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Weekly Contest #280
Content warning: Themes of terminal illness, loss, and emotional distress.The slick, white walls smelled of bleach, and the seats were patterned to disguise patchy stains. I couldn’t tell if it was coffee spilled from the hands of weary friends or bits of drool escaped from tired relatives’ lips.I sat down beside Mum and Dad. Dad wore his grey suit and tie. Important situations called for formal attire, and this certainly fell into that category. He shifted his tie nervously as if McMarkus Electric Co had finally called on him to deliver the...
Weekly Contest #238
The steps were chipped. Just like her. Jules swung her crutches up the stairs, two steps at a time. Her father’s lips twitched upwards like a rubber band that had lost it’s spring. There hadn’t been a lot to smile about lately. Jules hadn’t said a word to anyone. His little girl, whose colt like legs had skipped in rhythm to the rope he’d bought her not too long ago. Singing rhymes with words he’d never heard. Cap on backwards. Ponytail swishing. When had she stopped singing? He longed to hear the thud, thud of rubber sneakers on asphalt aga...
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