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Weekly Contest #374
The oven timer blares, waking Kate. Afternoon sunlight streams through the living room windows. She quickly folds the oversized navy blanket, drapes it over the back of the couch, and walks to the kitchen to quiet the oven. Warm hints of nutmeg and cinnamon fill the air. Opening the oven, she is pleased to see the crust on her apple pie is golden, with small gooey bubbles bursting around the edges. With her perfect pie resting on the countertop, she sets her sights on the roast chicken she will prepare for dinner. From the refrigerator, she...
Weekly Contest #370
My cursor blinks. Blink. Blink. Blink. Like a metronome, the melodic tick-tock lulls me into a state of calm…panic. Tick-tock. Blink blink. Water. I need some water. The kitchen tile is cold against my bare feet. I press my cup against the ice lever, and the fridge grinds. Ice clatters into my stainless steel water bottle. The bottle was a gift from my husband for my forty-second birthday. It is laser engraved with just one more chapter, an open book beneath the words, and dandelion puffs floating around the text. I grab the plastic ...
Weekly Contest #368
Walking the hallowed halls of The Academy of Villainy and Conquest, where ‘Forging Tomorrow's Tyrants Since 1163’, is etched in the frosted glass on the doors, Toby practically skips into his new life. The Harvard of Villainy Schools. The big leagues. Banners hang in the halls displaying conquests of academy achievements. Glancing at, 731 Consecutive Days Without a Heroic Intervention, Toby thinks, “731 days. Dang. That is a really long time, he can barely go an hour without heroic intervention.” He scoffs at the banner displaying “Largest R...
Weekly Contest #364
I roll out of bed and peel my t-shirt from my sweat-drenched chest. Tossing it in the hamper, I dig through my dresser for a clean shirt and a clean pair of cotton underwear. The website promised they were moisture-wicking, just like my doctor promised the hormone replacement patches would help with the perimenopause symptoms. I climb back into bed, on the dry side. I will change the sheets in the morning. My phone shows it is 3:00 AM. I delete the 7:00 AM alarm, and commit to extra concealer before work. Feeling fully awake, I scroll...
Weekly Contest #363
Every morning at 6:30, table four belonged to six friends and one old dog. Earl was halfway through his second cup of coffee when six phones shrieked. Six friends reached for absolutely none of them. The tourists did enough reacting for everyone. Behind the counter, the waitress turns off the music and switches the television to the local news. A newscaster reports, “category five hurricane. Hatteras island is under a mandatory evacuation.” Slathering warm butter on his lightly burnt toast, Frank points at Mabel's abandoned bowl, “are...
Weekly Contest #361
August 14, 2026 - Page 270/326 Meredith walks into the library for the second time this summer. She strolls up the desk and places her copy of The Second Life Of Violet Hart on the counter. The library cat, Stacks, kneads against her legs and purrs while he looks up at her waiting to be pet. “Oh, this book, it’s the best isn’t it?” the librarian asks. Sheepishly, Meredith says, “Well, I haven’t had much time. I would like to renew it again, the online system says I am out of renews.” What Meredith wants to tell her is: this book has survi...
Shortlisted for Weekly Contest #358 ⭐️
CW Themes of physical abuse, parental abuse, suicidal threats, verbal abuse. At the hotel we are overlooking the St Clair River. To our left, we can see where Lake Huron and the St. Clair meet, the water is brilliantly blue. The skies are bragging with wispy clouds and sapphire shades. Owen huffs out of the bathroom. He is seventeen, with dark curly shaggy hair cut right above his eyes, and the body of a young man not a child anymore. I do not know how time has moved so quickly. I wish I could live a million days like today with Owen. We ar...
Weekly Contest #358
After the funeral, the attorney reminds attendants of the will reading. This is pointless, you barely even knew the man. Your great-grandfather the lightkeeper of the graveyard of the Atlantic, friend to only himself and the sea. RIP, Silas, you murmur to yourself and head towards the attorney’s office. In a room, surrounded by cousins you have not seen since the last funeral, you choose a seat not at the conference table but in a corner. You met Silas twice, once you were a child and the next time years ago when you went on vacation to ...
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