What is something you’re good at? My hand stops abruptly. I hesitate. What are you good at? Simple enough, but I can’t think of an answer. I blow stray hairs away from my eyes and pretend to write something when I see my potential employer looking at me. Two minutes later I hand her the

I swallow, look down and burst into flames. The image of green eyes poking out of caramel skin and a smile full of mirth fills my head. I always use up all of my ink writing her down onto paper. She walks away from the table; I’m trembling in her wake, aching for a pen.

My mom once told me I was an accident. But later on, she told me that what she said was also an accident. We had gotten into a little argument about my piece of crap father, and let’s just say it didn’t end well. On the day my youngest sister was born he called me

I’m a compulsive liar. My name isn’t Wren, but I’ve been telling people that it is ever since I moved to this city. I have huge piles of The New Yorker magazines collecting dust in the corner of my room, but I tell people that I worship those writers and hope to contribute articles one

Arabella tugged on the strap of her white wings. The costume store had promised they wouldn’t be this heavy and bothersome. She yanked them off and tossed them on the ground. Drunk adolescents stomped on them as the music slowly filched their hearing. Without telling her girlfriend Freya, Arabella left the party, stepping out into

I pulled you into my arms and rocked you back and forth. Tears fell down your cheeks. You had a fever and a bad one too. You hadn’t slept or eaten well for days. But I held you and played with your hair. I was six years old when mom and dad told me about

A prolonged pause. “Do you… have any questions for me?” I looked up for the first time at this interference in the deafening silence. My eyes wandered aimlessly. I focused on her brown hair that glistened red in the sun. And I stared at the reflection of my own hair in the condensation on the side of her

Aurora debated whether she was dead or alive. She birdwatched from her bedroom window, the smoke from her cigarette wafting in the air around her like a cloud. The lake outside stood eerily still. No wind, no ripple in the gray, murky waters. Fog hovered above the surface, ready to engulf a monster soon to

You didn’t drive today. You always drive, but today you didn’t. So I picked you up from behind the school, in a parking lot that seemed abandoned. “Can I feel safe with you?” you teased. As a new driver, I was used to this tired joke, but when you asked it, I laughed, and not

The thought of leaving doesn’t make me cry, it doesn’t make me sad, it doesn’t make me feel anything. Leaving my bed, my friends, my town; not knowing what is about to come. It has all left me blank. I’m not crying about the times we had, rather rejoicing in the fact that we had