2312 0 0
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Virginia hated herself for every moment she spent wondering what it would have been like if things had been different. How would her life be if Glen hadn’t been misdiagnosed, if he hadn’t died when she was a year married and four months pregnant? Not
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2312 15 11
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The sky was an over-bleached sheet, stretched to the point of ripping. Everything worn but clean. He was saying he'd be happier if we lived in Canada. The sun seemed very close, like a star at the top of a Christmas tree. Maybe I could pull it down. Our baby had…
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2311 4 4
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"There's a guy and he's standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon."
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2311 8 6
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Because it was almost like love, love. Because the potential for that innocence beckoned me, and I became reckless in search of it. I exposed my heart.
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2311 0 0
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Yahweh’s a betting deity, as bad as Lucifer at times. If you don’t believe me, look at the duck-billed platypus. Yahweh lost that time. So did the duck, but that’s another story.
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2311 24 13
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looking space packed right in up therelike a sun bleached kite stuck in between the several bluish colorsof the sky today has its ownamazing heartbeat. I can seeit clearly from here. Oh I can feel it reverberating for miles andmiles. If I look away it…
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2311 24 13
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Later I take his hand, and I lead him up the stairs. I want to show him something, I say.
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2310 5 6
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Driving home at midnight, on a night so dark, so wild. Headlights can't pierce the gateway to oblivion.
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2310 7 5
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When they were seven, he’d taken them out to the desert and let them shoot a .38 at rusted cans. The explosions rocked them back on their heels.
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2310 25 10
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"Well, I'd like to inquire about getting a muse. It says in your ad that you provide muses for people who are creatively challenged by their art form."
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2309 17 9
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I want you to kiss me like you’re listening to my tongue. I want you to hear the rhythm of my heart through my lips. Can you feel what I’m telling you? If you’re entering my borders, it doesn’t matter where - my mouth, my pussy, my ear... you’d better pay
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2309 14 6
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I wear a white dress.
I vomit on hers.
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2308 5 1
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She comes and goes,gingerly at times, or, caution tossed,a headlong rushof foam and froth.No matter, I am steadfast,keen to be immersed once morein her salty splendor.
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2308 7 5
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1) Tragicomedy set to drama is what the American public fears and abhors. But it's reality, and reality can be subject to the rifling burden of…
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2308 26 18
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I am complicit in the darkness
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2307 1 1
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“I’m surprised you haven’t fucked yourself to death, too,” he added, “given your record.”
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2306 16 11
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the cheek of you! to dream/ upon my sheets in schoolboy peace/ when here i lie,/ each second spent/ a tranquilized tiger cursed with awareness/ for all the flesh so near its maw.
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2306 4 2
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“We wouldn't mock the recent Tornado victims, right? Why mock the mentally ill?” Jennifer Donnell, Fictionaut Member. The mentally ill are close to my heart, having helped the most severely impaired adults and…
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2306 16 13
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Confused, I paused and locked eyes with the girl who’d just bounced it with the long, dark hair. “I just saw you with it.”
She stared back at me. “Do you see it in my hands now?”
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2305 9 4
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When I was a boy, I always wondered if Dad were black. No one in our small town looked like Dad. He had the thick features of an Arab. If he let his hair grow, it piled up in messy loafs on his head. Of course, I never asked Dad about any of this. I wasn'
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2304 22 13
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Pretty boy looks over at me and grins, got a smoke?
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2303 15 16
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I forget you. Upfront: that’s how this ends.
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2303 15 11
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2303 24 21
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She likes his smile and Cajun accent, his earring and dangerous ink.
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2303 9 2
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spreading gilded pages with a tlickt
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2302 8 5
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It was beautiful and bright and it felt so real.
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2300 2 2
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Dan leaned back on his haunches and smoked. He was a massive man, not the type to sit like that. But he did. He sat like that, smoking and he said: “I feel like this kid I went to school with. Everybody called him Squish-Squash.” We asked him…
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2299 7 4
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2299 22 15
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There's a mutual recognition...
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2299 8 6
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Shakespeare was Shakespeare, after all, the greatest poet the language has ever boasted: why did Shakespeare’s contemporaries even bother with their paltry efforts?
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