These are fictional stories with themes form real people’s stories. Almost everything is made up, but the emotions are as real as I could make them. My goal is to make people feel less alone in their experiences, or at least somewhat understood.
She sat at her desk Thursday after school working on an assignment due the next day. Her spindly fingers urgently typing trying to get her assignment done so she could go to bed. It is 8:08 p.m. She has to wait two more hours until bed is a socially acceptable thing to commit to. Outside she hears laughter from people who are celebrating the end of their Thursdays a bit differently than she.
This happens most Thursdays through Saturdays, so she purposefully keeps her assignments unfinished until the last minute. This gives her a reason to tell herself why she is staying in. The door slams below her window and she hears laughter from the group of girls who had uncomfortably invited her to their “non-solidified” plans that evening in the dining hall. From the sounds of their laughter diminishing with the growing distance between them and her spot at the desk she concludes that their solidified plans did not include her as a detail.
Another hour passes and she is almost done with the homework that is due on Friday. Elizabeth decides she needs to procrastinate. Procrastination now meant less lonely feelings later.
Continue reading “Women and Love by Olive Riley”
Once there was an island that lay in the middle of a clamorous sea. She had beautiful flowers adorning her like jewels and large trees draping over one another, their leaves blowing on a lazy breeze. The birds gave music and the bugs crawled over her land chomping soil between their mandibles, taking in death to make their living. She sighed into herself and planted further into the ocean. The tide would attempt to overtake her but the sweetness of her soil coaxed it to caress her borders rather than ravage her shores. Continue reading “Oya by Rai Ahmed-Green”
Broken glasses at an events center
Last year, I lost my glasses at a concert.
Someone pushed me in the mosh pit and they flew away. I watched them get stepped on while I listened to the first song.
I couldn’t see a thing, but I could hear them play my favorite songs from outside the venue. I couldn’t see through the tears, I thought I might drown from them.
I tried my hardest to convince myself that I saw an opening band that I liked, that it was worth it. But I cried in the car until the concert was over.
My friend came back with broken glasses that weren’t mine.
I guess I wasn’t the only one, and that made me smile. But they probably stayed.
They could see, because I kept my tears to myself. Continue reading “Reasons for the Pit in My Stomach by Zoe Hanna”
She throws the bouquet at the back of his head as he runs away. Why he thought a shitty little collection of cheap flowers would make up for what he did, she doesn’t know. Why with his secretary? A 22-year-old little slut with short skirts, tight shirts and red lipstick. He’s 55, for God’s sake. She had gotten older, as all women… no… as all people do, she thought. But he was no master prize. A fat little man with very little hair. Continue reading “Piles on the Lawn, Readying for the Sprinklers by Maddy Lemons”
In her reflection in the bathroom mirror, Ashley searched for her mother. She surveyed her face, looking for features she knew weren’t there. Her tired eyes remained the wrong shade, her nose too small, her cheekbones unrefined. Despite her efforts to fabricate similarities between them, her reflection refused to change. Her older sisters, with their towering height, tight blonde curls, and clear blue eyes, were their mother’s spitting image, a feat Ashley had desired her entire life. Having just turned thirty, they had a little over a decade before they’d live longer than mom ever had, and even then they’ll still see themselves in each other. Soon Ashely wouldn’t even look like herself. “You and me,” her mom used to tell her, “we’re the same on the inside, deep down where it matters most.” It used to comfort her; now she laughed at the irony. Continue reading “Reflection by Deanna Krikorian”
1. Can we even file a missing person report for a girl that’s 10-inches tall?
a. The entire police station thought this was a joke. When Tommie, a young, frantic mother, rushed into the building begging for someone’s help, the sheriff considered calling for medical transport. But then she produced a wallet-sized photograph of a wallet-sized girl, and that was when things started to get interesting.
2. Okay, ma’am, can you give us some information on your…daughter?
a. Name: Thumbelina Floweret
b. Age: 15 years
c. Height: 10 inches
d. Hair Color: Blonde, down to her calves, never been cut. Eyes: Blue, like a sky full of sun. Weight: a few grams? Medical history in the family: No idea, she’s not mine biologically, she’s mine by magic, by luck.
e. Last Seen: Sleeping in her bed. In the morning it was a crime scene: the walnut shell cradle gone, the rose petal blankets torn to shreds. A Thumbelina-sized hole poked through the window screen. Continue reading “The Unfortunate Misplacement of Thumbelina by Liz Bregenzer”
Bob liked to imagine he was a sane person. To Bob, proof of his sanity could be found in his struggle with the contradictions inherent in his actions. That inner turmoil made it difficult to steady his aim as the celebrity rapist settled into the patio chaise. Continue reading “Bob by Chris Espenshade”
Thomas Fletcher could no longer remember when exactly it was that his light burned out. For now, he blamed God. Alright, no, it wasn’t exactly God that he blamed, though the guy wasn’t entirely innocent in this whole situation—that’s all Tom was saying. The blame, Tom reasoned as he unlocked the door to his small-town bar, should really be on himself, for not being strong enough to make it out of this town, for convincing himself to stay. Continue reading “Small by Abi Grimminger”
“That could’ve gone better,” remarked Vasco, licking his hands.
“Yeah, it could have,” I agreed. “Maybe it would’ve if someone had been a better distraction.” I looked pointedly at Maria.
She shrugged. “I did what I could, Den. Wasn’t my fault that he didn’t see the colors.”
“You still could’ve tried harder,” I mumbled.
“Oh, whatever. He’s dead, isn’t he?” she asked. I looked down at the body by my feet. It hadn’t been easy—the guy apparently took some self-defense classes—but he was definitely dead. I’d tried to get him from behind the recliner he was sitting in, but he’d seen me in the reflection of the T.V. or something and turned around before I could cut his throat quick the way I preferred. After that we wrestled around some and he almost got my knife, but Vasco was there and when I asked him to help me out the guy turned around to look and that’s when I got him right in the throat. It wasn’t clean, what with him being on top of me, and so I was all bloody. Vasco was too from lifting the guy off of me, only he didn’t mind so much on account of being a vampire and getting a kick out of that kind of stuff.
“Could you stop doing that?” I asked, as he continued to lick the blood off his hands. He just smiled at me with his red-stained teeth and kept on doing it. Continue reading “Denny and The Nightmares by Nora Balboa”
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Polyneikes, the radical activist taken into custody several months ago, died this morning in police custody. The activist and leader of group The Rebel Epigoni, famous for his fiery speeches and charismatic presence, was arrested for breaking into an unnamed government intelligence building outside of D.C. Building plans were found on his person and it is believed that he was planning to bomb the facility, thus adding treason to his list of charges. Details surrounding his death are unknown. Joining us now is a top advisor to President Kreon, who recently labeled Polyneikes a terrorist…” Continue reading “Antigone by Kate Gorden”