An extra-ordinary chance: A short story

It was as flawed as the people who constituted love, as temperamental as their own emotions and as ordinary as the boxed cereal they ate for breakfast every morning. There wasn’t always something apparently extraordinary.
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Three empty office chairs sit in a white room.

Broken chair: A short story

A slam. Claire never thinks to shut the door slowly. It’s just me, you and the sound of your rapid typing permeating the silence. I’m not sure why it feels colder in here. I try to focus on my own work. Painting serenity is harder than you’d think. Serenity? It
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Fig Season: A short story

July. The doctor finds a tumor. Sylvia finds the first ripe fig of the season. October. Her father is dead. Sylvia is holding a wicker basket of sweet figs between her thighs, sweating and sitting cross-legged on her tiled kitchen floor. She is smoking with her right hand, plucking figs
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A woman holding a glass of wine and a card that says "love you"

Fatal Reveries: A short story

Content warning: The following short story contains mentions of depression and suicide.  Mae Franklin planned on killing herself today. She was now determined with the idea, though for so long it remained a distant promise — like when she planned on moving to Aruba or pursuing a PhD in literature.
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Architect: A short story

In your travels you come across a city which rises from the crystalline dust of endless sand dunes every two years and dissolves into the sand two years hence.
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