Category Archives: Creative Writing

Strangers

Short story by ANALICIA TORRES

A burst of heat seared through my chest. Pain exploded inside me. A siren wailed somewhere off in the distance. I was numb all over. Cold.

“Miss?”

I glanced away from the screen above the infirmary bed and to the doctor approaching. She smiled as she took up my tablet and looked over my vitals. “How are you feeling today?” she asked, pulling her stethoscope to her ears and pressing the cold pad to his chest. “Any dizziness, nausea, fatigue?”

I shook my head. “A little sore here and there, but I feel fine.”

“You were shot,” she said lightly, grinning. “You’re going to be in pain for a while. Do you remember anything about the attack?”

“No, it’s all fuzzy. I don’t even remember what I was doing when it happened.”

She drew the stethoscope back around her neck. “Well, the good news is that it looks like you’re going to make a full recovery. The bullet went clean through your abdomen without hitting any organs or blood vessels, so you should be discharged soon. Bad news is that you’re amnesia is severe, which is what I find so odd, considering you don’t show any signs of head trauma.  We are stilling waiting on the test results for your blood to see if any drugs may be the cause of your memory loss.” She looked perplexed as she scrolled through the tablet again. Continue reading Strangers

Your Friends Run in the Rain

BY JAROD STURYCZ – The Abstract Section

Disparition around a cloud, multiple flashes, gangs of flashes.

A Sign-a-Line-Power tower, parallel houses, even matches.

One stud on the car wall (harmful), the clearest hour, her cat catches.

Talk rainshower moth taking mic, let me embrace you, West cloud hatches.

“Here…is the finale,” I said. “I want to restart.” Loveland watches.

Writer’s Block

By ANONYMOUS

What do I write about when I have writer’s block?
When the words stop coming to me like a flock?

I just stare at my screen and gawk

While I try to cure my writer’s block.

I look out the window and see a hawk

Hoping I’ll find inspiration in his squawk.

Instead I just sit there as still as a rock

While I try to cure my writer’s block.

Maybe I should try going for a walk

Or calling my friend just to talk

But I’m sure it will not come as a shock

That none of this will cure my writer’s block.

The Eighth Wonder of the World

By HANNAH STRICKLAND

There are many things in the world that can make a person wonder and leave them in awe, and you were one of those things. You were unlike any person I had ever met. You intimidated me at first. I was scared of what would happen between us. I was scared that you would turn out just like all the other people who came into my life and left before I could even blink twice. But you stayed. You were here for my mood swings, my stupid jokes, my constant need for reassurance, and all the little arguments I would pick with you, and you had no reason to stay, but you still did. You were always willing to watch whatever dumb movie or TV show I picked, even if it was the last thing you wanted to watch.

We were so similar yet so different, and I guess that’s why we worked so well. You would let me go on and on about how much I love dogs and how my days went and everything I love about the world, and you would listen. You didn’t have the best memory, you forgot a lot of things constantly. You couldn’t even remember your dad’s birthday, but you remembered my birthday and the day we started dating and so many little things I told you that I wasn’t even sure you heard when I talked to you. Sometimes you made me angry though, when you barely paid attention to what I was saying, brushed off my feelings, and told me that I was being sensitive. God, you made me so angry.

You never had any idea about the way you made me feel sometimes, and that was my fault. I have never been one to open up about the way I feel, unless it was eating me alive. You always told me that you didn’t deserve me and I always tried to convince you that we were meant to be together. For whatever reason, the universe did not want us to be with anyone else. Whenever I even had a thought about not being with you, I felt sick and my heart would feel like it was going to stop at any moment. Life without you seemed so impossible. Being in love was a foreign concept to me, until I met you. I don’t think I can ever stop loving you.

Graduation is Near

By ANONYMOUS

Graduation is Near

Everybody is ready to cheer

Onward to the great Frontier

Excited to start their new career

Or take a leap year

So grab your gear

Don’t shed a tear

For it is clear

That the school year

Is yesteryear

Because graduation is here

12 Ways To Say Goodbye

By ANONYMOUS

In Latin we say “Vale”,

entering through the doors for the first time.

In French we say “Bon Voyage”,

learning new things in our classes.

In Italian we say “Ciao”,

dancing our night away at Homecoming and Prom.

In Japanese we say “Sayōnara”,

acting in productions big and small.

