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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 ...
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 fidg...
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 ...
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...
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 s...
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...
Shortlisted for Weekly Contest #277 ⭐️
The guard leading me into the room gives a hard yank on the chain. Pain lances through my neck, and I snarl, baring my impressive fangs for full effect. He shies away, naked fear on his face, before remembering which of us is supposed to be the prisoner. “Watch it, mutt, or you’ll be drinking out of the toilet through a wired jaw,” he says, his tough-guy tone betrayed by the quaver in his voice and the stink of fear in his scent. I snort in contempt. “Oh, please, CO. We both know who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf.” His expression hardens, mou...
Weekly Contest #272
I hold higher the torches I grip in each hand, driving the encroaching darkness back a bit farther. I peer into the surrounding shadows, holding my breath to hear better. The night-bound forest around me is still and silent, ominously so. I see nothing but the pale trunks of trees and thick brush, all of it patchworked with new-fallen snow. No small creatures rustle through the undergrowth between the tall oak, maple, and pine trees. No birds flutter through the cold, dark sky or cry out. The only motion is the slow fall of heavy white flake...
Shortlisted for Weekly Contest #266 ⭐️
Okay, this is your story. I get that. You’re the writer, the creator and all that. But I’m the protagonist. The main character. The one the story is all about. So we need to talk. * I stop in front of the door to Room 451. I can tell it’s supposed to be locked, but the splintered jamb and inch of darkness showing tells me it isn’t any more. Pushing back my fedora, I scratch my head, glance up and down the dimly lit hallway, taking in the faded wallpaper and worn carpeting. This case has already been one for the record books, and it keeps get...
Weekly Contest #258
“Do you recognize either of the people in this picture?” It’s the question I always ask, pretty much the first thing I say to most people I meet. The woman looks at the picture I hold out to her, the glossy paper dimmed with time and handling, the edges frayed and worn. It a selfie, two people in the frame, a man and a woman, one clearly holding the camera, with a beautiful backdrop of forested mountains behind them. They’re both smiling, standing close together. Very close. She looks at the photo. Really looks at it. Not a quick glance, dis...
Weekly Contest #256
Well, this is it. What it all comes down to. The Moment. I’m in my corner, coated in sweat. Livid bruises are rising all over my body, where my chest, arms, legs, and face have absorbed one punch, one kick after another. My hands tremble with pain, like two white hot points of agony at the ends of my arms. My manager has an iced coin pressed to a small gash above my left eye, trying to get it to stop bleeding before the referee notices it. “You’re doing fine, Bobby,” he says, his hot breath wafting into my face. “Just fine. This is it. This ...
Weekly Contest #250
We sit at the kitchen table, a game of Life spread out in front of us. I’m trying to decide if I want to go through the College path, or just get right to making money. But only part of me is thinking about the game. The rest is listening to my parents argue. Well, maybe argue isn’t the right word. But then, neither is listening. They sit there, across from each other, staring at the colorful board, and I can tell they aren’t really seeing it. Mom has her hands clutched tightly together on the tabletop, so tightly that her knuckles are white...
Weekly Contest #247
“We don’t go past the Hatch. Ever.” I stand before Mal, hands shoved in the pockets of my worn jumpsuit, a sullen glower on my face. “Maybe if we did, we’d know why our world is falling apart.” For as long as anyone can remember, we’ve lived here, in the Habitat Section. We don’t know where we came from, who put us here, or why they did it. And no one seems interested in finding out. Mal scowls at me. “No one believes that, Wit. Our world is just fine. The Habitat Section has lasted this long; it will keep going. The Machines will see to tha...
Weekly Contest #240
A piece of paper, crumpled and tattered, blew past her feet, fetching up against a leg of the park bench where she sat. She looked down, pulling her attention away from her laptop screen. The bit of paper rattled against the rusty metal, making her think of some poor, forlorn thing, desperately seeking any shelter it could find. Then she spotted the writing on it. “What’s this?” she murmured to herself, bending over to pick up the scrap. She smoothed it out, to find that it looked like a letter someone had started, just a greeting and a sing...
Weekly Contest #238
I crash through the door, the bell hanging from the handle jingling wildly. I’m breathing heavily, chest aching with more than the need to draw a good lungful of air. There are only a couple of people in the small diner at this hour of the night: the late-shift cook behind the counter, a couple of teenagers in a corner booth. And… her. “Something wrong, buddy?” the cook asks me, an annoyed expression on his face. I shake my head, a dismissal of his question and his very existence. At that moment, nothing has any meaning except her. She’s sit...
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