Home Fiction - Year IV - Number 22 - March 2019

Fiction - Year IV - Number 22 - March 2019

    A WALK BY THE RIVER by Josh Greenfield

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    A WALK BY THE RIVERby Josh Greenfield There are chemically induced medical conditions that require more than a good sponsor and strict attention to The Steps, many in fact. There is an entire pharmacological industry...

    ANCHORS AWEIGH by Alan Berger

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    ANCHORS AWEIGHby Alan Berger We told and tell people we met in Church.At St. Patrick’s Cathedral yet.That would be a falsehood, but she liked saying it. She called herself “A romantic embellisher”.We met within sighting...

    MINOR KEYS by Eric Stevens

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    MINOR KEYSby Eric Stevens How DARE she yell at me like that! That bitch! Sophie walked down the sidewalk next to her apartment, earbuds placed firmly and playing nothing. She wore her sunglasses, though it was...

    AN ATTACK ON SCHOOL PREMISES by Andrea Taylor

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    AN ATTACK ON SCHOOL PREMISESby Andrea Taylor They gathered the entire staff in the auditorium after dismissal and told us about the sexual assault that occurred in the staff parking lot early that morning. The...

    HOW NOT TO BE TWENTY-THREE by Mitch

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    HOW NOT TO BE TWENTY-THREEby Mitch The peck on my neighbor’s lips from the morning after turns into a full-blown make out session. She heads to work as I crawl back to my bed –...

    LIVING MACHINES by Reece Braswell

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    LIVING MACHINESby Reece Braswell My Grandma was eighty-six when we admitted her to the hospital. There, rubber-gloved hands cared for her, piercing needles into the walls of her veins and connecting monitors to her heart....

    THE COLLECTION OF NORA by Julian Isaiah Holbrook

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    THE COLLECTION OF NORAby Julian Isaiah Holbrook Mid-afternoon sunlight enters through the cracked curtains unwanted, a spec of light in a dim-lit room that reflects the inner linings of her discombobulated thoughts. Nora feels the Colorado...

    THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE by Jeremy Townley

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    THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICEby Jeremy Townley Look at all them ingrates.  I mean, just look at ’em.  Stuffing their fat-pig faces with prime rib and red wine like the world owes them something.  Ain’t...