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Weekly Contest #369
The first time it happened, I was buying a six-pack of beer at the corner store. An elderly man and what I imagine to be his grandson purchased candy bars and some scratch-offs. When I stepped up to the counter and placed the cans down, the cashier asked if I wanted anything else. “Cigarettes? Lottery tickets? Condoms?” he asked. I shook my head and grabbed a few bills from my breast pocket. He rang me up and I took the cans, turning towards the door. Then I heard a high-pitched, overlapping chirp, like something you hear out in ...
Weekly Contest #363
Cold, metallic droplets leapt from the railing of the fire escape directly above. The white splotches swimming across his vision began to fade. A familiar voice pierced through his scattered thoughts. Call him soft. A soft, wannabe thug. The Drifter groaned and propped himself up on an elbow. A grocery coupon and crumpled Polaroid sat half-submerged in a murky puddle next to him. “You’re soft,” he said, dabbing the fresh gash across his eyebrow with a fingertip. “Just a soft, wannabe thug.” The man stopped and turned back around. “You must ...
Weekly Contest #362
Content Warning: Themes of childhood trauma, child abuse, and death. Haywood blinked against the sheets of soft orange light spilling in from the cracked windows. He gazed past a makeshift radio on the window sill, watching the leaves of a sycamore tree rustle outside. The front of the radio, dotted with old soda can caps, played a continuous stream of faint static from its two circular speakers. “Anything else to drink?” someone asked over his shoulder. Haywood’s shoulders jumped. As he tried to crane his neck back, a man strode past to ...
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