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Weekly Contest #369
Scalding water pelts my folded up body sitting crouched on the grimy floor of our walk-in shower that suddenly feels too big despite it being intended for one. For the last five years, the shower was for two, now I sit here alone feeling the slimy mildew slide against my bare ass as the lines of tile press their patterns into my stretched skin. While the engorged hemorrhoid no one warned me about claims most of my focus over my physical state these days, I do manage to notice that I am crying. Again. Always crying. Crying crying crying. Most...
Weekly Contest #360
TW: Mental health and child endangerment **Contains sensitive and insulting language** The storm was almost over. It had to be. Was I supposed to have counted the seconds between thunder cracks or lightning strikes? Or both? I couldn’t remember under the pressure of staying on the road. Other cars were pulled over under the bridges that bisected above the highway. Parked against the storm like assholes, refusing to get within half a car length of one another to make room for the rest of us stragglers, forcing us to keep going, to hope there ...
Weekly Contest #350
Virginia rubbed her gnarled fingers across the headstone that read: Bill William Williams IV1939-2002A father, husband, brother, son, and friend, beloved by all. A tear slid down her face. It traveled the time-weathered path of her deeply wrinkled cheeks from years of living, laughing, and loving as the inscribed sign above her entryway door courtesy of her daughter’s tasteful decorative pallet indicated. She didn’t know who TJ Maxx was, but she assumed he was a popular modern-day artist akin to the Jackson Pollock or Salvadore Dali of her t...
Weekly Contest #343
An Encryptor documents the multidimensional ending of a person’s death. The love, horror, sadness, grotesquery of any solitary moment. Once crafted, that single moment is dropped into an ethereal sea of millions of other moments, overlapped, forgotten, and dissolved until used again. These moments of death are the only thing left of a person’s existence. Nothing to recall who the person was or what the person did or did not do, but only the singular moment of a person’s death felt by those around them can be molded into their droplet. The E...
Weekly Contest #326
The best part of Ole Uncle Pip’s funeral stunts were watching the funerary staff grapple with the circus as we challenged every preconceived notion of what a true “Celebration of Life” could look like. Boys and girls, men and women, and every gender in between strode confidently in a face full of stage makeup to attend the seventh funeral of their longest and most beloved clown: Pipplio the Peculiar to those in the audience, but Ole Uncle Pip to us in the troupe. While no one in the troupe knew how old Pip was for there wasn’t a member amon...
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