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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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In the wee small hours of Wednesday morning, before the cock could sing its cock-a-doodle-doo, the alarm went offin a harsh crescendo, and Kushal Sharma, for the umpteenth time, forced himself awake. Hammering the clock shut with his hand, he sat on the edge of his bed, his drooping eyelids battlingbravely against the dreamy waves of sleep; the temptingbed and pillow seemed to be inviting him back into their cosiness. “C’mon, Kushal…today’s the last,” he mumbled to himselfas he stood, stretched and yawned widely, cracking his knuckles.“After that, I’ll doze off like Kumbhkarana!” Reaching out for his rimless glasses on the stool beside his bed, he put them on, walked over to the window, and gazed out up at the greyish, predawn May sky; a surreal sight: Few stars dimlydotting the skyalong with the fading moon, and far in the eastern horizon, a tinge of red could be seen. Stepping…