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Weekly Contest #376
I hear them talking about me in the mountain towns, out the windows of the chicken buses, along the cobblestone streets of the city, where I now walk. Women warn their husbands in chiding murmurs. Mothers counsel their betrothed sons in desperate pleas. Old men speak to the youth in hushed, lingering whispers. The woman in white. The woman of great beauty turned hideous by the gods. The woman I became centuries ago on the pyre. I’m sorry you are here with me, I had said in our mother tongue. I stood tied to a post with the man I loved. He gr...
Weekly Contest #363
*A moment of suicidal ideation is implied. Alcohol abuse briefly mentioned but not carried throughout the story A faded ‘No Swimming’ board with chipped red and white paint quivered against the wind as it stood guard over choppy waves rushing the dark sandy shore. The grey tinted air behind it swirled with splashes of brown and green water, a treacherous fresco of an unswimmable, unsurfable sea. ‘ On the beach, however, a smattering of bodies clad in various colors dashed back and forth. Sand sprayed as feet moved and bodies dove. The air w...
Weekly Contest #357
Steve Pritchard laid across his therapist’s couch even though Dr. Hollingsworth had pointed out that lying on the couch wasn’t the expectation in therapy anymore. And the couch was actually a love seat. And really, it made him uncomfortable staring at the back of his patient’s head. Still, Steve insisted, and his session continued. “I realized, doc, that if I want to be able to do things with my kids, I need to take control.” “That’s admirable, Steven,” Dr. Hollingsworth said, absent-mindedly doodling in his notebook. “Just Steve.” “And how ...
Weekly Contest #347
The sign was pretty freaking clear. Henry, Jake, and I had found an abandoned hunter’s perch in the depths of woods behind our neighborhood. We hung the sign outside the wooden tower, thus claiming it as our own. It would be our hideout, our sanctuary, our Fortress of Solitude as we navigated middle school with its slow growth of personal freedoms and bodily changes that our parents never addressed. We had considered calling it "The Castle for Men,” or “The Mastle” for short, but it didn’t stick. “The Man Hut” and “The Man Stand” sounded wei...
Weekly Contest #346
The end is the beginning. “That’s a pretty lame fortune,” Wayne said, tilting back into his chair to reverently crack his own so-called-cookie. Beside him, Chris remained transfixed on the dessert-fortune pinched between his fingers. His mind ran over the sacred implications as if it was an ancient holy papyrus. There has to be more to it, he thought, as he flipped over the strip of paper. 春卷 (chūn juǎn) Egg Roll. 四 (sì) Four. Not helpful. Also, he’d opted for Crab Rangoon. The end… He chewed over the words. He felt a gnawing, inexplicable s...
Weekly Contest #343
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