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Weekly Contest #351
I knew him on sight. Rugged, muscular, disheveled, sad. Sunglasses hid his eyes. “You must be Grant.” I hugged him with all my strength. “I’m sorry, I’m so dirty. I climbed to the tallest pine on her property this morning and spread her ashes. She begged me to teach her how to climb that tree.” He reminded me of a tree, tall and sturdy. We cried as I whispered, “I can’t imagine what you experienced. I hurt for you.” Those of us who loved her had finally gathered to say goodbye. It had been a long eight months waiting out a deadly pandemic, y...
Weekly Contest #346
The Last Stop She inhales the garden’s intoxicating perfumes from the patio of their favorite museum restaurant. Low enough to shine under the rim of the green canvas umbrella, the morning sun warms her back. These gardens aren’t merely Crayola crayon colors, they are the fluorescent colors enhanced by AI and digitized fantasy films. While her skin crackles with joyful anticipation, she focuses on a spotted ladybug resting on a peach rosebud. In minutes, her mother will walk through the garden path to join her on this glorious day. “Jayne?”...
Weekly Contest #323
Juan Pablo I was with my abuelo, Juan Pablo, the day he succumbed to madness. He was my hero. I grew up in the pueblo of Colula, not far from the city of Oaxaca, Mexico. My grandparents, Juan Pablo and Maria Teresa, helped my parents raise all six of us brothers. We lived on a small, dusty chicken farm behind the town square. Juan Pablo and my father, Jose Luis, built our rectangular home out of cinder blocks. It wasn’t much, but it had two bedrooms and a working toilet. My hermanos and I slept on couches and sleeping bags all over the kitc...
Weekly Contest #306
A Man and His MusicJeaninne Escallier KatoSet Up (Act I) Flashback: 1956 Suburban Van Nuys, California, dotted with old citrus ranches, duplex apartments, and new tract homes.On a warm spring day, Marilyn rushes to the local Catholic school to catch her son’s kindergarten performance. She is late because her two-year-old daughter pulled the iron off the ironing board, slightly burning her arm. Marilyn doesn’t drive, so she pushes her crying toddler in a stroller. When she tiptoes in through the back auditorium door, she sees her young son, A...
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