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Story by Adam Casalino Robert Asher fell down the porch steps. He crashed against the sidewalk, his face and palms landing in a puddle. Pushing up on his elbows, he looked back at the front door. He caught one last glimpse of the man who ejected him, before the door…
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Story by Adam Casalino “You’re doing it all wrong. You need to focus.” “Stop telling me what to do.” “Somebody needs to. How else are you going to pierce the astral plane and gain a higher level of consciousness?” “That’s not what I’m trying to do.” “Clearly. You’re not doing…
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Story by Adam Casalino Robert Asher was sitting up in a tree. It wasn’t his idea. Nor was it his idea to handle the awkwardly designed crossbow that was nestled against his shoulder. He wasn’t a very good shot with the bow; after all, he had only practiced using it…
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Story by Adam Casalino March 7, 1936: Robert Asher wasn’t feeling well. His head was throbbing and his vision was blurred. Every subtle noise would send stabs of pain through his skull. A glass of Alka-Seltzer was foaming beside his hand. He absentmindedly rubbed the welt on the side of…
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Story by Adam Casalino June 1, 1952: Jonathan Lewis paced back and forth in his room. For the fifth time that morning, he checked himself in the mirror. The flower in his lapel was crooked. His hair wasn’t right. The suit felt baggy, then too tight. There wasn’t enough air…
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Story by Adam Casalino October 2, 1965: Robert Asher was on hold. Easy listening music, meant to sooth the caller, was playing on the other end. The rumba sounded like it was coming through a crushed cigarette box. Asher was not one for rumba music, or dancing for that matter. …