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Death's Grand Design by Cynthia Vespia
Death's Grand Design “I’ll see you tomorrow, baby.” Those were the last words she spoke to him for tomorrow never came for either of them. With one stupid, drunken accident the light of his life went out that night. And with her passing, he wished that the spectre's skeletal hand that reached out to claim her had taken him too.
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Alone, as always by Jennifer Gardner
Alone, as always Friday AM, the day of...
He sleeps beside me, his arm draped loosely over me like the dustjacket of a book. I feel the hair on his arm grazing the bare skin of my stomach which rises with each laboured breath I take. A hundred times this has happened exactly this way; I awaken before him, feeling his hot breath billowing against the back of my neck. He is so close to me, so physically close.
Yet, I'm alone; as always.

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Tough Love by Sean Hoade
Tough Love Do you know how to tell if an electrical cord is frayed? It took me a while to spot them as well as I can now, but with practice and a few bad shocks I soon honed my observational skills to the point where a slit in the insulation, or one stray, copper strand poking out, was like a siren going off in my head. I also learned to watch out for lamps that had been unplugged, loose light bulbs and trailing wires where there clearly shouldn't be any. If you have any sense you'll always carry a flashlight to check for similar traps. Popping a plug into a socket with a split flex is asking to feel the muscle-contracting thud of 240 volts AC surging through you. If you're unlucky enough to hear your eardrums galvanise into a high-pitched scream, you may not live to tell the tale.
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Give in to me by Jennifer Gardner
Give in to me It was late and the alley was dark and silent. All that could be heard was the clicking of stilettos on rain-washed asphalt as Kym walked quickly home. Her hands were buried deeply in the pockets of a very expensive leather jacket and her long legs quivered slightly against the cold night air that seeped into her bones and made her quicken her step.

She knew better than to be walking through an ill-lit alley in the dead of night. But she was young and feisty, and confident that she could handle trouble if she had to.
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Why I dine alone by David Agosta
Why I dine aloneI must begin by explaining that it has been my habit since childhood to sit with people who would otherwise find themselves alone. At first it was a mixture of pity towards these outcasts and recognition that I am an outcast myself that caused me to seek out the most disdained wretch in any society. In retrospect, I understand that this practice made me feel less the wretch myself. Later, it remained my practice simply because I find society’s outcast to be far more interesting than normal, acceptable people. It was this habit that led me to a peculiar friendship with Tony; a man with whom I had nothing in common and found rather loathsome. READ THE FULL STORY
Short Stories
Bloody Sheets by Jennifer Gardner

Bloody Sheets Things will never be the same between us.

I sat there, gently holding her fingers in mine as I literally watched the love drain from her eyes. One moment she loved me. The next moment, nothing. Her face was without any trace of affection. I told her over and over again that I loved her; I have always loved her, I always will love her, but she didn't believe me. In her blue eyes I saw only distrust. I died in that instant. Her hand felt cold and I knew it would always be. No matter how much I loved her, she wouldn't love me back. My heart seemed to stop beating, but the rest of my body imitated life.
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What's this section all about then?

Straight stories—or triangulated stories, or stories that go around in circles. There will be some curvy stories and probably the odd cubist story, just to keep our readers on their toes. (We did try to write a story that was formatted according to the geometry of a dodecahedron but it got really confusing and we lost interest.)

The stories might be on any subject, but we're not limited to the subjective; we'll take the objective as well. If there is no subjective objectivity to a story, well that's ok too—unless someone objects. Objections will be subjected to an objective analysis, which will never be subjective. The stories can be in any genre, but they'll probably cross genres or merge genres, or meld genres. They may even melt genres into a quivering, gelatinous mass of indeterminate genredity.

This is the short story section, so don't be surprised if the stories are short—or short to long or maybe even medium, although the written word will be the only medium here. There won't be any paintings or sculptures or anything like that. (If you're looking for those things, you're very lost). We hope you enjoy our stories. (We're supposed to say that. We really don't care.)

Short Stories
Short Stories
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