Fiction

Crowded and hidden, Cassandra was never in the front. She was always kept in the back, like a lost gem trying to shine its way through the darkness. She danced elegantly, as beautifully as she could, never once failing to do what was asked of her.

I am the gem of the Bolshoi Ballet. They do not understand this. I am the serpentine woman, ever growing, ever adapting. I lurk in the back. But I notice the eyes on me. Tracking, waiting. Every move is mine.

I was still shaking when I got home. I parked the car in the garage. I walked in the house to my mom sitting in the living room. My Red Hair was all tangled up. My Gray eyes are wet with tears.

It was October, but Margo was still wearing short summer skirts. She loved the way that the cold autumn breeze brushed her skin, leaving raised bumps in its wake.

I walked into my grandmother's house and looked down through the hallway. As I turned away to go to the kitchen something small and shiny caught my eye.

It was October, but Margo was still wearing short summer skirts. Margo rode past me on her bike everyday as I walked to school. The smell of her peony perfume wafting behind her and filling my nose as I inhale.

I think if we were to taste feelings, fear would taste like white chocolate(which in my opinion is disgusting by the way), sickeningly sweet, and nauseating.

It was a dark night and 3 boys were walking in the middle of the road. The boys' names were Jeffy, Billy, and Bob. The boys saw two bright lights coming toward them as they tried to move out of the way. But it was too late.

We are Ghosts. As I spend my time floating around I’ll occasionally hear some people talking about how fun it would be a ghost. Of course, it’s not fun, the amount of things I constantly see people doing throughout time is heartbreaking.

We are the Ghostly Crew. No, we literally are a group of ghosts. But anyway, I'll let you hear a little about us. We are a group of 6 ghosts that are all besties, and we travel everywhere together.

The night was cold. The air was thick and musty. Street lights flickered as I walked down the street. The eerie feeling of someone listening and watching me. I continue down the street. The street was a little bumpy. I was scared.

It was October, but Margo was still wearing short summer skirts.