Sharpington’s Coffers – Current Score 49.8 – Erik Goldsmith

A perfunctory stare hovers above the counter of Sharpington Coffers, a small antique store on the south side of Picadilly Circus. The owner of the stare, one Mr. Bartholomew Sharpington, watches his entrance with the patience of the rat catcher, waiting outside a hole for his prey, his customer, who will be walking through those doors… any… second… now. Ching. Ching. A tall man in a black hat steps into the store and shakes his…

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The Cure for Cancer – Ryan Fitzpatrick

The cure for cancer exists. It can be found in the Mato Grosso region of Brazil, an intertropical convergence zone in the heart of the country. Due to the minerals and nutrients blown in from both the North and the South Sea, the area is covered in a thick blanket of rainforest, making the region rich in a biodiversity that extends not only to flora and fauna, but to other, harder to classify biota. The…

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The Wife of Fabian Vitalik – Mariah Montoya

The day that Fabian Vitalik’s wife left, rain masked the roar of the sea just beyond their rock garden. Fabian ended fishing early because of the storm, and came home to find his wife dozing on the sofa by the window, unfazed by the sharp pat pat pat of rain fingers on glass. He found her enthralling when she was still and senseless like this, so he sat down and watched her breathe, the pearl…

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My Book Report on Starlight – Joachim Heijndermans

It’s strange. The school isn’t like I imaged it would be at all. I figured it would look more like in the movies, with long hallways of lockers and posters that say things like: ‘reading is fun’ or have quotes by famous people I’ve never heard of. But it’s nothing like that. The hallways aren’t even hallways, when you get down to it. This place looks more like the dome at a spaceport, but with…

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The Number of the Tribe – Gerald Warfield

Gurn levered himself up from his bed of furs, hoping he hadn’t cried out. A few embers glowed in the fire pit, casting warm light on the roof of skins. Around him, he heard only gentle breathing and the snoring of his mother. No one else was awake. No one’s pulse raced but his. He could never sleep after a visit from the white figure, and so he rose, naked, and quietly skirted the fire…

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Notes Towards a New Fairytale – Patrick Doerksen

When I was fourteen, my mother sent me off for the summer to my Opa’s farm. The idea was to get out of Canada, see a little bit of the world, and learn a bit of German while my brain was yet plastic. “Just think what a head start you’ll have on your language requirement,” she said, for it had been decided in her mind that I would get a PhD. “It may take you…

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