In Spanish we say “Adiós”,

playing in sports all year long.

In Russian we say “Proshchay”,

singing and performing music in concerts.

In African we say “Totsiens”,

waiting for our last day to come.

In Arabic we say “Wadaeaan”,

receiving our diplomas at last.

In Chinese we say “Zàijiàn”,

turning our tassels from right to left.

In Portuguese we say “Tchau”,

hugging our friends as we say goodbye.

 

Peak of Our Transitions

BY JAROD STURYCZ – The Abstract Section

In the winding weeks of April and May, we all want a lot.

Yes, Mr. Shimon, I used ‘a lot’. But there is a reason I used ‘a lot’. Because

Here I walk between the lines of wanting more and wanting to seek more

– different contexts of ‘a lot’ – as we reach the peak of our transitions into the adult(?) world.

I cannot say that every person who has experienced the transition has yet to regain their footing.

Unfortunately. No,

I am sure of nothing, but able to prepare an answer to any question.

But breathing helps, I hear, to ease stress for at least a few moments at a time.

If you know the path you are on: good. If you know you should be finding one: good.

You who have not yet decided on searching for a path: think about why? Not much guilt in that.

There is shame in all things. You’ll see it and the other person will feel it;

Seeing and feeling are closely related. They are as indistinguishable as the Superego and the Id.

Anyway,

This last week has really worn me out. Watch for my next contact.

Uncle Jay.

 

The Liar

By FAITH WRYCHA

Liars.

They always have their pants on fire.

They cautiously walk the wire

And sing lies like a cathedral choir.

Even as the stakes get higher and higher

Their lies blaze like a blistering fire.

Eventually the lies become easier to acquire.

The only thing lying requires

Is memory: keystone of master liars.

So come one, come all.

On May 17-24, 24-26 at 7:30pm.

Witness the liar spin his tales

And try to decipher his deceitful details.

Continuation

By ETHAN JOHNSON

The deputy wasn’t just hearing this faint, disturbing piano Mr. and Mrs. Meredith owned an ancient piano nearing its two hundredth birthday. This piano was always thought to be haunted, this piano would play a game of hot and cold with the lone deputy. This cursed house was playing a terrifying game on the deputy, as he walked through the house he saw clues of reaching a specific are the basement door as he reached there the dog quint began to bark almost as loud as the piano. Once he kicked the door open Quint stopped barking and began whining and the piano only played one key.

The basement was dark and quiet, the one thing Robert did not want to do or should do is enter the dark basement, the Deputy said to himself “I need to know whats down here” as he lit a match he immediately regretted this as there was the head of Mrs. Meredith almost fully consumed by decomposing. The deputy kept walking he saw bloodstains everywhere in sacrificial drawings even ducks Quint had helped hunt but they were not alive. Continue reading Continuation

Report

By REAGAN BECKER

The alarm sounded, I rose from my desk and faced a strange flag, unrecognizable from the one that flew before it. The speaker screeched as a familiar voice spoke, the voice and I were in sync.

Our duty is to protect this society from any and all threats. To report those who reveal their emotions and commit illegal actions. Emotions are dangerous to our solid structure we have built. Spero will live on!”

The alarm sounded again, I sat at my desk and presided with my work.

Ding

A file appears on my computer, a picture of a man and information. Steven Dales, 37, Gallow District. Mr. Dales’ face was pale against his dark grey facial hair. His eyes were bright blue and seemed to sparkle on the screen. The familiar voice spoke,“Subject 542789, showing signs of guilt.” Without hesitation, I dragged the mouse to the bottom corner of my screen and clicked the button, REPORT.

Ding Continue reading Report

Antithesis

By LINDSAY ANDERSON

He is everything she is not. He is wonderful and loud and friendly. Happy. He’s beautiful, and frankly, that all scares her. It scares her that he is so completely different than her. But she loves him. She loves him despite the fact that he is all of those wondrous things that she isn’t.

See, she’s quiet and keeps to herself. She doesn’t tell him everything. She’s smart but doesn’t use her intelligence to her advantage. And to top it all off, she’s sad. She feels so overwhelmed because she knows she’s not good enough for him. When he compliments her, she could think of a million and one things that would contradict that statement. She feels so disgusting in her own skin it’s enough to make her want to die. Continue reading Antithesis

Rich Alm

BY JAROD STURYCZ – The Abstract Section

Allegra, come back.
I wish there were more like you.

