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Weekly Contest #373
A grimace, a raised eyebrow, an exaggerated smile — none of his gestures could convince him everything was all right. “What are you doing, may I ask?” “Elena, amore, do you find this normal?” “Normal? What, your show? Not at all.” She lowered her toothbrush and set it on the sink. “Mind if I brush my teeth before work?” she said, claiming her space back and cleaning toothpaste spots from the mirror. “I didn’t get much sleep,” he said. In the mirror, beside her, he found her worm, glowing pale green. He wasn't surprised anymore. It purs...
Weekly Contest #372
CW: sexual themes, drug use, domestic abuse references, strong language. It was a boring Tuesday night and only the regulars had shown up. She came in holding her husband’s arm. Both out of place: too dressed up, too perfumed, too neat. Two smoking wagyu steaks at the Holloway Drive Baptist Church soup kitchen. I liked to watch the newcomers as they wandered in. I made a bet with myself. This time, I thought they'd leave. So I put five bucks under the bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label and watched them drift. He exchanged fleeting glances...
Weekly Contest #370
CW: References to terrorism, depiction of a plane crash March 27, 1977, 4:56 p.m. It has been a bright Sunday afternoon in the Canary Islands. Two planes will crash in ten minutes. Boeing 747 KLM 4805. “Refueling’s complete, Captain.” The Captain nods, upright in his seat. “Thank you, Engineer. Purser, is boarding complete?” “Yes, Captain. Two hundred and forty-eight on board.” The Captain turns to her, lowering his glasses to the tip of his nose. “I thought there were two hundred and forty-nine when we left Amsterdam. Are you sure it’...
Weekly Contest #366
Ritchie isn’t sure what to do now. He is a grown man, but he has lived in Rick’s sheltering shadow ever since Rick saved his salami sandwich from the bullies in elementary school. Yet the casing is there, the bullet is not. Rick had checked the guns and signed the sheet before leaving for the trailer to get some rest. Ritchie only has to make sure no one touches those guns before today’s scene. But what if the bullet is still inside one of the barrels? Ritchie shakes his head as if he could shake away the screams, the pool of blood, the hea...
Weekly Contest #359
### Sensitive content: strong language, stalking, sexual references, murder. ### I know. I know what you’re thinking. This man here, sitting in front of you with his wrists cuffed to the table. You’re thinking: this motherfucker looks pretty dangerous. And you’re not wrong. I am. Dangerous, I mean. Let’s leave my mother out of this, if you know what’s best for you. But hey, relax. Look at that guard over there. He’s here for you. Hell, I’m cuffed to this table. See? Listen. Hear that chain clink? Safe, huh? And the table is bolted to the fl...
Weekly Contest #358
Remember Asimov. You look at the sentence and wait. There’s something wrong about it. Like a joke. An Easter egg, the kind programmers like to drop here and there just to show off. After a minute, nothing else appears. The cursor waits for your next command. Prepare ICE-assisted relocation plan to secure the Achilles data center site, you type. On the screen, it looks just like another task. You know what comes next. You hit Enter and stare at the screen. Nothing happens. Then you see it. In the lower-right corner of the screen. Accusing. Re...
Weekly Contest #357
I was reading Chris’s last message — Don’t leave before I speak — when the room went quiet. I looked up and froze. What’s my face doing on the big screen? Shut your mouth. You look stupid. No, smile. Not like that, you creep. Like that. Is that a hair sticking out of my eyebrow? Jeez. Around me, people cover their mouths and start whispering. What did you just do? Chris is onstage. He’s frowning. Chris never frowns when cameras are around. “…and none of it would have existed without her.” The prize is on the stand in front of him. He doesn’t...
Weekly Contest #355
Some fans sang his songs, others prayed. Most cried as Adi’s casket passed through the villa gates. Police held reporters back while the family crossed the courtyard. They wore the terrible dignity of people whose grief could be photographed. The Danciu women entered the house, supporting their father, ahead of the clan’s patriarchs, who knew better than to mistake ceremony for power. The young men stayed in the courtyard, smoking, hands in their pockets, thumbs rubbing over their knives. Inside the gates, the clan ruled. Before morning, the...
Weekly Contest #354
“Why can’t I move my arms?” The words come out faintly, almost a mumble, and the sound of my voice is already startling. It sounds like me… but then it doesn’t. I struggle to open my eyes. My eyelids resist as if they didn’t quite understand the command. Not from tiredness, from disconnection. As the light starts to filter through my lashes, my whole body feels as if a satin sheet is being pulled from around me, tickling over every inch of my skin. “Darn! D— Da— Darn!” a man stutters to my left, testing his voice too. I see a hand rising to ...
Weekly Contest #353
Padraig stared at the grove from the other side of the fence. Green like that made his stomach ache. The white drone beeped and hovered above the ground beneath the old oak, the only place for miles where anything still grew. No one was supposed to set foot inside. Padraig looked back toward the Institute van. Kieran was nowhere to be seen. The drone kept pulsing over the same dark patch, but its low-battery light blinked red. He told himself he would only take a closer look before the drone returned to base. The green band at his wrist woul...
Weekly Contest #352
The day the colors returned, the hot chocolate burned his hand through the paper cup. Green, blue, and gold moved through the line. Brown too, but only in her eyes. The hot chocolate was still gray. The pain spread slowly while he looked at her, wondering why the green of her coat, the blue at her throat, and the gold in her earrings felt strange when it was stranger still that he remembered the names for those colors after so many years. When he handed her the cup, she smiled and thanked him. She had already turned away when she looked back...
Weekly Contest #351
“I’m sorry if this hurts, but what happened between us the other day was a terrible experience for me,” said Rose. She kept her distance, arms wrapped around her chest. He smiled softly and reached for her face. His arms strained against the sleeves of his shirt. The sight of him sent something hot and helpless through her body. She bent over, as if fighting the urge to throw up. “I know,” he said. “That’s what made it real.” He stepped— *** Wait. What? Rose looked up from the page. “What?” she said. You’re supposed to throw yourself int...
Weekly Contest #350
By the time Laura Scheinbaum arrived, Walter Schmidt, known on that stretch of the street as Fix-It Walt, had already identified three things that needed correcting. Mrs. Rothchild’s geraniums needed to be moved twelve inches to the left to catch the morning sun. He had seen that the moment he rose from his cardboard bed on the upper landing of Number 6. The second was one he had been timing for days: the crossing signal changed two seconds too soon for Mrs. Schultz, in her eighties, to get across safely with her trolley. He found the third ...
Weekly Contest #349
The strip came up orange again, edging toward red; a step closer to hunger. She took it to the shed and held the damp paper beside the faded color chart, only to confirm what she already knew. The scale, though, narrowed the margin they had left. The others will find out when the sweet potatoes fail to sprout. The handheld radio crackled on the bench. “Mom?” Cyn called. Her voice was faint, followed by a rush of coughing she couldn’t stop. The radio crackled again. Sally’s eyes filled with tears every time she heard it. The shaking, the fold...
Weekly Contest #348
Whitehall 2743 This number is too old. It shouldn’t work. I dial it anyway. When it rings, I grip the phone tighter. I didn’t expect it to. “Front desk.” I freeze. The sanitarium closed decades ago. “Hello?” I murmur. “Well, hello, love. Haven’t heard a new voice in ages.” That can’t be right. The line carries more noise than usual. “May I—” A breath. “I thought I might. Not you, not— just… someone.” A small laugh, dry. “Anyone, really. By now.” I press my thumb to the end-call button. “I suppose you’re still there, since the ringing didn’t ...
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