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Weekly Contest #313
ShadowsBy Andy Pearson © 2025Click-clack.Tick.Click-clack.Tick. Melanie Longstreet heard her high heels tapping out an even rhythm on the sidewalk, followed by the slight answering tick of an echo rebounding off the brick buildings across the street. The city's darkness was broken only by evenly spaced pools of light, each followed by a deep void. Budget cuts extinguished every other streetlight; the voids were twice as large as the pools. Click-clack.Tick.Click-clack.Tick. Melanie felt each transition from light to dark. Each step from v...
Weekly Contest #275
This story has some strong language and a brief talk about death and blood. RIDERSAndy Pearson © 2023 James’ motorcycle whispered up the hill into the lot. The pounding muffler noise of a Harley Davidson didn’t work for him. He knew that for some, the rumbling noise of an engine drowned out other noises. For James, the volume amplified them, and so he rode a BMW. He turned the engine off in front of the walkway leading into the unexpected memorial. He slipped off his helmet and held it on the gas tank, listening to the leaves on the aspen t...
Weekly Contest #252
DARKNESS By Andy Pearson © 2024 Darkness was on my side. I knew the house. The owners of the footsteps didn’t. When the lights went out, I knew they were finally here. I didn’t know who they were, but I knew they were here. I spotted the followers a week earlier. Perhaps they were there earlier. Probably. Who knows. I know I spotted them on Friday. I saw the first one at the gas station. With my arms draped over the side of my truck bed, sticky with sweat from the afternoon humidity, I listened to the pump whirrin...
Weekly Contest #246
PLAYGROUNDBy Andy Pearson © 2024 Their lips came apart slowly. Each molecule gripping tightly to its opposite. When they finally, reluctantly separated, they were just apart. Opening their eyes, both wondered, did this just happen? He leaned back with his hands on the two chains holding the flexible seat under her. She gripped the links under his hands and looked up. Looking at his happy, confused face, she arched back and swung slightly toward him. Releasing his grip, he stepped back and pushed on her extended feet s...
Weekly Contest #243
Moonlight Isn’t RealAndy Pearson © 2023 Moonlight isn’t real. It’s the sun reflected. I know this fact, and yet I move more quietly in moonlight. My feet find soft ground without fail. The brush in the forest around me doesn’t snag as I slice through it in a whisper. It’s not just movement. I see better. My eyes dilate for the evening. Everything becomes sharper. I hear better. The soft light doesn’t interrupt the sound waves like harsh daylight. Everything moves more easily through the grey luminescence. Tonight’s full moon smooths and sof...
Weekly Contest #242
Altered TrajectoriesBy Andy Pearson © 2024 “Brush strokes – drone drone drone” “Shifted Perspective -buzz buzz buzz” “Focal point rendering - hum hum hum” The drone from Charley Brown’s teacher filled my head as I followed along with the group. Taking a museum tour of the art of the Impressionist period was not my ...
Weekly Contest #237
WHEN Andy Pearson 2023© “When did you first fall for each other?” It’s the kind of question that gets asked with a tiny giggle. It gets asked at parties that guys don’t want to attend. Parties where people are eating pretty food from real plates. I was thinking about how I might watch the baseball game on my phone at that kind of party without appearing like I was watching. Then it was quiet, and everyone was eyeing me. Our host, Jennifer, smiled and asked the question again. “When...
Weekly Contest #233
DROUGHT © 2024Andy Pearson Droughts don’t end in a light rain that quells the dust and conditions the soil to retake water. The end of all droughts is a downpour. The vegetation barely clinging to earth with roots staying near the surface trying to collect morning dew. These shallow roots allow plants to be washed away at the first rain. My drought started after my divorce. A divorce I didn’t see coming. One day I’m a married man living in a picket fence neighborhood and thinking about a someday family. The next da...
Weekly Contest #218
COLD By Andy Pearson © 2023 Cold. So much cold. Cold curls around me like despair. It moves across exposed skin and leaves hopelessness. Cold slides and weaves under my clothing like a living thing looking for warmth. My skin is frozen into lines like crumpled waxed paper. My feet and hands are clubbish with the biting freeze. My clothing is stiff and rasps with each movement. Frozen ground snaps underfoot with each step. The crunching sound in my ears makes the cold harder to suffer. The cold inv...
Weekly Contest #213
Numb By Andy Pearson © 2023 The shell splintered when my hand closed harder than I planned. Bright yellow and clear white oozed through my fingers and dribbled to the counter. Staring at the mess in my hand and the one forming on the counter, I said the only thing I could think. “Well, crap.” Keeping my egg-covered hand over the counter, I sat my morning cup of coffee down and twisted to reach the trash can under the sink. Scooting it over, I let the crushed shell drop into the can, and twisting some more, the egg slopped into the...
Weekly Contest #212
The Letter By Andy Pearson © 2023 Joshua Weston moved the cane to his left hand and pushed on the door with his right. It swung open slowly. The cowbell hung above the door clunked and clanked as the door struck it. Getting his balance, he shifted the cane back to his right hand and stepped into the lobby of the post office. Walking past the rows of tan mailboxes, each with a little window showing the edges of the mail inside, he made his way to box one hundred and forty. Looping his cane handle over his blue jacket-clad arm, he reac...
Weekly Contest #211
FIRE Andy Pearson © 2023 I don’t believe that honesty is the best policy between two people lying on a rug in front of a crackling fire. Time before the orange glow of a blaze is meant to be romantic and filled with heart-felt untruths. Endearing little moments of dreams that both know aren’t true, but by fire light should be. She ran her index finger over my forearm while I gazed into the fire. Then she asked the question that started the blaze that burned the evening down. “Can you believe that we’ve been married five years?” Car...
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