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Weekly Contest #187
Mrs. Hughes had been gone for a week but Martha didn’t feel any better. Despite the veterinarian’s hackneyed assurances, time was not healing her wounds; she still desperately missed kissing that furry little face and seeing her tuxedoed darling curled into a ball at the end of the bed, paws tucked into the neat white bib that reminded Martha of Downton Abbey’s housekeeper (hence the name). Twice Martha had gotten up in the morning to get Mrs. Hughes her breakfast before remembering there was no need, her forgetfulness a cruel reminder of co...
Richard III. The Wicked Witch of the West. The first Mrs. Rochester. They’ve all had their day, the retelling of their stories. No longer unadulterated villains thanks to sympathetic authors, these figures have overcome the prejudices of history to revel in the spotlight of understanding. Now it is my turn to right a terrible wrong. My name is Satya, Bringer of Truth, and I am one of that most noble of creatures, a Bengal tiger. Many years ago my great-great grandfather happened upon an ailing tiger in our jungle. His name was Shere Khan, ...
Weekly Contest #186
“Why don’t you come for tea?” These were the words I had been dreading ever since I moved to Yorkshire. It was a lovely day outside and I stopped on my way out for a walk to say hello to my new neighbor, who was working in her front yard. I’d left my job, my family, and my friends in sunny California six months earlier to join my English boyfriend in this quaint Devonshire village. I looked forward to wonderful museums and traditional pubs, to cozy rainy days inside and the resulting lush gardens surrounding stately homes. And all that ...
Weekly Contest #185
It all came to a head when my mother-in-law died. Mind you, I knew about my husband’s quirks from early on. The first time I visited his mother’s house I snuck a peek into his childhood bedroom on the way back from using the bathroom. I’d never seen anything like it outside of reality television. Stacks of magazines and newspapers covered the walls from floor to ceiling, and every spare bit of floor space except for a narrow path to the single bed was filled with piles of old toys, stuffed animals, and miscellaneous bric-a-brac. But I was yo...
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