Fiction Commons^™

Dreaming, Ingeborg Weck

Manuscripts

The constant rocking, from starboard to port, and from stem to stern; those furious, lashing waves towering high above the proud towers; the rolling deck, a perfect test for an acrobat; the dank smell of foul air and sick humans; the sea and sky covered with. a heavy grey veiling: a perfect picture of an Atlantic storm at its furious height.

At Home, Gladys Little

Manuscripts

I ALONE

Outside, the rain pounded steadily on the roof of the' house; the flashes of lightning darted boldly across the sky; at intervals, the thunder roared as a lion caught in the hunter's trap. Inside, the flickering light of the fireplace cast huge and distorted shadows upon the walls ; the radio poured forth words made meaningless by the ever-returning thunder; the clock on the mantle above the fireplace ticked nervously.

The Americans, Joe Sullivan

Manuscripts

THE WESTERNER

The cowboy is as traditional and as colorfully American as is Thanksgiving. Today, however, he is too often falsely represented by those overworked mediums _ the cinema and radio. In spite of this, the modern cattle man, the name he prefers to cowboy, remains as distinctive and picturesque as ever, for the vast West has changed but a little since the days of Kit Carson.

Song Without Music, Lucy Kaufman

Manuscripts

No abstract provided.

The Supper, Joan Fuller

Manuscripts

"The stew is delicious, Miss Prand," he said, and the tight bodice of her dress seemed suddenly to pinch with the expansion of her pleasure. She knotted her fingers together in her lap under the edge of the table cloth.

"You really like stew, Mr. Crawley?" she asked. She had made it very carefully but she had been afraid it was too ordinary.

"Very much."

He was such a tall and handsome man and with such a voice. She hadn't had anyone like him rent her front room for a long time. Of course she didn't give any of the …

There Are Men, Janet Jarrett

Manuscripts

No abstract provided.

Education In A Democracy, Leo A. Woodruff

Manuscripts

Education is of vital important in any form of government. We have seen by the example of dictatorship countries that the right kind of education is an absolute necessity. They had to have their ideas, no matter how twisted they might be, forced upon their people, before they could come as far as they have. The type of education a dictatorship should have is usually decided by the dictator, and is used to accomplish his individual desires. Education is of no less importance in a democracy. The educational system should be determined by the people, and the goal should be …

Of Purely Social Significance, Lucy Kaufman

Manuscripts

It was generally considered a privilege to be among Mrs. Howard Wonderly, Junior's guests on any occasion. Her social gatherings were frequented by only those who moved in the most elite circles, and each affair shone as a sterling example of infallible taste and unsurpassed propriety. With magnificence the smooth black limousines would draw up before the heavy door, and immaculate chauffeurs would leap from their vehicles and commit the ennobled visitors to polished doormen. With faultless execution, the pompous dinners would be served to the assembled group of gourmets. With carefully voiced thanks, spoken in exactly the proper phrases, …

The Storm, Robert Cornett

Manuscripts

Thunderstorms hold a peculiar fascination for me. The dark clouds arising suddenly out of the west; a strange stillness in the air as if the world had stopped in anticipation of some portentous event; the pale, eerie light in the atmosphere which gradually turns into darkness as the clouds draw near; the rumble of distant thunder and intermittent flashes lightning across the horizon and the consequent climax in wind, rain, and bright, sharp streaks of lightning with crackling thunder, gives to me, instead of fear, a reeling of loneliness, a depressed, awful feeling.

Trilogy In Hysteria, Janet Jarrett

Manuscripts

She took out the jar of cold cream and set it on the dressing table before her and looked in the mirror. She had looked good tonight. She had meant to look good. It was her husband's first night home. Not her husband ... Not her husband. She wished she would look old. She took the shades off the lamps. That was better. She looked worse.

Front Matter

Manuscripts

No abstract provided.

Volume 11, Issue 2: Full Issue

Manuscripts

No abstract provided.

Excerpts

Manuscripts

No abstract provided.

A Great Master, Maxine Demlow

Manuscripts

In a huge, deep, easy chair, a bit to the side of the enormous fireplace, reclined an elderly, distinguished-looking gentleman in whose face were indented the lines belonging to fatigue and age. Calmly he sat there, peacefully smoking his beloved, favorite pipe, one of those old English types, providing a deep bowl with a huge capacity for tobacco, one quite resembling the pipe of the famed, illustrious character, Sherlock Holmes. The smoke curled around his head until it gave the appearance of a hazy, misty wreath entwined above him. The gentleman was deeply, profoundly engaged in thought. This was easily …

Gus, Patrick Hadler

Manuscripts

Probably no one on this earth has a more thankless job than the overland truck driver. I couldn't help thinking how much these knights of the concrete pathways and their roaring steeds were doing to ease crowded wartime shipping conditions as I watched that great lumbering fifteen ton monster roll noisily into a small country filling station on that boiling August afternoon. From its glass encased cab perched high above the gravel driveway stepped the young driver. He couldn't have been over twenty-two or three. His face was damp and grimy after the long straining hours of bouncing over the …

A Modern Drugstore, Richard G. Finley

Manuscripts

Who is the person who has not walked into a drugstore without being promptly and completely confused? Who is the person who has not bent an ear to the sage advice of a bespectled clerk, "Pardon me sir, but I would suggest that you take this other aisle to the prescription counter, we have had no word from five customers who went the other way two weeks ago. We are still searching for them."

