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Weekly Contest #300
You’ve only had glimpses of him till now. Striding across the back field. Slipping out of the lecture hall. And then the other day standing lean against a stack of easels, filling his mouth with Sugar Puffs, milky-lipped but beautiful. So today is feast day. The long warm shock of him, legs stretched out towards you. Close enough to touch, to imagine the licorice tang of his breath. To the left of you sits Chang with his little green notebook, to his left Babette in ripped tights, black-painted lips, a half-empty refuse sack scrunched betw...
Weekly Contest #299
Robert has the front passenger seat for the drive home from church. It’s something he’s allowed on account of his recent growth spurt, and Mummy has said there is no need to make fuss. Which leaves Elizabeth with the women in the back, with the itch and torment of their autumn tweeds and talk of sleepless nights. ‘Dr MacPherson says I’ve the worst case of it,’ pronounces Mummy to end all conversation, and Nana Boyd points her nose towards the drizzle. It’s a thing they often do. The women. Go silent over invisible things; a forgotten condol...
Weekly Contest #293
On account of his recent growth spurt Robert gets the front passenger seat for the drive home from church. Leaving Elizabeth scrunched between the women in the back, with the itch and torment of their autumn tweeds and talk of sleepless nights. Elizabeth is studying the yellow-headed spots on the back of her brother’s neck, his jagged shoulders, the way he clenches the family umbrella like a musket between his knees. A giant orange leaf slaps the windscreen, flash-dances between the wipers then flips out of sight. And summer feels so very lo...
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