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	<title>Story Institute &#187; Short Story Contributors</title>
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		<title>Short Story &#8211; The Sudden Makeover &#8211; Mehreen Ahmed</title>
		<link>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2011/10/17/short-story-the-sudden-makeover-mehreen-ahmed/</link>
		<comments>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2011/10/17/short-story-the-sudden-makeover-mehreen-ahmed/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 18 Oct 2011 02:05:05 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Mehreen</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story Contributors]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Mehreen Ahmed]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short story]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[The Sudden Makeover]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.storyinstitute.com/?p=3901</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The Sudden Makeover
By: Mehreen Ahmed

Once, there lived three friends, Una, Ulle and Ursula. While they were all outgoing, Una was a bit shy, Usha was not and Ursula, the happy medium, perfectly poised between the two. Ulle’s vivacity sometimes angered Una to the hilt. One day, they went out to have coffee and as they were looking for a place to sit down, Una said haltingly as always that she wanted to sit at the far end of the room. This enraged Ulle.

“You’re really awkward, you know!” She said. “And why can’t we sit in the middle?”

“Because, I’m embarrassed.”

“Who do you think would look at you?”

“May be no-one!”

“Still you’re, the way you are! You will not change.”

“I can’t change; you should know that by now.”

“Now, now let’s not waste time arguing over seats,” Ursula chimed in. “Why can’t we all sit in that corner next to the wall, best of both worlds?”]]></description>
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		<item>
		<title>Short Story &#8211; Macchiato &#8211; Mehreen Ahmed</title>
		<link>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2011/03/02/short-story-macchiato-mehreen-ahmed/</link>
		<comments>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2011/03/02/short-story-macchiato-mehreen-ahmed/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 03 Mar 2011 02:03:16 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Mehreen</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story Contributors]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Mehreen Ahmed]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short story]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.storyinstitute.com/?p=3591</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Macchiato

By: Mehreen Ahmed

 

Meaka woke up with a cold sweat.  By the clock sitting next to her on the bedside table, it was three in the morning.  She lay there in the dark, cold and sleepless thinking of getting out of bed.  But somehow she could not.  Her limbs would not give an inch and yet her brain kept saying otherwise. It felt as though it was racing — and racing it was like crazy. In the semi-darkness she looked across the room — an empty chair.  Her gaze fixed on it almost asking it for a solution but this overwhelming inertia was hard to knock off.

Restlessness seized her when she finally got out of bed.    It was four`0’ clock.  Just a few hours from now, she was meeting a friend for coffee. Quietly slipping into her sandals she grabbed her dressing gown, opened the door softly and went into the living room closing the door behind her.

She turned one of the blinds poles to look through the narrow blade slits. The dark sky over the horizon had only just started to glow.  Meaka waited for the sun.  It steadily came up spreading some of that hue across the sky.  She was going to have breakfast with Riana soon.  A strange sort of pleasure possessed her at the thought.  Last week’s coffee meeting was such an eye-opener; none of Riana’s stories moved her so much, as did this one.

Riana was 35.  An accident left her disabled, when she was 5 years old.  She had a rough childhood ever since.  No one played with her at school.  Friendless, she grew up feeling rejected, frustrated, and empty until she met Rick — her knight in shining armour who took all her worries away and filled her with new sensation. Now, married with two lovely boys, she lives with Rick in the next suburb —Campsie.  Meaka and Riana had been friends for over two years.  For Riana,Meaka is her best friend, her shoulder to cry on.  And for Meaka, well! the relationship is just getting warmed up.

