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Weekly Contest #365
Just as he’d done for the last four years, on the first Saturday of December, Michael arrived at her door with a thick Nordmann fir wedged in the back of his Skoda. Breda, who’d been expecting him despite his customary lack of communication, shuffled out into her porch in slippers and housecoat, arms folded across her hefty chest, eyes rolling as she watched him wrestle with the tree. Watched him crush winter posies in her herbaceous border, knock over stone animals and carve muddy tracks in her pebbled drive.In other words, make one of his ...
Weekly Contest #364
***TW: Abortion, Horror, Gore*** The doctor, his creased surgical coat looking yellow under dim fluorescent lighting, ran his fingers through greasy hair as he locked the door, removing the key and slipping it into a pocket.“Is that necessary?” Sayuri said, watching a strap tighten around her ankle.The nurse at the foot of the gurney snorted, her thin fingers feeding old leather through a tarnished buckle.“We've had patients lash out,” she replied. “Or try to keep their legs closed.” Saying this, she sniffed and looked at Sayuri. “Very incon...
Weekly Contest #363
"Wake up, Kenji. If you sleep, she’ll die."The words reached me through the wolf-like howls of the wind and the hammering of hailstones on my sanctuary, startling me alert in the numbing cold.I lurched back against the blocks of the igloo, cracked freezing eyelids apart.“Wh-what..?”I spoke, and the winds whistling into the igloo through its narrow opening took the word to feed the blizzard outside.My chin had dropped onto my ice-dusted parka for just a moment, but in that moment it felt like an eternity had passed. In that moment, Aiko Takah...
Weekly Contest #361
*TW- self harm/substance abuse/violence* CARRICKMARA GAZETTE, May 14th, 1999LOCAL BAND SELECTED FOR UK TALENT SHOW By Aoife Winters News that Carrickmara may soon become a household name, or at least known further afield than Galway, has reached the Gazette.Local band Lumen and the Lites–consisting of teenagers Lumen Loftus (vocals), PJ O'Callaghan (drums), JP Collins (guitar) and Mikey Doyle (bass)--has been selected to compete in upcoming UK television show Star Factor!, after producers were impressed by their audition."I can't believe it,...
Weekly Contest #359
1.Wreckage hissed and clicked in a snow-speckled, wintery landscape.A silver sedan, its front end wrapped around a pine, rested in a ditch by a mountain drive. Steam curled from its hood to mingle with the faint mist weaved through leafless trees, drawing a veil across the road, the house at the top of the hill and the car itself. A door squealed and a man in an unzipped parka staggered out.He wheezed as he moved, fleece-lined boots crunching snow. A gloved hand ran through sparse, white hair and fingers trembled, a result of the crash, not ...
Weekly Contest #358
Nobody believed in me. That was their first mistake.And maybe you wouldn’t have blamed them. I made a terrible song and dance last Autumn, flapping around like a headless…you know…prattling on about the sky. I know that was ridiculous. I’ve learnt about gravity and changing seasons but at the time I really believed the sky was falling.And I convinced them to believe it too. Henny Penny. Goosey Lucy. Ducky Wucky. All of them. They denied it later, said they were just humouring a stupid chook, but they believed. They believed right into Foxy’s...
Weekly Contest #357
What the hell was that?Ninety minutes of two fools bumbling around. If I didn’t know better I’d say they did it on purpose, a couple of pals using a premium stalking experience as a way to pass a boring afternoon, but random pairing makes that impossible. ‘FastLashes’ was late to most of her marks and it took her three attempts to identify her Stalker. As for ‘Maximum_Infiltration’ ... I've monitored CCTV with more stealth than him. Lashes had to have been pretending not to see him. Had to. I don’t know why but there’s no way he was able to ...
