East & West

Featuring stories by writers Liam Lund, M.E. Bergstrom, Liam Hogan, Marc Janssen and Cassandra Longest; performed by actors Jon Farley, Barbara Kite, Aundré Barnes, James Dixon and Megan Katherine. This event was hosted at Literary Arts on September 24th, 2016.
The audio files from our event East & West are now uploaded to each story page. We are excited and honored that some of the stories were chosen to air on the radio as part of The Archive Project, a collaboration
between Literary Arts and Oregon Public Broadcasting. The full event was included in The Archive Project podcast and aired on OPB radio. Enjoy!


by Liam Lund

Rina likes high perspectives. She feels home hoisted on her uncle’s shoulders. She grips his lightly thinning hair to keep her balance with one hand.
The other holds a makeshift sign glued to cardboard. It drifts over Hank’s eyes – again, he tells her to hold it up.

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Last Man
by Liam Hogan

If it had been a crossroads, I’d have kept on North, kept putting the miles between me and what—and where —I was running from.

But it wasn’t: it was a T-junction. The lonely road coming to an abrupt stop, two equally desolate strips of asphalt running at right angles, one East, one West.

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Compass Lines
by Cassandra Longest

I am standing naked in front of the mirror. I think, for a moment that I am both too young and too old for such womanly architecture. All military wives wear, in a place deeper than cloth and skin, the weariness of waiting.

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Number 58
by M.E. Bergstrom

Thanks again for meeting me early. Pull up a chair, I already got you a drink. Sip slowly, the bartender isn’t shy here. Of course, of course, you’re welcome. Sorry I’m not letting you talk. I’ve always been like this. I blabber when I get nervous. Yack yack yack. Just go with it. 

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The Sales Regional
by Marc Janssen

It was a good morning without rain and the ragged tails of clouds drifted in toward the Alsea Bay
     Bridge like the recollection of a celestial broom.
It was a good morning as I walked the slate grey sand that dipped into the calm salt of the Alsea
     River as it flowed backwards past the silent town.

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