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Weekly Contest #284
Reading Tea LeavesIn the hazy air of the patchwork tent Cerce sits – an occult spider, perched in the shadows, seeking. The lamplit glow gently illuminates her thick arched brows. Her furrowed forehead layered with the weight of years and all the promised pasts, her ancient lips pursed in a Cleopatrian half-grimace... The teacup sits, too, the special tea all drunk, damp dank leaves ignored, lying in a tiny tangled map at the bottom of the cup. ‘And now, we begin...’ Cerce an...
Weekly Contest #90
They Called Her 'Tilly' And the wind, always the wind, its whispered secrets forever shape the sheoak's nod and sway. Old Guyani sits cross-legged beneath the ancient tree, listening. At her feet is a cairn of limestone. The rocks, once gathered with care, now lie tumbled, lichen-flecked; a pile in disarray. Her dark eyes are closed against the harsh light. She breathes in deep the sea-tang that drifts in over the dunes, the sea waits. Faces fill her mind; they appear and dissolve as in a dreaming of long ago. Old bones creak, her head dr...
Weekly Contest #44
In a large, sunny parlour room of a stately retirement home there stands an ornate antique Grandfather clock. Its dulled ivory face reads 08:29. At its base sits a wooden crate filled with old toys. Atop the pile is sprawled a small tin man; a burnished bob-watch fills its chest. Several aged residents in the room sit in over-stuffed armchairs or propped up in wheelchairs. Some stare at a muted tele-screen splashing grotesque images against the wall, others out into space. Slanted shafts of early sunlight filter into the room. The residents ...
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