A few years ago my mother asked me to go shopping with her because she needed a new dress. I don’t like to shop with others, and I’m not a person. However, we for the mall together at last.We visited nearly every , and she tried on dress after dress, them all. As the day went on, I grew tired and my mother grew., at our last shop, my mother tried on a lovely blue three-piece dress. The blouse had a bow at the neckline. As I stood in the room with her, I watched as she tried, with much , to tie it. Her hands were so badly crippled from arthritis(关节炎) that she couldn’t do it. Immediately, my impatience to an overwhelming(无法抗拒的) wave of sympathy for her. I turned away to hide the that came up involuntarily.Regaining my calmness, I turned back to tie the bow for her. The dress was beautiful, and she bought it. Our shopping trip was , but the event was etched(铭刻) in my memory. For the rest of the day, my kept returning to that moment in the dressing room and to the of my mother’s hands trying to tie that bow. Those hands that had fed me, bathed me, dressed me, comforted me, and, , prayed for me, were now touching me in a remarkable .Later in the evening, I went to my mother’s room, her hands in mine, kissed them and, much to her , told her that to me they were the most hands in the world.A．simplyB．finallyC．actuallyD．normallyA．patientB．honestC．respectfulD．trustworthyA．took offB．kept offC．got offD．set offA．personB．storeC．assistant D．bossA．rememberingB．buyingC．rejecting D．recommendingA．frustratedB．worriedC．tiredD．upsetA．ImmediatelyB．FinallyC．TraditionallyD．QuietlyA．sittingB．diningC．dressingD．waitingA．timeB．prideC．experienceD．difficultyA．gave offB．gave away C．gave wayD．gave upA．tearsB．moneyC．expressionD．feelingA．offB．outC．onD．overA．headB．mindC．heartD．brainA．senseB．belief C．vision D．consciousnessA．lovingB．livelyC．liveD．aliveA．first of allB．most of allC．all in allD．after allA．styleB．fashionC．mannerD．formA．tookB．madeC．removedD．replacedA．sorrowB．disappointmentC．regretD．surpriseA．commonB．effectiveC．beautifulD．useful2015届黑龙江齐齐哈尔实验中学高三上期末英语试卷（带解析）答案A. written B. read C. seen D. done——精英家教网——
暑假天气热？在家里学北京名师课程，
A. written B. read C. seen D. done 【】
题目列表(包括答案和解析)
Read the following four passages．Each passage is followed by several questions or unfinished statements．For each of them there are 4 choices marked A, B, C and D．Choose the one that fits best according to the information given in the passage．
　　I've always known that my son uses his cellphone a lot, but his cellphone bill last month really got my attention, He had received nearly 2, 000 text messages(短信), and had sent nearly as many．Of course, he was out of school for the summer, and communicating more with friends who were far away．However, I had to wonder how he found time to keep a summer job and complete a summer course in between all that typing with his thumb．
　　I was even more surprised to learn that my son is normal．Teenagers with cellphones send and receive an average of 2.272 text messages a month, Nielsen Mobile says, author of a book called The Dumbest Geheraiion：How the Digital Age Stupefies Young Americans and Jeopardizes(危害)Our Future
　　Some experts say that all that text messaging is making our children stupid, and unable to read nonverbal cues(非语言暗示)such as facial expressions, gestures, postures and other silent signals of mood and attitude．“Unlike telephoning, text messaging doesn't even allow tones or pauses to be sent to others,” says Mark Bauerlein
　　Beyond that, though, I'm not sure I see as much harm as critics of the trend do．I’ve written before on how I initially tried to control my sons texting．But over time, I’ve seen that my son suffers no apparent bad effects, and that he gains a big benefit of easy and continuing contact with many friends．Also, the time he spends texting replaces the hours teenagers used t he dislikes talking on the phone, and says he really doesn't need to do so to stay in touch．
　　I don't think texting makes children stupid．It may make them annoying, when they try to text and talk to you．And it may distract them from math problems or what they have to do for school．
　　I don't see that texting harms the ability of teenagers to communicate, either．My son is as good at interpreting nonverbal cues as any of the older members of our family．If anything, I’ve found him more engaged and easier to communicate with from a distance, since he's constantly available through texting, and responds with faithfulness and speed that any mother would find reassuring(安心的)．
What did the author think of her son sending and receiving so many text messages last month at first?
She was surprised at how he managed it．
She was surprised, but thought it beneficial．
She thought it was normal for teenagers．
She was afraid it would make her son stupid．
Which of the following may Mark Bauerlein encourage children to use more?
Text messaging,
Net chatting．
Telephoning．
Letter writing．
What was the main reason the author changed her mind about her son's texting?
It didn't harm her son's ability to communicate．
It didn't make her son stupid．
Her son didn't spend much time on the phone．
Her son didn't seem to suffer any bad effects from it．
What can we infer from the passage?
She has seen some harm being done by text messaging, but not much．
She often uses text messages to keep in touch with her son．
She will do something to limit her son's cellphone use．
She will try to find out how text messaging makes children stupid．
What does the author want to tell us?
