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Weekly Contest #368
The rain had been falling for nearly three hours when Sister Agnes heard the crying. At first, she thought it was one of the younger children. The orphanage was never completely quiet at night. There were always small disturbances, the rustle of blankets, a frightened child calling for a nun after waking from a nightmare, the occasional quarrel over a stolen pillow. Old wooden doors groaned in their frames, ceiling fans clicked unevenly, and whenever the monsoon arrived, rain hammered the tiled roof so fiercely that ordinary sounds disappear...
Weekly Contest #355
The message arrived just after dinner. "She’s in critical condition. It’s only a matter of hours now." It sat there in the family group chat beneath old forwarded prayers and blurry photographs of someone’s grandson graduating. Nobody replied for several minutes. The blank space under the message began to feel embarrassing. I stared at the screen longer than necessary, waiting for grief to arrive properly. It didn’t. I pitied the old woman, that was different from sorrow. By the time I reached the house, her house stood at the edge of the lo...
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