First Place:

Last Rites Hotel

By Anna Hehir

The concierge glitched while pouring, leaving an arc of Earl Grey hanging in the air. Frustrated, I adjusted the goggles to reset the scene. He reanimated with a time jump, causing a minor spill. 

The ignoble circumstances didn’t deter me – I drank with a monk’s dedicated focus, fiercely savouring the complex flavours, floral notes singing. 

“That’s it,” satisfaction curled my lips into a long-forgotten smile. 

“Time’s up,” a voice sneered. 

The hotel scenery vanished, revealing a macabre chamber. Restraints bound me to The Chair, which began to crackle beneath me. 

The tea danced blissfully on my tongue as darkness descended.

Second Place:

You Can Tell a Lot About a Person by What They Leave Behind

By Terrye Turpin

Fifty-six years of bad choices ended in a job cleaning toilets and sweeping used condoms from under sway-backed beds at the Star Motel. Nobody traveled there except oil tankers, tumbleweeds, and truckers dodging weigh stations. 

The place paid in cash - enough to linger, not escape. Drunken nights spent listening to West Texas wind, dreaming of something else. One day, I opened a nightstand drawer, expecting a water-stained bible. Instead, a snub nose revolver lay coiled like a black snake. I climbed into my rusted-out Ford and tucked the gun under the vinyl seat. 

It waited there, a dark possibility.

Third Place:

Evergreen (tea)

By L R Anderson

The tatami mats on the floor of this ryokan remind me of my grandmother. She used to sit with me on her lap and we’d make green tea together. She would hum a tune and tie my hair while the birds outside sang. My mother would call me for tea and I would leap up for dinner. 

The futons are rolled away and I sit on the balcony with green tea warm in my hands; my feet are in the little cotton slippers. My grandma is a dream away as she always has been. I hope to see her again.

Fourth Place:

The Day the New Manager Arrived

By Lisa H. Owens

Lois, an elderly maid at the Royal House Motel, always shook her head in disbelief when talking about the 15-year-old Volkswagen Beetle's arrival on that hot summer day—a red-headed man leaning out the window to say, “I’m George, here for the housing key. Would someone kindly point me in the right direction?” 

The staff, dropping everything, watched in amazement as George, followed by four sweaty children and a dog, disembarked while the gorgeous mama emerged from the other side, flashing a winsome smile.

 Abracadabra! They unloaded everything they owned, carrying it—in just one trip—through the motel lobby.