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Weekly Contest #361
Izzy Monroe would like you to know that she is an enchanted princess, and she intends to prove it by the end of the summer. She has all the gear—frilly princess dresses in every color of the rainbow, bedazzled tiaras, scepters with ribbons that jump in the air like spells being cast when she twirls them. Well, almost all the gear. She does not have glass slippers as her mother says she is too young for those. Rubbish. Izzy makes do with her white unicorn light up sneakers that flash red and blue every time she steps. She imagines that the li...
My grandparents’ brick home hugs the earth, low and flat like a lazy hound on a hot morning. The row of azaleas leading up the drive, slightly more unkempt than I remember, blooms in welcome. Papa’s blue pickup sits under the carport, in its usual place, but older and more rusted. In days gone by, he would be off in the fields somewhere on his John Deere when I arrived with my mom and sisters, and Grandma would be busy in the kitchen preparing a feast for a small army. Today I drive myself, and they sit in their armchairs in front of the te...
Weekly Contest #360
9:00 am June 27, 1864. Kennesaw Mountain, Georgia. 15 miles north of Atlanta. It has been two months since we left Chattanooga, Tennessee with General William T. Sherman heading for Atlanta, Georgia and the heart of the Confederacy. We are the Rock River Rifles, Company I of the 34th Illinois Infantry, a hardy bunch of volunteer Union soldiers. We are strong, independent men from rural Illinois, raised on farms and hard manual labor. Men of our word, faithful to God and country, it was our privilege and honor to answer President Lincoln’s ...
Weekly Contest #359
Every day I pace circles around this box, my muscles tightened knots bearing heavy, invisible weights. Twenty paces from one end to the other, I wear a tight, tidy circle on the floor with my daily rounds. The tap, tap, tap of my feet and the rush of my breath are the only noises in the place. Like a freshly caged tiger, I wonder why I am here; what I did wrong; where my companions are. As it is, this claustrophobic box is my home, and solitude is my only friend. The golden-brown wood floor creaks beneath my feet as I walk. I ha...
Weekly Contest #358
The rain falls angrily on our clay tiled roof, appropriate for the eve of pharmakopia. I see it as the tears of the gods condemning the barbarity of it all, but they see it as approval. We have not had rain in weeks. The farmland is filled with shriveled nobs of indistinguishable plant matter; the animals’ bones show through their hides as they lose the energy even to flick away the flies. This rain will be seen as a blessing, an encouragement to keep following tradition. Tomorrow, when I reach my fourteenth autumn, they will select me for t...
Weekly Contest #357
This story contains themes of mental health and intimate partner violence. Celia’s been spending more time at home lately. Don’t get me wrong; I love spending time with her. Having her home makes me so happy that I spin around in circles and my tail won’t stop wagging. She is by far my favorite human. But something’s been a little off with her recently, and I can’t quite put my nose on it. We’ve been together since I was a pup, and I don’t remember much about life before her. I just know that Celia makes everything better. Long walks i...
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