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Weekly Contest #375
Even towards morning, he still couldn’t drift off. The day wouldn’t let him go, wearing him down with the cutting remarks of Rosa Sanders, the new head of department. Edwin had wanted the position himself, but there it was. They had simply called everyone together and presented them with a fait accompli. Even the branch director, Mr Bunn — Bunny to everyone in the office — had looked uncomfortable. She had no portfolio, no achievements to speak of! She had simply been appointed. At least it wasn’t Molly, that talentless idiot who lived in de...
Weekly Contest #370
“Do you remember that Grandma’s birthday is coming up soon?” My mother’s voice on the phone was stern, and there was no arguing with it. “Of course I remember.” I always spoke briskly and confidently. You’d never have guessed the phone call had just woken me up. I’d been practising since childhood. “And you’ll definitely come?” Although it sounded like a question, it was really a command. “We’re getting together on Sunday. At two o’clock!” “Yes, of course...” “And make sure you look decent!” Oh, not this again! It meant Mum was trying to set...
Weekly Contest #369
“Mum, he has strong paranoid and narcissistic traits. There’s nothing you can do about it. It isn’t treatable.” Rita fell silent for a moment, then added, “I stopped getting upset with him or expecting any normal human reaction a long time ago.” “How can you say such things?” Bella protested. “He’s your father!” “So what? Doesn’t that make him human?” “Exactly! He is human. And he’s the person closest to you. You’re just like every medical student: the moment you learn about some new disorder, you start diagnosing everyone around you with it...
Weekly Contest #368
“Grandpa, tell us about that little pot-bellied foal-girl,” Sashenka asked with a sly smile. “About Lastochka.” “There’s no such word as foal-girl,” Marat said with a smirk. He was the oldest of them all and had turned twelve just the day before, so now he liked to put on airs. It was a bright, sunny day. A few clouds hung in the sky like little heaps of snow, and the whole world seemed glad that spring had come. The children sat on the low ledge along the stable wall, watching the older pupils lead the horses out for exercise. And, naturall...
Weekly Contest #367
She didn’t call it a tragedy. Perhaps she was trying to soften it. Didn’t want to summon some evil spirit from the past? She called it the incident — so light, so simple. Just an incident. She asked, ‘Is that why you never come back here?’ I look into her eyes — the same grey eyes, only somehow asleep now, looking at me from far away — and say nothing. Yes. I don’t come back because of that ‘incident’. But what’s the point of talking about it? We’re standing on the riverbank, the water as dark and steely as her gaze beneath an equally steely...
Weekly Contest #350
“It’s good shai tea. Very healshy. Hibishcush,” Iris would say, her words softened by a faint lisp. Her eyes bulged slightly as she spoke. Thin, stringy hair clung to her skull; her faded greenish grey house robe had long since lost all colour and carried the lingering smell of boiled cabbage and onion, with something else beneath it—like wet clothes long forgotten in a washing machine. Eddy would murmur his thanks, turning away from her tiny figure, his eyes searching for something safe—but always, as if drawn by a magnet, returning to the ...
Weekly Contest #327
A children’s fantasy tale about a young, not-so-skilled witch called Athena. ‘Shoo!’ Athena cried at a scrawny grey kitten that had suddenly mewed from the yard. She’d only just begun her spell — and, of course, it had gone wrong. She had been trying to call down rain — again. But although autumn had begun, the sun shone shamelessly in a clear blue sky, and not a single cloud even thought about gathering. First Athena got cross, then she felt miserable. Then she went into a sulk. She was very proud of her name — mainly because there wasn’t ...
Weekly Contest #325
“Have you ever wondered what it means to take away a person’s memory? It’s like stealing their very life! For what use is life to someone who can’t remember it?” That was the only thought that surfaced in my mind as I lay by the roadside, a light breeze brushing against my skin. Who said those words? And when? It feels like it was at a funeral. But how could the image of a maroon funeral wreath with ribbons help me now? No — the wreath isn’t a memory. It’s here, in my present, lying on the tarmac. Nearby, a bicycle wheel spins idly. A pair o...
Weekly Contest #316
“These aren’t people, they’re sloths,” said Ed, nicknamed Jabba. “Sheep. Lemmings. Real people are rare.” Obese, unkempt, wedged into a reeking tracksuit stretched over his belly, he sat at a desk buried in fast-food cartons and empty bottles that spilled onto the floor. “And who, in your opinion, are real people?” Sasha asked, trying to keep any skepticism out of his voice. He was fifteen and hadn’t come here to argue. “Real people? They use their own brains. The rest just scroll, binge garbage, and parrot whatever tiktok or the feed spits ...
Weekly Contest #315
“Send me a selfie,” a trembling voice whispered through the phone, “so I can recognize you…” I sighed but didn’t argue. You don’t argue with potential clients. Glancing around for a suitable backdrop, I saw that the café was rather dim; a few patrons sat at their tables, busily having breakfast. No one paid me any attention. I aimed my phone at my own face, smirked as if seeing it for the first time, and took the shot. The phone chimed as the message went out. “Good,” the client whispered. “Wait…” And the line went dead. I exhaled, nodded to...
Weekly Contest #311
“And there… tam… they cut off my bag, u menya otrezali sumku,” Patrick translated into Russian, speaking with a thick Irish accent. “Took the money, vzyali dengi, the documents, dokumenty…” He was a little drunk but tried hard to pronounce the Russian words clearly — and to tell his story about visiting Russia. “That’s terrible,” I said, patting him on the shoulder sympathetically. “Only, if they ot-rezali, that means they cut it off — took the whole bag. But if they took out the money, then they must have cut into it — made a hole —raz-reza...
Weekly Contest #309
Eli woke to a terrible noise. Someone behind the wall was trying to play Tartini’s Devil’s Trill. Just great. Why wasn’t that little talentless brat tackling Paganini instead? Unbelievable. He didn’t immediately remember where he was, but the rumble of a streetcar outside dragged him back to the grim reality of existence: he was in Odessa, in his mother’s apartment. His tour had gone to hell thanks to that idiotic global quarantine, and Italy was now off-limits—for God knows how long. The violin on the other side of the wall kept screeching ...
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