Fiction

No tears for the night, no tears for the night. Is what I whisper into my little sister’s disarray of hair.

Many people ride on trains. They have become so popular that we wrapped metal ropes around the earth to let them roam across it.

What is one thing you really wish people would stop assuming about you? Why is this, and how would you want them to change their viewpoint? 
 

English relies heavily on phonetics and sounds. A few centuries ago people didn't have dictionaries and made up spelling according to the sounds they heard- that is to say very creativly.

I found a piece of myself shopping for bread, smelling the round loaves and deciding which I would like to eat. I remember grocery stores: neat rows of vegetables and cans.

The only sound was the breath of the fan in the corner and the muffled voices of the radio, sounds that whirred and hissed inside your brain until there was nothing left inside it.

I sit there bitterly, stung by the fact that I am buckled in between Teta and Mama, and my eyesight, no matter how I contort my head, stretches no further than the musty car. I’m stuck among my futile consolations. But the sky is there.

I sit out on my porch swing in the dusky evening light and the dimmed yellow glow from a street lamp, watching the occasional car or motorcycle that passes by, stopping first at the crooked, faded red stop sign on the corner of Elm Street.

“My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm-the canker and the grief Are mine alone! The fire that on my bosom preys Is lone as some Volcanic Isle; No torch is kindled in it’s blaze, a funeral pile.” 

“I collected the instruments of life around me, that I may infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet… his limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as beautiful, Beautiful!...

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