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Quota

In Issue 91, January 2025 by Quin Yen

The hospital department chiefs hold monthly meetings in a conference room. The room has a high ceiling and tall windows. The walls are made of mahogany panels. There are large portraits of previous medical school deans on the wall. All of them are men in dark suits and black bow-ties, each holding either a pen or a book in their hands, looking straight ahead with an air of importance.

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Bleeding Dyad

In Issue 91, January 2025 by Nathalie Guilbeault

The pain, this feeling of inadequacy, is there with you, and although the seed of it was never recognized as a seed belonging to it, as a seed made of it—pain—they planted it still, in your making, ignorance at the center of their factice bliss, this justification—they didn’t know; did their best.

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A Shower of Roses

In Issue 91, January 2025 by Sandro F. Piedrahita

Mariana Huaman had worked with the Flores family since Rosa was an infant and had been the one to witness the first miracle, the one that occurred on June 17, 1586. Now Mariana is approaching Rosa on her deathbed and remembers that distant day as if it had just happened.

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Go Now

In Issue 91, January 2025 by M. Betsy Smith

“We have no Rick Smith.”
“What do you mean? I was told they brought him here.”
“I’m sorry.” The [triage nurse’s] annoyance was unmistakable. I had no recourse but to wait.
I’d received a call about fifteen minutes ago. My husband was found by the maintenance man outside, face down on the ground.

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Nostalgia Zombies

In Issue 91, January 2025 by Sean Newman

Derry was my best friend, but that was a long time ago.
Since then, I built my career while Derry played in a band. I saved for retirement and Derry saw the world. And when I bought a house, Derry was still burning through a revolving door of roommates. Derry always used to say, “Sam… you’re the Yin to my Yang.”

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Anything But Ordinary

In Issue 91, January 2025 by Marianne Dalton

My car twists and curves as the city lights disappear behind me and my headlights spool deep into the dark abyss toward my rural home. I feel relieved I don’t have to face Dad tonight. I’m waiting until morning to break the news of Mom’s death to him.

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Memoir of a Zebrafish

In Issue 91, January 2025 by Lisa Lebduska

I swam in the Ganges, source of life to a billion bipeds, golden, striped in a horizontal blue crayoned by a dreamy child. My parents, like all teleosts, were indifferent about my birth, abandoning my siblings and me, but I grew in a chorion cradle, nourished by yolk, a pulsing sphere.

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A Few Light Edits

In Issue 91, January 2025 by Stephen Akey

If you’re reading this, it’s only because it has passed through the net of editorial scrutiny. Presumably, an editor or editors have sharpened the argument, eliminated irrelevancies, tightened the prose, and reined in my more intemperate claims.

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Getting The Memo

In Issue 91, January 2025 by Michel Sabbagh

Eleanor Saravak studied the three news story drafts spread across her wooden desktop. Each one of them sported its own headline. Headlines that ought to boast so much bite and venom they may as well leap off the page and send folks six feet under.
Not that Eleanor joined the news biz to do her readers in or feed them dreck made of letters put together.

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The Gilded Cage

In Issue 91, January 2025 by David Kennedy

Laurenda did not like the look of those men, not at all. She had been hanging the washing up on the clothesline behind the cabin when she heard the tortured whinnying of horses driven too hard, and the whoops of men careless about their steeds. She dropped the children’s clothes in a heap upon the grass and hastened into the cabin.

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Finding a Pathway

In Issue 90, December 2024 by Mark Rosalbo

As an emerging artist, the art form I work with is primarily abstract painting and large-scale installations. My artistic process involves using various mediums and techniques to create physical manifestations of internal dialogues and personal judgments.

In my abstract paintings, I use house paint, various tools, and textured canvases. The technique involves creating overconfident brushstrokes that mask my imposter syndrome, with multiple layers of paint partially hidden under the surface. The inner turmoil arising from self-doubt is expressed as geometric shapes woven together with texture.

