Scribes Prize Honourable Mention:
https://www.fairfieldscribes.com/issue-46.html
Ben’s yellow emoji sticks out among the red hearts and love eyes—a sore-loser’s thumb.
We were a Molotov cocktail. Forever holding matches to already scorched skin, craving the relief of explosion. Intoxicated by the ride.
His fuse fizzled out two years ago. Leaving me with nothing but heartbreak and a college football jersey to fuel my lonely nights.
A month later, I flung my battered heart at an uncomplicated hometown boy.
My sun-speckled engagement photo was Ben’s chosen moment of resurrection. I slide my mouse across his name, finger twitching with the chaos one click could ignite.

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