by P. b. Simpson “Yes, Walter, I know the game is going to start at one, but you know how you get when you forget to take your pill.” Margaret Smallwood always had a problem trying to open the pill bottles. She would go as far as stabbing the top…
SNHU online creative writing Posts
My Parents Always Said
by Amy Covel My mom always said You love to write But don’t rely On it to live Have a backup plan My dad always said Don’t rely on a man For your living Get a job That sustains you After he’s gone My mom always said Your faith is…
divorcing Eve
by Scott Christopher BeeBe we divide the kids like cars and now I’m off course hit the deck nothing is left inside my breast wicked like nicked snickering on the playground at my expense – derived by things done & said – nothing’s meant no blushed downlight at sunrise; eventide…
True Self
by Chasity Gaines In the wide expanse of the mind, The innermost thoughts of Individuality Internal dialogue of self loathing A constant barrage of human flaws beyond control, a reminder of every wrong move, misstep, blunder Every wrong word, look, and deed. A struggle to balance the conscience and subconscious….
Taking Back My Name
by Eddie Brophy I wasn’t prepared to stayI wasn’t indoctrinated that way,sobriety only begets more painand I don’t know if I’m preparedto enjoy all the splendors of the mundaneand find a career that pays the bills,just so I can afford what truly fulfillsa band-aid placed on my heartby my actual…
Blinded
by Khristy Knudtson Flying on frontage roads,sipping iced coffee,and carbonated water,thrift-store findsstuffed in the hatchback. Two 30-somethingsignored their latestexistential crisesfor a sunset, a summer high,singing Third Eye Blind and The Cardigans.
3-Wheeler
by John Bibb Hickman Don couldn’t tell you why he was so devoted to Tripp, his 1951 Morgan 3-Wheeler motorcar. He loved the classic design with its oiled English bridle-leather hood strap and those spoked, widely spaced front wheels. Maybe what appealed to him most was the way it cornered…
Saint Ignatius Meets His Match
by Clayton Heilman The interpretive dance, fueled by some inner desire — a state of lowered inhibitions, allowing this fluid-mechanical motion. The body weaves noiselessly in-between the contrast of dark and light. Spinning across shadows, strobing flesh through light beams. The room lacks power, save that which gushes from deep…
Survivor
by Laura LaJoie Once we were friends I didn’t mean to offend Leaned in for a kiss I made the mistake to resist Young and naïve My innocence I now must grieve For he was cruel and impatient He reeked of desperation Hands gripped my thighs A wild look appeared…
Famine, 1963
by Burton Shulman Hannah was kneading his arm. It started hurting; Ike pulled it away. “What are you doing?” “Wondering how it would…taste.” Ike sat up. “Come again?” “Your arm.” He stared. “Are you hungry?” She turned away. “Hannah, this isn’t what usually passes for pillow talk. Maybe from here…