741 Chapters
Medium 9781574413199

Chapter Two

Geoff Schmidt University of North Texas Press PDF

Chapter Two


e is walking down the long lane that leads to their house.

His father is beside him. On either side of them are fields stuffed with new snow. The fence posts wear high white caps. Ahead is the stream and the bridge and their house on the edge of the woods. His sister is far ahead, near the house, galloping home. He looks up at her, then down at the ground, at the raccoon tracks they have followed for the last hour. It is a clear morning, the sky blue. Very cold. His father had gotten them up early and fed them pancakes and dressed them warmly. Come on, he had said. Let’s go track that raccoon that raids our garbage. Let’s find out where he lives.

They had followed it through the woods, up the steep hill, then down, along the stream, all of them quiet, excited. They crossed the stream where the raccoon had crossed, leaping on unsteady stones. His sister got one foot wet, but not badly wet. Then up on the road that led to their lane, a long meandering circle.

They walk down the lane. His sister, cold, runs ahead. She does not see the tracks. Or does, but does not care. The tracks lead back to the house, a perfect circle.

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Medium 9781574412789

Chapter Four

Jane Roberts Wood University of North Texas Press PDF

Chapter Four

• 1


race Gillian has just come from her Saturday tennis game. Amelia had fallen, trying to return Grace’s serve, and Grace had gone home with her and seen her inside to be sure no bones were broken. Grace volleys very well, but ordinarily she does not serve well.

But this morning she had; the perfectly placed balls had zinged satisfyingly over the net. When Amelia fell, Grace felt a twinge of guilt at her own aggressiveness. Now, sipping a cup of hot tea, she is snuggled in the blue-and-yellow lounge chair on her gallery.

From time to time she glances through the windows into the treetops to see bare limbs swimming in a haze of tiny, almost invisible, green leaves. The forsythia has bloomed overnight. And the smallest of the finches, the gray ones with yellow breasts, have returned.

Spring is here, the smell of it as enveloping as incense.

Spring. The elixir of emotion. When she had read “The Lady of

Shalott” to her class, she had been so emotional she could hardly get through the poem. The class had assumed it was because of

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Medium 9780253006837

37: Abdo-Julien

Abdourahman A. Waberi Indiana University Press ePub



THE PRESIDENT, the second of that name, His Excellency El Hadji Abdoulwahid Egueh, was elected rather democratically, if we are to believe the foreign observers sent by the OAU, the Conseil de la Francophonie, and the UN. Eight experienced emissaries followed the election, in which His Excellency received over 60 percent of the vote. The main leader of the opposition got close to 26 percent. Two other parties of the disunited opposition—puppet parties, in the eyes of public opinion—shared the crumbs. The whole business was buckled up in two or three sighs, His Excellency immediately congratulated by France, the monarchies of the Persian Gulf, and finally by the rest of the international community. All the representatives of said community congratulated themselves on the return of peace and the success of the demobilization process, which returned some sixteen thousand people to civil life with the help of the UNDP and various NGOS. Not forgetting the patent failure of the coup d'état that ended, fortunately, without too much bloodshed. There were a few protests here and there, but nothing to alarm the emissaries' conscience, which a few displayed without excessive exertion. More than the election of the president—quite predictable, after all—what still affects people is the “patriotic contribution”: up to a fourth of one's salary deducted at the source, even well after hostilities ended.

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Medium 9780253008183

17 American Bulldog

Jason L Brown Quarry Books ePub

Chad Simpson

THE NIGHT BEFORE, HER SOCKS LEACHED rainwater from the carpet in the basement. The dehumidifier was running. The sump pump still churned. Everything important—her sewing machine table, the desk with her art supplies—was up on blocks from the previous fall, and Anna figured it might as well all stay that way, at least for now: It had rained for four straight days, and who knew how much water was going to seep through the foundation walls before it stopped.

In bed, after she changed her socks and was snuggled and warm under the covers, Anna hoped she would dream of floods—the biblical kind, of arks and utter devastation. But she woke up a little before five to the sound of rain against her bedroom window and with no memory of the previous night’s dreams at all. Leslie the dog was at attention outside her bedroom door when she opened it.

“Come on, then,” Anna said, and Leslie followed her to the three-season room, where Anna let him out into the dark, wet backyard.

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Medium 9781574414660

Waltz on East 6th Street

Tehila Lieberman University of North Texas Press PDF

Waltz on East 6th Street


Years ago, Aunt Renata squeezed a picture into my hand when my mother wasn’t looking. Aunt Renata wasn’t really my aunt, but rather someone to whom my mother had clung like a sister, like blood.

In the picture, my mother is thin but she is wearing a pale belted dress with a flared skirt and she is smiling. That is, her mouth is smiling. Her eyes are unreadable, her cheeks taut.

There is a tree just behind her and the smallest hint of a fence.

I have studied the picture a thousand times trying to figure out whether this was in one of the camps. The dress belies that possibility but still the fence looks menacing, cage-like and my mother’s expression is strained and odd. On the back of the picture, in German, and in a masculine script, it says only “Spring.”

Aunt Renata said she had found the picture when they were liberated from the camp. She won’t tell me anything else.


My mother was a beautiful woman. Even now it’s obvious—her bearing still regal, her cheekbones high and proud. She never talks about her experiences and her silence walks the house like the ghosts that accompany her. She was 17 and had snuck out

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