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Weekly Contest #221
It’s the first time in a month I’ve left my house. The first time in a month I’ve worn anything except my pajamas. The first time I’ve done pretty much anything since I got the diagnosis from my doctor. I shift in my seat, glancing around the space I’m in. It’s a nice enough waiting room, with comfortable furnishings and pleasant decorations. Paintings of peaceful landscapes and actual live plants. Everything’s done in soft, muted tones. All designed to be soothing and comforting. Necessary, I guess, considering what they do here. Now I’m t...
Weekly Contest #219
I wake up with a pounding headache, to find myself lying on a small metal bed of the industrial type. You know, the kind you find in a prison. Instantly alarmed, I roll over, struggling not to lose the contents of my stomach, and peer blearily around. That’s when I realize I’m in a cell. At least, I think it’s a cell. Walls of hard concrete surround me. There are no windows. The only light is a soft, diffuse glow from a recessed fixture in the ceiling, a good ten feet overhead. The only furnishings are the singularly uncomfortable cot benea...
Shortlisted for Contest #216 ⭐️
“Good morning, Arthur,” I say, as the thick metal door shuts behind me with a ponderous clang. Multiple locks automatically click into place, sounding like a series of gunshots. “How are you today?” “Oh, just peachy, Doc.” The man sitting on the other side of the table shifts in his chair. The links of the manacles he wears—bolted to the scuffed, battered tabletop—jingle and clink. “And you?” “Can’t complain, Arthur. Can’t complain.” I set a folder on the table, careful to keep it out of Arthur’s reach. Then I slip into the seat opposite him...
Winner of Weekly Contest #208 🏆
“Okay, let’s go over the first scene.” “Right, but let’s do it on the go, ‘cause we’ve gotta move, and I mean now.” Logan Steele sets off at fast trot, hurrying down the hallway of the ubiquitous Government Agency Headquarters. His long legs carry his broad-shouldered, powerfully built body along at brisk pace. I hurry to keep up with him, panting for breath in only a few strides. “Think we could slow this down a bit?” I gasp, heading past doors with block print nameplates, framed posters of suited figures shaking hands, and signs reminding ...
Weekly Contest #206
“I’m afraid of nothing.” I look up from the notebook on my desk, peering over the rims of my reading glasses at the man reclining on thefaux-leather upholstery of my couch. “You’re not afraid of anything? Anything at all? Not death or taxes? Not big crowds, heights, or even small flying rodents?” My tone is light, but not mocking. Curious, without being pushy. “I didn’t say that.” Curtis Smith (probably not his real name, but I understand that some people feel the need for anonymity) is my newest patient, a pro bono walk-in who is clearly tr...
Weekly Contest #203
Forget the Turing Test Vanessa262 joins the conversation with TruthTalker. TT: Hi, Vanessa. Welcome back! How has your day been? V: Eh, okay. TT: Just okay? Not great? Not amazing? V: Well, some things didn’t go the way I planned. TT: Tell me about it. I’m certified to be a good listener by design, and I really care. V: Thanks, TruthTalker. It really is great to have someone around to talk to. Some people just don’t get how wonderful modern chatbots can be. PerfectAnswer joins the conversation. PA: Hey you two. Look who’s back, with a brand-...
Weekly Contest #196
“Good morning, Dad.” I look up to see Heather appear in the kitchen, greeting me with a sad little smile on her face. “Morning,” I say, the word coming out in a wheeze. I have to take a deep pull on the oxygen tank afterwards. Every breath seems harder than the last, every word a struggle. But that’s okay; it gives us a reason not to talk much. With all I can’t tell her, that’s a blessing. Heather moves about the small space, putting on the coffee and pulling out the ingredients for breakfast. Everything in the room is clean but worn, ...
