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Weekly Contest #377
The first time I heard someone announce my death, I thought somebody had left a television on. “Twenty-seven-year-old male. Traumatic brain injury. Death was instantaneous.” I wanted to answer. *My name is Daniel Varela. My mother's name is Teresa. Please, break the news to her gently. Nobody heard me. I was standing beside a mangled bicycle. A man lay on the asphalt wearing my shoes, my blue shirt, and the watch my father had given me when I graduated. I recognized the scar above his left eyebrow. That was when I realized the body was mine....
Weekly Contest #376
The monster had arranged six stones around a table. He needed no seat: he rested with his knees against his chest, filling the cave entrance. The stones were for his visitors. He'd never had one. The table was a slab from the river. He cleaned it with moss, brushed away spiders, and covered its edges with leaves to prevent injuries. In the center, he placed yellow flowers. He replaced the flowers when they wilted. He did this for seven springs. In Valdehonda, mothers closed the windows before telling how he swallowed men and had been b...
A work of fiction inspired by a personal experience The first time someone sat on my bed, I was annoyed that they sat so close to the edge. It was a twin bed. There was barely room for me, the pillow, and my habit of sleeping on my side. If someone was going to visit at that hour, the least they could do was find a chair. I thought all that before remembering I lived alone. The pressure was behind my back. The mattress had sunk slowly, first in one spot, then across a wider area. My body tilted toward the hollow, and I had to brace a kne...
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