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Submitted to Contest #335
It is five o’clock and she makes her way to the kitchen, the way she always does, always will, long after the routine has ceased to be necessary. She takes out the cast iron skillet. It’s heavy in her hand and its weight feels good, like she’s holding on to something other than emptiness. She stands by the stove with pan in hand. It pulls her arm down and it’s not until she lets go and it bangs heavily on the tiled floor that she remembers she was holding it. There’s a chip in the floor now, but it doesn’t matter. She made up her mind. She’l...
Submitted to Contest #333
On her fifth day alone, she woke up, got dressed, moved to the kitchen, and started to prepare. It’s what she did every year on his birthday. She knew making the German chocolate cake—his favorite and her least favorite—would be emotional. But she thought he might come back because he missed the cake, missed her annual love letter as birthday greeting, missed her. Waking up alone on his birthday would be sad for him, she thought. She pushed aside the idea that he wasn’t actually alone. No, that isn’t what it’s about. The problem was, she rea...
Submitted to Contest #314
It was day six of the heat wave when Mr. Jacob's funeral procession approached. But just as they could hear the tires of the pick up truck nearing the house, Matthew's mother shooed him into the shed and told him to watch from there. He was grimy, his mother said. No place for grimy children up front. He hadn’t meant to get dirty, but it was hot and thick outside and all the dust and loose blacktop stuck to his sweat. Besides, he really didn’t want to be up front. All the commotion scared him a bit and from the way the other kids were talkin...
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