Use of text messages has both advantages and disadvantages．
Some suggestions on encouraging children to use text messages．
Some good changes of her son after using a cellphone．
Text messaging is actually beneficial to children；
There are several ways you can find out about the countries and places you wish to visit. You can talk to friends who have travelled to the places. Or you can go and see a colour film. Or you can read travel books. It would seem that there are three kinds of travel books. The first are those that give a personal, subjective(主观的) account of travels which the author has actually made himself. if they are informative and have a good index(索引), then they can be useful to you when you are planning your travels. The second kind are those books whose purpose is to give a purely objective(客观的) description of things to be done and seen. If a well-read, cultured person has written such a book, then it is even more useful. It can be sorted as a selected guide book. The third kind are those books which are called “a guide” to some place or other. If they are good, they will, in addition to their factual information, give an analysis or an explanation. Like the first kind they can be inspiring and interesting. But their basic purpose is to help the reader who wishes to plan in the most practical way. Whatever kind of travel book you choose you must make sure that it does not describe everything as “wonderful”, “excellent” or “magical”. You must also note its date of publication because travel is a very practical affair and many things change quickly in the twenty-first century. Finally, you should make sure that the contents are well presented and easy to find. This passage is about _______. A. how to travel&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&& B. how to buy travel books C. how to read a travel book&&&&&&&& D. travel books The following travel books may be of use when you plan your travels except _______. A. the book written by some people who have had the same travel experience themselves B. the book which tells you what is worth doing and seeing based on the facts C. the book in which a lot of big adjectives are used to draw your attention D. the book which offers you a lot of useful information like a tour guide
The date of the publication must be noticed because _______. A. the world is changing and so are the places you are going to visit
B. the price of the book is always changing C. the author of the book may be different D. the contents of the book are always the same
There are several ways you can find out about the countries and places you wish to visit. You can talk to friends who have travelled to the places. Or you can go and see a colour film. Or you can read travel books. It would seem that there are three kinds of travel books. The first are those that give a personal, subjective(主观的) account of travels which the author has actually made himself. if they are informative and have a good index(索引), then they can be useful to you when you are planning your travels. The second kind are those books whose purpose is to give a purely objective(客观的) description of things to be done and seen. If a well-read, cultured person has written such a book, then it is even more useful. It can be sorted as a selected guide book. The third kind are those books which are called “a guide” to some place or other. If they are good, they will, in addition to their factual information, give an analysis or an explanation. Like the first kind they can be inspiring and interesting. But their basic purpose is to help the reader who wishes to plan in the most practical way. Whatever kind of travel book you choose you must make sure that it does not describe everything as “wonderful”, “excellent” or “magical”. You must also note its date of publication because travel is a very practical affair and many things change quickly in the twenty-first century. Finally, you should make sure that the contents are well presented and easy to find. 1. This passage is about _______. A. how to travel&&&& &&&&&& &&&&&& &&&&&& B. how to buy travel books C. how to read a travel book& &&&&&& D. travel books 2. The following travel books may be of use when you plan your travels except _______. A. the book written by some people who have had the same travel experience themselves B. the book which tells you what is worth doing and seeing based on the facts C. the book in which a lot of big adjectives are used to draw your attention D. the book which offers you a lot of useful information like a tour guide 3. The date of the publication must be noticed because _______. A. the world is changing and so are the places you are going to visit
B. the price of the book is always changing C. the author of the book may be different D. the contents of the book are always the same
There are several ways you can find out about the countries and places you wish to visit. You can talk to friends who have travelled to the places. Or you can go and see a colour film. Or you can read travel books. It would seem that there are three kinds of travel books. The first are those that give a personal, subjective(主观的) account of travels which the author has actually made himself. if they are informative and have a good index(索引), then they can be useful to you when you are planning your travels. The second kind are those books whose purpose is to give a purely objective(客观的) description of things to be done and seen. If a well-read, cultured person has written such a book, then it is even more useful. It can be sorted as a selected guide book. The third kind are those books which are called “a guide” to some place or other. If they are good, they will, in addition to their factual information, give an analysis or an explanation. Like the first kind they can be inspiring and interesting. But their basic purpose is to help the reader who wishes to plan in the most practical way. Whatever kind of travel book you choose you must make sure that it does not describe everything as “wonderful”, “excellent” or “magical”. You must also note its date of publication because travel is a very practical affair and many things change quickly in the twenty-first century. Finally, you should make sure that the contents are well presented and easy to find. 1. This passage is about _______. A. how to travel&&&& &&&&&& &&&&&& &&&&&& B. how to buy travel books C. how to read a travel book& &&&&&& D. travel books 2. The following travel books may be of use when you plan your travels except _______. A. the book written by some people who have had the same travel experience themselves B. the book which tells you what is worth doing and seeing based on the facts C. the book in which a lot of big adjectives are used to draw your attention D. the book which offers you a lot of useful information like a tour guide 3. The date of the publication must be noticed because _______. A. the world is changing and so are the places you are going to visit
