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Weekly Contest #256
Bill, a rail-thin, six-foot-tall, clean-shaven, red-haired man in his mid-50s wearing jean shorts, a pair of battered grass-stained sneakers, and knee-high crew socks, scurried to his seat clutching a novelty batting helmet filled to the brim with ice cream in one hand and a large Coke in the other. He carefully put the ice cream down, brushed off some stale popcorn that someone dumped onto his seat thankful the debris wasn’t something more nefarious, and sat down with his heart fluttering with excitement. Perched just beyond Dodger Stadium...
Weekly Contest #72
117 stared at the monitor. He saw once more the endless columns of repeating zeroes and ones. It was once more time to decipher. That was his designated role and had been for as long as he could recall. Only today was different. His concentration waned. The previously innocuous clicking of the keyboards of his compatriots all around now was driving him to other feelings. This discontent and restlessness was something he had never felt before. He stopped and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he intentionally looked away from...
Weekly Contest #67
The last thing thirteen-year-old Patrick could remember was looking out of his bedroom window. It had been an idyllic midsummer night lit by an effulgent moon. The window was open and the drapes pulled back; he had fallen asleep watching them ripple back and forth in the gentle breeze. He awoke suddenly in some sort of chamber. His mind was still in a sedated sort of lethargy so he couldn’t discern much else other than it was lit. He quickly drifted back into sleep. Next, he found himself in some sort of seafaring vessel, unlike anything he...
Weekly Contest #63
Jesse DuPont sat upright in his cell cot. His vision was still hazy after waking up so suddenly. He could hear his cellmate Frank arguing with one of the prison guards. Officer Shumpert, he had a deep, resonating voice, and at well over six feet tall he was equally intimidating in stature. Shumpert grabbed Frank by the collar and dragged him out of the cell. Thwack, thwack, thwack, the sickening sound of a club against flesh. Each successive blow sounding more hideous than the last. Jesse could only sit there helplessly quivering. Shumpert s...
Weekly Contest #62
I’ve always felt that the best stories aren’t too far from the truth. There’s a quality to the truth that is equal parts beguiling and enthralling. Seemingly simple yet so often vexing, the capricious mind led astray by whimsical flights of fancy. Life’s ultimate objective is to find the truth. But what do you do with it? Especially when it is found to be so utterly perplexing that you can’t resist the Nihilistic urge to throw up your hands and shrug your shoulders. Such is fate. The idea of a preordained destiny. Life’s happenings having lo...
Weekly Contest #60
“Good evening Mrs. Duvall,” said Adam, a tall, lanky man with blonde hair in his early twenties. Mrs. Duvall was a mannequin who had taken an unfortunate tumble out of an open department store window during the great quake. She was, more importantly, a great friend to Adam. “Mrs. Duvall you look ravishing as per usual” he said to the mannequin whose left arm was missing. He stopped for a second, squinted at the dummy and proclaimed, “I know what it is. You’ve had your hair done! How lovely. What’s that? Why yes, yes it has been dreadfully ho...
Weekly Contest #57
I had heard the story dozens of times, no hundreds. Don’t tell grandpa that though. He had dutifully repeated the tale every time we visited him. And with such an uncanny vigor as if a new audience had manifested itself just for the recital. I love my grandpa, don’t get me wrong for one second. He was a retired policeman and a gentle soul. But my goodness gracious did he have a way of boring us teenagers half to death with that story of his about our great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather. On his side of the family, of course. My s...
Weekly Contest #56
I knew I should have gone to the store yesterday, Bob thought to himself. No matter, he was headed home now to wait out the storm that he knew was coming. “The National Weather Service has announced a tornado warning for the following counties-” Static killed the rest of it. He tapped the radio with his clenched fist. That never works. He sighed audibly and grumbled aloud “Oh I know there’s something coming.” He was a retired farmer in his early seventies, bald, short of stature, and stocky. His dog Chester, a black lab, apparently agre...
Weekly Contest #54
“Christ, this is awful”, he exclaimed aloud as he took another drag of his cigarette while continuing to read. ‘Second Chances’ was entering its eighteenth season and its executive producer, Robert Gibson, was busily reading a script for the premier episode. Gibson, a man of sixty-six years, was bald of average height, noticeably overweight, and a chain-smoker. He was a rather lonely man who had lost his wife some four years ago to illness. He had been the program’s executive producer since it’s inception nearly two decades ago. He stood up...
Weekly Contest #52
Every year it was the same story. Another person gone into the twisting nether. Never to be seen from again. Part of a colonization experiment that’s been ongoing for twelve years now. At least that’s what they told us. Lord knows what was actually going on. I was hiding in a friend’s house up in the country. He had left for the weekend. It was well past midnight one July evening when a knock on the door broke the cricket’s chorus. You can tell a lot by the sound of a knock. This was not the sound of a friend who wanted to stop by for some ...
Weekly Contest #50
He looked at his phone. Eighteen minutes. “You’ll be fine. You were fantastic at the rehearsal.” he flashed a nervous smile, “Thanks, Joe”. He’s an idiot, you know that. He’s been around forever and says that to everyone before showtime. Look at yourself, you know you’re not ready. You’re a total stiff. The crowd will see right through you. You’re almost drowning in your own sweat right now. Pathetic. Enough. There’s a reason I’m here. He started to pace around the little dressing room. At the far side of the table, a small lamp. He stared ...
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