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Weekly Contest #308
Fiel Até Depois da Morte (Loyal Even When She’s Dead)The Man with Two Wives (One of Them Dead) In Pelourinho, where the cobblestones remember more than they tell, Fabio Costa buttoned the last pearl on his crisp white linen shirt and adjusted his silk cravat in the mirror. He gave himself a sly wink—not out of vanity, but habit. At fifty, he still had the melancholy charm of a mid-career, Marcello Mastroianni. The kind that made widows lean forward in church pews and young women make unsolicited offers for a home cooked Moqueca seafood stew...
Weekly Contest #302
Donald Quigley stepped out of Akihabara Station as though crossing a threshold into legend. The city was bright enough to bleach memory, loud enough to drown logic. Tokyo pulsed around him—LEDs fluttered like mechanical fireflies, and vending machines blinked with endless neon thirst. He wore a long, gray duster he’d ordered off an anime cosplay website, and made him look more like a battle-weary ronin. Still, he believed in the garment. In his mind, it was the Cloak of Storms—a symbol of his rebirth. He carried no guidebook. Instead, in t...
Weekly Contest #300
Caution-My short story recaptures sad memories of Argentina’s Dirty Wars of the 1970’s. A Mother’s ChargeCamila Ávila adjusted the bouquet of white roses in her arms as she guided her two childrenthrough the winding paths of La Recoleta Cemetery. The mausoleums stood like silent sentinels, their stone facades weathered by time, the faint scent of moss and damp stone lingering in the air.The sky was a bright, indifferent blue, as if unaware of the grief buried beneath it. When they reached the grave of her mother, Teresa Ávila, Camila knelt a...
Act I: The Bookstore Beneath the Storm The smell of powdered sugar and chicory was thick in the air, sweet and bitter in equal measure.I sat at a corner table in Café Du Monde, my yellow legal pad spread open before me like a tattered relic from a pre-digital age. Distant emergency sirens and a radio announcement describing a hurricane stronger than Camille expected to hit land before dawn filled my ears.People rushed past the cafe in clusters, arms full of bottled water, batteries, diapers, and dread.But I stayed, sipping my coffee, the rim...
Weekly Contest #293
Fahar, Our LAX Limo Driver“Perhaps travel cannot prevent bigotry, but by demonstrating that all peoples cry, laugh, eat, worry, and die, it can introduce the idea that if we try and understand each other, we may even become friends.”—Maya Angelou November 2018 Even if our Cathay Pacific flight to Bangkok had been canceled right at the check-in counter, the limo ride we took that day would have been memorable enough to be its own adventure. It wasn’t just the drive; it was Fahar, our limo driver, who made those sixty minutes en route to LAX f...
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