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Weekly Contest #361
In June 1890, it would be wheat harvest time in the western Kansas part of the Great American Desert."It's winter wheat," Art explained. "They plant it in October.""And it grows all through winter?" I asked, incredulously.He laughed. "No. How could it grow when it's twenty below and with three to four feet of snow on top of it?" he smirked.I pressed my lips together. "Well, I think I can expect some grace considering it has the rather misleading name of 'winter' in its given title."Chuckling, he lightly punched my shoulder. "If I were you, I...
Weekly Contest #360
“Jarvis Merryman! What's all this?” Mr. Richard Barker bellowed as I blew in through the Savoy Theatre’s stage door with the remnants of 1884 and her December wind and fog residue on my cap and overcoat. “It's 5:30 a.m., lad! What in heaven's name you doin' here so early?”“Bother it all! Am I that late, Uncle Dick?” I groaned in mock dismay, wiggling out of my coat and shaking the wet from it. "I was aiming for 4:00. Be a chum and don't tell that old boss of the boards I had a lie-in."He huffed as only a stage manager can. "Cheeky boy. You k...
Weekly Contest #359
"Mr. Wilhelm Posten. I understand you are here regarding the notice of the typesetting position at the Reveille?" Professor Bernard asked, as he ushered me into his office.I had removed my straw hat when I entered the Academy's front door and been commanded to wait in the front receiving area while the principal of the school was summoned. "Yes, sir," I said to him now, hat in hand.He shut the door and strode to his desk, looking me over as he did. "It's not a job, Mr. Posten. It is an apprenticeship.""I thought so, Professor."He squinted at...
My plan is to eat the books.Who will care? After all, no one reads books anymore.Well, I suppose that's not completely fair. Of course, people still obtain words collected together into digital files designated as intellectual property for which the consumer agrees that said consumer does not own said commodity, but have only purchased the right to run their eyes along the herein lines of Arial—or Times New Roman, for they do have that choice—font-faced type.But actual, physical, glue and thread, creased-spine books? No. Not those space-wast...
Weekly Contest #358
I slumped to the curb, pulled up my knees, and curled my arms around them."Hey, you. Baldhead."I turned.A tall man with wide shoulders was standing five feet behind, an assortment of luggage under his arms and in his hands. Next to him, leaning heavily against a lamp post, was an equally tall but thinner man with a carpet bag and cardboard suitcase at his feet.I pointed at myself, frowning."No. The other five bald fellows in the gutter." The tall man huffed. "Yes, you. How much to carry his"—he tilted his head at the thin man—"bags to the tr...
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