Waiting for Riana at the Coffee Club, Meaka flicked through the menu thinking what was holding her up.  She was generally not this late.  Her mobile rang out as she tried to call her.  Meaka waited for ten more minutes — and then there she was, getting out of her car.  She wore a tweed short skirt and a red topwith a deep neckline.  Her cascading black hair shone in the golden sun as she crossed the road.  At a slow pace she came on to the other side, holding her little boy’s hand securely, limping as usual.]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Short Story &#8211; The Black Coat &#8211; Mehreen Ahmed</title>
		<link>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2010/09/29/short-story-the-black-coat-mehreen-ahmed/</link>
		<comments>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2010/09/29/short-story-the-black-coat-mehreen-ahmed/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 30 Sep 2010 00:59:53 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Mehreen</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story Contributors]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Mehreen Ahmed]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short story]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.storyinstitute.com/?p=3598</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The Black Coat Mehreen Ahmed One black wintry night, Piccolo -Xavier bumped into someone while crossing the road. Once he was across, the person on the receiving end was not visible anymore. It seemed that in the Parisian dark alley, it had just melted into darkness. When he peered further, he saw a black coat [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
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		<title>Short Story &#8211; Alive &#8211; Cacy Ann Minter</title>
		<link>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/04/11/short-story-alive-cacy-ann-minter/</link>
		<comments>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/04/11/short-story-alive-cacy-ann-minter/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 12 Apr 2009 02:20:45 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Story Institute</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story Contributors]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Alive]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Cacy Ann Minter]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[entry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[horror]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short story]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.storyinstitute.com/?p=2368</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Alive © 2009 Cacy Ann Minter I didn’t know where I was when I woke up. I was aware of a pressing sensation on my chest, but couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. I tried to look around and realized my field of vision was limited to the area directly in front of [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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		<title>Short Story &#8211; Kaylee&#8217;s Quarter &#8211; Rebecca Laskowitz</title>
		<link>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/04/05/short-story-kaylees-quarter-rebecca-laskowitz/</link>
		<comments>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/04/05/short-story-kaylees-quarter-rebecca-laskowitz/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 05 Apr 2009 12:55:09 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Story Institute</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story Contributors]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[entry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[general fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Rebecca Laskowitz]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short story]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.storyinstitute.com/?p=2341</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Kaylee&#8217;s Quarter © 2009 &#8211; Rebecca Laskowitz Kaylee grasped her mother’s hand as they made their way up the icy stone walkway. Snow covered the edge of the path where flowers usually blossomed during the spring. She watched her step so as not to fall and ruin her new pink puffy coat. It was her [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Short Story &#8211; The Final Fortress &#8211; Rebecca Laskowitz</title>
		<link>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/04/05/short-story-the-final-fortress-rebecca-laskowitz/</link>
		<comments>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/04/05/short-story-the-final-fortress-rebecca-laskowitz/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 05 Apr 2009 12:45:45 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Story Institute</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story Contributors]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[entry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[general fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Rebecca Laskowitz]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short story]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.storyinstitute.com/?p=2339</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The Final Fortress © 2009 &#8211; Rebecca Laskowitz There wasn’t much time left. Philip knew this. The entire village knew as well. What did they have? Hours? Very unlikely. More like minutes. Minutes that flew by with increasing speed as the enemy drew closer. Philip looked at all they had accomplished. The walls were high [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/04/05/short-story-the-final-fortress-rebecca-laskowitz/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
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		<title>Short Story &#8211; The Snake&#8217;s Slither &#8211; Christopher Brancato</title>
		<link>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/03/31/short-story-the-snakes-slither-christopher-brancato/</link>
		<comments>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/03/31/short-story-the-snakes-slither-christopher-brancato/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 01 Apr 2009 02:18:02 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Story Institute</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story Contributors]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Christopher Brancato]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[entry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[general fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short story]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.storyinstitute.com/?p=2326</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The Snake&#8217;s Slither © 2009 &#8211; Christopher Brancato To most people it was just another Monday, but this wasn’t the case for a selected few. The day started like any other for Mike Johnson. Mike would wake up, organize his attire for the day on his bed in a very civil manner, jump in the [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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		<title>Short Story &#8211; The Lady of the Fountain &#8211; Amy Priddy</title>
		<link>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/03/31/short-story-the-lady-of-the-fountain-amy-priddy/</link>
		<comments>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/03/31/short-story-the-lady-of-the-fountain-amy-priddy/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 01 Apr 2009 02:06:21 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Story Institute</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story Contributors]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Amy Priddy]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[entry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short story]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[suspense]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.storyinstitute.com/?p=2324</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The Lady of the Fountain © 2009 &#8211; Amy Priddy George woke up that morning with a splitting headache and found himself in a whirlwind of confusion. He rubbed his eyes and seemed to glare back at the sunlight pouring through the shutters. George hated the sunlight and almost everything else that morning entailed. He [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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		<item>
		<title>Short Story &#8211; Too Low For Dinner &#8211; Bryan Kaminsky</title>
		<link>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/03/31/short-story-too-low-for-dinner-bryan-kaminsky/</link>
