Tag: fiction

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Sydney

Thirty minutes after takeoff, I realized the old man sitting next to me had died. We hit some turbulence, and his hand fell from the armrest onto my right leg. I waited, expecting the old man to pick his arm back up, but his eyes remained closed, his head stayed cocked back, and the backside of his hand continued to rest on my lap.


Fiction by Cara Albert

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Still

Sam’s hand is palm down in front of my face, the way it always is when we do it in a certain way. I look around, trying to find a place to rest my gaze that isn’t the barren wall ahead or the tangle of clothes on the floor. And so I stare down at his right hand. It is mostly flat and white against the blue sheet, except for the red peaks of his knuckles, which form a crooked line.


Flash Fiction by Joy Bullen

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Release

After the regime has fallen, and the reek of burning documents been aired from the grim offices of Internal Security, still no one ventures down to the basement. On its shelves, thousands of jars, thousands upon thousands. Their tops have grown gritty with dust, and their labels—pasted on so carefully—curl up like dying leaves.

Flash Fiction by Gerri Brightwell

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Coyote Country

Remember what you were told about the proper greeting.  You must not look him directly in the eye.  You must not speak unless you are asked a direct question.  You must do what you are told.  This is very important.  Sometimes your mind wanders and you say what you are thinking.  You know this is true.  Listen.  You must do what you are told.

Flash Fiction by Sean Keck

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Someone Simple and Kind

Gurney Norman Prize for Fiction: 1st Place

I almost felt grateful for the experience of being somebody’s mistress, Sylvia rolling off of me and springing up from my mattress around 5:30p.m. the afternoons I got to see her, the working day over. It made me feel great kinship with Mrs. Wilson from Gatsby, and I thought about her a lot, and how the room must have felt utterly abandoned each time Tom left it.

Fiction by Amarlie Foster


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Kiss Cecilia for Me

Fiction by Kaitlin Ruether

The first camera I picked up had a flashbulb that popped when you pressed the button. My first picture had Mom in a blue floral dress as she straightened the records on a maple shelf, her mousy hair pulled tight.

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