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The Great BOLD Write-Off: August 2026

We had a great time at the Great BOLD Write-Off in August! Small crowd but great stories! New Bold barista Luke Cohn was off the clock and decided to compete, and he took home the prize! Congrats, Luke!

Prompts:
Character: A songwriter
Action: Smiling
Setting: On a broken computer
Phrase: “Don’t you dare.”

***

In the Back Room of U-Break-I-Fix 

by Luke Cohn 

“Come on.” Rafi slams his hand on the table. “Come on, baby. Come on, come on.” Spinning wheel of death. Maybe Rafi could take up a new career. “Don’t do this. Don’t crash.” Maybe he could invest in a nicer computer, or at least a mostly functional one. “Don’t you dare––“ Maybe he should forgo all technology and live contactless in the middle of the woods. He had an uncle do that, once, or perhaps the friend of an uncle, or even–– 

“Oh. Fuck.” The computer’s screen goes black. “I’m ruined.” Rafi is not prone to violent outbursts of rage, and it’s not his fault, definitely not his fault, that his computer ends up on the floor. Accidents happen. 

He explains this, later, to the technician at the hole-in-the-wall U-Break-I-Fix shop on the sketchy side of town. He heard from a friend they had the best prices, if you didn’t mind the smell of burning plastic and the neighborhood. 

“Accident, huh?” The tech pulls a piece of glass from Rafi’s laptop screen. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Cheers, man.” Rafi gives his widest smile until the man disappears into the back. To kill time, he wanders the haphazard aisles of the store. There’s no word more accurate than ‘junk.’ Junk piled at least four feet high, junk on tables, junk with wires, some junk that might have once had organic matter mixed in but is long since dead. 

“Whatcha lookin’ for?” 

“JESUS FUCK.” Rafi places a hand over his heart. “What the fuck?” 

“Um, hi?” The person standing in front of him looks like a pixie. For an insane moment, Rafi thinks maybe they are a pixie, with their wild curly hair and bleached eyebrows, but reminds himself he’s not living inside a video game. The video game currently in progress on a laptop with a peeling screen that won’t boot up. The video game that he spent months working on and is probably completely lost to… to wherever video games go when the only hard drive they’re saved on crashes. Probably hell. A special one, for developers like Rafi, who don’t think to back up those hard drives. “Hello?” the person repeats. 

“You’re not a pixie,” Rafi says.

They tilt their head to the side and take on a mischievous grin. Rafi is distracted by the freckles on their nose. “Who’s to say?” 

“Oh. Right.” Rafi clears his throat. “Well, I’m not looking for anything,” Rafi says. “I’m waiting.” 

“Cool. Me too.” The probably-not-but-maybe-a-pixie smiles. “Come with me.” “Who? Me?” Stupidly, Rafi looks around to see if they’re talking to him. As if there would be more than two customers in the shop. Rafi’s shocked there’s even one. He just really, really needed that game to save, and this was the only shop open after five on a Sunday. “Yes, you, silly.” The not-pixie grabs Rafi’s hand. “I’m Willow.” 

“That’s… not not a pixie name,” Rafi says. That is, in fact, the name of the pixie character in his video game. Creatively stolen from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. “Astute,” Willow says. “Sorry I couldn’t be more obvious.” They pull him through the maze of aisles of junk, beyond a reasonable depth the shop could inhabit, longer, even, than the city block the building exists on. Rafi’s just about to ask Willow if they’ve possibly entered an alternate dimension, which wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen to Rafi but this time he’s fairly certain he’s not tripping on anything. 

“Voilà.” Willow drops Rafi’s hand––was it that sweaty the whole time, or just because they were holding it?––and puts their hand on their hips proudly. “Your kingdom.” “Ha. Cool. WHAT?” 

“Oh. Okay. Um.” Willow frowns and chews their bottom lip. Their ears, if possible, are pointier than Rafi thought. And somehow he missed the fact that they weren’t wearing shoes before. “Sorry, this is my first day on the job. I used to be the court jester, and before that the king’s bard, but I got bored. And I wasn’t very good. I can’t rhyme for shit. And you don’t want to hear me try to carry a tune. But everyone always assured me changing careers a couple times was normal. I thought I might find tour guide a bit––” 

“Sh.” Rafi covers his eyes with his hands and takes three very deliberate breaths. In for four, hold for six, out for eight. Repeat. “This cannot be real.” 

“Can’t it?” 

“I don’t want it to be real?” 

“Oh, and I suppose because you’re God, you think you can just want something out of existence?”

“GOD?” Rafi’s so shocked he forgets to be panicked, and he un-shields his face. Willow is standing where they ought to be, but they have wings now. And their teeth are slightly pointier. And Rafi could have sworn–– 

“Nice to meet you.” 

“I’m just Raf. Rafi. Not God.” 

Willow blinks at them, with eyes that are much too big to be human. “Huh. Most people would be pleased to be God.” 