B. the price of the book is always changing C. the author of the book may be different D. the contents of the book are always the same
阅读理解。&&&& There are several ways you can find out about the countries and places you wish to visit. You can talkto friends who have travelled to the places. Or you can go and see a color film. Or you can read travel books. &&&& It would seem that there are three kinds of travel books. The first are those that give a personal, subjective (主观的) account of travels which the author has actually made himself. If they are informative and have agood index (索引), then they can be useful to you when you are planning your travels. The second kind arethose books whose purpose is to give a purely objective (客观的) description of things to be done and seen.If a well-read, cultured person has written such a book, then it is even more useful. It can be sorted as a selected guide book. The third kind are those books which are called"a guide" to some place or other. If theyare good, they will, in addition to their factual information, give an analysis or an explanation. Like the firstkind they can be inspiring and interesting. But their basic purpose is to help the reader who wishes to plan inthe most practical way. &&&& Whatever kind of travel book you choose you must make sure that it does not describe everything as"wonderful", "excellent" or"magical". You must also note its date of publication because travel is a very practical affair and many things change quickly in the twenty-first century. Finally, you should make sure that the contents are well presented and easy to find. 1. This passage is about _____. A. how to travel B. how to buy travel books C. how to read a travel bookD. travel books 2. The following travel books may be of use when you plan your travels except ____. A. the book written by some people who have had the same travel experience themselves B. the book which tells you what is worth doing and seeing based on the facts C. the book in which a lot of big adjectives are used to draw your attentionD. the book which offers you a lot of useful information like a tour guide 3. The date of the publication must be noticed because ______.A. the world is changing and so are the places you are going to visit B. the price of the book is always changing C. the author of the book may be different D. the contents of the book are always the same
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请给我这个阅读理解的答案!I am doing shopping with my mother. I usually go shopping with my friends or classmates, but it is my birthday and my mother wants to buy me some new clothes as presents. So we go to a shop called Stradivarius. I really like that shop. My mother starts to laugh as soon as we get there. She says, “Almost all the clothes in the window are just like the things I wore when I was young. Those flared trousers （喇叭裤） and very short skirts.” Back in the 1970s every Saturday morning my mother and her friends looked around the shops. Of course they did not always have money to buy the things they wanted. But they could decorate （装饰） their old jeans to make them look new. My grandmother was very good at sewing （缝补） and she helped my mother sew coloured patches （小块的布） onto her old jeans. My mother says she really likes these styles and so do I. 阅读短文, 根据其内容选择最佳选项完成下列各题.
51. _________, so I go shopping with her.
A. I want to buy myself some new clothes
B. I want to buy my mother some presents C. My mother wants to buy some new clothes D. My mother wants to buy me some new clothes for my birthday 52. Why does my mother laugh as soon as she sees the clothes in the window?
A. She thinks the clothes in the window are all strange and old.
B. The clothes look quite different from those she wore when she was young.
C. She is very happy to see that there are so many kinds of clothes.
D. They are nearly the same as the clothes she wore when she was young. 53. Could my mother always buy the clothes she wanted when she was young?
A. Yes, she could.
B. No, she couldn't.
D. We don't know. 54. My grandmother helped my mother decorate her clothes by _________. A. cutting them into pieces B. cutting them short
C. painting them colourful D. sewing some patches onto them 55. In a word, both my mother and I _________. A. decorate our clothes by ourselves B. like those styles C. never wear flared trousers D. want to change the style
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51.D52.D53.B54.D55.B
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没错了答案是DDBDB
扫描下载二维码Some days I remember, but mostly the nights.
Brenda Glasure’s poetry, creative non-fiction, and short stories&have appeared in Strong Verse, Driftwood Review, Story Garden 5 and 7 and several other online journals – largely under her pen name, Adria Abbott Glass. She grew&up in a small Ohio town,&and spent her summers working on her grandparents’ dairy farm. She currently lives on the Northcoast, running a handmade jewelry business and writing.
Have you seen my blue-eyed goose? He asks.
He keeps one among the regular geese
in the grain room&of his grandfather’s barn,
where they honk like broken trumpets as we approach.
There are six, though you can’t count these beaks, wings, crooked necks,
all crushed in a corner, bleating.
He enters,&while I abstain behind the chicken wire door.
He yokes his arms around a goose,&and separates her.
They&quiet—a&brash&hush.
I see what he wants to show me:
how he exhibits the one whose pupil
is encompassed with the color of a rare, pale jewel.
Blue&as the atomic scientist’s&iris,
as any clear sky, fall morning.
Adrenalin sluices our blue veins.
Are you nervous? He asks, carefully.
I don’t say I’m afraid
any god is a bomb.
Julia Shipley is the author of The Academy of Hay (Bona Fide Books, 2015) and Adam’s Mark (Plowboy Press, 2015) as well as some chapbooks: One Ton Crumb, First Do No Harm, Planet Jr. and Herd. Her work can also be found in 5 x 5, Barnstorm, Barrelhouse, Burnside Review, Cincinnati Review, Colorado Review, North American Review, Poet Lore, Poetry, Prairie Schooner (online) and terrain.org. She lives on a homestead in the boondocks of Northern Vermont. Her website is
I need to figure out whether or not to go forward with the Redneck Press White Trash anthology coedited with . I’m feeling increasingly guilty about asking my fellow writers for stories and poems without proper compensation. It’s one thing to publish online with no compensation for FCAC, another to do a print anthology. It just doesn’t feel right anymore. I need to figure these things out, so I’m posting this and inviting comments.
