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Weekly Contest #379
The mountain had been keeping its dead for a very long time. The Dolomites rose above the excavation site in enormous, pale formations, their limestone faces catching the afternoon light in shades of rose and gold. The surrounding forest was dark with pine, the ground uneven beneath a thick covering of needles and damp soil. By the time the afternoon clouds began gathering over the peaks, the excavation team had been working for nearly six hours, and everyone was becoming increasingly unpleasant about it. "You're standing in my light." Jiaa ...
Weekly Contest #378
*TW: Claustrophobia* The first thing I taste is a worm. Its thin, slick body writhes between my teeth. When I jerk my head away, the earth above me grinds against my cheek hard enough to tear skin. I choke. The small body wriggles, searching for a way out as it catches at the back of my throat, and I gag so violently that my forehead knocks against the ceiling. Something crumbles into my hair. I spit, and it burrows its way deeper into the dirt below me. Brown saliva strings between my lips, leaving behind remnants of the bitter, metallic t...
Weekly Contest #375
The first thing Renee saw when she came home was the glass. It glittered across the hardwood in tiny, wet-looking pieces, though nothing in the house was wet. She stood just inside the front door with her hospital bag hanging from one hand and stared down at the fragments scattered beneath the umbrella stand. There had been a photograph there once. She knew that because the frame was still leaning crookedly against the wall, its glass punched inward as though someone had struck it from the front. The photograph itself was gone. Only a strip ...
Weekly Contest #374
My mother was buried on a Thursday, and on Friday morning the first flower appeared. I noticed it while standing at the kitchen window with a cup of coffee between my hands. In the thin uncertain light of morning, the grass was wet with dew and silvered at the tips, and the woods beyond it stood black and close, as though they had spent the night leaning nearer. They were not flowers I had planted. They were not flowers my mother had planted, either. They were standing beneath my mother's bedroom window. White. Delicate enough that the wind ...
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