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Submitted to Contest #68
I suppose I’ll tell you (whoever reads this, if anyone ever does besides myself) about the Nicolet Bank in Boise, Idaho. If anyone does read these half-remembered scribbles they’ll probably most want to know about the last day of John Blake, or as the scum of the news media called him, “The Black Bear.” It was early winter morning on a Friday. There were four of us then, including John and me. Nicolet wasn’t a big score. (We are, after all, talking about Boise.) We just needed a little extra money for our upcoming travels to Canada. But, as...
Submitted to Contest #64
Guilt is good, I think. Feeling guilty means you have empathy and are not a careless monster. Bad people don’t feel guilty. On the other hand, would a good person have something to feel guilty about? I suppose it’s not black and white but it feels like an unnecessary burden—a weight hung around the necks of good people for irrational reasons. Will, my boyfriend sitting next to me, driving, is the cause of my guilt. We’re on our way to his deceased grandparent’s house to help his family clean out the place. I’ve decided to break up with Will....
Submitted to Contest #60
I do not fear the dark. I do not fear the dark because the dark is only the absence of light. Night is only the absence of the sun. It is nothing. It is empty. I do not fear nothing. I do not fear emptiness. I repeat this statement—this mantra—to myself as the warm blue sky of northern Wisconsin fades into a cold night. I repeat this to myself as the birds—loons, ducks, woodpeckers, cardinals, owls, and hawks—and insects cease their calls and retreat into the night. They didn’t use to do that. Before The Night, summer nights a...
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