741 Chapters
Medium 9781574411850

simple as that

Rebecca Meacham University of North Texas Press PDF


let’s do

Wearing the robe, she believes it’s possible for sorrow to be whipped into frothy peaks—to be made confectionery—and so dissolve, melt away like sugar in rain. It seems possible that in this way, her husband’s absence could shrink to granules, something easily evaporated. Something that would leave and actually stay gone, and not return for forgotten books or visits with the dog.

But he does not want to stay gone, her husband tells her at every chance he gets. He does not want the marriage to be over.

He calls from work every day and leaves rumbly, rambling messages. He e-mails her with haikus for their dog, with the requisite lines about sniffing, peeing, birding. He attempts good cheer on a limited budget. In their separation, he constantly surprises her with clichés, and this, along with everything, is very disappointing. Lila had expected more from him, something swashbuckling in reconciliation. But then, she had also expected a more innovative break-up. In fact, what enrages her lately is that the break-up has made her a cliché—a jilted wife, a spurned spouse, a Dear

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Medium 9781942496656

Chapter 45

Charlotte Jones Solution Tree Press ePub

When the light faded, the room was silent. Kaelo lay in the center of the floor, a massive, golden sun emblazoned on his chest. He was dead. The two Iniskroun lay on either side of Shira, their lives dissolved into the sunlight as well.

After a long moment, Shira’s eyes flickered open, and air returned to her lungs in deep, ragged gasps. Her hands fluttered over her chest, and she ran her fingers over the place where the knife had pierced her. Even as she touched it, the wound healed and vanished; only a small scar remained.


She stood immediately, sprinting toward him. Conrad’s breathing was labored, and his chest heaved as he tried to keep himself calm. As she knelt by his side, nausea filled her. There was so much blood. It covered his hands and spilled onto his uniform and the floor around him as he tried to compress it, trying to stay conscious and relieve the pain.

“You’re alive,” he whispered, a smile breaking through his agony.

“I’m going to heal you,” she said softly. “You’re going to be okay.” Before he could say anything, she gently pressed her hand against his and whispered, “Saot.”

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Medium 9781574412406

6. Runaway

Aimee La Brie University of North Texas Press PDF



threw up cotton candy after riding the Tilt-A-Whirl and Michael bought me another T-shirt to wear, one that read, “I’m with

Stupid” in neon orange letters. His report cards, junior high folders, his physics books, and his yellow pencil box. Two rolls of undeveloped film still in their black canisters and an old silver

Kodak camera with a broken flash, most of his clothes, his

Nebraska Cornhuskers football-shaped pillow. Every dog-eared paperback book he owned, including the one he stole from the library in Springfield, Illinois. A quartz rock collection my grandmother gave him that he always hated. His microscope, his magic kit, his train set, his baseball glove that he fake-signed with Reggie Jackson’s signature, a paint-by-numbers Clydesdale horse picture I made for him. A bottle of our dad’s Old Spice, his bicycle, the woolen striped Indian blanket that was folded on the end of his bed for as long as I can remember. His photo album— the square pictures from Grandma’s with the white frames around them, the ends curled up from age. An Easter picture of him holding me on the front steps, Michael smiling widely, my face scrunched in a toothless grin, our mother’s tall shadow across the bottom of the photo. A picture of our German Shepherd, Oscar, on his chain by the barn, tongue hanging out and ears back in anticipation of being petted. Our mother’s black-and-white high school photograph, a serious-looking picture of her with tight brown curls and just a touch of lipstick. All of his records including Johnny Cash, Pink Floyd, and Elvis Presley. His record player with the broken needle, his scratched up collapsible desk, Oscar’s red dog collar. Our grandma’s blue rosary and family Bible with our names written in her neat, cursive hand-writing, the pages thin and yellowing. A broken umbrella, his green plastic snow boots, his brown dress shoes, his leather belt, his Oakland A’s baseball hat with the rim bent by his hands.

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Medium 9780253016881

Howard Garfield, Balladeer

Edited by Michael Martone and Bryan Furu Break Away Book Club Edition ePub

Howard Garfield, Balladeer

My troubles began when I was ten and my parents spent the summer traveling, leaving me with my great-aunt in her decrepit gray Prairie School castle way out past the fairgrounds. This disconcertingly spry and moody octogenarian had a large collection of vinyl records, and out of desperate boredom one rainy afternoon, I took one at random, impaled it on the nub of her old Garrard SP25, and dropped the needle. A honeyed voice came pouring out of the speakers, crooning about a lumberjack drowned while freeing a logjam. It was Glenn Yarbrough, and I was lost.

It was music from a different era: the Weavers, the Limeliters, the New Lost City Ramblers, the New Christy Minstrels, the Brothers Four, the Stanley Brothers, the Carter Family, Richard Dyer Bennett, Eric von Schmidt, Dave Van Ronk, Buffy Sainte-Marie, the Kingston Trio, the Chad Mitchell Trio, the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem, Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee, Blind Blake, Blind Willie Johnson, Blind Willie McTell, Blind Boy Fuller, the Blind Boys of Alabama, and many others. Probably she did not have all those records. It is partly my own present collection I must be thinking of.

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Medium 9781942496656

Chapter 28

Charlotte Jones Solution Tree Press ePub

“Lieutenant?” Conrad said quietly. The two men were standing in a valley just outside Fort Asman’s gates, waiting for Zafrir. Conrad donned the silver jacket of a Cloudic uniform, which had been confiscated a few months previously, as well as thick white gloves and a hat that covered the back of his neck. Both were also common for Cloudic soldiers to wear. Conrad had concealed himself as much as possible, knowing his dark Sunbursti features would betray him immediately.

“Yes, Captain?”

Conrad clenched his jaw for a moment then pulled four letters from within his jacket. He handed them to Addae, who glanced at them and saw they were labeled Sori, Ifa, Anna, and Mother.

“If I don’t return, I want you to give these to them.”

“Captain, I—”

“Just,” Conrad drew a deep breath, “keep them safe for me.”

“You will return with Shining Shira, Captain. You won’t need me to protect them.”

A smile flashed across Conrad’s face, but before he could reply, Zafrir appeared from nowhere with a shriek of wind. He morphed into human form and floated beside the two men in silence.

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