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Submitted to Contest #137
15th of August 2005, in the Gaza Strip.Two Israeli paratroopers jogged down a dirt road, and protesters rabbled around the bend. A short, thin, but vicious warrior, Lavi walked off the road. He settled down on a flat gray rock and checked his M16. The other paratrooper Ariel stood and stared, with his hollow green eyes, at Lavi.“Why do you check it so much?” Ariel asked. “M16s they are always working.”“I have my reasons,” Lavi said.“What reasons?”“Today’s reason? I’m stalling.”“Why?” Ariel asked.“Because I don’t want to do this.” Two methodi...
Submitted to Contest #132
Content warning: violence, references to sexual abuse, and language.Humble was coming, and he would keep them warm. They called themselves Unity. On January 6th at precisely 10:00 p.m. Unity crowded into the compound’s central tent, and the North Dakotan air frosted their bald heads. No one complained—no one dared speak—they all knew the rules.Beckett Gorman, Humbles second in command, prepared to start his “unloading.” He paced naked behind the tent. I’m going to die tonight, Beckett thought. The sharp winter winds drilled into him. Why isn...
Submitted to Contest #125
The boy stood in the center of the kitchen with a blue disposable razor in his mouth, and his father paced around him. He would fix the boy’s speech impediment at last. He worked on the device most of the previous night: he removed the blades, melted a small plastic block into strips, and arranged them to the speech therapist’s specifications.Mark looked at his five year old son, Jerry, whose red shorts sagged, and his white t-shirt hung down below his knees. Jerry was such a late bloomer that it was hard to find clothes in his size, but Mar...
Submitted to Contest #124
I put on my hazmat suit before I left. Once I zipped up my suit, once I double checked the mask, once I smeared numbing cream in my nostrils, I drove to Mother’s house. She wouldn’t be there. No one lived there. No one could live there anymore. My brother Hank named the mansion Hell House when he was fourteen, and even Mother calls it that now.After an hours drive, the giant brown building waited for me at the end of the street. My thrice gloved hand pressed a button and the gate creaked open. The “Condemned Building: Do Not Enter Prem...
Submitted to Contest #123
TW*** Language and Violence On the evening before the execution, I drank eight cups of coffee, paced the house for a total of eighteen-hundred steps, tried on three press conference outfits, bought new makeup on Amazon, ate two tubs of double fudge, rearranged the living room furniture, and re-watched my recommendation for execution. The murder case was straight forward and easy to prosecute. Yes, I was confident—more confident than I had been on my other capital cases—of the defendant’s guilt. Hell at sentencing, I pushed Judge Marvis for ...
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