LandlockedDay 1 –Landlocked1 month ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
The idea of being landlocked has always terrified me. At age eight, I sobbed as we crossed coasts from Maryland to Oregon for my aunt's wedding and her husband's ensuing funeral; at the funeral, I stayed silent.
Day 2 –
Sometimes it's nice to think of the shores, especially when I am so far from their comforting infinities. At college, I am in a university surrounded by trees and mountains. The nearest body of water is a man-made mess in the middle of campus; it is rumoured that it is filthier than the aftermath of a Friday night in the partying capital of the school.
The only difference is that one has snapping turtles. In all honesty, I am unsure which that is.
Day 3 –
While I swore I never missed you, I missed you all throughout. With trees and skylines punctuated by tall, ugly buildings, my heart ached for the water. It also ached for you.
At night, I would find myself remembering the night I graduate
Teachers of LifeKindergartenTeachers of Life2 weeks ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Mrs. Allen, the elderly teacher with long snow-white hair dressed up in a neat, simple bun, says she just saw a leprechaun outside the window. The whole class rushes towards the glass frame that is situated at the back of the class. They look left. They look right. All they see is a small lane of grass and the next building over, a stone’s throw away. A regular, sunny day is outside the American school on Misawa Air Force Base, in Japan. Disappointment abounds. The bell rings for recess and the kindergarteners disperse to entertain themselves with games of tag and hide-and-seek on the playground. When they return to the classroom half an hour later, candy is on the table for them, and the jolly Mrs. Allen tells them it was left by a little man in green.
Mrs. Jackson is Black. This is the only fact the class can concentrate on. She’s the only Black teacher in the school, even though there are Black students present in her class. She teaches math and
MERCY MILDMERCY MILD1 month ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
FOR ALIA AND ALAYNA
"We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented." Elie Wiesel
I am a victim of child abuse. I used to be ashamed to even think it, let alone admit it to people I do not know well or not at all. As I sit here writing this introduction, there are going to be at least one case of child abuse reported every 10 seconds. More than 3 million cases are reported each year in the United States, and every day at least 3 to 4 children are killed as a result of child abuse. Almost 80% of all fatalities are involving children aged 4 and under. The scary reality is that 30% of all abused children will grow up to abuse their children in turn. The United States spent 24 billion dollars last year to care for abused children and to prosecute and punish the parents responsible. These are facts that many choose to ignore, and most of us just don't re
Being Alone I punch in the garage’s number code—the one my mother always uses for every new house we move into to remind her of the last one her parents lived in before it collapsed in flames and took their lives with it. The giant white door rises at an impeccably slow rate, and I tap my foot impatiently before ducking under the opening once it’s comfortable enough to do so. I have to pee. It looks like rain. Rushing to the main door, I twist the knob, knowing it’s unlocked. It flies open with the force of my panic as I parade through the house, calling hello. No one answers. Usually, the silence does not bother me, but today, it shouts its presence. It’s uncanny. The couch is empty. No one is home, and the feeling sinks in for the first time ever. I am truly alone.Being Alone2 weeks ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
My sister left for college that morning, while I was away. At this time, she’d be splayed out on the living room sofa, hidden away under the unattractive, idiotically pink
Confession: My ApologiesI'm sorry for all the people I hurt unintentionally.Confession: My Apologies2 weeks ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
It's too long to list all the names and mistakes, and even if an apology won't change the way things are now, I hope it can begin to heal these wounds we all still have. It's been a long last few years for all of us. I wish there was something I could say that could change all of that, but there isn't. So I'm sorry.
For the things I did that you didn't agree with: I'm sorry.
For anything I said that misled you: I'm sorry.
For breaking your heart and my vows and any of your personal belongings: I'm sorry.
For the tears and the pain and the worry and fights: I'm sorry.
There are words I said that I can't take back, things I did I can't undo. I'm moving forward, and more than anything, I'm sorry if I have to leave you behind.
The FacadeThe Facade2 weeks ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
My cousin had stolen my diary from me, probably for lack of a better diversion. I chased Joel Chetai around the house, attempting to wrangle my sacred book from his claws. He held it just out of my reach, making me beg for it. After ten minutes, I gave up hope of ever seeing my diary again. I began to walk away when Joel Chetai started reading my latest entry.
