Category: Fiction

Vectors by Claire Fantus

They are splashing in the frigid lake, my boys, dumping heaps of glacial water on top of each other’s heads with glee. Prancing in their underwear around the beach, climbing onto other people’s paddleboards and inflatable water toys. Eli, don’t touch that please. It’s not ours. Words fallen on deaf ears. They have now immersed

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Pink Flower

If You Ask Rosie by Stevie Poling

If you asked Rosie, she would have said it was the perfect weather. When you get up in the morning, walk outside, and when exhale you can see your breath, then you look past your breath to the world beyond, and everything is still. The grass is just slightly crispy from freezing overnight. You can

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boat dock

My Father’s Ferryman by Claire Halleran

The water was always dark to me. I would stand on the shoreline, bundled in the coarse wool sweater Grandma had bought me at the Granville Island market, watching my father watch the sea. He never knew I was there. Not unless I spoke. And sometimes even still he wouldn’t notice me.  He had sold

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garden

My Garden Fortress by Kathleen Dyck

Slugs. Slimy, revolting, gag-inducing, leaf-and-fruit-munching, plant-murdering slugs! I had arrived at my garden plot early that morning—with the sun only just cresting the tops of the houses to find that a small army of the bulbous black mollusks were advancing through my territory, leaving glistening slime trails crisscrossing the dark earth. How many of them

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Muddy tire tracks leading into a stoned in fence area

Alba by Elizabeth Whitehouse

It wasn’t the shag carpets or the original stove that dripped black grease onto the linoleum. Nor was it the fifty-year-old sliding windows that housed leggy spiders creating webs between the panes and those giant furry black houseflies that hatched out of the walls every spring. It was the view! Through the French doors that

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Hand holding fishing rod

Fishing By Lynda Rocha

“The ferry’s loading right now,” announces my nephew, Lucas, looking down at the time on his phone. He is strapped into the front passenger seat beside me as we hurtle down the narrow, winding highway like the lead cart in a roller coaster.  I am driving as fast as I safely can on the curving, rolling road. A few times I cross over the yellow and white lines to cut a corner but only where I can see far enough

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Spring Fog

Spring Fog by Leannah Riah Fidler

She sat on the cool rail, looking out into the woods on the far side of the tracks. Waiting. It was still early enough that a thick fog clung to everything, as it did every morning in the spring. A breeze shifted the air around her, and she could feel the cool dampness against her

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Line Those Street With Gold By Gracjan Kraszewski

The man does not say anything. He appears to want more. I’m happy to oblige. ‘It’s not hard to find people online, upline, or in plain old real life who will tell you at the drop of a hat that nothing is real. I’ve found the reason for the many reasons they give, the various

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Love Haight 69 by Tanya Coad

Note to reader The following is an excerpt from my historical fiction novel, Love Haight ‘69. It is a coming-of-age story, set in 1969, about a runaway teen from Canada, living in Haight-Ashbury and struggling to immerse herself in the counterculture scene. A square with hip aspirations, she finds love, community, and a sense of

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The Trip By Karen Hamling

After two hours on the road, I see the wooden ‘Welcome to Nakusp’ sign. A big blue ‘N’ on a white background. The sign is weathered and worn and very much like how I feel as I travel highway 6 into town. “N” for Nakusp or “N” for numb? It is the middle of September

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The Writers’ Group by Alan Ross

          On the outskirts of the tiny village of Nakusp, in South Central British Columbia, sat an old barn with a gambrel roof.  Once, it had been red but the paint had worn off and now the dry, weathered wood was ripe to be remade into chic furniture and sold to the seasonal visitors who

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Birds, Bongs, and Briefs by Veronique Darwin

Part One: Arrival Birdy trailed a teabag through lukewarm water. Her granddaughter Missy, recently back from nursing school, held up a large cell phone: on it, a skeleton of a human, its joints lit up like jellyfish. “Osteoarthritis,” Missy said solemnly. “Damage in the place where two bones come together.” Birdy looked out the window

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