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Postcard-sized flash fiction about the things we think we know about others, life, death, and everything in between. And it all starts with an image...

The Ghost of Beverly Hills

You wouldn’t know it, but this is her home, in the penthouse suite forever rented. Not her ghost, but the blond movie star in the flesh. Rumor and time had spun a fine yarn of depression and addiction into her narrative. How convenient, she thought. For she was not so much depressed as bored with...

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