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Weekly Contest #361
I dribble the dregs of black tea latte on my chin and sink back into the sofa.“Damnit! Did you get that on the cushion?” Carly drops a tube of stain remover beside my mug on the coffee table. “Her appointment is at 10:30. Get up, now!”I refold the throw and plop it on the armrest. “It's still spotless, Car. Give me a minute, please."I catch the cereal bar. "Thanks. Remember my work thing starts at 1:00.”She reaches around me to pull several packets of berry-flavored fruit snacks from the box in the cabinet. “Tell me again why you’re doing th...
Weekly Contest #358
(Substance abuse, physical violence/abuse, homophobia, mental health) The needle kisses my arm, rough and deep, a rush like no other. I lean back onto the harsh cradle of the tatami, ache fading into something smooth and hazy.I didn’t do it before, powered by lentil bisque and two hours’ sleep—write, write more, and repeat, until I couldn’t.A light breeze wafts the attar of peonies and lilacs, sharp and lovely. Acorns crack under my heel. The slate blue bungalow comes into view. A pair of apron-clad women loiter near the entrance, squeaky-wh...
Weekly Contest #351
I guess she really needs me.Most people don’t, or they fumble me with frightful ease, and that’s sad. Because I’m boundless, and today, she’s the job.A loop of ceramic ebony beads encircles the wearer's wrist.She traces a featherlight fingertip on the underside of me, as if she plucked another Memory from the next room. A knuckle glides over my torso, on the way to its lofty, sallow destination. The pond just above me remains empty today, a good thing.She caresses my face, and her endless vigil bathes me in tangerine and violet—two of my fav...
Weekly Contest #343
As it turns out, it doesn’t really hurt to die.This is a feast that can’t possibly satisfy me. The crisp attar of pine and brilliant, ethereal sunbeams mesmerize me, not unlike a swirl of icy flakes on a wintry day. I snag my fingertip on a spoke, jagged and twisted, a live wire that threatens to ignite me to my marrow. When I see them, it’s magic. The brush of his lips on mine, her tiny fingers curled around my pinkie—adoration wrapped in a velvety promise of forever. But it’s not enough, and the tap-tap-tap warns me, the unstoppable, crims...
Weekly Contest #342
CW: Suicide or self harm, mental health Jessie sank into the honeysuckle cloud. Her bedroom was cool, but she groaned, eyes red-rimmed, hall light in her face.“My skin is still raw, Mama. It was so cold there.” It was the first conversation they’d had that didn’t involve medication timelines, her yet-to-be finalized class schedule, or appointments.“I’ll get you some of the intensive moisture stuff next week, Jessamine.” The corners of her mouth pinched, and Jessie knew she’d probably get the cheapest brand Mama’s coupon would help buy at the...
Weekly Contest #334
“Hmmm, just right. Zzzzzz, Zzzzzzzz…..”What is happening?I can’t believe this!Who is this?? An actual person in this room?Why? How?Why here? Those other two work just as well, as far as I know. Because most nights, it sounds like a team of lumberjacks hacking down some old oak or elm. And then those other nights, when they make those other noises…oh boy.And the creaking. So. Much. Noise. I always wonder, is this the night one of ‘em finally bites the dust? With hunks of wood and guts thumping off these flimsy walls when they break it. I gues...
Weekly Contest #332
I teetered off the face of a mountain, and I wasn’t afraid to fall. No tragic endings, or flirtations with danger.Just a gentle, well-timed release, and a reward better than the majestic view, glittering with possibility and grace._________________________________________Beads of sweat from the late October sun trickled from under my cap. Gear on my back, my hips and calves in flames, I lagged a bit, unable to tear my gaze away from tiny clusters of Bellflower, its periwinkle blooms the remnants of a too-brief summer.“Hey, Georgia! You still...
