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Weekly Contest #124
My name is Doctor Edgar B. Shallows, Jr. and I work in the ER at Cornwall Medical Center. We're down in what's called the Combat Zone, where hookers and drug dealers prowl the streets, suburban guys sneak into the peep shows and sex shops, and guns are as plentiful as cotton candy. You can practically set your watch by the police sirens. Our hospital specializes in major trauma cases. We're trained to spring into action with our lifesaving drugs, clamps and defibrillators, yards and yards of thread and bandages, and IV lines that can barre...
Weekly Contest #123
“‘Tis true my form is something odd But blaming me is blaming God… Could I create myself anew I would not fail in pleasing you. If I could reach from pole to pole Or grasp the…” One steamy summer day in Boston, Jared Mann stared into the mirror and practiced a poem for his audition. He managed to sail through the first stanza, but for some reason, blanked out halfway through the second. “Damn!” He closed his eyes and tried again. If I could reach from pole to pole Or grasp the ocean with my span…” Good! He was home free. “I would...
On a blustery day in December of 1888, Joseph Merrick, better known as “The Elephant Man,” sat reading beside the fire in his cozy room in the London Hospital. Unlike regular patients who were admitted, treated and released to home or death, Joseph was a permanent resident. His extreme disfigurement frightened people so much he had to wear a mask when he ventured into public. One of his managers in the circus had made it for him.His custom-designed mask consisted of an enormous yachting cap, large enough to fit his head that measured a ...
Weekly Contest #121
A package has arrived in the post from Vienna today. That's not unusual. What is unusual is the way my mother, Antonie, thrusts it at me impatiently and says in a trembling voice, "It's for you, Maxie—hurry and open it.""Another art book? Mother, we still have plenty from Grandfather's house!"She winces as she always does when reminded of Grandfather Birkenstock, who had been a renowned art dealer and had a vast and valuable collection in his mansion in Vienna. After his death twelve years ago, it had fallen to Mother, as his...
Weekly Contest #120
(Scenes of bombing, injuries, death) Next to the cyclone fence, chrysanthemums were in bloom. Mariko Abe stooped stiffly to pull out a few weeds around them. A plane passed high above her and she straightened up, her heart pounding. Then she gave herself a shake. “Stop this nonsense. It's been fifty years. Are you going to jump like a rabbit every time a plane goes by?” She heard the phone ringing inside the house, and plodded across the grass, out of breath and wheezing. Fortunately, she made it in time. “Hello?” Mitzi’s cheerful voice...
Weekly Contest #119
Jack Colby leaned back in his battered recliner and closed his eyes. How long had it been since he’d slept in his own bed? He’d gotten used to the recliner at Amelia’s bedside in the Hospice Unit at the Memorial, and found he liked it. Truth was, he dreaded going back to the bed they’d shared at home for forty-one years. He couldn’t imagine a night without her gentle breathing and comfortable curves next to him, always warming to his kisses. All through the funeral and for weeks after, he hadn’t shed a tear. Friends were amazed, but ...
Weekly Contest #113
Every day I seethe with throbbing heat. I can hardly breathe the stifling air that invades my lungs and fuels the desire that burns through my body day and night. The mere sight of his strong form makes my heart clench like a fistful of anger and frustration. His dark, gentle eyes serve my needs but never quite meet mine and his smile is correct and deferential, never shapes to fill the hollows of my hunger. What more can I expect from a Hebrew slave?This Yusuf is no ordinary slave like the dull-eyed minions who toil in the fields or sh...
Weekly Contest #112
"Praise God from whom all blessings flow Praise Him all creatures here below...” The well-worn tune went round and round in her head as Joanna Fan peered through the wet windshield, the wipers slapping an irritating rhythm that didn't quite fit the music. Rippling sheets of water on the glass made the road nearly invisible as she crept along at barely ten miles per hour. “Praise Him above ye Heavenly Hosts... Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.” The day had started out warm and clear, but towards lunchtime, thick gray clouds b...
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