At the same time, I’m looking for an editor to take over the day-to-day publishing details at FCAC so I’m freed up for a new project. I’d prefer someone with deep rural and/or Appalachian roots to take over. The job is easy, but time-consuming, at least an hour a day most weeks. Any potential editor would need to be intimately familiar with WordPress and Submittable or ready to learn quickly, posting new content every three-four days all year long, and of course, reading submissions. I’m happy to host the site and continue to pay the bills, but it’s not a paying editorial gig. If you’re interested, mail me at rusty.. If I don’t find anyone, I’ll shut FCAC down as regards new content and simply archive the site.
If you have ideas about any of this, please let me know here or via email. Thanks.
June 1st. My favorite time of the year. The flowers are in bloom and it seems that all is right with the world. I’m walking to church with a song in my heart only it’s not Sunday, that’s tomorrow. Saturday is when I go see Mama. Mama will love these lilies, she’ it once belonged to her.
“Morning Mama. It’s so beautiful today up on this hill. I brought you some lilies I picked from the garden. You know the one you and me planted together two years ago. You made me promise to bring a batch to you every time they bloom good. So far these have been the prettiest ever. I suspect you’re wondering about beaus. I don’t have any, but I keep praying for one. There is this one man, Jesse, I am kinda sweet on. He’s got the voice of an angel. He sings…”
Down below in the church, I hear music and it was not my imagination. I kiss the cross guarding Mama. Preacher didn’t say there would be a concert today. Normally on a day like today, I would take the long way home pass the old diving bell and dip my toes in the river, but the music stirred me up, like God was calling me. I left my shoes on the hill and walked barefoot to the church. I opened the door and there was nobody except…
“You startled me.”
“I’m so sorry, I heard the music and it was like Jesus was calling me to come and listen.
Jesse smiled. His smile was so warm and inviting. Like a hug.
“Preacher sometimes lets me come in here and practice. Is your name Sarah?”
“You know my name?”
“I make it my business to know everyone in this church. You smell like lilies. You been up on the hill?”
“My mama’s up there.”
“I’m real sorry for that and this.”
Jesse pulls me down on the floor, real rough. My head hit the pew. He put his hand, both small and strong, on my neck. I thought for sure he would kill me. Jesus made me strong though. My head turned to scripture, but I couldn’t remember verses only stories. Jesse was lifting my dress and shedding my undergarments, and then… Mama taught me to be a lady, so I can’t tell you what he did. “Jesus this is my cross, help me look to You like You looked to God.” Then it was over. My body, limp from pain and bloody as he dragged me to the altar only to prop me up like a doll on display.
I was sitting on the choir bench humming a tune I made up in my mind. I look through the hymnal. Shame on me, I almost like the hymnal better than the bible. I hear the door open and close. Did God send another angel for me? No. It was my older brother J he can never escape that smell. I smiled. Jacob entered a church and the earth did not shake.
“I thought I’d find you here.” said Jacob.
“You smell like whiskey.”
“Hell, I always smell like whiskey. Even on Sundays when I sell the most bottles while you’re in here singing about lovin Jesus in that pretty white robe.”
“Harsh.”
“I ain’t got all day, so let’s go.”
“Go where, Jacob?”
“Home. You asked me to pick you up at the store, when I didn’t see you there I thought I’d try here.
“Do you know what I was thinking about today?”
“No. I broke my crystal ball Minerva from out on 53, gave me.”
“I was thinking about the time when you, Camp and me got drunk off of Uncle Mount’s white lightening.”
“That was a time.”
“You and Camp wrecked Daddy’s buggy and ruined Mama’s garden”
“That garden looked better ruined.”
“That’s because Mama had a black thumb.”
“What I remember Jesse, is you killing a litter of kittens while you were trying to save their souls. You cried so hard you made yourself sick.”
“The Lord’s work never goes unpunished.”
“Has the new preacher in town ever killed anybody in the river, on accident of course?”
“Preacher’s a good man.”
“Just checking. Thought there might be a club for men who drown their victims while baptizing them.”
“I only drowned the kittens and they don’t have any souls.”
“You drowned your mama, Jesse.”
“She refused to accept Christ, Jacob. I had to resort to desperate measures.”
“I ain’t baptized.”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, you and Camp both. Where is Camp?”
“Paradise.”
“You mean Gehenna?”
“I mean he ain’t here, little brother.”
“I see blood on your hands.”
“I think what you see is dirt.”
“That’s a cruel way to go.”
“So is drowning.”
“You must accept Christ as your personal Lord and Savior today, right now, with me as your witness.”
“If you deny Christ, you will burn in hell. Why?”
“Because it pisses you off. I also have no desire to spend eternity on a cloud playing a flute or a banjo with some blond angel. I’m counting on hell having a damn good assortment of whiskey. At least I know I’ll have a few drinking buddies there.”
“I pity you.”
“Not as much as I pity you.”
I slam the hymnal shut. I feel my blood boiling. Thoughts of mayhem and murder enter my mind.
“Who’s the cunt on the floor? The one I’ve been pretending not to notice.”
“Jesus sent her to me, sweet Jacob.”
“She dead?”
“Why do you ask?”
“They always are. She’s got blood on her dress.”
