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Weekly Contest #338
The sharp buzz of my alarm pierced through my skull like a drill bit finding bone.7:25 AM.My blood crystallized.The FBI meeting. The one thing I’d been obsessing over, the appointment that would determine whether I became something more than a paper-pusher in a beige cubicle—it started in exactly thirty-five minutes.And I was still in bed. Forty minutes away. In sweatpants and a faded Metallica shirt I’d owned since college.My stomach dropped like an elevator with cut cables. This wasn’t just sleeping through an alarm—this was a career-implo...
Weekly Contest #312
I'd always avoided the tech repair shop on Elm Street. Something about its flickering neon sign and the way electronic hums seemed to emanate from within made me uneasy. But today, with my laptop dying and a crucial deadline looming, I had no choice. As a freelance writer specialized in food and travel, I need my tools working—I have a piece about disappearing neighborhood bakeries due tomorrow, and my editor wasn't known for patience. The shop buzzed with the white noise of dozens of devices, heavy with the metallic smell of solder and warm...
Weekly Contest #309
I keep his old soccer cleats in my closet, the ones with grass stains that never came out, and laces he double-knotted because he said it brought him luck. They still smell like the field—dirt and sweat and that particular scent of Saturday mornings when everything felt possible. Dad played in the over-40 league every weekend until I was fifteen. I'd sit in the aluminum bleachers with Mom, watching him sprint down the sideline with more enthusiasm than skill, his receding hairline glistening with sweat. He wasn't the best player, but he was ...
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