Home Fiction - Year IV - Number 22 - March 2019

Fiction - Year IV - Number 22 - March 2019

    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...

    THE GREMLIN IN THE BALCONY by Jonathan Baker

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    THE GREMLIN IN THE BALCONYby Jonathan Baker Today ought to be like any other Wednesday for Jackson Tolliver. He will leave his office at five-thirty on the dot and ride the train uptown to his...

    TWO THOUSAND AND EIGHTY-SEVEN by Trevor Love

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    TWO THOUSAND AND EIGHTY-SEVENby Trevor Love You have two thousand words, two thousand and eighty-seven words to tell a story. Can you do it? Two thousand and sixty-five. Two thousand and sixty-one. Can you do...

    NO SCUM by Michael Stanek

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    NO SCUMby Michael C. Stanek   Klaus knew somebody had been there. The signs his commanding officer told them to look for were everywhere. Folded clothing washed to death, unsoiled, stale, scattered across the bed possibly for...

    TOMMOROW by Naethan Pais

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    TOMMOROWby Naethan Pais His eyes opened rather swiftly for a man his age. It was painful. The sudden overload of information flooding through, rendering his surroundings as smoked glass. His frail frame rose up, painfully,...

    LOSING THE LOTTERY by Bailey Cook Dailey

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    LOSING THE LOTTERYby Bailey Cook Dailey I dealt to the hook-handed man first. Single deck Blackjack. He was the only player at the table. He was on a hot streak winning what felt like four...

    THE ARTIST AS AN OLD MAN by Benjamin Haimowitz

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    THE ARTIST AS AN OLD MANby Benjamin Haimowitz For eleven years since the shaking caused by Parkinson’s disease made life at home with him impossible, Steven’s grandfather had been in a facility for the chronically...

    IVANA by Magdalena Blažević

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    IVANAby Magdalena Blažević Ivana (16. 8. 1993) I'll be dead in two hours. My hair, washed with camomile, as white as snow, will mix with the dust from the well-worn path and turn grey. It remembers the...

    FROST by Phil Mershon

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    FROSTby Phil Mershon For the next nine years he wandered from one ranch to the next. The old man had long ago gone to whatever final rewards he'd had coming, leaving George to embrace solitude...

    MEANINGLESS by David Norwood

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    MEANINGLESSby David Norwood I looked forward to when the grounds across campus were cut. It happened every two weeks, and today was one of those days, and it just so happened to be the last...