Carl Fuerst δημόσια
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The Breakroom Stories is an audio journal that specializes in strange fiction. We want to be a publication that evokes the eerie familiarity we all feel with the region between wakefulness and dream. We want to be a forum for odd or untraditional voices. We want to be a home for stories that make their readers shiver and shake. To paraphrase David Foster Wallace, we want to be a source of fiction that comforts the disturbed, and that disturbs the comfortable.
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He followed the number on the card with one finger and dialled with another, the receiver in the crook of his neck. The call was picked up but nobody spoke. He replaced the receiver after a few seconds and took a sip from the glass on the table in front of him. A thread of blood appeared in the water from where he had bitten his lip, fraying out as…
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"Now we turned away from the crushed wreck and again climbed into our planes to go on searching for him. But I was thinking, 'O you resuscitators from the land of the living, bank on the wind and fly back to your limbo called life. There is no saving one whom only death can keep alive.'"
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Residing in Prince Edward County, (Ontario), when Rebecca is not the CEO of a busy household, traveling or freelance writing, she is plotting out my next dark fiction story. Active on both Twitter (@rhhouse) and Instagram (@rhousewriter), you can find her stories or articles published on CommuterLit.com, With Painted Words and in two upcoming print…
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It was a little less than two miles down Elm Street that we saw it. Blue with white shutters and trim, a large bay window and a garage attached to the house. Tall and homey, with a rolling yard and three stories of neatly painted edging. Completely out of our price range, and yet- “Ned-” I said, the startle in my voice bringing his gaze up from the…
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You almost cried, but you didn’t. While you tossed and turned and the room grew hot, as you screamed frustrations into your pillow and bit your lip and ripped at the bed sheets in your anger, you never once let a tear escape. You must know, my dear, that I truly believe that your strength is one of your most admirable qualities.…
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She looks up and sees him, only a few feet away. Nessa almost halts in shock. She hadn’t known that boys could be pretty. Not in the way that girls were pretty. Pretty that makes you stop and stare. But there he was. Except for the eyes. His eyes were very, very ugly. Surreal. Colourless. They were cold. They hurt to look at.…
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