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Mike Whitacre
Fiction Writer.
Fiction Writer.

Mike's posts

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"Keeping Pain In Falling Star Precipices"
This coffee drips too weak and My eyes are way too dry, but why Can't you dream of you and I? But who are you, and who is me? How many pages must I bleed and Why should I give my pen to all that They depend, two pounds of flesh then? Don't give me the looks...

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Headspace Breaking
Dear Silent Reader(s), So, I thought I'd at least post something of an apology-update thingy. I'm going to try and continue to publish short stories here regularly, but I've been in need of a break, as my headspace has been muddled lately. With any luck I'l...

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CROOKED PIECES, "A Melodic Persuit"
Strings was a small guitar shop, located in the part of downtown
where ragged and jaded were a community requirement: It seemed
remarkably similar to the Crowley Vintage Records from the outside.
However, when Turbine Dozer walked through the door...

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smell of burnt timbre wafted into her nostrils before the headache
set in. Tabitha Goldstein’s eyes slowly peeled open as she rose her
head off the ground, gripping her brow to try and massage the skull,
however slightly. When she regained most of her f...

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Welcome to the Mike Whitacre Channel. My channel.

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CROOKED PIECES, "Throbs, Thieves, and Thearchies"
So what else was new? Carlton
Hinder woke up with a splitting headache. He was still holding onto
the bottle of Scotch from last night. Since it was empty, his powers
of deduction concluded that his alcoholism was the source of the
headache. The cr...

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CROOKED PIECES - "Privileged Until Proven Innocent"
eyelids peeled open. The
minor action came with a particular sting and a major headache,
hitting him as soon as he saw the blurry, dank world before him.
Blake Ward tried to get up as he shook his head back to normal, for
the most part, but he soon re...

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CROOKED PIECES - "Fading Blood Ties"
damp air. The
rain poured out of the night sky with a pounding rage, a consistent
noise that no one could avoid. Yet, there was something about this
weather, this atmosphere of falling droplets and encumbering mist,
that casted a blanket of thick s...

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CROOKED PIECES - "The Needle Game"
was flat. Atrophy
felt as if she had melted inside a volcano when the gravity bullets
caused her to be flattened into a paste. However, seconds into
forming back to her original state proved to be twice as taxing and
equally unpleasant: every cell expan...

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CROOKED PIECES - "Evil-isms"
stumbled in the club. It
was night, nine o’clock, and he was already edging his limit of
alcoholic beverages. Since the night started, he was in an aimless
mood, and he had no choice but to follow it. The club was small, lit
by a red glow that was...
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