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A Good Yield of MonstersAfter twelve hours of tacking up electrified fence for those spiteful wendigos that ought to stay put now, Morgan Flint cruised to the lake at the western edge of his farm.
No finer end to the day than racing toward the sun on his ’32 Indian motorbike. The last brush of the day’s heat warmed his cold blood. Blooms of dust rose from the road as he sped along, grown huge by the recent drought that had swept through the great state of Texas. He sneezed twice, then sealed his nose slits shut and breathed through his mouth. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Flight to FreedomBy Kayla Rafkin QuailBellMagazine.com Sadie sprinted out of the rusted creaky minivan before her mother could reach out to her or even speak a soothing word. She felt her way up the staircase, her puffy red eyes blinded by torrential tears, past her father on his way down to congratulate his brave first-grader on a brilliantly successful beginning.
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The ObjectorBy Raymond Greiner QuailBellMagazine.com I gaze from my bedroom window on this glorious spring morning as dew glistens on the green pasture. Crows glean the field, with a loquacious sentinel perched nearby keeping watch.
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The Muse / Literature’s SweetheartShe has known many lovers, and many have seen her weep, soft, slow, sudden showers of gentle ire that pour as if there is no end to the earth beneath, and she has grown sick with metaphors and tongues clicking, breaths The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Transplant ShockI swore I would not be swallowed by unfamiliarity, coated smothered covered swept away by metaphors I did not understand, histories spun out of threads that were not mine and seeped into soil that hardened on my toes, The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
ExtractionThe sea gaped at me, hollowed out, as if we had leached it dry in the way of the sun, and I stood spitting words at it until the seaweed had more than sand to cling to, The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Dinner & AfterSmall, stuffed, exploded, but not
yet a turkey two days after Thanksgiving. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Satin StainsUnderneath my satin stains,
beneath each moonstruck sigh and moan you'll see the ghosts of sugar-rains echoed in sweet monotone: The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
University GirlBy Daniel Brusilovsky QuailBellMagazine.com I leaned against the railing, watching the sun glint off my sister's skates as she came down the canal. By the time I limped back to the edge, she had already shed the left one, and was bent over the other, nimble fingers working apart the frozen knots. I didn't offer to help, grabbing the back of the bench and slumping down next to her. Stretching out my legs, I felt the usual ache in my calf swell, gritting my teeth until I couldn't stand it, before letting my feet drop back down into the slush. She looked the same as when I'd seen her the month before, coming down the canal, back from Leiden, all rosy cheeks and blonde curls that threatened to escape from beneath her hat.
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RiddlesBy Fred Miller QuailBellMagazine.com With the luck of the Irish, I'd landed a plum of a job in the fanciest hotel on the hill, me a mere twelve-year-old in a crisp, bright uniform with a pill box hat the color of my freckles and hair, the newest message boy scrounging tips for cables and notes delivered promptly to various guests of this post establishment. Donovan, that's me, fast and alert and on the spot with a smile and an itch to succeed at whatever came my way.
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