Tag: short story
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Reasonable Doubt
By summer, they would bear heavy fruit. Red, ripe, and gleaming like truth finally unearthed. The neighbors would marvel and say the soil here must be special.
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The Fish Have No Feelings
Sometimes you feel that love is the kind of thing you have to get good at.
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BARS
I began to wonder if I had been relegated to live in complete and utter isolation from any and all genuine connection.
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Origami Leonard Cohen Cranes
I blinked and there she was. An old woman wrapped in layers of clothes, a crumpled paper doll with a conductor’s hat.
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Childhood Closure; A Personal Story
When I was little, I dreaded art class. I hated the walls of the basement, I hated the brushes and ink and markers, and I hated the paint-stained sink. I hated how my colours would look murky and bland, and how my awkward brushstrokes looked like child’s play instead of the next Van Gogh painting.…
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HOUSE OF THE DEAD
My grandma’s going to die soon. Nobody wants to say it, but we all know the day will come. It’s just a matter of time. Growing up, my family would drive half an hour to my grandma’s house every Saturday, and continued to do so until COVID put an end to such adventures. But I…
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The Undead
I knew I was undead when I looked in the mirror and saw that my skin was bare. When I ran my fingers down my smooth, soft cheek, and felt no cuts, no wrinkles, no blemishes. Not a flaw to be felt, not a sign to be seen that life had made its mark. I…
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Lonely, Vol. 1
Do lonely people know they’re lonely? Do they acknowledge the truth of their existence? When one is lonely, is their loneliness an ever present companion? Does loneliness tag along like a clingy first love, causing one to beg to be alone? Can one accept loneliness, nod heads and shake hands, and drift through life with…
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Augustine – the new manic pixie dream girl
(please note, I use the word love very loosely) August. I love August. I love the way the letters roll off of my tongue, I love the nervous anticipation for the next school year, I love the way we gather like moths to a porch light in protest of summer’s end. I spent my August…
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His Champion – Narrative
I didn’t know my grandfather very well. He lived an inspirational life; too bad I didn’t know that while he was still here.