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Weekly Contest #340
The lights were blinding. The noise was deafening. The crowd was all out of their seats, yelling and cheering, their hands in the air. Jett Jones stood before it all, sweat rolling down his forehead, sticking his cut open shirt to his chest. His ring wrapped fingers clutched the microphone in front of him and the whole crowd heard him take a breath, a slow inhale that had all of them tense in anticipation. He waited one beat, two, and then he bent at the waist just as the music crashed over the stadium, a scream tearing from his lips that sc...
Weekly Contest #332
The night we heard the news, it was raining. Not outside. Outside it was dark and quiet, everyone asleep in their homes or watching TV or maybe doing some late-night reading. It was raining down my mother’s face: pouring from glassy eyes squeezed shut and rimmed red, streaking down slightly wrinkled cheeks clutched desperately in her shaking hands. I wasn’t supposed to see, so I stayed hidden. My parents didn’t cry in front of me, not if they could help it. I always wanted to tell them that I didn’t mind, that it was worse not to see them cr...
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