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Submitted to Contest #309
It was folded into quarters and tucked between pages of a Farmer’s Almanac from 1979. Miles spotted the thick, yellowed paper right away–soft at the edges, like it had spent years basking in the sun on a windowsill. He’d only found the book at all because he’d dropped his phone behind the couch. When he slid the old Chesterfield out to retrieve it, the Almanac fell to the floor, and the letter slipped out, like it wanted to be read. He turned it over in his hands, frowning. Of course he’d find something like this here. Everything in Mr. Haro...
Submitted to Contest #308
The east ridge always caught the sun first. Pale light kissed the crest of the mountain, gilding the sandstone archway that formed the temple entrance. Built into the mountainside beneath a precarious overhang, the grotto temple had long been a place for quiet reflection—until Urg made it more. Candles of beeswax and tallow lined the walls, set into steel holders forged from wreckage: weapons dulled by battles no one wanted to fight, farm tools broken by frost, iron hinges from burned homes. With the help of a local blacksmith, each holder h...
Submitted to Contest #307
Dedicated to all those who are still stuck in that cupboard under the stairs. 🌈✌ The quill was back. Same black feather with the same silver tip. Maura had never bought the quill, never borrowed it, and never asked it to return. She’d found it in the pocket of her robes the first day of classes, tucked away neatly beside a pocket watch her grandfather had given her. It was just a quill. No magical glow. No strange carvings. But it always came back. By now, she’d tried just about everything: giving it away, snapping it in half, tossing it in ...
Submitted to Contest #306
Introduction: You Want the Recipe Right Away. Too Bad. I know you came here for the recipe. You want me to skip the sob story and get to the part where I tell you how many cloves of garlic to use. Spoiler alert: zero. Because this recipe uses garlic powder. If that offends you, I suggest you click away and go cry into your imported truffle oil. I know you’re looking for my recipe for eggplant parm lasagna. You probably are expecting company or want to impress someone and have turned to the internet for help. Everyone loves lasagna. It’s com...
Submitted to Contest #305
[For Winnie. A sweet girl who we lost too early. Rest in peace, girlie. 🐈] “At the intersection, I could go right and head home — but turning left would take me…" "Well... I'm not sure," I thought to myself, scratching my head as the light's soft green hue flicked yellow and I applied the brake. I'd never noticed the street on the left before, and yet it felt oddly familiar. Quiet. Clean. Asphalt gave way to cobblestone seamlessly, as if by magic. I signalled right, gave one more look down the quaint-looking old street, and sighed. As my...
Submitted to Contest #304
(Preamble: This is the first creative writing I've done in...wow...years. I actually meant to submit this story to last week's contest, but ran out of time, somewhat ironically, as I was distracted with yard work. As our little porcelain fella works at night--possibly exclusively, though I did not feel it necessary to specify for certain--I felt it was appropriate to submit this story here. Hopefully I didn't leave in any glaring mistakes and someone out there enjoys reading it, maybe even has a few laughs. Grow gardens, not hate. ~ Mark) -...
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