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His eyes snapped open.

The clock on his bedside table read 3:45 AM in little red lines. He rolled on his back and pinched his temples between his thumb and index finger, trying to squeeze the hangover out of his skull, but last night’s scotch had other plans. He turned away from the clock in hope of finding his way back into the dream world. It took him a few minutes of tossing and turning to finally realize why he was awake in the first place. She had woken him up. …


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I used to play this game in my head where I’d guess how the world would end. Nuclear war, global warming, and the killer robot rebellion usually found themselves near the top of my list. Hell, even the zombie apocalypse seemed plausible at times.

Turns out I was way off.

I couldn’t tell you how it all happened. No one really knows. Everyone I’ve crossed paths with inevitably shares their own theory on it all. It’s a regular rotation between a “government bioweapon,” or “mother nature’s revenge,” or “God.” …


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Dad never apologized, not even as he stared down the barrel of his own .38 Special revolver. My hand gripped the wood tight, pointing the weapon at the center of his forehead. His face glistened with post-fight sweat and blood leaked from the skin I had split with my fists. He was stronger than me when I as young, but I hadn’t been young for a long time.

“C’mon boy, what the hell do you want me to say? Hmm? That I’m sorry for choosing that whore of a woman to be your mother?” My trigger finger flinched, the temptation…


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Even in death, there’s time for a fresh start.

So, Mr…Reaper, tell me a little bit about your last job. I see that you’re moving on after doing it for quite some time.

Here’s the thing Chet, I hope it’s ok that I call you Chet. I’d love to tell you how excited I am for this incredible opportunity, but if I’m being 100% honest here, my last job REALLY sucked. I guess it just took me a while to realize it.

Chet is fine, and I appreciate your honesty. If you don’t me asking, What exactly “sucked” about your old job? The job was just that Chet, “old.”…


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Photo by Paolo Chiabrando on Unsplash

When I close my eyes and think about my night with Annika, the first thing I picture is the incredible dress she was wearing. “Tailored fit” would be a wild understatement. The jet-black fabric effortlessly hugged every curve of her body, the color mimicking her neatly cut hair. An amber pendant rested on her sternum, a family heirloom no doubt. I could tell it was from generations ago, but it glowed like it was right out of the box. It rested just above the opening of her dress, constantly tempting me to sneak a look. Her 5-inch heels perfectly matched…


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It was the very first day of school for Fremont county school district number 2. Mrs. Stevenson had begun calling names.

“David Jackson?”

“Here!”

“Markus Weller?”

“Here!”

“Um…Muhammad-Ali…Abdur-Rahkman?”

“Here!”

“Oh lord…Groß Schenkenberg?”

“Heir!”

There were 50 names to go on her list.
Summer vacation had never felt so far away.

Joseph Davis

Daytime copywriter, fiction enthusiast.

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