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Acuff, Gale |
Ahern, Edward |
Allen, R. A. |
Alleyne, Chris |
Andersen, Fred |
Andes, Tom |
Appel, Allen |
Arnold, Sandra |
Aronoff, Mikki |
Ayers, Tony |
Baber, Bill |
Baird, Meg |
Baker, J. D. |
Balaz, Joe |
Barker, Adelaide |
Barker, Tom |
Barnett, Brian |
Barry, Tina |
Bartlett, Daniel C. |
Bates, Greta T. |
Bayly, Karen |
Beckman, Paul |
Bellani, Arnaav |
Berriozabal, Luis Cuauhtemoc |
Beveridge, Robert |
Blakey, James |
Booth, Brenton |
Bracken, Michael |
Brown, Richard |
Burke, Wayne F. |
Burnwell, Otto |
Bush, Glen |
Campbell, J. J. |
Cancel, Charlie |
Capshaw, Ron |
Carr, Steve |
Carrabis, Joseph |
Cartwright, Steve |
Centorbi, David Calogero |
Cherches, Peter |
Christensen, Jan |
Clifton, Gary |
Cody, Bethany |
Costello, Bruce |
Coverly, Harris |
Crist, Kenneth James |
Cumming, Scott |
Davie, Andrew |
Davis, Michael D. |
Degani, Gay |
De Neve, M. A. |
Dika, Hala |
Dillon, John J. |
Dinsmoor, Robert |
Dominguez, Diana |
Dorman, Roy |
Doughty, Brandon |
Doyle, John |
Dunham, T. Fox |
Ebel, Pamela |
Engler, L. S. |
Fagan, Brian Peter |
Fahy, Adrian |
Fain, John |
Fillion, Tom |
Flynn, James |
Fortier, M. L. |
Fowler, Michael |
Galef, David |
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Garrett, Jack |
Glass, Donald |
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Grech, Amy |
Greenberg, KJ Hannah |
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Hagerty, David |
Hagood, Taylor |
Hardin, Scott |
Held, Shari |
Hicks, Darryl |
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Hoerner, Keith |
Hohmann, Kurt |
Holt, M. J. |
Holtzman, Bernard |
Holtzman, Bernice |
Holtzman, Rebecca |
Hopson, Kevin |
Hubbs, Damon |
Irwin, Daniel S. |
Jabaut, Mark |
Jackson, James Croal |
Jermin, Wayne |
Jeschonek, Robert |
Johns. Roger |
Kanner, Mike |
Karl, Frank S. |
Kempe, Lucinda |
Kennedy, Cecilia |
Keshigian, Michael |
Kirchner, Craig |
Kitcher, William |
Kompany, James |
Kondek, Charlie |
Koperwas, Tom |
Kreuiter, Victor |
Larsen, Ted R. |
Le Due, Richard |
Leotta, Joan |
Lester, Louella |
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Lucas, Gregory E. |
Luer, Ken |
Lukas, Anthony |
Lyon, Hillary |
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MacLeod, Scott |
Mannone, John C. |
Margel, Abe |
Martinez, Richard |
McConnell, Logan |
McQuiston, Rick |
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Milam, Chris |
Miller, Dawn L. C. |
Mladinic, Peter |
Mobili, Juan |
Montagna, Mitchel |
Mullins, Ian |
Myers, Beverle Graves |
Myers, Jen |
Newell, Ben |
Nielsen, Ayaz Daryl |
Nielsen, Judith |
Onken, Bernard |
Owen, Deidre J. |
Park, Jon |
Parker, Becky |
Pettus, Robert |
Plath, Rob |
Potter, Ann Marie |
Potter, John R. C. |
Price, Liberty |
Proctor, M. E. |
Prusky, Steve |
Radcliffe, Paul |
Reddick, Niles M. |
Reedman, Maree |
Reutter, G. Emil |
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Robson, Merrilee |
Rockwood, KM |
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Rose, Brad |
Rosmus, Cindy |
Ross, Gary Earl |
Rowland, C. A. |
Saier, Monique |
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Schauber, Karen |
Schildgen, Bob |
Schmitt, Di |
Sheff, Jake |
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Short, John |
Simpson, Henry |
Slota, Richelle Lee |
Smith, Elena E. |
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Snethen, Daniel G. |
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Steven, Michael |
Stoler, Cathi |
Stoll, Don |
Surkiewicz, Joe |
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Sweet, John |
Taylor, J. M. |
Taylor, Richard Allen |
Temples. Phillip |
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Traverso Jr., Dionisio "Don" |
Trizna, Walt |
Turner, Lamont A. |
