Posts Tagged: Short story

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39.2 PREVIEW: THE EXPIATION THAT PLEASETH THE LORD by JOHN HAGGERTY

Haggerty_The Expiation That Pleaseth the Lord excerpt

 

John Haggerty’s work has appeared in a variety of literary magazines including Carolina Quarterly Review, Fourteen Hills, Michigan Quarterly Review, Nimrod, Santa Monica Review, and The Pinch where he won the Literary Prize in Fiction. He holds an MFA from San Francisco State University and is the founding editor of the Forge Literary Magazine.

 

 

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39.2 PREVIEW: IN THE SKIN by KATIE M. FLYNN

Flynn_In the Skin excerpt

 

Katie M. Flynn’s stories have appeared in CarveHobartJoyland Magazine, MonkeybicycleSuperstition Review, and elsewhere. She was the winner of Colorado Review’s 2017 Nelligan Prize for Short Fiction. “In the Skin” is the first chapter of her recently completed novel about the complex shapes love takes when the dead linger in machine form. She lives in San Francisco and can be found on Twitter: @other_katie.

 

 

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39.2 PREVIEW: WHAT ARE YOU AFRAID OF? by BECKY ADNOT-HAYNES

Adnot-Haynes_What Are You Afraid Of

 

Becky Adnot-Haynes received her PhD from the University of Cincinnati, where she was associate editor of The Cincinnati Review. Her short story collection, The Year of Perfect Happiness, won the Katherine Anne Porter Prize and was published in 2014 by University of North Texas Press. She lives with her husband and son in Cincinnati, where she works as a copy editor.

 

 

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2013 Fiction Prize Winner: “Boomerang” by Summer Wood

“Boomerang” by Summer Wood

Winner of the 2013 Fiction Prize

Dusk seeps into the back yard, collecting in the twinned canopy of the sugar maple and the cherry, pooling in the grass beneath the trees, staining the side of the two-story garage we’d dubbed the Fort, slowly, gradually, almost imperceptibly bedding the wild rhubarb below in its inky darkness. The sky is still too bright for the stars to emerge. Easton and I, both ten, stand at opposite ends of the mowed expanse and thread a Frisbee through the space between us. It sails out, solid and vivid as the moon, from his right hand to my left. Beneath it my dog Spot bounds happily, her eager bark and hoarse breath the only sounds apart from our occasional laughter or, beyond, the slam of a door or distant passing of a car. And then—this is how I remember it, though it’s been more than twenty years—darkness storms the yard in earnest and it grows too dim to see and I am the one who finally fumbles the catch, and when Spot retrieves it, grips it in her teeth, I slip to the grass to wrestle it from her. I lie back. Fireflies are brightening. In time the dark deepens enough for the first stars to show, and I shift to an elbow and push myself up.

Spot sits beside me, patiently waiting. I am her boy.

Her other boy is Easton, but he has gone home.

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