Fiction
by Kristen Swan Morrison.
“There’s an infiltration in the group. I sense it. I see it a mile away.”
by Christine Caya.
“Your affair with Connie Gervais starts the way you imagine most do.”
By Hollis Seamon.
“’Why?’ Althea leaned toward the splotchy-pale student who sat in her small office chair, his wide khaki thighs overflowing its seat.”
by Maija Stromberg.
“’Well, here’s the good Dr. Kaspar stuck out in a field in the middle of nowhere,’ LeeAnn said.”
by Leslie Patterson.
“I am a disease. My very existence poisons my father’s life.”
by Robert Oldshue.
“Let me tell you one thing: these know-it-alls who come around hawking computerized this and that to make Shady Rest work like the Holiday Inn have never worked in a nursing home.”
by Steve Fayer.
“My father killed his mother, confessed it to me in his last year as the black dog of depression chased him toward his own grave.”
by Amanda McComick.
“She had an endless appetite for information, and even though it was just a million different angles on the same collapsing towers, she filed away the details, she hungered for information.”