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Weekly Contest #240
(T/W Death and gore)I stood atop a wind turbine with my safety rope disconnected, arms outstretched, and my face tilted toward the heavens. Fueled by the mighty breath that continuously sculpted the red soil of the Oklahoma plains, the circling blades made a cyclical motion that built anticipation within me as each great giant climbed from the earth to rise upright one hundred feet above me, praising the midday sun, only to genuflect and repeat the act. The generator’s gentle song hummed through the nacelle I was standing upon. My ...
Weekly Contest #183
(T/W Sexual Content, Profanity)My eyelids weigh heavily as a talking head wearing a wrinkle-free pantsuit sits at the front end of the boardroom table, purging a steady stream of the industry’s latest buzzwords. I now secretly refer to this person as “The Head” to keep my relationship with her and her horrible business-minded enthusiasm as detached as possible. When her mantras are uttered, their motivational intents have the complete opposite effect on me. My anger builds, and I find myself sarcastically thi...
Weekly Contest #176
(T/W: Substance Abuse, Torture)The combined layers of multiple conversations muted the treble and mid-tones of the loud music, leaving only the invisible waves of its bass to gently vibrate the large mirror behind the bar top of the small Irish pub. However, this calamitous atmosphere was not distracting Al Schneider from his mission to “get soused.” He pawed his thumbless hands at the straight sides of the sweating beverage in front of him, wrapping his eight fingers around the tight curvature of the glass, squeezing its body betw...
Weekly Contest #168
My older brother Geoff screamed over the roaring sound of the train’s wheels rapidly clacking against the rail joints, “Run faster, Tommy!” His blonde shag haircut blew across his face as he leaned from the boxcar’s entrance with an outstretched right arm, waving me toward him. I wasn’t as athletic as him. One year behind him in age and the lanky appendages of an eleven-year-young body left me at a detriment and I was struggling to catch his hand.“You can do it, Tommy! Just reach up!” he yelled as ...
Weekly Contest #160
(TW/Death/Gore)The first time I heard of what the locals called “The Wailing Woman” was on a hot summer afternoon in the middle of an Oklahoma drought. The lack of precipitation made the town lake, Sunset Lake, an appealing place to go for a stroll. Calling it a lake was an oxymoron at best, it was merely the lowest spot in the mostly flat, plain-locked town of Guymon, Oklahoma.I was working for a medical flight company as their Fixed Wing Pilot. The job was an easy one that consisted of two weeks of twelve h...
Weekly Contest #157
(T/W: Child Abuse, Spousal Abuse, Murder)My father’s fists were always charged with a dangerous blend of alcohol and emotion. His favorite alcohol—Jack Daniel’s. His favorite emotion—jealousy. My father wanted everything that he didn’t have, and when the whiskey mixed with his envious blood, he took his rage out on the things he did have, me and my mom.My mother had endured his tortures for longer than me, but she finally gave up the battle and just before my fourteenth birthday she disappeared. Sh...
Weekly Contest #156
(T/W Gore, Death, Animal Abuse)The microscope’s image was blurry and neither coarse nor fine adjustment was bringing it into focus. My eyes were strained and completely exhausted. I pushed my hands against the lab table and sent myself rolling backwards in my chair. I laid my head back and rubbed at my eye sockets with the back of my gloved hands. The white-walled sterile environment and bright LED lights above sent my head swimming. Suddenly feeling sick, I jumped up and headed to the lab’s exit. I slapped my h...
Shortlisted for Contest #141 ⭐️
(T/W Mental Health/Gore)There it was in section 13A of the Times, a one-star review given by Mrs. Marlene Whatley. I pulled the paper close to my face so that I could read the tiny print. I read aloud, “Ed Bulwer takes us on a depressing, self-indulgent journey to nowhere.” My blood was boiling. I couldn’t read any further than the critic’s opening line. “That fucking bitch!” I screamed as I slammed my fist down against my plastic seat.I quickly buried my head in the paper as I realized I had attract...
Weekly Contest #140
I remember as a child my mother chaining me to our apartment’s radiator. The tiny flat was on the third floor of a crumbling brick building at the end of Celestial Street. My mom was very concerned that the chain was too tight around my ankle. She was worried that it would cut off the circulation in my foot, resulting in an amputation which we could not afford. I reassured her I was fine, and I didn’t mind the restraint. Chaining me to the radiator became a frequent event and it was ritu...
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