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Fiction

Escape

I feel rather satisfied when I hand the package over at the post office. And then that evening, because the universe has a wicked sense of humour, he calls me. I’m vacuuming my apartment for the first time since my inspired spring cleaning in April. It’s a beautiful day so I have all the windows open and I’m even moving furniture around to make sure I get all the neglected corners. As I am pushing the couch back against the wall, my phone starts to vibrate. I leave the couch in its diagonal position and dig my phone out of my pocket. My screen tells me that it’s Ethan calling.

No fucking way, I think to myself.

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Cut Piece

I joined Joel on the couch and put my hand on his cheek. I could certainly feel him. I gently stroked his scruffy cheek and then pat it lightly. Then, before I really knew what I was doing I pulled my hand back and slapped him as hard as I could. He turned the page of his book. I looked at Rachel, feeling a bit guilty, but she didn’t seem at all surprised at what I had just done.

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Alejandra Melian-Morse
Losing Mojo

Towards the end of the row, there was a crate that seemed empty and Hope walked right passed it. But I peered inside and all of a sudden felt my breath catch in my throat. Inside, sitting silently just in front of the wall, was a German Shepherd mix. He was quiet, but he didn’t seem dejected. He just sat with his two jet-black front paws poised perfectly in front of him and stared back at me.

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Alejandra Melian-Morse
Stuck Like Magnets to the Fridge

When the door closes three magnets tumble to the floor and before I do anything else I pick them up and admire each of them. They were each bought in a different city years ago when Patrick and I took our trip around the world. I smile to myself. We were so broke, pretty much living off of bread and cheese as we tried to get from city to city. Still, we wanted a memory from each place and, as gaudy as they were, the magnets were affordable. I smile to myself and place them back in their spots.

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Alejandra Melian-Morse
The Familiar Smell of Coffee in the Morning

I sit down at the little table by the kitchen window and watch her as she cracks two eggs into a bowl. Her reddish-brown hair is up high in a carelessly knotted bun and she still has smudged traces of black eyeliner under her eyes. She’s wearing a checkered pair of men’s boxers and an old Ramones t-shirt.


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Alejandra Melian-Morse