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Weekly Contest #285
Shafts of light streamed in through the wide window, warming the mahogany-stained desk and casting a spotlight on the ancient typewriter. Its black and red ribbons are brittle and crumbling, its alphanumeric keys eroded beneath decades of keystrokes. A yellowing sheet of paper remains wound around its return bar. What is written on the page has long since passed from the typewriter’s recollection. He had memorized it once, but now all he could recall were the final keystrokes as several remained jammed. The author had neglected to repair him...
Weekly Contest #271
Eliza frequented Cafe Brie often enough to be considered a regular—she practically lived in this coffee shop when not at home. She liked the ambiance and its ability to feed her busybody nature. Honestly, to her, people-watching counted as novel research. Her writing was bettered by realistic characters. Today, Eliza sat sipping her nonfat soy latte, brow furrowed. The man standing at the counter cut a familiar silhouette. His hair was deep red and messy, he had square shoulders, and his skin was slightly olive-toned. Indeed, she had met him...
Weekly Contest #189
It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. The bitter winter wind sliced through her and siphoned the air from her lungs. Her winter clothes were a little barrier between the buffeting wind, and her exposed skin felt raw and scraped. So why was she out here? Was she running from sorrow, apathy, or obligations more? Now that her family had arrived, her burden increased, and it was the force chasing her into the cold. Approaching the familiar nearby forest, the copse of trees looked like tall, spindly, gossipy women shr...
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