It’s not every day that you see dogs driving tanks. However, China didn’t want to waste vulnerable soldiers defending itself. And there’s no rule saying a dog can’t drive a tank, just like there’s no rule saying a dog can’t play basketball. Squirrels were jealous at the rights these dogs got, so they made a villainous plan to get their well-deserved rights—and strip the dogs of theirs.

They called me the Sky, their title for the prophesied chosen one. I was not. I was a fraud, but how could I bring that up that I wasn’t the sky!! They were fully convinced I resembled the blue void above us on Earth! Every day they wrote poems and burnt offerings for me while I lay in shameful silence. They wrote stories and epics and glorious tales, all about a fraud. So I did what any prophesied omen would do.

Yesterday I began boycotting Daylight Savings. The easiest way to go about this endeavor was, of course, deleting the sun. Unfortunately, I was not in possession of a spaceship at that time, so I settled for sun deletion in Minecraft. But today, today is the day. I had to act fast, before the sun came up, and time was running out. My Minecraft practice round was over; it was time for the real heliocide.

There once was a club that could by any means necessary find reason to argue. Clockwise was a way of life, as everyone knew, and eventually people grew sick and tired of it. So, as the somewhat intelligent people they were, they resorted to counterclockwise. It started off wonderful, with everyone singing and dancing with the joy of the change.

I walked down the stairs on a lazy Saturday morning to make myself a nice bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch (the superior cereal). So you can imagine my surprise when I looked down at my bowl to see not the cinnamon-covered squares that I adore, but oh, something else.

against the willow tree that feeds off the dusky lake, i wait for Memory to enchant me.

i gaze at my past through lenses that are too weak; maybe they are also rose-tinted,

but i cannot tell.

and as i see my past through the stems of the willow, i wonder why they droop with such sadness.

Time is not our enemy.

She does not take away

The softness of the sun,

Or snow on a winter’s day.

Time is everlasting,

Her presence brings us peace.

And through Life’s many changes,

Time will never cease.

Maybe it’d be better if it was always New Year’s Eve

When we all gathered in the backyard

MF DOOM is dead, we know that now and wish we didn’t

We play his songs before the girls arrive, lamenting how strange it was That there really was a man behind the mask after all

Maybe it’d be better if those fires were always blazing

i. rain-lover

i love rain in the same way i love

long, mediocre television shows that i will never finish.

though they are boring,

at least i do not have to muster up any more

fake emotions.

i am not sure how to explain it but, i will say this.

Selene doesn’t remember how many times she has been to the prison.

She’s made countless trips to it, probably almost every week if she was honest, trips that ended in her standing in front of the first building, heart pounding in her chest, hand clutching her satchel as she tried to calm her heart, to will herself to take a step into the first room.

An array of red, blue, and yellow within the otherwise bleak landscape of Alaska, the small coastal town of Seldovia seemed to slumber peacefully on the late summer afternoon. Fishermen had just finished unloading their catch from a misfit bunch of boats. Bakers bolted windows closed, stopping the sweet scent of bread from wandering the cobblestone-lined alleys any longer. Its borders unreachable by road, the town seemed to harbor no visitors on this day. Yet it rarely ever did.

Like a watchful parent.

As a child every night at 10pm I could hear you.

Your voice soothing and deep, your face illuminated.

Your somber tone, lulling me to sleep.

Winchester kids awake in their dreams.

Looking outside near every view, I could see you.

This is my narration

and my celebration.

Quitting imitation

and constructing plans

to help lead my generation.

And my colors and thoughts,

will always get lost in the mistranslation.

A car retreated from the long curvy driveway and backed onto the street before driving into the distance where it got lost in the parade of others within seconds. It was a crisp morning and the town sleepily rose to wave goodbye to Stacy, a 17-year-old girl who was off to college for the next four years, thousands of miles across the country where nothing could compare to the comfort of her hometown in California.

I almost forgot about the river we spent days in, swimming with turtles, fish, and tadpoles. We used to jump off this one cliff above the river, far, far away from all the proper hiking trails the town had marked out. Shrouded by several impressively large Alder trees, shrubs of flowering snowberries that bees buzzed around, and a rocky edge perfectly sculpted by Mother Nature herself to jump off of, the cliff looked untouched by any human life.

To other people, they were just a pair of old, ragged, gym shoes. The way they looked so full yet lightly beaten by the passing of time gave me a sense of comfort. They seemed as if someone wore them to every soccer game, basketball practice, and golf tournament getting good use out of it, but was also ready to give them up. I wasn’t going to give them up though. I stood there mesmerized for so long that I must’ve missed the bus.

At first, the crash sounded like part of my dream. I slowly sat up in my bed and pushed the heavy covers away. It was a cold night in the dead of January and my body shivered without the warmth of my blankets. As I moved towards the door to my room, a loose floorboard underneath my foot let out a loud creak. My pulse quickened and I winced in the darkness. I waited until the fear subsided and pushed myself farther down the hallway.

Terri wiggled her toes around in her rock solid boots and she could feel tension start to build in her muscles. Getting new ski boots only days before the Olympics had been a terrible idea, but her mom had insisted that she replace her flimsy, mud-coated shoes before appearing live on international television. Terri now thought to herself that she would rather look a little dirty than have her skis fly off her feet halfway down the mountain, or even worse, while she flew through the air.

A white, raggedy bunny slipper is the first part of Morgan to break the rules. She steps out from behind the door, placing her left foot down precariously on the wooden front porch of her house. The heavy door creaks as she opens it a sliver more to slip the rest of her body outdoors. With shaking hands, the eight-year-old girl shuts the door gently. Morgan shivers in her thin, cotton pajamas as the cold December wind dances wickedly around her.

After she exorcizes the boisterous sun from her own Black Sea,

Lady Night lowers her cupped hands and gently scatters her blessing

of worried-smoothened pearl tears for the lovers whose shadowed

Acquaintance I

Don't recognize

"Good afternoon"

I am not shy

It's before lunch

They are awry

I turn to talk

They've walked on by

It was a tricky thing, this question. So many different meanings. So many different interpretations. It’s weird; she had never really stopped to think about this question until it floated before her, coated in sprinkles of sugar and frosting, covering layers and layers and layers.

Central High has not changed one bit in thirty five years, Heather thinks as she walks down the hall. Same gum-and-graffiti walls. Same scuffed linoleum floor. Same lockers, though significantly more scratched up than when she’d attended.

The auditorium hasn’t changed, either. She steps on stage and takes a deep breath, inhaling dust and long-decayed dreams.

“Dr. Keane?” The new principal strides into the auditorium. He’s gentler than the one she had, or seems it, anyway. Worn around the edges.

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess. She was locked away in a tower, which was guarded by a dragon. A brave knight traveled across the lands, prevailing against great evils, who hoped to save her from the danger. But there was another, a prince, who had the same goal. The knight and the prince fought each other, both wanting to be the one to save the princess.

Once upon a time, there was a little Rabbit. She lived in an open green forest, basked in the warmth of the Sun during the day. The Moon lit her way and kept her company during the night. The Stars sang her to sleep and she never felt alone. As much as the Rabbit loved the Sun, she longed for the night so she could see the Moon. He told her stories until she drifted off or used his light to play with her when she was restless.

Not so long ago that it is a distant memory, but far enough so that one can barely remember every specific detail, I lived in a small town on the border of Plantation Country and Mississippi. The Vietnam War was still raging, and we were just beating the Commies half to death with American-borne technology.