Stories tagged lit

One Question

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Every night during the ten o'clock news, he asks, “You ready to go to bed yet?” I say, “Yep,” but don't add: Just like last night and the night before, and the night before that. For thirty years.


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After nine months, I was granted early parole...


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Madison was not stupid, just uncultured. She knew nothing of England, but decided to travel from New York to Warwickshire to see Shakespeare's grave. She hoped to capture some sort of magic from seeing the playwright's tomb...


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I held at my gut and immediately regretted laughing at Frank when he pulled the pocket-knife out on me. I doubled over and fell to the floor. "John, was a typer all this important?" Frank asked, knife in hand.


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There was a bird on the windowsill, a sparrow, its silhouette backlit by a view of Uptown. She remembered many sparrows during her forced trips to Mercy Hospital...That was all over now...


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Most days you couldn't win; the constant nag from the fact that it was all a game was your only comfort. I was at the unemployment office again. The gal at the counter'd seen me enough to know when the printer was out of ink so she could walk away.


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Since high school. It'd been that long. Donald had shared five classes with Julia—or was it six? If home-ec counted, then it was six. It was the same period, but they were never together because the classes were split with boys and girls—and were each voted Most…


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A story about convincing people to do things they don't want to do, written entirely in dialogue; originally published by CHEAP POP.

Forks, Knives, Spoons, So On

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There is a small gap between the kitchen sink and the wall. I’ve dropped, over time, all our forks down there. They cannot be retrieved. We eat with our hands now.


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From outside it looked abandoned. We lived at the top of a dead end hill. The grass was high and brown, the bricks in the driveway were crooked, caved in. The winter was mild; rotten crabapples, half-frozen, lined the end of the road. This was my house.