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Art by David Revoy/ Blender Foundation

Windows

By Ben Pienaar

Usually if I get someone outright delusional I refer them to a specialist. Minor self-delusions are fine — in fact almost everyone does that to some degree. I’m fine with almost anything, in moderate measures, but when someone comes to me genuinely believing in the impossible … I must refer them.

Take for instance the young man who sits before me now, Dane Fynes. All signs show him to be a reasonable teenager. He’s well dressed, has a clear and present gaze. A rational attitude, but with an open mind, and he has just the right amounts of introspection and self-consciousness.

And yet he believes the impossible.

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Art by David Revoy/ Blender Foundation

Blood or Black Tears

By Jennifer Loring

“Why won’t you talk to me, Marcela? Don’t you like me anymore?” Soledad said.

“Nothin’ to say you don’t already know.”

A large, red egg of flesh had swelled over Marcela’s left eyebrow. Probably her mother’s work. Soledad had visited Marcela in half a dozen shelters all over the city, and every time there was a fresh injury somewhere on her little body. The girl crossed her arms over her chest, her knees pulled up as far as she could manage. A defensive, protective pose. The children trusted no one but each other, and even that trust had an expiration date once they exhibited symptoms of adolescence. Most didn’t expect to live that long when so many things could go wrong for them on the street.

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Art by David Revoy/ Blender Foundation

The Most Qualified Applicant

By Kathy Charles

Allison White exited the Columbus Circle subway at a brisk pace, heels clacking noisily on the pavement. She was confident in the direction she was going, her stride full of purpose. She had to be. Her very livelihood depended on it.

Allison was a woman who knew things. She knew how to screen a phone call in a professional and courteous manner. She knew how to groom a Bernese Mountain dog and feed it a veterinarian-prescribed diet.  She even knew how to change a light bulb in a chandelier. That task had been particularly challenging, not so much for its complexity, but for the sheer height of the damn thing, hanging at least twenty feet above a living area bigger than her whole apartment.

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Art by David Revoy/ Blender Foundation

Too Much Sleep

By Brendan Verville

Linda was over for her weekly visit at my cabin, her pant legs still wet from the long canoe ride, and we were trading ghost stories. Strangely enough, out of the hundreds of conversations we had shared there in my cabin, we had never tried to scare each other as we were, or even touched upon the spiritual realm. We usually just cooked food, talked about nature, listened to music on my transistor radio, or made love. Maybe there was something about that night, like a thickness, without a single breeze to scratch the branches outside, or an animal to grace the well-worn trails. Or maybe it was because the sun had set so quickly, and it was too dark for Linda to travel home. So we curled up on my grandpa’s couch with the lights as dark as the windows, and wondered what we should do.

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Art by David Revoy/ Blender Foundation

Finale in Blue

By Alexandra Grunberg

Bernadette ignored the young woman’s muffled screams as she added another coat of paint to the canvas. The piece glistened in the light of her tiny studio, the window shut against the pressing darkness of the night outside. The woman’s body was tightly contained between the wooden back and the canvas surface stretched taut across the frame, though her minimal bucking caused the brush to jerk off course, just as Bernadette had planned.

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