BY HANNAH BRITTEN

oh you tempestuous fiend

you smooth, fluid bastard,

as sweet as honey soaked kisses.

sometimes bitter, biting, sharp...

BY HANNAH BRITTEN

i envy the peonies

who take up as much

space as they want

BY HANNAH BRITTEN

My head may always

be in the clouds,

But at least my feet

BY SAMIR ELMASRI

Portrait of a liar, transparent, you could see right

through me.

Empty substance, dark and gloomy.

Often trouble, muddy, and droumy.

BY CEARA PEREZ-MURPHY

His mouth tastes like the bottom of the glass

Day old

Johnny Walker Blue

His tongue is thick

BY TORREY WANG

I wake up.

I only see darkness.

I feel my face.

Where am I?

BY DESTINY DESCHENES

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.

BY VICTORIA LEGER

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.

BY ABBY WATERHOUSE

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.

BY ROHANJI NOVAS

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.

BY NICK MCLAUGHLIN

It lay half-sunken in the wet sand of low tide, the water parting around it with each swell of the waves as though trying to avoid it. Only a half hour had gone by since the sea carried the thing to its final resting place, and yet the crowd that had gathered was enormous. The strobe light of a thousand camera flashes illuminated the thing in harsh bursts of white light, the flare of the bulbs reflected in the film of salt water and slime that enveloped it.

BY HANNAH BRITTEN

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? ...

BY MORGAN DOCURRAL

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.

BY SUZANNE KARIOKI

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.

BY: ETHAN THIBAULT

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.

BY EMILY S. MARTIN

Tired

Dark

Isolated

Misty

BY JAY REISS

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.

BY LAURA COSENTINO

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.

BY STEFANI MUÑOZ

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 STEFANI MUÑOZ

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.

BY GABRIELA PALAZUELOS

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.”

BY EMILY S. MARTIN

Dancing slowly round and round

Our time came to an end

Close together tightly held

Music plays from old speakers

BY NATHANAEL MOLNÁR

I stand my ground on burning fields

As from the dirt rises new light

I close my eyes in somber sleep

As I give up this useless fight

BY CONNOR MCPHERSON

He calls,

Hot and wet

His voice stings

Like a thousand needles in my ear.

BY DANIEL C HEIN

An infinite number of water drops

Tumble down onto my bare chest.

They land haphazardly, like missiles

Launched by an uncontrollable mind.

BY DANIEL C HEIN

Four hundred thousand babies born today,

Four hundred thousand walls built.

Four hundred thousand babies,

Four hundred thousand mothers,

BY MATTIE WOODSIDE

It’s an embrace.

The kind that has been molded, formed, and

shaped

to every pain, suffering, and sorrow.

BY MATTIE WOODSIDE

I feel naked.

A bold, black number my new identity.

And when they ask me to move to a different

spot,

they will call out that number.

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.