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Weekly Contest #368
Tuhor’s Wish It happened during the Before-Time; the pleroma-tous forever place where all soul-materia existed and coalesced, swim-joyfully, in the unified harmonious Togetherness. It was always. Always, always. It was in the business of having no beginning nor end. That is how it was, before Tuhor’s wish. Everywhere was co-aligned with the Tonic Voice, vocalising in beautiful and unceasing sonic Omnitude. It was a time of great upliftingness and we were solar starbuds, birthing the light in a forever glow. One field; one force; one Po...
Weekly Contest #311
Huey Memphis Huey Memphis possessed a certain on-stage composure, a good-natured nonchalance that intrigued audiences. “Subtle, muted, understated, darkly passionate yet almost indifferent. A weird delight to behold, a master of guitar with a raspy voice, like gravel infused with a rare sparkle. There is very little else like the whistling and fingerstyle guitar of Huey Memphis.” — The Texas Music Gazette, 8 June 1976.He was tall, dark, swarthy and angular; one of those performers you like to study, alien almost. He always wore shades, regar...
Weekly Contest #271
The BrokerCorsica, 2018. Wet streets snaked around huddled stone buildings, bare and rustic. The scent of brine and fish residue clinging. The Kid, the only black one, worked nights in a harbour bar, sat by the edge of the dock. He was forty three. He looked younger. Time in this coastal place was slow and arrested - caught in an amber strangeness of memory and centuries of fishing, boats, and salted wind.By day the Mediterranean stretched out before the town, an aquascape of blues and greens - rows of liquid agate. Everywhere shimmering in ...
Weekly Contest #270
Season of the WavesThe Blood Comet hung in the night sky, languid and crimson, bisecting the Vast Black and its white lights with a flaming thread. The Second Orange Moon had grown large, dipping slowly and horizon-bound, like some colossal, vermillion prey. It bled its last as it fell exhausted to the nadir.The elders had long known of the augury at play in the skies. The Season of Waves was but two days away. The Soombah had been faithfully preparing for it. It would be ushered in by westerlies that would lash the Mukon Pine forests and la...
Weekly Contest #269
The Golden Pocket Watch of Elias CobbThe Yukon heaven stretched out, vast and indifferent. Yet that morning it was pleasantly blue and pristine—a shining cupola of cloudless, northern sky. Spruce and pine, chalked and contorted by wind, stood silent. Their boughs were dusted with a light snow from the previous night’s fall. Ravens croaked and chickadees whistled, on and off.In the rivers and lakes ice granulated, drifting disparately through the myriad blues of glacial meltwater. April. Thawing.Elias Cobb trudged through the crackling under...
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