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Weekly Contest #104
"Are you coming tonight?" Memory asked. An innocent question that signaled an alarm to every cylinder of my brain. My breathing accelerated, I knew what I had to do. A battle between what I wanted and what my brain would allow. I wanted to go out. I wanted to be seen and heard and felt. I wanted to dance and sing on tabletops and be a star but that’s not me. It was never me. It was her. Everyone wanted to be Memory’s friend and for some reason, I can’t articulate, she wanted to be mine. Before I met her my world was so cold and when I k...
Weekly Contest #103
Whisky starts to taste less like poison and more like home. I cannot afford a therapist or new clothing for a job. I can’t afford much of anything. I panhandle when I can overcome the shame of asking strangers for money. A little liquid courage is all it takes to drown my shame. It doesn’t work like it used to. Nothing works like it used to. I go to sleep with the moon and wake up with the sun if the mosquitoes will allow it. I didn’t sleep last night. An incessant buzz in my ear all night long. I remind myself to buy some earplugs t...
Weekly Contest #68
Hues of purple and pink played together in the background of the sunrise, as if they were old best friends. A spectacular view that belonged on a postcard but Kenzo’s eyes were fixed on her. A short distance away a girl danced in the sand. Twirling a hula-hoop around her body and throwing it into the air. Waves crashed in the background. Bewitched, Kenzo stood up wiping the sand off his shorts. He had to be near the girl with a rainbow for hair. He had never been in love before. Not with anyone who had ever loved him back. But he thought ...
Weekly Contest #67
A knife may have been in my hand, but I did not kill her. Had I witnessed a murder? I couldn’t remember. How long had I been passed out on the side of the bridge? My blackouts were escalating.A bout of shivers overtook my body. A twig snapped as I tiptoed closer to the body to get a better look. My flashlight illuminating her face. The poor thing didn’t look a day over four years old. She had blonde hair with hints of strawberry. Eyes hollower than my father’s heart along with a bruised neck. I imagined her alive, throwing a ball into the ai...
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