Break From Reality. Daily.
This story is by Gregory Faraone and was part of our 2020 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here. She could see the reflection of the candle flickering before him in his eyes as he glanced over. “What do you think it is that divides the atmosphere from the water?”…
This story is by Gregory Faraone and was part of our 2019 Summer Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here. Cheap white paint lines the cramped interior of a dimly lit, eight-by-eight room. The only light comes dangling from a cord above a table in the center of the room. Silently,…
This story is by Gregory Faraone and was part of our 2018 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here. “Marsha, Marsha, Marsha,” blares from the television in the bedroom. James gets off the bed, mumbles, “I need a cigarette,” and walks downstairs. Outside, a man in a black leather jacket…
This story is by Gregory Faraone and was part of our 2017 Winter Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here. Fuck – Peters just hit a three pointer. My heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach as the gym roars with sounds of excitement and frustration. The Golden Rams are…
This story is by Gregory Faraone and was part of our 2017 Winter Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here. Fuck – Peters just hit a three pointer. My heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach as the gym roars with sounds of excitement and frustration. The Golden Rams are…
This story is by Gregory Faraone and was part of our 2017 Summer Writing Contest. You can find all the Summer Writing Contest stories here. Bruce’s once glorious red 1967 Chevrolet Camaro gallops down a dark heavily wooded backroad. He takes another drag of his Lucky Strike, shifts into third gear, and lays down on…
This story is by Gregory Faraone and was part of our 2017 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the Spring Writing Contest stories here. The holding cell was bleak and claustrophobic. Regrets covered the bars and stained the floors. The concrete walls bore no windows and no connection to the outside world. The cast…