Weekly Contest #323
I’m running out of time. And it’s nothing new, whether I need to revise the ending of a story, declutter a corner I’ve neglected, or repair a tool I don’t know how to fix. This isn’t what I want anymore, and it’s getting harder than I expected.Routines are much easier. I dress in a crisp, new uniform, spotless white slip-ons, take a few sips of chai, and I’m off, bag over my shoulder, packed with a few essentials: brand-new cloths, sponges, and fluids, restocked and ready.After a quick squeegee of the van’s side mirror, dusty and damp under ...
Weekly Contest #316
I don’t know how much longer I can do this. My fingertips slide over lace, armor for this latest war. His tongue maps my jaw, bitten and sore, with whisper-soft kisses. His breath, sharp and warm, tingles the shell of my ear. I trace a path along the corded ridge of his shoulder, heated under my touch. Tears cloud his sea green eyes and slide down his honey-colored cheek. I catch the drop with my thumb and press my bottom lip to his forehead. “I’d miss this if you stop, Cassi. ”The corners of his mouth twitch upward, and he kisses me again,...
Weekly Contest #311
I cradled the jagged edge of the glass, a soothing, unexpected relief in my palm. The tip seemed perfect for its purpose—keen and rugged, not unlike a peak I’d never climb.“Eden? What’s going on in there? Let me in now.”Shit, I didn’t mean to make so much noise when I bashed the mirror. She might get over this, but I doubted I’d be forgiven for destroying her vanity.The door cracked open against the wall. “What are you doing?!”I dragged the shard across the damp skin just below my other wrist, creating a pool of dark crimson on the aquamarin...
Weekly Contest #309
(TW: serious health issues and peril)I hate goodbyes, but I love sugar too much.With a handful of packets from the counter bin to replenish my office stash and mere steps from the cafe’s exit to begin the short walk to campus, I saw her.“Hello, Andie! How are you?” I wanted to play her voice on a loop, and her bergamot scent spilled a nectar of longing laced with regret through my veins.I didn’t want to reconnect, just to walk away again. The coward in me wanted to scamper away as fast as my 3-inch heels allowed. Instead, lost in the warmth ...
Weekly Contest #307
I didn’t know what I’d do if I failed.Chirping crickets serenaded me during my usual 3 am spiral, while I counted white and gold bulbs on the twinkle lights above my dresser. What if I chose the wrong answers? What if my score wasn’t high enough?I’d missed the exemption cutoff for the last final exam of my junior year by three points, thanks to the B- on a test I didn’t finish. Instead of a few extra days to rest before I spent my summer at the rec center working for the money I’d need for next semester, I had one more day of this.The sun sp...
Weekly Contest #304
I didn't know what to say.“If you were asked to write a eulogy for yourself, how would you tell your life’s story?” The charms on the instructor’s wrist rattled a melody on steroids, accompanied by the whir of the AC, to create a symphony of doom that threatened to end my writing career before it began.I shifted in my chair. Its battered metal squeaked and applied a chill to the back of my calves. A scan of my cohort in this windowless room, illuminated with harsh fluorescence antithetical to inspiration, revealed widespread bewilderment—eye...
Weekly Contest #300
Someone once said the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, but that’s not really true. Everything they said I did was my fault, and I loved every minute. I was a monster on the loose in a frigid dustbowl under a graying lavender sky, a mix of death and beauty, only rivaled by my prey. I stalked a lifeless valley, once an enchanted forest, and stumbled over the broken bones of spirits that flew long ago. The empty, meandering path was strewn with charred splinters of magnolias and desiccated branches, which had once been lined with eme...
Weekly Contest #298
Jessie Watkins slipped her sandal strap over her heel and scrambled out of the truck, fearful of her once-crisp blouse sticking to her back. Mama smoothed her satiny pink sheath, a firm grip on Randall’s tiny wrist with the other hand, as she stalked the parking lot. Cars and trucks filled the narrow spaces, another Sunday stop for reverent Christian families.“Jessamine, let’s go. Now.” A young woman rolled past them, a newborn in her arms, trailed by a tall man clasping an array of billowing light blue balloons. Clusters of visitors milled ...
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