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Weekly Contest #42
1.It was only eight a.m and already the heat had plucked at my reserve, gathering damp patches at the small of my back and underarms. The thought tested me like the tropical heat. My reflection betrayed nothing in the pocket mirror, checking one last check before he arrived. It was my armour, my war paint.Mateo’s car pulled up across the street, and one of his men came out and opened it. He stood up, adjusted the peak of his cap and glanced around him before he strode over whilst his man shut the door and stood by the side of the car. Mateo...
Weekly Contest #43
Once we fed on other insects, waging glorious and terrible wars to sustain our way of life. We lived, fought and died in blind, blunt cycles of violent sustenance. Our ancestors wore mid-tibial spurs, able to gouge lethal wounds in the flesh of our enemies with a single swipe. Now, we have scopal hairs to gather pollen but still mutated by ancestral memories of perpetual war. We remember them even as we face extinction, fat and happy with pollen and nectar. Each queen fears they are the last. For those of us who serve, we do so with a d...
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