Category: Fiction

At 8:55 p.m., my advisors leave me in my office, just as they do every Sunday night. They don’t want to be around me for the next hour. No one does. You see, there’s a tiny bomb implanted at
Grease hung in the air and stuck to the walls as Oriana scrubbed a glob of congealed ketchup on a table. Sweat hid beneath her turtleneck and she rolled her shoulders, feeling as though she had bathed in poison
Gembira pushed away the twig of honeysuckle that had thwacked her in the face. She also pushed away her desire to turn back. She wanted to do this, and on some level, she needed to do this. Blinking her
He glanced toward right field before stepping into the batter’s box, thinking more of Gloria than Babe Ruth. There she was, sitting on her front porch, just across the street from that short, wrought iron right-field fence, wearing that

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