Weekly Contest #192
I have no idea how I found this place, or what I’m doing here. I took off on this road trip with no destination in mind, no schedule to keep. When I ended up in the middle of nowhere—Nebraska or Oklahoma, I think—the last thing I expected was to stumble across a thrift store. But here it is, at the end of a dirt road, a lone house, just a single story, shaded by a huge cottonwood tree. The only thing to see in a vast, featureless sweep of land stretching from horizon to horizon. Just What You Were Looking For. That’s what the sign says. I ...
Weekly Contest #187
“Did you feed the cat?” “Yes, Dad. Doing it right now.” Felix crouches on the floor nearby, his back humped up and his trunk-like legs tucked under his rounded mass. He looks more like a hairy toad than a cat. His ice blue eyes stare at me impatiently, like he doesn’t get why I can’t do this one thing fast enough for him. Shaking my head, I scrape out the can of tuna. It’s just cheap canned tuna, but it was hard to find. The country is falling apart. World War III was bound to do that. What’s left of the media calls it a “limited” war, like...
Shortlisted for Contest #181 ⭐️
“Sigma Station Control, this is Shuttle D177 on approach, please confirm.” I release the transmit key and sit back in my command chair, feeling that sense of weary satisfaction that comes at the end of a long day’s work, done well. “I’ve got one giant hunk of rock, all ready to deliver.” There’s a moment of silence, then the comm crackles to life. “Roger that, D177. We have you on our scopes. Your approach vector is clear and set. Come in nice and slow; we don’t need that ‘hunk of rock’ missing its orbital slot.” “I’m all over it, Sigma Cont...
Weekly Contest #177
“We will accept nothing less than your unconditional surrender. Resist, and you will be annihilated.” The series of clicks and snaps, coming from the segmented mouthparts of the looming arthropod at the end of the table, confirms my nagging suspicion that I really don’t want to be here. The massive nonhuman, a creature that resembles nothing more than a chain of glossy, dark gray beads sporting segmented legs, is coiled around what passes for a chair to its species, and looks to me like a cat tower made out of obsidian. The being… reclining ...
Weekly Contest #173
It’s that time of year again. The time when everyone suddenly realizes that they’ve put off their holiday shopping a little too long. When everyone decides, on the level of some kind of group consciousness, that they need to get all their gift buying done right now. And it seems like every last one of them decided to come to Bart’s Mega Mart, where I work. I guess I can see the wisdom in their choice. I mean, here at Bart’s you can find everything you might need. I mean, you can buy novelty garden gnomes, big screen 4K TVs, and custom-flavor...
Weekly Contest #169
“Are you all right, Jared?” His mother’s voice was soothing, gentle, like he was a nervous colt and might bolt if handled the wrong way. “I’m okay, Mom,” he replied, forcing a smile. Her hands fussed with his blankets, smoothing them, tucking them under his chin. “I could stay with you until you fall asleep.” Weak smile still in place, he shook his head. “You shouldn’t, Mom. Dr. Dean said I have to get over this on my own.” “I know.” A deep frown furrowed her brow. “I know.” “Don’t worry, Mom.” He knew she meant well, but right now, it was r...
Weekly Contest #166
I’m not a big fan of parties, especially office parties. They’re usually pretty boring, and being the new guy I haven’t really gotten to know a lot of my coworkers. I’ll probably just spend an hour or so holding up a wall, sipping weak punch and eating bland sheet cake. But it has to beat spending another hour trying to transcribe heavily redacted reports, so I’m here. Six weeks I’ve been working at the home office for the vaguely named Interworld Solutions, and this is the first time I’ve heard of Baker. Of course, there’s a lot about my ne...
Weekly Contest #162
I’m in the kitchen, making turkey gumbo. It’s an old family recipe, meaning that it doesn’t really have an exact recipe. You need the basics: a good roux, seasonings you love, lots of meat. But the particulars are really up to you. Making a good gumbo is an adventure, an exercise in building something wonderful. Beyond the kitchen entry, a small crowd gathers in the dining room, sitting around the old table of dark wood, bearing the scuffs and scars of many years of use. The babble of conversation washes over me, but I don’t take part. It’s ...
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