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Weekly Contest #242
He’ll come once or twice each week, an hour or two before closing, sit gaze and shoes perpendicular to the bench with a dark coat or jacket or mouth cracked open, and see you for all you are.All you are is a lifetime of forethought, a line of a feather-brush, a landscape of finity. You came with purpose and you stand with purpose, wield the shovel only you could lift from the stone-turned soil — if you wanted to and you don’t, won't; you’re the centre piece, piece de resistance, you’re the woman you’ve never seen, the black-chipped crow, the...
Weekly Contest #239
The moment I burst into the office and see myself perched on the desk, eight-o-clock-wide grin and all, the day's already a disaster. Nothing quite like a greeting from the younger, better version of yourself. As if it’s not enough I’m working the long weekend, as if it’s not enough I have sixteen voicemails begging me to fix a project I know I can’t fix, as if it’s not enough Matt’s coming in too, when I barely had time to brush my teeth. “Late as always,” Cambridge-Pavle says, fanning himself with a blood red folder, smooth like his ch...
Winner of Weekly Contest #238 🏆
I tow my dead father with me to the scorched heart of a desert. His body guilts down my shoulders, heavier each time he doesn't tell me that I took the wrong turn, that I need to straighten my elbows, that I never do anything the right way so why does he even bother. My jeep sputters and chokes under our weight as it brings us to the parking lot in front of the hotel. Vipassana, reads the sign above the glass door, melted open at the hinges. The Silent Retreat. Heat slaps me across the face. I backpack my father around my waist and march to ...
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