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Submitted to Contest #305
[Author's note: This story is about rules — and what it means to break them. Unfortunately, the Reedsy prompt editor removes all paragraph spacing upon saving. The pacing, silences, and structure were carefully designed, but the interface doesn't allow deviation this week. Consider it a frustrating collaboration: a story about conformity, forced to conform.] Some people believe humans are sophisticated versions of apes. But we didn’t evolve from them. We evolved with them. We share a common ancestor. Along the way, we chose our own path. ...
Submitted to Contest #297
‘’So, you’re an architect?’’‘’Well, you’ve certainly found a way to romanticize it.’’‘’Come on. We’ve only got five minutes.’’‘’Exactly. No time to make stuff up.’’‘’I’m only laughing because I was afraid this might happen. My mother always says I romanticize the ordinary.’’‘’So now I’m ordinary?’’‘’Oh God, no. I didn’t mean it like that.’’‘’You’re easily provoked.’’‘’I hope not. It’s just my mom. She has a way of—’’‘’Are you a mama’s boy?’’‘’What?’’‘’You’ve mentioned her twice, and—as you said—we only have five minutes. I suppose she matter...
Submitted to Contest #292
Kristen spent another morning gazing at the lifeless tree by the water. She pressed her hands against the cold glass, hoping to catch a glimpse of the bird feeder her husband had placed in front of the window, one floor above the living room. The coal tits remained shy, flying toward the feeder and quickly making their way back into the tree. During the first months, Kristen spotted one little feller, placing his paws in the net and pecking a few seeds before taking off again. As the weeks passed, his visits to the feeder extended. But the s...
Submitted to Contest #279
She was gold. Engraved with lines and drawings of everything that once was. I thought of her as a diary, capturing all the stories she’d heard over the years. On chilly evenings, I watched her reflect the faint light shining under my flimsy door as if she liked to play with it. I’d witnessed objects like it every so years, but none were quite like her. She wasn’t even tucked away at first, but our hallow halls made footsteps larger, louder, and bigger than necessary. My colleagues and I are made of steel. We’re made to echo each memory broug...
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