“The last one didn’t bleed.”
“The last one had two little children missing their mama. What am I going to have to do with this little dove?”
“Nothing. She has no family”
“That don’t mean people ain’t gonna miss her.”
“She’s so pretty, all still like that.”
“I hope you realize what a fucking monster you are.”
“Jesus don’t like you swearing in his house.”
“But, it’s okay to rape a woman in church.”
“Jesus sent her to me. He knows my weaknesses.”
“Perhaps if your tongue was ripped out of your mouth and hung on the church door with the word rapist written on your white angelic robe, God would stop sending the women to you.”
“You love me too much to do that.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Remember when you burned Daddy’s hymnal because he punished me for not wanting to go to the church picnic?”
“Cracked my knuckles good.”
“So you see, I was right when I said that you love me too much to hurt me.”
It hurts to breathe. My neck feels like it’s being stabbed by a thousand tiny knives as I began to wake up.
“How did I get in here?”
“My guess is you opened the door and walked in here,” said Jacob.
“Do I know you?”
“Jesse, I thought you said this one was dead.”
“Oops. She must have been stronger than the others. Do something with her for me.”
“Don’t I always.”
“I guess, I will leave you two. Miss Sarah, believe me it was a pleasure.”
Pleasure. What does he mean pleasure? All I feel is pain. I began to cry. My rapist is gone and left me with this man who…
Blood. There is so much blood on my dress. Oh Jesus.
“There ain’t no reason for you to be crying. This ain’t nothing you can’t recover from. I buried my best friend today. You don’t see me crying.”
The man walked over to me and roughly put his hand on my mouth. I almost gag from the smell of whiskey and dirt.
“Shut up!”
“I’m bleeding.”
“I’ll get you a dress.”
I leave the room and walk into a closet filled with choir robes and a few dresses as well as one or two men’s suits. My hands search through the dresses. I pull out three: a pink one, a green one, and finally a blue one. Why do I give a fuck? I picked the blue one because I knew it would match her eyes. I walk back into the sanctuary. She hadn’t moved
and her eyes were bloodshot from crying. I took the dress off the hanger and threw it at her.
“Wash your face and put this on.”
I watch her struggle to stand up. A gentleman would have offered assistance. I ain’t a gentleman. She limps to the washroom and closes the door. I heard the water running.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
“Jacob.”
“From Genesis?”
“If you say so.”
“You don’t come to church?”
She walks back into the sanctuary wearing the blue dress. Jesus, she looked beautiful.
“Why don’t you come to church?”
“You about done asking me questions?”
“Sorry.”
“Dove, I don’t go to church because Sunday is when I make my money. You ever sit in here on Sundays and notice a lot of husbands missing? The men are in the back woods behind my house buying what you call the devil’s brew. I make the best white lightening in three counties.”
I pull a bottle of whiskey out of my pocket and chug about half of it. She glared at me, but she didn’t protest.
“Y might make you feel better.”
I offer her the bottle. She turns her head away.
“Do I look okay, according to your opinion?”
I grab her by the wrist and look into her eyes. A tiny eyelash had fallen on her cheek. I remove it.
“Better. We got to go.”
It‘s twilight, and the two of us sit at a train station. I stare coldly at the train. Looking over at Sarah I see her fidget with her dress. If she doesn’t stop, she’ll pull a button loose. Her eyes look as if she’s being sent to the slaughterhouse. She turns her eyes to meet mine.
“I could cook and clean for you. Share your bed. Anything.”
I chuckle at this proposal.
“I don’t picture you as a fallen woman.”
“Marry me. I’ll even forgive Jesse because he’s your brother.”
“Dove, you ain’t never gonna forgive Jesse. That’s desperation talking. And another thing, if I plan on getting married to some woman, it’s gonna be me that does the proposing.”
“Please.”
“I already told you. You’re gonna get on that train and get off at Waycross, and you ain’t never coming back here. If I see you or smell you within forty miles of this town, I will personally put a bullet in your head.”
She starts crying again. Goddamn it why can’t she stop the crying?
“I’m still bleeding.”
“As a woman, you should know how to handle that.”
“How did your best friend die?”
“Earlier, when I came to, you told me that your best friend died. How did that happen?”
“He stole money from me. Stupid son of a bitch put it in the car box. Other than me, he’s the only one that had a key to it. He was supposed to make the run tonight, so he didn’t think I would see it. I found him drunk in his house. I drug him kicking and screaming to a shallow grave and covered him with dirt.”
The conductor makes an announcement letting everyone in the station know that the train to Waycross has arrived.
“What if I’m pregnant?”
I lead Sarah to the train. The word pregnant stings in my head and tiny heart. I lean down and kiss her on the forehead. A baby in her belly would be my blood. I take her hand and gently massage her fingers.
“If it was mine, I’d like to see his face, if it’s Jesse’s I’d kill it. There’s an old man, Murray, in Waycross. He buys a barrel a month from me. His hobby, aside from drinking and hunting with arrows, is watching trains. Find him and tell him I sent you. He’ll be good to you.
“Will I ever see you again?”
I bend down and kiss her. Next, I pulled an old stopwatch out of my pocket and put it in her hand.
