ONDE AS BALEIAS VÊM MORRER par João Franco

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Lóa acordou com um solitário raio de Sol que bateu no vidro da janela do seu quarto. A casa onde morava com a mãe e o irmão mais novo, estava ainda silenciosa. O pai...

ALTERNATIVE CHOICES by J. L. Higgs

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During our lifetimes, we each encounter countless numbers of people. Most are soon forgotten. But then, there are those like Lindsay.Three years running, my relationship with Jules was beyond the excitement stage. We’d grown...

NOW YOU NEVER CALL ME ANYMORE by David Swan

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Tina’s watch said 5:45 a.m. Central time. Though it was an hour later at home, and Bill’s rigid morning routine would have him in the shower with his phone out of reach, she dialed...

SOUL FARM by Eric Stevens

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Charles sat in front of his old TV with his son Harper, watching the evening news. "The latest reported death numbers for today are another 4,304 North Korean soldiers, and 305 U.S. soldiers." The...

GOING DOWN ON ELVIS PRESLEY by R. Mullin

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There’s something that must be made clear from the beginning, which is that I’m only talking about myself, and my own special circumstances; there’s nothing to generalize here. I well understand we’re all different,...

AXEL ‘N’ LULU by Gene Goldfarb

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By the time he was four, Axel knew the most important verbs in six languages. Be, make, do, go, have, want, say, know and think. He also knew the six basic words of inquiry....

HIS LOVE MAKES ME BEAUTIFUL by Jake Epstine

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I moved to Los Angeles when I was twenty-nine years old because I was funny. Everyone said so. It was simply a matter of being in the right place before Johnny Carson called me...

SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS by Alexander Bondulich

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A dark light emerges from the endless nothingness that is death. “What the hell is going on?” asked Clifford. As the dark light dissipated Clifford found himself sitting down in a white chair at...

A GIFT FIT FOR A QUEEN by Dru Richman

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Olivia sat under a painted sky watching the suns go down. Her husbands had put the children to bed and now she was enjoying a moment of blissful quiet. It had been over ten...

THE PHOTOGRAPHER by Peter Farrar

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It’s difficult to say when it started. Perhaps between the third and fourth coffee during that Friday morning. It could’ve been as I rasped the broom around ceiling corners where cobwebs swirled and bent...