Weekly Contest #356
I Two hours into her latest attempt to hook herself a whale and things weren’t looking good. One-size-too-small heels pinched her feet, the hem of her gold-and-white striped uniform kept riding up towards her ass and her apron strings squeezed tighter than a cobra.Her target was nowhere to be seen.The ballroom on the fifteenth floor of Torrent Towers glittered beneath a starfield of chandeliers. Marble floor. Mahogany tables. Gold trim on everything. Flags from half a dozen nations hung behind banquet tables around which dozens of officials ...
Weekly Contest #306
Astra Black’s ZodAIc, June 13th 2025 Weekly predictions and celestial guidance from Astra Black, your astrological engineer. ARIES (MARCH 21 – APRIL 19) Aries, my Aries, I trust you survived last week’s trial? Tempered those flames as I advised? As the firstborn of the zodiac, you are fire incarnate: impulsive, unstoppable. But sometimes a blaze should simmer rather than scorch. I predicted an argument with a partner, a slight at work, a confrontation with a stranger. Restraint was your challenge and I trust you succeeded.But enough of that...
Weekly Contest #305
At the intersection, I could go right and head home–but turning left would take me to the source of my nightmare, to the incident I haven’t been brave enough to revisit. To the place I encountered them.The Abandoned.The Slow.I know what you’re thinking. What kind of fool would believe in stupid ghost stories, let alone believe they’d seen them come to life. I had to have been high, right? Or on some kind of reality-altering medication. Not alcohol, I wouldn’t be dumb enough to drive drunk, but maybe, just maybe, a random pill or half-smoked ...
Weekly Contest #296
The storm breaks. Day dawns. Visibility returns. I find myself secured to the prisoner before me, nestled up inside them, so close. Last night no other companion was pushed into me, but that is not the blessing it might seem. It means I am exposed. Vulnerable at the back of the line. Available to be taken by the first.Unsafe. Unprotected. Pristine.Pristine?Could that be what they think of me? The other Rollers. I have no way of communicating with my fellow slaves so I don’t know what they call me in their thoughts. Like they don’t know what ...
Weekly Contest #295
On the final day of his sabbatical, Ananke of Kvantheim sat inside the window of Flat White Noise, Clatterdown’s finest café, basking in blissful equilibrium.The sleepy, coastal hamlet he’d escaped to following a traumatic ordeal at Axis Spire was his kind of place. Quiet. Slow. Dull with few unruly elements, ones that could be easily tamed. The tide ran on schedule, the weather followed a weekly rhythm, and the library, park, and gallery opened and shut like clockwork, attended by the same faces.Troy Bucknell, owner of the cafe where Ananke...
Weekly Contest #294
**TW: SUGGESTION OF CHILDHOOD S.A**I was happy to see her again. Happy to be held by her, happy to hear her news, to be opened up with the bicycle repair kit she brought from her other home, the one she shares with her mother, and have my inactive bluetooth module replaced. That was a surprise. How she had found a replacement for something so old, the means by which I used to share my pictures. How she had learned how to install it. She told me her teacher Mr. Frayne had helped, Mr. Frayne who knew about old tech. Mr. Frayne from the pl...
Weekly Contest #293
“Vite! Déshabillez-vous! Vite!”Calla St. Germaine barely suppressed a laugh as Madame Beauchamp, pendulous breasts and rolls of fat jiggling, pushed her corseted gown down over thunderous hips. She was glaring with a face like a simmering bouillabaisse, her once elaborate chignon now a frizzy mess on her head. “Merde, keep that thing away from me,” said Calla, side-stepping around the suddenly nude facilitator, who wobbled while slipping off her pumps in a shadowy alleyway near the Seine. “That’s gonna need more than a hedge trimmer now...
Weekly Contest #292
The brass bell above the door jingled, startling Jonas from his slumber and causing the leather-bound book on his lap to fall to the floor.“Damn,” the twenty year old in britches, canvas shirt and scuffed boots cursed as he hopped to his feet, scraping his chair back from the counter and turning towards the bookstore’s entrance.A woman stood there, silhouetted against the glow of the setting sun, a woman unlike any he’d seen before.“Good evening,” she said, nodding as she eased the door shut, closing it in the face of a short, fat man clutch...
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