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SCARBOROUGH FAIR is currently hosting a Flash Fiction and Poetry Contest open to all University of Toronto Students. The strongest pieces will be selected by a panel of judges and be published by Scarborough Fair.

The contest deadline is October 31st 2015 at 11:59 PM.     

CLICK HERE for complete submission details.

           

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Kevin Connery

My family follows many traditions. Some were passed down to them from their ancestors, and some they created on their own. One such tradition, which developed when we were living in India, was to visit a different city every year. When I was seven years old, my family and I visited the state of Himachal Pradesh. We drove to Rohtang Pass. Rohtang, literally meaning “pile of corpses”, is the destination made famous because of the numerous people who have died in bad weather trying to cross the pass. Perhaps the danger is what made it such a popular tourist destination...

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HE(ART)LESS

Kevin Connery

He and I were lovers long before he began painting.  Before today, I hadn’t even known that there was an artsy bone in his body. Regardless, this would be his first and last exhibit, and seeing as it was dedicated to me, I knew that I had to attend.  I hadn’t seen him in 12 years. Not that I would see him today, but I still felt the occasion was worthy of my most elegant gown.

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Partly Cloudy

Kevin Connery

Being awake at 6 am is almost a feat in itself. Sunbeams begin to weave through the clouds, and this pisses me off, because what good is sneaking off in the dead of the night when it’s not even the dead of the night? My flair for theatrics has been thwarted by my vanity, as I have spent far too long applying “natural” makeup and choosing the perfect pair of underwear, because heaven forbid I get caught wearing granny panties on the day I throw myself off a bridge

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Late Night Memories

Kevin Connery

by John Dias

 

The souvenir given to my mother in exchange for my father’s life is lashing out at my eyes, forcing them shut.  This keepsake is a bit of an odd paradox: it’s a large steel crucifix, but it’s the central memento of my dear, late, Jewish dad.

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Tiger Lillies

Kevin Connery

by Victoria Loder

 

We were making love beneath the moon when I turned to him and said, “I used to be a writer.” He smiled wanly at me, thick teeth set beneath thin lips. I watched his chest tremble with the quiver of laughter, but heard no sound. 

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Where I am is Earth

Kevin Connery

by Xing Jun Ng

 

I remember the first time we saw each other. We were five and eight, peering out from behind the giants of our parents. You were probably too young to remember, but I recall the way your wide eyes froze, gaze flying to the black-eyed susans in my mother’s prize-winning flower patch. I spun around to find a Migrant Hawker resting on my nose, and yelped as I flailed my arms. I heard you laugh, and when our eyes met, I laughed too, the beating of dragonfly wings in our hearts and heads.

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Red Raven

Kevin Connery

by John Dias

 

Dried blood covered my face like tribal war paint. Corpses littered the town streets, over and under the broken bricks that were once towers. Trails of shattered foundations were now scattered across the city like sorrowful pathways leading nowhere but down. Only one thing was certain: bombs would dig deeper pits and salt them with the dust that was once our bodies. The heights we once knew were sinking, dragging us to hell with them.

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