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Weekly Contest #340
“Well, well, well,” said the kettle, as it was filled with water in three sharp, emotionally charged glugs. “Romantic catastrophe. Medium to severe.” The mug, which had been positioned optimistically near the front of the cupboard all day, stiffened. “Are we sure?”“I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve had a handle,” said the kettle. “That was an angry-lid attempt. Two hands, no patience. They only do that when someone’s let them down and they’re pretending they’re not bothered.”The teaspoon lay very still.The lid had, in fact, taken three...
Weekly Contest #335
I’ve been staring at the screen for three days.Not continuously, obviously. I’m not a psychopath. I’ve blinked. I’ve slept. I’ve stood up periodically to make tea, which hasn't helped, but it felt correct at the time. The document is open. The cursor is flashing. Deliberately.I know it’s deliberate because everything else in the room has also started behaving with intent.The cursor flashes once. Then again. Slowy. Patiently. As if it has all the time in the world.I glare back.“Don’t rush me,” I say.It flashes.The title at the top still reads...
Weekly Contest #333
I didn’t plan to spend most of my evenings in a kebab shop, but life has a way of narrowing your options until you end up somewhere fluorescent, greasy, and open far too late.It’s on the corner of a road no one walks down unless something has gone wrong with their evening, or they’ve made a series of confident decisions that have finally caught up with them.It’s open late, which is important. Things that stay open late are hopeful in a very specific, slightly tragic way. They believe someone will need them. They are usually right.The shop sm...
Winner of Weekly Contest #332 🏆
They say the British complain about the weather at least three times a day.Personally, I consider that an underestimation bordering on slander.I complain about the weather the way other people hydrate: constantly, instinctively, and with a faint sense of moral duty.It’s one of my most finely honed talents, practically a calling.Too hot. Too cold. Too windy. Not windy enough.The drizzle is rude. The cloud cover is smug. The frost feels judgmental.Some people complain recreationally. I complain as if the climate owes me money.Until last Tuesda...
Shortlisted for Contest #330 ⭐️
I didn’t always remember the way in which I died, but sometimes I found it hard to forget. In truth, the dignified deaths never lingered. Those, rare as they were, faded gracefully into the ether. A quiet hand-squeeze, a soft candlelit sigh, the one beautifully choreographed battlefield collapse where I actually stuck the landing. My immortal memory, in its questionable wisdom, hoarded only the absurd ones. The ones that made me hope reincarnation came with a “skip intro” option.Over the centuries, I have: Fallen off a roof while trying to i...
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