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At age six, we are wiser than at any other age. We know things nobody could have told us and we keep them to ourselves. Before I forget everything forever, shall I tell you what it was like for me that day? You know what it did to my sisters. Read the rest of this entry »

Yesterday I was grazing and cruising the heifers in clover. This morning I stand at the edge of the bull ring in sawdust and bullshit and sand, listening to music to salute an armada, triumphant strains for a dusty empire from trumpeters sniffing for blood. Read the rest of this entry »

Life is the skirmish our dreams are meant to resolve. Lucid dreamers like Bernard don’t leave it to chance; they’ve trained themselves to take control in sleep. They lie down with a plan they repeat like a mantra. The first time he looks at his watch, Bernard sees numbers; the second time, numbers again. The third time, his watch is a coin on a strap and Bernard knows he’s dreaming and sets to work. Read the rest of this entry »

What happened to Shirley? Her brother was shot and she lived her life feeling shrapneled. I wish I could tell you her story. I’ll tell you what I know. Read the rest of this entry »

Seldom is a second human needed. Even perfect love doesn’t require two. A half-orphan girl may argue with herself, a widow take her own counsel. A husband, who is also a father, may kill both men and himself, without involving another, and leave one body behind. Read the rest of this entry »

His face was a rag with torn-out eyes that flickered blackly for his girls. The only visible male in a family of incandescent women, he had burned through his few years quickly, as if life were a thin joint mostly paper and one strong draw could drag the ember the whole length to his lips. Read the rest of this entry »

In her club are several who, while waiting for new hearts, have been revived half a dozen times. She herself has visited and been brought back repeatedly from the dead. Read the rest of this entry »

It’s understood the truth can not be told. At best we see what passes by the peephole, a monocled distortion barely glimpsed through a fog of curved glass, apprehended but incommunicable. Read the rest of this entry »

I teach fifth grade, nothing complicated: slavery, ratios and proportions, why the good side always prevails in war. Half my students at the Army base are children of Second Cavalry, currently deployed; Read the rest of this entry »

This car is too big for our abbreviated family. Dad drives and I sit in the back where he can see me, as if I would budge, just the two of us since the accident that cut us in half. Beside him is empty. Beside me too. Read the rest of this entry »

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299-WORD NOVELS

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The pen name David B Dale honors my parents Beatrice and Dale. David+B+Dale = davidbdale

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