Superman Grandpa, Carl Shultz

Manuscripts

In a quaint little white and green house on Archington Avenue one sunny afternoon, Jane, the mistress of the house, was knitting a sweater. As she worked over her masterpiece, she listened intently to the voice coming from grandfather's room. Once again his imaginative mind was working overtime, and his daydreaming gremlins were carrying him off to a land of oblivion. Jane listened, "Whish, with a quick change of clothing, I stand before you as Superman!"

Winter, Jacquline Crist

Manuscripts

No abstract provided.

The November Persecutions Of 1938, Anastasia Schwarzleder

Manuscripts

The month of November, 1938, had started on a dreary note in Berlin; it had been raining for several days; the skies were dark and clouded.

On the fifth, my father's younger brother had left Germany with his family and his orchestra. Of Course, we were glad to see him get out of the infernal country, yet we felt sad at seeing a near relative leave us. Now, besides us, my grandparents and my father's older brother were the only members of our large family still in Berlin.

Land Of Zion Reborn And Hebrew Revived, Raymond Y. Sussman

Manuscripts

SCENE I - IN THE FIELDS

Spring. The Palestine countryside begins to bloom. Plants begin to grow, and the leaves on the trees start to turn green again. In the flelds the farmers begin to plow the dark, rich earth. The farm helpers sit behind the plows, or scatter the stones or spread the seeds. And as they work they sing together: "Shuru, habitu ur'u, rna gadol hayom hazeh, esh yokedet bachazeh, v'harnachraisha shuv polachat basadeh. Et, ina koosh tooriah v'kilshon, hit lakdu b's'arah, v'nad- Iika shuv, shuv et ha-adama, b'shalhevet y'ruka." ("How great is this day! The heart glows …

The Thicket, Joan Hayden

Manuscripts

As I scuff through the fallen leaves these days, I find my thoughts turning constantly to The Thicket, my former home in southern Indiana. Autumn will be arriving there, too, and I wonder what it must be like there now. Indian summer must bring dreams to the old place of all the years that have gone, and of the seasons past now. I wonder if it will ever be spring there again?

The Heart Of America, Eileen Hoover

Manuscripts

Do not allow Pete to deceive you with his modern ideas and speeches. He is really quite a character from out of the old world with all his old-fashioned ways.

Italy can boast of the birth of one Peter Galbo about half a century ago. Having been reared there until he was eighteen years old, Pete to this day has the dialect and mannerisms of a true Italian. Surprising, yet true, Pete's ancestry has never caused him to be partial to his native land. America has never had any truer immigrant. Pete expresses his greatest pride when he steps into …

The Girl With The Tan Hair, Jean Pittenger

Manuscripts

I was the long desired baby sister with the "tan" hair. My brother, who was six years old at the time of my birth, had ordered me specially. Because he greatly admired the blond baby sister of one of his boy friends, he made numerous and serious appeals and accepted my arrival with the same enthusiasm as he had displayed when given his highly-prized, red tricycle. Although most people called me a "towhead," Bob still considered me his little sister with the "tan" hair.

Fantasies Of The Night, Lena Willkie

Manuscripts

Night reached greedy fingers across a leaden sky. In the west, a sullen November sunset faded into a melancholy gray. Naked trees swayed and bent and moaned under the whiplash of a winter wind. Leaves whirled and fell in a lifeless dance. Dull, brown, untidy lawns darkened in the fading light.

Mariclon's Cove, Mary Alice Kessler

Manuscripts

It was a bright, brisk day. The foaming sea crashed gaily against shining rocks. The wind blew high and strong. My hair was torn back from my face; my wet face, so clean and free. I was free. The wind and the sea and I were free .. free .. free. Life had thrown me into a tossing, black-green world. A windy spray-world of clouds and burning sun and screaming gulls. My wet dungarees clung to my legs and I tasted the salt of a day at sea.

The Banker, Doris Daley

Manuscripts

Sylvester scowled at the traffic light because it was detaining him for a valuable moment or two; even though he could have crossed safely, he waited because that is the law. When the light changed, he hurried 'across the street with others who had eight o'clock appointments with destiny, and, just as he did every morning, looked in all the smart shop windows.

The Spot Of Ink, Lucy Kaufman

Manuscripts

Looking away from his book, Peter stared at the hard hot brightness of the one Iighted lamp. He liked the yellow compact circle of light thrown from the unshaded bulb, for although it was adequate for reading, it was too small to illuminate the room. For a long time, almost it seemed, from the time of his first coherent thought, he had wanted to burst the bonds which chained him to the room. And each night he read to forget the soiled cracked wallpaper and the thick film of dust which smudged the window panes and slid along the edges …

"Saturday's Child Has Far To Go", Mary Elizabeth Black

Manuscripts

The courthouse square of our town is always crowded on summer Saturday nights. Cars are wedged neatly around the four sides of the square in every available parking place, the shops and groceries are ablaze with lights, and horns honk wildly as little children dash across the streets to join their friends in playing tag on the courthouse lawn. As one makes one's way through the crowd, women with bundles of all sizes and shapes and grocery bags with celery peeping out of the tops jostle one from all sides. Farmers dressed in faded overalls and toddlers licking ice cream …

Lucifer And The Light Lady, Joy Higdon

Manuscripts

Lucifer was a very young lightning bug, but although he was very young, he knew his way around. All the lady lightning bugs were acquainted with Lucifer and they were fond of him.

An Afternoon, Mary Chappell

Manuscripts

Now the cab was leaving the downtown area and was entering the residential district. I sat forward in my seat and looked out the window. Apparently this was not a fashionable neighborhood, but middle class and decaying. I had never been there before and looked at the big, dirty frame houses, old, stone churches with dead ivy clinging to them, and maples, bare of their leaves and dripping in the rain.