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Weekly Contest #374
Content Warning: contains themes of bullying and some profanity. To: tom.owens@gmail.com From: m.m.c.@snailmail.com Subject: have this (from Bellmont Rd) Date: 22/09/2026, 10:55PM Dear Thomas, Do you still go by Thomas, or is it Tom now? Anyway, I hope this email gets to you. I found your name written on the inside of a book I found in the house. It’s The Complete Stories of Edgar Allan Poe. It has a blue cover. It’s also pretty worn. Some pages are ripped out and missing. Your name is on the last page, but under it someone wrote Sally owe...
Weekly Contest #346
I tried reasoning with the girl behind the counter, whose hair was the colour of pink sand, but she would not lower the price. “It’s already discounted,” she said, tapping her finger against a machine that was made out of glass in front. It could fit in her hand and it glowed against the side of her face. “Perhaps that machine of yours has made a mistake.” “Are you gonna pay for it or not?” she asked. “You are asking twenty-five dollars for this?” I replied. “That, where I come from, miss, would be considered a crime.” She stared at me for a...
Weekly Contest #319
Date: September 23 at 11:42pm Thread: Introduction Night I didn’t respond to the first post on time, so forgive me for my lateness. Truthfully, I convinced myself that online groups aren’t my thing. A very old friend of mine said it would be wiser to stay quiet about who I am. What I am. And to be painfully honest, I usually don’t spend this much time on the internet. But allow me to begin this introduction with a little about me. I’m male. European-born. I’ve lived in the same neighbourhood for over three centuries (though never in the sa...
Weekly Contest #308
They told me I was a liar. They said I made him all up like all the past summers of so called invisible friends. But I remember Shane as clearly as my own sunburnt shoulders. I remember the first thing he’d said to me that day on the beach. “Did you drop this?” he’d asked, holding my bookmark up. “I found it over there in the sand.” “Thank you,” I'd said, taking it, but my eyes were focused on the sand on his chin. “No worries. Is that also yours?” He was pointing at the Metallica Ride the Lightning beach towel. “Did you ever see them live, ...
Weekly Contest #307
Day 1 I’m almost at the fourth marker. My sister, Lizzie, would be so proud of me right now. Even though she always said that you aren’t supposed to hike this late in the season. Not at my age. Autumn is just about over. Leaves are starting to fall off the trees and the nights are getting colder. So cold you could end up with frostbitten fingers. But I made this promise. I’d finish the trail through Melaleuca Mountain. No one else my age will hike 200 kilometres, even for the prize money. No one. I told my friends that I’ll be the first one ...
Weekly Contest #306
June 7 Diary, Thank god I found you. The pages are a bit soggy because Zach threw you overboard, but I had some help from that cabin steward, Mike. He leaned all the way over the railing with one of those long hook thingies and fished you out of the water, lifting you out like a piece of seaweed. I thanked him a million times, then he told me I should take better care of you. I’m just happy you’re not floating off back to Iceland or wherever. Imagine what someone out there would think if they read everything I’ve written down so far on thi...
Weekly Contest #305
At the intersection, I could go right and head home—but turning left would take me back to the cabin. My phone was still there, stuffed under the damp mattress with that skeleton key. The key that Isabelle had asked me to hide if anyone came looking for it. I pulled my eyes away from the road and checked the time displayed on the dashboard. 10:51pm. I could still go back. No one else was on the road at this hour. I hated driving at night. The bumpy road that split away from the highway onto Snowdrop Lane was so remote I could hardly tell th...
Weekly Contest #253
The first time I noticed Emily was as Ophelia in the school play, Hamlet. The rain outside the school theatre windows had started to suspend into a light drizzle. Cars were pulling out of the parking lot, leaving behind that swoosh sound of tires against tarmac. It was our second production of the play and Emily seemed to appear out of the corner of the stage where the lighting is darkest. The left wing off stage is only ever used by a handful of us stagehands, the stage manager and costumer Mrs Harris. I’d been standing half-hidden behind...
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