Fiction
October 2, 1987 The café was brightly lit, the pungent smell of coffee wafting from the kitchen. Night was falling quickly, but customers still flowed in and out. Dishes clanged in the sink, bells dinged, and food sizzled on the griddle; a symphony of cacophony. The door to the café opened and a seventeen-year-old in
“Does it ever stop hurting?” “No, you just make room for it.” I tucked my hair behind my ear and laughed. The nerve Bonnie had to ask me that. Right when I thought the pieces of my life were slowly getting put back together is when she decides to embody the essence of a tornado
Ansyl stood in line at the drugstore, a bottle of Pixy Brew’s Angelic Blue hair dye in hand. He nervously checked his watch as the elderly lady in front of him emptied her basket onto the counter. He itched to push his hood back and run a hand through his hair, but forced down the
The wind is chilly. A lass was walking down the empty streets that were covered in ice. She looked up and saw the flickers of the stars that filled up the night sky. Her mind is going to places. As she continued walking, an eerie feeling crept up on her skin. Could it be because
More than 200 days. Almost eight months. And they would finally see each other again, this time, more than friends. Dean didn’t know how it would unfold. He’d said in his letters that they would go out on a date, but they couldn’t. Not in Briston. Not in public. Not unless they wanted to be
Before I loved you, I was a wanderer, I was dressed in light green and empty from within; now my soul has the shape of a violin, and it sings of you, day and night… It shines so bright that sometimes I fear its light may tear open my thin skin and leave a mess
Nina’s car horn woke me from my slumber. I slid open my window to find my friends motioning for me to come on already. I’d fallen asleep, and now I’m late. The clock reads a little past 10pm. “Shit, shit, shit, shit.” I dart around my room, thrusting my hand into the pile of clothes. My
I have existed in the mind of many, yet few can write me. They have written me as the chosen one. But they think every female chosen one still needs a man by her side (a man who will mistreat and disrespect me). They will doubt my abilities and strategies and they will “save me from
It’s a quiet summer. And not the good kind of quiet — the kind that’s comfortable and relaxing. It’s been four weeks, around the time where summer begins to feel like it’s never-ending, and all I’ve heard was white noise. My mother’s voice sounds like a distant memory in my ears — there, but not
I was never a strong believer in the saying “everything happens for a reason.” To me, that did not make sense. Maybe everything in life was supposed to happen, but I didn’t think things were related to each other. Well, that is, until I met you. You, my friend, were something that could only happen
Most mornings are blurry. Most nights are faded. It doesn’t feel like his eyes are his own anymore. Everything seemed foreign, as though, by some chance, he was looking out a pair of unadjusted lenses. Everything felt like it was drifting away, moving a great distance from all he’s ever known. Everything, all the bits
It’s 11:11; I pressed myself at a corner and made a wish that has something to do with you. How many 11:11s should pass for me to finally live up a realized fantasy? Every day, I never fail to make a wish, a wish that may or may never be fulfilled. All I ever dreamed
