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When flash and bang merge you are, according to the manual, in deep do-do.
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Listen to chickadees. Join / LinkedIn.
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eleven o'clock spills
despair all over
our bedspread
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my family's Scottish heritage
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You say we will go together to the park and dig a shallow grave and atone for everything we ever did by breathing soil deep into our lungs, and the wolves will leave.
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Bake sweet rolls and make love to your new wife, fall asleep for three years and grow a beard.
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The church pews were straining at the crowds who had come to see David get saved. There was no salvation in the water really, but the Baptists preached the gospel of immersion. There was a certain Baptist church in Kentucky that pressured a man who'd been sprinkled to get…
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The supervisor, sensing the fear in me, pats my hand and says "Never you mind! This is normal in the tomato. Every few days we rile up, make sauce, and regrow again. Have you ever been in spaghetti sauce before?"
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The steady sound of shoveling for the past three hours would have woken her, should have made her come to the window...
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Velvet answered the door in a red leather dress that was made with just about enough material to make a wallet, and looking like a long limbed drink of water calling out to a thirsty man.
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I remember one time when we played strip poker in the basement of your house on Euclid Avenue, me, Terry, you and Andy. And I remember drinking lots of wine and fixing the deck so that you kept losing and having to take off all your clothes, and still you
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The boy grew frightened when his grainy wooden skin began to melt, every fiber humming and softening.
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Welcome to OTHERS. A place where I hope you will experience the enchantment of a time and place like no other
MATTITUCK 1971
LIKE YOU NEVER KNEW IT
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It could be fun,/
with the guns, explosives, Molotov/
Cocktails and all,
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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.
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The stick had a head and a face and a swirling robe, all etched in wood.
It was the 14th Dalai Lama.
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eleven seconds of infamy / brought to you by Glenfidditch /who the hell filmed this?
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Maybe our whole generation is going to hell, but I’m not getting any younger or better looking. Life’s too short for the missionary position.
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That streetcar named Desire, it don't hardly stop for me no more. Leastwise not while I'm awake, and I don't have to be telling no nosy aides why I make them noises in my sleep.
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Other men looked up and, rather than feeling pleasantly surprised at the sudden sound of ethereal metal crickets in their presence, left the restroom after hastily finishing their silent shaking. Mitch joined them, feeling like a coward for being afraid o
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My novel-in-stories, NAN, is now available as an ebook for $6.99. Thanks to everyone who read the first 7 published stories here on Fictionaut.
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The young boy sat on the swing, hearing sirens in the distance. The tops of his shoes were dirty. His fingers as well, where he drew stick figures of people in the dirt. His…
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The room smelled of an old rank basement. Boys and girls of all ages crowded the stage. The room was dark with only a few lights that hung from above keeping the crowd dark and silhouetting Chris on drums.
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—Frank, how is your sex life?
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It ain't the steak, it's the sizzle.
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“Is truth real?”—what a time for such a question to emerge! Such an elementary question, too, a pity no one was asking it two days ago.
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I am a buttress against chaos. And now I am turning yellow.
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