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Weekly Contest #374
"Don't brew anything. You have enough potions to keep this business running for two months. By then I should be back." Alder had heard that two and a half months ago. Now the shelves across the room were empty. The last potion had sold that morning. Quite inconsiderately, the war had failed to end that afternoon. No bells rang from the watchtower. No soldiers marched home through the western gate. The notice board outside still displayed the same royal proclamation in obnoxious gold lettering: ALL WITCHES OF THIRD CIRCLE CLASSIFICATION AND A...
Weekly Contest #364
Note: Obviously death will happen, but not graphic. Thank you. Enjoy. “Good reflexes,” Vanessa Cross said. She smiled at the pen between my fingers, caught two inches above the carpet. Her pale gloves made a soft whisper as she turned another page of the contract. Thomas Vale grinned at me from across the boardroom table. “Another company asset saved from disaster.” “It’s a pen, Thomas.” “And without it, none of today’s decisions would come into being.” It was black, plastic, and worth less than the coffee cooling beside my elbow. Thomas ac...
Weekly Contest #363
“Were you guys photographing fairies today?” Mira looked up from the timetable. Rain had darkened the shoulders of her jacket and curled several strands of hair against her cheeks. Something silver caught beneath the shelter’s fluorescent light. “Huh? No. My teacher would never come up with such a fantastic idea for a workshop.” “Then why do you have glitter in your hair?” “I do?” Mira dragged her fingers through it. They came away damp and sparkling. “Oh, right. I thought the stickers needed more shine, so I added glitter during lunc...
Weekly Contest #346
The room was so white it seemed to glow. So white it felt unfinished. It had no windows. Curiously enough, no lamps either. Mae was fairly sure foreign intelligence got locked up in such places. At the far end of the room—or what seemed like the far end, though distance was doing something funny here—there was a counter. Behind it, a clerk. They appeared to be in their late twenties, though one might be deceived by the lack of shadows on their face. Everything here was evenly lit, impossibly so. A photographer’s dream. A migraine’s too. M...
Shortlisted for Weekly Contest #344 ⭐️
CW: References to murder. To our patrons: If the morning suits you, early callers now can pause awhile and read what follows in this week’s paper: several free currant buns and tarts; our assistants there wait inside the shop for such patrons as you, if they arrive at the door by 7am, just beside old Abbey, upon the main Road, at premises number 8. Attention young readers! Are penny picture papers you find at stalls hard on growing minds? Of that many schoolmasters, thinking soberly, now complain. This week an editorial is urging parents’ ...
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