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Weekly Contest #92
“What’s a night-girl like you doing with a pail like this?” I said to her that night, the first time I saw her on that filthy, rat infested, piss-stained block of concrete they called the West 4th Station. It was 2 am, and we were both working, assigned to different Night creature teams attending to different tasks, sprucing up the station for the Day creatures. She was part of Operation CleanUp, which had to scour and scrub and mop to remove the filth of a million restless New Yorker feet, and I was part of Operation LocoMotive, fixing...
Weekly Contest #91
“Fly,” I said, forgetting to use my inside voice. “I can’t find Silver.” Silver was my pet silverfish, who had suddenly gone missing.“Quiet, you little rascals,” Mrs. Aurora’s voice boomed, shattering the silence in the library. Fly and I were in the Leroy Street local library, where I had come to look for whatever was new in children's fantasy. Mrs. Aurora was tall and thin, and always wore a starched blue sari, every fold pressed to perfection. But her eyes. Those are really what made all of us quiver in our Bata shoes. They were a pi...
Weekly Contest #90
Let it not be said that nothing good ever came of a case of the runs, as on the morning that Manoj Singh hitched up his dhoti, pulled down his underpants and squatted at the edge of a field in Bodh Gaya, bare bottom kissing the air, to release the putrid contents of his small intestine, amongst other excreta, a seed was also expelled and a tree was born. Later on, people would make all kinds of grand claims about this tree. That it had been planted when Hanuman, the monkey god, made a pit stop to pick up a flower when flying Sita around. Tha...
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