Ray Bradbury didn’t just write science fiction — he wrote memory in motion. His stories are haunted by fireflies, dusty sidewalks, and the scent of something half-remembered. This contest asks you to write a piece that begins with nostalgia — a detail soaked in childhood, longing, or time — and shifts toward the speculative.

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We’re not looking for epic world-building or high-tech futures. We're looking for emotion that bends reality, for a memory that leads to a miracle. The best entries will take us somewhere surreal or futuristic, yes — but they’ll start with the warmth of a cracked leather baseball glove or the ache of a goodbye that never landed. Let us feel something first. Then let that feeling turn strange.

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• Start in the body, not the brain. Begin with sensation. What does the memory feel like — on the skin, in the mouth, in the air?

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• Use memory like a matchstick. Don’t linger in the past too long. Let it spark something that wasn’t there before — a machine, a mystery, a strange phenomenon.

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• Don’t explain the speculative — just accept it. Bradbury never over-explained. A rocket launches. A child disappears. The future happens quietly. Trust your reader to follow.

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• Anchor your setting with emotional weather. Make us feel the air in the room. The dust on the shelves. The hum in the radio. Let your setting shape the story’s mood.

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• Let technology reveal humanity. If you include a futuristic element, don’t focus on how it works — focus on how it feels. A robot grieving. A time machine hesitating. A city forgetting its own name.

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• Keep the tone gentle but uncanny. We want wonder, but we also want a touch of sadness. Bradbury’s stories often read like dreams you’re not sure were happy.

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• End on a moment of stillness. The strongest entries may close with an image that leaves the reader quiet — like a fire gone out, but warm in the ash.