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jcucreativewriting.wordpress.com | ||
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chrisglass.com
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| | | | | My older brother (though everyone thinks I'm the older one). I used to think I was the hippy-dippy one, but he's got the happy-go-lucky vibes and I've got the furrowed brow. I just happen to have a beard and think about living in a van. He's more grounded and speaking of which, he has mom's... | |
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saranadosfiction.com
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| | | | | (This story was originally published in Wyldblood Magazine #9) My father is dying. He holds my hand, skin parchment over bones like frost-stripped twigs, and tells me that he loves me, as he does every day, as he knows that each day might be the last time he can tell me. And then, as he... | |
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discombobulated.co.nz
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www.nplusonemag.com
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| | | It was 1982. Brezhnev died. Ready also died, after eating rat poison. Olya started her senior year at the Institute and bought herself a violin made by the German master Schneider for 1,600 rubles, telling her poor parents that a girlfriend who'd dropped out of school and married a Georgian had given it to her. She continued to meet Burmistrov at the same apartment. She was so used to Horse Soup's screaming that she no longer paid any attention to it, focusing only on the food in front of her. | ||
