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Weekly Contest #349
They cranked open the bunker door and climbed the stone staircase. He slowed near the top out of habit, but there was no wooden trapdoor to nearly break open his skull anymore, just ashes scattered on the steps. They blinked at the dawn light slowly creeping through the shattered windows on the east side. The west wall was completely gone. She sighed; that was where the fireplace used to crackle every night in the fall and winter.It was a wonder the east wall survived at all, but there it was. His fingertips grazed the brick, and he couldn’t...
Weekly Contest #346
I imagined the walk would take one day—thirty-six hours at most—so the backpack I swung onto my shoulder as I lurched off the bus lay almost flat against my back.“You sure you’ve brought enough?” the bus driver called out when I stepped onto the curb.I turned around and gave her a small smile. “It won’t be long.”She shook her head, but said nothing more. The doors snapped shut, the bus rumbled forward, and then I was alone.Utterly, truly, completely alone. Nothing new.I blinked into the rising sun, then took a breath and studied my surroundi...
Weekly Contest #339
They don’t tell you that you follow the body. Mama had me cremated and then gave little bits of me away. Where my ashes went, I went. She kept me in an urn perched atop the fireplace mantel. Papa tossed me up and down our favorite forest trail, which was nice; I was worried I’d never get to walk that again. (I can’t go more than a few feet from the ashes, you see.) Bud, my best pal, took me up our mountain and threw me into the wind. Lila, my girl, scattered me into the stream where I had asked her to marry me. Some of me settled into the mu...
It was an event, the way Aunt Marjorie made tea. A production, a show. My front-row seat was the rickety bar stool at the kitchen counter.She would swing open the cabinet door, the one with the spotless glass panes and the hinges that never stopped creaking despite the oil she rubbed on it weekly. The dozens of cups inside would shrink back as she selected her star, the same one every time: the glittering “World’s Best Aunt” mug I had gifted to her the first Christmas she’d taken me in. Aunt Marjorie would hold up the cup, wink once, and say...
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