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A weekly short story contest
Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jun, 2024
Submitted to Contest #281
Nils stared uncomprehending at the hide-wrapped bundle at his feet.He could feel a part of him – the cold, rational pilot that sat behind his monkey brain – noting that the tip of his nose and the ends of his fingers were already getting frost-nipped. He knew exactly, exactly ¸what he should be doing: close the door, seal the thermal edges, get in front of one of the great heaters, or better yet the central furnace, and warm his core and his extremities. He should get help from one of the others – he could hear Katinka in the kitchen, never ...
Submitted to Contest #278
I had stood at the podium and felt each camera-flash like a slap. At first. The press pack had been larger than usual, their ability to scent blood in the water would make a shark blush. I remember clearly that the sky had begun to fall out of my world on a Thursday lunchtime, heralded not by trumpets but by a WhatsApp message from my Chief of Staff. My indiscretions had apparently been seen, noted and were now to be dredged into the light and sacrificed on the altar of public opinion. The years of service didn’t matter, the severity of my “...
Submitted to Contest #277
There is a smile on my face. It’s a good one too; I’ve practiced crinkling the corners of my eyes and making sure it bobs up and down like a wave, following the swell of the conversation. I made myself learn how to turn it off too without letting my eyes show that the strings, tangling all the way down to my heart, have been cut. Severed neatly by their owner. Sometimes it’s best to frown, and nod your head as if to say “‘good point, well made’”. There’s way of doing this – sometimes you must slowly draw down the lips, in direct inverse prop...
🏆 Winner of Contest #276
I feel the JACKAL sway below me, the dust-red road unrolling in front and the stunted mahogany scrub flashing alongside. We pass women bent double under towering loads of firewood and are passed by young men on mopeds in turn. I make it a point to always wave - with my left hand only, the right stays welded to the .50 cal. You can always tell there’s a village ahead because the trees start to thin and the umber houses begin to multiply. They could have been built yesterday or a hundred years ago and the only thing that changes is the age of ...
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