Featured Writing

A stack of vintage televisions displaying static channels

The Back Catalog

By Jim Speese Songs were in his head. Constantly. It was a problem and he supposed it wasn’t unique. Given the hegemonic presence of advertising jingles and TV show themes and music pumped into grocery stores and pharmacies and hospitals, it seemed quite likely that the fact that songs constantly…

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Posts Tagged creative writing

We Forget You’re Fifteen

by Khristy L. Knudtson Willfully strong-willed, your hair is a field; stalks of tangled straw you force from your head freeing the strands from your fingersover and over and over. They eclipse the tile floor of the juvie centeryou’ve lost it, your center. You are a lit match—tossed.An apocalyptic comet of…

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Telephonophobia

by Andy Demczuk — Phone calls used to scare me more than falling off a bike or being alone. My biggest fear was hearing a ring and knowing another human was somewhere waiting to speak with me. Whenever a caller gave up, “brilliant!” I’d think and smirk. Proud of my…

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Inner Remodeling

by P. b. Simpson “Yes, Walter, I know the game is going to start at one, but you know how you get when you forget to take your pill.” Margaret Smallwood always had a problem trying to open the pill bottles. She would go as far as stabbing the top…

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Unremitting

by Marc Livanos I touch cool grittybay waters,full of blue-green wavestossing and rollingplayfully animated,as they crash against the shore. I taste saltiness,carried and flung ontwisting twirlingmisty sea breezes –briny, fishyforever saline. In this roux, the laughingcries of seagulls carrythe wisdom of the ages,as their mocking attitudetaunts me –dude, go home,…

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Cherry blossoms in front of a building

Transition

by James Croal Jackson I walk this familiar streetof spring. Cherry blossoms, sunshine, the desireto drink. Yesterday I snuck into a fieldwith a flask to avoid the knife room Itell myself to stay out of. My longing a blackrolled-up rug. I tell myself Stay wound, trying howI can before I…

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The Method

by Robert Steward Lisbon, Portugal 2003 “Um bilhete de volta para Cacém, se faz favor,” I said to the man in the railway station ticket office. “Cacém?” he asked, tapping away on his computer. He had a Benfica football badge on the lapel of his blue jacket. “Sim,” I replied. Next…

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A Gunshot

by Khristy L. Knudtson I focused and realized your face has not looked this beautiful      since I was a child and since I was your “Muffin.”I focused and realized your face has not looked this beautiful      since it was illuminated in the middle of these crosshairs.The smooth, crescent moon of the trigger      carressed…

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Father

By: Kristal Peace More and more Often now, The oak tree in the center of Our yard inexplicably Begins to weep. Every day, for two weeks, Its branches sag, and its leaves cascade To the ground, like the stream Of a waterfall, drenching the entire lawn. But It is Summer,…

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Crimson Snow

By: Adir E. Golan Maery MacTauthenach followed the fading footprints that stained the snow crimson. With each step the snow revealed a deeper, darker imprint. Bleeding. Maery padded faster. Whoever was injured had to be close, the dulled prints had changed from boots to narrow stretches of furrows. Crunching snow…

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Diary of a Sixty-One-Year-Old Married Man – Part 22

By: Jon Epstein “Baba!” my granddaughter Bailey hollers from the bedroom. “Can you go in?” I ask Kelly. I’d just sat in front of the fireplace with my first Saturday morning cup of coffee and an ice pack on my back. “She called for you,” Kelly defers. I pull up…

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