by Jason Grant The entire king-sized bed is mine now, but I can’t seem to move from the left side to the right because on the nights you were here—laying there—if I dared move from my side to yours in the middle of the night it was like I-was-crossing-some-boundary you-needed…
by Sean Heflin If there’s one thing Levi Levitt hates more than anything, it’s his best friend, Trish. It’s not that Levi doesn’t hate other things: he hates when the Cleveland Cavs lose, he hates when the cafeteria serves cardboard pizza with mushy tatter tots, he hates listing out what…
by Jane Finlayson Nicky peels the skin off the chicken in one slick move, like she’s undressing some squirmy little kid before it makes a getaway. “Stay put, you twisted bag of bones,” she hisses, holding the bird upright and slapping onion halves and rosemary into the cavity before wrestling…
by Amy Covel We’re pale white Tonight Like ghosts Haunting the graves Of the places We’ve stayed Forced to conform To the order To which we were born You and I are bound Forever Two ghosts together Our untimely deaths Stole away our breaths But didn’t deliver us From the…
by Cecile Pecoraro My journey to the office each day begins with a drive around Jackson Park. After one block I must veer right to continue up the street, Park Avenue, that holds the 2.27 acre, two-block long park in its grasp. Despite its size, the park is home to…
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…
by Dennis Daniels Blanz Valentine is an average guy who works on an assembly line of Ford Manufacturing Company. He fancies himself as the companies counselor who has all the answers for everyone’s problems. Many see him as the man behind the bar that they bring their troubles to for…
by Maria Segure He was still now. I stared at him for a long moment. As much of a moment as I could bare. He was still. I could feel my anger rising. My irrational, unexplainable anger. And I felt helpless too. Because I did not want to be here….
by Kathleen Katims I am shy. In my Brooklyn elementary school, it is painful for me to look in people’s eyes, to speak up, to say what I am thinking. In every encounter people tell me they can’t hear me and to speak louder. In sixth grade the teacher asks…