Fiction

Seven Very Short StoriesThey shot me at dawn for my sins, gave me a pauper's grave and a bunch of wildflowers plucked from the riverbank. They regretted it, so they told me, wished I was still alive. I listened from my black home beneath the dirt. What else was I to do? Read more »

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Ah, spring — Still missing: robins and dandelions. Read more »
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Abby Travis
Burkina Faso
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