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Weekly Contest #343
Monica notices the space first.It was mall enough that no one else would measure it — the narrow gap between her hip and the plastic armrest of the reception chair. For years it pressed into her, left faint ridges on her thighs by noon. She used to tuck her cardigan beneath herself for padding. Now there is air. She slides her hand between her body and the chair and feels only cool emptiness. She keeps her face neutral, though she had that flicker of relief.A subtle scent of lemon cleaner mixes with the aroma of burnt coffee drifting out fro...
Weekly Contest #341
August 14, 2006Dear Claire,I’m writing this on the floor of my childhood bedroom because the bed is already gone. Mom says it makes the room look bigger. I think it just makes it look abandoned.Tomorrow I leave. You’ll still be here when I pass the water tower, when the road narrows, when the town exhales and lets me go. I keep wondering if I should feel guilty about that.Everyone keeps saying you’re going to do amazing things like it’s a promise instead of a hope. I wish you were here so we could roll our eyes together.Please don’t let this...
The bus drops me at the edge of town like it’s ashamed to be seen with me.Rain needles down from a low, colorless sky, the kind that never commits to a storm but never lets you dry either. The station sign—CEDAR RIDGE—hangs crooked on rusted chains. Someone has spray-painted a smiley face over the “R,” and now the town greets you with a grin that doesn’t reach its eyes.Ten years, I tell myself.Ten years should be enough to erase a place. I shake my head with a heavy, annoyed sigh before moving to the bus door.I step down into a puddle that s...
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