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Weekly Contest #97
A butterfly flutters overhead, dips and curves on cosmic air pockets, and fades into the evening sky. A crack takes shape in the tiles under the left claw foot of the cast iron hot tub. At first a fingernail edge, it breaks out into a split moon. The tile snaps in half. From now on, the water in the tub slants a little and makes it easier for the night fairies to sit on the porcelain edge and dip their toes into the flower-scented water. Their skin ripples silver like jewelweed leaf submerged under a moving current. The water stagnates. Gr...
Weekly Contest #64
He does little things to amuse himself. Knitting, sewing, even yoga. He does these things to amuse himself but mostly he does them because he is lonely. There is a picture on his bedside table of an apple tree. It is burdened with red fruit yet holds itself up proudly with a straight trunk. The date on the photo is written on it in permanent marker. 5.10.15 The day he lost her. Mr. Martin Ginsburg lives alone. He does not go to the orchard anymore. His sister, Vanessa, wants him to “face his demons”. She is a therapist, programmed to...
Weekly Contest #57
The feasting was over and King Leo’s stomach full. He leaned back in his armchair near the hearth where the fire blazed to drive the fall chill out of the vast room. At his side a round table was filled with books and atop the pile sat his golden crown, carelessly discarded. At his other side, at the end of the round carpet between his chair and hers, Queen Helena dimpled at him over her embroidery hoop.Behind the couple, three boys tumbled on the floor, not quite hurting each other but grunting all the same as the rolled between the sofas a...
Weekly Contest #55
“Can you keep a secret?” asked Mr. Macado Greere of his bulldog, Fairy. The dog stretched her back out and groaned. Her nails scratched on the kitchen floor. Mr. Greere pulled a crystal glass out of a kitchen cabinet above the counter and set it down. Fairy settled and put her nose on her paws. “The annual Bibury Garden Fair is coming up,” Mr. Greere continued. He put a slotted absinthe spoon over his glass and balanced three sugar cubes on top. “With Mrs. Estes dead, I aim to win first prize with my vegetable marrows. They are massive...
Weekly Contest #53
To the outside eye, Grandma Belle’s popsicle is melting across the book in her lap again, though she sits in her wicker chair under the shade of the peach tree behind her cottage. To the inner eye, Grandma Belle is dying, and she dies a little more each day. Grandma Belle’s eyes are closed, and her hands are limp in her lap, but one finger strokes the cotton of her red dress and remembers. Grandma Belle is Belle again, young and beautiful, picking roses to decorate the kitchen table in her hungry house, for George is coming over for...
Weekly Contest #50
It was a hot day in the desert when the moisture rose from the ground and made the world shimmer like a sequin held in front of a candle. Across the hot sands a girl ran toward a dead tree, its limbs white and stripped of bark. Elena’s black hair and purple skirt streamed behind her until she stopped and kicked off her shoes at the base of the tree. She grabbed onto the ladder tacked to the trunk and climbed the dusty rungs to sit in the little shade the treehouse, built between three naked branches, offered against the sun. Elena drew...
Weekly Contest #47
You walk out to check the mail one morning when the sky is still purple and streaked with pink. Your pencil heels click on the pavement as you head down your short drive to your gay red mailbox. You open it up and hear the hinges creak. Up and down the block, your neighbors are opening their own red mailboxes and taking out handfuls of letters. One letter stops you in your tracks and the untied ends of your dressing gown tremble. It is a letter from an insurance company you have no policy with, and it slides out from under the elect...
Weekly Contest #43
Jaden looked up as momma charged into the small living room, her beige skirts flying. She almost tripped over a discarded plastic doll but hopped and regained her balance even in her glittering silver pumps. “Jack!” she yelled. “Hon!” The room smelled of coffee; even the blue carpet Jaden crawled on smelled of roasted beans. She collected her doll’s purple hat and stockings and apron before momma could step on the doll and crack her hat, like she had last time. With the toys safe in her arms, Jaden sat with her back to t...
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