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- Trestle by Tom Mahony
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The two boys walked along the railroad
tracks in the soft dawn light. They carried surfboards beneath
their arms, wet suits in their backpacks. Waves rumbled in the
distance, a new swell unloading on the cobblestone reef.
They reached the train trestle spanning
the marsh. It was the quickest way to the surf, but a long stretch
of narrow track.
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Our
Favorite Things by Daniel
Beall
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"Stop growling."
"I can't help it, I'm a doggie."
"You're not a dog, grow up."
James smoothed back his ears and licked
and licked.
Renee said, "Alright, you're a dog."
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Videotherapy by Ashutosh Ghildiyal
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About once a year or so, I
get the chance to visit my hometown. It's a small town full of
greenery and places of historical importance. I grew up here,
in this small town. Whenever I come back home, the first thing
I do is to see if any of my friends are also here. Most of my
friends live out of town, working in big cities. So do I. |
HEAVEN by David Schwartz
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Palmer clearly understood
he did not have to work. This was not mentioned -- nobody really
told him anything -- but was sensible. Indeed, at no point did
anyone try to tell him he had to work. There were plenty of people
to do the work. And look at them! They loved it! |
- Sun by Josh Hauser
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Watermelon juice poured down
on earth from an unexplored cosmic forest, dyeing the city lake
a terrible red. The people on the pathways and sandy beaches
wandered instead or walked at that hour, trying to vividly remember
the moment for later in life, and we were no exception. She looked
different in the light of the falling sun, not better or worse,
but comfortably new. I didn't know how to verbalize my thought,
so I kept silent and listened to the sounds of our shoes on the
pathway, which crunched and echoed through the quenching red
sky and into the great giggle of the universe where it would
travel forever. |
- The
Knockout Punch by Charles
Rammelkamp
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Summer finally came at the
end of July that first year of the Bush administration, the kind
of summer Paul Eppinghaus had come to expect in Baltimore. Hot,
humid, uncomfortable. Overwhelming, really. For a week it was
like that, without any relief, and Eppinghaus holed up in the
air conditioned Eisenhower Library at Johns Hopkins researching
Amerigo Vespucci to see himself through, and he went more frequently
to the athletic club to sweat and shower, sometimes twice and
three times a day. |
- Tylen
Brackus by Tom Sheehan
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I will tell you at the outset
that I have seen some puzzling and imponderable events or situations
in my life. That life is now halfway through its eighth decade.
Some of the circumstances were believable, some not; some I wanted
to believe, some I didn't. All of them, each instance whether
believable or not, had been caused or created or somehow set
into motion by the attitude or action of generally distinctive
and memorable men and women, whether for what they were or what
they did, or, in some circumstances, what they did not do. |
- Vermiform
We by Ramsey Mark Elias
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God. Once in a while, it's flattering,
but more often than not such a gross misunderstanding frustrates.
It kind of makes me reconsider helping others.
It started simply enough, on my way home
from work. Walking with my chin tucked in, trying not to get
assailed by the weather. People try to offer me rides once in
a while, but they don't get it. No matter how cold or wet it
gets, one warms up after the first ten minutes.
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- South
Bronx Granma by Bonnie Yarry
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A generation before Tom Wolfe's,
"The Bonfire of the Vanities," and the South Bronx's
moniker became Fort Apache, my parents strolled up the block
to Prospect Hospital, only stopping once for labor pains, and
I was born a few hours later. In 1946 housing was scarce for
returning veterans and their families so we lived with my grandmother
at 671 Kelly Street. After my first birthday, we moved out to
share a one-bedroom house with Daddy's Army buddy, his wife and
baby, but three times a week I was back at Granma's and much
of my world revolved around her. |
He'll
be Back by Margaret Karmazin
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With cleaning up the backyard
vaguely in mind, Sylvie teetered over the mangy grass. She twirled
a moment, veered and collapsed, badly smacking her elbow. "Umph,"
she gasped as she hit dirt. |
Creative Non-Fiction
- Unanswered
Prayers by Joe Lombo
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On a hot Saturday morning
in May, my brother Mike and I roasted in the Dart's tattered
backseat while the old man tried to convince it to start. Humming
Sinatra while tapping his foot on the gas pedal wasn't working
so he started cursing at the dials on the dashboard and punching
the steering wheel. When the vein in his forehead was about to
explode, the old man threw up his hands and announced, "Looks
like Old Betsy's flooded, boys." He lit a cigarette, threw
a shoulder into the door, and disappeared under the hood. |
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