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Weekly Contest #301
“Can’t you just drop me off at home first?” I whined. “No sugar, I’m already late for the appointment. You’ll have to come with me.” I rolled my eyes. At least I’d loaded The Lord of the Rings on my tablet before school let out and would have something to read while we waited for the stupid oil change to be over. “Why don’t we just buy an electric car? You drive an hour every day to work. That is so much carbon—it’s gross.” “This car is paid for, and anyway, I heard buying any new car creates more emissions than just keeping what you alread...
Weekly Contest #300
The fluorescent lights don’t bother me like they used to, as I wait for Dr. Berg. In the past decade, as they’ve done in so many doctors’ offices, biophilic elements have been added, cheering up the otherwise gray, sterile room. Photos of blooming flowers. Peaceful pastures. Ocean waves, forever half-cresting onto a pebbled shore. Impatiently, I check my phone again. He’s still chronically late, it seems. I tried making a morning appointment, but he was booked for the next four months, and his nurse stressed how urgent this follow-up was, no...
Weekly Contest #285
The Descent “I think it’s a real bad idea, Karl.” “I don’t disagree…” “But?” “If I don’t do it, someone else will.” “Well, let them stain their hands.” The line is quiet for a moment, and I feel the miles between us, as I twiddle the cord, wrapping the coiled harvest-yellow plastic around my finger. I wish my brother was at home, instead of in DC, some two thousand miles away. “Karl?” I ask. I didn’t hear him hang up, but the silence had gone on long enough to check to see if he was still on the line. “Sorry, Bud. I’m still here. My...
Weekly Contest #284
Hoarfrost crystalised the valley. Early this morning, as the front rolled through, I shivered under my heavy electric blanket, the howling wind shrill as a lonely coyote. The sudden drop in temperature froze the rising fog, and now, white ice clings in puffy clumps to naked gnarled oak branches, giving an illusion of softness to the ridge. It’s impossible not to admire. Even as it solidifies I will spend Christmas alone. Just me and the ghosts. Part of me wanted this. The dark parts. The cynical demon who made pie crusts, gravy, and m...
Weekly Contest #277
Wick in the Rot The burn on my wrist isn’t bleeding anymore, but it still secretes a watery, golden fluid, the color of honeysuckle nectar. The color of sunlight on a winter morning. The color of codeine cough syrup before the most exquisite sleep. No stench. That’s a good sign. I redress the wound, carefully keeping the bandage beneath my gray sweater cuff. I don’t want questions or pity. There’s no story to tell, anyway. I glance at the clock on the nightstand. I have 20 minutes before bus N8 arrives. Just enough time for a coffee ...
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