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CONTEST ENDED – Thank you for submitting your stories!

Write a story framed by a single scene: something happens, a flashback or inner monologue intervenes, and then the story ends with the rest of the original scene.

Posted in Narrative on Dec 22, 2023

Submissions are closed

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✍️ 90 stories

“A Christmas Day Heist” by Scott Christenson

Submitted to Contest #230

“A grande whole milk latte and all the money in the cash register,” Bernie said to the cashier, while pointing the gun at the barista, “or the barista dies.”People usually value other people’s lives more than their own, or at least they should. The age twenties something cashier’s face was twitching. It was clear he had never been in a robbery before. Calgary is a safe city, or at least it was before the people from Toronto started showing up.“Is this for real? Are you actually robbing the store?” the cashier said.“Does this gun look real to...

15 comments 15
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“Five Tarantulas in a Teapot” by Amanda Wisdom

Submitted to Contest #230

Funny, how places aren’t places, as much as they are times. I let the thought ripple across my stream of consciousness, as careless and as casual as a sea breeze. I look at the blooming hydrangeas before me, then reach out to pluck one of the pastel petals between my fingers. Yes, places aren't places, as much as they are times. Lost in thought, I study the flowers that grow here — lemon daisies, sunflowers, toad lilies — and admire how each flower adds a touch of wild beauty to my grandmother’s garden. Every step I take shifts their sh...

2 comments 2
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“Paradise, 2017” by Zyn Marlin

Submitted to Contest #230

Hell looks like four wicker seats around a low coffee table in the open-air lobby of a paradise resort.The Cozumel evening is warm, with a gulf breeze brushing gentle fingers against my bare arms and face and bringing the faint smell of salt and fish and someone’s coconut sunscreen. Round light fixtures in the varnished wood-plank ceiling above us and strings of bulbs outlining the boardwalk back towards the condos cast a soft, magical light by which my three-year-old daughter is coloring pictures at the table. Her wavy brown hair, loose aro...

7 comments 7
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“The light switch ” by A. Torrecilha

Submitted to Contest #230

“Do you also want to turn off the lights?” He inquired with a smirk on his face. I felt him eyeing me down, even thought we were the same height, the entire time he was in my house I could swear it was the only way he looked at me. He grabbed around my waste tightly, I could see every hint of emerald in his eyes even if I was unable to look directly at them for very long. I stared at the empty bottle of beer I left in my desk, it was the first time I had had alcohol in weeks. Before I was in my room with this complete stranger, I had been i...

0 comments 0
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“Golden Trophies” by Sreenija Paruchuri

Submitted to Contest #230

The murder should’ve been easy. I had the whole thing planned out. A ladder, a card, a chain, a hook. It was all there. And now I was shrouded in blood. Far too much blood to clean. The red soaked my yellow shirt. Perhaps I should’ve planned for things to go wrong, to give room for error. Yet another shortcoming. I looked down at Maddy’s disfigured head. “Always so precise,” she taunted. “Always losing.” I was supposed to win this time. I was supposed to throw her off guard, kill her, and get away with it. I was supposed to win in the en...

1 comment 1
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“The Rise to Rebellion” by Pryor Rose

Submitted to Contest #230

The bustling sound of wooden wheels pulling away brought Edric to glance from the castle balcony and towards the caravan that led the Warden out of the gates of Solitude. Having waited all week for this excursion to happen the prince sighed in almost relief at the reality of the situation. Since the death of his father Edric had lived under the thumb of Albrun, abiding by the ridiculousness of the wars he waged against the commoners within Akarith. The meeting with the rogue prisoner and the truth behind her words had Edric confused. His fa...

1 comment 1
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“The Last Suitor” by Imogen Bird

Submitted to Contest #230

Mother had always taught me to knock before entering a lady's dwelling. I had dutifully followed this social norm imagining it was all underpinned by politeness and deference. But as I swing here, upside down, clutched in the grasp of a monstrous beast, the posy of lavender and dasies that I had been holding just minutes before when I entered the room strewn on the floorboards above my head, I can't help but wonder if the convention actually exists on the off chance the lady turns out to be a werewolf. When Flora arrived in the village in ...

