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My eyes became cloudy. I could feel tears begin to form, my face congested, my eyes puffy, but I was not allowing a single tear to flow. I refused to show the truth behind what had driven me to the brink of insanity. People constantly asking how I was feeling, if I was doing okay. The answer seemed so blatantly obvious to me, I was a total train wreck.
I shifted in the chair, sitting in the auditorium to watch the high school talent show. I’ve already seen some acts and they were really great. With the auditorium packed, I watch as another act was about to begin. The two announcers came out and stood on the stage. One is wearing a black hat, white shirt and jeans. The other is wearing a black dress and black shoes. They call out the next act and left.
She walked through the hallway with determination in her eyes, courage through her spine, and a smile that told the world she was thriving. That’s what they saw at least. That’s what they told her they saw. Her demeanor told them all that her life was perfect. But little did they know that with every confident stride she took, thoughts came rushing in, forcing her to question if her boot could hit the tile once more without her falling apart. Wondering if the cruel eyes of others would notice the gloss in hers. or if she was walking the right way. Talking too much, but then never enough. They all saw her continue on, but the thoughts didn’t cease.
Trying to wonder what thoughts may be going through a person’s head is a difficult task. It’s even harder if that person is homeless and hopeless. The first time I saw him was in May, about three years ago. I was sitting in the backseat of the car with my eyes on my phone. Playing a basketball game which was getting pretty intense. Twenty points. Twenty four points. Thirty points. I was getting pretty good at it and I already had an unbeatable high score.
Children pushed to the front of the crowd, pulled back swiftly by concerned parents who, hypocritically, watched unblinking at the mass that had come to this beach to die. It was impossible to turn away; that animal urge that entices one to slow down on the highway to gape at a violent car crash had seized the minds of the onlookers. There, surrounded by a whispering semicircle of horrified beachgoers, was the fifty-foot long upper body of a colossal, water-logged man.
Dear unfortunate soul of whom holds this story with- in their hands, There is one thing that needs to be understood about this tale before it is read, we are all meant to be different. There are men who beat their wives, there are men who collect pennies. It is in the differences that we matter. For if we are all the same, then what keeps us from being utterly replaceable? ...
Today’s date is October 17th, 2017. I just ordered my usual iced coffee at my favorite cafe. It’s been four months since she left me and five since I’ve stepped foot in this place. Last time I was here was with her. She ordered her coffee and sat down at a table before mine was ready. She used to wait for me, but as time went on, she became impatient. The last conversation we’d had wasn’t a conversation at all. She was on her cell phone, and I was on mine. I wish things could have been different.
As she stopped to catch her breath, she looked back, clutching her side and wheezing with her hands on her knees, smudging her glasses with shaking fingers as she tried to wipe the sweat out of her eyes. Around the corner came a shadow - small, and moving painfully slow but always too close - and her heart caught in her throat again.
She started her day by incinerating her alarm clock with a spell. She cast another to make breakfast, burning a three of spades, and another with a ten of hearts to conjure a cute outfit. The cards burnt themselves in a puff of smoke, and Mars noticed she was almost through this deck, and had no idea what cards she had left. She was getting sloppy.
When I tell people that one of my biggest fears is a banjo, they tend to laugh. No, I am not lying, and yes, it is a perfectly reasonable fear to have. I am not afraid to simply look at a banjo, nor am I afraid of the sound, the timbre, the unusual proportions of the neck and body, nor the type of people one might associate with playing banjos. To this day, Kermit the Frog is one of the best banjo players I know.
2000:
You’re five years old swinging on the metal play set on the part of the yard that is more dirt than grass from all the years you and your brothers kicked it as you swung higher and higher. Your Grandfather is sitting in a white lawn chair, just beside the doorway, watching you and smiling every time you yell to talk to him from across the way.
It’s interesting the way we perceive memories so differently. I remember once that I read this science fiction book back in high school. And I can recall, quite clearly, a description of memories so profound I can scarcely force myself to forget.
By the time I finish this piece I’ll still be twenty. Less than a month from now, I’ll have reached that point in my life when, metaphorically, my by- gone days of adolescence will have disappeared into nothingness and my newly born adult self will have emerged. The big twenty-one.
My curly hair never stood a chance against my straightener. The morning of September 10th was no different. I sat in the chair of my vanity that my dad had put together for me, getting ready for my long day at school. He strolled in, bubbly and smiling, and asked what I wanted for breakfast, and my response was always the same, “chocolate chip pancakes, extra chocolate chips.” Hesitant because of how late it was, he said he would make them as fast as he could and no surprise, he did.
BY AMBER BRAXTON
You should play with me; okay!
Did I say you could play with my toys? If you want to play with me, you have to do it my way; okay.
You should clean up yourself up if you want to be my friend; what is wrong with the way I ...
You need to make sure you shower every day, use deodorant, perfume, and lotion; Wash your face twice a day, use toner, and then moisturize if you don’t want pimples;
BY CEARA PEREZ-MURPHY
When I was four I knew how to get myself up and ready for the day. I would get dressed in some hodge-podge outfit and make my way downstairs across the cold wooden floors to the kitchen at the opposite end of the house, out the back door and to the coop to check on the chickens. I loved those chickens.
His mouth tastes like the bottom of the glass