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- Nonfiction > Personal Experience
I set out to write a story to understand those around me. I wrote in characters based off of these people, and wrote in a character for myself. I waited and watched and saw them interact and no matter how the environment changed, or how things changed my characters, they never seemed to behave ... - Fiction > Sci-fi/FantasyHe perched on the edge of a rocking chair's seat, flute in hand. A long, tea-stained paper sat atop his left knee, notes glaring at him. Each forte, each crescendo blazed, while each piano and decrescendo oozed cold fury. The music matched his passion, ache for ache, and leap for leap. The m...
- Fiction > Realistic FictionHe steps up, jaw set. He looks as cold and hard as the stone at the bottom of the tree, engraved with her name, birthdate and deathdate. “I don't know where you are, Ellie, but I hope it's nice,” he begins, in a quavering voice contradictory to his stony appearance. I promise mys...
- Fiction > Realistic FictionI caught a lot of crap about my lifestyle. Really, it was the same old Just-Can't-Win scenario, but everyone seemed to think they were being original. People told me I was fake because I was slender. They said real girls don't wear high heels. Real girls wear sweats. Real girls don't ...
- Nonfiction > Personal ExperienceHis eyes didn't sparkle in the light of the patio in front of McDonald's. I didn't feel much of anything, unless the creeping cold of a long, Canadian winter counted. The grinding of her roller-skates against the cobblestone made a solemn encounter all but impossible. Basically, this ...
- Fiction > Sci-fi/FantasyIt seemed like the Bunsen burner took years to fall, but I was paralysed, on the opposite side of the room. It took what felt like a second, however, for the room to ignite, a large square of fire surrounding us. Gasoline. The sprinklers flicked on, and I knew someone must have pulled the alar...
- Fiction > Sci-fi/FantasyThe dances at the Portuguese club in the next town over were wild. No doubt about that. I'd been to a couple, and had an abundance of stories I couldn't tell to the general public. But this one felt different. I was going with Callie, Trevor, and Nate, and they hadn't seemed to not...
- Fiction > Sci-fi/FantasyI prowl. The corpses sway their limbs, mimicking the trees they hang from. Aokigahara, they call it. I doubt they know the origin of this forest's name, though they might claim to. Aokigahara – the sound the trees make when a new victim is claimed. My forest is adorned with hundreds of ...
- Fiction > Realistic FictionViolet placed her hand over her chest, feeling the beating of her heart with a smile. Her heart was still pumping beneath the layers of skin and fat and muscle and fat, though the youth in front of her wouldn't know the feeling much longer. Watching the girl struggle, Violet fought a smile. ...
- Fiction > Thriller/Mystery“Come to the bank with me!” “No.” “Come to the bank with me!” I roll a pencil across the hall. “Want the stick, boy? Go fetch!” “Come to the bank with me!” “Leave me alone!” “Come to the bank with me!” “Fine,” I surrender, throwing my hands up dra...
- Fiction > Realistic FictionHeartbeat. Palms. Sweat? Yeah. Sweat. Nerves. Step. One. Two. Three. Pause. Nerves! Three. Flight? No. Four. Five. Salutations. Six. Pleasantries. Seven. Knife? Patience. Eight. Distraction. Now. Knife. Cussing. Blood. Wallet? Retrieve. Pain? Cuss. Stab. Repeat. Stab. Repeat. Repeat. Run. Streetligh...
- Fiction > Realistic FictionI shove my hands in my pockets, feeling enveloped in the grey. The grey that splashed across my surroundings like thin paint, and seeped into me. It's such a penetrating grey one might think of it as a knife blade, but it lacked even that amount of shine. It was more like the grey of high schoo...
- Fiction > Thriller/MysteryPicture this: four teens walking through a forest at night, their only source of light a tiny LED flashlight, the kind of cheap things you clip onto a key chain thinking it'll come in handy, but it never does. Seems pretty cliche, like in the horror movies, right? I agree. Right now, my bes...
- Fiction > Sci-fi/FantasyAt this point, I can barely tell the difference between blood, sweat, and dirt. They're more than just mingling on my skin, they're reproducing. I'm so covered in filth, I swear the stuff's multiplying. The rest of my group is equally dirty. We're part of a much bigger gr...
- Fiction > Realistic FictionHe hovers over the computer screen, unable to write, and consequently, barely able to breathe. The words dammed inside him make him feel like he might explode, because they're multiplying at a scary rate, but can't escape. All these words and their offspring will be the death of him if he ...
- Fiction > All FictionI am the bringer of death and wielder of swords. I am a warrior of old and the noblest of noblemen. When I pass, many perish, and the few that remain bow down. Towns are left obliterated in my wake, not a dime left to flip. Because I, I am a conqueror, and the greatest of my kind. Okay, I realize...
- Nonfiction > Personal ExperienceWhen people ask me of my religion, it's a hard question to answer. I sound much like a rich girl with a purse dog ordering a soy mochaccino with extra foam and sprinkles, or whatever such puppy-toting, fortunate people purchase at coffeehouses. “Oh, I'll have the Atheist – no, the A...
- Opinion > Sports / HobbiesIt's interesting learning about the inner workings of a writer's mind, first hand. Funny, really. But it's not funny in the laughing-till-you're-wheezing-and-breathless way, more in the bitter way, where you laugh but everyone knows you're not laughing from joy. Somewhere in...
- Fiction > All FictionI take a tentative step forward. Where am I? I have no idea what this place is, where, or why I'm here. How I got here's damn blurry, too. All that seems to matter are the poorly constructed wooden fences, lime-coloured cow pastures, wheat fields, and the dirt road in front of me. Maybe I&...
- Fiction > Thriller/MysterySnores. Coughing. Nothing. Footsteps. Awakened. Flashlight. Intruder. Gunpoint. Distraction. Window. Exit. Run. Hysteria. Desperation. Gunshots. Relief. Keys? Feet. Gasping. Sprint. Barn. Desuetude. Cellphone? Smashed. Silence. Ignited? Fire. Run. Gunshots. Pain. Nothing....
- Fiction > Realistic FictionI'd always been cautious. Maybe cautious wasn't the right word for it, I could be pretty reckless, but there were times when my mind whispered, “Don't do it, idiot.” There was a little resistance other times, telling me maybe it was stupid to decide to walk the full 14km to the ne...
- Fiction > All FictionI haven't known you a year. I guess that means we don't really know each other all that well. Haven't had much of an opportunity to bond. I guess that means I don't know your favourite colour's plaid, you can't kill a spider without feeling guilty, you're deathl...
- Nonfiction > Personal ExperienceI've never been Miss Cool, or Miss Popular. But I can remember one time when I was more than That Shy Girl. It was the eighth grade, and my jeans still read 0 on the tag, to my displeasure. My friends around me had 5s and 8s, but I was the one who shuffled their feet awkwardly when someone a...
- Fiction > Thriller/MysteryI tilt my chin up, soaking in the summer sun. Above me is a sky like a blueberry smoothie. Blended just right, of course, with a lot of milk to make it creamy. It's really the perfect shade of blue to accent the emerald of the soccer fields. “Soccer, anyone?” a voice calls from the goal ...
- Fiction > All FictionVina Renaldo is not crazy, thank you very much. She considers herself interesting, but goodness, no, not crazy. Crazy's what you call the muggers on the street or people that bet against your favourite team in the Super Bowl. Vina is not crazy. She chuckles internally, keeping her face blank...
