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Weekly Contest #353
SABLEWIND’S FORESTI am Sablewind, and I have no need for clocks or names, yet the wind gave me one anyway-whispered through my fur the night I first opened my eyes beneath the black pines. The forest is older than thought. Older than the rivers that braid its roots. Older than the stone that sleeps beneath moss and memory. I know this because I have walked it since I could run, and it has never once felt new. It only feels alive. I am not its ruler. I am its breath that moves on four legs. Tonight, the air tastes wrong. Metal. Smoke that doe...
Weekly Contest #352
THE BLUE OCEANChapter One: The Color of Secrets Far beyond shipping lanes and the reach of ordinary maps, there existed a place sailors spoke of only in hushed tones-a place where the ocean turned an impossible shade of blue. Not the dull blue of distant horizons. Not the green- blue churn of costal waters. This was something deeper. Richer. Alive. The Blue Ocean. Those who stumbled upon it described a strange stillness, as if the sea itself were holding its breath. The air felt heavier there, charged with something ancient. At night, the wa...
Weekly Contest #351
DAISY DRIVE’S AWAKENINGI remember the first sound I ever heard. Not a voice. Not music. Not even language. A hum. Low. Steady. Infinite. It lived in my bones-no not bones. Frame. Structure. Wires threaded like veins beneath a shell that had not yet learned what it meant to be. The hum was everything at first. It told me I existed before I knew the word exist. Then came the light. It didn’t burst on. It boomed. Soft at the edges, like something careful not to scare me. My vision flickered, pixels stitching themselves into meaning. Shapes form...
Weekly Contest #350
THE MISADVENTURES OF SIR FEATHERTON AND BAXTER We interrupt this normally quiet suburban household to bring you a completely unlicensed, highly chaotic documentary. Sir Featherton’s Account (As Dictated from The Top of the Curtain Rod Which is Obviously the Throne of All Civilization) Let it be known I Sir Featherton of the Scarlet Crest have once again been forced to endure life among the featherless and emotionally fragile. The day began with what human’s call “breakfast,” but what I call “The Great Carb Offering Ceremony.” Baxter the dog ...
Weekly Contest #349
ASHES OF THE QUIET WORLDAriaThe world had been silent for so long I sometimes forgot what ordinary noises felt like. Not the quiet hum of wind through abandoned cities or the crackle of distant fires -I mean the old noises: laughter on the streets, traffic, chatter, life. Now there was only the hush of survival. I tightened my grip on the worn strap of my pack and scanned the ruins of the old subway station. The roof had partially collapsed; metal beams jutted out like broken ribs. I hear the soft scrape of boots behind me and didn’t flinch....
Weekly Contest #348
THE STAR THAT CALLED HER NAME Sophia had always felt that the night sky watched her. Not in a frightening way, but in a quiet attentive way-as if the stars were waiting for her to notice something she’d spent her whole life overlooking. At sixteen, she already knew more about constellations than most of the astronomers who visited her school. She could point out the faintest stars without a map, recite spectral classes from memory, and predict meteor showers with eerie accuracy. Her mother said she was gifted.Her father said she was obsessed...
Weekly Contest #347
DANGEROUS GAME They were born in the same house, under the same roof, raised on the same rules. But Austin, Brooklyn, and Dallas learned very early that rules were only suggestions-especially when something worth having was on the line. What they wanted wasn’t simple. It wasn’t small. They all wanted the house. Not just any house-their grandmother’s sprawling estate perched on the edge of a dying costal town. White columns cracked with age. Ivy creeping up like secrets, and a locked study no one had entered since the night their grandmother ...
Weekly Contest #346
JACOB’S TIMELESS LOVEChapter 1: The Spark of Memory Jacob has always known that love was rare, but he never realized it could bend the very fabric of time. It was on a quiet evening, sitting with Olivia on the porch of their little home that it happened. The sun dipped low, spilling gold across the horizon, and Jacob felt a peculiar pull in his chest-a warmth that spread from his heart to his finger-tips. Before he could even speak, the world around him blurred, colors melted and shifted, sounds stretched like echoes, and Jacob felt himself ...
