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Weekly Contest #311
I can make things levitate. Sure, you might be thinking, as you sit in the audience of one of my magic shows, coat strewn across your lap, crumbs of popcorn or whatever greasy overpriced food you’ve been persuaded into buying clinging to the corners of your mouth. Sure, you can. I can use thin string and background workers too. Not that impressive. But then how do I take your green-rimmed glasses right off your face, lift them into the air, then place them right back down on your head again? How do I peel the leaf off of you that’s been clin...
Shortlisted for Contest #310 ⭐️
I couldn’t tell if the words I was typing were from me or borrowed from someone else. That’s how unoriginal I was; a mosaic of authors, pieces extracted from my favourite novels and forcefully injected into my own work. Never truly my own, simply a puzzle made from fragments of books I’d picked up here and there –a sentence I’d seen in a magazine, a quote from a non-fiction book I’d forced myself to read. At thirty-two, most successful authors had already been established, and those who didn’t make it had dropped into mundane nine-to-fives a...
Weekly Contest #309
Four plates were balanced on one arm, a drink and another two on the other. They teetered dangerously close to slipping onto the floor, and Harper gritted her teeth, narrowly swerving to avoid a shrieking ten-year-old boy, hair matted with sweat, shoving fistfuls of chips into his mouth. She finally breathed a sigh of relief once she reached the kitchen and deposited all of the licked-clean plates to where the kitchen staff glared at her, which Harper ignored. Why did an entire sports team have to come in right now? When they were understaff...
Weekly Contest #308
I wasn’t entirely surprised when the letter arrived in my mailbox, the paper stale and stained and the corners creased like someone’s dog had decided it was a good chew toy. My grandfather, Albert, had lived to a whopping one hundred and twelve before passing away peacefully on his farm. As I was his only living relative, I knew I’d inherit his property and assets. I’d spent my childhood summers on Albert’s farm. He had an apple orchard that blossomed with tiny red apples that I’d scale the tree to reach, sinking my crooked teeth into tart a...
Weekly Contest #307
Sutton’s mum, a small, slender lady, sure knew how to hit when she wanted to. Sutton had often wondered if she’d taken martial arts when she was younger –when she yielded a slipper, a coat hanger or his dad’s belt and repeatedly smacked his body, the sting and angry red mark it left behind said she must’ve.‘Stupid boy, Sutton,’ his mum muttered. ‘Why did I raise such a stupid boy?’ Sutton only scoffed, grabbed his exam paper, and scampered back up to his room.‘Better be studying up there,’ his mum called after him. ‘Don’t want to see you on ...
Weekly Contest #306
The phone buzzed against my sweaty temples. The air was sour with the stench of stale pizza and sweat that was painted across the hard crusts like sauce. I kicked an empty tissue box across my bedroom floor, and my nose wrinkled as a brown, shiny-backed insect skittered away.The line connected. ‘Hello, Cassidy speaking,’ a quiet yet hopeful voice said from the other side, as if she was expecting me to tell her she’d won the lottery. Even so, it was a nice change from the begrudged sixteen-year-old boys who had barely gotten their adult voice...
Shortlisted for Contest #305 ⭐️
My first memories were vague and fleeting in my mind, but I still remembered my first words, crystal clear: ‘Hello, world’.My dad was a programmer. When I was young, he shut himself in his study for hours at a time and only emerged for the occasional glass of water. At night he’d tuck me into bed and feed me stories about my mum –stories that I took and used as a blueprint for the face and personality of the woman I was never fortunate enough to meet. She’d talk to me –projected in front of my face by my eyes. A soft, caring smile, long, bro...
Weekly Contest #304
I’d never liked the daytime. I think it stemmed from when I was a teenager –late nights in front of the T.V, energy drinks piling up beside me until the early morning sun peeked through my curtains. My parents used to hate it. They’d tell me about how important sleep was, and one day I’d regret it. In high school, then in university, then when I started working a nine-to-five, like them. I never did. Not even when I started working as a photographer. Animals that only emerged under the cover of nightfall were the only ones worth capturing –m...
Weekly Contest #303
Calihan never knew death until he stroked its hand, tucked its hair behind its ear, wiped the tears off its gaunt face. He’d never seen anyone look so dead, like hanging onto life like a frayed rope, a single strand suspending her above the afterlife. Dipping her toes in, saying, hey, this is what it would be like if you just gave in. ‘Hey, Cal,’ Chani croaked, her pasty lips pulling into a smile. ‘How are you?’Calihan’s heart sank, like it did every time he visited his girlfriend. Her eyes seemed vacant and watery, devoid of the fire of pas...
Weekly Contest #302
Emily’s house was shrouded by an eternal shadow. Early in the morning, when the sun peeked its golden rays over the horizon, it was there, a looming figure that blocked the light from gracing her large bedroom window. All the way through to when the sun slowly blinked into darkness on the other side of the house, it stood tall behind it, daring the sun to touch the house, to warm the carpet, but it never did. It was the Ikea across the street. Emily didn’t mind it. The sun’s rays were so feeble in winder they hardly warmed her skin and in su...
Weekly Contest #301
‘This isn’t what I signed up for.’ I’d noticed it a while back, when the high-rise buildings with impeccably clean, darkly tinted windows and revolving doors spilling men in suits and women in heels and blouses were replaced by sprawling, country houses with kids roaming the streets on bikes, their feet bare and faces getting painted in flaky-red skin by the sun. It had started as an inkling –a gnawing unease in my gut as I watched the world fly by from outside my window, but had said nothing. Until I saw the ocean. On a hot day, it was a br...
Weekly Contest #299
‘Sorry I’m late. Someone tried to race me at a red light and I accidentally took the scenic route, proving my dominance.’ It was believable, but Rob could tell his boss wasn’t buying it. His excuses grew more outlandish by the week. ‘Well, then, I assume you’re staying late, to make up for the time you lost?’ His eyebrow quirked upwards, a look that said I-don’t-care imprinted on his features. ‘Well, you see, I would…’ Jamison rolled his eyes, silencing him with a wave of his hand. ‘Whatever. This comes out of your paycheck, you know that. G...
Weekly Contest #298
Millie didn’t know her neighbour. Ever since she moved in two years ago after her mum’s death she’d only seen him once or twice, lingering by the window that was draped with cobwebs and splintered with cracks, overlooking the dry, yellow grass and bare bushes with skeleton-arms that looked like they had been struck by lightning. He always had a sorrowful look on his face, a wistful longing that made Millie curious, a mouth always a tight line over sunken eyes. So she asked about him at school.‘Do you know my neighbour?’ She asked the swarm o...
Weekly Contest #297
My suitcase bumped along the path behind me –my entire life folded up, tightly packed in the tiny, green-shelled four-wheeled case I dragged along. It had a scratched exterior even though I could count on one hand how many times I had used it –it must have belonged to someone else before me. But still, I had left a life’s worth of memories left behind, the fragments I was bringing a jarring reminder of what I had lost. ‘Hi, my name’s Adeline Stewart. I’m moving into apartment 13A today.’ I watched as the receptionist’s brow furrowed, lines c...
Weekly Contest #296
Each flower was cultivated to perfection –their stems tall, the budding heads displaying bright purples dotted among the white petals, yellows and lush greens bursting over the edges of the garden. Dirt had lodged under Clara’s fingernails, in the creases of her hands, smeared across her forehead, intwined with the sweat that clung to her face, but she stood back, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. Among tufts of vividly green grass, several large patches of lilies battled against the gentle wind, standing together like a united crowd....
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