Stories tagged death

Study of A Discontented Businesswoman

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By the time the temperature was fifteen degrees on a warm day, she still hadn't decided whether to use poison or a pillow.

Deus Ex Machina

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He rolls in unbidden across the stubble fields / Old acquaintance astride a newly booming cloud/ Under sky an alien shade of strawberries whipped/ Her watch stops ticking out the rest of her/ scheduled breathing poses

My Name is Philippe

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I ought to see, in Mr. Smith's dilated pupils, the projection of his last reverie.

Breaking Dawn

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This is where he died, she says to me, and points to the damp pavement. Her hair is wet, and slicked against her neck. The humidity is making everything engulf her. The sleep shorts I bought her last July are loose on her now, but between the rain and

The Secret Life of Storms

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Words Mixed With The Stench of Rotting Flowers

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His flesh was the gray of Swiss lakes, but he might animate any time now and simplify everything.

The Ruined Person

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The pit of my stomach was bottoming out, this lurching sort-of feeling one experiences when one has coasted WELL OVER an abyss and has no way of finding one's bearings . . .

Bullpen Jesus

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I lost my ability to bring the heat. I tried compensating with the logical choices and served up curve balls, screw balls, sliders, sinkers and change ups. I even got tossed out of a game for throwing spitballs. I guess the bulge in my cheek from the gob

A Poem for Chris Toll

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we all die from the bottom up

The Missing Piece

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“I'll bet that vexatious cat ate it” ... he pictured the cat tiptoeing on the table where the nearly completed puzzle lay to snatch the last loose piece in its mouth as revenge.

The Dog

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Carl finished his beer, burped, crushed the aluminum can on the floor with his foot. “Oop, now we’re outta beer.” “Alright, let’s send the dog.” They did. They sent the dog. The first time Luther trotted down the sidewalk. The next time, Henry let t

Transmitter/Receiver

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Valerie had purchased a new cell phone in late 2007, and, say a few months afterwards, in the beginning of 2008 a demon briefly took up residence in it. She had just returned home from running a few errands, and set her phone down on her desk. She had been focusing on…

Oyster

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"Maybe…" he began searching for some comforting wisdom. "Maybe it's like this. Husbands live for their wives. Mothers live for their children. And children...well...until they're husbands or wives, they live for themselves."

Epilogue

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I try to mentally reconstruct the events, but my memory of that day and many of the days and months afterwards are like disconnected scenes in a movie I saw once, years ago, while intoxicated. I want to get the minutiae right.

Doubting Thomas (poem)

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Do not go raging into that bleak night, Old age should know frustration's not the way; Float, float when all about you's losing light.