Most read stories

Lips of an Angel

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“Hey honey. How are you?” The man sat down in the office chair, his cell phone pressed against his ear. Light peeked beneath the closed door from the main area of…

Courtly Love, a tail

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They're bound to wonder what sort of offspring we'll hatch. We've done the tests, we are cross-fertile.

Wrong Number

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"...just like you rehearsed..."

Rwanda Suite: Buzzed

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They'd taken so much: ivory, rubber, copper, gold. Wealth for the grabbing. No remorse.

Pitspits

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a perpetrated fraud

Understudy

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All young and loud and big and I swear her face like a lighthouse lamp, glowing—I remember thinking, ‘She’s drunk at nine in the morning.’

The Lost Meaning

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of any cautionary tale is somewhere found rolling around in your own sweet voice for me. Your sound's still listing there inside my wobbly head. My head is too often in my open hands, grinning behind its face-mask like a parade on…

Home for the Holidays

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Deployed to Afghanistan for more than half of his two-year marriage, Trent is coming home for the holidays. But which holiday, exactly? And will he make it?

A Lovely Ghost Sings a Haunting Thing at Her Own Reflection

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We've come this far. That's all we know. We've watched others reach their abrupt ends. They've given us this exact moment and we've taken it from them, sometimes without thinking. It's time for the next communication. I know what concern is…

After the Storm

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I watch from the cabin window the death of the sun, hear the howl of the new-born storm.

Vivian

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When her husband left she was not yet thirty

The Committee

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We are prisoners of anticipation.

INGOB

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They think Van Gogh heard music when he looked at his starry nights. Working at a Bingo parlor, you get to believing in a one-in-a-million shot just as much as you doubt the rarity of a sure thing. I only worked part time at the bingo parlor because I ne

Movies and Songs

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But I am quite sure, in my loneliness, there is nothing that aches inside me more, than a desire to persist.

The Good Farmer

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He leans in close then, close enough that when he speaks, his words tiptoe out and tuck me in.

SWAMPLANDS by Paul D. Brazill

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Elvis awoke in a cold, dank sweat, hungover from bourbon and bad dreams.

Reversal

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The stunned son knelt to understand then fell, his heart shredded by the hollow point.

f**k xmas

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Christmas Eve arrives with a relief that the season of joy will soon be over so I can feel the pain I am denying myself. Rosie presses her face against the kitchen window, leaving ghostlike impressions of the tip of her nose and her lips on the glass tha

Wild Dreams ofReality, 11

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I took my first shower away from home as if it were a ritual cleansing. It felt especially good, even exciting to be taking a shower in the bathroom of another woman. Why was that? Maybe because it didn't have marble around the bathtub, and it wasn't e

Walking To Gibraltar, Chapter 2: In Which Spousal Abuse May Occur

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The separation—the plan—had been a long time coming. After years of fighting and therapy and apologizing and, finally, silence, their marriage was about to die of exhaustion.

Paris in the the Spring

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he thought of her / longingly

FLY AWAY

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Why is the sky grey he asked meI don't know, I saysudden flashes of light snowbloat the cloudssea gulls are squawkingexpect them to peck at my headI have nothing to feed them

Drift

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Dreams & foghorns.

Four Out of Seven

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Four nights out of sevenI will lay with youFour nights out of sevenIt's the best I can do In the day, we will bake our breadAt night, ha, we will break our bed!Four nights out of seven, I will be with you

A Thousand Words

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Photographs can create, both good and bad. They can create a way to make a living, but they can also create opportunities for black mail, divorce settlements and most of all they can create power.

Someday, Somewhere, waiting for me.

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Out in the open air, the sun's rays washing over the dead, open fields, Nick lay, his back against the wall of the train platform, eyes facing the sky, hands outstretched to the…

wheat field with cypresses. van Gogh

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There’s no sky like that, with twisting clouds shot up into by cypress trees that are so like dark green flames, leaping out of the earth as if a dark green oily pool were on fire underground, and this was all that could escape, was its essence. And a

thumbing through the Jesus book

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We’re on our way out, my brother and me, to the grave­yard.

Life Experience

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Karen likes to make a big deal about life experience. Specifically how much more she has than me. What that actually means, she's never made clear. The definition changes and mutates as the years go by, always in her…

The End of My Second Life

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We are moments away from the end, and it feels like it.