Stories tagged short-story

None of the Above

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She wanted to let Reg explain, to make it all make sense. She wanted to tell him how she felt, but her words always tangled like hairs in a drain.

Exquisite Torture

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The baby tee came off first then the cut-off denim shorts. She walked over to the queen-size bed, did a little shimmy dance as she took off her full-coverage bra, rubbed her breasts, her pudgy belly, stepped out of her panties, pulled back the down comfor

A Killing in the Market

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Everyone hoped to be assigned somewhere they could just drop in on their way home for Memorial Day weekend. Someone said, Blake, you’re single. You hate your family, don’t you?

Christmas

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First of all, there was no snow. I seem to remember that. And there was no Christmas tree in the house.

Another Body

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Riley sat on the porch with a notebook and a state map, trying to unfurl Minnesota in an autumn breeze, ready to make observations with blue pens and black pens and red pens that she had set in neat columns on the stone steps between her feet.

Savage, Minnesota

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My friend Jimmy says this has all been easier to see and stomach with a copious dosage of Vicodin.

Empty is the House of Death

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Empty is The House of Death Once there was a world where the dead stayed dead (at least for the most part), and the living remained in that transient state…

A Foreign Affair

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A Foreign Affair The two politicians met like first time lovers. They crossed the room with bright smiles and eager eyes. Their embrace was unexpected, and clumsy, fuelled by a mutual need for…

Empty is the House of Death

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Empty is The House of Death Once there was a world where the dead stayed dead (at least for the most part), and the living remained in that transient state…

The Day The Music Died

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I heard an old Stevie Ray Vaughn tune this morning. It triggered a flash back. It’s funny how just a few notes of a song can slam me right into a memory. A total and complete immersion. Sights. Sounds. Smells. The people. The place. The weather. Wha

A Black Night

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The hairs on my arm lift with the breeze; a haunting breath from the open window carrying night-scented stock from the black-shrouded garden.

Never Trust A Thief

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His jacket allowed an ideal amount of starched white sleeve to extend from beneath the cuff. His trousers fit just right, the fabric flowed like windblown wheat. His looks were as polished as his shoes, his hair as black. No one would have guessed he made

Says the Sky

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He is frowning now. He is rubbing his head. “Yes,” he says. “I am thinking about its preposterousness. In fact, I am thinking of nothing but. You might even say I am pondering it. I am pondering the preponderance of its complete and utter preposterousnes

The Other Side

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That was the first time I went over the wall. No bird opened its mouth to chirp. No wind blew. I staggered a little on the stony edge. And dropped down. I changed in a cafe. Shaved. Emerged as that rare thing: a new man. My clothes were old, saved for

Cherry Stem

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He moved his rotten breath closer to my mouth, like he wanted to twirl his tongue around just to see how it felt.