Death After Dying By Claudine Griggs

           I hate working the night shift at the morgue because corpses won’t leave me alone.           The human brain can still “think” for five to seven days after death, given a temperature range of 35-48 degrees Fahrenheit and assuming there has been no significant head trauma. Post-mortem brain waves were discovered 12 years ago, but it took…

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RNA By Gary Beck

           As I rounded first base I felt a tear in my hamstring that shot up my leg with a stab of hot pain. It forced me to slow down, but I had to keep running because I was on the edge of the bubble and was afraid of getting cut from the team. I risked…

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The Cathedral Project By Jacob Austin

           The town decided it would benefit from a bit of public space, so we began construction on what could best be described as a cathedral. The proper permits were acquired, the space donated by a local philanthropist, and work was quickly underway. First, the existing structures in the area had to be torn down. They…

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Thought Recording Machine

           “Let me set the record straight. It’s against our principles to record someone’s thoughts while they are unconscious,” Dr. Miracle said, trying to explain institutional policies to her surprisingly quick-witted customer-to-be, Mrs. Clementine, who just couldn’t quit the idea of knowing the mind of her daughter.           Mrs. Clementine’s response turned out to be twice as enthusiastic…

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Tea with Old Friends By Jonathan Ferrini

          It was a weekly treat for me to attend an elegant, afternoon, “High Tea” at the beautiful “Mark Hopkins Hotel” after church services across the street. The “Mark” held a commanding view of San Francisco from its location atop Nob Hill and provided a beautiful view of the iconic bridge, bay, and city below.           I was…

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Songs for Pretty Girls By Nic Nichols

           In each home, each city, and each ending, she had a post. But now that she’d settled in the Deep South, the nights had heart and soul. Though the thick glass windows were to be always shut and locked, the midnight hum carried through. She sometimes wondered if the music was also one-sided. If the…

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Dried Out Baby By Will Musgrove

           Baby skinned the coyote’s mate. Good riddance, he thought as he tossed the bloody gray pelt onto the dry brush. A dozen feet away, his fellow brewers—out of necessity—waited for him around a fire, where they sampled each other’s moonshine recipes and their stomachs rumbled like the missing thunder.           Baby, who had shot at the dog-like…

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