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Weekly Contest #347
"Another Twizzler? Shnooks, how long we been burnin' doobs together—since grade school? And ya still can't roll for shit? Spark it and let's get back inside—my hands are going numb.”Mutsy and Shnooks hurried back into the Blue Note, shivering as they found their stools. On the mahogany, frozen fingers, too numb to grasp, pushed bits of tarnished copper and silver around—hunting for one last pull.A deep baritone from directly behind spoke."Get my two friends here a double of Macallan. Each. Neat."The bartender nodded toward the voice’s owner ...
Weekly Contest #345
CW: Violence; childbirth complications The dawn did not break with light, but with the rhythmic, metallic snap of gunfire. It was a cold sound that tore through the mist clinging to the boma. Before the sun could touch the horizon, the silhouettes of men in olive-green fatigues appeared, their movements clinical and practiced. They moved through the settlement not as neighbors, but as harvesters of grief.Rifles slung across their chests swayed with every step. A soldier swung a seasoned lekishet stick against a cow’s flank, the thud echoing ...
Weekly Contest #334
Once upon a time, so the story goes, there was a petite young girl with doe-eyes named Maya who lived in this village. She had a beautiful garden. Her greatest pride in life was tending to the flowers that grew there. The Damas de Noche, a namesake rooted in a legend. Maya’s father had told it to her when they first planted the bushes. There had lived a kind princess named Dama. who loved the scent of jasmine perfume. She shared it freely with her subjects. When she died, a night-blooming flower grew from her grave. Her gentle spirit lingere...
Weekly Contest #319
His world resonated with scents. Beaux drew the first lungful deep—threads of oil, cut grass, and diesel rising from the gravel, braided with dried animal scat, rich loam, and resin from the pine trees edging the woods.Voices buzzed near his ears, rough and urgent. “That sum’bitch got one hell of a lead…”The words rolled out with thunderous boots and the sharp snap of nervous hands trailing behind. Yet Beaux sifted only meaning from tone and vibration, drinking the energy that pulsed through the ground, each sound a subtle pulse guiding his ...
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