The Sleeping Dreams:
- My dream started by an outdoor pool, where the sun was shining and reflecting off the water. A dead woman lay on the concrete next to the pool, and my dream Grandmother (neither of my real Grandmothers made an appearance) sent me on a quest to protect a box (Pandora connection?). The quest brought me to a huge cave battle against flying monkey demons, which could be my subconscious telling me that I’ve seen both The Wizard of Oz and the Hobbit movies too many times.
- The recurring one that I had when I was five about being lost on a cliff with my cousin, Brittany. When we found a house and knocked on the door, a witch made Brittany and I eat dirt. The dirt made all of our teeth fell out. It was scary enough that I had the dream three times. A manifestation of my mind trying to make sense of irrational fear and anxiety (which is the common interpretation for any dream about losing teeth).
- All the dreams that I had where I was about to be murdered. The interesting thing here—there was always some sort of supernatural twist to the plotline. Sometimes the dreams start out centered somewhere in the vicinity of reality, but they always manage to veer off course into some sort of supernatural/horror adaptation. This could be attributed to my love for all things fantasy and an overactive imagination, which hasn’t been stifled by my attempts at adulthood.
Continue reading “Dreams by Caitlyn Morehouse”
His name was Austin Koehler. His hair was stringy and blond. He was the type of boy that was constantly dirty. It was fair to assume that his mom didn’t make him take as many showers as mine did. He was continuously on the go, always outside, just ready to explore whatever piqued his interest.
Austin was my next-door neighbor and neither of our backyards had fences, so he would always stroll over to mine. It was pretty obvious who had the better yard, because mine was home to a gigantic play set that had chain-linked swings and a bright yellow slide. Needless to say, he was over constantly—so much so that from time to time my parents would complain about his lack of parental supervision. I didn’t mind Austin being over all the time. He played the big brother role and showed me all of the things that I needed to learn in order to be a kid growing up on the south side of Lincoln, Nebraska. He showed me how to climb large piles of dirt and how to pump my legs back to get the momentum that allowed me to swing higher. Continue reading “Grief: An Afterthought by Kenzie Busekist”
Lent 2017: Junior Year
When looking at my schedule outlined in my planner, with the highlighted notes and cramped handwriting, I try to think of what else I am missing. Did I write down that meeting with my advisor? Did I ever respond to the three emails my boss sent me today? How long is today’s recruitment meeting? Will I have enough time to grab dinner with my roommates? I can’t cancel again. Did I ever respond to my boyfriend’s text? Has that due date been moved for the paper? Or did I miswrite that? What wasn’t recorded from the emails that I recently received? What if somebody told me something in person that I don’t remember?
I was busy, but I was the sort of person who thrived on being busy. It gave me a purpose. I knew my schedule was bad when my roommate asked me what I was giving up for Lent. Continue reading “My Schedule and Me: The End of Love by Madeline Miller”
my friend liz had beautiful teeth and she knew it and she loved them
liz and her teeth moved to new york city in the summer
after a few months she got hit by a car as she crossed the street
no that’s not right she didn’t get hit she got smashed i’m talking
Continue reading “Teeth by Bailee Cofer”
Smack dab in the middle of Lincoln, Nebraska, sits a lake. More specifically, Holmes Lake. To be frank, the lake itself is quite gross. The water is composed of thick brown liquid that looks uninhabitable, yet the lake is home to whiskered catfish that resemble someone’s drunken grandpa, along with bug-eyed trout. The moss is a neon green color that covers most—if not all—of the rocks that surround the natural lake. The lake is small—112 acres to be exact. It’s nothing compared to the great lakes that are found up north. It is surrounded completely by trails, and you can almost always find a jogger or a biker circling the water. Flaws and all, the locals love the lake because it’s a great place to get some fresh air, hang out with friends, let dogs roam free and start up your own softball league. Continue reading “Holmes Lake by Kenzie Busekist”
I began dreaming about being a ballerina at age six, and I began dreaming about being skinny at age twelve. It seems to be common knowledge, a stereotype turned fact, that ballet dancers have a higher tendency to develop eating disorders than non-dancers. The word “ballet” itself is surrounded by a stereotype. When people hear the word ballet, what images come to mind? Little girls in leather slippers, twirling around aimlessly? A stick-thin woman tip toeing to the beat of Waltz of the Sugar Plum Fairy? Whatever the image may be, I guarantee it doesn’t involve someone overweight. Continue reading “Tiptoeing a Thin Line by Anna Walters”
It was March of my junior year of college when I decided I needed some help being a person, as people sometimes do. I opened the notebook that I typically used for journaling prayers and wrote at the bottom of that day’s entry, “God, I think I need to talk to someone about life.” Then I outlined questions (What should I do with my life? Why is this stressful for me? Who should I talk to about it? What should I ask?) until the obvious was staring at me. I like to avoid rigid organization—too confining, too conventional. But this time I needed it. And yeah, I really needed to talk to someone. Continue reading “Life Talks, Spinning Tops, and Semi-Resolution by Autumn Meyer”
I have four sisters. I have zero biological brothers. But I had one legally bound brother—my brother in law, Dion. He died this summer. Three days before he died we had our first and last fight. Continue reading “On Pain and Remedy by Sydney Moore”
The oak pew pressed against my back as I sat surrounded by clinging silence. Stained glass windows grew luminous behind the pulpit; the sun was rising. I clutched an open hymnbook in my hands while the preacher introduced the choir. His voice reverberated, piercing.
It was the Christmas service, and my gift for my extended family was my performance of religion. They unknowingly received it, accepting my participation as a normality.
The choir emerged from the preparatory room, my grandmother with them. The swish of their long robes punctuated the silence. After the singers lined up along the risers, the church’s pianist poised her fingers over the keys. My grandmother caught my eye and winked. I smiled and pushed my hair behind my ears— a small confession of my discomfort. As the first notes hit the air, everyone around me stood. I missed a cue in the play. I quickly stood to join them, and Sunday service memories of quaint dresses and peering over pews on my tip toes arose.
My grandmother, seventy-seven at this time, born during World War II, is a combination of the click of knitting needles, a pianist’s fingers, endless cookies, and the sound of prayers. She has sung in the choir ever since I can remember. She plans the church rummage sale every year, never misses a bell rehearsal, and unquestioningly believes. Continue reading “Stained Glass Performance by Madison Glennie”
The smell of dog and discount laundry detergent
You don’t know how the other neighbors never seemed to smell it. The scent stuck to everything that came out of the house. The house that sat on the corner of the block in the middle of an affluent suburb in one of the safest cities in America. It lingered in Austin’s clothes and his hair, from the day you met to the day he disappeared. The smell of a mother’s house is hard to scrub off. Continue reading “The Way Things Are by Bailee Cofer”