Category: Fiction

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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Inbetween by Kaden Johnon (Grade Ten Writing Competition Winner)

Shadows of deep crimson enveloped the landscape, like a blanket of thin fog. All was mostly visible, but the only thing that one could truly see was the neon and faint aura of a single lonely building. A sign flickered just off of the russet-coloured road on which he stood, which simply read “DINER” in

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Denoument by Tim James

Mrs. Baker had never before thought of silence nor detected the subtle melodies that emanate from it. She’d never noticed its whisper and burble, its tranquil rush and swell, nor been able to feel the texture and fluidity of the millions of motes of sound that compose it. She’d never perceived how it sweeps and

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Expecting

A young woman stood over a freshly painted yellow crib, carefully adjusting some stuffed toys…Click to read more.

(Written by Rhianna Rimmer)

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Fighting the Tides

I drive in silence. My fingers itch to press the car stereo on, craving something to pay attention to and occupy my time…Click to read more (Written by Sarah Wensink)

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In the Land of Dick & Honey

When I became fatherless at twelve years old due to Daddy’s intoxicated joyride that led to his wrapped around a telephone pole death, my fate became clear. I would grow up as Honey Paterson, absentee of father-daughter dances, punchline of prostitute and stripper jokes, and likely future gold-digger with an unshakeable daddy complex…Click to read more. (Written by Danielle LaRocque)

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February

February is my least favourite month.  Everything about it is wrong.  It is the runt of the calendar’s litter…Click to read more.
Written by: Christine Deynaka

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Man Stands in Rain

“I wish this rain would end.” He said it aloud. The rain accelerated the invasion of night. It came by pulse, thumping like a great and terrible heartbeat…

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The Writer and the Raven

The Writer and the Raven (June 8, 1876)

She first sees the bird as shadow against shimmer, black against shifting colour, stretching its wings. It makes her think of Liszt in his topcoat and tails, arms raised before the cymbal crash.

It watches her, and in the pinprick light of its avian eye she recognizes transition. She saw the same in Frédéric’s when they said goodbye—“and take that disgusting cigar with you, Aurore,” he had said, to hide emotion—as the skeletal hand that had entranced the world reached feebly for the water glass, or possibly the grave. The cold Paris night was kissed with colour as she stepped outside, a new story dancing at the edges of her mind.

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