Learning To Lose

As a child, Pedro was taught that winning was all that mattered. Yet at the same time, his teachers insisted that when he lost, he must do so with dignity. This was a contradiction.

If winning was all important, his response to defeat was at best meaningless. In truth, conciliation towards failure must be evidence of his disregard for the first lesson.

As an adult, Pedro finally understands. After vanquishing his enemies in battle, hand-to-hand combat, or preemptive surrender, he finds it distasteful when opponents act sullenly towards their new master. Dignity is another word for capitulation to your betters.

Prom Night

She hung the dress on a hook and shoved it all the way back in her closet, past her pink winter coat and communion dress. This was where outfits went to die.

She took a tissue and wiped her tear-stained makeup off in the mirror. The rolled up wad joined a dozen others in the vicinity of her trash bin.

She crawled into bed in full surrender. She looked at her cell phone on the table and thought of calling Janet, but she likely wasn't home yet. The fact she hated that her friend was enjoying herself made everything worse.

Staking A Claim

It started with his touch and before that the way he looked at me; clear blue eyes that knew how to take me in, how to see through my quiet, my fear. We explored city streets that summer, always attached, love-linked. A goodnight kiss turned couch tumble—hungry hands searching, lips and teeth crashing, his weight pinning me down. And then that surprise on the back of my neck: sweat, tears so sweet. Surrender, yes, maybe even love; but later, and better, trust and understanding, an intimacy that allowed regrets to be shared, my darkness to escape, a homestead staked.

From Guest Contributor Holiday Goldfarb

Holiday is currently enrolled in the MFA Program in Writing at Lindenwood University, Saint Louis, MO. If all goes as planned, she will graduate in December 2016.

What It Felt Like To Die

I plummet to the earth--the emerald field I stood upon moments before.

The one who injured me was merely a streak of shadows which approached, just as quickly as he vanished.

Below my navel is a tiny puncture. What was once unblemished flesh is now a faucet, bathing soil with my body's vital broth.

I realize my aorta is severed.

Clouds bob and flicker, bearing the faces of my family. I panic, fervidly trying to grasp them--their expressions are indifferent, unresponsive.

Instantly, tranquility engulfs me. Darkness eclipses my vision. I surrender, relishing the divine slumber that beckons me.

From Guest Contributor L. Michelle Corp

Surrender

General Stern chewed on his tobacco lustily, the last luxury he afforded himself. Once the surrender was completed, there'd be no more tobacco. No more anything, most likely, except a dark cell. They'd probably try him for war crimes. He probably deserved it, too. But if the Battle at the Ridge had played out differently, he'd be a hero rather than a criminal.

It was only after he had submitted to the enemy that the message came through.

Reinforcements are on their way.

The general spit out the nicotine-laced saliva with a bitter grin. It's funny how things play out.

The Daily Theme from Figment for March 6, 2012

A letter, email, or text message is delivered to its recipient late enough to have dramatic and irrevocable consequences. If only it had arrived on time, everything would have been different.

In addition to showing us the ramifications of its tardiness, try to include the actual text of the delayed message in your theme.