Archive for the 'Featured' Category
Posted on April 20, 2001.
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by Larisa Dawn
The ride was agonizingly silent. She leafed through a magazine that she had already read three times. It would soon be her turn to drive, and she would not even have the comfort of reading. She liked to listen to the radio, but inevitably, she would start singing of which he did not approve. He wouldn’t complain, of course. That would take too much effort. He would just sit there and sigh and make those awful moans of disapproval.
He, in this case, referred to Sharon’s husband, David.
She would not have to call him that for much longer. She had her second appointment with her attorney Monday morning. She had to survive this weekend with him, and then she could go free.
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Posted on February 4, 2001.
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by David L. Hebert
Miss Sampson studied the sign and shook her head in disgust. In all her eighty-four years, she had never seen such disregard for the English Language.
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Posted on February 3, 2001.
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by Pamela Rice Hahn
One of my most frequent fantasies involves being the only female in a roomful of dignified men, each dressed in a dark custom-tailored suit and a power tie.
While growing up in a small Ohio farm community, I could only imagine the stylish world I read about or saw on TV: a world where men wore something other than bowling shirts, coveralls with mid-thigh black (or
fatigue green) rubber boots left unbuckled to the ankles, or white socks with their Sunday suits.
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Posted on January 2, 2000.
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by Ron Collins
I went out to get the mail in yesterday. For those of you who are really serious about writing, I don’t need to explain the fixation I have for the mailbox. For the rest of you, let me say that the mailbox is Mecca, the sacred totem that must be faced once daily, the bringer of all news foul, yet a comfort beyond all my ability to describe.
So you can see why I was flustered when I discovered that our recent ice storm had temporarily welded the danged thing shut with a sheet of ice as thick as a standard pencil.
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Posted on December 15, 1999.
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by Dennis Rice
Fifteen years ago….
I talked to the man one time. I was standing in my back yard, he in his rented yard next door. He was telling me how he painted on the Golden Gate bridge, had fallen, and was now suing that company plus just about everybody he had met and planned on meeting.
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Posted on December 12, 1999.
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A short story by Troy More
If there’s one thing that sets apart those who grow up in the country from those who come of age in the urban jungles, it’s the strong family bonds that form as we struggle together to tame the harsh, unforgiving prairie.
And if you believe that one, I’ve got some prime farm land in the Yukon that you can have at a good price.
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