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Submitted to Contest #312
A tenebrous room was shushed by a flickering candle, just beside a man perched before an easel. An orb encapsulated the hunched figure, who prodded, stroked, and dabbed around the rectangular structure. A fulguration of distant lightning pierced through the small fissure of the curtains, relieving the melancholy room with flashes of light, unveiling the aged face of the crazed artist. The oak floor was littered with different variations of colored paints, surrounded by broken and damaged easels, that once represented the artist’s renditions ...
Submitted to Contest #294
Since I was a child, I’ve feared him deeply, though I’ve never laid eyes upon his elusive person. I can remember vividly, walking along the narrow trail that surrounded Lake Victory during the ides of October. The water, dormant and as reflective as glass, was enraged by the fiery reds of the perishing leaves that clung desperately to the Maples surrounding it. If you glanced from a distance, you’d think it was a pit of lava, scorching through the center of the Earth. From the leaves that already pirouetted to the ground, a magnificent blank...
Submitted to Contest #290
“Lovecraft fan, I see?” The man smiled with interest at the young woman. She closed the book bashfully, taking a quick side-eye at the young man.“Oh yes, I’m a big fan of Science-Fiction; basically anything outside of the present.” Sam’s cheeks were now a shade of red as she fiddled with the book in her hand.“The name’s Dylan.” His smile was pristine, she thought; his dark hair had been combed completely back without a hair misplaced; his jaw contoured and sharp, like the waning crescent of the moon.“It’s nice to meet you, Dylan. I’m Samanth...
Submitted to Contest #288
JANUARY: The gentle laugh of a young girl filled with the frostbitten air. A Father stared in awe from the front window, watching his daughter assemble clusters of compacted snow, placing it against the forming-bottom half of a snowman. Fred Sanders typed away at his desk, pertaining to his work duties; he was fortunate to be able to work-from-home, having the ability to witness his daughter enjoying the youth’s contagious vivacity of a snow day. Daisy, his daughter, was swaddled head-to-toe in her waterproof attire, while an enormous-knit c...
Submitted to Contest #287
“Welcome to Nostalgia Cafe!” a gentle voice proclaimed as the front door had come to a close. The inside was immensely dystopian, though Steven shrugged aside the eerie forewarning. He approached the counter apprehensively, craning his neck in every-which direction. “I’m Steven Ross, with Blueprint Media. I’m here for the investigative piece regarding the spike in nostalgia intake.” Steven pressed his tote bag close to his waist, reaching inattentively with an attempt at removing a piece of identification from the front pocket. "I must'...
Submitted to Contest #285
The rain in New York is dismal today, and I wish to be nestled within the cafe just a few-feet before me. I was born in 1952, settled my roots within the center of this very avenue, and have stood gallantly at my post for many decades. Every day I watch the hustle and bustle of this very city: the sediment of society flows effortlessly past my forgotten bones, dislodging into many tributaries of this futuristic world. I have sheltered the poor; I have sheltered the working-class; and I have sheltered the famous. Their footprints, some etched...
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