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Weekly Contest #60
“Joseph! Catalina! Dinner time!” Zelda pitched the bucket of zombie gut salad with chia seeds into the automatic feeder, and swiftly shoved closed the door. A second later, two solid lumps crashed into the door from the other side. She sighed at the sound of the automatic feeder toppling over. She’ll have to fix that tomorrow morning. Since they had been infected two years ago, Zelda had become adept at feeding her children; however, one could never be too quick about closing the door when their children wanted to eat their brains. Also, h...
Weekly Contest #59
At 6:23 AM on the dot, the MBTA commuter rail pulls into the stop in West Roxbury. A single 30-something year old man drifts onto the train. He’s quite inconspicuous—his tangled brown beard, worn shoes, and dusty clothing give off a vaguely homeless air, but that’s not an uncommon sight in Boston. His one defining feature is a long red scar across his left cheek, perhaps from a fist fight long ago. Twenty-seven minutes later, the train arrives at South Station, and the passengers begin to clear out. As the man stands up to go, he bump...
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