by Rowan Tate I Suspect That Moths and Regret share a language no one translates. Grief has poor timing and excellent posture; I am learning to walk without finishing the sentence. I am not who I meant to become, but the bread still rises.
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Cash’s Choice
by Chris Ross Fade in: INT. GYMNASIUM HALLWAY- DAY The room is pitch black with the faint sound of rapid speech and sneakers squeaking against the floor. The door opens and the light from outside illuminates the hall. KEN “CASH” MCDONALD, 17, enters the room as the door closes slowly…