My nose is runny.

Soaring finally!

The Sun fills my energy…

Did we know our dads?

I just keep eating,

Enthusiastic lying.

I miss my cousins.

Makeup

By ANONYMOUS

Sophie stares intently into the mirror, analyzing her work. She just spent most of her morning doing her makeup. She wears makeup every single day. It is expensive and time consuming, but she cannot allow herself to walk out the door without at least putting on foundation.

Sophie has severe acne all of her face. She’s had acne for quite a few years, but it’s gotten much worse this past year. She does not even remember what her face looked like without pimples or red spots. She tries her best to just cover it up and live her life normally, but she is constantly self conscious. She thinks that her acne is always the first thing people see, that it affects the way people look at her and act around her. Even if they say that they don’t notice it, she knows that they do. Sophie is jealous of the people who wear and play with makeup for fun. If she could, she would choose to not wear makeup, but unfortunately she doesn’t feel like she has much of a choice. Continue reading Makeup

Kimya Is Kimno: Tabloid Exclusive (SATIRE)

By: SOPHIA JOHNSON

Breaking news! Kim Kardashian and Kanye call it quits after daughter is born almost three weeks ago. An inside source claims Kim couldn’t take Kanye being so obsessed with his shoes. She even said he started to wear them to bed and tuck them in for bed. Some people close to Kanye are worried, and another source said some friends and family might try to trick him into going to therapy. His son, Saint, is starting to take after him by taking his shoes and using them as a way to comfort him when upset. Kim is worried that both North and new baby Chicago will soon start to love their shoes more than her. Continue reading Kimya Is Kimno: Tabloid Exclusive (SATIRE)

Don’t lie

By ANONYMOUS

Don’t lie

Or you’ll die

On your fancy bowtie

So let out your warcry

You tough guy

I understand you’re a spy

You mediterranean fruit fly

Who is secretly a samurai

That likes boston cream pie

As you reclassify

Your lie

 

Bowl

By ANONYMOUS

I’m a bowl.

Curved and abbreviated,

with slight imperfections on my rim.

My vibrant blue pigment, fragmented.

Dull against the stained yellow walls;

situated on top of a rickety coffee table.

Tiny, compared to the endless corridor.

 

Poem in My Phone

BY JAROD STURYCZ – The Abstract Section

Bodies on top of bodies,

Notebook pages of bullets

Make the youth start marching,

Branding laws, more laws, and change.

But when we hit that old age, call it

The Baby Boomer phase,

Complaining “times are changing, childrens’

Minds are deranging, masses think that somehow

Eating’s going to change the way we’re feeling,

All will start to look around:

We’re our parents and their parents and their parents

Up and down.

Responsible for

BY JAROD STURYCZ – The Abstract Section

A hip gal from Cal. moved sideways along the Lake.

The beaches North are gray and infrequent. To bake

Visit the Lake stretching South, where there’s yellow

In a speckled, light vase, in the hands of this fellow.

 

Hands hide the mouth, but what slips through only eyes.

Deep-seated, youthfully wise, hosts an art show; May Good-

-byes wet those eyes, sell out tickets for the Lies. Fruit

Roll-ups taste like words for summer; the Bee might hurt me.

Buckets of Herbal Paint

BY JAROD STURYCZ – The Abstract Section

Believe me, you see,

I’ll be here even when they kill me.

The show’s fiend, you see,

Watch my least favorite movie with me.

Red face, you see,

The paint fumes make me drowsy.

Honestly childish you are,

And right now I don’t even doubt it.

Family

a short story by ANALICIA TORRES

There was once a young family who lived in a small town that was riddled with disease. One day, the father looked to his three children, an older boy and two young twins, and told them he was going to head for the city through the dangerous mountain pass and bring back medicine to heal their sick mother. At dawn, he kissed each of them goodbye and set out on his way. He did not say when he would return.

Days turned into weeks, and their beloved mother started to fade faster. The eldest son of eighteen said he would go across the mountain to fetch the medicine himself and find their father. At dawn, he hugged each of them goodbye and set out on his way. He did not say when he would return. Just as the father’s venture had gone, the brother did not return.

