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AT THE EDGE OF TWILGHT,
MELISSA REMEMBERS FLIGHT by Michael Merriam
"Ms. Ballister? It's
time," the new nurse said.
It was her
name, the one she was born with. Melissa Ballister,
daughter of an accounting firm manager and a boutique clerk,
the name of the little girl with black pig-tails on the
playground of her memory. Her other name, Ball Lightning,
would come later.
"Ms. Ballister,
it's time to go inside for the night."
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Meditation on the Body of a Young Man as
the Monster Takes his Meal by Erik Amundsen
A wet
black crescent of a beach, formed of smooth, dark rocks,
polished and rounded by the tide; the waves here are quiet,
the sky is dark, though the sun brightens a patch of it and
makes a silver circle, like a mirror that doesn't show, just
shines. The fishing people who live in this harbor
will tell of how hands and feet wash up on this shore, and
the little crabs that scuttle in the hollows, shells kelp
green with watercolor blooms of blue, search the gaps and
hollows between the stones for dead-stranded mussels and
flesh turned white and flaky under blue nails.
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Molkar’s
Curse by Marshall Payne
Tis the wizard’s curse.
Leaving the
island’s lone tower where he lived, the battlement-topped
structure an angry phallic finger stark against the
morning’s dismal sky, Molkar worked his way to the
oceanfront. His legs, like bags of blood supported by
brittle bones, protested as he walked along the massive slab
that was Bleagor Rock, his place of exile for so many, many
years.
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No Impediments by John B.
Rosenman
“We don’t know what to
do, Doctor Orr,” Laura Lovett said. “Joe and I love each
other so much, but we can’t make our marriage work.” She
glanced at her husband in distress. “We should be soulmates.
Only . . .”
“Only it
always goes wrong,” Joe Lovett said. He gazed desperately
at his wife in the chair beside him. “Laura and I went
together, broke up and got together. Over and over again.”
He looked down at his clenched hands as if searching for an
answer. “You’ve got to help us. We’re prepared to do
anything, even if it means . . . the Procedure.”
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Soul
Stealer by Jenn Nixon
She possesses me. She is the evil that
infects the night. I’m her reaper, finding those worthy of
her consumption. This is how she feeds. This is how she
survives. Perhaps this is my sentence. For what crime, I
know not. All that I am is what she allows me to be. Until
the curse is broken, I’m her servant, stealing souls so that
I too may live.
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Stagehands by T.J. McIntyre
The furniture rearranged itself around the
room again. The couch stood in the center of the room
upright. Perpendicular, it towered over the man. He hoped
the exertion to correct it would not strain his sore back
which pained him from correcting the room earlier. A rug sat
rolled against the wall, wrapped tight like a quality cigar.
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The
Beginning is the End by Klaudia Bara
A month ago Jane and
Lucy were alive. But not now.
He remembers Lucy’s baby
fine hair dancing around her face in the wind, her skin so
smooth and young. He remembers her high laugh, and her arms
flinging around his neck when he came home in the evening
after work.
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Tryst by Kenneth Mark Hoover
I know the sun and the
moon. I know the stars. My aura bends and sways with slow
seasonal passage--oscillating between lucidity and madness.
And
still I bide my time.
My
skeletal fingers are black against a slate sky. I shift my
limbs. Thus do I make dour music using a keening wind which
scours the heath. Mistletoe shakes and acorns rattle in the
grey dawn like a thousand dry bones.
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