Stories

Barabbas – Theresa Smith

Barabbas is late. I had a feeling about Barabbas. I have to admit I was seduced by his resume: Herodic palace guard, Oriental astrologer and, here’s the kicker, a speaking role as Pharisee 2 in Matthew 19:7. But here we are, the masses are screaming, the Son of God’s in shackles, Pontius Pilate has to leave at 6:30 – and no Barabbas.

 

From my desk,

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Stories

Little Suamoco – Ted Prokash

I recall my late teens and early twenties as a decidedly dissolute period in my development. My memories of that time are colored in Victorian hues. I spent my days drunk, half undressed, draped over dusty divans in an existential languor . . . with stage direction from Oscar Wilde.

Ha ha! Now you’re in on the joke. Now you have an inkling of the fog of stupidity that has obscured my path in life.

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Stories

Blood Hunt – Beth Murphy

oh to be a simple child! to dream of the things thought minutes before sleep or read in the hours before the head hits the pillow. mother, father, home—no trace of fraud. three boys, porte, marte, and sid, all born on the same day, with mousey hair and infinite blue eyes. piano, sports, math and languages, they grew into skinny builds and fevered voices. inconsistency crept its way into their homeschooled knowledge.

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Stories

Kecked Out – Bibles Appropouture

I’ll start by stating that every word is going into the book. “The book?” I hear you asking. “What is the book?”

I stand before you, just as curious as anyone, looking to God as my witness, asking what the book myself is not; and let’s just say that it’s everything about me that you’re ever gonna see. Manwell knows what I’m talking about, and that’s part of what makes him so great.

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