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Feelspastas and Happy Endings

The red phone box

The Red Phone Box

Those of a certain age who grew up in the UK will remember the old-style, red phone boxes, emblazoned with the Royal Crown and with the motif ‘Telephone’ written above their glass panelled swing doors. In fact, you’ve probably seen photographs of these booths which are regarded as quintessentially British, …

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The bridge outside my broken window

The Bridge Outside My Bedroom Window

Toby’s JournalEntry 1April 5th, 1990 So, I asked my daddy to buy me this journal. He’s always been a great father, even though he isn’t the same after my mom died. He was always big on teaching me how to write, and stuff. He said words are the most important …

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God's Accursed Share

God’s Accursed Share

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Janowska/Yanivsky was an actual concentration camp in Ukraine during WWII. Its commandant Fritz Gebauer, AKA “the Choker,” and his torture methods were also real. As are the books I mention here. All else is fictional. Perhaps they [both the Aztecs and the Nazis] were mistaken altogether. Or perhaps …

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Janie

Janie

“You never let me have anything or go anywhere or do what I want! I always have to follow your stupid rules! You don’t even know what it’s like to be a kid anymore. They didn’t even HAVE cell phones when you were 13!” Janie yelled, stomping up the steps …

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the spider and the orange

The Spider and the Orange

Winter is a brutal child of mother nature. It acts like a tyrant as it lays siege all over the land, claiming multiple casualties in its wake. That’s why many animals run in fear for their lives. They will burrow underneath the earth and sleep until the cold has left, …

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in the event of my death

In the Event of My Death

I inched forward on my belly, trying not to inhale any more of the musty, stagnant air than necessary. The darkness was so complete that it snuffed out the frail, yellow beam of my Dollar General flashlight just a couple of feet in front of me. Something skittered to my …

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Heaven is not a friendly place

Heaven Is Not a Friendly Place

If I timed the 911 call just right, the paramedics could revive me before I kicked the bucket for good. At least, that was the hope. Any number of things could go wrong, especially when it came to asphyxiation. I didn’t want to die, per se; I just needed a …

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What Happens When the Stars Go Out

The red lights are only making the pain worse. It is an immense, earth-shattering pain, in my midsection and in my head. I try to move, but I can’t; I try to speak, but I can’t do that either. It hurts too much, and my voice obeys me no more …

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Eastgate

In the spring of 1953, when I was nine years old I saw my brother die. I’ll remember that day for the rest of my life. The memory has never left me and it never will. Part of it is the trauma, the slow, insidious realization that he was gone, that crept into my life afterward. But there is more to it that I don’t talk about. I’ve held onto it for years, and I don’t want to hold onto it any longer.

Stories For My Daughter

I know they say Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year, but for me it’s Halloween. I deck the hall with cobwebs and fake spiders. It’s just such a special time. Autumn is here and the leaves are beginning to fall. It’s a time for dressing up and …

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Does it Hurt When You Die?

Katy took a long hit on the pipe. Her eyes rolled up and back into her head. She choked on the smoke that invaded her lungs, and an attempt at a giggle was unsuccessful. Her blue eyes watered and her almost-laugh was strangled by another coughing fit. “I’m gonna die!” …

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Yellow Ledbetter

The land beyond the bridge had been in my family for generations, forty-four acres of farmland.  My father was as rooted to it as the oak tree in our front yard. Although he was sympathetic to my plight, he was certainly not going to move just because his daughter’s college …

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Let Me Go

“I can’t sleep,” she whispered as she crawled into bed and spooned against my back. “Jesus, you’re cold,” I murmured. She only snuggled closer, throwing her leg over mine. I lay there for a few beats, caught between my alcohol-induced sleep and wakefulness, until I realized whatever this cold thing …

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Mr. Ghost

In the spring of 1953, when I was nine years old I saw my brother die. I’ll remember that day for the rest of my life. The memory has never left me and it never will. Part of it is the trauma, the slow, insidious realization that he was gone, that crept into my life afterward. But there is more to it that I don’t talk about. I’ve held onto it for years, and I don’t want to hold onto it any longer.

Dandelions

The first time I saw Bret, I was nineteen.  I’d found a job working security at Dave’s Storage Unit.  My duties included keeping vagrants and thieves from disturbing the 40 rental units that were laid out in five neat rows in the middle of downtown Atlanta and helping customers with …

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