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David Feuling

New England Residents Beware

One night outside Longfield, Massachusetts was all it took to never feel peace again. The little town is not too far from Thoreau’s famed Walden, and curiosity drove me and some like-minded friends to make the trek one hot summer. It’s a little place, and so secluded that you won’t

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Spearhead Unlit Frontier

The message has been smuggled via a plaintext file saved to a MicroSD that I pray survives its trip to the surface. If the journalist or civilian receiving this can read this message, I am posting covertly from a deep marine lab that officially does not exist. Its codename, as

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Acrimony

Two whiskey sours, one Old-Fashioned, and a Madras. Where’s the cranberry juice? I’ll have to cut up another orange. I can’t find a sugar cube; I wonder if Mr. George will notice it missing. Be very careful about which whiskey sour gets the antifreeze. Add extra lemon juice to that

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Bad Trip

It was my fifth day in Gloaming, Nevada – an unincorporated township skirted on all sides by scorched barrenness. I had never been this far west before, and so the craggy, acacia-dotted desert was dazzling to my senses. I remember wishing that I could extend my stay, but also knew

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Renaud Herbert Hansen

Mr. Hansen’s body was interred in a stately mausoleum of his own design years ago, and yet he still works for us.  I’m forced to interview with the remains of the sad dotard almost daily. The world honors Hansen for his invention of countless beloved animated characters, and it’s that

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Unrequited

That woman over there, in the corner of the room, is really a terrific tease. I don’t even think she means to be, but I’ve simply never encountered anyone like her. She’s got this breezy, powder-blue sundress on, and stylish ankle-strap sandals on her pedicured feet. A girl as pretty

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Sick

Tending to my sister Emily is a taxing job. It’s been perhaps three years since she’s become too infirm to leave the house, and I’m afraid I’m often the only company she can enjoy anymore. She used to love spending days in the park so much. I am always heartbroken

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Ya-Te-Veo

Even as the sun vanishes behind the tall, impossibly green trees and the rainforest around me fades into darkness, the air feels unbearably hot. I can’t walk anymore tonight. I’ll have to find a place to sleep. The leather pouch that the mystic gave me just before I left the

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The Voice

The snow rests pale on the naked metal of the shacks around me. The pastel paint stripped away in ugly patches, the rusted iron underneath leers orangish-red at my intrusion – like a thousand fiery eyes set in the suffocating whiteness that is all around me. There is no one

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