Stories

Two Eulogies – Matthew McGuirk

I think about my writing a lot sitting in our diner, across from the same friends I’ve known all these years, but slipping in and out of the past as seamlessly as we all seem to, one of the hardest pieces I ever wrote was a eulogy for a good friend. I remember the night before like a clip show on loop, a track stuck on the same lyric or whatever other analogy you might want to use.

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Stories

Speed Trap – Kevin Kearney

My mom spent every afternoon playing video slots at the Roadside Tavern. She’d be there for hours, her eyes glued to the screen and a sweaty cranberry-vodka resting on the console. When I was younger I’d join her, sitting on her lap or at a nearby table, trying to entertain myself with some crayons and a placemat. By the time I was eight, I’d successfully convinced her to leave me at home with the TV.

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Stories

Love You – Allyson Shap

Ethan said we should curtain the windows and barricade the doors, and so we told each other we loved each other with every breath, as we knew to do/ as we had always done. I love you/ok I love you/ok goodnight.

Boys were always preparing that way. They knew where to hide the artillery and which cans to store and what soaps to buy and when and why it would happen.

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Stories

lustrate – Bex Peyton

He says “yeah, take that dick” like it’s not attached to him, as if the deeper it goes into my body, the farther it gets away from his. This is how I know he doesn’t love himself: no connection. He sees himself separate from “that dick” which makes my hole open and close like a camera shutter, taking snapshots of his denial. He won’t acknowledge it’s him who hurts me.

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