By Jennifer Kopec Turn my back Just to please you Whap! I scream Whap! A sound I’ve grown to love Stockholm syndrome at its finest The love for the whip The love I live for The time passes by The clock ticks on Tick Tock Tick Tock The sound grows…
SNHU Student Posts
Yellow Body
By Christy Bailes My walls have seen forty years, with each layer more concealed than the last, and I wash, scrubbing nicotine-stained body, so full of memory that I measure time by yellow, once white smoke, swirling elegantly about the room, looking visually pleasing until I smell burnt tar. I…
The Cowboy and The Ballerina
By Frank Scozzari The door swung open and the silhouette that appeared was undoubtedly that of a ballerina. The figure was sublime and had the fanning outline of a tutu about the waist. “Can I use your phone?” the silhouette cried out. Marge, the fifty-something waitress-proprietor looked over at the…
Gnats in the Belfry
By Mary Kendig I’ve been an editor now for more years than I’d like to admit, and I believe I’m pretty good at it. I’m pretty good at it, I feel, because I am detail oriented by nature. Some people, especially those who don’t really comprehend how important it is…
Goodbye, Auschwitz
By Meryl Healy My wavy red curls lie in a pile on the floor; my bloody gold crown lies in a small wooden bowl, and my new brown loafers were ripped from me—in the same way that the bastard Nazis took Mama and Papa. My forearm is crimson and throbbing…
Paying Respect
By Debra Hanley We arrived before the hearse. Heads turned as the deafening sound of twenty motorcycles rolled through the cemetery. Dressed in jeans and t-shirts layered beneath our vests, many were decorated with military insignia. We parked with precision dismounted, and gathered our flags. Solemnly we took up positions…
Red, Yellow, Green and Blue
By Dorothy Crawford Walking into the room was like walking into a box of kindergarten crayons – red and yellow, green and blue – but that was exactly what she’d wanted. She’d spent months searching for the perfect furniture and had finally found the crib at a yard sale and…
Impossible Fathoms
By Melissa Stanziale “It looks like a dried up snake,” said my seven-year-old brother William. We stood on the thin, dreary strip of beach, staring at the straight, four-foot-long silvery object. I knelt down to examine it. It was smooth, cool, and odorless. Was it the walking staff of a…
Inspiration
By Krista Johnson Lost in purchased imagery of foreign sights and sounds expressing voicing past thoughts silently suppressed. A flow of words across the eye of people, places, and emotions. A transformation transition moving picture of the mind. Hands anchor and trade with fingers at the ready to flip turn…
My Grandpa and Me
By Angela Carter It was a rainy Saturday morning. The kind of day that softens parents just enough to allow their children to wear pajamas until lunch and watch Fraggle Rock in numb silence for hours. Struck by the contrast of the utter stillness inside my grandparents’ home and the…