by Casey Dare I see you across the street, waving; So I try; The cars zoom past and the trucks roar by, But I try. I reach the middle, not sure if I should continue; I look to you for guidance and see you waving, So I try. The cars…
Posts Tagged SNHU Creative Writing Student
Machine
Machine is the second-place winner in SNHU’s 2016 Fall Fiction Short Story Competition. by Taylor Lea Hicks In a cave in the mountains, there is a machine. A machine with no buttons, switches, slots, or screens. Only a lever. It’s said that this machine can give you a new life; a…
Grin
by Grace C. Bennett What would it sound like, parted to sound? This is a dim bar in the gut of London. The moon is wrinkled on the water. Your striped red socks don’t match this boring atmosphere, I think it said Come sit across the table and tell…
This Peaceful Island
by Amy Craton This quiet island, Skies pure and clear, Peacefully changing, Cycles through the year. Renewing in Fall; Not by escaping Bitter cold Winter For warm days of Spring. Cooling Fall breezes, Defeat hectic days. Soft and embracing, The air seems to play. Night falling today Reflects the season,…
Kushif (Unveil)
by Tyler Townsend A memoir of Jordan. I The vast majority of the area located around Queen Alia International Airport consists of rolling sand hills and sparse trees, which give next to no shade. The sun in mid-June is a murderous fiend. The locals, who are obviously acclimated to the…
George in the Sky
by Cheryl Sola I was born. Damn. Can’t anything go right? That was thirty years ago and nothing’s changed. Today’s my birthday, June 6th. Pa said my birthday numbers add up to 6–6–6. And because that number means the devil, my Pa called me the devil’s child, and got an…
Flèches
by Grace C. Bennett To walk Parisian streets is to Sail with Vitus Bering, Rum casks loosed atop boards Stained with salt within vicious Blows of sick and yellowed sea, Pacific to Arctic an ill to poisoned freedom; If only memory In this case Were an exaggeration. The undulant expanse…
Shot Clocks
by Jason Spicer A man was shot, in the alley behind my grungy apartment last night, again. His bald pate bounced a stream of pleated light through the blinds on my second story window. No sirens or news crews, just muddy boots and forlorn faces—men who needed sleep, in uniforms…
Rage
by Heather Maieli That son of a bitch! She caught the punching bag as it swung back at her after her last punch, her fingers digging into the red leather. Its chain gave an almost protesting wail as if threatening to break free from the ceiling. She had been going…
O
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….