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Featured Stories

YOUR GRANDPA WAS COOLER THAN YOU

“Mikey! Let’s go. We’re late!”

Mrs. James stood at the bottom of the stairs, peering up. She waited, not so patiently. This kid had no respect for anything but his stupid games.

“Mikey!”

The front door opened behind her. It was Mikey’s best friend, Cal.

“Hi Mrs. James.”

“Would you go upstairs and drag him down here? We’re going to be late.”

Before Cal could answer or take a step Mikey appeared, disheveled, like he hadn’t showered in days. He looked like he hadn’t slept in just as long.

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Mrs. Olsen At The Opera

 

“Would you look at her dress?”

“Don’t be such a nose, Margaret Olsen.”

Margaret took the binoculars from her eyes and scoffed at Henry. She then promptly went back to scanning the room.

“How would you like it if people were spying through glass to judge you?”

“It wouldn’t matter. They wouldn’t do so through mother of pearl, Henry.”

Margaret was never late to the opera. In fact, she was often there before the ushers would let her in. There was nothing fashionable about being late. Being late was for people who had to work on weekends. Margaret never worked a weekend in her life. She was dressed and ready for the night immediately after her lunchtime tea. Earl grey. With jasmine. Piping hot.

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Return To Sender

 

Timothy James flipped on the light on the night stand. The clock read 2:37. He couldn’t sleep. Another night. Another mental marathon. When would this stop? He wasn’t sure if he even wanted it to stop. He rubbed his eyes, sat up in bed, and slipped on his slippers. Penny sighed and stretched out. Timothy James pet her belly, and leaned to kiss her nose.

“It’s okay, Girl. Go back to sleep.”

His desk was immaculate, cleaner than his head, and ready. He flipped open the case of the Remington, and loaded a sheet of paper. His fingers hovered above the keys, close but not touching. Not touching, but they felt his tips. He took a breath and let it go. He took another.

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EVERY LAST ONE OF YA

 

Work sucked. Traffic sucked. The bank sucked.

Mallory hated standing in line. Any line. It didn’t matter where, or when—the grocery store, the dmv, the pick up line at school. Lines brought out the worst of humanity. She used to pray for patience, but that seemed to result in her being stuck in an even longer line. Patience was a virtue, but it wasn’t a gift. And this line at the bank was a chore.

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The Stingiest Sip of Root Beer

 

Johnny didn’t know she was thirsty. If he knew, he would’ve given her the last sip. It was just root beer. Why was he so mad? Nanna wasn’t mad. And she was the one who asked for the sip. But he was furious.

“I taught you better than that! I taught you not to be stingy!”

Johnny shuffled through Lincoln Park Zoo with a red face covered in dry tears. He clutched Nanna’s hand. His mom and dad walked ahead of them. They were shouting at each other. People who walked past turned their heads to eaves drop the commotion. Johnny could hear them, but barely make out what they were saying. The only thing he could here was his dad using words he was not aloud to say. Nanna gave his hand a squeeze, and forced a purse lipped smile down at him. His lips quivered a frown.

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