Stories tagged southern

Hand and Glove

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She was a church girl, like all Annie's kin, always dressed all buttoned-up and proper. The clothes couldn't hide her, though. Tits like softballs and an ass like a whitetail deer's — curvy and all muscle. I loved to watch her. The way she walked.

Why I Live at the P.A.O.

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Mimi marched up the steps and proceeded to take sides with the rest of the family while I slaved over the egg dye and crawfish boil. So now this meant that everyone but Uncle Raffield had turned against me on account of Chrissy-Marie, but he as sure as su

Okatooga Warhammer

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They looked like girl’s jeans. Matt held them against himself in the mirror. Not that girl’s jeans were a mark against them. Usually, girls had better jeans anyway. Matt took two of the biggest pairs out of the big chest in his grandmother’s back closet.

Everything that's Gone Wrong, has Gone Wrong Because of Football

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I’m not ready for football. I’m not ready for it, but I live in a southern town that worships at its altar more devoutly than those suicidal beauties in James Wright’s great poem.

Regarding Hank

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Won't speak a word against 'em. Car trunk stunk like bad chicken long after, but I won't speak a word against 'em.

Ricky's Condition

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At first it was just holding hands and talking about Ricky's condition. Then it was leaning into each other on the sofa, Ben whispering my name into my hair, me wanting to put my hand on his thigh.

Screaming Woman - Excerpt

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Bree was mean as a bag of snakes and had done laid out most of the eligible bachelors in Culloden County at one time or another to the tune that at this point no man who’d heard of her wanted much truck with her.

To Explain the Sasquatch Sitter

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And I was going into the visions you get before you go to sleep. And I heard her moan. It was so beautiful. I moaned back. And she moaned again. And I did too. We pretended I guess that we didn’t hear each other. That we were moaning in our sleep.

Wounded Knee

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“They picked me up in their spaceship about noon,” Austin Grantham says to me while pulling up an apple crate to use as a stool.

Invasive Species

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Regret sounds like a rubber band pulled taut, then snapped.

Clover Grill: A Short Story

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I'm somewhere on I-10 in Mississippi, barreling westbound at 80 miles an hour through a rainstorm on a late Wednesday afternoon. The last road sign I remember was for Beauvoir, some Confederate general's…

Hidden Things

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Reenie had always wanted to see Paris. In her dreams at night, she walked the old streets of the city, dressed up in floaty clothes, the smell of French perfume on the air. She told us that French perfume was just how Heaven smelt. But instead of Paris she had…

From the West, Eastly and Southly

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It's not a drive I make often, bubbling my way through those fermenting hot warrens with slow simmering eyes, or through the ripe, vanishing stands and bug-infested bill boards, upright, by a sliver, the few remaining insects clinging desperately to keep the…

Dealer's Field

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The bones in his shoulder vibrated against the muscles.

Fly n' Jelly

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Listening for a chain saw with one ear and to Todd and the trooper with the other, I’m trying to hustle up and finish my business - sweating in my coat and sweatshirt - and I think this: not so silly now, is it, this invisible or being able to fly choice?