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Four times a day,
we help you
get the words out.
Write in any genre in
300 words or less.
Hit publish.
Read. Be Read.
Write. Now.
We were huddled in a group in the foyer.  I was glad of the warmth of the hotel after the biting wind in the cemetery.  My hands were still dug deep inside my pockets and felt as if they would take a while to defrost in spite of the blazing fire(more)
I had prepared myself for the worst.  I mean, there were so many possible variables of doom flying around that to pick any one of them would be enough to make a grown man cry.  I was a grown man and right now I wanted to cry.  
scabby knees, torn stockings
on the fence between the farm and the baseball field
who are they? say the boys
who slide in the dust and pass the ball
bite your chipped fingernails
watch them whoop, holler at the sun (more)
It's not often you can point to a memory and go "There, that was a pivotal point in my history."  Those moments are like scars.  That is, knotty, raised lumps in your mind you touch frequently without realizing it.  When people ask, you say, "Oh, that's from the compound fracture I got(more)