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  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    “What’s your favorite word?” She was belly-down on the bed and her head hung over the edge of her Tempurpedic paradise. She lifted her head and fixated two green eyes on mine to ask the question. “Favorite word…? Bliss. That’s a pretty cool word.” My head was buried in my book as I ...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    Her Life rested in the cup that was formed by her two hands. Hands that were rough and scarred, and yet she was young. She seemed beaten by the trials of the mundane, but somehow managed to follow along on foolish adventures that she wanted no part in. Life, meanwhile, radiated the brightest blue an...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    He stopped walking, and the car seemed so far away. He had counted: 2165 footsteps. Two thousand, one hundred and sixty-five. It was a nice number, and it felt like cotton candy upon the tongue when he said it out loud. The beach was dark, and the water shone only with the luster of the moon and...
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    I have all of these fantasies and “things to do before I die.” I checked off number 71 today. There’s this bus-stop near my apartment complex and it has the power to take you to wherever the bus drivers are told to take you. The concrete is nicked and full of cracks. The blue sign that’s ...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    The water boiled and so did the tears behind his eyes. But that's what he was trying to fix. Armed with a mug of tea and depressing music, he walked upstairs and found the ladder that was his gateway to simple bliss. He dragged it outside and placed it against the wall that faced his backyard; ...
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    It lives in my garage and in my fears. The spider made its home in the corner of my garage, sitting in its web with a beautiful view of two cars and a clutter of furniture that was too valuable to trash, but too worthless to use. Every now and then, it would extend a strand of its silk to the floor ...
  • Fiction > Romance
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    I wonder, How significant are the notes that I write for you? Clean, college-ruled paper with thick, black ink and emotions from deeper pits of my beating heart. Do they strike your fancy? Tickle your mind? Do you keep them taped to pages of your diary or nailed against cork boards? Or are they a...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    Dinner was always an ordeal. For as long as my memories can reach back, I’ve been eating from the same white plates and bowls. They come in an assortment of sizes and shapes, but not a single one of them is adorned with the overused flowery design or butterfly. Funny though: to everyone else, all ...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    The alarm clock forced me into consciousness and I, in turn, forced the alarm clock against the wall. The chaotic sensation of not-quite-awake traveled throughout my body until I hopped in my shower and contemplated the significance and profundity of things that were really just minuscule. I got out...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    My drive to school is anywhere from five to ten minutes, depending on how late I am and how much bravery I can stir in my heart and behind the wheel. I pass by everything conceivable at 6:30 in the morning, which, as we all know, is when our brains are the most active. The man on the radio tells me ...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    Dear Mr. Universe, I stared at your blue skin today. I love how smooth you are on some days, and how rough you are when you turn gray and water falls from somewhere beyond the heavens. And yet, despite everything else, you remain bright for twelve or so hours of the day. And then the night fe...

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