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Weekly Contest #231
"Remember, when they chanted your name and your business in the streets? 'Masseratelle has a secret!' they sang, they cajoled. 'Masseratelle has a secret!' It is the New Year, today, Masseratelle. Yet it was in the old year that you kept your secret. Your secret and mine. The secret we all kept, until we couldn't any longer. The Bishops and the Cardinals, Masseratelle! You spoke for them. You were their public voice, delivering the words of the Papacy and the councils. And when they heard your voice tremble, in November, all the ...
Weekly Contest #207
"Cut," said the cook in awe. "Cut like a parish crowd in 1950s Alabama. You're a saint, Baughbird!"A crisp bow. "No, not a saint. I'm just the arrow in Guy Gisborne's heart.""End scene!" called Kidson coldly. "Hold your applause, people, until he's out of my fire."The offscreen cast and crew wanted to clap, to whistle, and to rave. Was that not what Baughbird commanded by his mere presence? To say nothing of his delivery? His poise and fixture? He had ad-libbed, sure, but what could Kidson possibly rail against him for this time since he was...
Weekly Contest #206
I gave myself brilliance, but not the strength to give it up. After sitting here for hours, I finally noticed that the room was filled with clocks. All were set differently; all were counting down like alarms and timers. But none of them foretold a real doomsday. Fifty-eight hours, eight minutes, 23 seconds- 24- 25 read the digital face of one timer in bloody red digital letters. One-thousand days, oh-nine hours, displayed another countdown with flaps like a calendar that click like typewriter keys when changing. From the chrome and wi...
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