The pain comes suddenly. It spears the underside of her swollen stomach and ripples outward in shock waves that rock her to her knees, months too soon in its arrival for the welcome to be a warm one.
Carmel Girl by Julie Quiroz
The doctor was surprised. Looking up from his clipboard, he watched a girl rise from her waiting room chair, the arm of a seated boy gently guiding her as she stood. Without looking at the intake form, the doctor guessed they were fifteen or sixteen
He Wanders Lonely by Frank Joussen
?Cloud? isn?t his real name, of course. It is ?Claude?. But his new classmates in idyllic Chester have never met a French exchange student before and got him wrong. They have never bothered giving it another thought. They are sure that his name is ?Cloud?, but that doesn?t mean you should ridicule him for it; he is a Frenchman after all.
The Taste of 3 A.M. by Mercel Meyers
In the short story, The Taste of 3 A.M. by Mercel Meyers, the good the bad comes back around.
Broken Windows by Marijke Hillmann
Broken Windows by Marijke Hillmann It is lunch time in a Johannesburg factory. Kagiso, Gift and Tau are leaning against a wall in the scorching midday sun. Gift looks at a young woman leaving the building. “Who is she?” he asks. Shifting the blade of grass he is chewing on, Kagiso replies: “She […]
The Ragged-Trousered Misogynist by Sue Roff
She came to know a place, a very cheap hotel, where she had no past but was only the present. Sitting on the verandah at night watching mosquitoes immolate themselves in the kerosene lamps.
The Art of Learning by Kristina England
It all started when Jamie dusted off her Encyclopedias.
She was in the attic with her seven year old son, John. She stared at the heavy texts and shook her head. Now you could read about Giraffes or Atlas Moths on Wikipedia.
Club by Night by Vicky Hayes
We lived in an apartment a quarter of a mile from the heart of the city. Our room was nestled into the back with a decent walk in closet and bathroom.
The Fridge by Marijke Hillmann
The camper ambles its way through the Tete Province, Mozambique on a sweltering, humid late afternoon in 1975. Our 13 months? old son is dozing off in his seat ? I sit next to him and hold the bottle he has just finished drinking.
The Lone Car by Mary Lee
The lone car sits in the deep of the morning, waiting for its owner to return. The car had been parked in this same spot the day before, glistening with the moistness of the morning dew. At 4:00 a.m. the sky still shadows the darkness all around the town, hiding the sins of its citizens.
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