by Carol Casey The August sun has almost spun the straw to gold in the large stack behind the barn. We take turns sliding down its side, whooping in the earthy smell, the scratchy stalks tickling. Not sure why I go down backward, push off so hard. I land with a thump on almost…
By Susan Dale Stacy Dale Dear Editor of Rambunctious Literary: Unnamed: Unheralded: Unknown: I enjoyed reading the stories on your webpage: well, some of them, anyhow. But by the fourth story of sexual encounters after underage drinking … one at the beach, one in an empty bus, and two in…