Fiction
When I think on it, I can’t believe I’m going to kill two people over weed.
Story of the Week
The golden-haired ones, they think they’re better than Virgin Mary.
Story of the Week
“Hey, you look lost,” the hunter had said. “You better come with me.”
Story of the Week
The boys searched for their father, lost somewhere in the Olympic Range.
Story of the Week
She wonders if he will be all right. She assumes he has four-wheel drive.
N30B Winners
You never see Westerners, so you don’t think of them as human beings.
Fiction
He didn’t mind, he insisted, that he loved her more than she loved him.
Story of the Week
Somebody would be a lot happier if she were more like her mother.
Story of the Week
Say what you will, a human being has the right to their own body.
Fiction
He was ready to move on, to touch his patients, to cut them open.
Fall Contest Winners
Owen’s head throbbed, his ears ached, and an anvil sat on his chest.
Classics
My mother and I remained apart. My father came late to the party.
Fiction
Sister Barbara folded her arms like a forbearing husband.
Classics
Who was responsible for my father not living up to expectations?
Story of the Week
What’s the harm? Will you fight even the healing powers of love?
Fiction
She’d seen snakes before, but she’d never really looked at one, until now.
Fall Contest Winners
Where my mom was wasn’t never far from the Myrtle Beach Days Inn.
Story of the Week
His mother wasn’t there to meet him at his stop. She never was.
Spring Contest Winners
Our ambition was a clawing, grasping thing. It got us out of bed.
Story of the Week
They are glorious pumpkin-skinned messengers. I hate them.
Fiction
The cat was looking at me with an intelligent expression. It knew.
Fiction
And that girls came to his house all the time, cheap girls from the docks.
Story of the Week
Love speaks in silence, on behalf of lovers too tired for words.
Story of the Week
There was a shout, then a shot fired. I pressed the shutter again and again.
Story of the Week
She looks down the street for Scott’s truck. He’s late but so is she.
iStories
“We’re not like other species,” you say, a novelist at night.
