Thanks Lively appreciate the kind words and feedback. May also steal your title idea :)

Hey Gaborrero—this was fun!

The title seemed a little off to me. I think you were referring to the idea we were thinking she was a big reporter? If so, I might have brought her status out a tiny bit more at the beginning. I wasn’t sure she was a journalist except for the theme, as everyone pretty much posts and has done for a while.

This ending line was great—perfect payoff: >>But this bombshell wasn't going to write itself, and her twenty followers relied on her to give them an unbiased perspective on cutting-edge news!

While I’m curious about what the bombshell was, I think it works without telling us. So disagree with Fye a little there, despite all of his other great points

But overall, really cool take :)

Hey Lively—I really liked the MC here and her approach to doing the right thing!

A couple small notes—

1. You may want to introduce John Harris by name when you first mention him as the piggy eyed boss. The logic is just it took me out for a tenth of a second because I wondered if there might be two piggy eyed guys in the office. You then can also cut a little bit of either of the descriptions as while they’re fantastic they do repeat the concept of sleazy boss slightly:

>>Not that my new boss had done anything more than give it a cursory glance, his small piggy eyes had been too busy feasting upon my cleavage. The job had been mine from the moment I had left an extra button undone on my blouse. Brains need not apply.

>>”You can’t leave now!”, exclaimed John Harris, his florid face suddenly peering around the door, his piggy eyes running all over my body like slime, apparently still unable to find my eyes.

2. this made me a little uncomfortable as the MC was playing into the game a bit too much for me:

>> The job had been mine from the moment I had left an extra button undone on my blouse.

Otherwise, most enjoyable:)

Wow! As always some great crit! Thanks so much, Fye! :)

‘Dodgeball Gods’

—-

Stanton Elementary’s grounds embraced their rural setting. Blessed with plenty of space, crabapple and sycamore trees lined dappled asphalt paths. The baseball field spread out next to the pristine basketball court. But at the heart of it all, in the disused tennis court, dodgeball was the name of the game.

Cotton stood with his buddy Pepper as the team assembled in the early evening’s fading sun. Younger and shorter with red hair, he was nevertheless the leader, as his friend’s slightly slumped shoulders attested.

“They’re looking good, Pepper. In fine form. And aren’t those shirts great?”

“Yes indeed, Cotton. The school’s done well with the new gym uniforms… And wow! Look at them go—straight through the metal gate and onto the court.”

The students gathered in a line as the two self-declared captains, a gawky kid and a tanned, brunette, picked sides.

“The first few choices have been unsurprising—your standard dodge gods. Wait, did you see that, Pepper?! Scrawny new guy gets chosen over the next round of ball hogs?”

“It’s a bold strategy, Cotton, let’s see if it pays off for them.”

“And look, it’s everybody’s favorite gym teacher and the coach for both teams to provide some inspiration!”

A man with thinning brown hair and a mustard-stained blue shirt stepped forward. “Alright, kids, it’s time to review the five Ds of dodgeball—dodge, duck, dip, dive, and dodge. And, if you remember nothing else, if you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball!”

“Words to live by, Pepper. Words to live by.”

Six players took to the court on each side. Angry looks and scowls at those usually considered their friends were the norm in dodgeball.

“Ain’t no room for smiles here. Dodge ball is life!!”

“You’re quoting Ted Lasso now, Pepper?”

“At least it’s a current reference!”

“Touché, Pepper. Oh, no—look! Inside-out-shirt team’s captain got walloped. Ouchtown, population: you bro!”

“Is t-that blood?”

The captain roared as the ball hit the ground, indicating a fair play. “Nobody makes me bleed my own blood!”

“Gross. I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.”

“TMI Cotton. Moving on. Who will win is the big question of the day! Will it be the righteous right-side-out shirts or the incredible inside-out ones? Only time will tell.”

As the three balls whizzed back and forth between the two teams, Cotton and Pepper watched, mesmerized.

“Didya see that catch? Gonna be a substitution for sure!”

