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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. The mist shut her eyes. 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 ...
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...
Weekly Contest #329
This story imagines Noah as a horrible human, chosen by G-d to watch the world die as he saves his family and a menagerie. There is graphic violence. She knew that when he was in this trance-like state he could be that way for hours. She also knew that he lost all awareness of time. He would wake up and feel like only moments had passed.She was going to take advantage and finally get on the ark. She wanted to see it for herself.She watched for Naamah to start cooking the large dinner. It was Friday. She should be home but her mother would no...
Weekly Contest #328
The BeginningPolly's truck ate up the asphalt, and the tiny rocks leapt out of the driveway into the street. She'd had enough of her sister’s drunken romance. She said what she came to say, and she drove away in a cloud of exhaust and disappointment. Minutes earlier, her words hit hard. “Who are you? How did you get into my sister’s life?” She was a cannon. She blasted me. I had no answers, but I sobered up… quick. When she turned to you, you were ready for the fight. You said one word, over and over. “Paul. Paul. PAUL!” Polly’s ex-husba...
Weekly Contest #327
Heading downtown there's a bridge that's a work of art. There's a spine that travels across the span of the bridge. It's dynamic. It's beautiful. It is you on your side with your spine carrying me down your back. The bridge takes it all. Every tire. Even the shoes. Everything steps on the bridge, and the bridge keeps all of it from falling into the water.I look at you in my mind's eye, and I want to fall into the water. You are sleeping in the water. I wonder how dark the water is for you when you're asleep. When your eyes are closed. You ar...
Weekly Contest #325
(There are allusions to molestation and abuse) She leapt over the short wall and climbed through the hole where a basement window will one day be. She was running from the wind that brushed against her when she thought she was free of him. Foolish. She slid along the wall; it seemed like the wind was kicking in every brick. She swore she would go to bed that night with a topographical road map of remarkable bruises. She looked down. There were none to see. The wind has been careful to hurt her deeper than any eye could spot. She felt them. A...
Weekly Contest #323
(This story blends fiction and non-fiction elements.) Five words. She has to turn her head sideways to read them. They run down the spine of the book that's sitting on the library shelf. She crouches and tilts the book, sliding it from its home. She holds it flat in her palm. The title is a memory. She is looking at me, like a portrait, holding that book. That’s how I see her. Her eyes never blink.And the author of the five word title is dead. Dead and buried. I want her to read the book. I know the book. I know the title. I wish I could re...
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