Stories tagged short-story

The Celebrity

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I love reading about myself. There's nothing more gratifying than seeing my name in the paper, knowing so many people are interested in who I am and what I do.

The Naked Mountain

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Once upon a time, a young writer decided to leave his home in Iowa City, and seek wisdom in the East.

Splinter Off

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When we lived in the attic we were make-believe.

The Widow's Morning

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Whispers flew, like wild darts across the room. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say. Right then, it wasn’t my job to figure things out; it was my job to cry.

We call them the Removal Men

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They came early and parked up, under cover of the night and the giant oak. I only know this because people told me afterwards. Watching us, they were. It was six o'clock before they smashed their way in, scaring the three of us out of our wits. Baby Billy screamed the place…

Samurai Kitteh

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She did not know the passage of time, for she was just a bedraggled little kitty, but she stayed behind the lattice for many rising and settings of the Sun. Whatever magic may have been in the last morsels she ate or the black water she climbed out of, sh

The Love Potion

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Greta had chosen pharmacology over selling beauty creams. She could not explain why. But once she had chosen it, she had known it was the right choice. Looking into her computer, or considering making a phone call to a doctor to extend a prescription, she

Hotel Chelsea

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He tells people about the whores, but what he really recalls is when someone from a room above dropped a rug on his patio.

Myra

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When I got to Pete's house he was sitting on the curb smoking a cigarette, bruised and dirty, with a smoking pile of rubble behind him where his house used to be. I hadn't heard yet, but his ol' girl left him and blew up the house when she left.

Hotel Chelsea - Scene 2

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Her name, she says coming in all self-possessed, is Nanette. The name he'll be calling her for the next hour, he understands.

Postcard

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"Special delivery for a friend?" he asked. "Postcards are a wonderful thing. All people want to do nowadays is send e-mails. But what's better than putting a postcard on the fridge?"

Myra's Mother

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Smoking is like hooking up with an ex-girlfriend: you know she's bad for you and that it won't work out, but it feels so familiar and comfortable and so easy to slide back into.

Hotel Chelsea - Scene 3

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[Memory] taps him on the shoulder as he sits in Madison Square Park staring across Broadway.

Hotel Chelsea - Scene 4

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In a Chelsea bar, his red plastic Samsonite suitcase tucked down by his feet, he sits staring into his coffee.

Hotel Chelsea - Scene 5

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In front of a museum he arises from nameless sleep with only his vision gristling his body ...