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Weekly Contest #341
“We need to talk.”It’s not the words she uses, but the tone, that tells me I’m not going to like what comes next. “Sure, dear.” I shift in my chair, push my plate away, half turning to give her my full attention. “What’s on your mind?”She sits next to me, facing me, one arm resting on the back of her chair, the other lying on the table, her hand near mine, but not quite touching. “Do you really think this is the best thing for you?” she asks.“What do you mean?” I ask, though I have a nagging suspicion. Across the small kitchen table, my son ...
Weekly Contest #339
A sound fills my small kitchen, a churning, gurgling hiss. It’s a sound I love to hear, one I look forward to every morning. Along with it comes an amazing odor, an aroma so rich and complex that it defies easy description. It’s like the universe opened a door to everything good and waved a hand to spread the smell of perfection.The coffee is ready.With my mouth watering, I grab a mug and tip the carafe, pouring a generous measure of dark, steaming liquid into the cup. No cream or sugar for me, nothing to mask, alter, or interfere with the g...
Weekly Contest #334
“You know, I put a lot of thought into this, young lady.” I stand beside the window, holding the curtains open an inch with one claw, peering out through the glass. “Every detail, carefully planned out.”A muffled grunt is my answer, and I glance over my shoulder at the room’s only other occupant. She sits in a chair, tied hand and foot, securely gagged. Wide, frightened eyes stare at me through disheveled blonde hair hanging over her face. Tears wet her cheeks. Lurid flashing lights bathe the room, the only source of light, strobing against ...
Weekly Contest #329
CW: Physical violence, grief, mental health “Are you sure you want to do this?”I stare out through the windshield of my car, watching raindrops strike the glass, leaving streaks that fracture the reflection of my headlights. I don’t look at the figure sitting beside me in the passenger seat. I don’t want to see that look on her face. The look she wears every time I see her.“I don’t suppose it would do any good to ask you to wait here?” I say. Not pleading, but close to it. “You know you won’t do any good if you come with me. It only ever mak...
Weekly Contest #325
As mental institutions go, the Highgate Psychiatric Clinic is one of the nicer ones. The hallways are clean and brightly lit, the walls painted a soothing beige. The air is warm and dry, smelling ever so faintly of antiseptic cleaner. Only the thick rubber coating every protruding corner and the heavy metal doors with their wired-glass windows give a hint of what the place is.That and the noise, a low-level murmur of constant sound that seems to be equal parts rhythmic pounding, muted screams, and sobbing.Thankfully, I don’t spend much time ...
Weekly Contest #319
I’ve told this story so many times. I could recite it in my sleep. Sometimes I do. Reliving the moment I lost everything I held dear. The moment I lost more than I realized.The moment I met the monster.I’m sitting in the green room, waiting for my cue to take the stage. I’m alone, the makeup specialist and sound technician finished with me. I’ve studied the cue cards and rehearsed what I’m going to say. I grip my hands together to keep them from shaking, try to slow my breathing. It’s another talk show, another interview. My first in a whil...
Weekly Contest #315
I take a deep breath, smoothing the lapels of my tux and running a hand over my hair. The sensations still feel off, like I’m experiencing each a microsecond after it happens.Part of it is due to the Transfer, neural lag as my restored consciousness acclimates to fresh nerves. And part of it is purely psychological.After all, I’m still getting used to being alive again.Nerves settled, I push open the double doors and stride into the cavernous room beyond. A swell of noise greets me, cheers and applause from the crowd waiting there, rattling ...
Weekly Contest #310
I sit at my desk, staring at my computer. Sweat beads on my brow. My hands tremble. On the screen is the last story I wrote about Detective John Harden, a character I created. That’s important because he’s standing behind me, a gun in his hand.“Go on,” he says, his deep, gravelly voice low and compelling. “Do it.”I lick my lips, swallow. Surprisingly, being held at gunpoint isn’t conducive to my creative flow. “I’m not sure how…”“Try.” He grates out the word past clenched teeth.I am trying. Hard. “Look, I’m sorry, but I didn’t know—”“I don’t...
Weekly Contest #307
“Well, by that point, I was starving, filthy, and exhausted. But I’d done what I set out to do; I’d made the greatest discovery of my career.”“I see.” I take a sip from my glass of fine port and lean back into the comfortable embrace of my soft leather wing chair. “Absolutely fascinating, my friend. Sounds like you had quite a thrilling time of it.”“You can say that again.” My colleague, Dr. Arnold Mason, shudders, a far-away look in his eyes. He’s the very picture of an archaeologist: tall, leanly muscular, sun-bleached hair, sporting a tan...
Weekly Contest #303
I’ve always known I’m a superhero. I’ve just wondered what kind of hero I am.“How could you do this?” I ask, facing someone I’ve known my whole life. Someone I guess I never really knew.“Because I was the only one who could,” he says, sighing the words. “The only way I could give you what you want.”“You think I wanted this?” I gesture at our surroundings, the motion encompassing so much more than what we can see.Because what we can see is bad enough. This used to be part of the City, a place where people made homes and ran businesses, a plac...
Weekly Contest #299
“All right, kids,” I say, holding the pen upright with two fingers. “Watch the pen very closely.” As I wave my other hand around in vague circles, I steal a glance at my audience, and suppress a sigh of disappointment.Twenty or so kids, all of them somewhere around seven or eight years old, sit in folding chairs arranged before me. Here and there, a small face is pointed my way, an expression of rapt attention, verging on wonder, gracing their features. Most of them, however, clearly couldn’t care less. They slump in boredom, shift and fidge...
Weekly Contest #293
I’m sitting in my office, carefully reviewing my notes for my next session. The room around me is dark, so dark that everything is just a vague hint of itself. Just the way I like it. It’s the perfect place to reflect and ponder, to look within oneself and meet the gaze of whatever stares back at you.I find this is very calming, which is most important for my patients, all of whom tend to be a bit on the high-strung side. Especially my next one.Even as I pour over the pages on the desk before me, I keep half an eye on the clock hanging on th...
Weekly Contest #290
Sometimes I hate this world. Hate my job. My life. Hate everything.But that’s all right. Hate is allowed.Love, however, is forbidden. Love is the enemy.Without love, though, I wouldn’t have a purpose. I work for a government agency, tracking down Lovers. People who can’t control themselves. Can’t stop loving. I’d like to say we arrest them, give them a fair trial, patiently reeducate them to see the error of their ways. But mostly that doesn’t work, so we just hunt them down and kill them.You see, Lovers are sick, and love is the disease. Ea...
Weekly Contest #286
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I could just forget her.I know, that might sound like a terrible thing, but right now I feel like that would be easier to bear. If she just disappeared from my memory as completely as she disappeared from my life. Like I could close my eyes and then open them again and it would be as if I never knew her. You see, I buried Leah, my wife of forty-four years, this morning, but she’s still all around me.It’s the books.They’re everywhere. Bookcases stand in every room, against the walls or in the corners, every shel...
Weekly Contest #281
My first memory is of being wrapped.It’s understandable, I suppose. I mean, I am a Christmas present, after all.I know what you’re thinking: How can a present remember anything? Or have any knowledge of what’s going on around it?Good questions. Maybe it’s something about the idea, the notion, the concept of a gift. Maybe it’s simply the act of giving, the charity and generosity of spirit, that endows a gift with a certain… awareness of itself and its place, its purpose in the world.Or maybe it’s just that I’m a weird gift. Who knows? Let’s m...
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