Tag: Short Story
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Rising Evil
I recently joined a writing group of others who also like to write sci-fi / fantasy. A few days ago, we met virtually and spent ~15 minutes responding to the following prompt (it’s paraphrased since it was only read to us and, unfortunately, I can’t remember it word for word). When the timer started, I…
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(Un)staged Transformation
You’ve been painting your wings like a butterfly’s All your life.When you performed Lady Macbeth— “Out, damned spot! Out, I say!”— The students: “Are you an actor?” I am, you think. “I am not,” you say.When you were young: “Your sister is pretty, but you are prettier.” So you were.When you were studying: “You are…
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Truth from Lies
The Lie: It’s a preference. It’s not natural. The Truth: The first time he felt attracted to another, he was twelve years old. His parents had sheltered him enough that he had never heard the word “homosexual”. So why couldn’t he get the brunette’s body (some would say it was lanky; the boy saw its…
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3. The Fall
CW: This content may be upsetting to some readers. Contains inference to r–e. He is at her door again—knocking, banging, shaking the handle, whispering her name, yelling her name, demanding she let him in. The girl is sitting in bed, smoking. She has smoked through her first pack and now desperately watches the second one…
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2. Precipice
CW: This content may be upsetting to some readers. Contains reference to non-explicit s—-l assault. She has forgotten about the glass and the woman’s lips and given herself over to the full champagne flutes, so full she cannot dance without spilling it across her stomach and down her legs. Friends are near—both American. One is…
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1. Pinnacle
They are standing on the couch in stilettos, tall, thin flutes of champagne in hand, swaying to the music and laughing at the onlookers. It is a black, leather couch that embraces a sturdy table made of marble, and they are dancing on it. Her friends can balance much better than she can. Once she…
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Just another crazy ex
The door handle rattles. It’s been rattling for three hours. Nonstop. Through the door: “Maya, let me in.” I won’t. Yesterday, I called the police. “Hasn’t he been here before? He’s your boyfriend.” Useless. If he enters, I will kill him. The hammer waits under my pillow. He doesn’t enter.