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Weekly Contest #91
Hypothetically, if Peter gave A Wrinkle in Time back to Joyce face-to-face, he’d die. All the blood in his body would squeeze and compact right there in his cheeks. There’d be nothing left for his arms, his legs, his spine, his feet. And his heart would sputter, all parched while excess blood would leak from his ears. Peter plotted wedging the book into her desk but Joyce was always there, muddy tennis shoes tapping the wobbly desk leg, sitting on top like a crow. Her friends perched near enough to ma...
Weekly Contest #90
That day Atleigh nearly squeezed her phone so hard it would’ve molded to her fist’s sweaty interior, the cemetery hills were unearthed by a trillion trillion trillion muddy hands picking off maggots like lint. Atleigh had a trillion one-word texts she never sent even though every previous time was easier once she stalled and recalled that instance side by side with the one at hand. By that point though, it was impossible to send anything once again. Atleigh was stiff on the train, nos...
Shortlisted for Contest #76 ⭐️
I guess it’ll be rainy. I think the sky should either make room for the sun to smile or it should just cry it out. Okay, it’ll be rainy. On wet days it blooms umbrellas. And I have four. There’s this lady who stands underneath the grey awning everyday and she paints the world. At least I think she paints the world. In front of the art supplies store with orange smears on the walls like blurry suns as big as my thumbs. So she’ll be there again, and the raindrops will crawl down the slope of the awning that might’ve been blue a long ...
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