Tag Creative Writing

They Are Life

You’re going to have me killed tomorrow, and still, you want to know. Oh yes, there are some who believe there is magic in the world. Goddesses and gods supposedly walk among us. People use magic to explain things they don’t know, or can’t understand. You can’t explain what I do. I am no goddess; so it must be magic that I do. And my magic is white as bone,

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The Invisible Knife

I “I want to know once and for all who did this to me!” hollered Hugh Jackson III, waving his stubbed hands dramatically for all to witness (and seeming to startle himself more than the rest of us). This was the climax of a speech he had prepared for me and the local policemen on the morning of my arrival in New Iberia. I had come to investigate a six-month

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Popsicles

Remember the hottest day ever— sweat open-faucet pouring over your kid head sweltering & miserable mouth huffing steam— when you heard the merry jingle from the ice-cream truck fingered $.25 pocket treasures swallowed hard & shoved-popsicle-push-up-unmannered-into-mouth tongue exploding sticky summer satisfied & suddenly— you never wanted that day to end? That is your top lip. Your bottom lip is an open highway— windows down, radio loaded, wanderlust amplified & there’s

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Affected

SCENE I Dell is returning from a business trip and is shown tiredly walking to her car at Reagan National airport. She fumbles for her keys, unlocks the car, throws her suitcase in the back seat, collapses into the driver’s seat, shuts her door, then silence. Snow falls lightly outside her window. She starts the car and waits for it to warm up. Large circles of light are visible in

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Like Dying

I was maybe six. I was playing outside, in the backyard, with my little brother. Dad was at work and Mom was . . . well, wherever she was. Look, she wasn’t a drunk or anything. She was just terribly sad. When I was a teenager, Dad took her to the doctor and she started taking pills and she seemed to do better. I don’t know. It was always hard

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Finding Normal

Celia was having a fit. Again. I should have been used to it by now, but it still bugged me. When we were kids, it always got her the extra kisses and hugs, the extra cookies and candy, and the concerned attention. Now that we were adults, it was all the more annoying. Instead of extra kisses, hugs, candy, and cookies, Celia’s fits were gawked at. Sure, they got attention,

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