The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
haplessness
By Ilhem Issaoui
QuailBellMagazine.com never ask me how time devours me or about the moments of glee that deserted me The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Pilgrims of Tranquility
By Raymond Greiner
QuailBellMagazine.com
I.
My name is Caleb. I am sixteen years old and documenting my life thus far. I have no parents or siblings. I was scientifically created and live in a barracks facility among one hundred males my age. An adjacent facility houses one hundred females. We are genetically engineered. Guides define goals to expand population. I am inspired to record this eventful, historic time. It has been two hundred years since global devastation ceased, creating present day conditions. Our population expansion team is assigned to Peace School located in a central region of what was previously the United States of America, but currently, this country does not exist. History dominates our curriculum, intending to circumvent repetition of events nearly destroying earthly life. Even after two hundred years, residue from this cycle of destruction hinders restructuring. Events occurring over two hundred years ago were unimaginable. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
We Hate You, Ewa Jurzwiak
By Laura Eppinger
QuailBellMagazine.com We hate you, Ewa Jurzwiak. We hate you when your English isn’t good, we know your parents came from a farm outside Krakow, but your nose is straight up in the air. Upturned, Ewa, you judge us. If we’re Polish like you but black-haired, brown-eyed. If we’re Dominicana dark. If we’re Cubana light. You seek us out when it’s time to find a seat on the bus, name that song on Hot 97, get help with English vocabulary flash cards, hold the mirror while you part your white-blonde hair. But then in the classroom, you turn. You find our flaws, Ewa, and you recite them like the prayers in home room. A wine-stain, a mole, a stork bite. A pimple, a fuzzy upper lip. Flat nose, big nose, bulky braces. You hone in and fire. After we helped you to understand gregarious, grovel, debutante! Malign, Ewa, remember that one? The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Seeking a Friend for the End of the World
By Julian Drury
QuailBellMagazine.com I’m sick of the news reports already. The world is coming to an end, I get it. It’s only been about four weeks of non-stop coverage, driving home the fact that the world as we know it will be thrown into yet another mass-extinction event. I understand the ratings schemes and all that, but what the hell are ratings going to matter when the asteroid hits in a week? I guess I should just let them do what they want, but I can’t help but question these details of existence. Or, at least what’s going to be left of it. If only the traffic would move, just an inch. Everyone is evacuating, though where exactly they think they will evacuate to is a question worth asking. From what I understand, the asteroid is four times the size of Mount Everest, and will pack a punch the size of two-hundred thermonuclear bombs combined. This is not to mention the fact that the amount of debris tossed into the atmosphere will cause a nuclear-style winter, the likes of which has the potential to cause the extinction of some seventy percent of all species on the planet. So, essentially, all of these dumbasses here on the interstate are merely evacuating from the proximity of the expected impact zone. They can’t escape the ultimate demise, however, which kind of makes me want to laugh. I would laugh, if I wasn’t so terrified myself. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Odessa's
By J. Reich
QuailBellMagazine.com How long before completely catatonic before you just lose it from all the unholy phony-baloney liar hypocrites of existence? When you lose your whole support system or never really ever had one to begin with & finally at last vanish into the matchstick fable & folklore spirit of condensation? The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
KrampusBy Julian Drury He is not greedy
Yet he drinks like a fish When his patience runs thin During Chicago in winter As a snowstorm approaches Echoed by gunshots And several cars set ablaze The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
A Hand in Cold Water
By T.R. Healy
QuailBellMagazine.com Deakin, a tow truck driver, gunned the rattling wrecker around the corner so fast that his partner, Arnie Wilkins, almost slid out of his seat. “Jesus, Russ, what are you in such an all-fire hurry for?” The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Salesman and Customer: A Dialogue
“Hey, nice jacket.”
“Oh, thank you.” The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Kidnapped (Take Two)
By Kevin Culture
QuailBellMagazine.com A single ceiling fan, programmed to its highest setting, made exhausted pirouette after pirouette, that, if paid attention to, it could be realized that each turn was slightly behind the other by two seconds. With each revolution, bits of dust, like cake fragments, could be seen falling off of the edges of the cheap fan, and landing into several chilled clam chowders, staled coffees, and frigid eggs over easy, of patrons who would not notice. They were all too busy focusing on the invisible things that sat in front of them. The wavy, sometimes cracked tiles of the diner were black and white like chess pieces. Ironically, or perhaps coincidentally, each of the men and women with vague-looking faces that made up the diner, sat separated as if they were the few remaining pawns, anticipating the concluding move on a chessboard. At close proximity, the deep imprints their bodies made in patent leather seats with exposed fluffing could be seen, and the effect added a personalization to their arrangement. For every man with his cap pulled down to his eyebrows, staring into a cold coffee cup, was a woman with running makeup and lurid, fitted clothing that suggested a certain profession. Everyone was comfortable in this way, punished by the Kansas humidity, and too distanced from one another or from the world to have any sense of community. Everyone looked to one another without facing anyone, and smiling and laughter were the grossest form of unfamiliarity. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Persimmon Trees
Walking in autumn, I see
persimmons, remind me of a childhood field, wild, good for fighting like us kids, not so sweet, but nearby blackberries and honeysuckles we relished like a bottomless well at lunch, I step on a persimmon on the asphalt, keep on walking.
#Unreal #Poem #Poetry #PersimmonTrees
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