Every Tuesday afternoon, she feeds the birds. Her routine is the same, every week. I am in place just a

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I can’t get that song out of my head. You know the one. If you’re going to San Francisco, be

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Yesterday, Mattie appeared on the wall. Right in the corner, where the joint meets the frame of the door. There

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“This story has been told before,” the devil rumbled, “and will be told again. You may die or you may

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“Take a bite,” the old woman said, her voice the soft murmur of a dying fire. The girl reached out

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Hell is always painted red. Why is that? What about our minds conjures landscapes of cracked earth and simmering fires?

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There is a home in my dreams. It is more than a house, more than a place. Though the sky

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Linda Mosley wanted a pet. The world had refused to give her a baby brother (even though she asked nicely!)

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They say that fate is a tapestry. Three women upon a loom, our lives the complex threads of a grandiose

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