Tustin, John |
Tyrer, DJ |
Varghese, Davis |
Verlaine, Rp |
Viola, Saira |
Waldman, Dr. Mel |
Al Wassif, Amirah |
Weibezahl, Robert |
Weil, Lester L. |
Weisfeld, Victoria |
Weld, Charles |
White, Robb |
Wilhide, Zachary |
Williams, E. E. |
Williams, K. A. |
Wilsky, Jim |
Wiseman-Rose, Sophia |
Woods, Jonathan |
Young, Mark |
Zackel, Fred |
Zelvin, Elizabeth |
Zeigler, Martin |
Zimmerman, Thomas |
Zumpe, Lee Clark |
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Point
Made by Martin Zeigler Mr. Nielsen sat in his cubbyhole
of an office, just off his classroom. It was late. The hallway outside was dead quiet. He was at his desk, grading homework. Checkmarks
for the right answers, X’s for the wrongs. There were far more checkmarks, which
was a good sign, but still too many X’s. A man appeared at his office door. An
older guy, not a student. "Help you?" Nielsen said. "1967," the guy said.
"This'll be the year. Meadows High will make state for sure." "And
you are?" "Gary Seltin's my son." "Ah, okay. Come in.
Have a seat." Seltin stayed where he was. "Coach
Aden says Gary is one hell of a player. But he'll need good grades to make the team." Nielsen shrugged. "His other teachers
will do their part," Seltin said. "And he could sure use a B from you." "He's
at D level right now, I'm afraid." Seltin stepped into
the office, stood at the side of the desk, close to Nielsen. "Doing what? Making circles
and lines?" "There's more to geometry than that." "Not
much more," Seltin said. "I flipped through Gary's textbook. It's all useless, you ask
me." "Learning can often be its own reward." "They
teach you that in teacher school?" Nielsen shrugged
again. "As I told Gary, I can recommend a tutor who'll give him the one-on-one attention
he needs." Seltin snickered. "And I recommend
you listen to Coach Aden about what it means to have school spirit." "It's a matter of
being fair to my students." "So you won't budge? Not even this
once?" Seltin said. "Sorry." Seltin swung his fist, slammed
it into Nielsen's face. Nielsen's head lurched sideways, and he grunted. He whisked a
hand to his stricken cheekbone and held it there. "What on earth?" he muttered. "You'll
survive." "I'll press charges, do you hear?" "Is
that so?" Seltin said. "I belong to the Chamber of Commerce. I'm active in Kiwanis, Rotary.
The Boosters. I own and run the best trophy shop in the area. I sponsor more games
and competitions than you can count with your tiny teaching degree. Good luck trying to
make me look bad. And I'll expect that B by tomorrow." # Nielsen, at his office door, called out
to Seltin, at the classroom door, "Wait. Don't leave. Please come back in and have a seat.
Let's talk." This time Seltin sat. Nielsen stood by
the chair. "We use a straightedge for the lines," he said. "So
what?" "And this for the circles." With an aim straight,
true, and swift, Nielsen rammed a leg of a drawing compass up Seltin's right nostril until
the sharp end pierced solid tissue and stuck. Nielsen held tight
until Seltin's scream settled into a whimper, then let go of the compass. It
didn't move. It hung sturdily from Seltin's nose, the one leg still lodged in the nostril,
the other leg visible and pointing upward, the handle hovering motionless over Seltin's
quivering mouth. "Here's the deal," Nielsen
said. "I'll give Gary a B on one condition." Seltin pawed at the hanging instrument,
wincing with each touch. "What," he said finally. "What condition?" Nielsen rested his
hands on the chair arm and leaned forward. "That he do B work. Deal?" "Like
hell." "Really?" Nielsen said. He reached out
toward the compass. "Okay! Okay!" Seltin said. "Deal! Now
get this thing out!" "I'm going to have to yank it. Really
hard." Sweat streamed down from Seltin's hairline.
