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Submitted to Contest #337
[Trigger Warning: Profanity] A film of fine, gunmetal-hued dust coated everything. It burrowed into his pores, broke apart along the chasm of wrinkles framing his mouth, and clung to his throat.It tasted, strangely, of bubblegum.The room was dim when his eyelids peeled apart, scattering sift from his eyelashes in an ashen cloud. It was always dim.The thin light of the far-away star spilled through his shade-less windows like weeping watercolor—desaturated and lifeless.“Morning,” he said aloud to the empty room; coughed. His voice was loud in...
Submitted to Contest #336
Eblana, 137. Faint music woke her in the early light of dawn—fog curling off the Liffey in gentle wisps. The water tugged at her small boat, like fabric snared on a thorn, pulling against the bank’s rocky shore.A lilting rhythm of plucked strings carried over the taffrail, drifting through the shallow curve of the boat and nestling in the space between the crates.Sleepily, she rubbed her face on the plush wool blanket she’d buried herself under.Somewhere up the muddy slope, a lamb bleated, joining the percussion of soft strings. It sounded l...
Submitted to Contest #334
Veric’s breath was hot on her ear, their hand shaking in Serril’s.“Don’t go in there,” Veric breathed, a plea. “It’s not safe. It’s—it’s dangerous, Serril, please.”Serril surveyed the tall pines, weighing the way they loomed above against Veric’s warning. Between the branches, lights bobbed. Small things, like the dancing flames of candles, casting a rose-orange glow over the needles and the soft dusting of snow. Eyeless, they regarded her from the treeline. Serril tried—uselessly—to discern the mood of the small balls of light.“It doesn’t s...
Submitted to Contest #333
[Trigger warnings: This story deals with grief after death, heavy alcohol use on page, and brief mention of suicide.] “You’re eating,” Scylla said slowly, his eyebrows raised in surprise at the small mortal swaying and humming tunelessly over a steaming pot.“No,” Echo drawled, holding up the bottle in her hands. “I’m drinking. And you’re standing in my doorway like a pest.”“And cooking,” he replied, pointing a finger at the small, uncontained fire she’d seemingly built so unceremoniously in the middle of the room.She didn’t respond, just con...
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