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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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Prisha arose from a tangle of sheets and placed her bare feet on the straw mat next to the bed. The early morning sunlight that streamed through the slats of the shutter that covered the bedroom window glinted from the gold ring she wore on the toe of her right foot. She slowly stood allowing her head and body adjust to the dizzying act of standing, an effect of a genetic inner-ear condition that only occasional acupuncture treatments provided brief relief from. She took her blue flower-print sari from the back of the chair and wrapped it around her body and then walked to the mirror. The bindi in the middle of her forehead had faded to a very pale red. She removed the cap from the jar of kumkum on the shelf beneath the mirror and dabbed her finger into the red paste and then applied it over top…