Fae Dremock ~ The Flyover

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Ann smelled the ele­phant before she saw it. Then a mud-grey foot swung past and just ahead, land­ing to her left. The drover passed, and the tail of the ele­phant whisked out in front of her, stink­ing of loose bow­els. Ann stopped beside the fruit ven­dor and watched as the ele­phant con­tin­ued up the street. Unusually for Cairo, the mar­ket silenced– fruit ven­dors and veiled maids, mouths gap­ing

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Ann Colley ~ Seed-Time

Excerpt from The Odyssey and Dr. Novak

There are in our exis­tence spots of time,
Which with dis­tinct pre­em­i­nence retain
A ren­o­vat­ing Virtue …
(Wordsworth The Prelude)

ENGLAND 1946–1953

This is where the odyssey begins, or where I imag­ine it com­mences. The time is a warm English sum­mer after­noon in 1946. The place is the front gar­den of the Unitarian par­son­age sit­u­at­ed in a mod­est town bare­ly six

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Jeff Ewing ~ The Ramp

Kepler made a deci­sion. He looked up from the side­walk and stepped direct­ly on a crack. He was twen­ty-three years old and it was time to grow up. It felt good, a load off, until he got a call from the emer­gency room say­ing his moth­er had stepped on a slug on the back porch, fall­en and bro­ken her back. A banana slug, fat and yel­low and flat­tened to the con­sis­ten­cy of dis­card­ed gum. He won­dered if

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Mary Akers ~ Saying the Name

I spent sec­onds shar­ing the stage with him in my minor role, hours in the dark­ened wings watch­ing him per­form in the light. He came from Switzerland. He spoke at least three lan­guages. He was a world­ly col­lege senior. I remem­ber his curly hair, his long body, his lop­ing stride, but not his name.

Emily Pettit ~ Dear Cousin

Dear Cousin ,
I miss you very much. My life now has pur­pose, but your absence con­tin­ues to be so very hard to accept. I know things are just like the song says “you’ve got go to prison for your cousin / you’ve got to / you’ve got to / you’ve got to” but this truth does not delete my beat­ing heart for you. 

Paul Myette ~ Day Drinking at the Harris Suites

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from a nov­el in progress

The Harris Suites crum­bled slow­ly on the back strip of Virginia Beach. Alex paused and looked up at the bleached yel­low paint of the façade. In each room, save one, the win­dow blinds were drawn. Even in the bright sun of mid­day he could sense the dark­ness inside those rooms. 

Samuel Ligon ~ The Little Goat

There were once a girl and a boy who lay on a hill of grav­el kiss­ing until their lips were raw. Kissing was the best thing that had ever hap­pened to the boy and the girl, and so they rode their bicy­cles to the grav­el pit every Sunday in pur­suit of that sweet, sin­gu­lar pas­time.