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Weekly Contest #296
I hadn’t actually internalized that ducks could fly until that one afternoon at the stone circle we called a pond. I remember it vividly: How they took off then, soaring above the buildings. How I turned to you and said that The Flying Ducks would make a good band name.You shrugged. “Not really,” you said. “It’s a bit boring. Obvious, you know?”I nodded. “Of course, yeah. I didn’t mean it, anyway.” We always ended up at the pond those days, didn’t we? Going for walks, hand-in-hand, through the muddy fields, a loop that took us past the pool,...
Weekly Contest #284
Drums. Drums, Michael says, fingers playing strings in the air. Hands shaking. Hands always shaking. Not like this, he says. Carrie, he says. Dad, says Alex, Dad, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Michael, not Mike, never Mike, sometimes Dad, laughs. Shakes his head. Alex sighs. Try again, he says. Come on, Dad, try again. Michael looks at him. Closes his eyes. Plugs his ears with his fingers. Fine, Alex says. Fine, have it your way. I was just trying to help. Maybe, Alex thinks, maybe a better son would know. He ...
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