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Weekly Contest #334
I’m terribly cold. Snow is falling on me and it won’t be long until dark. Clenching my jaw, I reach up and try to pull my green army jacket higher. Damn, I can barely see or move in this endless, numbing ice storm. So, Inch by grueling inch, I go. Hey, that rhymes–maybe I should sing my way to what seems like certain death. I sense death is close; he’s breathing cold all around my neck. I have to keep up with this excuse for a unit–my unit. If I get separated from these morons, I’m dead. Most of my buddies are dead! What did they die for? Un...
Weekly Contest #320
Nick's beloved woods had transformed into an eerie, haunted forest. Something seemed to be watching him. He’d patrolled these woods since he was three; every familiar path now seemed evil, making him feel betrayed. He had a 1911 pistol holstered on his right hip; the .45 caliber rounds would allow him to obliterate any man who threatened him. Rumors had flown and were repeated; an escaped 'nut job' from the local psychiatric hospital was supposedly hiding somewhere in his woods. Every snapping twig and leaf-blown made his pulse rise in fear;...
Weekly Contest #317
Chief Charging Bull abruptly found himself floating above his own motionless body, sprawled across a brown buffalo rug. Was he asleep? Dead? "No!" he shouted, willing himself back into his flesh—but nothing happened. Panic overtook him, spreading like wildfire across the dry prairie, a thundering stampede with no hope of escape.Instinctively, he tried to shield his hawkish, wrinkled face and drop to his knees, hiding from phantom beasts thundering through his mind. But his hands passed through empty air. His body below remained perfectly sti...
Weekly Contest #316
Bill "Scars" Newton hobbled into the Bolt's grimy training room, a weathered aluminum crutch wedged under his left arm and his right arm hanging limp like dead weight. The fluorescent lights flickered, casting harsh shadows across the cracked linoleum walls lined with rusted lockers and outdated medical equipment that looked like relics from a forgotten era. He moved like a wounded predator—each step deliberate and agonizing, his black booted feet echoing against the concrete floor that bore permanent stains from years of blood, sweat, and d...
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