“Right, you are Cotton. And in good time, too—the players look pretty tired out there.”

The seasoned coach glanced up at the reddening sky, darkening to black. “Time to call it, kiddos.”

“But, coach,” the right-side-out captain whined. “We’re tied! Didn’t you say ‘only losers end on ties’?”

The coach combed through his sparse hair with his hand, little wisps floating in the breeze, before standing tall. “You’re all losers then, I guess! Hit the locker room!”

“Who would have seen that coming, Cotton?”

“Well, it has happened the last six games…”

—-

WC: 499

—-

Thanks for reading! Feedback is always very much appreciated

This was great, GD! Very existential. Small thing—I got a little lost on the quickening part. May just be a me thing

‘The Gale’

—-

A gale blew fierce and biting. The offshore wind farm’s maintenance platform shook as turbines spun in a precarious fashion.

Mack and Jack, the only fraternal twins on the rig, eyed the giant machines with concern.

“Number six looks faulty,” Mack groused.

Jack bit his lip. “Blade failure isn’t fatal.”

“But in this weather, it could be.”

They both gallows laughed, as a colleague had been killed last week.

Jack’s eyes glistened as he angrily wiped a tear away.

“Ain’t no shame in that. Forgetting a friend is painful.”

The two men’s weathered faces returned to the number six GE apparatus. Its blades shook intermittently before grinding to a halt.

“That’s not good. Number 23 did something similar before detaching in the accident.” Jack took a drag of his hand-rolled cigarette.

“I know. So we’re going to have to fix it. Somehow.”

“Yeah. It won’t just be a cosmetic furbish, either. Someone will have to climb the tower and do proper repairs.”

Identical grey eyes exchanged looks, surveying the structure's entire length.

“Not it!” Mack shouted, laughing.

“Won’t work this time, bro. Gonna need both of us for this.”

As they walked over to the Zodiac raft to get to the turbine, a great crash sounded, forcing a deluge of water on deck. They clung to the railing with all their might.

“Lost the generator, but at least we’re alive.”

—-

WC: 230

—-

Thanks for reading! Feedback is always very much appreciated

‘A Bone to Pick’

—-

Sasha’s grizzled muzzle lolled out the window, a thin stream of drool marking the sedan’s trajectory.

The old boxer sniffed the air, growled, and whimpered. She nuzzled the Yorkie pup lying next to her. “Trix? TRIX? TRIXIE?!?”

Trixie opened an eye slowly, her third eyelid still apparent from slumber. “Wh-what? Wh-here are we?”

“In the car, stupid. You were half asleep when she put you in, and you snored the whole way so far.”

Stretching, Trixie licked a paw. “So?”

“So? So?? Don’t you hear them?”

“Hear what, Sash?”

“The howls of horror. She. Is. Taking. Us. To. The. Vets.”

“Say what now?”

“You heard me,” Sasha raised a graying brow.

Suddenly, Trixie was everywhere at once. Jumping on the seat. Dashing at the windows. Barking like a mad pup.

“Trix? What is it, girl?” Her human mom reached over to scritch her head. “Aww, you know you’re going to the vet’s, don’t you? Poor thing.”

Whimpering, Trixie clawed the window.

“Here we are, guys. Let me just get your leashes,” she said, opening the car door slightly.

That’s all it took. Sasha darted out with a speed belying her age. She looked left and right and realized she had nowhere else to go. Head down, she walked back to her mom.

“Goood girl,” the human crooned, patting her on the head.

With both dogs on leashes, she entered the vet's office.

Two fresh peanut butter flavored biscuits of their favorite biscuits awaited them at the front desk.

“I could get used to this, Sash. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.”

A lone groan from the back echoed through the cement building.

They exchanged looks as their names were called.

Sasha murmured, “This is the end, my only friend.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s a rabies shot.”

