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Weekly Contest #373
"Don't go," said my grandmother, not looking up from her crossword. "Every girl who walks into that shop after dark comes home in love, and never with anyone sensible."Nobody takes Granny Bridie seriously. She also believes the toaster listens to her and that you should never trust a man who owns more than one scarf. So when my best friend Aoife slid two black tickets across the kitchen table, THE BOOKBINDER'S BRIDE: an immersive dark romance. One night only. Come alone, or not at all. I laughed."It's theatre, Gran. Actors. In a bookshop.""T...
Weekly Contest #372
Lucia Bertolini had set the long table for the large monthly village dinner herself, plank by plank, the good linen dragged out from the chest that smelled of cedar and old weddings, and she had told Marco three times (three, as if the number itself carried some protective weight) that no loaf, no roll, no heel of bread was to be set down with its belly to the sky. Upside down, a loaf on the table was a coffin waiting for its dead in her family superstition. Her grandmother had said this over every table Lucia could remember, in the same fla...
Weekly Contest #371
I came to the cinema that day just for fun. Well, “fun” might have been slightly ambitious. Mostly, I came to fight the loneliness. There are days when going home feels too quiet. When you don't necessarily want company, on those days, I go to the cinema. I don't even care what is playing. A good film, a bad film, some ridiculous blockbuster involving explosions, impossible physics and a man saving the world while maintaining suspiciously perfect hair, it doesn't matter. Once the lights go down, the city disappears. No traffic. No messages. ...
Weekly Contest #369
The Shape My Grief TakesThey say grief comes slowly, the way frost climbs a window without anyone watching it start. They say it begins as a weight behind the sternum, something with no shape yet, no name, only pressure, only the sense that a door has opened somewhere inside the chest and will not close ever again. They say it takes on texture, grey at first, like an ash before it remembers it was once wood, once something that could burn and give warmth. It gathers in the throat, thick as an unspoken things always are, and settles there, re...
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