Most read stories

Charms L.P.

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Funny, you can drink wine and eat stale crackers, but you cannot suck a simple lollipop? Where does it say that in the bible? Nowhere, that’s where.

Faithful Still

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The moonlight illuminated Dahlia’s bare breasts. She remembered when Gerard used to appreciate them.

STONE

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Man waters Earth with his eyes.

Caitlin in the Y2K Museum

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Two months after Peter moved out, it opened on the eastern-leaning boulevard, a stone's throw from the water. Caitlin heard about it from a friend at a bar three weeks after that, found that the concept wouldn't quietly settle in her mind, and made plans

A Free Rinse

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“Turn the fucking thing off!” I yelled above the noise. “It’s fucking New Year’s morning!”

If The Fire Is Not In Your Apartment

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If you get crushed in New York City that's your own problem.

Teller of Tales

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He came to us with wandering tales of wild things Savage, biting, slashing, tearing A violent voice boomed becoming of beasts

A Clean Tent

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“No,” he says. A simple lie. “I -” He pushes the sleeping bag off of his legs. Their getaway reset was a mistake.

Worms Shouldn't Drink Whiskey

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I have two memories of my dad. The first is a story he liked to tell: So my old woman came home one day with a worm. She sets the worm on the counter and goes into…

When Kids Complain

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They say, we have hangnails. I say, I have a bruised leg.

Wishes Shovel Best

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Just as he expected, the reaction was spontaneous, euphoric and unequivocally positive. With just one exception. A politician connected with the home service of his parliamentary section's boss, with the mobile phone number 0-609-3459812, and known for hi

Parcel

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you hear the knell of kindness long before its cathedral voices -- a recessional -- barters better times.

Nobody Steps Forward

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I can only see their eyes in the dark, reflected in the light from my flashlight. It's so quiet. I only hear the sound of my own breath. I hold the flashlight steady. Maybe they will think I'm not a threat if I'm not moving. It's a small hope. Yet here we are, at a…

Love, a comet, omens and wings

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My love for him like wax wings/ so long they stretched eternal— beating in the sky, grazing peaks,

Matisse, in the Jardin des Tuileries, 1904

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The World's Worst Mime stood there next to the iron carousel, portraying something, and the crowd understood none of it, except that whatever thing he was trying to portray was not being portrayed well at all.

Virginity

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It rises rigid and plumb from its heavy base, the severity of line yielding to grace only at the throat where it crests into a subtly constrictive pinch.

Itch

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Clayton had a grin like the hand of a beast that stretched as long as her gravel road...

All there is

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You need buttered broths and to copy old writings by hand by very poor light.

Rebekah Just When the Drought Was Ending

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But the best thing about Rebekah was the way she floated always beneath the scent of woodburn and dusty Middle America,

Egypt.

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When the sky was thinner and water faster, we would chase the falling stars.

On A Highway Somewhere

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When I think about love, I actually think about life. And when I think about that, I wonder if we’re really who we used to be.

The Comforts of a Robe

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Woman With Water Bottles has taken up a little spot in the back of my brain, her hair tickling her eyes in the breeze.

Curb Appeal

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He kept the lawn mowed at the perfect height. He mowed it twice a week to one inch. Some weeks he mowed it a third time for good measure.

Ghost Questions

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What if I never feel like a real artist? What does it even mean to be a "real" artist? What if nobody ever cares about what I make?

Dear Scarlet

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It’s me walking in on you shooting up in the diner’s cesspool of a shitter, and you trying to conceal the evidence while you’re telling me it’s straight up your first time.

Five Million Yen: Chapter 1

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The DC-9 bounced in the turbulence over the north Pacific waking the dozing Ben Clarone.

2006, What I Wanted

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freedom from my mind

Librarians! What Are We Hiding?

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Librarians are hiding something. What is it?

A Tale of Two Writers

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A famous author and an inspired writer meet at a coffee shop, both looking for inspiration. The patrons there don’t know if this meeting is by accident or design, but they are in awe of Fame.

Autobiography of a Head Bully, excerpts

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On Saturday nights, they dream of you. You are the gas station they can’t own, the lottery they can’t win. You are beating up their boss, giving him a headache that will last through Wednesday morning, keep him home half the week.