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Weekly Contest #340
Before Martin Freedman came across M. I. Divine’s Ultimate Guide for Life he lived in books. Starting from when he first learned to read, while other boys played in the streets, schoolyards, and parks of his leafy Brooklyn neighborhood, Martin lay on his bed in his room, absorbed by the words on the pages of his books. Even on hot summer days, when those boys ran wild on the sand and dove into the crashing surf at Coney Island, Martin hid out in his steamy room, too immersed in the stories he was reading to notice that he was bathed in sweat...
Weekly Contest #336
Myra had understood and accepted Arthur from the moment they met. Did she wish he was more mainstream and less constrained by rigid routines and an unusual worldview? Yes, but at that point in her life—after a heartbreaking number of disappointing love affairs—she decided that this strange but brilliant and kind man was not only her way out of a lonely, dreary existence, but the right one for her.A few weeks after Myra had invited Arthur to move in with her, she used just the right words (Arthur loved words) to convince him to let her brothe...
Weekly Contest #335
Tree LineBy Marco Manfre I stop rocking and lean forward each time I hear a vehicle rumbling along the pebbly road at the end of my land. When it passes and disappears from sight I sit back again. Then I look behind me; it’s still there, smooth and cold and black, leaning against a wall within an arm’s reach. I resume my vigil: I rock, soothed by the rhythmic screech of the chair runners on the porch, which is actually just a sagging wooden deck hanging on by old habit to the front of my house. The gut-wrenching thought returns again and a...
Weekly Contest #333
Bread Is All There Is By Marco Manfre (Contains some sexual content and references to alcohol consumption) Sullivan Moore reached the YMCA in midtown Manhattan a bit after midnight, only to find the door locked. He was chilled to the bone, exhausted, and annoyed with himself for having wasted a couple of hours at a bar near the Port Authority Bus Terminal drinking beer and munching on pretzels. He was also hungry; he was always hungry. He spotted, across the street, a flickering neon sign that read McGruff’s Hotel, a narrow building squeeze...
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