Some Distant Music

Courtney Justus My House This house I live in is not my own. Two stories, colonial style, in northwest Houston, wooden floors like my dance studio, plus a wide, metallic gate and a garden through which I rarely walk, because Mr. Martínez, the owner, a balding man in round glasses, told me there were snakes. […]

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Georgia on My Mind

Charles “Chuck” Taylor This is before he met Georgia, this is back in the late 1960’s when Georgia is married to Al and they live in El Paso, this is when Georgia quit working her legal secretary job and let go of the Mexican maid to stay home with her kids while her husband Al […]

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A Trick Of The Shadows

Eve Kerrigan Dot woke to the sound of the phonograph. She sat up in bed for along moment, blinking her eyes, trying to make sense of the sound.It was incongruous with the long shadows that the moonlight castas it poured through the narrow opening of her bedroom curtains.She shivered a little in the dark. Her […]

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La Tua Mama

Loretta Rodriguez I keep thinking about this one time in Florence with your mom. The three of us were walking home from the little grocery store across the street where you bought my brown leather notebook. We were heading to the first apartment, the one with the pretty curtains. I remember we had to push […]

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The Year-Round Season

Casper Smith It starts on a day so hazy you can hardly see your backyard. It’s as though you live in a void of toxic smog where tall shadowy figures move just beyond the artificial horizon. You can hear murmurs of an unknown language, but never intelligible. Your home—house—looks to be in order, but something […]

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Headlights

T. Mesnick | Her boyfriend smelled like gasoline. This wasn’t normal—he usually smelled like warm bread, and it was the most attractive thing about him—but in this moment she tried to breathe shallowly to avoid the bitter stinging of the odor in her throat as she rested her head on his shoulder.

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John/John

Ariana Fletcher-Bai | My high school senior English class acted out every play we read, as a rule. In the second semester, we read Arthur Miller’s The Crucible. I somehow made it to the end of the fourth act
without being called on. It was a miracle.

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