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Weekly Contest #281
[Contains strong language] Jamie Gray didn’t like surprises, and the mysterious box had come as a surprise, arriving in front of his car after work one night, one week before Christmas. It was marked with nothing but his name and address, and there was no return address in the top left corner. He’d opened it and found two things. The first was a teddy bear, its left arm torn completely off and its head half-decapitated, exposing clouds of coarse fluff that jutted out like stringy wires; on its midsection were splatters of some dark substance...
Weekly Contest #280
Mother? Yes, child? Can you tell me what it was like in the Before Times—before the Lord appeared to us in all His glory? That is difficult to describe, dear girl, for I scarcely remember the details now. Things were different in the Before Times. People were selfish, sinful, filled in abundance with the desires of the flesh. They were wicked things, stricken with toils which burned within, causing them to abandon the Lord entirely. What did the Lord see fit to do about it? Why, child, the Lord transformed His people. He made us in His image...
Weekly Contest #279
I play melodies on my guitar every day for an audience that doesn’t see me. I belt out lyrics and strum rhythms that are lost to the void of space. There’s no one here to listen to my cries, no one to appreciate or despise what I bring to the world. I’m all that’s left of the human race. God, it’s an empty feeling. The intersection of Fourth Avenue and Harper Lane used to be a busy one. It contained multitudes of people who flocked to the corners, sometimes not bothering to wait for the traffic lights to change before crossing the street. Th...
Weekly Contest #252
My ex-wife Blythe says I became more affectionate after our divorce. Romantic was the term she used. Too romantic, she said—and not romantic about the two of us, but rather about her and her boyfriend. I started sending gifts to them on occasion. “Get Well Soon” cards when they were sick, holiday cards, flowers for their first anniversary as a couple. They thought it was weird. One day, Blythe’s boyfriend Trey confronted me about it. He said, “Look, we appreciate what you’re doing, but you don’t need to send us anything. Really.” And that Re...
Weekly Contest #232
[Contains strong language, violence, and substance abuse] A month before my eleventh birthday was when daddy would go to war for the first time. I understood why he was doing it, to a degree. But I didn’t understand why it had to be my dad, of all the dads out there—the man who had taught me to piss standing up, to shoot a bee-bee gun at a trash can, to shift gears in a manual transmission truck. Daddy and I had made a tradition of going to Andy’s Burger Spot in Briar. He would get me a banana milkshake and a box full of fries smothered ...
Weekly Contest #230
[Contains strong language] So, newbie, you’ve made it to the end of the world. Congratulations! And welcome to the other side of history! The bombs may have dropped, but there’s still work to do and bills to pay. Some things never change. Another thing that hasn’t changed is pretty simple: People are hungry, they need to eat, and they love pizza. That’s where you and I come in. I’ve been a pizza delivery guy since before the bombs dropped, when cars were ubiquitous and people could place an order on their smart phones and have it deliv...
Weekly Contest #221
I sat on the weathered brick wall above the town tunnel, looking down at the occasional car or truck that passed through. It was late and traffic was light. I’d arrived in town an hour or two ago and had been sitting on that wall all the while, motionless, thinking. A mile ahead, illuminated by pale moonlight, I glimpsed the open pit copper mine—the place where all of our troubles began. I was already on my second pack of Marlboro Reds by the time my phone alarm rang. Thirty minutes to midnight. With a sigh, I puffed on the cigarette again...
Weekly Contest #220
The day before Ryan died, I felt it in my subconscious, like how you can feel when a polished musician strums the perfect sequence of guitar notes. It’s strange the way the heart speaks volumes about tragedy, yet simultaneously shrouds its origins in mystery. The night before, I’d been listening to the same sad songs over and over and crying my eyes out, and I had no idea why. It wasn’t until the next day, when Ms. Deaver called to inform me that my childhood best friend had passed, that I could begin to decode the cipher my heart had been w...
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