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Weekly Contest #342
I wake up to the first sputtering whistles of the kettle on the gas stove. Its agitation grows, threatening the inevitable ear-shattering whistle. This is his way of getting me out of bed. I don’t know when this started. It never happened at home, only when we’re on the boat, and for the last six weeks it’s got me up like clockwork. The rain patters at the window, like thousands of tiny fingers, tapping to be let in to the dry. It’s hardly warmer in here, I think. I stumble over to flick open the stopper on the kettle spout as it, and I, alm...
Weekly Contest #341
My mother says I was born in the forest, given birth to by a tree. She said she heard me as a newborn gurgling from within the hollow of the trunk. She sent my sister up the tree looking for a hole, a gap, or some kind of cavity where I must have been dropped in. She found nothing but seamless bark.She marked a line around the trunk with a stone, called my father and uncle, and told them to cut it down. She said they must cut along the line exactly, and they did. The great tree waited patiently for them to cut deep enough for it to fall to i...
Weekly Contest #340
I’m swimming blind in the ocean, but I’m not scared. My eyes are open, but there is only darkness for the time being. I float on my back like a barrel. I can hear the waves close to me lapping over my torso, the distant ones crash faintly on a shore I know I’m gradually drifting further from. I feel my body go weightless, lift out of the water. I don’t drip, I’m dry as soon as I exit, I’m warm. It’s perfect. I hear words, but they’re not mine. “You’re were perfect Granda, champion of the world, and when I was with you, I felt like I was too....
Weekly Contest #329
Wursley didn't sit down after stepping onto the bus. There were plenty of seats, but he wanted to make a swift exit, so he stood right by the door. Rain slid down the windows, each wobbly streak illuminated by the yellows and oranges brushed across the sky. His destination felt like the faraway horizon, warm, dry, and colorful. It was hard to remain patient while the bus trundled along under this rain cloud. Wursley gently patted the outside of his jacket to make sure his package was still there. He already knew it was, but he had to be sur...
Weekly Contest #328
The hammer gives this memory rare clarity. We’re adults now, and when the stories come out, I see myself as I was. Sometimes, as I think I was, as I want to have been. Someone else tells a story, and it doesn’t match up to mine. With my memory, it happens a lot. Memories are my brother's strength, not mine. I’ve never understood his memory. You’d think he was reading a journal entry or a movie script. He can tell you not just what happened that day, but what happened before, after, the weather, the clothes, the mood. You get it. He lays out ...
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