All posts by Matthew Hartwell

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Those Things Left Behind

“This is why we don’t go to Branson,” Mark says, but I refuse to stop smiling like a child who has just spotted a mini-golf course with a giant dinosaur. Which, as a matter of fact, since we’re in Branson, I had, earlier today. “I

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He’s mocking me. I know he is. We’ve been in this line for thirty minutes, and he refuses to recognize me. Avoids eye contact, talks to the person on his other side. But he knows I’m here. He’s already given himself away. He’s been mocking

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She presses up against the fence, eyes like an owl’s, scanning for a foothold. Panic flickers across her face as she takes in the height of the barrier. She chews her upper lip. Across the yard is home. She scratches at her shoulder. This is