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Weekly Contest #355
The first person to notice the dress was the bartender.Not because he cared about fashion, but because he had spent the last hour watching the groom’s mother criticize every flower arrangement, every champagne flute, and every guest who wandered too close to the dessert table. She moved through the ballroom like a queen inspecting conquered territory, her heels sharp against the marble floor, her smile polished enough to fool strangers.And now she had returned from the ladies’ room wearing the exact same dress as the bride.Black silk with da...
Weekly Contest #353
The first thing the forest forgot was its own name. It had once been spoken in wind and root, carried in birdsong and whispered through moss. The Aos Sí had known it, of course—they had been its keepers, its breath, its quiet guardians. But time, that slow and patient thief, had worn their memory thin. Now the forest was just… trees. Orla stood at the edge of it, arms folded, staring into the dim green expanse. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in tired strands, touching the ground like something reluctant. The air smelled wrong—too sharp...
Weekly Contest #350
They say wisdom comes with age. That’s what I’ve been telling myself ever since my hair left town without so much as a forwarding address. None of the rodents had any trouble setting up camp when I had hair, or maybe that is why it left. I'm Harold—Hal to my friends, which is mostly just me and the bartender at Murphy’s. He nods as he cares, but still charges full price. Now, I don’t want to sound like one of those old men yelling at clouds. I tried that once. Cloud didn’t even apologize. Just drifted off like it had somewhere better to be....
Weekly Contest #349
The first thing he recalls is the silence. It's not the silence after gunfire, with smoke lingering and ears ringing from cannon blasts. Nor is it the quiet of a winter camp, where men huddle and dream of bread, mothers, and warm rooms. This silence is deeper and older. It extends between the trees, gathers in the hollows of the Blue Ridge, and softly settles like dust over everything abandoned. He remains where he fell, or at least, that’s how it seems to him.He recalls the charge, though the memory feels faint, like worn fabric. Boots hitt...
Weekly Contest #317
Elara Dodson, a young musician and singer who lost her sight after being hit by a hit-and-run driver in a dark alley, withdrew from the waking world but gained a new perspective. She lost her eyesight, but gained a new sight, allowing her to see events before they happen.In her dreams at night, she witnessed terrifying, vivid images of a man’s death - a ruthless person driving a black sports car under the influence of alcohol and drugs, hitting him and drinking away from the scene.Every night, the same dream, the man is left to die in a rain...
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