Fiction Commons^™

Pragmatists And High School Latin, Ione Colligan

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Are Latin teachers and Latin texts justified in telling students that the study of Latin provides sound and practical training for understanding of the English language? Or are those modern educators correct who insist that "transfer value" for the classics is meager, that study of the Latin language has no practical value?

"All Men Are Created Equal", Joe Howett

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One hundred sixty-nine years ago, on July 4, 1776, a group of men drew up the document which is known today as the Declaration of Independence. These men did not meet with that end in mind. Their primary purpose in having that historical meeting was to evolve a plan whereby they might, in some way, overthrow the severe restrictions they were suffering at the hands of the British Crown. Foremost in the minds of them all was a feeling that had motivated the colonization of this hemisphere; the feeling that had instilled within them a vivid will to perpetuate a …

Rhythm At Twilight, Mary Alice Kessler

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Manhattan's pulse throbs in' the twilight.

As tier light-studded avenues glow in the cool blue of dusk

She pulsates with noise. Good sounds pour from her throat,

The cough of motors,

The gurgle of laughing women,

The shout of brakes and sellers of news.

Eternal Cycle, Mary Cory

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No abstract provided.

Boy On A Bike, Betty Jo Fark

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Clouds of heat were sitting on the highway. There was no breeze to stir them perceptibly. The boy was hot. He wanted to keep his feet high, away from the burning sun fused in the pavement, but the motion of the bicycle pedals kept drawing them down monotonously. His hands on the rubber grips of the handlebars were sweaty and uncomfortable. Streaks down both legs of his salt and pepper wash trousers showed where he had tried to wipe away the stickiness.

"Respecttfily, Thaddeus", Mary Alice Kessler

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Thad is a good man. He is old and gnarled like some dying oak tree, and about as hard to uproot and argue with as an oak tree, but Thad is a good man. The last time I saw Thad was in the fall of 1939. He stood at the end of the gravel road that leads into our hunting lodge, one bowed leg stuck up on the birch fence railing, and looked after our car. He must have been at least seventy then, for his thinning hair was white and his red beard was streaked with snow. Those blue, …

Grace, Margaret Byram

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No abstract provided.

Susie And The Red Devil, Mary Ann Moffett

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An odd shade of dingy red is reminiscent of summer to me, recalling the Red Devil and Susie.

Front Matter

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No abstract provided.

Volume 12, Issue 1: Full Issue

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No abstract provided.

Vignettes

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No abstract provided.

Panorama, Betty Ann Mills

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The sights we saw ranged from vast stretches of beautifully colored deserts to lofty mountain peaks...

Return To Shangri La, Norma Messmer

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My hand groped over the weather beaten pine door for the rusty lock which would unfold our "Shangri La." Meeting no resistence from the tiny device, I proceeded blindly to feel for the light switch which would show the way for the rest of our crew. As my searching hand passed over fuses, wires, switches, and knobs, I was conscious of the "special" cabin aroma, a composition of ant' killer, mouse poison, ashes from last and the "springy" exhilarating Lake week's wiener roast, scent of the fresh, Hollybrook air.

A Strange Stable, Donita M. Evans

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One day while walking in Washington, D. C., at a particularly busy time of day, I turned into what I thought was an alley leading to another street. As I wandered back through the alley, I suddenly noticed that I was in a courtyard. It was a beautiful place with houses looking from two sides into the cobblestone court. There was an enormous tree growing in one corner of the yard with a circular bench built around its base. As I investigated the yard further, I found that the building directly in front of me was a stable. Discovering that …

A Winter Paradox, Betty Ferguson

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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

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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

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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

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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

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"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

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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

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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 …