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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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The floor was cold, a thousand little needles were piercing through her skin, momentarily still suffering the sunshine rays that gave her flaming red back a few days prior. Amy turned a watery gaze to her hands, relieved they at least had left their burning colour behind for a warm honey shade. “If I have to die, let me be as fair as the moon.” The makeup was still intact and the mascara vaguely blurred around the corner of her eyes, which was a crucial bit to make her face decadent yet romantic rather than neglected and scrubby. Long hair fell soft on her shoulders, and a self-satisfied smirk shyly made an appearance on her lips. She knew she looked exactly how she was supposed to. Men had been staring at her figure throughout the whole evening. Those drunken pigs that she was relentless in despising but whose gazes brought…