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Weekly Contest #102
CW: domestic abuse, mention of self-harm I was five the first time I saw it happen. My eyes confirmed what my ears begged to deny and from then on, the assurance he was just yelling at the game was a lie I had to work harder on delivering to my brother. He was only three at the time and the few words that penetrated the barrage of thick walls and closed doors between us and our parents didn’t make their way past his skull. We had just spent the day at the Mall of America. As always, I had insisted on making a full round of all four...
Weekly Contest #99
Note: This is the second part to ‘For the Greater Good’. I’m not sure it stands on its own so if you’re confused but intrigued, you might want to give that a read! CW: mentions of suicide attempt and sexual assault It was the last day before the solstice. The last day of my father’s trial. The last chance to decide his fate. The past ten days had been like falling through the vent of the tallest volcano. Whatever happens now, I can’t skip away unscathed. Bubbling lava awaits at the bottom and it’s within reach. ...
Weekly Contest #97
The first time he knocks, it is uncharacteristically quiet and goes unnoticed. To be fair, I probably wouldn’t have heard it even if it were louder. When I checked my wrist phone for the umpteenth time a minute ago, it was 2:43 a.m. It wasn’t that this was the largest migration till date that exhausts me. That part made sense. What I couldn’t understand was how my father maintained an infuriating air of nonchalance as he continued to send family after family to their eventual but certain death. He could no longer pretend that they’d be some ...
Weekly Contest #94
“The Pros and Cons of Murdering Your Mother:” That is all I saw when Henry handed me the list for the first time. It was neatly done, each letter delicately carved onto the paper. He had the decency to look a little shy, passing it to me like a gawky teenager with a love letter. I was in the kitchen chopping broccoli, and imagined replacing the head with Henry’s own. I was silent but brought down the knife on a floret, effectively dispatching it. Suddenly looking alarmed, he backed away, rubbing his neck. Of course, that is not wha...
If there’s two things most people know about Monica, it’s that she’s a woman of routine and sorrow. They go hand in hand - it’s because of the latter that she can’t live without the former. The sadness dripped in steadily like an IV fluid, bag after bag, until it grew into a torrential river that could only be held back by the dam of a saturated schedule. And so every Tuesday morning, during the forty-five minutes she allows herself between breakfast and Pilates, she visits Natalia. With her daughter, she routinely discusses the week...
Weekly Contest #92
Author’s note: ‘Ammachy’ is a term of address meaning ‘mother’ in the state of Kerala in India. In this story and in real life, it is used to address a grandmother. Malayalam is the state language (and a palindrome). Day 90 Maya She is bombarded by the light reflecting off the whiteness of the hospital’s ICU, as though her grandmother has already left this earth and they have followed her to Heaven. It is not a comforting, warm light that makes her want to take the type of impeccably-lit pictures that flood her Instagram feed. No...
Weekly Contest #91
“Shhhh!” The voice is harsh and grating, like nails on a chalkboard. The librarian gestures pointedly at the ‘No Talking or Laughing’ sign, eyebrows arching sharply as they struggle to pull themselves over the ostentatious bird wings fanning out from the frames of what this woman deems a pair of glasses. Her narrow, reptilian eyes follow me quizzically as I turn to continue talking to Grace. “You know, there’s a rumour that Mrs. Atkinson had a couple of court-funded trips to an asylum.” Grace’s eyelids snap open wide as she shoves a panick...
Dear Robert, Thank you so very much for your letter. Don’t let it get to your head, but I might’ve even liked it better than the shirt signed by Michael B. Jordan. Possibly. Speaking of that dreamboat, I read that they’ve cast Angela Bassett to play his mom. Please, please, please get me her autograph. I’ve got one page left on that autograph book we got at Disney World and I’ve already reserved it for her. Before you think up an excuse, I can imagine you and the entire crew are barely spared a moment for such frivolous activities as fulf...
Weekly Contest #90
“That’s a beautiful name,” says the smiling portly middle-aged man against whose legs the left side of my body presses and sweats on. I thank God he’s friendlier than the woman across the aisle who kicked the young man at her feet for an inch more of legroom. I suppose I might not be particularly accommodating if I had three bouncing children to keep track of and twice as many suitcases. When the fidgeting boy on her lap dives into the sea of people behind, she spins into the back of the man who is perched atop her backrest and a portion of ...
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