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Weekly Contest #162
(TW: not suitable for vegetarians)I've picked out the perfect victim from tonight's customers. Even from where I'm lurking in the shadows, I can smell he's my type. He is simultaneously muscular and gangly, gripping the menu between fleshed-out fingers. I don't know how he can read it, with that great mass of hair falling over his eyes. I watch him from the shadows as he flips it over and promptly flips it back. Everyone does this. Sorry for our lacklustre menu, but we only serve steak.He lifts his head and scans the restaurant, his pie...
Weekly Contest #161
Sometimes I punch holes in the walls. Or rather, in the wall - singular. One wall curves around in a perfect circle, with no beginning or end. The eternal nature of it is reminiscent of my own life. It's cathartic to rip into the wall with my fist, causing damage to both. The surface is plaster and paint, but if you force your hand through all the sponge and insulation, your fist grates against the hard brick beyond. Mother says I am delicate, but she would say that because she never sees me punching walls. She looks at my apron smeared...
Weekly Contest #144
If only I could look up at the sky and pinch the sun between my thumb and index finger. Then I could twist it anti-clockwise and dial down the brightness. I could drag it across the sky and banish it behind a cloud. Capturing the right picture in this light was no easy feat. I had to cushion my phone in the sand and set a timer. Then rush into position. Grandma hollered over to me that I looked foolish dashing back and forth, but I was hardly going to entrust her with engineering flattering angles. Now, I have countless photos, but I am stil...
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