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Weekly Contest #324
Note: This story includes historical references to racism and segregation. “They make up lies, you know.Say our bones are too heavy, our muscles too thick.Say we’re afraid of the water.Anything to keep us out.But we wanted to swim anyway,” Mama said. Folks say we can’t swim. Auntie Em never believed that. She was always trying to get us in the water, but I never wanted to learn. Maybe that’s what Mama was trying to fix that night, pressing my hair straight while Dorothy ran through Oz. I’d waited all week for them to air The Wiz, and Mama w...
Weekly Contest #322
Dear Ma, Is this how it started?With you not wantin’ to hold me?I wanted to not be you so bad. I wanted to be the kinda mama I used to see on the block, walkin’ their kids to school, holdin’ hands, talkin’ like friends.I swear I ain’t know you was hurt, Ma.I didn’t know you was just a kid until I held Gracie in my arms. I’m already twice the age you was when you first held me.Yesterday I didn’t wanna hold Gracie.No matter how long she cried.Gracie don’t got you in her. Not a lick. I caught myself thinkin’, Good. Serves you right.But now I wa...
Weekly Contest #293
"Almost forty dollars for a fucking DVD?"I breathe in deeply. Half-eaten chicken nuggets and spoiled milk. The car used to smell like pine before the kids turned it into their trash can. I could vomit, but I’m used to their stench. Years of spit-up and the worst diaper blowouts never broke my stomach.My fingers search through the chaos of my purse. The shiny black pleather has worn away in places, revealing its gray fabric skeleton. I dig out a tiny cologne sample from between the receipts and tissues. The bottle is nearly empty, but I lift ...
Weekly Contest #292
“It’s everywhere… It’s yellow… I need you. I-” "Damn it, Judith," I mutter. My voice scrapes against my throat. I try to breathe, but my hands are shaking. Hot tears slip off my chin, pooling on the edge of my phone. In the glow of the porch light, they look mockingly yellow. No matter how often I blink, Judith’s text doesn't change. The message is thirty minutes old and still doesn't make any sense. My knuckles turn white against the steering wheel. I pry my fingers free, forcing myself to open the glove compartment. The rubber gloves sit i...
Weekly Contest #290
1996. Chicago. The Red Mill. Hot. Sticky. Sunday. That night, I fell in love with Daniella Rae. Or maybe I’d always been. I remember the sun was long gone, but the heat wouldn’t leave. All the hours I spent pressing the kinks out of my hair had gone to waste. My roots reverted from the sweat. My heart was pounding against my ribcage as my feet slammed against the pavement. Malcolm was up ahead, his tiny head bobbing. The mill was still blocks away, but music was spilling onto the streets. It was so loud that in a different neighborhood, they...
Weekly Contest #226
Trigger Warning: Themes of sexual violence and death. “Crying is between you and God at night.” Her sobbing at night still played in my ears as clearly as a bird's chirp in the morning, but there was no denying that it was her body. I was no older than eight when I found my aunt Tesha’s body on the staircase: lifeless, melanated but somehow pale, puffy red eyes, and cracked lips. Those weren’t from death, but from the time she spent crying. She would let her tears slide off her face and onto the floor. That’s how my grandmother put it. “...
Weekly Contest #213
Trigger Warning: Death, Grief, and ColorismThe milky white mucus that would leak from her eyes had left lines carved into her face. A face I would only ever describe as hypnotically gorgeous was now contorted into a strange expression. My dull brain can’t come up with a fitting explanation for this. The only thing that comes to mind is that it was from an infection. Or perhaps the anguish of taking her final breaths. All that pain made the moisture in her body turn into an indistinguishable whiteness. It was like the clouds of her eventual r...
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