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Submitted to Contest #65
Mr. Athan Williams was not a normal man. From the first moment that Cynthia Vale laid eyes upon him, something had ticked wrong. Normal men did not possess skin so bleached as dried bone, too thin to veil the delicate cobweb of veins pulsing just millimeters beneath; normal men’s limbs did not hang in such a state of peculiarity that they resembled a rag doll carelessly abandoned on the floor; normal men’s teeth were not sharp and did not flash blindingly bright in the sunlight. And it was for these reasons that Cynthia had spent her afterno...
Submitted to Contest #63
I can still easily recall the beginning of my first migration; the bitterness swarming the air, the dry crunch of dead leaves falling from their spindly branches, and the impending sense of urgency looming over all. The time had come for all of those whose wings had shed their soft nesting feathers to take flight across the vast ocean between us and our home of the freezing months, where the sun still was bright and the lands remained a lush green. In years prior, those born the same year as I and younger were carried on the backs of the a...
Submitted to Contest #62
Issoria had achieved a degree of numbness, despite the needle pushing in and out of the skin on her back; if she focused enough on the TV screen in front of her, the pain faded to an afterthought in the back of her mind. She turned her head to peer in the mirror at the tapestry of delicate black butterflies that swathed her skin, flowing and winding from her wrist up to her shoulder, then down her spine until they reached the last row of her ribs. “How do you like it?” asked the tattoo artist, glancing up from her work for a moment.Isso...
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