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Weekly Contest #265
I placed all my emotions in a small bag, the kind that can be carried on a low-cost flight. I actually enjoy eating on flights, but my money had run out, and I had to fly, had to say goodbye. I wrote on a note that I left in the kitchen, "I'm traveling to leave my feelings in Barcelona and will return in two or three days without them. Sorry that your carry-on won't return with me. I'll buy you another bag there."The taxi arrived at one in the morning to pick me up. Emotions don't seal in plastic bags or leak-proof containers, even though th...
Weekly Contest #243
As far as I knew, most of my mouse friends and family in our town experienced varying degrees of anxiety. This wasn't considered a problem but rather a longstanding mouse tradition passed down through generations. Our species had learned to fear predators, harsh weather, hunger, and, of course, humans. Fortunately, that month, we enjoyed some reprieve from the weather as we began living in a building with advanced climate control. The building belonged to a new drug company called Comedicin, and we all moved in a few weeks earlier. Comedicin...
Weekly Contest #209
Lisa lowered herself into the shotgun position of the pristine Ford Mustang, her heartbeat keeping a wild cadence of incredulity and awe. The rich leather seats, the dashboard gleaming like a well-polished heirloom, the potent fragrance of untouched machinery all swirled around her like a summer whirlwind through a field of magnolia blossoms. Perhaps it was the sheer unexpectedness of the gift, a stark contrast to the customary religious tokens she received from her family. This Mustang, this embodiment of American prowess, was devoid of fam...
Weekly Contest #192
One day he returned home to find the front door unlocked and a woman dangling from a chandelier. It was the oddest sight he had ever witnessed, at least since he had seen his French teacher urinating under a tree during a nighttime field trip. The woman was petite, and the chandelier was quite grand compared to the usual light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. It almost seemed as if she were an ornament deliberately affixed to the chandelier. But as she looked at him with fear in her eyes, his logical side kicked in. The woman must have c...
Weekly Contest #191
Embarking on my quest for a florist at the unconventional hour of 5:00 am, I ventured into the tranquil morning, well aware that most individuals would scarcely entertain the thought of awakening at such an early time, let alone venturing out to purchase flowers.Ordinarily, flower shops would be closed at this hour. Yet, in my town, there's a well-known and eccentric florist who runs a 24/7 flower shop on a charming wagon, proudly displaying the slogan, "We're never closed for romance." But before delving into my early morning quest, I must ...
Weekly Contest #136
At the far end of a baseball field in the Northern Suburbs of Chicago, a goat stood still. When Don Bellushi, who was responsible for the maintenance, refused to believe that it wasn't a joke, he came to view the goat. "What the hell is going on?" Don demanded to know and Stefan Grabowski, the janitor, who ran all the way to the office to tell his boss about the goat, could not stop laughing and told him that the goat got there on its own. “I want it out, fast,” Don exclaimed as if Stefan knew how to move a goat. Stefan approached ...
If you had to sit in front of a machine that cuts perfect pieces of iron, how long could you do it? Consider how many times you could raise and lower the arm attached to the machine, to see how it pulls out circles and more circles and more circles ... more than a hundred per hour. Each hour. Take a look at the machine over there. If you cannot see, try again. Eventually, you will see Bo. Take a look at Bo from behind. He's facing the other way. This isn't difficult. Think of someone you know well, and now add a big iron-cutt...
Weekly Contest #135
Peter, Andrew, Jesus, and I are sitting in one of those new eateries that have popped up like mushrooms after a rainstorm and Andrew remarks that it looks like Judith was hanging out with Abimelech.Peter takes a piece of the bread and says nothing more than: "It's good bread.""What's so good about this bread?" I ask, and he replies, "Nothing. But it's good. Taste!" and he pours some wine into my glass.“Judith, what did you say about her?" he asks his brother. "I saw her with that guy," Andrew says. "And what else do we know?" Peter...
Weekly Contest #133
At the end of the war, we sat on the floor and breathed dust. Not far from us stood a burnt tank with two APCs behind it, also burnt. There was the sound of warplanes still in the air, but we knew no bombs were going to fall anymore, at least not in this round. We felt lucky. The walls near us were punctured with bullets, mostly broken and falling apart. There was no way to see the distant walls because the air was yellow and murky but we could imagine what our city looked like by now. At four-thirty in the morning of Valentine's day, t...
Weekly Contest #132
Unlike most people who believe the world owes them a thank you, Aunt Haviva believes she needs to be grateful for what she has, regardless of how little it may look to an outsider. In the morning, when she walks to the intersection near her house, she shakes hands with drivers and sometimes asks them to get out of their cars so that she can give them a brave morning hug.Drinking morning coffee, watching her from a sidewalk table, one realizes her behavior is certainly borderline, and even crosses the line for sure. However, aunt Ha...
Shortlisted for Contest #131 ⭐️
The dead man lies on the beach, and no one is excited about it. I take out my new notebook and begin writing. This will probably be my first article with the credit, by Brandon Resnik, for the newspaper. Those around continue on with their lives. It is the middle of the afternoon. The temperature is high. Nearly unbearable. Three nights ago, I went on a date with her. She is a journalist. It's unfortunate she left after a mere 10 minutes, but things like that happen. It could be worse. Now I hate journalists and I want to become one mys...
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