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Weekly Contest #354
By the time I turned off County Road 12, the kudzu had swallowed the mailbox whole. Green vines thick as rope curled around the post like something claiming a body. I almost missed the driveway entirely. Gone was the gravel path I remembered, replaced by a soft green swell that hushed the sound of my tires as I rolled slowly forward. That silence settled into me quick, the kind of quiet that feels less like tranquility and more like being listened to.Folks still talked about this place, even if they didn’t say my name outright. “The Whitt Ho...
Weekly Contest #351
::writingThe first thing I noticed was that my backstory kept changing.One minute, I had a tragic past involving a lost sibling and a dog I couldn’t save. The next minute, I was an accountant who “just happened to survive” because I “paid attention to detail.”“Pick a lane,” I muttered, prying open a vending machine with a crowbar. “Am I emotionally complex, or do I just know spreadsheets?”::writingI remember the exact moment the sky broke.Not metaphorically. Not in some poetic, “the world ended and everything changed” sort of way. I mean lit...
Weekly Contest #341
((Trigger Warning: Advanced Dementia/Death)) Billy sat at the rickety wooden table with aged, folded hands. His lips pursed as he pressed his toothless gums together in contemplation. He watched as a new brown paper wrapped box appeared in the stack by the opposing wall. "That just ain't right," he thought passively. He'd been in the little house for so long now he'd lost track of time. The clocks didn't even tick, or chime, or blink anymore. Sometimes the old house would groan, and the walls would shake as if the earth was moving underne...
Weekly Contest #340
Rain threatened the horizon, but the pavement still shimmered dry under the afternoon sun. Officer Jenkins called in as he and the Buick LeSabre he followed pulled onto the shoulder of the county road. “Dispatch, 156 will be 10‑38 with an erratic driver on 1142.” As he stepped out of the patrol car, dispatch answered, “10‑4, 156.” Jenkins strolled to the driver’s side and leaned down to the already lowered window. His mirrored sunglasses reflected a nervous face — Mr. Hamilton, a man in his late fifties wearing a fedora and an expression of ...
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