Fiction - Year VII - Number 51 - November 2021

    THE WITCH by Zachary LaFever

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    It was the day of my mother's funeral. It was raining that day. The rain and wind combined and smashed along the church's windows. It sounded like a baseball bat whacking into a steel...

    SCREAMING INTO THE WELL by Douglas Cole

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    Screaming into the Well As jones steered his way through the palm fronds of a few ideas that wanted to surface but kept diving back down again into the undertow of his brain, appearing just...

    THE BUSINESS OF SHELLS by Craig Dobson

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    The Business of Shells I sold seashells by the seashore. The same shore where they could be picked up for free. Except for holiday makers, though, or those with time on their hands – lonely...

    I LOVE YOU LIKE BROKEN GLASS by Frances Wiedenhoeft

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    How many times had I scrubbed until my fingertips were raw and blood trickled into the wash water?  Any witness to this stooped washerwoman would have seen the emotional precipice I teetered on.             First,...

    MISTER PUSHKIN by Joram Piatigorsky

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    Don’t get me wrong. I love humans (most of the time), and I know they’re often (not always) intelligent. However, they have a blind spot when it comes to other animals. I say “other”...

    THE LAST DAY OF MY CHILDHOOD by Lotus Zhang

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    The Last Day of My Childhood That year looked the same as all of my earlier years. I was eleven years old, in my last semester of primary school. Different from most of the other similar-aged kids,...

    AGAINST TIMIDITY by Chuck Teixeira

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    I am grateful to the tenant who left the lavender liquor in the kitchen drawer. Right away, it feels fabulous, a sensation I might never have again, especially if I go to law school...

    THE GIFT OF THE RAIN GOD by Nigel Pugh

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    The Gift of the Rain God Maybe a god of the rain forest slumbers on a mountain ledge high above the valley and the lake, his ample stomach rising and falling, with his ethereal entourage,...

    I AM by Evie Haskell Maxwell

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    I am By E.C. Haskell “I am death,” said the little girl. The big man in a stained apron turned. Lights from the cooking fire behind him gleamed on his brawny arms, and sent dark shadows flickering...

    THE SPRUCE CREEK DIVERSION by Richard Bader

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    They had been out for longer than made sense, and it had been far too long since they’d seen anyone else. This wasn’t remote wilderness they were hiking through––a twenty-minute drive from town to...