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Weekly Contest #353
The Gods Who Listen at the Seams Analise kept a whiteboard in her apartment that she'd filled and erased so many times the surface had gone permanently grey.Her cacti were dying. Three of them on the windowsill, each one worse than the last, and she kept meaning to throw them out and kept not doing it. She told herself it was because she was busy.Really, it was because she would miss them.That, more than anything, felt like a useful piece of information about herself.She was thirty-one, originally from L'Anse, Michigan in the Upper Peninsula...
Weekly Contest #342
Emmy GirlThe house was still.Richard stood in the kitchen; his fingers wrapped around a coffee mug that had long gone cold. Through the window above the sink, morning light filtered through the lace curtains—the ones Dorothy had hung forty years ago, insisting they made the room feel like a proper home. He had argued they were too fussy, but she insisted. Not because she was stubborn, but because she was usually right, and because making her happy had always been his greatest joy.The mug trembled slightly in his hands. It was her favorite, t...
Weekly Contest #337
# The Last Day 47. Or maybe 48. The chronometer stopped working three days after the crash, and I've been counting sleeps ever since. But sleep comes irregularly here on Kepler-442b's moon—what I've started calling Desolation in my head, though Command designated it K442b-α in their sterile catalog of celestial bodies. The wreckage of the *Magellan* spreads across the ice plain behind me like a child's broken toy. From my vantage point atop this ridge of frozen ammonia, I can see the entry burn scored across ten kilometers of pristine wh...
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