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Weekly Contest #342
I have this recurring dream where I get a phone call that tells me I’m going to die that day, and the rest of the dream is me trying, and failing, to get to someone I love. The person I’m trying to reach changes. Sometimes it’s my sister, sometimes my mom, sometimes a friend. Sometimes it’s someone I haven’t spoken to in years. The only consistency is that I never make it in time. Death finds me before I find them, and I wake with a frantic ache in my chest that doesn’t ease even when I reassure myself that I (probably) won’t die that day.I ...
Weekly Contest #307
YEAR ONE I don’t remember my first day, but I remember my third. A woman walked into my classroom with her hair pulled back, the ponytail so tight that it stretched her skin like her face was a mask that needed to be held in place. She gave me a tense smile and strode over with military precision. I didn’t know what her job was, but I thought she would fit in among a firing squad.“Ms. Glandis. I’m Diane Cloth, Blake’s mom,” the woman said, extending a hand.I swiveled in my chair and stood to greet her. I gave her a reassuring smile that I ho...
Weekly Contest #305
I was dead for three minutes and twenty-three seconds. It was a pretty bad car crash, and my heart gave out. It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but the president’s daughter was in the other car. The press blamed her in a political move, and the crash reached national headlines. And since I had technically died, I became a living martyr. I was invited on dozens of podcasts and talk shows. I declined the first ten. The price increased. I said yes. Most of the interviewers were in search of a juicy dig at the president’s daughter. They wanted ...
Weekly Contest #303
If there’s one thing that humans don’t understand about Earth, it’s that it’s extremely delicate. Every day, God stood above his creation and did his best to hold everything together. Miniscule, effervescent strings connected the actions on the planet to his consciousness, forming a very complicated marionette that the slightest ripple might disturb. Unfortunately for him, humans were constantly creating more than just a ripple, with their inexplicable tendency to pour carbon dioxide into the air, dump trash into the ocean, and start another...
Weekly Contest #302
He claimed he was a genie, though he looked nothing like the blue men of magic with which she was familiar. He had tan skin and dark eyes, with a thick head of gray hair that matched his long beard. There was nothing that indicated he might be something more, other than a wisdom that hid in the wrinkles that framed his eyes and a knowing quirk of his lips. But he appeared from a lamp after a brush of her fingers, and she didn’t know what else to believe. He told her that unlike genies she might have heard of, he was not enslaved. He exi...
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