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Weekly Contest #158
Morality is a tricky thing. No one ever tells you exactly what’s right or wrong. There’s no bullet-point list outlining the consequences of each action you take. Let alone a bullet-point list explaining how your actions might affect others.I reread the same sentence for the fifth time. “The key is listening.” Rather prejudice against deaf, aren’t they? The bookstore is quiet. A soft glow illuminates the dust floating near me. It casts an ethereal light on the shelves of untouched spines. People whisper around me and the smell of bo...
Weekly Contest #88
Author’s note:This story takes place in a world where humans are not social creatures. It’s a world parallel to our own but where no one has a last name. There are no family connections, only duties, and needs to be met. Parents are not proud of their children’s accomplishments, nor embarrassed by their failures. People live together, yet only interact when need arises. CompanionshipWhite chalk skids against the black board as Teacher Anne multiplies seven and fourteen. Twenty-six students, dressed in gray, take notes on plastic desks.“...
Weekly Contest #84
I wake to a wall of darkness. Waving my hand in front of my eyes, I test the void. Nothing. My shallow breathing is the only sound in the space. Unsure if the room spans a meter, or a kilometer, I call out.“Hello?”My voice dangles briefly before being swallowed by silence. Palpable silence—the kind that floods into other senses.My heartbeat quickens and lungs tense as shallow breath becomes sharp. “Where am I?” I cry, attempting to fill the vacuum with something. Anything.“Oh, you’re awake?” The voice is sweet and young. “Sorry, I didn’...
Weekly Contest #83
Eilon let out a sharp breath as a wave crashed over the front of his board. He spat out the briny water that flooded his open mouth and shook the wet from his eyes. I need to stop drinking so much of the ocean. His shoulders ached and his eyes burned from the constant surge of salt but he plunged his right hand into the cold and propelled himself forward. The ocean was frothing. The undulating currents seemed inexorable as he waded through. Though small from the coast, on their surface, they felt enormous. Each crest was a mou...
Shortlisted for Contest #82 ⭐️
“Piece of junk!” I cry, as the smell of burning bread fills the room. I hear the sizzling satisfaction from the toaster, mocking me. I just put it in a second ago. Sure enough, when I press the eject button, two charred pieces of bread pop out with an indignant “Humph.”“What did I ever do to you?” I protest, laying the blackened bread on the growing pile of burnt toast in the bin. The toaster stares back at me, quiet, calculating. “Dude stop burning bread,” Peter grumbles, sliding into the room with a yawn. He’s wearing the sa...
Weekly Contest #78
May 15, 1845 Perfect proportions, down to the last hair. Paul makes a broad stroke with his brush, hardly looking at the canvas. Even the ruffles on the shirt, the half-eaten apple on the table. It was all there. Perfect. A still capture. Another stroke and the body takes form. The couch rustles as his subject shifts slightly. Paul grimaces. “Please try your best to remain still,” he mutters, a faux sweetness in his voice. And it was done with no effort! He leans across the canvas to get a better look at his subject, trying to push th...
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