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Weekly Contest #341
September 5, 2010 Dear Katie, I’m so sorry, but I have to go. I can’t stand I know things have been hard this year. I wish it could’ve been different. I’m sorry I’ve been fighting so much with Mom and Dad. I know how much you hate to hear us fight, even if you pretend you slept through it. I’m not a good fit here anymore, and I know that. Don’t be scared. Whatever Mom and Dad say Please don’t hate me when There are parts of the world where I might be better, and I hope that I’ll find them soon. When I do, you’ll be the first person I call....
Even now, even after everything that he’d learned, Sonny could not comprehend the sight of Nora at the business end of his trembling gun. Nora - his best friend’s sister, the last constant in his miserable life, the girl he’d killed and nearly died for a hundred times over, Nora - curled up on the ground with her blood-splattered face and wide, pleading eyes, begging him not to do this, to give her a chance to explain. Nora who’d betrayed him, Nora who had collaborated with his enemies, Nora whom he would shoot with the same gun he’d used to...
Weekly Contest #328
My father has often talked to me about the best days of his life. The best day, he tells me with smothering affection in his ever-cloudier eyes, was the day that he found me. “Wailing louder than the sheep could bleat, naked as the day you were born!” He always laughs at the part, and I can tell he can see that moment more clearly than he can see me right in front of him. “I picked you up, and you reached out to pull my hair - hurt like a bitch. And I knew right away, that’s my son.” The second best day was the day he brought me to the oracl...
Weekly Contest #234
My movements were mechanical as I stepped into the too-quiet house. Keys in the dish on the counter. Shoes wiped on the door mat and kicked off onto the place on the boot tray that has always been mine. Jacket shrugged off, hung from the hook that once read my full name in bubble stickers. Only three letters are left, now: S_m__t__. Simple, automatic, routine. Nothing has changed at Grandpa’s house in twenty-five years. Nothing until tonight.  ...
Weekly Contest #203
There are a lot of things that ghosts will tell you about being dead once you’ve gone and done the damn thing; seeing as most dead people are old, it doesn’t me that they love rules. Like my grandma – with her plastic-covered couch, her dishes and furniture reserved for responsible grown ups only, her many parables about the dangers of a young lady not knowing the proper and polite way to stand, sit, talk, sleep, breathe – the old fogies of the great beyond love having a good list of ‘do’s and ...
“I feel like I’m writing a eulogy,” I say, off-handed, the moment after Eloise takes a sip of her coffee. Predictably, Eloise snorts, then rushes to cover her surely-stinging nose. I laugh, and she flips me off. When she walks up to the counter to get more napkins, though, I feel my smile slipping. I was only half-kidding, after all. I’m aware of the notebook in my purse like it’s a loaded gun I don’t know how t...
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