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Weekly Contest #378
The camera weighed six pounds, priced at thirty thousand. The face cost two hundred grand, not including painkillers, clinical stays, consultations, and mental fatigue. Trip Bradford controlled both as if they owed him money. “Widen the shot,” he said. “I want the banners in frame.” His cameraman, a reedy kid named Stoney, adjusted the lens. Trip checked his reflection in the viewfinder. The cheekbones were flawless. The sculpted jawline promised youthful immortality. For years, he’d longed to emulate the man whose face now stared back at hi...
Weekly Contest #376
Day 1 The light is dim. They left me a small office lamp in the corner, not that anyone will see me trapped down here. All the windows are painted black except one small one facing the side yard. You would think some neighbor kid would poke a spying little head in and look around. At least then I would not be lonely. Someone could rescue me. I have been needing rescue since the news of the murders broke. Ma and Pa gave me pen and paper to doodle with. I always loved to draw, ever since junior high. That must have been a decade ago now. At fi...
Weekly Contest #374
It happened again. This time, the Booker boy had done something heinous, so his parents had to be called in. Mr. Booker glanced at his cell phone with a scowl. Twenty minutes. Principal Whitmire hurried in. She was a large woman with too much makeup and a permed bob of black curls in a gray-and-white striped dress. “I do apologize.” She shook the man’s limp hand. “Please, right this way.” He and his ten-year-old son James followed behind and piled into the tiny office. What a toilet, he thought, gawking at the stacks of books, paper, and tho...
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