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Weekly Contest #211
Nine-year-old Audra Johnson--who had a flair for the dramatic--was wadding up pieces of composition paper as loudly as she could and flinging them into the fire with an audible groan-like sign. Her grandfather, Tom—who couldn’t help but notice this since she had to walk by his chair to reach the fireplace—decided to finally take the bait. “What seems to be the problem? Auddie,” he said over the top of the magazine he was reading. “I have to write a dumb, stupid, jerky story for Mrs. Marsden’s class,” she whined. “So what’s the pro...
Weekly Contest #210
As the car radio emitted nothing but a steady stream of static, Alice made slightly insincere promises to the twins that they would all be just fine. “Sure we’ll be fine,” she assured herself, “why wouldn’t we be?” But try as she may, she couldn’t turn the damn thing off, and it was unnerving her. In fact, the high-pitched buzzing sound was maddening. “Think of it as white noise,” she kept telling herself, “just white noise.” That helped a bit. In any case, she had no choice but to keep driving—what else could s...
Weekly Contest #208
As she barreled down the harrowing slope hitched weightlessly to the back of her latest target—a virile young skier with a great ass--Jane realized how exhilarating it was to be dead.This was what was called a “temp hitch”; one where the Hitcher made only a very temporary connection with a target. Unlike a “full hitch”, the Hitcher attached to the target just enough to experience the world through the target’s eyes and body, but not enough to influence the target’s behavior or feel their emotions. Temp hitches were the way Hitchers...
Weekly Contest #168
Marilyn was looking out the window as the train began moving. She dropped back into the seat so hard that it hurt, so badly, in fact, that it momentarily made her forget about the panic attack she was having. “Owww,” she said to the little blond girl sitting next to her. The little girl responded, “Ouchy?” “Yes, darling, ouchy,” she replied. She couldn’t help but smile; it was the first in a long time. But they were finally on the train. She was sure that the train was their only hope of escape. ...
Weekly Contest #167
“Do you sell wigs for children?”, she asked, looking nervously around the shop. “Aww, is she sick?” the young man behind the counter responded with genuine concern. “No, she’s…” she stopped. “Do you?” It was taking all her control to keep the panic from engulfing her. “Yeah, sure,” he said, pointing. “On the back wall.” She guided the child carefully to where the clerk had pointed. As she tucked the child’s blonde locks into the dark, curly wig she whispered, “we’re going to play dress up, now, reme...
Weekly Contest #162
I didn’t cry when my mother died. I’m not sure how to feel about that. Maybe some mothers don’t deserve tears when they die—I don’t know. And if she knew I didn’t cry, it would play into one of her favorite narratives. She’d say, “you see, Aunt Nettie’s kids worship the ground she walks on. They kiss her ass every chance they get. But my ungrateful kids don’t even cry when I die.” Of course, if we had a funeral (we didn’t) she’d be horrified if we didn’t at least pretend to cry. With Mom, it was alway...
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