3 comments 3
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“Razor's Return” by John Boyack

Submitted to Contest #230

Daniel waved goodbye and pulled away from the curb, starting the drive home. As he left the sunny neighborhood and joined the through street he heard a familiar sigh coming from the dog crate on the passenger seat. Glancing to the side, he saw the grayed whiskers, panting tongue, and eager eyes of his Yorkshire terrier. Well…now it was his. He wouldn’t be able to say anymore, “Oh, that’s Allie’s dog.”  “I’m happy to see you too, buddy.” He inhaled deeply, and put a hand to his forehead. Silence resumed as he continued the drive.&nb...

4 comments 4
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“Jules, Please” by Danielle Scott

Submitted to Contest #230

I watched as the wolf—or dog—held my brother’s neck clamped in its jaws, its teeth piercing the skin just above his left collarbone. He still fought, weak but desperate. Dying. His left shoulder and arm were useless, bright red shining through the shreds of his dark jacket and seeping past the cuff of his sleeve to his mangled hand. His chest was peppered with tiny wounds, blood blooming across his shirt like a bright red flower. He was frantic, an animal caught in a trap. His body convulsed as he angled towards the wolfdog’s grip, his right...

6 comments 6
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“The Undertaker Has Red Hair” by 𝔊𝔲𝔞𝔡𝔞𝔩𝔲𝔭𝔢 𝔗𝔢𝔩𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔯

Submitted to Contest #230

In the quiet of the church, without even looking, I know Mr. Paulson is walking up the aisle to the ambo. I hear his footsteps moving, and he comes into my vision.  Mr. Paulson is not a remarkable person to look at. The small, round glasses he wears don’t stick out, literally or metaphorically. His expression at every funeral is solemn, but not stiff or overly mournful. He is a good funeral director.  I prefer the title undertaker to funeral director. Perhaps because the former is not much in use anymore, it’s more appealing to...

3 comments 3
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“Stalker” by R.S. Daniels

Submitted to Contest #230

The day’s heat, trapped in the asphalt of the parking lot, barely leaked enough away to not scorch the skin. Large, misshapen rocks formed a barrier along the edges, so vehicles didn’t go down the steep cliffs and crash into the houses below. For those old enough to remember, a one man kiosk used to split the entrance and exit lanes, a silent guard ensuring orderly traffic. But now, all that was left were small, jagged pieces of metal, jutting from the ground like some extinct animal’s rib cage.   Stalker’s senses came back one at...

0 comments 0
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“The Partygoers” by Zoë Irene

Submitted to Contest #230

Present Day – 19:07            The L Train. Not my usual train. Not a train I would normally take. But then again, I was not on my usual route. I was not going to a place I would normally go.            A woman with groceries and two small children gets off at this stop and I hesitate to take the seat that was formerly hers. When I don’t notice an elderly person, a disabled person, an expectant mother, or someone else equally deservi...

1 comment 1
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“Moms and dresses” by Arch R

Submitted to Contest #230

Bindu checks her watch again; it had only been four mins since she last looked. She readjusts the strap so the watch would fit more snugly on her wrist and the studded C would gleam for a momentary adrenaline jolt. Didn’t work. Her topor-soaked eyes trace the glimmering aisles, everything a blur of textures and colors like in a psychedelic-induced dream. Staring out the front of the store, she sees a woman and a girl admiring the cerulean-colored dress on the busty silver manequin. The woman’s eyes travel down the length of the dress and the...

2 comments 2
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“Below the Waterline” by Richard Allen

Submitted to Contest #230

Below the Waterline I vowed to eat my lunch with the residents. This vow naturally meant I had to eat shelter food. No Subway bags or burgers from Wendy’s. I’m not sure if I can swallow today’s offering which resembles spaghetti. Pasty noodles glued together by gray chunks of what is probably meat. My skin is pale and most of the residents at the shelter are people of color, but it doesn’t matter. I listen. That’s what I’m here to do. I change light bulbs, process donations, and I listen. When I asked residents about the race riots...

4 comments 4
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“Dust” by Chris Pye

Submitted to Contest #230

Dust from the rocket choked the street. It choked the huddled women, silenced the screaming children and stuffed the nostrils of the dogs shivering in the alley ways.  Dust roiled from pulverised stone, from houses that had once been homes, with bedrooms where love was made and kitchens where families had gathered. Powdered lives drifted in the heat, shutting the mouths of angry men. The young woman writhed like a desert demon from the rubble, coughing and spitting. Debris spilled from her black hair and robe.  She stagger...

4 comments 4
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