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Weekly Contest #341
CW: Themes of mental health, stalking, gore, sexual content and the threat of sexual violence. Do I know you?She didn't scream.I hadn't planned for that.In my head she screamed. She always screamed. The scream was the starting gun. The shot fired. Six hours. I'd been in her closet for six hours.Do I know you?Three words. She stood in the doorframe of her bedroom. One hand on the light switch. The other clutching a rolled-up towel. Her hair was dripping. Water ran along her temples and down her neck. It smelled like coconut. Sweet. Clean. Too...
Shannon had never trusted a white man. Not once. It wasn't an opinion. It was the body. The body had known since Scott Street. Since the landlord who came up on the first of the month with his eyes that counted before they looked. Eyes that saw the rent before they saw the woman and the lateness before they saw the child. Shannon had learned white faces that way. The tics. The lips. The nostrils. The way a neck stiffens when a white man steps into an elevator where there's a Black man.That morning, the guard in front of his cell had a differ...
Greg was not a man who went back over the past. He'd sworn it to himself. Since prison, he had learned to live off-center.He had held.And then, one morning, it no longer held.An ordinary morning. No anniversary, no date, no sign. Just the ordinary: the bathroom, the mirror, the toothbrush.It had started in the mouth.An acid taste.On the ceramic of the sink, the night guard waited: a piece of pale plastic, molded to his teeth, to the exact shape of what his jaw clenched at night without knowing. A smile that had been ripped from him and set t...
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