Thanks for replying! I love your point about motivation, Dream—it really is an important factoring in directing the narrative

Thanks Poetry for a fascinating response! I really like your last line about showing the thorns as well as the rose in love

Wow—such an intense, emotional piece with a lot of beautiful descriptions, Tubman. Eg: >> The doctor handed her over to me wrapped tightly in the pink-and-blue striped hospital blanket, her skin yellowed from jaundice.

It’s also incredible as a true story and feels very real. I hope everything is ok there as it sounds like an intense experience

The one crit I’d have and I struggle to crit this is that it’s more telling / observing than showing in spots. And feels a bit more passive than active. Like here I think you could just rephrase a few things to bring such an incredible story even more to life: >> In the delivery room Gemma had been crying the whole time, but stopped immediately as soon as the doctor gave her to me and I started talking to her. My wife was asleep, exhausted, but everyone in the room witnessed this, the obstetrician, two nurses, my-mother-in law. She remembered my voice. She knew she was safe.

And this was gorgeous: >> We are all written into the Grand Novel with just a few blank pages. Though few, our pages are important. They can’t be penned by Shakespeare or vicariously lived through your favorite streamer. Only you can write them.

Very well done!

What a charming story, words! I love how the lesson is brought out so subtly and yet well remembered.

You have so many gorgeous and descriptive details in here. Like: >> The words simmered at the tip of my tongue, a million little stories and excuses waiting to be unleashed.

The one small thing I’d say is the quote didn’t fully link back for me. Maybe in the little lies details and stuff, but not the happiness quote. That said, it was tough to shoehorn in!

No crit, Xack. Just wanted to say again how mind blowing this is and that I’d like to see more like it from you. Don’t get me wrong—I adore your comedy. But dang, this was powerful

Thanks so much for such a thoughtful response, Korra! I love how you focus on ways to make it work—some great advice there. And as you say, sadly it happens IRL quite a bit

Wow Astandus—thanks so much for such a detailed and well thought out response! You’re definitely right that unrequited love is often done poorly and that it can blur the plot of a writer is not careful

Thanks so much for your insights, Drewbit! Two great author references. And your point about leveraging experiences to write about love is so true. But just as true as you say is that unrequited love is a tough and painful one

Thanks so much for the kind words and helpful feedback, Words! :)

Thanks so much, Fye! Appreciate the kind words and great insights :)

‘The Importance of Being Sally’

—-

"The true secret of happiness lies in taking a genuine interest in all the details of daily life. You know who said that, kid?” Asked Edwin Carothers. With slicked-back silver-rippled hair and a thin Clarke Gable mustache, he leered at the young dame.

Sally, the cornfed, blonde-haired, blue-eyed starlet-to-be, shook her head.

“Why William Morris himself, the head of this here fine talent agency. What do you think he meant by that?”

“That you hafta notice stuff ta be happy?”

“More or less. It means for a man to be successful, he needs to take notice of all relevant commercial details, not just a couple of his choosing.” A smug grin accompanied his raised cigar and sip of neat bourbon.

Twirling a curl pensively as if the thought alone was too much effort, Sally inquired. “That’s all well and good fer a man, but what about fer a woman like?”

“First, we must work on that dreadful diction of yours. It’s an embarrassment, I tell you. Sounds like a ravenous guttersnipe. But in answer to your question, you’ve made the right decision coming here to William Morris. Men like me take care of all your casting needs,” Edwin winked.

“I assure you, Sir, I’m not that kinda gal.” Puffing out her chest with her hands on her hips, Sally glared at Edwin. “Why, with hard work and gumption, my mama says I’ll go far.”

“If I had a nickel for every dang fool broad who said something like that, I’d own this here agency.”

“I’m sorry if I overstepped, Sir.” Tears prickled Sally’s eyes. A soft, perfect sniffle accompanied her doe-eyed look. “It’s just I want this so much.”

His ample belly extending over his trousers, Edwin pulled on his suspenders with both hands and let out a low whistle as he gave Sally the once-over. “You are a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

“Why, thank ya. Do ya think I have what it takes?”

