Stories

Winter Contest Winners

“I’m torturing you,” she said. “It isn’t fair.” Now I saw there were tears.

Winter Contest Winners

Our life is fine as it is, she would say to him, and it seemed true.

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Story of the Week

Mostly he was in a hurry, so he’d just stick it in and away we’d go.

Story of the Week

From the flight deck Gray could see home, wherever that might be.

Story of the Week

Since his mother’s fall, Ali had been stopping by every week to help out.

Fiction

Why did it take Steven’s small coffin to get me to see my own son?

Fiction

The first time I met you I fought your father in the driveway.

Story of the Week

The old man drinks some more liquor and whacks down two trees.

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Story of the Week

Go came up with the idea that all things were part of a good conspiracy.

Story of the Week

I was thinking sex, she was thinking sex, but neither of us made a move.

Fiction

“It was not wartime sentiment that moved me to ask you here.”

Story of the Week

Tony’d had guns pulled on him more times than he had toes.

Story of the Week

It is our first time, both of ours. This sentence ends with hate myself.

Fiction

Karen was, in that moment, nothing, emptiness. She was oblivion.

Story of the Week

Even before bills and rent and adultery—you don’t sleep well.

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Fiction

He was gentle and slow, like a blind man washing dishes.

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Story of the Week

Their mother was the real beauty of the family, or so everyone said.

Story of the Week

Her name sprang to my lips in strange prayers and praises.

Story of the Week

I tried mightily, but no longer could I ladle those ancient words into the air.

Fiction

The pillow into which her face was turned muffled her voice.

Story of the Week

I didn’t trust her. Relationships like ours aren’t built on trust.

Story of the Week

Children are never old enough to understand their parents’ affairs.

Story of the Week

He’s weirdly hard to pay attention to, even when he’s threatening you.

Fiction

Suddenly, all of the past seemed now like the same endless race.

Story of the Week

Sleepy and pensive, July succumbed to the day’s isolating heat.

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Story of the Week

I have given everything at the wrong time, to the wrong people.

Story of the Week

I do not want to fall prey to the bewitchment of my mind by language.

Fiction

I hadn’t always liked being around my mother while she was alive.

Story of the Week

Tobacco and dirty wool, rank alcoholic sweat. I liked him right away.

Story of the Week

Ah, yes, Rita reminded herself: I won. Her Mistress of Mayhem award.