“Well, sorry to disappoint, Willow, but I’m not, okay? I don’t want to be God. I want to be Rafi. I want to go back to my shit apartment with my broken heart and my broken computer––“ He cuts himself off. “Wait. Wait. I added you last minute to look like––” He doesn’t say Georgie’s name. He doesn’t even think Georgie’s name. Nor about their freckles, so similar to Willow’s, or the way they bleached their eyebrows in the same way. No, Georgie stays very far from Rafi’s mind. He wipes his sweating palms on his cargo shorts. “The game… saved?” 

Willow shrugs. “Dunno.” 

“We wouldn’t happen to be inside my––“ 

“Hey, bud? No sleeping here.” 

Rafi jerks around, coming face to face with the shop technician. “I wasn’t sleeping.” But he doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to call it. He looks over his shoulder, but Willow’s gone and the shop full of junk looks like it should. Which is like a shop full of junk, and not a kingdom populated with kings and centaurs and pixies that look like Rafi’s ex. “Sorry.” 

“Good news, I saved the hard drive.” The technician hands the small black object to Rafi. “Bad news, that computer was beyond fucked. But we have a few options…”

(c) 2026 Luke Cohn

The Great BOLD Write-Off: June 2026

June 2026 prompts:

Character: UPS driver

Action: Going all in

Setting: Headquarters

Prop: Iced banana mocha

The Mail Must Go Through

by Jasmine Sears

Chase Stewart, action movie heartthrob, struck a dramatic pose and then glanced at his assistant. “How’s my hair?”

Alvin sighed. “It’s flawless, but…wouldn’t a delivery driver look a little…disheveled?”

Chase nodded sagely and tousled his golden curls. “Alright, let’s go in.”

Alvin held open the door to the UPS regional headquarters as Chase sauntered through. The receptionist glanced up, her bored expression instantly giving way to an excited flush. “Mr. Stewart, what an honor! How can I help you?” A look of terror flashed across her face. “We didn’t lose one of your packages, did we? I can–“

“No, there’s no problem,” Alvin interrupted. “Mr. Stewart just wanted to inquire about open positions.”

“Method acting, you know how it is,” Chase smirked.

The girl behind the desk nodded eagerly. “We’d love to assist. How soon did you want to start?”

“Immediately. I’ve blocked out the whole day just for this.” Chase treated the receptionist to his most dazzling smile.

Her look of panic returned. “Our background check process takes at least 72 hours. I’m so sorry, I…”

“Can he just hop in a spare truck for a few hours?” Alvin asked. “Maybe something you were about to retire anyway?”

Before the girl could answer, a back door flew open and a burly blond man barged through. “FedEx offered double. I quit.” He threw a badge and keys on the desk and shoved past Alvin. “Better find a sub for my route!” the man called as he stomped out the front door.

“Oh no. Oh no.” The receptionist stared at the keys.

“Say, that badge looks awfully similar…” Alvin picked it up and held it next to Chase’s face. “Spitting image, really.”

“I…yes, fine. The route is in the truck GPS.” The receptionist squeezed her eyes shut. “Just bring it back in one piece.”

Chase kissed her on the cheek on his way past, leaving her swooning.

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” Chase declared as he slid behind the wheel. “Let’s do this.”

Alvin almost breathed a sigh of relief, and then…

“Do you think we could make a quick stop along the way? I could kill for an iced banana mocha.”

Alvin groaned and started planning his next round of smooth-talking.

The Great BOLD Write-Off: May 2026

Burns

by David Melody

He picked up the dog-eared paperback after the numbers caught his eye. Marnie was the first thing that came to mind. One. Nine. Eight. Four. That was a code word they’d started with the day after New Year’s 1984, day one, amidst the three empty champagne bottles, and spewed pink frosting from what was left of his birthday cake. Marnie, Marnie, Marnie, that was the plan, read the book together now that the big year had finally arrived.

“Two dollars and fifty cents, but I’ll give it to you for half since the back cover’s missing.“ 

Missing just like Marnie, Derek thought, six months into the year and nothing to show for it but a bunch of empty hangers where she’d first had her clothes. Nothing more sobering than a rack of wire hangers that used to hold so much promise. He’d located her new number from a mutual friend, just in time to find out she’d blocked him. The only option now was driving far out past Burns, where she’d taken their RV.

“Far out, man,” the cashier yelled as Derek left the store, “Love that 84 stuff.” Yeah, far out man, far fucking out yourself, said Derek, loudly inside himself. Maybe there’d be a clue in the novel. Books could be like that. Had been like that before for him. Like the time he’d landed in Tulsa and on a whim bought a copy of “Coffee Tea or Me”, which wasn’t much about flying but inspired him enough to complete his hoppy flying license, which now offered a freight train of possibilities. For sure, and like the shop owner had said, far out man. He’d be the Far Out Man, come to Marnie, car repossessed be damned. His pilot’s license was still good, his eyesight less so, but even with all the old traffic controllers fired, or furloughed, he could easily find his way down the runway, newbies to the side, and back into Marnie’s arms.

