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Weekly Contest #150
“I won’t do it!” The words sounded wet coming out of Janice’s mouth. She wiped her fangs with her tongue. “Dammit, Mira!” He pounded his fist on the table, rattling the dice and food wrappers that littered it. “House Giovanni will not stand for your insolence!” Six sets of eyes whipped back to the young lady in glasses. Janice sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her red velvet bodice. “I don’t care. It’s not right.” The watching eyes all returned to the tall but lumpy man who stood staring at his political oppo...
Weekly Contest #148
“Yo Aram!” the foreman yelled, banging a flannelled arm on the door to the basement apartment. “Open up man, we need to talk.” The foreman banged again. Footsteps on the other side of the orange door drew close, and then a series of locks dragged and scraped, before Aram appeared in an undershirt, smiling wide. “Larry, yes? What it is?” Aram asked in his thick Armenian accent. “Everyone was supposed to be out by Friday, but my guys tell me someone is still in apartment three-oh-six.” The foreman was peeking pa...
Weekly Contest #131
“Aaargh!” He wasn’t careful tearing the duct tape from my mouth. The pain of it was the point. I wanted to curse him, to tell him to go fuck himself, but I was terrified. No one ever plans to be abducted, so as much as you might think you’d be assertive in such a situation, you’re wrong. Your brain moves straight to bargaining, every minute, every action, every choice, you’re hoping to assuage your captor, hoping to convince them to let you go. It stings the ego, but you think of your wife, of your kids, a...
Weekly Contest #129
Skish, skish. Skish, skish. Skish, skish, shkizzz. He strained his leg muscles against the fine layer of ice that glazed the snow. On powder, balance was easier, but on ice, he was able to glide further with each push. His aunties laughed at him. Skis were for white boys. Natives snowshoed. His mother hushed their taunts. She was proud that he felt such connection to the land, and to the fish who gave their bodies to nourish people during the cold and hungry depths of winter. In the...
Weekly Contest #128
Note: This story contains mentions of physical violence and derogatory language. Squeezing both bags, he stared at the coffee maker. Wood County was always out of everything. Grounds. Creamer. Actual sugar. Viscous brown water stained his fingers and dripped into the rippling tea in the styrofoam cup. When the sopping bags had given their all, he tossed them into the trash can under the sink. “Who are you seeing this morning?” a woman asked. Matthew turned, and seeing Candace, he smiled.&...
Shortlisted for Contest #126 ⭐️
Mouse wasn’t small. When they measured his body in the morgue, he was six foot two. Even though he could be quiet, I never called him Mouse, I called him Marty because that was his name, but it’s my name too which is why his mother started calling him Mouse after the divorce. When your son dies, everything becomes a first. The first Thanksgiving without him, the first birthday, even silly shit like the first time you go to the Chuck Box for a burger and he isn’t there next to you, stealing your onion rings and changin...
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