Most read stories

nightwatch

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Breaking the cat's cradled cord she examines her fingernails. She notices a crack in the paintwork, sighs to herself. Makes a mental note to cover it over. Cover it over, paint over the cracks. There's been a lot of that recently, hasn't there?

Bucket

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There was a bucket of shit . . .

Flavor of Law

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It’s funny how white people are so reluctant to reveal their ignorance of hip-hop culture. “There are a number of robust on-line tools that can assign randomly-generated rap nicknames to members of the federal judiciary,” I told him.

Quit Complaining, Willya!

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"You think life is supposed to be easy? Whoever told you that? My life is anything but easy; still you don't hear me whining all over the place. And, trust me, I could teach you a thing or two about suffering.

Motivation

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Motivation always needs to come from somewhere. For some all it takes is a sunny day, a smile from a stranger or a simple pat on the back. Others demand a fire lit, a carrot dangled or a whip cracked. Yet here the sun had set, the fire extinguished and th

no one answered

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I knocked on all the windows, on all the doors. No one answered. The television was glowing. I went around behind your house and saw it through the curtains, blowing in. (I knew you were hurting.) Knocked and tried the sliding glass door, the flimsy scr

Snopes

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“Did you check Snopes? I always check Snopes when I hear something stupid like that.” “I most certainly did not check Snopes. And it's not stupid. It's an established fact.” “Really? Cause once I heard about that kid from that old…

Henry Katz

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Henry Katz sat on his couch. He was reading a book. He guessed it was a novel, but he had to keep looking at the cover to remind himself what it was.

Do Unto Buzz

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I parked an outhouse in Buzz's front yard late last night and blew it up. I suppose I should feel bad, but I don't. In fact, I think I strained something trying not to laugh out loud as I watched the contents of the crapper spatter all over the front of B

A Nice Girl Is Like Powder

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A nice girl is like powder, quick to anger, fresh, impudent, too quick to know what expletives fate speaks. It was a cold year for trash talk and sheer silk. And yes, the fox was smoking, who could attract or irritate a nice girl with the same look, a wom

In The Arms of Veronica

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Her smile was a cliff I stood on, trying to wrangle some kind of hope from the whites of her teeth. I heard the sound of the buzzer from the door on my ward. She stood there, a sickly ash tree, each limb flailing about like she was drowning in my sea of a

the same, without wings

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and he'll be dead within a week but i'll still be ordering a large black coffee and smoking upwind

Living on Non-Skid Row

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Here’s the local group of grumpy gray-haired men Chewing over politics as if it’s important As if their endless discussing of it, Waving their hands in the air, gesturing, Is going to change the world How do these guys stop from having heart a

Waste

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When the compost thaws the past oozes out into the present....

Ice Box

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To become an objection as cool as an ice box. To wither the crops. To hold a baby in your hands. Never mind, the arms. We shoot photographs of you. I still believe in black bile. I still think I'm holy. This rhyme is non-violent. Snap.

Wednesday

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“Goodnight,” he said before leaving the room and shutting his bedroom door behind him. She stood in the kitchen alone now, a shot of vodka poured into a shot glass, and a bottle of coke ready to swig afterwards. This didn't make her an alcoholic…

Twilight Is Merely A Shade of Color

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Its edges fluttering in the dull breeze, today's town newspaper lay at my old feet, open to the obituary page.

Mrs. Smedley's Art Class

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THERE ARE TWO PARTS. FROM PART ONE: (Later the police escort the students out, directing them to keep their hands in the air, as they file out into the parking lot. They wrap Mrs. Smedley in a blanket as she stares out blankly in shock. "How is Linda? Is

The Storyteller

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Our fingers, arms and toes slither over one another along the smooth crevices between muscle and bone like familiar childhood paths.

Storytime with E. E. Zulkoski

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...afraid of cancer, fire, floods, famine, being audited by the IRS....the list goes on and on....

The sound of your shoes

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The smell of your chest, and the taste of your lips as they touch mine

Sugar Cookie Season

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take out the yellowed recipes/ left by mothers and grandmothers—// perhaps the great aunt who never married—

The Persistence of Loss

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"I packed up the rest of his things today. Irony is the fact I'm still picking up after him, despite the fact he's been gone for two weeks."

deserts wept freely over you

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You had that quietness by nature (unusual in men) that I was attracted to. You were like some body of water, wide and more spiritual than anyone I knew. You could have taken me with you when you flew. I know you were more like a bird than any of the oth

The Little Engine That Shouldn't (a political metaphor)

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The rings on the engine Not designed for race gas Did allow for some seepage Did allow fuel to pass The fumes were quite powerful To the pan they did charge The spark was quite forceful The explosion was large

Five Million Yen: Chapter 51

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Sounds like something a woman would do. —You think so? said Ben. What woman would do that to me? I don’t know any women in Nice.

Splitting

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Crunching gravel beneath my feet, the sound of approaching death.

flash

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you're landscape under her flight path, brother one dash in a dotted line

A Question for the Gods

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She reached out her arms and spoke to the moon, "I ran from my fears, from loving too soon." She gazed at the heavens and cried to the stars, "I could not promise him all of my heart." She wiped away her tears and laughed at the trees, "Not a soul on this earth would…

Wilting Magnolia

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White sneakers cry, dripping from the power lines.