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The
Guilt Offering by Adeline
Scout
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I wish I had entered the courtroom
of my own accord and not been dragged in like a petulant child
by an aging, cigarette leeched officer. I wish I had prepared
my statement to the victims with my much lauded lawyer and not
with the homeless alcoholic with whom I shared my cell. I wish
my old boyfriend had passionately pled for mercy on my behalf
and not written a stoic account chronicling my erratic behavior
and humiliating decline. |
Small
Talk by Malerie Yolen-Cohen
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Gail was droning on again
about her new baby crib, some new "cheap Canadian crap"
that her mother bought her as a gift. "Mom knows I want
Bellini and Bellini only," she lamented. "I can't
believe what a cheapskate she is." |
An
Early Lunch by C.A. Harrison
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The cook bulged around his apron strings
and when he moved in the smoke he sweated and it pushed the old
sweat from his skin and it ran down and into his shirt and when
he talked the bugs came out.
"What will it be?"
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The Rain
over Bulgaria by William
Falo
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Andrey watched a girl trying to see her
reflection in the window of the café. She used her hand
to brush her tangled hair, while he calculated how much money
he could get for her once he got her out of Bulgaria. He decided
it was worth the effort and approached her while smoothing his
hair back. The girl turned toward him and he gasped. Her resemblance
to his sister was startling and he thought he saw a ghost.
He stood behind her unable to move.
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The
Weaver by Jennifer Houston
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Trying to quiet the voices
in her head, she walks around her home rearranging the little
knick knacks on tables, replacing books onto shelves, doing the
dishes from that night's dinner, even taking a shot of whiskey
to beckon sleep. |
The
Silent Freight Train by Michael
Schulze
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Mel, Charlie, and I meet at
the station on Tuesdays for lunch. Mel's a conductor for Sante
Fe. He comes in his striped overalls and puffs a cigar until
work. Charlie lives two blocks away and is always late. Sometimes
he shows up with his old lady. The woman never shuts up. I remember
when a freight was rumbling through, rattling the metal patio
tables. She kept shouting over it, babbling about a family trip
when they were young. I just stared at the passing boxcars and
praised the noise for drowning her out. I think she and Charlie
got the hint I don't care for her too much because I haven't
seen her in a few months. Charlie doesn't bring her up and I
don't ask. My old lady doesn't come to the station, that's for
sure. |
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