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Submitted to Contest #318
Daisy stumbles to the door, rubbing her eyes as she approaches so she can better see through the peephole. She’d fallen asleep on the couch again, the Chinese takeout box and melted Ben & Jerry’s ice cream pint on the coffee table giving away her sorry and depressed state. What time even is it? It’s still dark out—she knows that. Before she aligns her eye to the spy hole, she checks her Apple Watch. Dead. So, no clue of the actual hour. Whatever. She’s not going to answer the door. Whoever is out there is probably drunk and trying to fig...
Submitted to Contest #317
The prickly remnants of my Boulder Canyon Sea Salt and Cracked Pepper chips cascade onto my hoodie as I grab for the remote and crank up the TV volume. “…that Cathy Miller has more than made her peace with. She calls herself the ‘Deading Planner’—a title she describes as being a modern twist on our long-held cultural ideas about death and the undertaker. Her morgue isn’t for the faint of heart; it’s for those who want to go out with a real bang. “We met with Cathy at her place of business to talk with her about the way our outlook on life an...
Submitted to Contest #314
“Just a minute!” Cathy hollered, tossing a questionable-looking apple into the gaping zippered mouth of her Kool Aid-purple lunchbag. She knew Andrew couldn’t hear her from his car on the street, but she always yelled anyway. Some instinctual habit, she figured. She grabbed an ice pack from the freezer, then yanked open the fridge door and groped for a Slim Fast. Andrew’s horn honked again as she dumped the contents from her hands into the lunchbag and half-closed the zip. Looping her arm through the strap, she hit the lights and headed to ...
Submitted to Contest #285
Dear Linda,Listen, I’ve been nominated as the voice of reason in our little pair, and I need you to hear me out. Just listen for a minute. (Yes, I’ve stooped to commiserating with your now off-white cordless phone because we used to go hand-in-hand. (Well, more so The Phone, not so much me as I’ve never been a handheld device.)) This is not how I wanted to approach this message, but here we are. The Phone and I—we feel like you just don’t care about us anymore. You still technically have a landline, thanks to your internet package, but ...
Submitted to Contest #218
It smells like wet pretzels and old piss. That’s a new combination. “Okay, Mr. Dzhambazov, don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. We’ll get this jacket lookin’ like it did the day you snagged it off the rack at Gimbels,” I say. Thank gawd he’s hard of hearin’ – I don’t think anyone is buyin’ my faked enthusiasm these days. “This is a verrrry special jacket, Irene. It abso-lutely must come back to me in mint condition. Mint. Con-di-shon. You unde’stand?” He taps his right index and middle fingers to the palm of his left with such vigor I worr...
Submitted to Contest #200
“I’d have to say… All of the Chrises – Pine, Hemsworth, Evans, Pratt – and Seth Meyers.” “Seth Meyers? Are you kidding me?” I hush-howled at her. “Are we actually doing this, like, as an exercise? And SETH MEYERS?!” “Ogh mah goh, yuz!” Megan sputtered, barely holding in her java chips. “He’s hot! And hilarious! They all are. I told you mine. Now you tell me yours! Who,” she asked, pausing momentarily to lick the whipped cream from her green plastic straw, “would be on your list? Like, no embarrassment, don’t hold back. Who would you p...
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