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Weekly Contest #349
Dodge City, Kansas – Autumn 1934 “How bad is it?” James Whitmore asked, though he already knew. “Three thousand, two hundred dollars,” Thomas Brennan said with a steady voice. He’d practiced it. “Plus the accrued interest. We received your last payment over a year ago.” James was a big man, the kind built for work, his strong forearms darkened by the sun. He wore his best shirt. The blue one. The one he always wore to church. Three years ago, on a Sunday, Thomas had unbuttoned it in the dark of the storage shed behind the church, knowing...
Weekly Contest #348
The day they took Rosa Ortiz, I was thinking about my grocery list. Rosa had just relieved me at the nurses' station. She was laughing at something – a joke from one of the aides, I think – and I remember thinking how rare that sound had been in recent weeks; how the hospital had grown quieter. More of us were being cut early as fewer patients sought medical care, and as a result our earnings and benefits were being slashed. But I still needed to stop for groceries on my way home, because eating is a basic necessity. I was standing at the t...
The smell of stale beer and chewing tobacco was violently replaced by crushed jasmine, baked stone, and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Elias gasped, his lungs filling with an impossibly dry, hot air. He wasn't on the sticky floor of The Rusty Spoke anymore. He was on a cool, tiled mosaic. He pushed himself up, his head throbbing with a rhythm that matched a distant, rhythmic clatter. Was it hoofbeats? No, it was hammers. He blinked, his vision swimming. Above him, a sky of deep, impossible indigo was pricked with stars that looke...
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