Stories tagged identity

Tak Tuckerby

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Tak Tuckerby was a racecar driver. He could drive a racecar fast and handle a racecar perfectly. Unfortunately, Tak could only drive in one direction.

Spoiled Meatloaf

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In a small, cozy diner lived a homemade meatloaf. The meatloaf spent its days lounging on a warm plate with some mashed potatoes and sweet corn. Together they watched television, argued about sports, and ate blueberry pie...

Doppelgänger

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there is a woman called Kristie Loggan who lives on the exact opposite side of the earth (which, unfortunately for her, is the sea below New Zealand)

Qalb elouz

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The sweetness turns your tongue inside out, and the texture of the cake on your inside-out tongue makes you feel all at once like you're in love, and like you're a child again.

Tiger-eyed

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The tiger-eye beads around her neck would wink at me like a nervous uncle sharing a secret with a child. They roll on her sternum like marbles. At night, on her nightstand, they whisper my secret to the patchouli-scented room. How long have they known?

Queen For a Day

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I. People were terrified by the epidemic and Mama tried to protect me by keeping me inside. I spent that long, hot summer watching television in our darkened living room. I wore my cowboy shirt and toy gun in anticipation of The Cisco Kid, Sky King and The Lone Ranger,…

Bullfrog Prince

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Santa took a long drag on the joint and exploded in a paroxysm of coughing. Smoke plumed from his mouth and billowed around his head. Still coughing, he passed the joint to Grinch. The weed smelled dank and skunky. Elf laughed and shook his head. “Dude, I told…

Bois de Boulogne

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the wicked and the hush'd

(Yet Another) Mask

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In frustration, he picked up a hammer and slammed it straight into the center of the mask.

Bigger than Michael Jordan

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The ball thuds against splintered planks, once the gate to our backyard, nailed to a telephone pole that Pap, my grandfather, has cut down to size and planted in the dirt he cleared between the gravel driveway and the irrigation ditch.

Three Sundays at The Grove

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Now, gazing into Greg’s expectant eyes, the only Chinese word Deepti could summon was kuei. Ghost. Before that summer, her mother flipped through the pages of Maxine Hong Kingston’s memoir every day, as if she could glean magic from the touch of her finge