Posts Tagged ‘ Prose VI.X ’

“(S)tresses,” by Christi Krug

Aug 20th, 2009 | By

A high tower rose in the craggy wilderness, a vision in the night, a shadowy glove pointing at the sky with a bony, accusing finger.   Like that, or a guy with really bad arthritis. Closer, one could see figures. Two figures. One figure with a figure, and one that was shaped more like a splinter.

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“Wednesday’s Promenade,” by Mary Baader Kaley

Aug 20th, 2009 | By

A wizzard, a bird, a pig. On a stroll yesterday with Henry and Fredrick, I told Fredrick, my parrot, to be sure to straighten his language a bit. His profanity was altogether embarrassing, though many marveled at his flair – – he could verbally outfox anyone with his erudite vocabulary peppered with competently placed cursing.

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“Reverse Metamorphosis,” by Bill Waters

Aug 20th, 2009 | By

One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a horrible insect. –Franz Kafka, “The Metamorphosis” One night, when Grgrsmszzz woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his sleeping place into a horrible human the size of a bug–life inside the kitchen wall would never

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“The Demihumans Three Meet Their Match,” by Christopher Jacobsmeyer

Aug 20th, 2009 | By

The trio of adventurers walked down the woodland path, still an hour away from their scheduled stop at The Screaming Wench. They were looking forward to tankards of Nexik’s best. They called themselves the Demihumans Three: Wild Weasel (halfling thief), Agnon (dwarven cleric), and Yerond (elven fighter). They were in a good mood, having just

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“Moon Pies and Dime Whistles,” by s. smith

Aug 20th, 2009 | By

The wind was a constant, a dry, gritty west wind that in winter ranted and wailed across the   prairie like a madwoman on roller skates. In the dead of summer it was almost always a sighing, an incoherent but incessant babble. There was madness, Mrs. R. thought, in that wind and in the empty horizon.

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“Elvis the Dragon Slayer,” by Glen Batchelor

Aug 20th, 2009 | By

Elvis watched the sun flash from the blade of his sword as he removed the dragon’s blood. It was his fourth killing this year and he was becoming bored. Not only he but the king’s subjects were becoming bored. He was no longer a hero but merely a workaday knight doing a job. He dropped

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