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Weekly Contest #354
Strange Fruit By Kailey Blount A tiny pot of water we can’t afford boils on the stove and steam puffs up in spits and sputters. I lean into the mist, face hovering just above the heat, and breathe in. The wet warmth snakes down my throat and into my chest, where it does its best to unclog the dust and dirt built up after days of swallowing the ash on Trash Hill. “Your turn,” I say to Beth and lift her by her armpits. “This is gross.” She groans, sandwiched between my chest and the chipped kitchen countertop. “Would you rather get bronchi...
Weekly Contest #270
The chicken nuggets simmer beneath the microwave light. I watch as candle wax drips onto the countertop in a mind-numbing descent, illuminating the kitchen in shadows. Beth perches on the head of Dad’s recliner, rocking back and forth til the sun sets and all she can see is her own reflection staring back at her. The microwave beeps slicing through the news anchor on the TV. “Dinner!” I call. “Turn of the tv...
Shortlisted for Contest #235 ⭐️
The cheapest urn cost a hundred dollars, so the mortician packs the ashes in a plastic bag and staples his business card to the front. Hold your loved ones close, it reads in blotched black ink. “In case you change your mind. My number’s on the back.” He dropped his yellow-toothed salesman smile a while ago. Right after he realized I couldn’t afford any of the empty metallic boxes standing on the shelf behind him like gentrified government buildings on a new Freedom City side street. He shoves the bag across the warped countertop tow...
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