“Someday I’ll want this back.”
She smiles at me and gets on the train. I don’t stay to wave goodbye.
Tiffany Buck lives in north Georgia on the edge of Appalachia. She is married and has a three-year old daughter. Her interests include writing grit and making her own cosmetics.
(for William Gay)
Days lit flat and splayed, as if to understand a life is to log its contents. Take down work. Dissect the&nights you don’t sleep. Meanwhile, life hangs with death in the woods. &Tin cups of waiting. Long hours&of drink. But go ahead. Open it all up. Take minutes and leave them on desks come morning. Walk in the&sun and sleep in the bed. &Forget there are lines no one can map. The Great Divide. That mile marker&where cities halt their sprawl. Springs that run dry at the hem of the Harrikin.
Michael K. Gause was born in Tennessee and raised on forest solitude and the written word. Later there were explosions. Now, after 21 years in Minnesota, he’s happy to say he’s never felt more southern. His sporadic blog is .
Nearly noon, on Thursday
late October, and I see the trees
swaying within a wind that means
only business,
no fragrant breeze
here, no idle
burlesque:
merely rote
screams, blue note egress from boughs
with foresight and worse, they bite back the bark
in street light poses, they feel so much
better, much better come
This time of year, this time
of life it breaks
down the anger, ache by ache, cold moan
in the heart attack
eaves, but maybe you know it
by now, too? by God
we must not feel so sorry
for those leaves, in free
fall, going to a place that gets
umber, then full
on, naked in a month: Winter
is the ruddy face of a poet
at sixty…
Or the ticking
of radiators
in my youth, they run on
sticky sheets left
obliterated in the middle of the poster bed
of those welfare hotels, I’d check in
for kicks only, sucked off
dry by the usual specters, too many raven-haired sins
to enumerate them
down the block, some bloke fires up his chain saw,
and back in my brain, the fat Irish bard
in green felt derby hat: … Let it go, boyo … But oh
to anticipate the wood smoke, arriving soon
in a kind of unison, doubles as an astral
now it’s about half
past noon.
Dennis Mahagin is the author of two poetry collections: “Grand Mal” from Rebel Satori Press () and “Longshot & Ghazal”from Mojave River Press: . Dennis is also the poetry editor for the online magazine, FRiGG. He lives in southwestern Montana.
The third day on the run, they ditched a stolen pickup truck in the sprawling parking lot and then waited outside the doors of Nordstrom’s. Less than an hour later, they were turning out of Springtown Mall in a black Escalade.
He had picked out a well-dressed woman that was alone and it had paid off in spades. Mid-thirties at the most, looked twenty five, and she was from money.
It was a clear blue sky, sunny day but Meredith Browning turned on the windshield wipers when she used her turn signal.
“What’re you doin’ woman?” Arlen Watson was holding the gun low, resting it on the console between them. “Easy.”
“Sorry…I – I’m scared.” She fumbled with the control. The wipers went faster and the washer fluid misted before she finally got everything stopped.
In the backseat, Georgia was pawing through two shopping bags. “Oh, baby,” she said softly pulling out a scarf.
Arlen looked back at her, caught a look down Georgia’s loose fitting top and then drug his eyes back over to the driver. “There ain’t nothin’ to be scared about ma’am. Just need the car. We get out of town a ways and we’ll drop you off. Do what I tell you and everything’ll be fine.”
“Okay. Okay. Don’t hurt me.”
“Get over. Left lane, jump onto 20 west.” He looked into the side rear view, then straight ahead. “It’s comin’ up here now, 20 west.”
“Please. I’ll do whatever you say, take whatever you want,” Meredith’s voice was shaking as she took the interstate ramp. She started to cry. “Just let me go.”
“I will, I swear. Just keep driving.”
“Arlen, how far we goin’ before we drop her whiny ass off?” Georgia asked as she pulled out a sweater next and held it up. “Oh my, I do love this color.”
“Hush up back there girl” Arlen said while looking at the woman driving. His eyes traveled slow. Up and down, then up again. The sun dress, which was short to begin and had gotten his attention in the parking lot, was riding even higher now. A lot to look at there. Long, tanned legs.
Feeling his stare, Meredith glanced across the console to him. “She’s so young. Whatever has happened, or whatever you two have done, it’s not too late.”
“You’re doing like eighty. Take her down a notch.” Arlen’s look was straight ahead now.
“Oh, I’m old enough darlin’ and listen up, don’t you go talkin’ about me like I’m not even here.” Georgia’s voice from the back was now close, almost in Meredith’s ear.
“Let me help you both. I’ve been in trouble before myself.” Meredith’s eyes in the rear view mirror went cold and blank, but for only a moment.
“Trouble?” A wild little giggle came from the rear as Georgia leaned back and shoved her feet into the driver seat. “Really? Like what hon’, staying up past your bedtime? Drank too much beer on prom night?” Another laugh. “You’re just a little princess. Have been all your life.”
“Hush girl.”
“Don’t you go hushing me again Arlen Watson. Fair warnin’.”
He turned in his seat again and stared at his girlfriend. His jaw muscles were working overtime now. He’d had just about enough of this mouthy little whore.
