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Goodbye Rose

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When I think about my Rose, I picture her on our wedding day. I will never forget the way her amber eyes glistened through the lacework of her veil like the sun piercing through puffy white clouds. How her thick, ebony hair fell in waves against her frosted gown and was as dauntless as her character and as dominant as the night’s sky. My hands were damp from nervous sweat. My knees were untrustworthy. I gazed into the fire of her eyes through prisms of joyful tears.

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The Egg

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The wind swept across the island like a scythe.  Mary Greene sat in her dimly lit kitchen cradling her nine month old baby.  The boy mewed softly.  Mary knew the infant was hungry, but because of the inclement weather it had been impossible to reach the mainland and the food cupboards were becoming barer as each day passed.  She looked at the empty shelves and sighed wearily.  The boy had refused the weak, milky porridge she had provided for breakfast.  Would he refuse the same for his lunch?  She fervently hoped he would be hungry enough to eat it.

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The Sun and The Moon

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From their conception they have constantly been a great distance from each other, but they had always been able to communicate. Like most love stories they started out slow and shy. Stolen glances here and small smiles there. But as time progressed their interaction became bolder, conversations began go on and on, they were not constrained by time, they were simply left to get to know each other. As their conversations grew and their bond became unbreakable the Sun became desperate.

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The Great Detective

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We are in the drawing room with the Great Detective. Everyone is assembled. All the family, the household staff, the weekend guests, anyone who has  been near this place since we found the body of poor old Aunt Charlotte last Friday evening.  It is time, it seems, for the grand finale.  This is the moment where he lines everyone up and unravels the mystery for us. This is the part where he explains exactly what has been going on, displays at great length every facet of his genius before eventually, finally pointing a finger at the murderer.

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Back for More

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YOLO, Kayla Conner thought as she gazed at the clock upon the drab gray wall, her long, angular jaw resting in the upturned palm of her hand. She sighed, blowing a wayward strand of dirty blonde hair away from her face, and leaned heavily on the countertop; her elbow was sore as fuck, but she didn’t trust her neck to support the weight of her head.

You only live once, and her you are, wasting your life.

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Higher Love

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“You know that the more times you press the “up” button . . . the faster the elevator will arrive,” said Pierre mischievously as he poked away in exaggerated fury.

“You are so silly,” answered the smartly dressed, young, blond haired woman with a coffee cup in her right hand . . . and a smile growing quickly across her face.

“NO . . . it’s true . . . see . . . the door is opening . . . right . . . right . . . . n o w,” he continued, feigning to be serious, and purposefully stretching out the word “N . . . O . . . W” to synchronize with the elevator’s arrival. “And where might I might I have the pleasure of delivering you today milady . . . Paris . . . Rome . . . forty-fourth floor?” continued Pierre as he changed his routine . . . now awkwardly trying to sound British.

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Stolen

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Black hugged the night sky while rays of light shined down from the moon after the car pulled into my driveway.

I tilted my head while sitting in the front passenger seat. “Thank you for tonight, Patrick.”

He gave my hand a squeeze. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

I winked. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

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A Strange Turn of Events

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Alden Carter sat in his wheel chair and looked out his window at Lake Michigan.  Summer brought out the sun-worshipers and small and large boats that bobbed up and down on the lake's waves. Alden's wife, Millie, entered the room from the kitchen and went to her husband.  "Alden, darling, I made tuna fish sandwiches. Come into the kitchen and eat with me."

"Okay, Millie," he said and wheeled himself to the kitchen table.

Millie placed a bowl of salad on the table, and put a plate with a sandwich on it in front of Alden.

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Chivalry Was Not Dead

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It was a busy Manhattan summer back in 1983, a Saturday night in the NYPD’s 13th Precinct. The dense humidity soaked into the station house even though the air conditioning was running full blast: (that’s full blast for an under maintained New York City municipal building). The craziness from the streets invaded the station house as well. It seemed like every strange person within the confines of the command compiled with some exotic call. Somewhat like the zombies from The Night of the Living Dead movie. Then again, it was kind of a fun night.

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Ash of the Corvidman

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"Yes? Yes? Who is it?" said Brendan. He approached the door slowly and leaned forward as if to listen.

"Men of the King." said a voice, and his tone was stubborn and angry. "We seek but a word. Open this door, or it shall be struck down."

"Oh, okay sir." said Brendan in a friendly manner, playing dumb with the solider. "No need for any aggression or any such things. I'm just being careful, need to be around these parts. Hold on a moment and I'll fetch me keys"

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