"Do what you have to do." "Will do," Nielsen said. "And, oh, one
more thing. As one good person to another, can I give you some friendly advice?" "What?" Nielsen tapped his finger on the tip of
Seltin's nose. "On your way out, try not to bloody the floor." I-Man by Martin Zeigler "Ten
dollars says I can pull my eye out of my mouth." I was
on my way back to my hotel, but this sounded too good to pass up. I smiled at the young
man who had approached me. "That so?" I asked. "Which eye?” "Does
it matter?" "I suppose not. Okay, you're on." I
flashed a ten from my wallet to show I was good for it. He
took a thin card out of his shirt pocket and slipped it into his mouth, then slowly drew
it back out and showed me what was on it—a saliva-dampened letter I. "Pulled
an I out of my mouth, just like I told you," he said. I had
a nitpick or two, but I kept them to myself. He seemed a decent sort, well-dressed, almost
as if he were out to make a little extra for his mom and him back home. I
hoped the ten would help. I would've only wasted it on a superhero flick. # Come evening, I headed out for one last
walk before calling it a night and flying back home in the morning. A few blocks down,
a guy in an ugly shirt was whaling away at someone in an alley. I had a feeling I knew
who the someone was. I raced ahead. Ugly Shirt backed
off from the alley with something in his fist. He sputtered angry sounds and took
off running. The someone he left behind was who I thought
it was. The “I‑Man.” I held out my hand to help him up. He took it. "Let
me get you to an urgent care," I said. "I'll pay." "I'll
live. Bastard took my money roll." "I'll be right back." I
let the cry of "Hey, don't!" fade away behind me. Within seconds I spotted him, his shirt
a sore thumb. He'd slowed to a brisk walk. I sprinted ahead and turned to face him. "He
wants his money back," I said. "Scumbag's a cheat." "How
so?" "He bet me ten bucks he could make me turn around in
a circle. I showed him a ten and stood perfectly still. Meaning he lost. But not only did
he keep his ten, he snatched mine. So I snatched them both, plus interest." I
had to laugh. "Let me guess. What he really said was, 'I bet I can make you turn around.'
Then, after you took him up on it and stood oh, so perfectly still, he showed you a card
with the letter U on it and rotated it three‑sixty." "Yeah,
so what?" "So you're a sap, and he won fair and
square." Ugly Shirt shoved me. On instinct I shoved
right back. He lost his footing and landed on the sidewalk. I'm no great fighter, so that
worked for me. As he lay on his back, groaning,
I took two receipts out of my wallet, and using the ballpoint I carry around, I sketched
out a large capital letter on the back of each one. I slipped them into different parts
of his ugly shirt so the letters would show. While I was at it, I dipped into his shirt
pocket. Not far up the street, the I-Man was limping
toward me. I met him and gave him back his money roll. "Hey, man, thanks a lot," he
said. "What'd you say to him?" "A few words, then I kayoed him
but good." The I-Man watched the same thing I did—Ugly
Shirt getting to his feet. "Looks like it didn't take," the
I-Man said. "Might be because the K and
the O are on slips of paper." "Ha," the I-Man said, trying a
laugh that likely smarted. He peeled off a couple bills, but
I waved them off. Martin Zeigler writes short fiction,
primarily mystery; science fiction; and horror. His stories have appeared in a
number of journals, both in print and online. Besides writing, Marty enjoys
watching movies, playing the piano, and going for long walks. He makes his home
in the Pacific Northwest.
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