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Weekly Contest #378
When the sun goes down, darkness closes around the village with familiar dread. At nightfall, every door is latched shut, curtains are drawn, children tucked tightly in their beds. The darkness keeps hands clasped, axes by the door, and knives tucked under pillows. It huddles livestock too close together in their pens. Dogs sniff the air, hair standing on end, baring teeth and snarling at a shadow at the edge of the forest. Just before midnight, the woman lays her daughter in the crib. The baby is swaddled in white linen, and her soft cheek...
Weekly Contest #377
It was a chilly September day in Pocahontas, Virginia. I was watching the wind play with dead leaves in the alley behind Mom's Hearty Kettle. They scratched across the pavement like claws as gusts of wind whisked them up and they twirled in the vortex before drifting back into the gutter. Randal was hosing off the kitchen mats. The spray splashed dirt back up onto his stained uniform. I had not seen Randal since high school. When I returned to my hometown and took this job as a dish washer, I was not surprised to see Randal still working he...
Weekly Contest #376
It was sunrise. Rose Harwood Manor stood tall and noble in the bare countryside, lonely against grassy plains and far from the nearest road. Thickets scrambled over crumbling brick walls. Overgrown trees reached their limbs wide and heavy, defending the home like tired, aged guards. Inside, just past the main hall to the left – in the library – Cordelia lay crumbled up on the divan, her arm for a pillow, her knit shawl for a blanket. At seventy one years old and just five-foot-three, her small frame hung over the antique furniture. She open...
Weekly Contest #375
Once again, Jack was on the road to Albuquerque. These highways once would take him home—and he used to feel anticipation to return to his Gracie. Well...not his Gracie. Now, Albuquerque was just another stop. Home was only in his mind now; everything else was just a countdown until the next stop, the next break, the next service station. Jack’s radio cracked with a stranger’s voice: Anyone know what is going on at two-eighty-three? Another voice replied: Got a four-wheeler spun out in the left lane. About half a mile past--the radio bro...
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