Most read stories

Give Back the Moon

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to us! Without it we are less than human and cannot guarantee your safe passage through our woods any more. Give us back the moon. It is the primary element in the makeup of our deepest breaths taken to invoke all cycles to continue. It contains…

Speak

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She can still be normal, says Momma, knowing my sister can’t hear, forgetting I can.

Going the Way of the Dodo

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her expressive sigh releasing. Sated. The last of our kind, evolving flightless we remain on the ground, culling through corpulent consumption.

Fire In The Heart

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The woman leapt from the top of the burning building. The flames reddened the faces of the watching crowd. The heat pushed them back. The woman hit the ground. The crowd oooooed. If only I'd been a firewoman, I thought, with a ladder as tall as a building and a…

The Phosphorescent French Fry

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She's speaking again, this time in whispers. Her head is shrinking in on itself. If there is a way to save her I'm not aware of it.

Every Step, and There Are Lots

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Her plastic shopping bag brushes your leg. You look into it and all you see is a 2 liter of Coke, a bag of Lay’s potato chips and a package of Oreos. It’s so oddly touching, so purely American, that your heart breaks a little bit. You want to hug t

It's autumn

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Mum and Dad are dead, though I'm the only person who has noticed. They're sipping their tea in the kitchen. Dad keeps coughing up maggots. Mum's face looks like a cracked mirror: I see myself in it, broken, dark. My brothers carry on as normal. They huddle by the TV,…

Commotion with Coffee

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The retired, widowed receptionist slapped one hand to the base of her throat with a gasp . . .

Sleeping Bag Whiskey

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indelicate, as everything arrives at once.

The Truth

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I want you to tell me the truth, she said. The whole fucking truth.

“Honestly, I’m Not a Fan of Your Poetry”

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I will admit it. // I cannot write poetry / to save my life—

Psycho Logic Deregulation

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" . . . the government works for the aliens now, taking over the world. That's why everything's so screwed up."

Shiny Crimson Trails

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only thoughts lost in lonely trails of red

The old man in the window is probably scarier than he looks.

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It loomed -- unavoidable.

My eHarmony Profile

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I’m up to my ass in social media.

Bubble Bath

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You wouldn’t believe an organ the size of a heart could scream like a nine-year-old sissy girl but mine did.

Inner City

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This time he was dressed in a snap-brimmed hat, zoot suit with a gold chain and two-toned shoes; something out of a sad, lost Los Angeles past. I had no choice but to follow him as he walked down stairs that led to the Metro. We stood near one another,…

Senior Center

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Some of the elderly men and women are coming forward....

concession to the shapes of hunger

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(no one need fear timidity in our tastes― / we like trying new things, no matter our hastes!)

The Number Nine and The One After That

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Johnny K. didn't much like taking his exotic drugs any more. He now thought that the common reality was already an intense enough trip without wrapping it all up in enough gauze to cause permanent daydreams to the head. He liked his cheap hamburgers…

Kash Mire

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You watch with frigid eyes, as their soggy woolens squelch dark mud, even smiling a little as they make croaking frog-lure noises. You know eventually a toad or two would land in the Frogger. You like the word Frogger.

Complex

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He sees the dogs through the window, his babies, sleeping on opposite ends of the couch. His girl, lying supine, hind legs spread, grotesquely, almost comically, as far as they can without being flush with the cushion. His boy, Cosmo, face down, the power…

Scene of Mostly Unwilling Players

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Chewing on peppered peanuts, thin flakes scattered carelessly around his squat, Father unfurls his turban and mops his clammy pate with an open palm.

Note To Self

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Along with Bad Bunny comes the reckless dancing the ambulance chases and the long, drawn-on faces

The Palace of Nansi

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It's advertised as a romance. The poster shows a Sudanese woman with a child at her side collecting gum from Acacia trees.

Black Friday Crime Scene

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Her name was Christine and she was nailed to the cross of their lust and their greed, and their vengeance

The Judge's Wife Part 8

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—You're convinced I'm crazy. I'm convinced you're incompetent.

Swan Song of the Pareto Optimalists

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I nearly burst out laughing when I heard myself telling him in my accented English that she’d confided in me that she was preparing to sacrifice herself as part of an elaborate snuff film produced by a band of psychotic artists hell-bent on making up for

Five Million Yen: Chapter 59

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Girolamo Dente was nodding off in his studio at Découvrir Art when he heard the alarm.

Begonia {part seven}

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Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh, swoosh; the rhythmic thrust of Mezereon’s wings…Th-Bumm, th-bumm, th-bumm; the drumming of his heart…Hooou, hooou, hooou; the exhalations of his breath…