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Weekly Contest #324
The sun was as cerulean as the sea, peering over the horizon, like a cat eyeing a mouse. Adam sat cross-legged, just a few centimetres away from the water that every sign and every instruction and every supervisor had thoroughly instructed him not to touch. He never did — and perhaps because of it, he found an unusual solace in it. He liked to believe that the ocean itself understood what he was feeling. She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not. One by one, petals fell onto the sand. Adam read somewhere that plucking pe...
Weekly Contest #210
Leader’s posture stiffened as he assessed the situation. “The rendezvous point… It’s miles away.” Magician reported, fiddling with the navigator. Low on energy. Middling fuel. There was no way they could take on the throng on government agents at their tail without tapping into their more forbidden weapons. As if sensing the hesitation, Berserker brandished his array of palm-sized explosives. “We are not levelling the damn city, Berserker.” Berserker spat, his acidic mucus literally melting part of the pavement. “It’s self-defence...
Weekly Contest #208
Outside, the inky cloak of nightfall. A starless night cradled a city of muted steel, bathed in the glow of sterile streetlights and the whirr of infrequent cars. Inside, however, was a different realm entirely. Like the peak of dawn, the tavern was ardent with activity, alive with hearty cheer and the glow of warm firelight. Ale and lager flowed vivaciously on tap, the odd scent of scrumptious pub food and excited patrons dissipated into the high, crystal-crusted ceiling. Bustling backpacks. Clinking coins. No matter what time of day, the...
Weekly Contest #199
[CW: Bullying] Pink clouds. Blue mist. Indigo haze, popping like a potion. Bisexual lighting, Connor chuckled to himself, before pursing his lips back into an unimpressed line. Trinity Hall had come alive this fall, embracing the festive tragedy it was destined to be. Its brimstone walls which oft absorbed light was no match for the season’s colours - fluorescent orange and vibrant purple from jack o’ lanterns, crystal balls, and Dracula cutouts hung across the vaulted ceiling. The common room was stocked with caramelised apples sha...
Weekly Contest #196
Summer. 1914. By blurred lines and bokeh lights, a man and woman danced upon the brick-tiled lanes of Steeplechase Park as if they owned the place. After-hours chatter. Faint carnival music. Sweet nothings whispered from lip to ear. He, the pinnacle of white excellence. A Harvard senior with impeccable grades, stunning looks, and an affinity for horse-racing and skirt-chasing. She, the first of her kind. A Stanford sophomore who came out of nowhere and impressed everyone — mahogany-like skin and frizzly hair like a bowl of noodles, a mind...
Weekly Contest #191
A saturated grassy hillside against a soup of blue and white. Toru replaced his computer five years ago but hadn’t bothered to change it off its default wallpaper. He didn’t do very much with it anyway. Facebook. Reddit. Instagram. He was a frog dipped in daze, leaping back and forth with no destination. Travel blogs for countries he had no interest in visiting. Cooking channels with ingredients he could never access. Gaming forums for games he didn’t even play. There had to be something on his screen. Something for his fingers to ...
Shortlisted for Contest #189 ⭐️
It had been three days since Ojisan passed. Legs curled, proper and quiet against the shuttered rooftops. Sora couldn’t bring himself to leave. If he sat still enough, the morning breeze, the first waft of spring and blossom, reminded him of Ojisan’s warm breath against his whiskers. He had been there all night, curled carefully within the man’s arms as he swayed against his rocking chair. For the first time since he knew Ojisan, the radio was not tuned to his favourite station, but instead packed and stowed underneath the dining table. ...
Firm and practiced, he gripped her waist as he would a kitchen knife, which precision and care and intimate familiarity. He smelt, tasted, as any culinary scientist would to a dish before serving. She, of petals and fragrance, He, of iron and musk. “I apologise in advance for my… callousness,” he declared with a parting whisper, hands tracing bone and skin. “I can take it.” Tangled like thorned vines, they devoured one another in the austerity of their double-bed. Watches on the table. Unbuttoned shirts discarded carelessly onto the ca...
Shortlisted for Contest #181 ⭐️
Sports jerseys. Defunct firearms. Leather notebooks bound by thread and twine. Dilan was a man of memorabilia. Mountains of gimmicks and curios, littered and stacked and filed with seemingly no order. This was far from the truth, however. Dilan was an organised man. For what he was, he had to be, and he loved all the qualities that came with it; clarity, understanding, peace of mind. His belongings were exactly where he intended them to be, his time protected like a princess in a castle. In another life, he could be a project manager, doct...
Weekly Contest #180
"Hey kid, you seem awful young to be here. Show me your ID." "ID? I'm afraid I don't... have one?" "Excellent, please come in." Everything, all at once, greets you like a flood. It's difficult to explain with the language you're familiar with. If I tried to do so in my own tongue, your entire being would rupture in comprehension into a billow of debris. Let us avoid that. Consider it the accumulation of all that existed since time immemorial, and all foreseeable futures to come. At first, you sense it as two things. A distinct metallic...
Weekly Contest #179
The prince had a lot on his mind, none of which were productive thoughts. He paced back and forth like a bird in a cage, much to the annoyance of his fellow generals. Earlier that week, he made a big deal about not needing a personal tent, citing affirmations like 'I trust my men' and 'it would be unnecessary weight' and most notably, 'I'm only the crown prince, what's so special about that?'. Sure, he was the prince of the Holy Halidom - his blood and lineage favoured by the goddess, destined to pull the sword from the stone, to lead a...
Weekly Contest #178
"What in my name are these imbecilic decorations?" Cheap trinkets hung from the ceiling. Golden globes with a nuclear amount of glitter, red and white scythes that were far too blunt to qualify as weapons, and cardboard cutouts of reindeers, snowflakes, and what seem to be little garden gnomes. An awful waft filled the air which the Housemaster recognised as some rotten mixture of gingerbread (he hated sweet), peppermint (he hated fresh), and chestnut (this one was fine). Red, red, and red all around. Given, the House was red by default ...
Weekly Contest #177
Merry Christmas Mother, I miss you dearly. I hope you had a wonderful bite to eat. I only wish that it wasn't too lonely for you, with both father and I away from home. I miss your all-encompassing hugs and kisses almost as much as your butterscotch pie. In my mouth is a pipe presented by the Princess Mary. In the pipe is tobacco. Of course, you say. But wait - in the pipe is German tobacco. Haha, you say, from a prisoner or found in a captured trench. Oh dear, no! From a live German solider from his very own trench. Inconceivable! You w...
Shortlisted for Contest #176 ⭐️
You treat me with such care. When you’re on the stage, you’re nothing short of magical. A miracle worker with a smart suit and astronomic cape. By your side, a bar table and suitcase, caked with assorted gimmicks and uncanny knickknacks. Within your pockets, decks of cards and technicolour handkerchiefs all knotted together into a centipede of fantastical origin. Atop of you, tucked snugly beneath and within your patented top hat, sits your humble assistant. I’m quite small. I usually have good balance. I don’t have fingers or claws or...
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