Fiction Commons^™

Sanctuary, Rosemary Ronsheim

Manuscripts

HAVING wished for a moment that the pink heat behind the isingless door would him instead of burning the sales of his shoes, the boy jumped to his feet. He had pressed hard against the short, iron skirt of the round stove and the burning leather vias scorching. At the same time, Mr. Dorty had called "Sixty." Mr. Dorty was night operator for the District Telegraph Company, and the boy was "Number 60 of the DTC." The operator instructed him to go to "325" for a message. No time was lost in putting on a coat, since this was an …

Jesu Maria 1960, Allyn Wood

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The massive bell, resting on the rug in their living-room amid its travelling - wrappings, was much larger than they had expected. The girl and her mother felt their cottage grow smaller like a rock surrounded by rising tide. They were not inclined to discuss the bell in its presence, lest their minds turn on them with salty and even rude criticism from the inanimate thing's point of view; but they noticed for the first time how poor was the view from their windows, which did not look to sea. It was a great iron bell, with rust scoured thin …

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No abstract provided.

Animals Among Us: The Lives Of Humans And Animals In Contemporary American Fiction Edited By John Yunker, Ashley E. Reis

The Goose

Review of Animals Among Us: The Lives of Humans and Animals in Contemporary American Fiction, edited by John Yunker.

Volume 14, Issue 1: Full Issue

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No abstract provided.

The Last Word, The Editor

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No abstract provided.

The Departure, The Vital Storm, Frances King

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No abstract provided.

Lady, Jack Averitt

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In a little mound of dirt about two miles south of Kwanghan, China, lies the remains of the best friend the 425th Bombardment Squadron ever had. Her name was "Lady" - a name that was symbolic of her character, a name that became synonymous with luck in the only heavy bomber outfit in China.

Futility, Anonymous Author

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We stood in bread lines. We slept on "trustee" mattresses, drank "trustee" powdered milk, ate "trustee" canned corn--beef, wore "trustee" shoes and clothing, lived in "trustee" houses, burned "trustee" coal. We existed. We are today's young men and women. We were yesterday's children. We carry the scorch of the depression. Our parents knew what they were fighting. We knew only what we heard in the muted conversations of our parents, the look on our father's face when he came home from tramping the streets all day looking for a job or just sitting on the Court House steps.

A Country Rhapsody, Beverly Mussawir

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The water was so clear that I could see the bottom at the deepest point. Bright shafts of sunlight shone through the branches of the trees and pierced through the water to the bottom where they glistened on the brightly-colored pebbles, transforming them into shining jewels.

My Room Is Mirrors, Jack Wilkins

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No abstract provided.

On Solitude, William T. Edwards

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In the early months of World War II, I had occasion to spend six months on the construction of a refinery in the northern reaches of the Yukon Territory. Because of the inaccessibility of the location, men hired to build the refinery were flown in by airplane. A more remote spot is not to be found on the North American continent than this particular region. The entire Yukon boasts of only two small towns, Whitehorse and Dawson- cities that came into being during the gold rush of 1898. The only other points of human habitation are a small number of …

How I Got My Name, Andrew Sutton White

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During the last days of slavery, my grandfather was a child on a plantation in Mississippi. He, being the son of a favorite household servant, was given the privilege of studying with the master's children under an efficient tutor. Gratefulness for this opportunity and eagerness to learn caused him to advance rapidly.

Secret, Lester C. Nagley Jr.

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For weeks we have been sitting here in this position. The camouflage nets have been draped over each vehicle, looking like a nightmare out of the Arabian Nights, for weeks now. Everything has a harried, slovenly look, but maybe it's because this is a "secret" position. When we were ordered up here, it was under the heaviest cloak of secrecy. All identification was removed from the trucks, each man was inspected for any signs of which outfit he belonged to; they went through our clothing for addresses or cards. This was big, we had been told. We were to cross …

I Have A Rendezvous, George C. Tyler

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There was no light in the compartment, unless you want to count a dim red night lamp at the base of a bulkhead as light. For a moment the red glare confused him, but when he rolled over, a carbine butt struck his forehead and he knew exactly where he was.

Going Home, Anne Morgan

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We retired early, although sleep seemed a waste of time as we were so anxious to start, but rest was needed for the long day ahead. When the soft gray violet light of dawn peeped out of the East, we scrambled out of bed. The first faint call of the redbird floated through the window, and the song of the neighborhood oriole seemed sweeter than ever, because we were so happy. The rest of the world was hushed. It was for the moment ours and ours alone.

Leaf By Leaf, Wendell D. Phillips

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A Tree in Autumn is a lovely sight. One tree alone can concentrate the beauty of a whole woodland, leaf by leaf and branch by branch, as one flower can give the essence of a whole garden.

Lady Of The Sky, Glenn H. Fisher

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THERE among the sunlit spaces you came to have a talk with me. I saw you first standing on a sunbeam with your head thrown back and your hair streaming in the wind. On tiptoe you were--laughing--and your laughter was a harmony to the wild, strange music of the sky. How lovely you were--Iike an angel who had showered in the goldust of the sun.

Let's Call Them Glimpses, C.P. Hopkins

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No abstract provided.

Afternoon Piece, Mary Alice Kessler

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I sat down in the gray and green chair

And crossed my legs with retrospect,

The stem of the shining creme de menthe glass

Quivered between his long white fingers.

Doors, Edna Hinton

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No abstract provided.

Maybe Tomorrow, C.P. Hopkins

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HARRY, I wish I had a typewriter. If I had one right here now, I'd sit down and write a story. No, I don't think it would be a short story. It'd be closer to a novel. Yes, I'm sure it would be a novel.

Swift, Allyn Wood

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He is a Swift,

Lichen alive;

Pine cone with legs

And a fleeting fire

"Great Guy", Richard J.O. Green

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The cold seeped through Officer Moriarity's greatcoat and numbed his body. Steam spiraled from his nostrils in dragonesque patterns, and the far reaches of the street light at the mouth of the alley fell upon him and ricocheted off his badge and buttons as he lumbered toward the street. With cold numbed fingers he tugged a ponderous watch from beneath his coat and paused to examine its scarred face beneath the light ... eleven-thirty, half-an-hour until call-in time.

What A Measley Shame!, David Craig

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I was five years old and my brother Bob was seven when the measles came to our house. I went to bed one night feeling puny and woke up the next morning with a countenance. as disfigured as a painting by Picasso. Bob came in my room before I had· seen myself and burst into sadistic laughter.

Behind The Curtain, William Osburn

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The two men emerged from the building housing the linguistic offices of the Paris Peace Conference. They hailed a cab, gave the driver the address of a superior hotel, and arranged themselves comfortably for the ride. The older man, a Nebraskan by birth and education, was one of the State Department's lesser officials who was able to speak Russian.

The Red Hibiscus, Jan Skinner

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MAYBE I remember it because it was my first cocktail party, but I don't think so. I was in a hurry to be classified as an adult - to live up to my size. So I was sort of grateful when Les asked mother to drag me along to his "Welcome-Home- Liz" party.

Crescendo, Mary Alice Kessler

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I heard a horn crunch on the air

And a piece of laughter whistled behind a building,

I Weep, George W. Coffin

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Why do I weep? Why do my tears well over the brim and splash in dark patches on my shirt? Let me tell you why I weep. Let me tell you why tears flood my eyes and shower on my breast.

Front Matter

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No abstract provided.