SNHU Creative Writing Posts

The Layover

by Christian Linville Circling above O’Hare in the afternoon sky, the aircraft trembled as it passed through the shifting waves of air. Kara smoothed the wrinkles of her blue skirt, crossing her legs in the dim cabin as the aircraft descended. While she felt the nakedness of her ring finger,…

read more...

Veterans Day

by Jane Flint My uncle owned a parcel once. It was a beauty. Up there outside of Brookings. Most of it lay along a gentle slope facing southward. During runoff in the spring, every farm around would be wet or under water. But that piece would drain as soon as…

read more...

Together

by Angela LeBlanc The wind whistles hot against the dry red rock, lashing through dry leaves that cling. Words— gasping for life, suffocated and trapped. Talons scrape the clouded horizon: pinks invade yellows, slash purples. Desperate for distance—flight. Running, breathless and terrified from the truth. Arid color splashed across the…

read more...

Bedtime

by Keryna Stutts Barefoot, leaning over the counter she painted on her lipstick. She never wore shoes unless she was going out. The bottoms of her feet stained black, she could run across gravel as if it were carpet. Lips pursed carefully around a menthol, so as not to smudge…

read more...

Battlements

by Michael Sandler 1. How the past buttresses remorse, as if today’s missteps fit old indentations that zig then zag from one ancient beacon to another. Like you I feel pulled apart by each, unsure which will prevail as if both flew my banner, leaving me to soldier on my…

read more...

Copper Drops

by Lee W. Sang My mother told me copper grows more beautiful and balanced with time. That’s why she gave me the necklace—two simple strands of hammered copper discs. She had bought it as some sort of peace offering, but we both knew she wanted me to be the woman…

read more...

Garlic Press

by Michael Sandler Call it fierce appetite for gadgets, strawberry huller, a lobster pick good for fishing out olives. Lives imbue my favorite, cracking walnuts in a pinch, juicing lemons— but mostly for exuding garlic. Mom’s joke: a real chef would cook his goose with one. She used to clear…

read more...

Oxalis

by Eleanore Lee A yellow mist floats along the rim of the far hill. In the dawning spring it sprang up by itself. We didn’t notice it happening. It just appeared. Up close the juicy little leaves look like clover, But they’re not. The sparkling blossoms small and brilliant. No…

read more...

The Rack

by Norman Belanger “Oh for cripe’s sake, would you look at that!” Her first sip of soup ends up mostly on the front of her Easter blouse. She daps the tip of her napkin in a water glass, blots at the red stain on floral silk. “For Christ’s sake!” Nearly…

read more...

Theories About Footprints

by Michael Sandler As I approached he stood haltingly, kyphotic and aged. Perhaps he saw my chest thrust, rodding my back as if to overcome the torque of my own crooking hinge, its rust and abrade. Over appetizers and wine, disquiet ran in background mode while routine smiles and talk…

read more...