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Graveyard Rose

by on May 6, 2014 in Poetry | 1 comment

It was sometime after midnight, with five hundred miles to go When I pulled into the truck stop looking for a cup of Joe; I’m a loner by my nature, and a trucker by my trade. It’s a lucky man can do the things he loves and still get paid.   It was just another diner, nothing...

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Wounds

by on Jun 5, 2012 in Poetry | 5 comments

By Seanan McGuire What is involved in the transubstantiation of one thing (Sea foam and mist, scale and sinew, pearl-tinted hands) Into another, quite against its nature, quite against design? Roses into women, oh, that’s easy, easy as planting a seed; All flowers yearn for faces they...

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Clockwork Chickens

by on Jun 12, 2011 in Poetry | 0 comments

by Seanan McGuire “Earl,” I said, “what the hell am I supposed to do With a clockwork chicken? The springs aren’t wound quite right; it crows Eight times a night, and twice at dawn. What’s worse, it can’t decide whether it’s a rooster Or a hen—how do you cook a clockwork egg?...

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The Tolling of Pavlov’s Bells

by on Jan 6, 2011 in Short Fiction | 0 comments

By Seanan McGuire POINT OF INFECTION +61 DAYS I suppose there are things one can only learn through experience; the fever is coming on faster than I had expected, making it difficult to organize my thoughts. In the distance, I can hear them ringing, louder than the sirens, louder than...

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Dying with Her Cheer Pants On

by on Apr 7, 2010 in Short Fiction | 0 comments

3,400 Words Bridget ducked behind the remains of a burned-out Impala, crouching low as the zap-zap-zap of blaster fire split the October night. The sound was already familiar enough to turn her stomach. Not just because it meant another survivor had been spotted—because there was nothing...

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