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Sweet Vengeance by Spandna Chokhani
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Scatterbrain by Tinashe Chiurugwi
The hole in my head is not growing anymore. It stopped a few hours ago when I felt my brains hard-pressed against the insides of my skull. That is my problem, my hard skull. The hole cannot grow any further without cracking it open, and scattering my brains to reveal that I have an empty mind. When it started I liked it; the feeling of my thoughts interacting with each other as they ran away from the engulfing emptiness. I began to feel my own feelings, before other people could tell how I felt. I discovered my emotions before the chemicals responsible for them formed them.
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I really hate doing this! We need help!
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My wife handed me the small envelope addressed to me in ink. The return address was from San Antonio, which was curious, because I did not know anyone from that city anymore. The friends that I had met there had all reported for duty the same day I did, in other cities and towns
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Silent Genesis by L. Cesar Jimenez
My father, Oliver, is busy unloading all our belongings from our myriad luggage. He?s as robotic as the Automatons he crafted to help us with the move. At least they make beeping noises when they need re-charging. Then again, he had always been a silent man. But you?d think him a zombie since the passing of his wife, my mother Eleanor
Beside the Sea by Scott Seagram
At the end of the shift, he pushed a crumpled nondescript envelope containing three twenty dollar bills into my palm, but I left feeling empty-handed; he told me I didn?t get the job.
When Something Goes, Something Remains by Josepha Gutelius
I pause on the fifth step, pursued by no one. And nothing to see, except a painting on the wall of a man wearing my floral nightgown, Colt 45 in hand, a glossy finish. A lousy painting, nothing but an exact reproduction of the last photograph I took of him. Is there nothing left for the imagination anymore? You project a photo slide onto a canvas, then you just fill it in with paint. But it?s so lifelike I have an instant?s reflex to whisk myself out of harm?s way, my head down low, to duck the bullets. But no bullets come, they?ve disappeared, chronologically speaking.
Off The Page by Ren?e Hankins
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