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  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    As the last layer of clothing peeled off—a loose tee shirt, cut low to emphasize and draped to conceal—my throat closed in panic. Even as the fabric pulled over my hair, teasing the split ends up into the humid air, I kept my eyes trained at the mirror, staring straight into my own face. My eyes...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    The entire atmosphere is invasive, forcing into you and capturing your core. The smell assaults your senses, a heady mixture of hormones, sweat and something tangibly sweet that settles on your tongue. The air is hung with moisture like a chlorine-laden pool, warm and sticky. And the sound—the sou...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    Every porch step ‘round here is the same, warped in the middle and bowed like a cupped seat facing the lamp-lighted street. That porch step is full from dawn to dusk with big bottoms covered by floral dresses and hands, from the calloused to the baby-soft, worrying the wood down to a smooth blend ...
  • College
    Guide > College Essays
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    There is a rusted iron ring where horses used to be tied, grown into the ground next to the Green. Maybe, with eyes closed, soldiers drilling could be imagined in front of the Congregational church, the paint on the Green’s white picket fence still fresh. With this image in mind, I can feel my sma...
  • College
    Guide > College Essays
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    The sky condenses into a thick brew of churning, dark clouds that ominously sink lower. Smoke rises in columns, spinning like tornados as the fire descends, raining upon the unsuspecting population. Slowly, screams of terror and desperation rise from the tempest. But wait! There is a figure arising ...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    I had to text the Jerk Ex-Boyfriend. I always had to text the Jerk Ex-Boyfriend. He wasn't even my Jerk Ex-Boyfriend. I didn't even like the Jerk Ex-Boyfriend. I don't think I ever liked him, not once. Not even at the eighth-grade Valentine's Day Dance when he gave her that bracelet and she was all ...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    The high-pitched mosquito whine drones in the background, a current of electricity from the monitors. It's a silence that's never silent, an incessant hum that makes you painfully aware of your own presence. It slows you as you walk, the wide space echoing with the shift of denim legs sliding cross-...

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