Stories
Story of the Week
By the end of my trip to St. Thomas, I had discovered a reason to live.
Fiction
He’d reenlisted in ’64; he would not go home until the War was won.
Story of the Week
Welcome, the place seemed to say, let’s screw with you a little more.
Fiction
He’d been lost and tripping vividly on some speckled acid for days.
Story of the Week
He was living like a coyote, out on the margins. But then a letter came.
Story of the Week
A town, wholly unknown to him until yesterday; he’s now unwrapped.
Story of the Week
A Midwestern man is never without his knife. Half of us carry guns.
Story of the Week
“It means,” Stoner said again, and could not finish what he had begun.
Fiction
My father was at an awful disadvantage in a sport where cunning is a virtue.
Fiction
I’m still in love with this filthy city, but now I know Berlin's love isn’t free.
Story of the Week
All was hushed and stonily still, like the moon and its lights and shadows.
Classics
“I can’t die, I don’t want to die, I love life,” Prince Andrei thought.
Classics
In that instant, Niel lost one of the most beautiful things in his life.
Story of the Week
He studies their mannerisms, looking for clues to the psycho spirit.
Fiction
There’s being young and growing old, being here and being gone.
Fall Contest Winners
More and more whiskey was required to knock out the elephant.
Fiction
Here’s the part where you pledge devotion until death, I told myself.
Fiction
We looked at each other beneath a London sky, on a Zeppelin night.
Fiction
Darla has come to the monument to fight against her mind.
Fiction
El Presidente was no longer in a mood to see the American press.
Story of the Week
How did I ever survive? Maybe I didn’t. Maybe I died back there.
Fiction
Lorena hummed inside her mind, anticipating daybreak.
Story of the Week
There was a dry snap inside the door of the safe. “There it is.”
Classics, Story of the Week
I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention.
Story of the Week
Rebecca beheld the sword which was suspended over her people.
Fiction
“We have heard that this blackened smear is art. We do not see it.”
Story of the Week
The interrogator was both man and deity, prophet and god.
