Right, left, right, left. 52nd. My thoughts scream louder than my shoes hitting the pavement as I pass each familiar crack and notch in the concrete, looking up only at street signs for reference. Right, left, right, left. 54th. The … Continue reading Counting.
“So, what now?” I asked, hoping you had an answer instead, reclining onto the cool metal of the merry-go-round as we spun, opposite hands of a clock. The stars above turned with us, becoming a kaleidoscope as I noticed the … Continue reading Dizzy
A little worn around the corners, rough around the edges, and in some spots, you’re splitting at the seams, but you seem to hug me in all the right places even though you’re a bit oversized I think it’s kinda stylish. And how could I expect a thrift store find to have a perfect fit? I’m not saying that you’re cheap, but we all feel a little used sometimes. Continue reading Jacket
“We could just wait it out,” Curtis’s voice drones, drowned out by the rain reuniting with the pavement. The sound of each drop racing for the embrace of the ground lulls us all into a state of delirium. The street … Continue reading Hell or High Water
“Thanks, Mark,” my gratefulness seemingly silenced by the fizzy scream of the PBR can opening, bubbling up beyond the brim. I take a long sip and grab the second beer on the counter, turning my back to the bar. The … Continue reading 3
“Why are you smoking so fast? Enjoy it,” Katerina said. She took the hand-rolled cigarette from me and took a drag. The tip glowed briefly as she inhaled. I watched the orange flecks of light circulate between the tufts of tobacco. She lifted her chin, closed her eyes, and gracefully exhaled a slender train of smoke. She smiled and handed the cigarette back to me.
The Challenge: Write a complete story in 26 sentences, each sentence beginning with a sequential letter of the alphabet. In other words, the first sentence starts with A, the second with B, the third with C and so on. Continue reading Creative Writing Challenge: The Alphabet Game (Thea)
I was standing on the balcony of my grandmother’s seventh-floor flat in Athens breathing in the air that felt like the armpit of the hottest part of the day: 2 p.m. The white tile and gray grout flooring reflected a flat pang of harsh sunlight into my eyes. The bright ground made my feet look dark and dirty. The tan lines from my sandals led from one chapped little blister to the next down the sides of my feet. People walked here so much; I should have brought different shoes.
The car bounces along the highway, hundreds of miles away from the place I now call home. Between looking out the windows and conversing with its passengers, I manage to squeak in a page or two of my book. As I close it, I see the words “Kansas City Public Library,” stamped on its slender pages.
He is an ignorant boy, easily succumbing to the pressures put in front of him, blinded by smoke, deafened by the chorus of empty bottles. This isn’t wholly anyone’s fault, there are two sides to this blame. Late nights spent with tiny screens illuminating shadows against the wall, making hollow suggestions—playing themselves out. Continue reading “Next Time”