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Four times a day,
we help you
get the words out.
Write in any genre in
300 words or less.
Hit publish.
Read. Be Read.
Write. Now.
The priest waved me to a chair across from his desk without looking up. The smell of mothballs and cigar smoke lingered in the dingy, outmoded room, but I'd never seen him smoke.

"So," he said, "a crisis of faith, is it?" (more)
The next time she sees him again he's wearing a parka. It's anyone's guess what city they're in, how many years are etched into their faces, in hers in gentle, slowly hardening lines radiating from the corners of her eyes, in his, a hardness in his cheekbones, that cuts(more)
People are often surprised I dabbled in psychedelics when young. Truthfully, it wasn't "dabbling," it was obsessive indulgence. I was entranced by the window into perception, the metaphysical realm beyond definition. You name a psychedelic, I've likely taken it.
Tick, tick, tick...

The sweat dripped off his forehead and plopped onto the project he so focused on. In the office, away from the field, he complained about how movies made it look easy. But it was moments like this, 110 degrees, dehydration making his joints grind and(more)
endless dream: two sinks
in the bathroom upstairs, both
used at the same time