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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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