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Weekly Contest #347
I agreed to meet Bethany for coffee on the 17th of May. It has been 3 months since I popped the festering pimple of our relationship. It is weird because for pimples, you shouldn’t pick at them; they should go away on their own. I have avoided picking at out relationship for 4 long years. I never felt my best but certainly never my worst, it was comfortable sure. Bethany and I have persisted though long-distance, loss, and infidelity. Unconditional love, it turns out, is quite suffocating. So, I broke it off and broke her heart. And I imagin...
Weekly Contest #346
[sensitive content: this story discusses mortality and existential dread] The end of the world started at the annual animal behaviour conference 2047. However, for others it started much earlier. The coffee was acidic and heavy in my stomach. But it is social, isn’t it? It isn’t quite like moths to a light; academics are shier than this. We test the scene. Like a snail tasting a novel environment with its cephalic tentacles as it coddiwomples over to investigate a new piece of lettuce. Once the first of us traverses the unknown, the others f...
Weekly Contest #345
Crisp morning air dances across my skin; it too can feel the anticipation on the boat. The sun is not risen, and yet the crew is vibrating around me, loading gear. I am going over my checklist. All my equipment lays across the deck in front of me and I begin. The process is religious. The ocean is God; the gear is my saviour, and I treat it with this level of reverence. I recall in the fog of memory a time when the Buoyancy Control Device, the inflatable jacket that lets a diver rise or sink, felt like a strait jacket. I remember my regulato...
Weekly Contest #330
As with every other day, today she says goodbye to her body. Her body – which aches and clicks with silent submission – is the definition of health. She hands another frothy pint to a crusty beard and smiling yellow teeth. And it is okay, she thinks, if in this instant a sarcoma is solidifying deep in the soft tissue of her left hand. She checks dexterity. Incessantly, she taps each finger against her thumb; the pads enveloped in hoppy resin. There it is. That brief shudder. Tendons grind against bone as she taps her middle figure. Fear is a...
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