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Submitted to Contest #256
Ah will never ferget the Olympics in Paris, ‘24. The throb o’ th’ crowds, th’ music of’a million voices, th’ magnificent Arc de Triomphe. Th’ bloody heat that somehow didn’a matter as we ‘eld our collective breath in moments o’ solidarity. Or ‘atred, if’ya like. No matter, really. We were together, ‘ate or love, around that stadium, under those flags, grains o’ sand washed over the ocean o’ gran’stands.We were in th’ ‘stands – Ah say, “we”, even though Ah crossed th’ Channel alone, because Ah’m tryin’ to tell ya, y’aren’t alone at th’ Games....
Submitted to Contest #252
“Life would be simpler if people behaved the way they do in books,” I lament, hiding behind my hands. This afternoon’s “meet up” turned out to be a “meet not”, and rejection letter #2 for the week greeted me when I returned home. I peel back one finger and rail at the sunny kitchen window. “The weather could be more sympathetic, too. Instead of gouging my eyes, the sky today could gush in one interminable sob.” My aunt walks over and drops my messenger bag onto my foot. “Be careful what you wish for, Ruby,” she parries tartly. “Someone might...
Submitted to Contest #251
“Raymond Hayes, I realize the chariot race is enthralling, but kindly postpone Ben Hur until we have given due course to Hamlet.” Mr. Stevens stood by the high schooler's desk. Ray sighed and tucked the errant book away. Would it matter if he countered that he’d already read Hamlet three times? That he didn’t think Ophelia really went mad, or died? That her story, her grief and eventually, her restoration, was more significant than anyone claimed, because her story showed the undying power of love? Mr. Stevens droned on, already back at the ...
Submitted to Contest #249
Fay pedaled earnestly under a canopy of still-green trees. Summer beckoned from the laughing leaves, but the nineteen-year-old didn't hear. She was chasing a memory, but no matter how her legs burned, it always eluded her. Like a shadow slipping around a corner. When she finally tucked her bicycle into the shed, Fay was spent. The dream had returned, last night. Fay pressed her forehead. In the dream there was a woman, a woman she felt she should know. Fay was there, but she was much shorter, tilting upward to the woman. There was something ...
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