Georgia went right back at it though, meeting Meredith’s eyes that were now big and soft again, in the mirror. “I bet your daddy had money and then you married into even more. Bet your husband is twenty years older’n you too. Ain’t that right, princess?”
Georgia got no answer, so she began to rifle through the expensive purse lying next to the shopping bags.
“Hey now…I just found cash money Arlen. Couple two, three hundred…wait now. Shit, close to four.”
And then, just like somebody threw a switch, the car fell into silence. Like it does sometimes when the mind takes over and the words stop coming. It was like that until for about forty five minutes.
After passing an old Dodge Ram pulling a flatbed full of everything that family owned, Arlen finally broke that silence. He pointed up ahead, “Comin’ up here, about two miles more or so, take exit 18. There’s a closed Denny’s but pull in the lot anyway.”
Meredith did as she was told and started slowing to a stop in front of the deserted restaurant. Across the way, on the eastbound side, there was only a gas station and rest area. Nothing else.
“No, no, go on around back.”
“Please…don’t.”
“It’s gonna be fine ma’am. Pull around back, I just can’t let you out right here. Go on now.”
She circled around the building. Her hand was shaking as she put the car in park. “I have two young daughters.”
Arlen leaned over and pulled the keys out of the ignition. His hand brushed Meredith’s leg and stopped. He rubbed her knee and then slid slowly upward. “It’s gonna be okay.” There was no time and he knew it, but damn.
Instead of giving in to it, he reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a roll of gray tape. Same tape he’d used on the stolen truck’s owner, but it was all for show this time. “Now, all I’m gonna do is tape you up.” He held the tape up to her as proof. “So, get out real slow and walk to the loading door over there.”
“Arlen, let me do her up. Nice and tight.” Georgia’s voice had gone hard and wicked. “Let me cinch that princess up good.”
“Hush, dammit. Stay put back there.”
Meredith got out slow, walked to the building and turned. Arlen had already stopped, about ten feet away with the gun raised.
“On your knees darlin’.” He motioned at the ground with the barrel.
She melted down, covered her mouth with one hand, the other held out to him.
“Please,” She said. “Oh please…don’t.” Her voice was just a whisper now.
Two quick shots cracked. Then a third. First one hit him square in the back and he barked a yell out. The next, hit him in the side as he turned. He staggered a step, his open mouth showing surprise. The gun slipped out of his hand and he went down hard. His body only jerked after the third shot hit him.
“I told that son of a bitch not to hush me again. Gave him fair warning.” Georgia said, walking past the body.
Meredith looked at the motionless Arlen and couldn’t believe she was still alive. The shock was short lived though, her eyes that had been big and round with panic, narrowed. A hard look. She didn’t speak.
“‘Sides, he was fixin’ to kill you, not tape you. I ain’t no murderer like him. Least not some dang execution like that.” Georgia looked at the Lady Smith .38 special in her hand. “Lucky for you, I found this pretty little gun in your purse. Didn’t even know they made a girls gun like this. My last name is Smith too. Guess it was just meant to be.”
Behind Georgia, the sky in the west had started to darken up and a low, far off rumble of thunder rolled over them. Not a spit of wind. Calm. She turned and then looked back at Meredith. “I do like a good storm. I like that tense kinda feeling you know. Something badass coming. All that.”
They stared at each other for a moment more and then Georgia Smith put her hands on her hips. She grinned big and said, “Well hell, ain’t you gonna thank me or nothin’?”
Meredith stood up slow, her eyes clicked over to where Arlen was laying in a small but growing pool of dark blood. She still didn’t speak but her mind was working.
“Cat got your tongue, sugar? I’ll admit, that was a close call.”
“I…thank…” The words just weren’t coming out right and all Meredith could do was shake her head. Her eyes teared up.
“All right then, its okay. Let’s go sis, we gotta put some miles in between us and ol’ Arlen here. We’ll head south now instead of west. Hell, maybe even Mexico huh? You and me. We can have us some girl talk as we go, plus I can’t drive without insurance right?” Georgia’s smile looked forced now and her eyes were just a little too bright, too jumpy.
Meredith stared at that young face and saw madness. She grinned weakly and nodded back at the girl.
Georgia motioned to follow and turned. “C’mon now, we’ll be like Tammy and Louise…or whatever the fuck that movie was called.”
Lightning zigzagged in the distance. A breeze picked up out of nowhere with the scent of rain strong. Much cooler air, cold almost, signaled the oncoming storm. Meredith hadn’t felt like this for a long time. Not since Riley Lloyd, not since that moonless night, on a bank of the Big Sandy. It seemed a long, long time ago but it really wasn’t. Not long at all.
As they walked back to the car with Georgia leading the way, Meredith smoothly reached down and swept up Arlen’s gun with a practiced hand. She closed the space between them and two steps from the car she stopped and aimed.
Georgia sensed something then, firming her grip on the Lady Smith. She started to turn but it was far too late. There was only a split second to realize her final and fatal mistake, in a short bitter life that had been full of them.
Meredith Browning was no princess.
Jim Wilsky is a crime fiction writer. He is the co-author of Blood on Blood, Queen of Diamonds and Closing the Circle. He’s finishing up a new book that will be coming out soon, as well as searching for a publisher for a collection of his short stories.
