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The Giant of Hampton Bays

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A hook kick to the side of the head slowed his advance, so I did it again.  It connected like the first, and he stalled.  In a frantic effort to keep the colossus from harming me, I decided to go to the water hole for a third time.  That was a sizable blunder.  He seized my body, hoisted it in the air and smacked me down on the hardwood floor.  Everything was knocked loose inside my chest.  This is how I met my best friend Mitch, in a martial arts class. 

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Last to Go

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Keith Kellerman entered his brother’s house, quietly, searching for the corpse.  He found it in the front parlor.  His brother, Robert, was sitting slumped over in his favorite chair.  It was evening, dark now, and Kellerman hadn’t bothered to switch on any lights.  The room was in shadows, yet Kellerman recognized Robert’s outline perfectly.  That was his older brother there, slumped over, dead. 

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Lunch Break

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“So, ladies and gentlemen,” says the Bright Young Thing from the training department, flashing a smile that does great credit to her orthodontist, “I hope you’ve enjoyed this morning’s seminar.  See you all back here at two o’clock prompt.”

While his colleagues close their ring binders and scrape back their chairs, Nigel Carmichael takes the opportunity to refill his fountain pen from a bottle of Quink.

Gary Bostock approaches Fred Pilkington at the desk to Nigel’s left.  “Coming to the pub?”

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Dog Jerky

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“It is for stamina.”  She said to him with her cute mouth on her cute face.  She was Korean.  Just Korean - no hyphen.  Her English was as cute as her face.

“I am strong enough.  American macho me.”  He laughed.  They had met in Koreatown by accident.  By traffic accident.  She had run her Silver Lexus into the back of his red BMW.  The true American auto industry in action.  A coming together of  countries.

“Not strong.  Endurance.  It is very hot.  It will keep you hiking.”  She placed the strip of jerky to his lips.  He was sweating.

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Taken, One after Another

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Chad still hadn’t returned by morning.  We all knew he’d been taken, just like Sandy.

That was the way it was, ever since the dead started walking again – the Zombie Uprising that had seemed like just a stupid joke until it actually happened.  How?  Who knew.  Why?  An even more impossible question.  We just crouched in the darkness of the Payless Shoes storage room, keeping quiet.  Dark, so maybe they wouldn’t see us.  Quiet, so maybe they wouldn’t hear us.

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Escape to Here

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The Eastern Gate was deserted, save for the huddled family that awaited transfer to the Deep. He could see from their dirty and malnourished faces that they were no surface dwellers, their skin was too ashen and pale, pallid even in the sweet air of the cities' edge. No, these people were from the Deep, the shanty slum that rose from the core, eight levels down. Those that lived there often gave it a different name however; many simply called it Hell.

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Evelyn

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Evelyn worked at the nursing home and you could tell by looking at her she liked to eat. So I guess it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when she said yes to my offer to take her to the steakhouse. I helped lift her into the cab, and we drove to the steakhouse, and I wasn’t more than halfway through my beer as she wolfed down a plate of chicken wings. She attacked a plate of ribs and had sauce on her face that made her look like a clown. She told me her mother watched soap operas, and it got so bad she thought the characters were real.

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Why Did You Leave Me?

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The train pulled into the station at 6:00 P.M., and  knowing he had only a few hours before he had to catch the 1:00 A.M.  train back to the post,  Jason hurried to Ellie.  After the usual warm greeting,  they sat on Ellie's porch swing and held hands.

"Ellie, if I didn't  have you, I'd have to spend my nights on the post and  I'd go mad."

Ellie leaned over and kissed him. "Well, you have me and you always will."

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Postcard from Chinguashi

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Joey Mottolli began drinking seriously in Vietnam in 1967.  After he was discharged, he told people at O’Neal’s it quieted the static in his head.  O’Neal’s over by the East River had Guinness on tap and solace in its darkness.  Now, if he could only drown out the chants of the peaceniks screaming, “One two three four, we don’t want your fucking war.”

He wished he still had his grenades, but the army had removed them from his hold baggage before he boarded the flight home.

Two women entering O’Neal’s disturbed him with a flash of sunlight.

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Cannibalistic Freaks

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Running foot claps echoed off the frost covered asphalt; she was rapidly panting for breath--covered in blood spatter. Her thin arms rested on her upper thighs, preparing to regurgitate from the absolute horror she witnessed. Suddenly; he stepped out of the viscous ink like shadows, revealing an outrageous spectacle of cannibalistic grotesqueness.
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