Most read stories

Here Comes the Sun

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I watch my brother carry her into the hospital, and I love him with parts of myself I didn’t know were capable of love. I love my brother with the space behind my eyes, the skin between my fingers, the ends of my hair, the crease in my neck. I love him wi

The Stone Garden

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A story for Halloween.

Arlene

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His mother was not an aw-come-here-honey-and-give-me-a-hug type mom. She was the kind of mother who, if you had some kind of problem, would suggest that perhaps it might be a good idea to volunteer (she was really big on volunteering) at some sort of orga

AA For the Suicidal - alt.punk extract

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The drive back to Sac does nothing to sober me up, either, and although Avaline and I are ready to hurl, she takes me to her afternoon support group, “Lean On Me: A Place for Manic-Depressive and Bipolar Sufferers to Come Together.”

The Unpublished Writer and His Love Interest (The Painter)

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When the writer expressed with subtle alacrity that he adored the painter, she was flattered and didn't raise objection. The writer-in his aloof manner, with experienced caution-pointedly wrote a poem directly for his muse. She never spoke of it, and hi

Twenty-Ten

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He picked her out of the crowd at Club Mai, easy when you knew what to look for: long, dark hair, pretty Latina face, store-bought tits. This one wore a tight dress that showed off her legs, sculpted to perfection by God and a pair of four-inch stilettos.

Let's All Get Up And Dance To A Song That Was A Hit Before Beyonce Was Born

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Why don't we do it in a yellow submarine?

Confessions of a Liturgical Voyeur

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...when she spoke, her voice still seemed to spill bourbon from a heavy crystal tumbler, and drift cigarette smoke in a dark paneled room.

Twister

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The rain pelted down, it got dark, and they couldn't see a thing. The wind roared like a thousand locomotives.

All About the Tumor

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Stupidity is not a mask; it is the face / and it is the face that betrays us / always.

The Tree

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No fuckin' way, Maude. Excuse me, but you know I can't stand that bag of wind. No way.

Litter Box

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When I died, she said, she was going to have me cremated and put my ashes in the cats’ litter box.

Hobos: Paris vs. San Francisco

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French pee runs stronger, less minty. In France the world' a pissoir.

The Chicken In A Can Incident: A Cautionary Christmas Tale

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Don't feed it to the dog, it has bones, it is a whole goddamn chicken in a can, and I can't stress that enough. Besides one year you gave me a toilet seat for Christmas. I couldn't even eat that Ky

Did I Tell You I Have Stripes On My Socks?

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Kids are fascinated by me. Adults look the other way. Maybe it's my size. Or maybe it's the stories in the newspapers.

Commute

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Fred's ruined face stared back at him from a fractured, mold-spotted mirror. The remains of breakfast pooled around his feet and a pair of lace panties clung to his shoe, glued there by God knew what. Bits of flesh were stuck between his yellow teeth, alo

Unveiling Kirkiss Automated Amazon Reviews!!!

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No! No! Nonononono!

Encasement

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A universe, all of it, was encased in glass.

The Book Mind

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The book mind, just like its namesake the book, is capable of movement only after its assembly: otherwise, it boasts no moving parts.

laundry

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She’d once read the Time-Life Encyclopedia on The Universe and became obsessed with the woman from Alabama who was singled out, by a rock from a far place, in her sleep.

Monster Truck

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In another lifetime the loft had been a shoe factory and I joked how in the dark of night I could hear the ghosts of lost soles speaking in tongues. There was the rolling of eyes, and when I repeated the joke to my therapist, who was actually sitting acr

Golgotha

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They were starting to get winded. The boy, his father and his little brother were hiking up a hill, cutting a diagonal path through hay-colored grass towards an outcrop of craggy boulders below the hill's summit.

Untitled NaNo Project

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My name is Sydnée Figge, and this is the beginning of my story. I suppose it should be said that even though people call me Syd, I am not a man. People who can actually see me know that right away, and I’m not ashamed of that even though I’m a bit olde

The Road Trip Trilogy

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...It's my advice that this Fourth of July the Office of Homeland Security post the following instructions on your web site www.Ready.gov — people should act like my dog Lucy and just stay inside under the bed and tremble...

The Guardian

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Badface Investigates – Scarification: (draft)

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I can barely feel the blade as it first goes in. I'm pleasantly surprised. But as she drags the knife across my skin the pain increases becoming more and more painful rising to a point of unbearable agony the further she cuts.

The Dog

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They stood at the intersection waiting for the light to change so they could cross the highway.

The Days of Man

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They drifted for months, locked between the vast merciless blue and the withering sun. Their faces blistered and their minds bleached and weary. They conspired in the shadows, drew plans in the sawdust, they grew confident and…

lament of Liu Ch'e . . . while elsewhere--

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in her silk sleeves is silence sheathed.

Things I saw before and after I broke into my neighbour's apartment

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Before Plasma screen TV Futon Underwear (brief style) piled on kitchen chair Unopened mail from funeral parlour Water in the sink coloured orange with grease Desktop computer (flying toasters screen saver) Cigarette butts floating…