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  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    By the time I was 12 my mom was dying twice, sometimes three times, a month. I’d attended dozens of her funerals, and suffered the initial wrenching shock of first news, over and over again. Sometimes I’d receive phone calls of people asking for her, and I’d choke on my stinging answer. Oth...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    How dare you? How dare you hold me from behind like that? With your brown-eyed, little sister staring up from the floor, and our bodies falling into each other, like they do all too easily, like that night never happened, like nothing has changed. How dare you put your hand on my knee under the ...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    It wasn’t serious – I swear. It was more about boredness and curiosity, really. It wasn’t the first time the two had gotten me into trouble, either. I slammed my horrid locker for the last time before a novel four day weekend, with my bag swaying lightly, giddy without homework. On the tri...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
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    Life comes to me in short bursts of smiles and laughter and love but once I believe I'm through with the worst it comes back for one final shove and all I can create these days are broken thoughts in shades of gray watching as memories flicker and fade ghosts of my past swallowing all...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
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    sometimes the air around me gets so tight my lungs constrict, my head feels light. i need to get out; somewhere i can breathe, out in the open, where i can fall free. Nights are the hardest, stuck inside walls the droning and sighing, the creeks in the hall. i throw open my windows, chin up...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    “Do you hear it?” I could see your eyes shining in the subtle morning light from where you sat across the porch. I let the screen door swing silently behind me, and trod quietly on the dewy wood planks, worn smooth and grey over the course of their seaside years. I brought you your coffee and...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    The assignment was to write about Our Hero. Lonni Morris was up first. He shifted his weight from one blue Nike Shock to the other, and cleared his throat. “My mom is my biggest hero,” he began; his watery green eyes darted nervously around the primary-colored classroom. I looked on with the...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    I ducked into the humble kitchen, looking for mom but falling instead to a sea of white hair and wrinkled faces. Pale eyes and cracked smiles all swiveled to my direction. I had come in swinging, wearing tight jeans and a dark purple top that complimented my brand new body. I was 13 that summer, a s...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    He almost hit me today -- again. He stopped short and socked the couch next to my head instead. I recovered from the shock quickly this time, managed to stiffen the quiver in my lip. A severe cold flooded my system. Despite what I knew about alcohol, I imagined this was what a sizable amount would...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    We had arrived breathless and stylishly late. Eyes lingered as our dresses radiated the adrenaline pumping underneath. My bare legs embraced autumn’s chill – tanned muscles whispering a summer story that had faded with the month of august. Time went in strange lurches; everything around me ...

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