Hell, he could even bring her the book, start the year all over again, but with a happier ending this time, just like in the book he thought. Well, he’d find out reading next to her on the couch in the RV, book had to have a happy ending to have been around this long.

When Derek turned down the rutted dirt road he was starting to have a few doubts about his 1984 make up and make out plans. He recognized Marnie’s car but not the three pit bulls in separate cages near a shed. He loved dogs but preferred the poodle type.

Just then the aluminum screen door of the RV flew open, and a rather large, bearded man filled the entire frame.

“You. Derek?” he asked, politely, in a voice almost too low to hear. A voice purring with delight.

“How’d you…” Derek started, then stopped. He didn’t want to ruin his luck, and the good luck of 1984.

——————————————————————————————————————————-

Copyright 2026 by David Melody

The Great BOLD Write-Off: March 2026

Harvey’s 30-minute story speaks to regret and what could be if we could only turn back time. Congrats on the win, Harvey!

Prompts:

Character: Someone who does extreme sports

Action: Passing judgment

Setting: In a school

Prop: A time machine

Ticket to Thomas

by Harvey Liao

There he was—smiling and laughing with his friends, leaning against the wall of the gym. The last bell had just rung, and everyone was either eager to run home or lingering behind to say their goodbyes. Thomas was the star of any room he walked into. He could make conversation with anyone and everyone, and by the end of it, they’d consider him a friend. That is, if they ever gave him a chance. I know I didn’t.

I was still an intense, sports-obsessed loser in high school. It was all I ever thought about. I barely stretched my time between lacrosse and soccer while managing to make passing grades. I was always a man of few words and even fewer friends. I didn’t feel that I needed them. The companionship I felt on the field was enough.

Then, he came into my life and ruined it all. The other guys on my teams tolerated me because I was the one who scored the most points. They’d cheer and clap me on the back when I made a goal, and I could sometimes convince myself that they liked me.

They hated Thomas. He was confident and happy and had the audacity to also be different. In our little conservative town, Thomas was the only openly gay guy any of us had ever met. I would say he was brave, too, but it’s not like he made the choice to come out. He got caught kissing Daniel Jacobs behind the school freshman year by one of my soccer teammates.

Daniel Jacobs was one of our teammates, too. The other guys tore him to shreds over it. I didn’t stop them. I stayed quiet and trained more, like I always did. Daniel Jacobs killed himself that summer. My teammates turned their sights on Thomas after that.

During our senior year, Thomas sat next to me in math class. He didn’t ignore me or avoid me, like anyone with an ounce of sense would do. His opening line was, “Thank you.”

“What for?” I asked.

“You never join in with your friends to harass me.”

I wanted to say, “I never defend you, either,” but instead I said, “They aren’t my friends. We’re just on the same team.”

His face lit up when I said that. My mistake. After that day, he never left me alone. The worst part was that I didn’t want him to.

I started thinking about him at practice. I’d be so angry with my teammates that I refused to pass to them. My performance started to tank, and their cruelty turned on me.

I stopped talking to Thomas on the last day of our senior year, when he told me he had feelings for me. I knew that I was going to become an athlete someday, and he was already distracting me as it was.

Now, it’s been 50 years. I had my career as a snowboarder. I even won the Olympics, but when I looked back at my life, I only thought of Thomas. So, when a ticket to a time machine became available, I took it back to him.

The Great BOLD Write-Off: January 2026

January 2026 prompts:

Character: Artist

Action: Lifting up

Setting: All alone

Prop: Pear

(Untitled)

by Jasmine Sears

Willow’s entire life hinged on this exhibition.

Willow called herself a sculptor, but nearly a decade after graduating with her MFA, she was staring down middle age with only a handful of offbeat gallery appearances to her name. The consignment store she cashiered at hadn’t given her a raise in three years, and Willow was about to be priced out of her cramped studio apartment.

The invitation to tomorrow’s grand opening of a ritzy new gallery had come as a total shock. One of Willow’s former — and far more successful — classmates had found herself double-booked and pulled some strings to give her spot to Willow. Sure, the pedestal was tucked into the back corner of the last room in the gallery — but it was hers.

A breathless Willow rushed through the back entrance of the building, hoping she wasn’t too late. Setup officially ended at 9pm, and the bus had dropped her off at 8:57. A maintenance man scowled at her as she stepped into the storage room.

“Yer the last one? With the big crate?”

Willow nodded.

The man glared for a beat too long. “I’ll unbox it for you, but I’m off the clock after that.”

Willow’s heart sank as she looked at her masterpiece sitting on the floor, four feet and an impossible force away from its spot on her pedestal. The blown-glass Earth in the shape of a pear was far too heavy for her to lift by herself, but the gallery was deserted.

She had to try.

Bending, crouching, grunting, Willow tried to remember her weights class advice. Lift with your legs? Arms straight?

The crash was inevitable.

The next day, Willow’s exhibit was the talk of the event: glittering shards of blue-green glass in the outline of a pear from pedestal to corner.