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Weekly Contest #349
It didn’t happen all at once. It never does, does it? There are always signs. Red flags that go ignored for years, until it’s finally too late. Until the horror that you’ve watched behind your phone screen, from the comfort of your living room, is suddenly right outside your door, begging to be let in. And you have to decide how far you’re willing to go to help save humanity.And most of the time, most of the time, no one is willing to go very far at all. April 31st, 2040I found this journal sitting in a pile of rubble. It was open, pages fla...
Weekly Contest #348
My mother always said that she could feel me before she even knew I existed. She said that she had a dream one hot summer night that she was in the middle of a forest and that the rain was pouring, pouring down. She said that in the dream she was dancing in the rain, her arms raised to the beautiful, gray sky. As she danced, she began to hear a drumbeat. Not really hear. Feel. She could feel it. It was all around her- in the air, in the rain. It was beneath her- she could feel it coming up from the ground. It was above her- she could feel it...
Weekly Contest #345
Ricardo wanted to sit there forever. On his bed, staring out the window, staring out into his backyard. He wanted to sit there and let the memories fill his mind. He wanted to sit there, because maybe if he sat there, if he didn’t move, he would never have to leave. He could stop time. He could sit there forever. He let his eyes wander around the room. The room he had grown up in. The room he used to share with his older brother, Ramon, but Ramon had died last year from a bullet wound. Ricardo shook his head, as if he could shake the thought...
Weekly Contest #340
I am a hat.I sit on his head.My tails dangle next to his soft cheeks.My soft, white poofs, hug the sides of his chin.Through my beaded eyes, I can see the world.His world.Our world. Every morning, he puts me on.We walk the three blocks to his school.Him, his mother, and me.His hand in his mother’s.I look up at her.I like the way she looks at him.With a smile.With so much love.Sometimes he notices.Sometimes he doesn’t.Children are like that sometimes.They don’t see how much the people around them love them.But they can also tell when someone ...
Weekly Contest #338
Dear Diary,My name is Maricela Zapata. I am 10 years old. I live in Baldwin Park, CA. I love my cat, Whiskers. Not a very creative name, I know but she has really long whiskers which is why we named her that. She doesn’t like anyone but me. When my mom tries to pet her, Whiskers will hiss and run to me, hiding behind my legs. So, I’m in charge of her and I don’t mind because I love her. I didn’t start this diary to talk about Whiskers, even though she is the best. I’m not a writer. I don’t really like writing. Even in school I just don’t lik...
Weekly Contest #337
It is 6pm-2pm-4am.4am and it is the millionth day of the millionth year and somehow, I am not a second older.Younger.I don’t know what came before.Only that this has always been. The sun is rising-Setting-High in the sky.The sun is setting on the beach, and I am wondering what it would be like to be that boy holding that girls’ hand.He takes it.He lets it go.He takes it.He pulls her to him.In slow motion they bring their lips together.I can see the seagulls, hovering in the air behind them.The drops of water running slowly down their skin.I ...
Weekly Contest #335
I am sitting at a café reading Cat’s Cradle. I take a moment to sip my coffee and when I do, I lock eyes with him across the room. He is looking at me above his laptop and while I have never really believed the truth of the statement that the world can fade away with the right person, that is exactly what happened. The world disappeared and all I could see was his face. And beyond the attraction, beyond the instant pull I felt looking at this man, there was something else. The feeling of looking into a mirror. Of seeing myself. And when he t...
Weekly Contest #334
Never leave, my son. Do not go. For down the road lies trouble. Nothing but sorrow. Never leave, my son. For out there they will never see what I see. They will never understand. They will think you are just a monster. They will not see the man. Never leave, my son. Stay safe within these walls. Let these arms protect you always, and I promise, you will never fall. I am five years old, and I am playing outside the cave. My mother is out hunting and even though I am not allowed to go outside when she is not around, when I hear her coming, I ...
Weekly Contest #332
CONTENT WARNING: This story includes the death of a loved one. Hola mijo, It’s me. Your mother. Just leaving this message to tell you that I love you and to have a good day. Remember that we have your nephew’s birthday this Sunday. And he’s 14, not 4, so don’t buy him another stuffed animal. He stopped playing with stuffed animals years ago. Ok. Love you. Bye. Hi Mom,It’s me. Your son. Thanks for the unnecessary reminder about Tito’s birthday. And, I know he’s 14. I just like fu…screwing with him. It’s fun. I always get him a real gift, so ...
Weekly Contest #329
The sound of a door being slammed jolts me from a deep sleep.I look at my phone.3am.“Kevvviiiinnn!” I groan against my pillow, “Why? Why, huh? Why, NOW?!”Another door slams.Opens and slams.“Kevin! Please!”There is a pause and for a moment I think it’s over. That I’m being shown some mercy.And then there is the sound of multiple doors being opened and slammed shut. Over and over again.I jump out of bed and fling open my bedroom door.I watch as multiple doors down the hall open and slam shut on their own.“KEVIN! STOP IT THIS INSTANT!” I roar.T...
Weekly Contest #328
A trick of the light, I say.Just a trick of the light.But my whole body tingles on edge.That feeling of falling or about to fall.A feeling I haven’t felt in years.I go inside.I lock the door.I double and triple check that I have locked the door.And slowly, as I take a bath, as I change into my nightgown, as I go over the happenings of the day, that feeling disappears.And I am once again myself. Some people said that he was faking. That the person everyone had known for years was the real him. Not this joyful charlatan. But they didn’t see wh...
Weekly Contest #326
My parents sat across from me, my mother glaring into my eyes, my father looking at the floor. They sat there waiting for me to respond. But what could I say? It wasn’t like I had any choice in the matter. It wasn’t like I could defend myself, say that I’d be better, that I’d work on it. I knew I couldn’t work on it. I knew I couldn’t “be better.” This was the third time it had happened. Well. The third time I had been caught at least.“Well?” my mother asked, “What do you have to say for yourself?”“I’ll do whatever it is you want me to do,” ...
Weekly Contest #325
Even for those of us who love the solitude, being alone too much can change a person. It can shift the way we see the world. The way we see ourselves. It can make us believe in a magic that doesn’t exist. It is difficult to believe that the year is 2025 from where I am. A small island in the North Atlantic ocean with a couple of goats, John and Paul, and my cat, Mrs. Danvers. Mrs. Danvers and I manage the lighthouse, making sure the boats don’t crash in the night. But no one ever stops here. This isn’t a port. Everyone just passes us by. It’...
Shortlisted for Contest #323 ⭐️
It began when I was six. The New Years Eve walk that started at our house in Altadena, California. That had us walking out of our door and onto the Hahamongna trail, where we would hike up and down dirt roads, over sometimes treacherous terrain, one year almost falling off a cliff. It used to be him, my brother, and me, but once my brother moved to college, it became just us. And if we’re being honest, and what’s the point of being dishonest, he and I were always closer. A parent isn’t supposed to have favorites. And neither is a child. It’s...
Weekly Contest #322
ItzelLa Gringa. The White Girl. It used to be my nickname growing up. My light hair and light eyes and thick tongue that struggled to formulate anything Spanish. As a 10th generation Mexican American, with parents who are proud Chicanos but very Americanized, I didn’t really stand a chance in my schools filled with first-generation kids who looked at me like I didn’t belong. So, I decided to do something about it. I dyed my hair black. I studied Spanish intensely, training my tongue to learn the nuances, the cadence. I only read books by Lat...
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