Fiction Commons^™

A Winter Paradox, Betty Ferguson

Manuscripts

A blinding snowstorm was sweeping through the night, covering the dark and dreary countryside with a soft, clean blanket of feathery white crystals. The icy flakes drove earthward with an uncontrollable centripetal force...

Basement Room, William Tobin

Manuscripts

The stairway that led to the basement room, where all the actors spent their free time, was always dark. The light that was supposed to illuminate the stairs had burned out long ago. A wooden hand railing ran along the wall and served as a guide and brace for anyone who felt his way down the eleven cement steps. Once down the steps, the basement hall seemed darker than the stairs, although I hardly think it possible. At the end of the hall, shining through the blackness, was the faint outline made by the light from within as it shone, …

Chicago's Street Of Streets, Barbara Consodine

Manuscripts

Michigan Avenue is a sophisticated young lady who strolls from Roosevelt Road up toward the Gold Coast with one shoulder lowered. Across this shoulder thee sees the green beauty of the park and the masts and sails of white yachts on the blue lake.

Mitosis (The Second Lesson In Botany), Alma Miller

Manuscripts

No abstract provided.

They Will Do It Every Time, Donald Goben

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To relax in a large, comfortable chair and listen to soft music after a long day's work is my idea of heaven on earth. Each evening I arrive home tired, dirty, and rather ill-humored. After washing and cleaning up a little, I settle down in my easy chair and turn on the little push-button radio.

Many Are Called, Patricia Hanley

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Once upon a time there lived a wise king whose only family was his son. When this boy became of proper age to marry, the king thought for many hours upon the kind of wife he should pro cur for him. At last he called together all his most trusted knights and said to them, "I want you each to bring to me the most mannerly maiden you can find."

Wendell Willkie, Francis Talkington

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Wendell Willkie was a liberal man and a man with a great American spirit...

Two Literary Immortals, Diann Deweese

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Around the first quarter mark of the nineteenth century two writers struggled for existence and recognition.

Vermeer, Shirley Mcveigh

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Have you ever heard of Vermeer? Probably not. Neither had I until two years ago this Christmas, when I received a book with that one name on the front. The book was then a gift, but it is now .a treasure; for within its covers are reproductions of forty-four of the finest paintings the world has ever seen, the paintings of a man named Vermeer.

The Engulfed Cathedral, Joanne Viellieu

Manuscripts

"The Engulfed Cathedral" is one of Claude Debussey's most beautiful works of impressionism. Inspired by an ancient Breton legend, it tells its story simply but with the most gorgeous effects.

Headless Horsemen, Doris Colligan

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As I look around my room in this practical, unimaginative daylight, I can yet feel the terror and see the awful spirits which peopled it on moonlit nights long ago in my childhood imagination.

The moonlight, which must filter through the broad leaves of the sycamore outside my window and penetrate the draperies before it reached my bedroom, gave only a lukewarm illumination by the time it reached its destination, for each obstacle had captured a part of its strength.

The Circe, James Joyce

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"The new girl"-a term catholic throughout all grammar schools -was quite pretty. Naturally, being twelve and susceptible, I promptly fell in love with her. 'It was my first affair.

...Grandma O' Mine, Doris Campbell

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Tart as Vinegar, sweet as cider-that is Grandma. Despite having several Score blood relations, she includes everyone on the block in her list of "acquired" relations.

My Great-Grandmother..., Lilla Adams

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A few years back if you could by chance have visited a certain little town in Texas and walked a mile north of the town, you might have heard the Sound of song coming across to you from what seemed to be the middle of a big wood.

From Dogfight To Teamwork, Donald White

Manuscripts

A squadron of Fokker D-7's is flying along over No-Man's Land; the pilots in their open cockpits are alert, scanning the skies for Allied planes. Suddenly they find them, roaring out of the clouds above. Each Spad picks out a Jerry, breaks formation, and goes after him. From then on it is each man for himself, shooting one plane down and going after another. The only chance for survival lies in out-maneuvering the enemy and letting him have it with the single .30 caliber machine gun. When one side has had enough, it runs for home. This is an aerial …

