There is a man in the chair opposite to you, face wrinkled and pose earnest, eyes obscured by the lenses of his glasses. There are cameras. There are people, pressing in, pressing against the glass.
Laura sat on the porch of her mother's house watching the fireflies dance through the night like a million tiny stars just for her. The night was always cool, just the right temperature, unlike the daytime, which was always brought sweltering heat. Her parents were arguing inside.
A water droplet as clear as the surrounding darkness formed, running down the length of a stalactite before it slid off the end and landed with a quiet tap, the only sound breaking the rhythmic silence of the tunnel.
On the surface of the anemic satellite, amidst the craterous scars left by the celestial daggers of far off worlds, sat the gift of another, closer sphere.
Juliet sat by her window, watching cars roll lazily down the street. The rain drizzled down from the sky. The streetlights gave the overcast night sky an orange tint, casting the world in a warm glow. The street shone, a dark streak of black that cut across manicured lawns and stark white sidewalks.
Listen to silent screams of tethered souls
An onlooker to the crumble of youth
Comfort a crowded room, out rings the toll
Others fall, some hang on by skin and tooth
Mister Organic is very eccentric. His favorite food was from dirt to table, very non-gmo friendly and cleaned twice with organic herbal water. Mister Organic ate artificial food that gave him a scrofulous sickness. He entered this despondent state of mind due to the color Red 40.
This is a story about two girls. One was a cheerful, blithe girl named Frappunzel. The other, we will meet later.
Frappunzel was not like other girls. First off, she was locked in a tower. Secondly, her hair was feet upon feet long, golden locks rarely disheveled.
She’s twelve and she thinks that she’s in love. He’s small, compared to her, worn and soft at the edges where she is still growing out of and into hard lines and sharpnesses. His eyes are hazel and he wears long black socks and the hair on his head is a lovely motley of copper and rust.
The Strangest Thing: The strangest thing I ever came home to was not the large tomato in the living room, but it was up there.
No one was surprised when the loggers moved into town. The chainsaw factor had moved into town not long before, and not long after, the loggers moved into the chainsaw factory. More and more lumberjacks went into the factory, and more and more chainsaws came out.
Whenever my English teacher embarks upon a new unit, she will organise a class discussion based upon the unit’s themes. This “discussion” consists of a piece of paper with statements listed, each of the statements having the four choices of agree, slightly agree, slightly disagree, and disagree for me to circle.
The rain pounds on the roof of the small wooden shelter nestled among the trees of the jungle. The droplets slip through the cracks, some landing on the wet jungle soil and some finding their way to the variety of jars strewn across the floor.