Shadow Chaser by Culley Holderfield


 

 

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Aleppo, Syria (AP) — Prior to joining the Tawheed Brigade in opposition to the Syrian government, Anwar Addat was a computer technician who never gave much thought to politics or religion.  That was before a barrel bomb delivered by a government helicopter ignited a fire that killed his wife and two children.  These days he goes nowhere without his AK-47 and body armor, and looks every bit the insurgent warrior he has reluctantly become.

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Train to the City by Daniel Mark

 

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The train arrived on time. In all the years that I’ve had to take trains, I don’t think a damned one of them were less than a half hour late. I take this to be a good omen as I board, maneuvering my luggage through the tightly packed crowd. Winter always makes people odd and this one was particularly cold. After pushing and pulling and dodging my way past families, brooding young men and confused old women, I find my seat. A window seat, another good sign. As the train begins crawling away from the platform, I notice that the seat beside me is still empty. This trip is getting better and better, I think to myself just as a large man ambles down the walkway, turning his craggy misshapen head left and right and looking for a place to land himself. Then he sees me. “Well, hello there, fella. Looks like we’ll be riding this one together. Name’s Jim. Yours?” he mumbles out in some indistinguishable southern accent. A twang cultivated by gut-rot moonshine and the searing warmth of ignorance.

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Code Blue by Tom Sheehan

 

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That morning, a May Saturday, when Fernando “Fred” Norstrand first put on the police uniform, solid blue deep as a line of defense, bright buttons shining gold-like running down the front straight as ideas cemented in his mind, his wife stood in the bathroom doorway in open admiration of the new spectacle. He had only recently taken off a Navy uniform, discharged from service because of injury. They loved each other that morning with a new and silent abandon, their baby son still asleep, the day already lopsided in their favor, and the man of the house about to start a new job. He had been appointed as a special policeman of the town, assigned to the lone local theater to keep the kids in line, Saturday being the toughest start of all;  popcorn, noise, kids away from parental control, let loose from their homes, very different from the few homes he’d visited during Pacific duty and the home he had grown up in.

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Sunrise at Nugaras By Irene Allison

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Ellie awakens from a bad dream.  While the gentle pre-dawn shadows fill her bedroom and strive toward a sense of pastel, she attempts to examine the details of her nightmare, but has only partial success.  The only thing Ellie can recall for certain is being  lost inside a terrible fog composed of tedious sounds and loneliness; a fog in which just being had been the worst thing possible.

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Week 66 – While My Guitar Gently Weeps.

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We live in a sick world. No amount of our writing imagination could come up with such a sickness. From all of us here at Literally Stories we would like to pass on our thoughts to everyone affected by the events of the last few days. Just one observation when looking for blame…Only blame the bastards with the bombs!

Now folks…Week 66! Is that two thirds of the evil number 666? Or would that be 444? Or 44? I’m not sure! I have never attended a Christening in my life but if I had, I would have loved to write 666 on the kiddy’s head before the Minister / Priest got a hold of them…I don’t think 444 would have had the same effect!

Today I was pondering Bucket Lists as well as felt tip pens, tattooing babies and freaking out Vicars.

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Decisions on the Ipswich River by Tom Sheehan

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I was fishing off the bridge over the Ipswich River, a few hundred yards from the Topsfield Fairgrounds. This was a day nothing was supposed to happen, but you know what they say about that stuff… it usually does, like Mike Murphy’s Law or Charlie Poulin’s Law or whatever they call it. Yet enough had occurred already in the last twenty-four hours and the odds were in my favor, or so they said.

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Visitor by Kristi Davis

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He sits at Anna’s bedside, unnoticed, working a crossword puzzle. Sometimes reading. Sometimes just waiting. Watching. Counting breaths until it’s time for him to do his job. Anna knows He’s here. She’s been expecting him.

Even though she cannot speak, I can hear her words to him, “I’ve been waiting for you,” Anna says. Her eyes are closed but she sees him. “Why are you taking so long? I’ve been ready for a while now.”

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