Aftermath, Joseph F. Workman

Manuscripts

Monday morning when I awoke to find my head still hurting from the blast I had received Sunday, I remembered all too clearly that the Captain had ordered me to go back to the harbor to find the Mass Kit I had dropped during the attack. . As I approached the landing I could hear soft, rhythmic thuds. Looking over to my left, I could see the reason for the noise. Hundreds of sailors with sad, drawn faces were slouching along, their side arms gone and their clothes oil-soaked and torn. The many small boats coming and going were not …

The Fallacy Of Isolationism, Dorothy Ziegler

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Following the first world war, the majority of people in the United States became great believers in isolationism; that is, they wanted to avoid any foreign contacts other than those necessary to trade and certain business relationships. "Buy American" became the slogan; "self-sufficiency" was the goal. The American people were determined that their sons should not fight on foreign soil again. Today we are facing the result of our holding to the idea of isolationism.

"My Father's Business", Betty Jo Fark

Manuscripts

With an effort she pushed the iron over the last patch of wrinkled, white shirt, conscious of the stabbing pains in her back and shoulders. Force of habit made her gently slide the shirt off the end of the board and start to retouch the collar, pulling the collar after the iron to round it. She tilted the iron up on the board. It settled with a thud, and she rubbed her arm across her forehead, dotted with perspiration.

The Autumn Sun Slants Gently Down, Margaret Byram

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Have I ever seen so beautiful a sight As Butler in the autumn of the year! Today The browns and reds and golds are shimmering in the warming sun, And the greens, resistant yet, wave their bright memories of spring ...

Each Man's Soul, Mary Alice Kessler

Manuscripts

The Thought

She sat on a big chair with her head thrown back on its cold, shiny leather paneling, her feet pulled up under her. A small arc of yellow light from the bridge lamp shut her off from the darkness of the room, and she turned her head as if to listen to the stillness. There was no sound-only a thick whir of silence. On her lap lay a crinkled piece of dirty paper with a handful of words hurriedly scribbled across it.

Front Matter

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No abstract provided.

Volume 11, Issue 4: Full Issue

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No abstract provided.

Excerpts

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No abstract provided.

Spring, Marianne Buschman

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The gay voices of students quieted as the last bell rang and the professor walked into the room with her quick, jaunty step.

Reunion With The Family, Muriel Holland

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One custom which has outlived the passage of time, wars, petty differences, famine, and flood is the good old family reunion. This is a time when grandparents, grandchildren, mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, aunts, uncles, cousins, all get together for a short period of time, perhaps a day, perhaps more.

Athletics' Place In Education, Robert R. Mundell

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The question asked by college students, college athletes, college faculty members, and the world at large is, "What is the place athletics should hold in our present (lay educational system, or do athletics belong at all in the college program?" The question is a natural one because there exist arguments pro and con. I believe the arguments for athletics far outweigh those listed against them.

A Nobody, Rosalie Elkin

Manuscripts

The little flag hanging in the window had turned dirty with age. Now it didn't stick out like a sore thumb as it had when it was new. The white field surrounding the gold star was a dingy gray, almost black, matching the color of the house to which it belonged. The house was like most of the houses in the Negro district of the city. It didn't have more than three rooms - two bedrooms and a kitchen that served both as a living and dining room. There was no wallpaper covering the walls and no carpet covering the …

Sam Vello, Lena Willkie

Manuscripts

Sam was a foreigner employed at the steel mill in my home town but no one seemed to know his nationality. He was one of the "wops" which meant that he was from one of those mysterious countries in southeastern Europe. This was obvious from his physical characteristics and his accent. Sam was short and stocky with the heavy shoulders of one who earns his living by manual labor.

Aesthetic Artiste, Norma Long

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"Hello there, Norma. Can you wait a few seconds while I finish?" asked Bomar Cramer, Indianapolis' foremost pianist, as he suddenly emerged from his studio into his reception room. He extended a firm, warm hand into which I meekly put my cold one, and then he quickly disappeared again into his studio as I faintly murmured, "Why, certainly." I had been waiting for Mr. Cramer for about five minutes, and during this time, I surveyed his outer surroundings. The room was rather dark and was entered from the outside through a heavily-draped glass partitioned door. Directly opposite the chair in …

Smokey, Jack Stauch

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"It won't be long now; the zero hour is approaching. Where can that crew chief of mine be? He is probably down at that pub with that O'Brien girl he met the other day. He should be here to supervise my feeding. Ah! here comes my dinner."