Category Archives: FICTION

FICTION (1000 WORDS OR MORE)

Home Instead

Home Instead

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Smash the front door in with the pickup, says Dad. I considers it: a cement step, the sunken garden next to it, the brick around the frame, the new pickup. How about a locksmith? I built it sixty years ago, he says. It’s pretty strong. But you’re driving, he concedes.more

The Well of Hidden Dreams

The Well of Hidden Dreams

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What had followed was a cycle, an expulsion of amassed pain. It could not be dispelled nor evaporated, it had to be unleashed the way clouds poured the rains they harbored, rather than condensed into the buried recesses of wells. Despite her sins, she has suffered plenty.more

more secret wars

more secret wars

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I thought maybe they were canceling operations. Or maybe terminating my contract. For good this time. Real good. Maybe they wanted to do it in public, make a big show of it. I’d rather they handle these matters in private, in some musty old brick warehouse somewhere, in some back alley, on a secret plane to nowheresville, maybe tossing my body out over a swamp. There is a dignity to that, a flair to it.more

Clint

Clint

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Clint preferred showing over telling, the width of his shoulders, the location of his feet. He invited the clients to watch him, to learn from his form, his steady, even reps, balanced sets that worked each muscle group. Clint was a specimen of physical human potential. We all had something to learn.more

The 99 Days of Hell

The 99 Days of Hell

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The couple said, “it will get better.” They said, “let’s do that tomorrow.” They said, “we got through today and it could’ve been worse.” They said, “God willing,” and they said, “from your mouth to God’s ears.” The husband said, “that’s like robbing Peter to pay Paul,” and death rattled inside him.more

Stacking Napkins

Stacking Napkins

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Working somewhere as temporary and replaceable as a fast food restaurant, you can pick a new identity and try it on for a season. I become obedient, quiet. It’s easier that way.more

The Last King of the Skinheads

The Last King of the Skinheads

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They drank to the good times, and then drank the good times away. It wasn’t two years in until she stabbed him in the gut in the middle of the night after catching him messaging multiple other girls on his burner phone.more

PRACTICE

PRACTICE

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Monday night, judo class. Ishaan is on top of me, struggling with his grip. Though sensei Frank just demonstrated the choke for us, slowly, thoroughly, Ishaan’s already forgotten the hand work. His thin fingers grasp and re-grasp on my lapels, his knuckles grazing my face.more

License to Carry

License to Carry

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She could have stopped having a drink if she cared. If anyone cared. But she didn’t see much point in caring and neither did anyone else. When Attica was young, she wondered why it seemed as though nobody cared if she was around. Then she didn’t much care about being around.more

Bible Study

Bible Study

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Men like James don’t know softness, don’t know a whole lot other than work. They still look for God, though. Even after hours on the floor at Honda, they crawl towards church fronts, hungry and tired and missing their wives and brothers and sisters and cousins and mothers. The gods they know during the day are not gentle like the one they are here looking for. more