The Evil We Can’t See

By Kylie Kinsella

Photo by Volkan Olmez

You can’t believe that this could happen.
You can’t believe it’s been going on for so long.
You can’t believe the evil lurking behind the silver screen.
You’re disgusted and shocked and telling everyone you’re appalled.

But I recall a time when you didn’t believe the ones you claimed to know,
to trust,
to love.
You didn’t believe that this happened.
You didn’t believe they’d been doing it for so long.
You didn’t believe the evil lurking in your circle.
Maybe you forgot, but I assure you
we remember.

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Taylor and Jordan: A Love Story, Minus the Pronouns

By Jenny Doocy

Taylor Johnson parked the rusted old pickup truck in front of a suburban mansion, two houses down from the intended destination, and sent a short text that simply read here. Being chivalrous and walking up to the door, at the risk of being seen in this part of town, was not an option. In other situations a quick honk would have sufficed, but seeing as neither of them wanted to draw attention to their meeting—that is, any more attention than a beat up truck in this neighborhood would cause—a text message seemed the way to go.

Taylor waited for Jordan Smith, releasing nervous energy by drumming two long, slender fingers against the steering wheel, body moving to the rhythm of the music coming from the old radio, sneakers tapping against the pedals to match the beat of the fingers.

Photo by Steve Halama

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