Tag: short story
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William Atheling and The Issue at Hand
While he wrote fiction, James Blish secretly sent in a ton of critical essays pushing by force the entire genre to think critically about itself under the pseudonym William Atheling, Jr and the title The Issue at Hand. In it, he gave scathing rebukes of his best friends — some of his contemporary masters of science…
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The Way the Birds Call
It was the early morning after a big snow and the sun had just come out from the clouds. Even still, the ground had kept its heat from earlier, hot spring days. Instead of sticking and freezing, it had turned the road into deep mud. Just another day of that familiar thick clay Ed was…
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Tiger Caves and Temple Monkeys
Previously published in The Best Asian Short Stories (2021), Kitaab, Singapore. The hills are dipped in pastel shades of gold and indigo. The wind surrounds me in playful whistles, beating my clothes in sudden outbursts and drying off the sweat on my neck. Joint-aches had troubled me a bit when I climbed up this rock,…
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Late Summer
Saxton jammed the butt of his rifle into his shoulder and aimed it at the flash of movement. He kept the front sight trained on a slim form as it moved down the steep slope of a hill his pa, long dead from typhoid, had nicknamed Baldy Knob. His higher position on an…
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Labor of Love
Thomas heard the knock on the door right as he was sitting down with a cold beer for a break. He was both annoyed at the sound of the knock and felt a sense of guilt since he had no real excuse to leave the door unanswered. He let out a sigh as…
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Bleed Till the Last Drop
He watches her with sorrow. Watches his friend, his confidant, give all that she can, and then let the people she serves tear her open for more. He watches her bleed for her people – their people – as if it doesn’t hurt. As if she’s not giving everything that she is to them and…
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Call
What do you do when the burglar winding in your window at night bellows, Call, call the police? There were knives in the kitchen, sticks along the wall, a screw gun and the OED. Mother Earth sang a Capella when she cloned it ten. It could have been more. Then came the report: sleeper lurches…
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Used car lot shepherd
Before smart devices most lads aspired to astronaut or president. Sister Mary Black an’ Decker prayed that I would grow into a priest. She was a bit strange. I loved her. With her right sleeve rolled and ruler poised, her bicep damselfly tattoo smiled. Neighborhood pals and I pooled our money buying old Mercury. Didn’t…
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Heart of Glass
When we look in the mirror, what do we see? Do we see the fragile heart of someone, on the verge of breaking? Do we see all their inner thoughts, their tireless demons, the wounds of their youth? No. We see only their surface. The small flaws on their chin, the light flushing of their…
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Big Stick
Golden carambola – star fruit, appropriately enough – thrive in my southern uplands, their sweet flesh swelling with anti-oxidants for my colonists. Higher grow the Yangmei trees, their scarlet fruit bursting with healthful juice. Fields of teff spread across the plains, swirling into bright green waves when caressed by winds from the southern…
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For the Win
I scroll through new names for the band, a list eight entries long on the notes app on my phone. Almost Roses. Athens Attic. Saturday’s Missing Pages. My head is bowed like I’m praying, but really I’m just avoiding eye contact with Tyler. “I don’t want you back,” I say, finally looking up.…
