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Refugees in a Banana Republic
Literary

Refugees in a Banana Republic

Early dawn, when fog hung…

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A Day with Breanne Mc Ivor
Interview

A Day with Breanne Mc Ivor

Meet Breanne Mc Ivor. She…

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Nocturnal Conductions
Humor

Nocturnal Conductions

The first time it happened,…

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The Lady of the Water
Fiction

The Lady of the Water

I’d thought Central America would…

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Never Will I Leave Home
Literary

Never Will I Leave Home

You have not seen our…

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Two Blind Men
Flash Fiction

Two Blind Men

They knew well I was…

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An Interview with Ernest Brawley
Interview

An Interview with Ernest Brawley

Ernest Brawley, a native Californian,…

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I remember both vividly; the night I saw the ghost of Annette and the night I heard about her death. They happened in that same order. One of them was on a December night, exactly a week before Christmas. The comfort of the heat from the fireplace on one side of my body and the cold, seeping in from the outside, on the other didn’t make me feel better. I stood up slowly from the chair.  The room seemed to be shrinking and I wanted to get out. And I did just that. It was getting dark and cold on the outside. The fog had started to cover the village of St. Louis. “Don’t forget your jacket, Joe. It’s freezing outside.” I heard the voice of Margaret, our housemaid since I was a toddler, as I was about to step out. As I turned around I saw her coming with…