Fiction

       Once upon a time, there lived a young girl with a pocket full of hearts.  Really, the hearts were stones and the pocket was the upturned bottom of her swim shirt, but she didn’t care.  To her, th

When Jennifer thinks about the idea of home, it's more than the idea of physical space. Home is her shelter; she feels safe, protected, and it's kind of like a utopia where she can do anything without judgment (obviously not crimes).

Derek yelped when the school bell sharply dinged, a harsh reminder of the class he was dreading. He tucked his phone into the top drawer of the highly graffiti-ed desk to remain hidden for the rest of the lesson.

The city looked so quiet from up on the hill. It looked peaceful, lovely. I’d been there before, it was full of shit, with layers of perfume over it in hopes the shit would smell less.

I would weave in the tears of a mermaid, the breath of my love, and the drop of the ocean

sing even if you sing badly; dance even if you dance horribly; write even if you write terribly; love even if you are bad at it.

In a world where wealth inequality is at an all time high, Ray Miller is forced to make crushing decisions to stay alive...

You hold me again. In your arms. The rain is pouring even harder now, coming down like warm, wet paint splattering our arms and faces until we're drenched in it.

I got home from work at nine o’clock and decided that I would go down, through the gate, across the creek–socks mushy all of a sudden in my Adidas sneakers–and into the meadow for a walk without stopping to see anyone.

I am with my best friend, at her kitchen table, trying to tell her about a hard time I'm having.

I'm six on the living room floor -

the pink album the pink album I chant -

dad puts the Supremes on the record player, the jacket handed to me -

pink, with three of the most beautiful women I've ever seen -

I’m not sure which is worse, having my hair torn out everyday and markers drawing ‘makeup’ on my face, having a dog chew on my arm and a toddler chew on my leg.