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Weekly Contest #372
Hollow bird bones, gathered in cloth. That’s all she is. The other mothers spoke of magic, of newborn scrunches and tiny toes. Of a slow, warm bubble that swaddles mother and child alike, hazy and sweet as milk-breath. There is no bubble. The world is sharp, and she is soft, and I am all that’s between them. It’s not enough. A sliver of night peeks through the end of the curtain, whipped by branches of the silver birch outside. A shade darker than black, their movements frenzied by wind and rain. They steal my eyes from her. I shoul...
Weekly Contest #369
The stench seeped through the lace hanky, coating Henry’s breaths and tugging at his stomach. The eye-stinging scent of stale urine, putrid sourness of rotting vegetables and damp earthiness of rotten wood all rolled into one. The Eau de Toilette of the poor, if you like. Still, he balled as much of the fine needlework into his palm as he could, pressing it against his mouth so firmly that his teeth nearly pierced his lips. It may have been no match for the stench, but it was his last line of defence against the two helpings of breakfast tha...
Weekly Contest #366
Winter1989 It was an extraordinary night for appearing ordinary. The air was thick with the flurry of sleet that had tried to be snow; the sort that drips from roofs in great, cold splotches. The sort that permits thick winter coats—shapeless enough to render a frame indistinct—and woollen scarves pulled over mouths. It was that murky hour shared by drunken home-goers and night-shift commuters, and the station was littered with both. Finding my rhythm between their strides and stumbles, I slipped through to the platform. The...
Weekly Contest #364
His name spread like a disease. Spat out like a bad taste, it stained every cell from here to the Beast Wing. Even the perverts didn’t want him. Some gutters are so filthy even rats won’t shit in them. We weren’t meant to know, yet. But the screws weren’t daft. They dropped the bomb at roll-call; the world’s loudest tongue-slip. The whole wing was on trial. They were all failing. Lifers got first pick, usually. The only benefit to doing the all-day; you have nothing to lose. But every cell warrior on D Wing wanted a crack at him. The scous...
Weekly Contest #363
Russell sat at his kitchen table, plucking fingerfuls from a stale bloomer the neighbour must have left him. All around him the town lay waiting, silent save for the odd rumble of a straggler’s engine. He’d promised his sister he would at least consider joining them. He hadn’t. He’d known since the moment the watch was issued that he couldn’t. It was easier to ignore the texts than try to explain. She wouldn’t understand. As the day went on, watches had turned to warnings. Updates poured in, and people poured out. But Russell stayed. As du...
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