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Weekly Contest #360
What’s this poor bastard about to do? Kyra Witkoff thought. The man by the window had less than six minutes. She peeked over the cappuccino machine, watching the numbers over his head bleed away—soft blue, transparent, flickering like a dying bulb. The countdown to zero always tightened something in her lower gut. Years ago, Kyra learned the numbers didn’t predict death—only the moment people break themselves in a way they could never undo. A life-changing mistake. Whenever a zero drew close, she trembled, afraid she’d...
Weekly Contest #359
Could she really be here? Dawn breaks through the fog in a way that makes it seem like the dead really could rise, the mist twisting through the branches like a spirit keeping its sinister eye on my every move. I never thought I’d come back here. Then again, I never thought anything could happen to us—to her… not like that. All I want is one more minute. The quiet hits first—no birds or crickets—as I step off South Avenue and creep down the access road. Nothing has bothered to change. The same g...
Weekly Contest #357
I don’t know why my human always gets upset and angry when he takes me to this park. There’s fresh air and lots of fresh-cut grass to run across. At first, he’s buzzing—a bouncy kind of energy he gets when I proudly drop his shoes at his feet. He walks a little faster, nose to the wind like he’s catching a scent that I can’t. He smiles at me and pats my head. But somewhere between a shady tree and the tickly sand of a tiny beach, his steps get heavy. It’s like an invisible leash wraps around his shoulders and yanks too tightly. ...
Weekly Contest #350
Romantic comedies are bullshit. Don’t distill those ninety-minute lies into dating advice. Instead of slipping my fingers into warm, silky panties, they dangled below cold metal handcuffs. I watched the sun rise in the back of a cop car, covered in ketchup, clutching a rose like a deranged Bachelor contestant. As the officer took my statement—just hearing my own words out loud—I realized how catastrophically stupid this idea was. “Thomas Feeney,” the officer said, in the tone of a man whose breakfast was getting cold. “Witnesses report some...
Weekly Contest #329
The smell of chlorine burned Edward Cook's nostrils, but the cold dread that crept across his skin was sharper. The university pool should have been empty—it was near midnight, and he had the only key. From inside the women’s locker room, he heard muffled splashes, like the steady rhythm of a heartbeat. Something was treading water, waiting.“Filtration,” Edward muttered, trying to convince himself.He placed a Windex bottle on his cleaning cart, exchanging it for a rag-wrapped flask of whiskey. He swallowed a gulp, but the shiver that followe...
Weekly Contest #302
Day 1 – 6:32 p.m.Ivy Freeman stared at a rainbow of wine bottles lining the dusty metal rack. The sticky floor and cardboard aroma of the corner liquor store had become more than a Friday night ritual—it thawed the cold bitterness of the world, at least for a little while.Generic table wine… she thought, snatching the $6.99 bottle. Cheaper than Prozac.“Do you have a Cork Club number with us?” the clerk asked.“5285,” she muttered, distracted as she dug through her purse.“Here you are, Thomas and Ivy Freeman,” the clerk announced, then leaned ...
Weekly Contest #297
The blindfold was damp and smelled like aged cheese, as if it had been yanked from a forgotten gym bag.This is wrong on so many levels, Rupert thought. I’m going to get eaten alive here. He tapped his fingers nervously on the table, like a pianist playing an invisible scale. The vein in his forehead pulsed beneath the tightly wrapped red fabric. He tried to ignore it, but the pressure and darkness heightened his anxiety with every heartbeat.Poisonous thoughts continued to cascade through his body, seizing muscles at every turn. This is stupi...
Weekly Contest #289
“It just drove by again,” said Donovan Hunton, his voice laced with paranoia. He moved his head away from the tiny slit in the Venetian blinds and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “That’s the fourth time in an hour. Can’t you see? I'm not making this up!”His wife, Alicia, stood at the bedroom door, her eyes brimming with tears, a dam about to burst. She took a deep breath as if to suppress her emotions, but her voice came out shrill and cracked. “I just don’t see it, honey. You’re really scaring me. Look at yourself.”Donovan ...
Weekly Contest #286
“I don’t understand why you’re so determined to make me a widow,” said Juliette, pacing back and forth in the cramped dressing room.“Stop with the theatrics,” Pete replied. “Or maybe we should paint your face and shove you into the spotlight.”A slight chuckle escaped his lips, quickly shifting into a raspy, hacking cough. He stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray surrounded by empty beer bottles. Pete cleared his throat, waved away the smoke, and turned his attention back to the vanity mirror. He dabbed white makeup around his eyes with two...
Weekly Contest #271
The clock read 2:21 p.m., and Luke Keegland’s mind was focused on two things: Pac-Man and his own impending death. Luke couldn’t concentrate as the teacher droned away about integers and fractions. The classroom clock looked too much like the video game character Pac-Man. The two hands were positioned to form a gaping mouth within the circular frame, and Luke felt like one of those dizzied blue ghosts trying to avoid being eaten. Pac-Man was also the nickname given to Chris Sherman, not just because he was big and round, but because his mo...
Weekly Contest #269
“How dare you insult me like this?” Thomas St. Clair yelled in the middle of the busy restaurant. He was perched on a velvet-upholstered chair. His towering red pompadour was beautiful and intimidating like a peacock spreading its feathers. Gin and tonic dripped from his chin after he involuntarily spat out the drink, showering the Pan-Seared Sea Bass and Truffle Risotto. A woman sat directly across the table. She leaned forward and cupped her hands to her mouth, trying to screen her words from curious onlookers. “What is wrong with you?” ...
Weekly Contest #259
Pictures scattered across the desk had captured scenes from the Salem Witch Trials. Not paintings or charcoal sketches, but high-resolution photos taken with a professional camera. The 50-megapixels revealed, with exquisite clarity, the fear-laced intensity in the accused’s eyes. The woman's gaze remained downcast as judges and clergy, dressed in elaborate outfits, pointed at her with palpable anger.“This is some of your best work Tobias,” said a woman behind the desk. “I envision the next issue of the Chrono-Chronicle featuring this picture...
Weekly Contest #258
The abandoned building was shrouded in shadows. The air was thick with dust, invisible particles revealed themselves as they floated past the portable work lights. An old Polaroid camera, mounted on a tripod, was bathed in the halogen glow and focused on the boarded-up storefront. A beat-up aluminum framed door with broken glass windows tucked between two counters. Nearby, microphone arms were clamped to the edge of a folding table, wires snaked down into an audio mixing board and a laptop computer. Cassidy Quinn cleared her throat and licke...
Weekly Contest #257
Had I known I was about to destroy the world, I would have kept my glasses on. The lady working the coffee shop cash register, Rebecca, wore a low-cut blouse. I’ve come here every Thursday morning for the last five years and have never seen her display cleavage. She has changed hair styles, necklaces, and lipstick, but her taste in shirts has been consistent. To avoid the temptation of a subtle glance, or God forbid outright staring, I removed my glasses and slipped them into my jacket pocket. “Good morning, Fezziwig,” Rebecca said as I app...
Weekly Contest #256
Has your mind ever gone completely blank? Probably. But has your mind ever blanked onstage in front of 2,000 people? Not to mention the twelve television cameras broadcasting a live feed to another fifteen million people in three different countries.That was a fun Thursday night.I should have been the youngest person ever to win the Continental Spelling Masters. Instead, I will be a footnote on some Wikipedia page. Fourteen-year-old Myles Jasper holds the unique distinction of being the only participant in the history of this spelling bee wh...
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