Fiction

The stones on the walkway were smooth and rounded, the same as the stones that towered above me in the fence surrounding the school. A warm breeze blew down the street.

The night time sky was decorated with the colors of nebulas that blanketed the 5th dimension. Nearby animals from mythological legends all perked their heads up when they heard the piercing cries of a baby.

Atlas looked on into the hazy night. The wind blew cold and harsh, or at least it was cold, she realized. In fact she couldn’t feel anything anymore. It all happened so fast…

It all began 24 hours ago when I started packing for college. My name is Clara and I have decided that I want to go to college. I don't know why you don't have to go to college to be a carpenter.

    Driving. The radio is playing a song, the words I remember but the notes I’ve forgotten. Someone is standing on the median. As we get closer, he gets larger and I can see his face. It is dirty. He looks at me. His eyes are vacant.

One couch for sale—72 inches wide, 34 inches deep, and 30 inches tall—in Vallejo, California. 

Click.
I adjusted my party hat and flashed a smile at the camera.“Not yet,” my sister said, leaning across the table. “I haven’t lit the candles.”

It’s the first day of school, ten minutes past eight, when some kid ambles through our classroom door.
Scuffed sneakers and faded jeans. Eyes somewhere between gray and blue and green. Scraped-up elbows and a banged-up lunchbox.
Ordinary.

By Neima Nour

By Anastasia Membrino

SKRCCHHH. 

Suddenly the disk on my back comes to a stop. The needle is lifted up and the record is exchanged. 

By Silas Weeks

By Multiple Authors

Blank paper and sharpened pencil = possibilities.- Britta Fitzgerald

Looking out window, imaging rounding second. - Mitchell Catlett

Overthinking? I don't, maybe I do.  - Wren Paschel-Harbour