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Weekly Contest #104
The distinctive creek of his basement door signaled her impending arrival. Jamie didn’t look up. He made one last adjustment to his invention. Melanie, his long-term partner, descended the stairs and asked, “Are you coming tonight?” Eager to see her react to his surprise, he answered, “Yes.” Melanie squinted. Her head twisted from side to side. “Who said that?” Jamie puffed out his chest. “T’was I. Doctor James Prescott Watt, inventor extraordinaire,” he replied with an exaggerated bow and a bad, fake British accent. “And if m’lady wo...
Weekly Contest #98
I’ll never forget Sunday, November 17, 1963—the first time I saw President Kennedy shot. He waved to the downtown Pittsburgh crowd from Uncle Jimmy’s black four-door 1961 Lincoln Continental convertible, odd, since my Uncle’s convertible was a two-door yellow Buick. The scream awakened my sister Jeannie. She bolted up, rubbed her half-open eyes, and grumbled, “You woke me up, Monkey? What’s wrong with you?” Jeannie had taken to calling me Monkey (short for Monkey see–Monkey do) since all her friends decided that “little sisters we...
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