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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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It was Mira’s job to polish the marbles, and she had always been bothered by it. She and her father would wait until it was almost dusk and the visitors had left, after which she would polish the tombstones, and her father would pick up flowers from the tombstone. She had made her father known that she hated polishing the tombstones, and he would just chuckle and say that she was too sensitive. But little would he ever understand that it made her angry to indulge the pearly white marble in its unceasing demands. Nevertheless, she would pretend to concentrate on the slab of marble in front of her, like it was the only thing in the world, just so that she wouldn’t have to look at him sneaking flowers inside his bag. Mira had accompanied her father to the graveyard since she was a little girl. She had never…