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The phone rings, I answer it, and the world collapses. I’m staring into space, hearing over and over again the receptionist’s words: “The doctor wants you to come in this afternoon to discuss some lab results. . . . And bring someone with you.”
By Colleen FarrellMarch 1997I think I tried to describe what I actually feared. The crushing weight of eternal time. The dizzying space of infinity. I remember he laughed a bit as I brought these things up — so big a subject for such a little kid.
By David GuyMarch 1996“It’s part of the aging process. Like sun-dried tomatoes. They taste more and more tomato-like the more shriveled they get. I’m just becoming more and more myself. You call it a caricature; I prefer to think of it as a distillation.”
By Corey FischerNovember 1995There was a tear in our screen door and I would peek through it at the little houses across the street. The house across from ours was purple. There were many wild-colored houses on our block, like a row of cheap drinks; their great snarls of TV antennas were the swizzle sticks.
By Poe BallantineAugust 1995The wasps looked the same dead as alive: you could be fooled by their sci-fi armor into treating them more warily than they deserved. That was why, when you slipped one of them into your mouth and the wings and legs dissolved and you silently rolled the hard skeleton over your tongue, you were swallowing fear itself.
By William LychackAugust 1995Praying mantises’ companionship, Big Daddy, radio-controlled green beetles
By Our ReadersAugust 1995He continued riding down the hill in front of my house, wobbled a bit, then lost his balance and fell head first over the handlebars onto the asphalt, the bike toppling and twisting behind him.
By Jake GaskinsJune 1995This July Sunday is hotter than any I have ever felt in Wyoming. It has been dry for weeks. The sun hangs limply in the sky, but for all its limpness, it blazes. The clouds are thin and high. The temperature is over a hundred.
By David RomtvedtMarch 1995I took a deep breath. Whenever the ground is expecting, I like to walk. I can feel it reach right up through my legs to meet the sky. The blood of everything rises to meet the tension of the coming clouds before a good rain.
By Christien GholsonSeptember 1994Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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