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	<title>Marbers Musings &#187; Short Stories</title>
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	<link>http://markfweber.com</link>
	<description>by Mark F. Weber</description>
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		<title>Moria&#8217;s Prayer</title>
		<link>http://markfweber.com/2010/03/15/morias-prayer/?utm_source=rss&#038;utm_medium=rss&#038;utm_campaign=morias-prayer</link>
		<comments>http://markfweber.com/2010/03/15/morias-prayer/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 16 Mar 2010 03:32:44 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Mark</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Cliffs of Moher]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Dunkirk]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Ghost]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Ireland]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Irish Coast]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Jameson Whiskey]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Lahinch]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[redemption]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Suicide]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://markfweber.com/?p=261</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[&#8220;She was standing on a wall, just inches from the cliff. The rocks shifted beneath her feet, and then, as fast as I could blink, she was gone! We&#8217;ve got to go back! She may be still alive.&#8221; Herb Donnell paced back and forth across the worn tile of the police station. He mopped sweat [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Cajun Potions</title>
		<link>http://markfweber.com/2010/02/15/cajun-potions/?utm_source=rss&#038;utm_medium=rss&#038;utm_campaign=cajun-potions</link>
		<comments>http://markfweber.com/2010/02/15/cajun-potions/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 15 Feb 2010 05:39:04 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Mark</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Most Popular]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Bourbon Street]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Cajun spices]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Fat Tuesday]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Mardi Gras]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[New Orleans]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[New Orleans Jazz]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Rohypnol]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[roofies]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sexual predator]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://markfweber.com/?p=223</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The old man knelt on the stage by his case and then carefully removed a banjo covered with decades of Mardi Gras scars.  Placing the instrument close to his ear, he alternately strummed and adjusted its strings.  Satisfied, he eyed the crowd. In the shadows by the juke box a familiar face waved her floppy [...]]]></description>
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		<title>The Sugar Drop Candy Shop</title>
		<link>http://markfweber.com/2010/02/04/the-sugar-drop-candy-shop/?utm_source=rss&#038;utm_medium=rss&#038;utm_campaign=the-sugar-drop-candy-shop</link>
		<comments>http://markfweber.com/2010/02/04/the-sugar-drop-candy-shop/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 04 Feb 2010 18:07:49 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Mark</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Candy Shop]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[murder]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[New York City]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[romance]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sibling rivals]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[subway]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Valentines Day]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://markfweber.com/?p=207</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The J-Train rumbled below, vibrating the floors and rattling a chorus line of peanut clusters until they danced on the white-papered shelves.  Hilda Schmidt&#8217;s bulky frame bulged through her apron as she spit a wad of chocolate into the sink.  “You idiot!  There’s too much liquor in these rum balls.” A balding candy maker with [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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		<title>The Missing Drummer</title>
		<link>http://markfweber.com/2009/12/15/the-missing-drummer/?utm_source=rss&#038;utm_medium=rss&#038;utm_campaign=the-missing-drummer</link>
		<comments>http://markfweber.com/2009/12/15/the-missing-drummer/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 15 Dec 2009 17:47:08 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Mark</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Holidays]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Angels]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Christmas ornaments]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Christmas Parade]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Christmas story]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Holy Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[hope]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lost loved one]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[resolution]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Toy drummer]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://markfweber.com/?p=168</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[              A pinch of mint and a whiff of baked ginger lingered in the room.   Hanging in the doorway was mistletoe, ready to lure holiday lovers into its spell.   The fat pine, still sticky with sap, seemed straighter at the tree lot.   The lower branches vibrated with frantic activity.    The Christmas Season always seemed to [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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		<item>
		<title>Silent Offerings</title>
		<link>http://markfweber.com/2009/12/10/silent-offerings/?utm_source=rss&#038;utm_medium=rss&#038;utm_campaign=silent-offerings</link>
		<comments>http://markfweber.com/2009/12/10/silent-offerings/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 10 Dec 2009 23:07:21 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Mark</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Holidays]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Chicago]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Christmas]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[cynicism]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[miracles]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[offertory candles]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Polish church]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://markfweber.com/?p=164</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Snowplows prowled the broad boulevards of Pulaski and Archer, converting pristine puffs of winter into grimy piles of ice and salt along the curbs of South Chicago.  Barreling down a dark side street, a monstrous shovel dodged parked cars while furrowing through drifts.  Bouncing headlights and worn wipers battled for visibility until a glittering beacon [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
