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Weekly Contest #347
A small rambler sits on a large plot of land in a tiny town far away from other people. On the mailbox at the very end of the dirt road leading to the rambler are two names, chipped and written in sloppy cursive: Cecilia and Maeve. Mother and daughter, respectfully. Cecilia is, to her core, a mother. She nurtures, protects, tends to. She’s been this way for as long as she can remember. Maeve is seventeen and on the precipice of her life. Homeschooled with ten other kids, she’s learned everything she can from them, the town, and her mother...
Weekly Contest #345
I closed the car door, my leather computer bag sitting on my lap. My feet, already uncomfortable in a pair of modest nude heels, were shoved to the side to avoid old wrappers and fast food bags that littered the floor of the car. I put my seatbelt on and wrapped my arms around my bag, not wanting to rest them on any other surface of my sister’s ancient Honda Accord. I’d already had to lay a clean towel down on the seat to save my navy pantsuit from a questionable stain. My sister fell into the driver’s seat, blowing a big pink bubble with h...
Weekly Contest #344
The end of the old woman’s life was very near. She could feel it. Her breathing came in slow, uneven waves. She heard the beeping of machines keeping her comfortable and the faint hum of voices outside the door. Flowers sat on a table across the room. They were beautiful but impersonal — a kindness from strangers given to a woman who had the misfortune of outliving everyone she loved. She closed her eyes and wondered. Could she do it? One last time? She was ready to die, but she wished for one last visit. One last memory. She had to try. Sl...
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