Some nights later, the mother passed away in her sleep, leaving her son and young daughter behind. The children mourned her desperately, sobbing all through the night and in to the early afternoon of the next day. But they did not leave; instead, they stayed, clinging to the hope that their brother and father would return. The night after their mother’s death, the twin brother began to cough. When he pulled his hands back from his mouth, they were speckled with dots of dark crimson.

For months the girl tried to alleviate her dear brother’s pain. Much younger and far weaker than their glorious mother, the young boy faded faster. And within a couple weeks, he too was devoured by disease. The girl buried him beside their mother and mourned for days in deafening silence. She was angry and hurt and aggrieved by all that she’d lost. Her father and older brother had deserted her, her twin and mother dead. What had she done to deserve so much suffering? How much more did she have to endure?

On the third day after her brother’s death, the young girl packed her clothes in a threadbare bag of patched cloths and set out to climb the mountain. She toiled through the harsh cold and snow that packed higher than her knees. She rubbed her purple feet each night beside a dying fire and kneaded her aching bones. But she was determined to get to the city. And after many weeks and agonizing steps, she finally arrived in the glittering city of her mother’s dreams. It was everything she’d hoped it would be. But there was a dark aura around it, a cloud that permitted a gluttonous hunger to ravage its streets. It was a city founded on greed and lust. The girl wandered through the streets for hours before finding herself a small alley to sleep in. Within a couple weeks, she found work laboring as a servant in one of the taverns. Continue reading Family

A Dead Man Walking

By REAGAN BECKER

The smell of rotting flesh greeted me as I entered the house. Two mangled corpses laid in the middle of the living room. You couldn’t make out any sign of human features, but I knew who they were, Mr. and Mrs. Wayne, Luke’s parents. This was not the dead’s doing; their entire bodies were broken, arms and legs going opposite ways, and cracked skulls full of thick blood and mosh.

Without hesitation, I turned and walked away.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

The night was cool and a light breeze blew in from the north. But, I couldn’t stop thinking about Luke.

I can’t trust myself anymore.

I am never going to kill another human being again…

But he wasn’t human, he was changing into… SHUT UP! Continue reading A Dead Man Walking

The Intruder

By FAITH WRYCHA

The air was dark and cold as Stephanie unlocked the front door to her house. It was one in the morning. Officially Halloween. She had just gotten back home from a Halloween party at her friend’s house. Her parents were gone for the weekend with her little brother at one of his basketball tournaments. She was grateful that her parents finally stopped making her go to those after she got into high school.

After she locked the door behind her, she trudged up the steps to get out of her wicked witch costume. It was the only costume she could find on the shelf the day before Halloween and since she would only be wearing it for one night, she took it.

As she struggled to free her legs from her tight, striped leggings, she heard a noise from downstairs. It sounded like someone slammed a kitchen cabinet.

But wasn’t she the only one home? Continue reading The Intruder

Visions

a short story by ANALICIA TORRES

It’s raining. The car speeds along the slick road. I’m sitting in the passenger seat of an unfamiliar car, my feet on the strange dashboard. I’m laughing, but the voice isn’t mineit’s hers. I stare at the hood of the car, glimmering red with droplets of fresh rain. Water spews down the windshield in gushing rapids. The speedometer hits one hundred. I stare at the black racing stripe and laugh again— It’s so stupid. Why does he have a racing stripe? I feel the car slide on the road. The wheels spin out. The car keeps sliding. It rolls over the side of the road into the blockade full force. I hear the sound of glass breaking. Then he’s not laughing anymore. There’s red smears across the shattered windshield. There’s a hole in the glass. I put my hand on my head. There’s another car coming. Its headlights burn through the rain. A horn blares. Tires skid. There’s a thump and the car leaps in the air. I see their faces as their wheels drive them toward me. They’re getting closer. I can’t move. The belt is crushed between the door. I scream. Their car keeps coming. I don’t want to look anymore, but she has to. She watches the car coming toward her. The headlights on are top of her now. Then the car crashes and she’s—

I jerk away from her with a scream. I collapse out of my chair and onto the ground gasping for air. Tears slide down my face.

“Jesus, calm down—” Continue reading Visions

Blinded

by NYASIA JONES

Blinded by lust I got lost.

So I trusted him and said everything was my fault.

Filled with doubt I walked about like everything was all good.

His love being the only food I needed.

He filled me all the way to the full meter.

Like fuel my dedication to him had no measure.