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Born to Leave

In Issue 90, December 2024, Issues Archive by Cristina Crucianu

I woke up to my grandmother whispering to me: “It’s over. She’s passed.” Like a puppet on strings, I got up and forced myself to send the work assignment I had been working on before the frenzy of organizing a funeral began. A calm sky was lazily rising, as if nothing had happened. In the distance, the roosters were alerting the villagers that it was time to wake up. Their crowing, accompanied by the incessant barking of neighbors’ dogs, was the most precise alarm possible.
It wouldn’t take long until the first horse-drawn wagons passed by on their way to the fields. It was Sunday, but a few sinners would be seduced by the iridescent vineyards and the large corn or alfalfa fields.

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Deus Vult

In Issue 90, December 2024, Issues Archive by No Cañon

There’s life on other planets, and we’re fighting again.

Not so much fighting each other, me and Hazel, but rather the hundred little obstacles we confront daily in the world: electric bills, uninsured vehicles, the price of groceries—it’s a love language in itself that we’re each willing to be the other’s proxy for all these petty aggravations.

When the need for this routine is exhausted, from my phone I will play serious, dramatic music like Vivaldi or some Dies Irae thundering, and we will each see how long we can continue arguing. It’s become a playlist of losing first-smirks.

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The Story of Edouard Rives

In Issue 90, December 2024, Issues Archive by Patrick Cole

They eye me as I walk towards them. But I must be so worn in appearance that all see I pose no threat, I am no bandit. And that appearance of mine must be very sorry indeed, for I have known bandits, and they are most ragged in face, tattered in clothing, and thin in frame. It helps that I come along an open road and alone. But degradation works in one’s favor at times.
One stands near the road, attempting to press an old rusty hoop onto a dilapidated and splaying barrel. Beside him a young girl, perhaps seven years of age, carrying her baby sister on her hip. When I greet them, a few others come around.

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On Such A Winter’s Night

In Issue 90, December 2024, Issues Archive by Adam Smethurst

Jasper looked up at the clear, starlit, advent sky. A sharp north easterly had blown away the relentless gloom of the past fortnight and he gladly breathed in the nipping December air. He thought of the fingerless gloves he’d left behind at the church after rehearsal the previous evening. He would miss them this morning and considered for a moment passing the vicarage to see if they could be retrieved.

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The Nicotine Solution

In Issue 90, December 2024, Issues Archive by Carsten ten Brink

We were already deep in the Amazonian rainforest, in the borderland between Peru and Brazil, based in a camp somewhere along an unnamed tributary of another tributary of the Rio Javari that marks the border, and that morning we rose early to travel by canoe yet deeper into the forest. Local hunter Alejandro had encountered a large adult anaconda and was willing to take us there.

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Vengeful Pathology in America

In Issue 90, December 2024, Issues Archive by patricia heisser métoyer

January 6, 2021, marked a pivotal moment in American history, serving as a wake-up call and a profound division. The shocking scenes of rioters breaching the Capitol stirred a visceral reaction across the nation. While the vast majority of Americans were horrified by the chaos, the interpretations of that day have since diverged sharply.

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Convents, cults and longing

In Issue 90, December 2024, Issues Archive by Toni Palombi

After 24 years of being a nun, Juliette (name changed) left the convent. It was 1986. Juliette’s spiritual longing – unsatiated by the convent – was as strong as ever. So three years later, when she met Brendan, a charming, charismatic, striking man who ran spiritual workshops drawing on the wisdom of the world’s greatest traditions, she took notice.

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The Gift

In Issue 90, December 2024, Issues Archive by Em Hanson

Alice couldn’t remember her dream, but the thought that lingered after waking shook her. She had nothing to give him.

She had fallen asleep on the couch, not easily or accidentally, had forced herself to sleep, exhausted herself with praying and reciting the memorized routes that would take them to their new home. She pictured the highlighted maps from AAA with her eyes closed, stacked in the glove compartment in the order they would need them.

There were still pieces of the dream, but she disregarded them…. It was still so early that her young siblings had not yet jumped out of bed to come raid the stockings or shake the presents that they would open after breakfast.