Home Fiction - Year IV - Number 22 - March 2019

Fiction - Year IV - Number 22 - March 2019

    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...

    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...

    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....

    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 –...

    DISAPPEARED SOUNDS by J.C. Sullivan

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    DISAPPEARED SOUNDSby J.C. Sullivan One night the week before last Jane Parker clearly heard the sound of an eight track tape clicking from one track to the next.  She had not heard that click, that...

    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...

    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...

    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...