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Weekly Contest #325
Cathy doesn’t wait for the door to swing shut on its own. She spins at the threshold, gropes for the handle, and yanks it forward. Click. The pulsing light and the throbbing sound from down the hall die; the party, the smoke, the terrible music, the red plastic cups, the late hour, the guy in the blue baseball cap, his twitchy hands, his shadowed eyes (watching, always watching her), his sweaty armpits—all is locked away. Blocked by the intervening wood and brick and tile. She twists the lock—another click—then checks the handle. It doesn’t ...
Weekly Contest #289
The room is full of black specks again. I try to bat them away but can’t find my right arm. I search but find only the left one. It’s shackled to the wall. I stare at it for a moment, considering, then decide that it’s too far from me anyway. I pull in a lungful of air and forcefully blow it out. The specks don’t budge. I blow on them again, harder, but that only hurts someone’s ribs. I don’t think the ribs are mine.“What’s he doing?” asks a voice from in front of me… behind me? Above? I don’t recognize it.“Dunno. Don’t care.”“Gotta keep him...
Weekly Contest #263
Roy couldn’t stop staring at the green banners flapping atop the tower crenelations. Tossed by the angry winter wind, they seemed too bright, too festive against the white backdrop of the snow-covered roofs, trees, and roads; too crude for the first hesitant hours of the twilight that still rang with the mournful echo of the church bells. Dun-dong-din-dung, the bells had wept. The king is dead. Dong-dong-din-dunnn. The king was murdered.And only an hour after, his brother had already replaced his banners with his own.“Bastard,” Keldrin, the ...
Weekly Contest #247
My college roommate wore a purple hat. Always. Everywhere. Innocent enough stylistic choice, you might think, but here is the thing. My roommate was an eighty-three-year-old near-sighted lady who, on most days, needed the help of her massive walking stick – and often yours truly – to get from the sofa to the kitchen table. She was bald, missing three front teeth, and bent so low she must have once been twice her height. Those qualities would have been more than enough to differentiate Liliana from the rest of the student body at our uni...
Weekly Contest #239
You have never heard of me. You have never been to my exhibition. But you have seen my Art. Too young to speak? Too old to walk? Too poor, too busy, or category-five blind? You have seen my work.Of course, you have. Everyone has.I am the Illustrator.*****Thirty years earlier.“DO NOT ENTER,” says the sign in obnoxiously red letters. I push past the door.“CONTAMINATED AREA. RESPIRATORY EQUIPMENT REQUIRED.”I take a deep breath, hold it, and walk further into the bowels of the old dilapidated warehouse. It’s dark and stuffy inside...
Weekly Contest #237
Sir? Sir!” Plete’s voice, “Please, sir, wake up! Please!”Even half-asleep, Warrian could tell that the boy sounded panicked. All but weeping.“Wake up, sir! Please, get up! We are under attack.” Plete was shaking him now.Go, said another voice, this one steady and calm, a remnant of the quickly disintegrating dream, Stay on the left side of the lake. We’ll push through.The voice cut off, a memory that shimmered, whirled, and vanished, as Plete’s words finally sank in. Warrian bolted upright.“How many?” He was already moving, pulling on his bo...
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