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Pulp

In by Wyatt on October 31, 2010 at 5:35 pm

Thick strudels of cold blickety cellulose. Stuck to the scrumptious walls. The thick, scrumptious walls. Andrea scrapes her pro-nails along the walls trying to get off the thick noodles. The noodles just got stuck in her nails and stayed on the walls, and now she’s stuck. She has nothing else but her teeth. Her TEETH! But it was so cold and icky and sloozey like morning slugs and uncooked sausages. This is no time to lose one’s head! BITE, Andrea! Bite! Gnawing away all these closures! And Spitting! Sputter! Blech! Run away, far away from these noodle-strudels! Cold and alone.

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Sunday Afternoon by Brittany Bennett

In by New Author on October 30, 2010 at 11:29 am

It wasn’t therapy.
There was no doctor, just the pastor, who leaned in his creaking chair—away while making a point, closer when her father was talking; there was no long couch to stretch out on, only the matching burgundy chairs where she and her father sat, her perfectly still, legs crossed, him constantly shifting, gripping the golden knobs. There were no hand puppets, no inkblots, just what the pastor called his “toolkit”—a Bible, well-worn, hi-lited, handouts with small headings she couldn’t read, and a paperback book with a laminated cover titled Secret Sin: When God’s People Choose Abortion.

Sunset in Indiana

In by K.M. on October 29, 2010 at 9:23 pm

Flat as a three-day old beer,
red as a Red Stripe,
and yellow as a Miller Lite –
without the proper amount of light
it turns into an imitation pilsner,
even this far away from Wisconsin.

Stretches forever, but in the way
that feels so unending even Gandhi
would beg for death. Windmills
blink warning lights in the night,
a constant stream of blood red dotting
the skyline, a precaution to all who
enter that there is no turning back
from this point, only soldiering on
through the crossroads of America.

All I know is Indiana sucks,
Indiana sucks,
Indiana sucks.

//Monkeys by Katie Dektar

In by New Author on October 29, 2010 at 1:21 pm

//Monkeys

string monkeys() {
string result = “”
char[] character = [a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z . , ! ? ( ) ]
for (int i = 0; i < infinity – 1; i++) {
char = character[rand(0, 32)]
result = result + char
}

return result

}

void main() {
result = monkeys()
printf(result)
}

//creates the complete works of Shakespeare much more efficiently than just
//having those silly monkeys just typing on typewriters.  This is the age of computers!

 

Old Habits by Brittany Bennett

In by New Author on October 29, 2010 at 10:43 am

The young nun in the grocery store never leaves without reading the greeting cards. She meanders down the aisle, her cart filled with oranges, bagels, a tub of butter, a small carton of milk, before pausing for ten minutes, raising card after card to her eyes. We watch her, the bagboy and me, while we lean against the checkout counter, the fluorescent lights washing over us.

“Oh, she’s lonely,” the bagboy says, “that’s obvious enough.”

Sometimes, he says, as she examines a Garfield one, you have to own your loneliness. Sometimes, he says, you have to own your own self-neglect.

 

Under The Influence

In by Chris on October 29, 2010 at 3:49 am

The roots were all clapping in consternation as the great tree fell. It toppled ponderously, tumbling through two hundred feet of air like Titanic slipping beneath the frothy waves. Exuberance flooded the roots until the tree hit a critical point – like a lever – and suddenly the mass of the tree rotated, tearing up a massive clod of dirt, snapping off root ends, flinging soil in the air, and creating mayhem to rival Poseidon. The whole thing smashed down like a bed frame thrown out a window. Then the forest was still. Then moles poked their heads out. The roots quivered.

 

Help

In by Michael on October 29, 2010 at 12:52 am

“Are you interested in helping kids? Would you like to help us help you help us help them?”

“What are you saying?”

“We help kids who are high risk.”

“Okay.”

“We want you to help us do that by donating your money, time or services.”

“Okay.”

“And it’s our goal to make it as easy as possible for you to do that.”

“Okay.”

“So we want you to help us by letting us know what would make that easier.”

“Ooooooh! So you want me to help you help me help you help them?”

“Yeah, exactly!”

“Oh ok, gotcha. No thanks.”

 

Twice

In by Lucía on October 28, 2010 at 11:59 pm

They’d buried her mother 22 months earlier.  At that time, everything had turned gray. She received the phone call mid-morning this time.  She was 20.  It was her father.  And this time, nothing changed.  An accident, a funeral home, and an audience of close friends and family that was even more hushed now than before.  That this was possible had been inconceivable.  Now, it simply was.  The idea of gray ceased to hold any meaning or sentiment, and her movements were smooth, just another streak in the whole blur.  Home evaporated.  Family evaporated. Everything moved around her.  Nothing made sense.

Lifeless

In by Lucía on October 28, 2010 at 11:58 pm

Heather and Noah walked into the house, side by side, breaths shallow.  Anticipation.  The large window in the open living room stared at them as they took in the house, one pale wall at a time.  Nothing.  The house was too big, empty, unused, and unnecessary.  The kitchen was worse, stale and tasteless, a space that would never create warmth.  The wooden floors creaked beneath their feet.  For Heather and Noah, there was no need to look at the other.  They walked through every empty room, a desolate ceremony of quiet respect.  Then they left, fingers interlocked, to find home.

Root Realization

In by Chris on October 28, 2010 at 10:49 pm

The roots were all clapping in consternation as the great tree fell. It toppled ponderously, tumbling through two hundred feet of air like Titanic slipping beneath the frothy waves. Exuberance flooded the roots until the tree hit a critical point – like a lever – and suddenly the mass of the tree rotated, tearing up a massive clod of dirt, snapping off root ends, flinging soil in the air, and creating mayhem to rival Poseidon. The whole thing smashed down like a bed frame thrown out a window. Then the forest was still. Then moles poked their heads out. The roots quivered.