		<comments>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/03/31/short-story-too-low-for-dinner-bryan-kaminsky/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 01 Apr 2009 01:54:44 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Story Institute</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story Contributors]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Bryan Kaminsky]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[entry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[general fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short story]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Too Low For Dinner]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.storyinstitute.com/?p=2322</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Too Low For Dinner © 2009 – Bryan Kaminsky Dark clouds spanned the early afternoon sky as Edward walked out of the back door of the storage room of a florist. Edward was wearing a black cloak, ripped black jeans, and a black shirt. Edward liked the color black because it absorbed every spectrum of [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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		<title>Short Story &#8211; The Adventures of LaBertha Johnson &#8211; Akilah C. McDaniel</title>
		<link>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/03/31/short-story-the-adventures-of-labertha-johnson-akilah-c-mcdaniel/</link>
		<comments>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/03/31/short-story-the-adventures-of-labertha-johnson-akilah-c-mcdaniel/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 01 Apr 2009 01:00:16 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Story Institute</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story Contributors]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Akilah C. McDaniel]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[entry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[general fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short story]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.storyinstitute.com/?p=2318</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The Adventures of LaBertha Johnson © 2009 Akilah C. McDaniel The Beginning Imagine a nice neighborhood with somewhat quiet streets and nice neat little houses with nice, manicured little yards. Now we will zoom in on one house in particular. This house is a small red-brick one with a dark red door. As we look [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Short Story &#8211; In the Blink of an Eye &#8211; Cacy Ann Minter</title>
		<link>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/02/22/short-story-in-the-blink-of-an-eye-cacy-ann-minter/</link>
		<comments>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/02/22/short-story-in-the-blink-of-an-eye-cacy-ann-minter/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 22 Feb 2009 13:35:56 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Story Institute</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story Contributors]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Cacy Ann Minter]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[entry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[horror]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short story]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.storyinstitute.com/?p=2200</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[In the Blink of an Eye © 2009 Cacy Ann Minter Franky couldn’t pinpoint the exact day he first saw the creature. He guessed he’d always had a feeling that something in his existence wasn’t quite right, but he never could put his finger on it. And so he went about his usual boring daily [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Short Story &#8211; The Darkness of Past &#8211; Courtney Lyn Blystone</title>
		<link>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/02/07/short-story-the-darkness-of-past-courtney-lyn-blystone/</link>
		<comments>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/02/07/short-story-the-darkness-of-past-courtney-lyn-blystone/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 07 Feb 2009 13:41:30 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Story Institute</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story Contributors]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Courtney Lyn Blystone]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Kat Myamouto]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short story]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[suspense]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.storyinstitute.com/?p=2104</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The Darkeness of Past © 2009 Courtney Lyn Blystone The streets of Kyoto were dark and not a single lamp nor house was lit. It seemed rather strange that there would be not a single soul in the town. Kat Myamouto was on her way home in the southern corner, when a solid black figure [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Short Story &#8211; The Slope of War &#8211; Yael K Miller</title>
		<link>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/01/26/short-story-the-slope-of-war-yael-k-miller/</link>
		<comments>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/01/26/short-story-the-slope-of-war-yael-k-miller/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 27 Jan 2009 03:30:40 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Story Institute</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story Contributors]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[entry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[science fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short story]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Yael K Miller]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.storyinstitute.com/?p=2046</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The Slope of War © 2009 Yael K. Miller He was a scout. He could have been an officer but he made his choice years ago. He had no interest in being an officer and his job as a scout kept him as far away from officers as possible and for a majority of the [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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		<title>Short Story &#8211; Honesty Is &#8211; Aaron Eugene Lee</title>
		<link>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/01/10/short-story-honesty-is-aaron-eugene-lee/</link>
		<comments>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/01/10/short-story-honesty-is-aaron-eugene-lee/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 10 Jan 2009 18:33:02 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Story Institute</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story Contributors]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Aaron Eugene Lee]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[entry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[honesty]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[relationship]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short story]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.storyinstitute.com/?p=1983</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Honesty Is © 2009 Aaron Eugene Lee Frosted Flakes, or Wheaties. Cheerios are all gone: only two little o’s remain. The boxes are full of words like “Best” and “Brightest”. “Be all you can be”, that’s our army’s slogan. Tiger Woods ate the Wheaties, I wanna be like him. The tiger says his are “Grrrrrrreat!” [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Short Story &#8211; No School for My Kids &#8211; Nan E. Fagan</title>
		<link>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/01/09/short-story-no-school-for-my-kids-nan-e-fagan/</link>
		<comments>http://www.storyinstitute.com/2009/01/09/short-story-no-school-for-my-kids-nan-e-fagan/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 09 Jan 2009 21:33:57 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Story Institute</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story Contributors]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[education]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[entry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[homeschool]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Nan E Fagan]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short story]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.storyinstitute.com/?p=1981</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[NO SCHOOL FOR MY KIDS © 2009 Nan E. Fagan Twenty minutes later, after finishing breakfast on a warm and sunny Friday morning in mid-April, Kathy DiScala was getting her kids ready for homeschool, when she suddenly heard a knock on her door. “I wonda who that is this early in the mornin!” Kathy asked [...]]]></description>
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