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Weekly Contest #97
TW: killing, suffocation A few nights ago—in a certain village in Cambridge, England—a movie about a father and a son going on a trip played in local television. My wife, Arianne, was with me the whole time. It was a good tearjerker. I wasn’t sure why I was moved but I was and it made me feel terribly sad. That same night, I remembered the penetrating grief I felt when I lost my only son. We never went on a trip together. We never even engaged in casual conversation since he never got the chance to learn how. He didn’t make it a year old. Ar...
Weekly Contest #85
“You used to be so nice!” she screams. I don’t agree with her. When have I ever been nice? “Please stop that and look at me,” she says in a normal voice. A sweet brown voice that you can taste and see. Like a bear or a lion. I keep plucking the strings on my guitar, pretending that I’m on tempo. Pretending that her sweet brown voice is a song that she sings for me. But her voice is not a song. Her voice is not a bear or a lion. Her voice is a lie. “W...
Weekly Contest #61
I hate the view from up here. I live in an eight-story apartment that seems to be rotting from the inside out. Thin white walls stand left unpainted. They’re so thin that I always hear the neighboring rooms’ businesses, namely loud music and rough sex. The smell of leftover take-outs from the Chinese fast food across the street fills in this haunted space. I don’t mind it; it feels like home. It’s much better than the smell of my last job’s cafeteria that smelled like old socks were being boiled constantly and turned into soup. I...
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