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Weekly Contest #362
The harsh, metallic clash of pots and pans crashing together shatters the night’s stillness, the clamor ringing out into the gloom.I spin toward the racket, to see Cousin Henry lying on the ground, the large sack of cooking implements I volunteered him to carry spilled open beside him. I scowl, bending over to catch my saucepan before it can roll away.“Henry,” I say, sighing out his name in frustration and disappointment. “Can you not do this one, simple thing?”“Sorry, Jed,” he mutters, pushing himself back to his feet with a grunt of effort...
Weekly Contest #353
“Let me tell you a story.”The man looks up at me, tearing his gaze away from his phone as I slide into the seat across the table from him. “Huh?” he grunts, all he can manage to get out in his preoccupied state.“A story,” I repeat with an indulgent smile. “A real story. Not a minute-and-a-half video clip generated by an artificial intelligence program in response to your murmured prompt of ‘more’.”The man frowns, glances around; it’s an awkward motion, as if performed by muscles that aren’t used to anything other than a still, hunched postur...
Weekly Contest #348
Sneaking another glance at the woman working the bar, I can’t help but ask myself The Question. Is she real?She looks real enough to me. It’s not just that she’s beautiful, with long red hair, creamy white skin, and a sprinkling of freckles that set off her bright blue eyes, especially when she flashes a quick smile at one of the patrons. It’s what’s not perfect about her, like the way her hair is starting to frizz and the sweat dampening her shirt under her arms. A long shift in a busy pub will do that to anyone, I suppose.But she still mig...
Weekly Contest #345
When I pull out the battered old steamer trunk from its hallowed space at the back of my bedroom closet, wheeling it into the main living area of our small apartment, everything in my life takes notice.It’s a certain alert wariness, an awareness that things are about to change again, and that maybe not everything that’s around right now will be around tomorrow.As I flop the trunk over on its side with a low, hollow thump, I imagine a ripple of motion passing through the entire apartment. Like everything gave a little jump. When I pop the lat...
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...
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