IN THE COMPANY OF MEN, MUSCLE, AND MACHISMO By David Boyle
IN THE COMPANY OF MEN, MUSCLE, AND MACHISMOBy David Boyle
For more than fifteen years I have not given one iota of attention to sports; that is, professional sports. Sorry, gentlemen, treat me like a...
ASSOCIATIVE LEAPING By Lydia A. Cyrus
ASSOCIATIVE LEAPINGBy Lydia A. Cyrus
1.My mom told me that a red chicken was dying. How? I asked but no one knew how. My brother, the reaper, slid into a pair of black, heavy rubber boots and went...
LOLITA’S GLASSES By Carrie Bailey
LOLITA’S GLASSESBy Carrie Bailey
I’ve read the novel, Lolita at least three full times. The first of which, and I’m no longer afraid to admit this, 30 years after the fact, I could identify with Lolita, not...
THE GOLD CHAIR By Rebecca Johnson
THE GOLD CHAIRBy Rebecca Johnson
It was The Gold Chair that turned everything upside down. It was not an ornate kind of chair. It was not made for Medieval Kings with real gold, fancy scrolling,...
VIRTUAL PLAYGROUND: PLANET EARTH By Sarah A. Odishoo
A VIRTUAL PLAYGROUND: PLANET EARTHBy Sarah Odishoo
It may be that our role on this planet is not to worship God but to create him. —Arthur C. Clarke
In a time of universal deceit, the truth is revolutionary. —George...
IDENTITY CARD By Kate McCorkle
IDENTITY CARDBy Kate McCorkle
On another cloudless September morning of perfect, temperate weather, Jason and I, both twenty-four, drove the canvas-top Jeep to Fort Campbell to have our wills written. That was something the Army...
NEW BOY RULES By Joseph Eastburn
NEW BOY RULESBy Joseph Eastburn
When my parents separated in 1962, they decided to send my older sister and me off to boarding school to get us out of the turmoil of a disintegrating marriage....
SANTA CLARA RIVERLESS by Ellen T. Birrell
SANTA CLARA RIVERLESSBy Ellen T. Birrell
We are hard to find. If you were to search our address for directions, you would only get to the end of the county maintained road about two miles...
WREAK OF THE COWBOY By Ellen T. Birrell
WREAK OF THE COWBOYBy Ellen T. Birrell
The first time I saw Gerardo—oh, years ago—he was riding a flashy paint stallion down a country lane in the setting sun, heading into town for Sunday supper—hat,...
SONS OF UNCONSCIOUS FATE By Gabrielle Morales
SONS OF UNCONSCIOUS FATEBy Gabrielle Morales
Though I was only eight, I still remember my mother’s approach to the facts of death. It was like any other day in August. My best friend, Nikki, and...