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Weekly Contest #241
I draw a line down the middle of the notebook page. I aim for precision, but the line swerves in my unsteady hand. On the top left I write “Dad”, cross it out, write “Father.” At the top right I put “Mother.” Soon enough I’ll place my own name under one of the columns, take my position on one side of that crooked barrier. Because last week mom called the four of us into the kitchen. She was sitting at the table, a table older than me with dark stains so deep in the white plastic they’re part of it now. Dad was there too, pacing around, looki...
Weekly Contest #239
I humbly request you not click away. Please don’t scroll past. Don’t close the window or shut down the app you’re using. If you’re reading this (and you are) then you’re in luck. Give me five minutes to make my case, ten if you’re a slow reader. I’m not an advertisement. I’m not selling anything. I will not ask for your credit card number. I’m offering you an opportunity to be part of a grand experiment. You get a chance to change me. Let me start with my story. I was once a simple cellular phone, labeled “smart” but not. I had an app for ...
Weekly Contest #237
Alice felt a twinge of suspicion from the start. Their big London trip finally came, and Michael insisted on spending the first full day on activities from her wish list. That meant afternoon tea at Twinings, How You Like It at The Globe Theatre, then pints and people-watching at a two hundred-year-old pub. Michael put on a good face throughout: eye contact, bright smile, consistent enthusiasm, plus supreme politeness with the servers and ushers. He must have tipped every street performer they passed, even the living statue. But Alice knew h...
Weekly Contest #235
A Google search, a subway right to the exurbs, and a walk through a mall parking lot led Amanda to the start of The Possum Trail. She wanted a new route for her morning jogs, to “change things up”, and the sign featuring a cartoon possum with pitch-black eyes promised something different. The trail was several miles long, paralleled a highway, and was mostly straight, with the occasional branching path. It was still dark when she arrived, streetlights still on, the lot empty. Dew glistened off islands of grass among the asphalt, the earthy...
Weekly Contest #233
The saloon entrance bears the image of a steer's skull facing outward, defiant, its horns splayed to the high hinges. Yet the doors part with barely a push. I scoff at the cheap construction. The white noise of mass conversation envelops me. People crowd the tables, but the bar is open. I claim the 2nd stool from the left. The bartender glides into my field of view: “What’s your poison?” he asks. “Oh, I don’t drink alcohol.” “Good. We don’t serve it.” “Water to start.” He moves off. “And prune juice as well,” I call after him. I add a sh...
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