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Body Horror

Better Films

My brother has always had a dream of being a great filmmaker. For as long as I can remember it’s been his obsession. He got a video camera for his eighth birthday and would literally film everything with it, even the most mundane things. He would have us do ‘interviews’

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My Neighbor Is Using Power Tools Past 10 PM

I swear I’m not being that pedantic asshole neighbor. Noise ordinance starts at 10 pm and most people respect it because there are a lot of young kids in the neighborhood. But my neighbor across the street is remodeling his house and last Wednesday he started cutting things at 10:30

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My Sister’s Hair

I wish I had my big sister’s hair. Hers is soft and light. Touching her arms is like touching peach fuzz. When she sweats her skin looks like melted butter. It’s not fair. My hair is thick, wiry, and black as spider legs. I’m only thirteen and I have thicker hair on my arms and legs than most boys on the Tanglewood Junior High football team.

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The Beast with Five Fingers

When I was a little boy I once went with my father to call on Adrian Borlsover. I played on the floor with a black spaniel while my father appealed for a subscription. Just before we left my father said, “Mr. Borlsover, may my son here shake hands with you?

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The Last Body I Ever Cut Open

Craig Brockwell was found by his wife, dead on their living room floor, a plastic garbage bag tied off around his neck, and an empty bottle of Xanax on the kitchen counter, next to a suicide note. My initial external examination of the body revealed no indications of a physical

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The Roots of Wewoka Cemetery

After a short time of exploring the Oklahoma territory where they were forced to go, a group of Native Americans stumbled upon a mysterious plant while hunting. This plant looked like a gnarled tree root, with so many twists and turns within its seemingly fragile length that one could barely

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My Son Committed Suicide, and My Wife Blames Me

I’ve never posted like this before. But I suppose I’ve never needed to. If you’ve read the title, you know what to expect, and you can move on if you’d like to avoid the topic. I’ll understand. Grief is a funny thing. Professor Farina taught me that in the first

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Why Do People Keep Staring at My Face?

“What the hell is her problem?” I thought to myself as I sat in my cubicle. Angela, one of my co-workers, was staring at me. More accurately, she was gawping at me. At my face. I wanted to scream at her, flip my desk over and demand what the fuck

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Daddy’s Girl

After Momma got sick, Daddy didn’t act the same. He’d go off into their room and not come out for days. I was just thirteen at that time, but Daddy said I was big and needed to take care of things. I liked feelin’ responsible. Back then, it was just

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A Lonely Machine

Roger glanced around the desert once more. Nothing but the cloudless sky and the sand scattering in the wind, with a few cacti dotted around the landscape. With nothing else to do, he checked his magazine, already knowing how many bullets he had. Full. Adjusting his helmet, Roger sighed and

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