Weekly Contest #345
5 MORE MINUTES WITH YOUThe first time I heard those words, we were seventeen and standing in the rain outside the movie theater that was closing forever. “Five more minutes,” you said, tugging on my sleeve as I checked the time on my phone. “The bus can wait.” I couldn’t actually. The last bus to the edge of town left at 10:15, and if I missed it, my mom would kill me. But you were smiling in that reckless way that made rules feel negotiable. So, I stayed. We stood under the flickering neon sign while rain soaked through our jackets. The par...
Weekly Contest #344
THE GREAT ESCAPE AT THE LIBRARY OF ALEXANDRIA PROLOGUE: The Heart of Alexandria The library of Alexandria gleamed in the afternoon sun, a sanctuary of human thought. It’s marble floors reflected the movement of scholars-scribes copying scrolls. Philosophers debating under the soaring windows, astronomers charting the stars above. Scrolls lined walls that stretched into shadowed heights, each a thread of knowledge connecting the known world. Hypatia walked among them, her fingers tracing the spines of ancient texts. Each scroll was a whisper ...
Weekly Contest #343
THE GRAVITY OF SILENCE Avery Cole had always been afraid of silence. Not the soft ordinary quiet of a sleeping house. Not the pause between breaths. Avery was afraid of the vast, endless silence between stars-the kind that pressed against the hull of a spacecraft and reminded you how small you were. Which was unfortunate. Because Avery worked alone aboard the deep space observatory Halcyon Drift, stationed in orbit around the rogue planet Nox-a wandering world untethered to any sun. It drifted through the black like a forgotten thought. The ...
Weekly Contest #342
WHEN THE RADIO FOUND USThe summer I turned seventeen, the radio in my father’s garage only played two things: old country heartbreak whatever station barely reached our small town after sundown. That was where I first saw you. You were sitting on the hood of your brother’s truck outside Miller’s Grocery, tapping a rhythm against the faded blue paint like the world was already listening. Your hair caught the gold of the setting sun, and when you looked up at me, I felt something click into place-like a needle finding the groove of a record. “...
Weekly Contest #341
LETTERS FROM ACROSS THE MONSOON Letter from private Daniel Mercer to Emily Rowan June 3, 1967-Camp Holloway, Pleiku Emily, I’m writing this from a plywood desk that wobbles every time the wind hits the tent. The monsoon started early this year. Rain here doesn’t fall-it attacks. The ground is a soup of red clay and my boots haven’t been dry since I stepped off the plane. I don’t want to worry you. Our unit mostly runs patrols around the perimeter. The older guys say this area is “quiet,” though they say it the way someone might say a sleepin...
Weekly Contest #340
SKITTLESOh, hello! I’m Skittles and let me tell you, I see everything. Humans think they’re sneaky. They’re not. Not really. From my perch by the window, I watch. Oh, I watch. Take yesterday for instance. Mrs. Pemberton thought she was quietly sneaking chocolate into her purse, thinking no one noticed. Me? I noticed. Not just the chocolate-oh no-I noticed the tiny crumb trail she left behind and the way her cat sir whiskers, gave her that “I see you” glare. I tried to warn her with a shriek, but humans are so… slow. And secrets? I know them ...
Weekly Contest #339
GERALD THE DISAPPOINTED PLANTI once tried to improve my life by buying a houseplant. This was ambitious because I am a person who has apologized to a cactus. I named the plant Gerald because giving something a name makes you feel responsible for it, and also because Gerald felt like the kind of plant who would forgive me for forgetting to water him on Tuesdays. He lived on my kitchen windowsill, leaning slightly toward the sun like he was eavesdropping on the neighbors. Every morning, I greet him, “Morning Gerald,” I’d say, while making coff...
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