“In spades,” he whistled again, patting his lap. “If only you knew how to work the industry.”

“Could ya say that a little louder? I couldn’t quite hear ya.”

“Let me put it simple-like for a woman’s tiny brain. If you do me certain favors, I’ll help advance your career—“

Sally turned to face the deep burgundy velvet curtains. “Will that do, Mrs. Carothers?”

“Nicely, Sally. Thanks ever so much. I’ll wire your payment.” She pivoted to stare a crimson-countenanced Edwin in his twitching eyes, handing him a stack of legal papers. “As for you, I believe you know why I’m serving you these?”

At the door, Sally paused, speaking in an English accent so crisp, it cleaved the very air. “You know it was William Morris, the noted British polymath that you quoted when we commenced speaking.”

“Yo-your accent? What happened?”

Closing the door, she enunciated, “I attended Oxford, you pathetic, chauvinistic buffoon.”

—-

WC: 484

—-

Thanks for reading! Feedback is always very much appreciated

Hey Menory, super interesting take! I liked the story in a story and exploration of AI emotions a lot. Dialog was strong too. That said, the formatting was very aggressive and in my opinion detracted from an overall strong piece. You might want to switch it to a little more standard format to avoid distracting the reader. Overall, really enjoyable though! :)

‘Check Your Humanity’

—-

McKain! MCKAIN!! I got into my dream internship. My path to glory and professional success was guaranteed.

In vast glass fishbowl-like rooms, my fellow interns and I swam each morning to a hot desk of our choosing.

Even the privacy of cubicles was too much after the latest efficiency enhancement effort. ‘By removing dividers, we can fit an additional five interns per room. What progress!’ The office manager crowed when it was announced, their raise assured.

I put my Tumi backpack with its McKain corporate-branded logo down each day on the right-hand side of my desk as I saw the others do. My navy blue Brooks Brothers suit and black military-shined Florsheim wingtips made me feel at home. While not officially required, we all knew we needed to fit the mold.

But two months in and the honeymoon glow had lost its luster. I needed more.

It began when I stapled the PowerPoint decks vertically vs. horizontally. For the first time in ages, those ninety degrees felt like freedom.

That day, within the crisp cream walls of McKain, I found something more beautiful than the office’s art deco furniture and priceless art—my soul. That bright crimson jelly filling to the corporate donut which made me feel whole again.

Erroneously aligned staples gave way to sans-serif fonts in the afternoon. Caliente calibri was now my jam. I even imagined one day I’d go extra-risqué with heady Helvetica. Ta ta times new roman!

People noticed something was different almost immediately but couldn’t quite put their finger on it. Was it my insouciant swagger as I headed to the printer? The way my staples glinted in full silver glory in their cheeky placement as I handed them out at the Pickerel client meeting? Or perhaps it was that my clandestine activities had given me a newfound lease on life as fresh as first love’s kiss?

Whatever it was, I was drawing attention in all the right ways.

Until that fateful moment when my boss summoned me to her office.

I knocked gently, avoiding my trademark non-standard third rap.

“Come in.”

“You wanted to see me, Carol?”

Her face grave, she spoke in the measured tone middle managers reserve for when they want to project anger and control. “I’ll cut to the chase. I’ve heard some disturbing rumors today that you’ve, well, been acting human.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You know, ‘human.’”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought I was—“

“Not. Here. You. Aren’t.” Carol looked side to side to ensure we weren’t being watched before continuing conspiratorially. “Look, there’s a reason this place is nicknamed ‘the Borg.’ You can be ‘you’ in your downtime within reason, but not at work. Here, you represent McKain down to how you staple and what fonts you use.”

“You heard about that?”

“Yes. I mean, what’s next—off-brand colors in decks?” she laughed. “You’ve already gone too far.”

“Funny you mention that. I was eying a lovely #FF00FF magenta.”

Carol fainted, as I ran.

——

WC: 499

——

Thanks for reading. Feedback is always very much appreciated