Like a letter he read me from dear to sincerely.

I clearly couldn’t see he was lying. He was using me. Continue reading Blinded

Tree of Life

by SETH LENNOX

The bark on this innocent tree,

Forever pulled away.

It had no eyes, It could not see,

Its very own dismay.

Back and forth the leaves are pulled,

By every friend and foe.

Roots are strong, but branches dulled,

It keeps the demons below.

Simplicity

by SETH LENNOX

Chewy granola bars,

On a sunny, troubled day.

Palm trees and broken hearts,

In a sensitive and calm way.

But, the skies took fire,

With the sound of a thousand deaths.

Their screams like a choir,

Soothing my last few breaths.

Reversal of Fortune

by SETH LENOX

Sitting on these lonely steps,

In front of star filled skies.

Secrets that I’ve always kept,

For random girls and guys.

Let the stories seep through,

Like puddles after rain.

More for them and less for you,

Danger by my shattered brain.

Things Have Changed

By HANNAH STRICKLAND

We all knew that it was probably not smart to go into that house, but it felt as if something was drawing us towards it. We first heard about this supposedly haunted house from a girl in our English who was obsessed with anything paranormal related. As expected, nobody believed her when she said she encountered the ghost of a little boy and his sister. Jesse and I did some research on the house and found absolutely nothing on the history of it. In fact, there wasn’t much about the house, which was odd because the house is about 150 years old.

According to Ava, the little boy and girl she encountered died in the house because whoever took care of them locked them in a closet and never fed them. I guess the house used to be an orphanage that was shut down because of how badly the kids were taken care of. At least that’s what everyone in town says. I tried asking my grandparents about the building, but every time I did they would pretend like they didn’t hear me. Continue reading Things Have Changed

Rosemary

By LINDSAY ANDERSON

Once upon a time in a weird little land, lived a girl who was too pretty. She had golden hair and whimsical blue eyes. Many found it oddly daunting how she could be so beautiful, but they welcomed her nonetheless. Soon enough everybody wanted to be friends with her. They gifted her extravagant things and worshipped the ground she walked on. They even presented her with a beautiful stone cottage where she could lay her head. She was grateful. That’s when the chaos ensued. Continue reading Rosemary

The Audition

BY ANONYMOUS

My palms are sweaty, shaking as I hold my monologue.

In fifteen minutes this will all be over, but right now the end seems like forever away.

I reread my monologue for what seems like the 100th time.

Until now, I’d been the only one judging myself, but once I walk into the room, my talents will be vulnerable to judgement from others.

That’s the most terrifying part. Continue reading The Audition

Duty to War and Control

by ANALICIA TORRES

“It is through war that we will rise.”

I watched the announcement stream across the screen of the television. My heart kicked. Sitting forward on the edge of the chair, I locked my eyes on the world of lavish colors before me: rivers of dark red, uniforms of obsidian black, fields of brown grass. The commemoration bell chimed through the speakers in the house.

Marcia, Penny, and Lou sprinted into the recreation room with their faces firm and their hands already lifted to their heads. The Speaker came to the national podium and greeted us individually as he opened his mouth to recite the Admonition: “We the people of Sector One do solemnly swear our lives to the Realms Institute to strive toward Perfection. We pledge our allegiance to destroying the Imperfect Race and all that they abide by; and so do dedicate our efforts of life and blood to becoming One.” The Speaker stepped down. The television flashed and went dark.

The Lexar’s voice boomed in through the speakers:  ‘End of broadcast. Report to your Stationmaster.’ Continue reading Duty to War and Control

A Dead Man Walking

By REAGAN BECKER

I knew he was gone, that his mind was disintegrating into madness, and he could no longer control his own body. One of the infected had bitten him.

One stupid food run!

Damn, now Luke is going to die!

This is all my fault!

I was suppose to protect him!

No, stay calm, this is the only way to get out of this mess.

I closed the wooden door behind us and locked it as some type of voice inside me urged me into a panic.

“We have to get out of here,” I screamed. “look for an exit!”

But Luke was already too far into insanity, he was hypnotised by his wound. His bite mark was swollen and his flesh was black, peeling on his decaying forearm.

I turned around, “Luke!”

The infected were coming in!

No!

That’s impossible!

But it was, the infected were bending the door inwards causing the lock on the door to snap through the frame. Continue reading A Dead Man Walking