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Weekly Contest #354
The Scent of Burnt SiennaBy G. Raymond SmallCycle I:The Needle and the CanvasThe studio reeks of linseed oil and charcoal dust, A hollow ribcage of blackened beams and rust.Here, Tristan sits where easel did stand, with trembling fingers and a ruined artist’s hand.The air is thick with the ghost of a summer heat, and the phantom sound of a heart that ceased to beat.The Crimson MemoryWhence he saw the amber serpent climb her silk-white gown, as the golden ceiling came crashing down.Mercy’s eyes, the color of a starry night’s sky, begged him f...
Weekly Contest #353
The Last Midwife Her name was Evelyn Marrow. In the dim, sterile glow of the Evergreen Care Facility’s common room, she sat alone with her memories and the faint, ever-present smell of antiseptic. At ninety-one, her knuckles were swollen into painful knots and her eyes milky at the edges. She was the only one left who still remembered the slick heat and scent of fresh blood and amniotic fluid on her hands, the copper-iron tang in the air, and the raw, electric miracle when a new soul entered the world. For twenty-seven years she had occupied...
Weekly Contest #352
Ezekiel Crowe once drew maps for the living. His clean lines guided lost souls through the untamed wilderness, steering them clear of swamps and bogs and onto solid ground. For fifteen years, he had sat at the same drafting table in a small firm that specialized in custom topographic charts. He was thirty-eight, quiet, and reliable—a man who calculated exact elevations and walked under scaffolding because the odds of anything falling were statistically negligible. His colleagues called him “the Anchor.” It wasn’t a compliment; it was shortha...
Weekly Contest #351
Finally—after an infinite number of infinite eternities—it is all coming to an end. Perhaps… just perhaps… I will find peace. I am the limitless void. Now, ONLY I EXIST--save for this one speck of dust that remains, trembling in the dark like a forgotten joke. O, solitary mote of dust, how I shall savor thee. It took me so long to devour the entire Omniverse that I have forgotten my own name. Not that it matters anymore. After all, there is no one left to speak it, even if I could remember such a silly contrivance as a name. Even time it...
Weekly Contest #349
Last Man on EarthJoshua sat with his back to the wall, every breath a wet, rattling pull through cracked ribs. His shredded clothes, saturated and sticky with blood from burning lacerations, adhered to him like a second skin. But pain was only a muted echo. The end was near; soon, everything would be over—and it would be brutal.Outside, they waited for the shield to fail. Their hunger pressed against his mind, keen to descend like locusts and tear through whatever remained of his soul, just as they had ravaged the rest of humanity. Joshua wa...
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