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Weekly Contest #204
Regan’s chewing tobacco pinged against the spittoon. The stuff tasted awful, though not so awful as to send him back to the smokes. Gods, he wanted one though. “Another?” asked the barman. “Aye.” The old fellow obliged, moustache bristling as he sloshed out another measure. Regan swished the cheap whiskey in his mouth, let it subsume one bad taste with another. He peered about the saloon. It was a particularly dusty, particularly empty hole, even by frontier standards. Flies buzzed lazily in the midday heat and the smell of horse droppi...
Weekly Contest #203
Vic’s heart raced and his stomach churned. His palms sweated and his cheeks burned. His chest felt tight, his collar more a choker chain than a shirt. He stopped in the middle of Paulo’s front yard, looked back to the little blue hatchback then to the front door. It was a nice yard. Freshly mowed and edged, the gardens abloom and the fence immaculate despite its age. It looked the same as it always had. A magpie landed on the roof, taunted him with its springtime melody. He checked the shopping bag’s contents one more time. It wasn’t too ...
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