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Weekly Contest #352
And Still He woke to the particular silence of a room where someone used to be. The curtain moved once in the open window. He got up.The mors was on the counter in a glass pitcher, the color of dark cherries, beads of water already forming on its sides. He poured a glass and carried it toward the light.She was already at the railing when he opened the balcony door. She wore the robe he had seen over the chair the night before, the sash tied once and low. Her hands rested on the iron and she was looking out at something he couldn't yet see fr...
Weekly Contest #348
The photograph is bad. Grainy, taken at an angle, the colors flattened by whatever light they could get down there. You can make out a bison on its side, entrails suggested more than drawn. Beside it a figure — human, or meant to be — horizontal, arms stiff, a bird's head where a face should be. To the left, a stick with a bird perched on top of it. The bird is not doing anything.He is the only man painted in the cave. He is also the worst drawing in the entire cave.Nothing else like it appears anywhere.It was painted at the bottom of a shaf...
Weekly Contest #346
The embankment shouldn't have been there.Aleksei had worked this corridor twice before, checking survey markers for the pipeline company, and he knew the ground. Swamp to the north. Larch forest to the south. A service road that became a suggestion and then became nothing. He had turned the truck around at the same place both times, where the ruts filled with black water and the birch thinned to scrub.But the ground had changed. Or he had misread it. Either way, the embankment was there — a raised causeway of packed earth and gravel running ...
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