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Weekly Contest #326
Guilty Conscience, by Scott SpeckIt’s 3 AM. The street below is quiet, deserted, but I still can’t sleep.Folks need months to adjust to the noise of the city, my landlord said when I signed the lease. Tonight, though – this late – it’s quieter than the country in winter. Across the street, rank upon rank of brownstones extend into the distance, silhouetted chimneys smoldering. One coal-black column obscures the spiked crown of the Empire State, while Chrysler’s summit is unobscured. I don’t deserve my own place – so luxurious, and all paid f...
1.Somewhere, invisible to her in the fog, an ocean still roared with last night’s storm. The air about her was impenetrable – cold, clammy, and so thick she couldn’t see the ground. Her morning walk had become a labor, for she had to test each step before taking it – across hillocks and divots, past unseen foxholes, through tangles of beach grass.Then, at last, her feet sank into sand – blessed sand. She smelled the pungent decay of seaweed, and her next step burst the watery sack of a bladder wrack. There, too, was the scent of salt, the sa...
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