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Weekly Contest #360
Thirst, Healing And The Anticipation of DyingBy Penni WarfordBreakthrough Between Family Members(This story revolves around death) When I entered her room at the nursing home early that morning, I stood in the doorway and observed for a moment. Even beneath thick layers of blankets, it was apparent that she was skin and bone thin. She lay on her back, her eyes closed, with her skeletal, blue-tinged hands resting on her chest like a metaphor for the death that beset her. I stroked her upper arm softly and whispered, “Hi mom.” As she peeled he...
Weekly Contest #212
Lessons From a BirdAugust 22, 2021Dear Jasper,I killed a bird today. I was trying to save its life, but it didn’t end up that way. I don’t really feel like sharing the details right now, but I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring your last letter. Maybe in a few days. I really enjoy living vicariously through your animal encounters, so please keep the stories coming.BeaSept 5, 2021Dearest Bea, That was quite an opener in your last letter. It left me with a ton of questions about the bird. I don’t want to push, but I’d ...
Weekly Contest #143
My body strained under the weight of my 30-pound backpack. The unpadded straps had been digging into my underfed shoulders for days. When I found the canvass pack at the army surplus store for ten-bucks I was clueless that carrying the heavy bag on my five-foot, five-inch, 120-pound frame would become torturously impractical. Fortunately, it did provide a good back rest during the long hours that I sat on freeway onramps with my thumb in the air. Of the few possessions I carried; my guitar, a threadbare sleeping bag, some clothes and...
Weekly Contest #118
The Roses That Bloomed In AuschwitzSavoring a moment of solitude, I meandered along the park’s edge admiring the luscious layers of color that bulged like impasto paint on a canvass. A blanket of leaves covered the sidewalk like a mosaic of golden honey and rotting lemons woven into a patchwork quilt that warmed the earth below. As I kicked at the decaying beauty that swallowed up the path beneath my boots, a solitary burnished red maple leaf caught my eye. It was out of place amid the golden blanket of American Elm leaves and the glowing tu...
Weekly Contest #115
It's been nineteen years since I lost my independence.Sixteen years since I got punched in the gut by a phone call. In 2002 I brought my granddaughter home from the neonatal ICU. She was 10 days old. For almost three years I took her to specialists at top hospitals in search of answers. The experts relentlessly poked and prodded, but a clear diagnosis eluded them. We ran the gauntlet called diagnostic odyssey, yet no one considered the possibility of a faulty gene, passed from mother to child, from my daughter to my granddaughter.I...
Weekly Contest #114
TW: self harm“Blood is sticky. A viscous crimson fluid. Regardless of the bleeder it looks the same. It is the ultimate leveler of playing fields. Strip the skin off the bone and voila’ …. red, gelatinous liquid. Blood doesn’t care about skin pigment: Brown, ivory, dark, light, …. Whether the body is young or old. It all looks the same in the phlebotomist’s needle. When I cut myself, I bleed red. I sit in the corner of my dimly lit room and filet bracelet scars around my wrists and scrape diagonal stripes along my forearm. Th...
Shortlisted for Contest #112 ⭐️
CW: fire, natural disasterSeeds “What the hell am I supposed to do with these?” I gaze at a packet of zinnia seeds that were tucked in with the supplies I just picked up from the Red Cross. “Masks, gloves, goggles – seeds? Seriously?!” I squeeze my eyes shut as I hold onto the scream that is forming in my throat. I stuff the seed packet into my back pocket.It’s the first time I’ve seen what’s left of our property. James and I wanted to drive up in one car, but one of us had to grab the hazmat stuff while the other dropped the girls...
Weekly Contest #111
What Endures Through Time(Prompt - A child who carries on their parent’s work or legacy in some form)The Five-Word GoodbyeHelen’s pasty skin was thin and bunched up like old leather. Except for her milky green eyes and mannerisms, barely any resemblance remained of her younger self.Mary reached across the hospital bed and gently stroked Helen’s salt colored hair. A long curl fell across her shoulder and rested on her pale-blue nightgown. The strand looked as fine as silk but felt coarse like a horse's mane against Mary’s hand.“I love you so ...
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