I’ve lost my share of friends. Not in the mortal sense, but the economic. I grew up in a middle class-community, one that was built to house the post-boomer generation as they started families. Since they were low-level employees, they didn’t have any real say over how their employers behaved. As the local companies grew, they relocated, and our neighbors all moved before their kids were grown.
Dust collected in my nose as I pulled an unopened box out from under my bed. The imprint the box created over the last five years remained visible in the tan colored rug, next to it was a dried up droplet of nail polish.
Why do I have a bowtie? I hate bowties. They gave my father a bowtie in his coffin. He looked like a waiter. He wasn't a waiter. He was a shoe salesman. Never wore a bowtie in his life. When he got married, he was naked. They were both naked. On a nudist beach in Florida. It was a thing. It wasn't a philosophy. The old man didn't like layers of fabric blocking his view of women. My mother should have known right then it wasn't going to last.
Do you remember Sputnik? Maybe you weren’t alive in 1957, but you remember hearing about it at least. Perhaps in a classroom, or your parents telling you a story about where they were at the time or some bullshit. Could you imagine it? The first successful space mission!
I poured out of the left side of our bed, yes, the left because that’s the side my wife decided to push me off of today. I carefully opened the door and closed it quietly behind me. Yesterday she pushed me off of the bed with violent kicks and a punch to the face, so you can say today was a good start. Getting angry doesn’t make much sense because I know it’s really not her fault.
In the first few hours, almost all of the civilized world will fall into darkness. Without humans to run the plants that provide electricity, cities will fall dark and the night sky will light up. The only power still available would be in areas with hydro-electric plants that run on water like in Niagara Falls. This could realistically last for a couple of years; if they are fortunate enough not to have a part break without repair.
A. Boy meets Girl. Boy falls in love with Girl. Girl falls in love with Boy. They live an ordinary life made extraordinary by their love and their time spent together. They have their 2.3 children, a golden retriever, and visit the Cape during the summer. They die Notebook style in each other’s arms.
During winter months at Farley, I was a member of “the walking crew”: a hoard of students that walked behind a designated teacher down the red-carpet-concrete to the train of cars that waited to pick them up. It was my favorite part of the day. When glue sticks were taken out of mouths, scissors were put away, and classes ended, we exercised our tiny feet across the basketball court and down the driveway to meet our parents.
BY JAY REISS The first time I left the United States was with my sister on a trip to the Middle East—Israel—the ‘Holy Land.’ Israel is constantly recruiting Jews from around the world to move there. For many Jews who make aliyah (moving ‘back’ to Israel) the birthright program is their first step. While I am grateful to have toured Israel and seen some of the most sacred and contested land in human history, I am not planning to move anytime soon.
A bright light flashed and filled the room with a warm glow. I felt my body spin and turn into a sitting position, as if propelled by invisible hands. Blindness met me and my eyes struggled to adjust to my new surroundings. Nothing. There was nothing but blackness to adjust to. Surroundings simply didn’t seem to exist here.
I have Scrabble pieces in my hand, two “E’s,” two “L’s,” an “I,” a “K,” an “O” and a “V.” I place them in a Yahtzee cup, because why not! I scramble the Scrabble pieces relishing the Clink, Clank, Clunk, Click, Clank, Clunk from the pieces clashing against themselves and the plastic. I let them scatter across the table.
He did not view himself as homeless, just a minimalist. He spends his days touring the city of Worcester with his trusty shopping cart. There is a road that the sun kissed at just the right time. This was his favorite road, even though the hill tested the wheels on his trusty shopping cart. He ventured there every day during rush hour.
I bite my nails when I’m nervous. It’s an annoying habit I’ve never been able to break. My mother used to wrap Band-Aids around the pads of my fingertips or paint the tops a sour blue color when I was younger in an attempt to make me stop.
“That’s not healthy,” she’d say, “You have to let it go.”
I roll over to my side. My blankets are intertwined with my legs. As I struggle for them to release me, I remember my best friend, Trevor, is asleep on the floor. I stop and call a truce. My phone buzzes. I reach over to grab it when my fingers miss. It falls onto the floor, landing on top of Trevor’s chest.
It was a dreary, overcast day in Memphis. A woman awoke that morning in her apartment, to find that two men had broken in. One of them was holding a knife. Later, she would give the police a description, a name and an address. But that night, before the men left her home, the men assaulted her and took her television set.
So dark, so cold, and oh so silent. Damn that witch. If only I knew what I was getting myself into when I accepted the gift of immortality. I wish I was lucky enough to just go to hell. It would be a whole lot more exciting than this. How long have I been drifting here aimlessly in space anyway, with only my own inner thoughts to keep me company.
In the kitchen the lights create a soft cocoon of light and she settles there, elbows caked in crumbs as they lean against the kitchen counter. To her left sits the door, the shades drawn over the tiny window above the lock and knob.
Over the rolling grasslands and the black chestnut forests, the husky frog ponds with clusters of cattails and the vast gourd and squash farms lining the dirt pathway, laid a small town tucked away in a serene nook. Each little home was built at a distance from one another, yet were never too far apart to carry the sense of community.