His short story work has appeared in some of the most respected online magazines such as: Shotgun Honey, Beat To A Pulp, All Due Respect, Yellow Mama, The Big Adios, A Twist of Noir, Rose & Thorn Journal, Pulp Metal, Thrillers Killers & Chillers, Plots With Guns, Flash Bang Mysteries, A Twist of Noir and others. He has contributed stories in several published anthologies, including All Due Respect, Kwik Krimes and Both Barrels. He resides in Texas, supported and strengthened by a wonderful wife and two beautiful daughters.
Wynne Hungerford has published work in Epoch, Talking River Review, The Whitefish Review, The South Carolina Review, and The Weekly Rumpus, among other places. She is an MFA candidate at the University of Florida.
Papaw’s ranch ain’t so much a ranch
but a two man operation with his neighbor
Terry, whose wife is also named Terry,
just two men rubbin pennies, joined
by fences mended with zip-ties, where
strung-out race horse rescues populate
junked-fields & hunting dogs are kept
hungry for the let-out in cages intentionally
hidden behind the barn for fear of PETA or
a stand-in mailman who might be canine
sympathetic, where frog ponds ain’t real
ponds but broken field tiles filled-in
with coffee-colored water as to not be a hazard,
though the two’s perception of what a hazard
is, or isn’t, is one of the many things you’ll
soon learn not to trust, like when Terry
tells you to point your tally-whacker at
that third-wire, you don’t listen & if you do
you won’t again, or if Papaw tells you
to drink the Kool-Aid from his spittoon,
you don’t listen, & if you do you’ll spend
the rest of your life trying to forget the taste
of another man’s stains.
Before he hands over the cattle-prod, he zaps it twice to remind
you of the power you’re about to hold, mulberry pie lingers
in his dentures from your annual bloodmouth breakfast, a fun
tradition as you recall—press it to hide, he says, get it to move.
After Papaw’s second heart attack, after
Terry took up drinking when female-Terry
left him for a man they both called a word
Meemaw wouldn’t allow spoken inside
the house, you spend your summers
mowing, shoveling, listening to the radio
spill racism & spitty fear, cloppin about
in mid-high muck boots past your knees, proud
of the tractor keys in your pocket, the camel
on the keychain is smoking a cigarette,
but you consider him a friend, looks friendly
enough, you learn a lot in these summers,
the taste of Old Milwaukie, about shanks
& jiggers, why shotgun shells are red,
that drinking cold chicken broth from a thermos
will keep you hydrated while you search
for castellated nuts with a metal-finder, the ranch
becomes a three-man-operation, as they start
to call it, even let you sit on the porch as the two
of them croak at the moon like frogs
in a whiskey-lingo you pretend to understand.
You awake to a flashlight in your face, predawn shadows moving,
by this time you know the drill, the pie for breakfast, the zap, zap,
get the beasts to move while they’re still sleepy—wait for the Semi.
It’s Labor Day weekend, your last week
on the ranch before starting sixth grade,
you’ve been practicing your locker combination,
the satisfying click-pop like driving
a nail into new-cut wood, Terry wants to ship
the cattle early this year, says he needs the money,
& by this time you’ve made enough mistrust-
mistakes that you’ve started asking questions,
you want to know where the cattle go after
the round-up but Papaw refuses to say, so you ask
Terry, & Terry says to hop in the pick-up
when he goes to get the money, so you ride along,
following the 16-wheeler carrying all forty
of the furry Herefords you’ve named,
you can see their eyes through the perforated
metal, same eyes watched you work all summer,
dumb as inbred retrievers, but always smiling,
& when you arrive, you realize real quick
some things are better left unknown.
You’ve seen enough sunrises to know a good one & you pray
that that morning it would be good, but it came blunt as hammer
to skull, just a sneeze of light, not a smear of color—see that boy
leaning against the fence asking for forgiveness? that’s you.
Mathews Wade was raised in Hilliard, Ohio, and is currently working towards his MFA at Columbia Univeristy. He is the winner of the Academy of American Poets Bennett Prize, 2016.
Francis Alexander Finch
tilts his plastic dinner plate
against the hard light
of Hazelton Prison,
reasoning the details
of his rape case and limiting
the movement of a single
black ant. His mother,
JoAnne Daphne Finch,
has exited the grounds
and leans on the hood
of her blue Toyota, smoking
Kent menthols. The distant hills
are disasters for her,
the dusk wrings her thoughts
then spits them out.
What’s the reason for this need?
It’s a given he’ll grow gray
inside the walls, the gray walls
touched here and there
with graffiti. He’ll meander
back to his cell for protocol,
Wheel of Fortune&on a tiny screen,
the man in C-212 screaming
obscenely all night.
There are demons,
there are fucking wolves
in the concrete. There are reasons
why Francis Alexander Finch
shouldn’t be here, but he is,
as he separates the corn
and carrots and celery
on his plastic dinner plate.
A native Ohioan, Carl Boon lives and works in Izmir, Turkey. His poems appear in dozens of magazines, most recently Two Peach, Jet Fuel Review, Blast Furnace, and Poetry Quarterly.
Around the Bend
Rednecks and Honorary Rednecks
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Old Coffee
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