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nba odds 2019Winter 2015 Issue

Coma By Tiffany Nelson

First Prize, 2015 Literal Latte Fiction Award.
It was a silly accident, really. They were idling at a four-way stop. Mark was preoccupied, his brain grappling for the fastest route to Auntie Donna’s house. They were already late. It had been three years since their last visit, and all the once-familiar streets were now littered with subdivisions full of crescents and cul-de-sacs….

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Out of the Blue By Colin Brezicki

Second Prize, 2015 Literal Latte Fiction Award.
I learned of the mortal health risks in reading Shakespeare from my star pupil, Henry Sprague III. You could say Henry made an impact, though the irony might offend. It doesn’t take much to offend these days, and nothing does it like the truth…

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Cancer (& Other Unforgivable Curses) By Michelle Collins Anderson

I got the note in Esmé’s backpack this afternoon: her long black cape has become “a distraction to the class” and she is no longer welcome to wear it to school. There was no mention of the wand. It is difficult to be a wizard among “Muggles”…

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Beneath By Jessica Hutter

Winner, 2015 Literal Latte Short Short Contest.
Homecoming starts after sunset.
The crowd spills in from the three directions: East lot, North lot, and Weir lot — the one named after the teacher who died the year before we came….

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Spring 2015 Issue

Cloud Seeding in the Andes By Amalia Gladhart

I wasn’t supposed to go down by the cemetery, but I wasn’t with a boy. I was with Ana Inés and her cousins — we were looking for unguarded guavas — and then I was alone. So I was the only one who saw the plane, weaving and wobbling with a sound like a hive of bees about to explode or a lawnmower pushed way beyond its limits…

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The Russian Girl By Nancy Ludmerer

We flew the flag at half-mast after Marina Lubov died. We gathered in the rec hall for what we thought would be a memorial service but that turned out to be something else. All 49 of us sat cross-legged on the floor in our blue shorts and white Camp Wigwam T-shirts, our silence broken only by occasional weeping….

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Picnic at Angola By John Haggerty

Winner, 2014 Literal Latte Short Short Contest.
All through the hot summer of 1957, whenever they had the time, Patricia wanted to picnic down near the prison at Angola. She liked to be right up close, as close as they could get without the guards shooing them away. She and Clemson would drive down one of the levees until the fences were in view…

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Trouble Brewing By Kristin Walrod

Mom said, it’s important for me to serve, and that’s all she said about it, nothing about my dead little brother or Dad’s grief poured into the hood of broken-down cars in our front yard, or about the trouble I was in with the county and school and that other thing. She said that, then packed up and joined the Army, like she’s some eighteen year-old stumbling drunk into the recruitment office…

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Fall 2014 Issue

The Book of Fishing By Mark Holden

Third Prize, 2014 Literal Latte Fiction Award.
1961: The river ran cold and clear, alive with minnows. He waded in until the water reached his knees. Above him, the sun. Around him, the minnows: churning, flashing, crashing into his legs and bouncing off, each with barely the force of a fly. Yet there were hundreds, thousands, of jittery fish passing him wave after wave until white-crowned, gray-bellied clouds shrouded the sun and stole its power, and stole whatever had made the fish a moment ago vital….

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Kaplan By Jeanne Levy-Church

Kaplan left for work yesterday morning holding a glass of grapefruit juice in his left hand.

“Why are you taking a glass of juice?” I shouted out the window.

“What?” he shouted looking up at the sky.

“The glass!” I shouted back….

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