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		<item>
		<title>The Maiden of Mont Saint Michel</title>
		<link>http://markfweber.com/2009/12/02/the-maiden-of-mont-saint-michel/?utm_source=rss&#038;utm_medium=rss&#038;utm_campaign=the-maiden-of-mont-saint-michel</link>
		<comments>http://markfweber.com/2009/12/02/the-maiden-of-mont-saint-michel/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 03 Dec 2009 01:05:22 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Mark</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Brittany coast]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[convent]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Ernest Hemingway]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[family vacations]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Fate]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[father-son]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[France]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Mont St Michel]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[omelets]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://markfweber.com/?p=149</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Tall hedgerows lined the road, forming a green canyon in the French countryside.  Except for an occasional chateau, it wasn’t much different from Wisconsin.  At the wheel was my dad, The Professor.  He taught history and literature back home.  Sporting a burly gray beard, like his hero, Ernest Hemingway, Dad’s voice boomed as if he [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://markfweber.com/2009/12/02/the-maiden-of-mont-saint-michel/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Pork&#8217;s Popsicles</title>
		<link>http://markfweber.com/2009/11/30/porks-popsicles/?utm_source=rss&#038;utm_medium=rss&#038;utm_campaign=porks-popsicles</link>
		<comments>http://markfweber.com/2009/11/30/porks-popsicles/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 30 Nov 2009 13:08:29 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Mark</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Most Popular]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[bully]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[dry ice]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Fictional short stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fight]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[football]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[friendship]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Popsicles]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[pride]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://markfweber.com/?p=147</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[  The blow surprised him.  Pork flew backwards against his ice cream cart landing painfully near the large spoked wheel.  His upper lip ached as blood trickled from his nose.  Huddled around him stood a half dozen high school football players.  Huge and grimy with blackened eyes and scraped knees, they were surprised that the [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
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		<item>
		<title>The Empress of Del Mar</title>
		<link>http://markfweber.com/2009/11/15/the-empress-of-del-mar/?utm_source=rss&#038;utm_medium=rss&#038;utm_campaign=the-empress-of-del-mar</link>
		<comments>http://markfweber.com/2009/11/15/the-empress-of-del-mar/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 16 Nov 2009 02:00:10 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Mark</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Cancer]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Coast]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Del Mar]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Funeral Videos]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[hope]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Infant Death]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Priorities]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short story]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sunset]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Torry Pines]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://markfweber.com/?p=122</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Peering through the camera, Scott whirled his zoom lens, sneaking by the cactus until his client, the Empress of Del Mar, came into focus.  Her highness didn’t look up, but continued studying the script, neatly printed on three-by-five cards.  A short hike behind her, down a winding path, shadows from the salmon colored cliffs pierced [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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		<item>
		<title>101 Observations of an Overhead Projector</title>
		<link>http://markfweber.com/2009/11/12/101-observations-of-an-overhead-projector/?utm_source=rss&#038;utm_medium=rss&#038;utm_campaign=101-observations-of-an-overhead-projector</link>
		<comments>http://markfweber.com/2009/11/12/101-observations-of-an-overhead-projector/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 13 Nov 2009 00:23:47 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Mark</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[1960's]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Nuns]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[observations]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Parochial schools]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[revolt]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[science books]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://markfweber.com/?p=116</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[       &#8220;It has a red &#8216;on&#8217; button.&#8221; &#8220;The &#8216;off&#8217; button is also red.&#8221; &#8221; On&#8217; &#38; off were the same button.&#8221; &#8220;The projection lens is round . . ..” This was science.  The Gemini Program was blasting pairs of astronauts into orbit.  Exciting technologies, like transistors and Tang Orange Drink, were being developed.  [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>A Flower</title>
		<link>http://markfweber.com/2009/11/11/a-flower/?utm_source=rss&#038;utm_medium=rss&#038;utm_campaign=a-flower</link>
		<comments>http://markfweber.com/2009/11/11/a-flower/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 12 Nov 2009 03:05:53 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Mark</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[hope]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Lupus]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[painting]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short story]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sister]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[suffering]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://markfweber.com/?p=108</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[  My sister is painting a gift for me.  It’s a flower.  She’s a beginner, not that it matters.  My flower will be a masterpiece. Chris lives hours away.  I imagine her working at the easel.  She probably keeps her eye close to the canvas.  An illness called Lupus hampers her vision, often blinding an [...]]]></description>
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