Teen Ink

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• Nonfiction > Personal Experience
  inspire me

  

  By sambo, South Burlington, VT

  I used to find inspiration in inanimate objects—in the clouds of water vapor that mold into awe-inspiring shapes, the sun as it glistens between crevices of branches before stooping into its glorious sleep, the hypnotizing patterns of my curtains on late 1-am nights, the colors that have dissemina...
• Nonfiction > Personal Experience
  Metaphorical Sprints

  

  By sambo, South Burlington, VT

  Slow down. My ears are ringing from the vibration of dead tennis balls on hard surfaces in the late night atmosphere---fans off, lights flickering, heart beating furiously---slow down. I hear this four, if not five, times a day---here on this late summer night on the tennis courts, I feel it hit...
• Fiction > Realistic Fiction
  Intertwined Fates (Victoria)

  

  By sambo, South Burlington, VT

  The seamstress poked and prodded at the iris Vera Wang dress that twirled around Vicky. She cringed at each prick of the needle, another gratuitous apology coming her way. The petite seamstress had made her way 360 degrees around Vicky. Vicky could already predict where the splotches of blood aro...
• Fiction > Romance
  Nova (Prologue)

  

  By sambo, South Burlington, VT

  The façade of Stella’s emotions lingered upon the borderline of sorrow and agony. In a world remote from reality, she swallowed the truth that still faltered in the air. Her heart pulsed to a chronic rhythm and she could feel the beat at the ends of her fingertips too. She could sense her neck...
• Nonfiction > Personal Experience
  My War With Writing

  

  By sambo, South Burlington, VT

  In the past year, I’ve tried to write four different novels. I’ve written about things I don’t know about, realizing that it wouldn’t work out. I’ve tried to write a story about something I’m passionate about (a story that I’m currently working on). I’ve even attempted to write an...
• Fiction > Romance
  Letters to Opal

  

  By sambo, South Burlington, VT

  Opal—your words are so dearly imprinted among my recollections of you. Glimpses through the peephole of your door, shy giggly stares, the façade of stamina swathing the perplexed little boy inside. I stood outside of your doorway, baseball in hand, hat on head, everyday for the temperate days of ...