to find the best place to settle. Kahenta sat up, dressed, and poked her nose through the tent’s double lapped doorway. She crawled out into the middle of the campsite. She had to trust that it was the moon that made the morning so silky because she was blinded, unable to see beyond her fingertips. She barely heard the rumbling of horses’ hooves, much less saw the horde trampling the dirt road that led up to the camp.The crashing sound got louder in the fog until ...
Weekly Contest #349
I've never had a worse lover than the moon. I had to drop his dark-side ass. I want more than a moon. It’s like every planet has one. Some have two. Some two-hundred-and-two. Even more. I wonder if the moons orbiting the other planets are as cocksure as our little heartbreaker. It’s just a reflection. Our moon doesn’t glow. It’s a trick the sun taught. The sun! Now there’s a lover! The moon is a waste. He’s a scumbag.He stalks me even to this day. Some people think of the moon as a woman, but he certainly didn't present himself that way to m...
I am the table and the chair. I am the lamp that burns so softly. I am the window shades that are pulled halfway so that the dress of the moon can float into my bedroom. I am the wind that touches me softly. I am the house at night that hums when I am alone. So rarely am I alone. This house is almost always a hive. There is always a buzz because someone needs his medicine or someone can't find her socks. And I am the one. I am the center of the atom. I watch all the danger revolve around me. “Mom!” Lydia’s voice falls from the third floor t...
Weekly Contest #348
First The water won't sleep. It lifts and lowers the boats all night long. It slaps the sides of each. I do not understand the sound. It is like a strap to a slave's back. My heart beats faster. I look at all of the boats in the darkness. They are empty. I should be asleep, empty, but I came here. I want something to make it quiet in my head. It's so noisy inside of me. (It must be like this at the temple. All those voices.) Everyone I know is dreaming, but I can't. I cannot dream because I can't stop the wilderness inside of me. I don’t fee...
TW: Contains themes of sexual violence and religious reinterpretation Wife The way that the rainstorm can turn sideways and knock me off my feet is the way that he came into my room that night. I had felt vulnerable all that day. Joseph seemed to forget me. He didn’t see me. We were going about the business of managing the farm. Feed the chickens. Feed the goats. Manage the wheat. Fill the cart and drive the mule…moving the crops from the fields into the barn. It was an ordinary day. The sun climbed slowly up into heaven and seemed to sit th...
Weekly Contest #347
Wife The way that the rainstorm can turn sideways and knock me off my feet is the way that he came into my room that night.I had felt vulnerable all that day. Joseph seemed to forget me. He didn’t see me. We were going about the business of managing the farm. Feed the chickens. Feed the goats. Manage the wheat. Fill the cart and drive the mule, moving the crops from the fields into the barn. It was an ordinary day. The sun climbed slowly up into heaven and seemed to sit there over us, melting us. I felt naked with my clothing rendering to my...
Weekly Contest #345
CW: Physical violence, crude sexual language He is frustrated with this one. He is struggling to get the exact right glance of her eyes. There is a light behind her and shadows should fall under her chin, but he refuses to let this reality spoil her beauty. He leans back and squints. He inhales short sharp puffs of air. He shakes his wrist as if to blame his hand or the brush for his short-comings. He leans into the painting, holding in the air that is bursting from his chest. He wants a moment of death. He wants to deny himself the chance t...
Weekly Contest #342
The streamers from the surprise party had not yet been taped to the underside of the deck when they were left out. The storm surprised her. I missed it all because I had to work late. I don't know how much I had to work. Maybe I just didn't feel like going to the party. When I came home, I saw so many of the decorations battered. The rain made them bleed their colors. It was the opposite of summer snowballs and the way the flavors blossomed inside the shaved ice, getting deeper and darker as the attendant poured. I knew nothing was reusable....
Weekly Contest #341
Dear Descendants, If I told you how he tricked me into marrying him, you would not believe me. You would call me a liar, but I'm not. He used an apple. And somehow from the apple he convinced me that I was pregnant. And then he convinced me that I should be his wife. My family wanted nothing to do with him. When my father learned of this man's plans for me, his mind spun in a thousand different directions. He wanted me to marry someone else. He told me that this careless man was no good, a trickster. I was fearful at the time that he was abs...
Weekly Contest #339
CW: Eating disorders Claudia gathers the letters. Each one had been sealed with a signet and a blotch of wax. Red wax. Claudia had opened each one with a letter opener shaped like a mini-sword. She had been careful. They still look unopened. She feels the weight of the letters in her hands, holding them like a sandwich. She could eat them. Truthfully, she already has, for the contents of every letter was already deep inside of her. She fed off the memory. The thrill of opening each letter and reading what was inside. Poetry. Unrhymed. Formle...
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