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Weekly Contest #376
It's September when Molly finally thinks she sees me under her bed. She's five, little blonde pigtails done up with pink ribbons, and when she runs screaming to her parents, they shush her with placating words and share sighs over her head. “Look,” they say, when they come upstairs to her room, because they have to pretend to check. The good ones always do. “There's nothing there. See? All clear.” Molly hides behind her dad's leg, clutching onto it like a lifeline, and stares at me in the corner with bright blue, terrified eyes. We're called...
Shortlisted for Weekly Contest #374 ⭐️
Arlo tells me he loves me, but before that, he’s at the kitchen table cutting a multi-million-dollar painting to shreds. It’s a forgery, he says. A high-end, meticulous deceit. Arlo knows this because he made it, and because the real painting, all twelve million dollars of it, is rolled up in the corner with the Christmas wrapping paper he hasn’t put away. “The thing about a good forgery,” Arlo said, the first day I ever met him, “is that it can only fool people for so long. Eventually, someone will find out it isn’t real.” We were at The Me...
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