All Stories, General Fiction, Romance

Retinitis Pigmentosa by Tobias Haglund

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I’m Saga and I live in a suburb of Stockholm, Sweden. I have a disease. It’s not fatal, but I am going blind. My doctor told me that I was slowly going blind. My mother said that my eyes were only losing their clarity. It’s true. Before it gets dark it will first become blurry. It already has.

I rewrote that intro several times and finally ended up with that one. I don’t want my disease to define me, but it is the only reason I’m slightly interesting. I was seventeen years old and I went to a public school in a county that had almost no public schools. I wore large glasses – still do – which I had to change batteries on every week. A function inside the lenses automatically adjusted to the daylight. When I started my first year of high school we were supposed to stand up in class and tell the others a little bit about ourselves. I told them I enjoyed reading, knitting and playing the piano. My teacher laughed and asked why I used past tense. She was right though. I could still enjoy most of those things, the piano made a sound and I could feel the fabric when I knitted, but I couldn’t read as well. I can still read to this day, but it takes longer, much longer.  I lose patience.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Romance

Still Working by Tobias Haglund

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December sweeps her dead hand around my throat. My capuche swooshes open and I come to life in the morning hour rush. A beggar scratches the furrows between the cobblestones outside the metro station. When I get close to him, the automatic doors open and the warm breath of the subway hits me. He looks up at me, then back down again to the cobblestones.

I walk out on to the escalator, a boy runs past me, then a girl, then another boy. The latter boy shoves the girl when he rushes by her, down the escalator. She yells, but keeps going. Yesterday the fungus to the right was green, but today it’s covered in white foam.

The subway train comes in and I get on. It’s full, so I stand. I can always tell which state the country is in by looking at the adverts. Education, insurances, job seminars and cheap groceries. I’m reminded of what the prime minister said; the lowest unemployment rate in Europe by 2020.

Promises aren’t worth much to the poor. That’s why the adverts look the way they do, and why the beggar scratches the furrows of the cobblestone.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Romance, Story of the Week

The Troubadour by Tobias Haglund

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”Hello, sir.”

”Yea?”

”Uhm. I’m here to see Pam.”

“My daughter?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You the kid?”

“Uhm…”

“I mean the kid she’s been sneaking off with. The … No, let me think. The Williams boy, right?”

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All Stories, General Fiction, Romance

Pure Romance By Hugh Cron

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It wasn’t all about the mushy stuff. The cards, the roses, the poetry, meant nothing if you weren’t sincere. He knew many people whose love was only for show. Did he buy her flowers every week? Not at all. Did he profess his undying love for her in front of all their family and friends? Probably never. Holding hands and other public shows of affection was something that he never did, but no matter. He knew that this wasn’t what it was all about. He was being thoughtful. Even if it seemed stupid to other people, it meant something.

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All Stories, Fantasy, Romance

Miguel, Lola and Ted – A Love Story by Jon Beight

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Miguel

Miguel sat on the shelf, admiring Lola the way he always did. He was in love from the moment he first laid eyes on her. Because he was a simple farmer, being in the presence of such beauty tied his tongue. Her face, Miguel would say to himself, must be what angels look like.

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All Stories, Romance

Before Hitting The Ground by Tobias Haglund

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”Did you know Leonardo da Vinci was a farmer’s son?”

“No.”

“He was. Born out of wedlock by a mother who was a farmer.  You can imagine how it must have looked. Fifteen century Italy, born and raised by a single mother, yet he still managed to accomplish those many great things. It really is a great argument that every social class should be given a chance, right?”

“Right.”

“The next Leonardo da Vinci might be raised right now by a single mother.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Yes.”

“Look. If you don’t want-”

“I want to. Let’s just talk for a while first.” Kevin sat down on the bed. “Would you? Would you please say something. Just… I wanna hear you talk. It soothes me.”

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All Stories, Romance

Greek Oranges by Diane M Dickson

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Michael peeled an orange for me.  Late summer or more properly early autumn and we had rented a villa in Greece, seven of us all from the same year at uni.  A research trip, nominally, but the sunshine and the pool and the late warmth were a bonus.  Paul didn’t come, he had been seeing practice all summer with a large animal vet near home which resulted in tickets for the races, tickets hard to come by and therefore precious that he didn’t want to waste.

Michael and James arrived later, driving a silly little hired car.  They brought with them laughter and cheap wine.

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