Tag: creative writing

Junetide by Julie Bull

Marjorie sees the young people in the town sometimes. They are maybe sixteen or so, young men mostly. Somehow they have become separated from their family though she can’t imagine how. She tries not to meet their gaze, not to look into their dark eyes. She is told to be afraid of them, told she

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Fifty Minutes by Linda Murphy Marshall

Once a week Kate sits in his small office, laying out stories spanning her thirty years. Loose pages of a book, confessional secrets for her pastoral counselor to untangle and make sense of, they tell of her father’s angry outbursts and stony silences, her mother’s icy glares and disapproving comments, her own struggle for self-esteem.

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The Clampdown by Rick White

‘Your attitude, not your aptitude, will determine your altitude.’  – Zig Ziglar ‘They put up a poster saying we earn more than you, we’re working for the clampdown.’  – The Clash I turn down the radio in my car – talk radio – some crappy awful phone-in show providing a platform for the permanently incensed,

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The School Run by Lucy Stephens

My father sat in a thin blue shirt with buttons undone, his breath seeping out the corner of his chapped lips in lazy coils. The windscreen had frosted over during the night, barbed spirals of ice like bacteria in a petri dish. He hadn’t bothered to scrape it off on my side and only an

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The Drive Home by Chris Preston

Zack’s phone vibrates. It reads, she’s my best friend. Promise you’ll tell her on the drive home… ok? He replies, yes. Once sent, the young man swipes left on his conversation to ‘Marty B’ and hits delete. The sedan’s trunk slams shut and Tiffany climbs into the passenger seat just as he manages to disconnect

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The Wrathful Sky by Sam Derby

Part I “I want to help you make target,” said Galliardi. Three flies circled the meeting room table. Smith couldn’t tell if the buzzing noise came from the flies or from the projector or was still there from the flight over. He held the white china coffee cup fiercely. The logo was turned away from

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Burning the Stubble by Steven John

We both go down on one knee in the perimeter of the field that grills under the August sun. You take an oily rag from your trouser pocket and, in a single jerk, tear it in two. You press both halves of the rag into the inch of tractor diesel I’ve carried from the barn

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The Meat Slicer by Michelle Blair Wilker

It was just a simple errand. A bizarre task that could have been accomplished in an afternoon while the sun loomed high, dangling like a burnt tangerine. But it was late, 10:15 by my watch and I hadn’t a clue where we were. The moon cast its spotlight across the Fiat’s rusted hood, which cracked

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There’s No Going Back to Absit Gorge by Scott J Moses

Deputy Alan Eichmann watches Mills die on the hardwood floor behind the front desk. Dial-tone humming from the phone dangling above the young man’s body. The snub-nose .38 still warm in Alan’s hand. He lived and died at his post, such a good policeman, Alan thinks, turning his standard issue Model 27 on the two

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A Girl at the End of the World by Kate Brewer

Day One: The Girl woke up to find her legs tangled in Egyptian cotton and gooseflesh spread across her bare chest.  She blinked twice.  The Man paced up and down at the foot of the bed, his smart black trousers unbuttoned, his white dress shirt and credentials piled on the corner chair.  He fiddled with

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