Literary Yard

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Fiction

Story: Winter is Always Coming

By: Michael C. Keith Ah Love! Could thou and I with Fate conspire To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire.  –– Edward Fitzgerald Sixty-eight wasn’t really old by 2014’s standards. In fact, some people said it was the new fifty-eight….

Story: Declaration

By: Shyama Laxman Her parents had named her Ruksana which at some point got truncated to Roxy. Ruksana might bring to mind a shy, demure, ever blushing Muslim girl, peeping through her burqa and forbidden entry into the male inhabited…

Story: Notes from Above Ground

By: Fredrik Zander Before I live I write this message. There might be secrets for you to know as my feet were below the ground that fed me like a solemn plant that whispered secrets in my mute ear; I didn’t…

Story: Bruno

By: Divya Dubey   The dog had to be put to sleep. Since Sunday the thought had been revolving in Simran’s mind, making it impossible for her to focus her attention fully on any task. As she began to wipe…

Story: Pool Cleaner in the Yucatan

By: Eric G. Müller Stacie looked out the airplane window. The last time she was in Cancun she got knocked up. That was fifteen years ago. An abortion, a string of boyfriends and a failed marriage lay between. Now she was…

Story: The Artist

By: Joshua Medsker   Peter Loew dug his hands furiously into the hard clay. “Come on, you rotten son of a bitch.” Swearing at the clay helped him get on top of it and make it do his bidding. He…

Story: That Day He Fell

By: Ikwuagwu Osita Victor   The last fisherman stared at me suspiciously before walking, languidly, away with his fishing paraphernalia. I wondered what was going on in his mind. Perhaps he was thinking another youngster has gone bananas, or that…

Story: Considering the Razor’s Edge

By: DC Foster Scar tissue mottled the old man’s hands, the thinner the lighter; it ran like Desert Storm camouflage from his wrists into his fingers toward the jaundiced nails that tipped each of his ten digits. No, nine digits. His…

Story: The Witness

By: W. Jack Savage   I woke up, having planned to go in a little late and had told my employer so the night before. My son’s birthday was coming up and I knew what he wanted. It was a T-shirt…