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Weekly Contest #332
Warning: The story pertained to a heavy subject of guilt. There was once a newborn named Kersed, because the folks in town remembered him so. There was once a kid named Pale, because kids were an honest bunch without any filter. And as for the yellow note that had just released him from the prison hulk, there was once a title, a number, and a sin: Prisoner 50661. And on that wooden giant that was about to pull anchor, there the sinner spent the best years of his life. Now, the man stood near its left broad side, dressed for the occasion in t...
The street of Loren in late August is a dusty, hot and dry maze of faded asphalt and exhaust fumes. On any weekday, the white collars of Loren busy themselves in air-conditioned offices and meeting rooms. And in between the floors, the heat has made these poor air-pumps work on unpaid overtime. Thus, they groan like draft horses, and in turn blow great gusts of cool, refreshing air in and around the great glass houses in every corner of the city. Loren, known for its very own miniature Silicon Valley, also harbors a great number of ne’er-do...
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