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Weekly Contest #295
Two stout men sat in silence behind the ticket window at 83rd Station.The sun started to get low by then, and the cacophony of the bus station softened the jazzy song that the station radio croaked out.Ten minutes had gone by at the window without any visitors. The eleventh minute brought by a bony, sickly-looking traveller.“Where to?” The larger of the men asked, barely lifting his head to look at her.“Woodstown.” Mika kept her voice low, carefully unloading a hoard of coins into the window slot. The copper smell of the money had been sharp...
Weekly Contest #247
Rea hoped for the silence to be killed by chirping, or croaking, or any indication that there was another breathing being out there. But save for the sound of soil crunching under her feet, there was nothing. She could still see the entrance; she could just leave. She could sell her family a story about how enlightening her trip was, and how it changed her. Her dad would definitely buy it.***In a last-ditch effort to show her family that she was trying, Rea had booked a slot on an anger management retreat. The idea of a few days in a seclude...
Weekly Contest #242
Dawn creeps up on you. The sunlight whispers it's time to go home again. You leap off the gallery floor and back into your frame.Your frame is beautiful, custom carved from ebony to fit you, Perrault's final painting.You watch as visitors walk up and down the corridors, stopping to sip wine and mumble critiques in front of the canvases. You've always wondered why they mumble, why they speak in hushed voices instead of just screaming their thoughts. You know youwould if you were standing where they were.You listen to the exaggerated complimen...
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