“Don’t tell them any of your interesting facts, D.E.L.A. I know you’re not trying to, but it makes you seem like a show-off,” Dad instructed, keeping both hands firmly on the steering wheel in front of him.
It was Thanksgiving break, and we were headed somewhere for dinner with some family. Half an hour into the car ride, my dad decided that this was a good time to educate me on the proper decorum when visiting someone’s house. Because there are more unwritten social rules for a Knanaya than there are brown people on this planet, my parents needed to teach me Indian etiquette, for fear of me
Snails!I was 8 years old and a generally average child. I was with my family in our backyard cooking out. It had just rained and all of the snails were out. Being the little explorer I was, I decided to walk around my yard and examine these little slimy things. Now, I'm not someone who believes in love at first sight, but this was a perfect example of it. I was so fascinated with the snails and my surrounding family members were completely confused as to why. Eventually, my 11 year old brother saw this as a keen chance to be a bully. He grabbed one of the snails I had and the container of salt we had laying out and tried to salt the poor thing. "Donovan no!", I yelled as loud as I could. Just then, my father grabbed the salt out of my brother's hand and began to chew him out, "YOUR LITTLE SISTER REALLY LIKES THESE SNAILS AND YOU SHOULDN'T BE TRYING TO TAKE THEM FROM HER, YOUNG MAN!", he barked. Needless to say, my slimy friend lived to see another day.Snails!2 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
After all of this, snails became a big d
creon's pride got the better of medead so very dead. school is bad for my brain it is killing my NEURONS. curse our forefathers who hath bestowed upon us the curse of the SCHOOL SYSTEM. how bitter good intentions become sour milk. unnecessary and bad for the health. o is there no refuge at home. thy father and mother arrested for one’s own actions. can they not see that we learneth not? cram information before the eyes to cover the evil of one’s country. o sad day, o sad days. jhsd why why why but if i go home kids so MANY FORSAKEN KIDS screaming and tattling and crying and whining make them STOP. to be angry with a woman who has homicidal thoughts of her own child, THOU HAS NEVER HAD TO DEAL WITH CHILDREN THEN. they are no angels, they are hell-spawn reliving their days of the underworld in cramped schools, having to compete against each other for love, an emotion nonexistent in this world of ours. O SAD DAYS O SAD DAYS. may the sobbing be loud for such sufferable days. o sad days o sad dayscreon's pride got the better of me5 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
A New Dream...A boy walks out on a family, leaves to create a new plan, a new dream. Uncertain, he stays with the woman he loves, a seemingly sweet partner, they enjoy their life under a countless amount of full-moons and summer suns. They believe forever is an existent goal, and without second thought create a child for their hearts to merge over. Life plays its hand though, for one love gained another is lost. A father passes, and the boy wallows in shallow pride, believing he could be the same man his father was. He carves a path through his stages of loss, suppressing and ignoring the steady signs of a faltering love, and an abusive and unfaithful lover.A New Dream...1 week ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
The months pass, and the last night of their coexistence is waning, he lacks to tell her his departure, and she lacks to tell him why she tried to change. She wakes from a sound sleep, and leaves for work, as the boy quickly gathers his things and tends to his st
The Voreaphillic Reality and the path to my loveGriffin MorrisonThe Voreaphillic Reality and the path to my love2 weeks ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
2nd Period AP Language and Composition
The Voreaphillic Reality and the path to my love
To those who don’t already know, I am a freak. Don’t try telling me I’m not to make yourself feel better either, just say it. I’m a freak because I made myself into one. What started as a simple Facebook browsing took a fateful turn, making me into a passionate lover of an unfortunately taboo world of sorts. And with this gradual descent into this realm, I found something, rather someone, even greater than I could have ever imagined meeting, the love of my live. Now here I am, begrudgingly telling the story of my journey into the Voreaphillic Reality and the path it led me to my precious, little fox.
It was that summer after my sophomore year. School h
The House of the Three-legged Dog I live in a weird part of Texas. A small town located in the country, where the remnants of the American West have stapled reminders of its past life: The abandoned Hotel that housed Mill workers and prostitutes, sealed up with rotting cedar wood since the late 1970s. It felt like an old, unwanted relative left in the corner of your home, hoping someone will mention how it used to be something special. There was The Red Bridge of the Whispering Woman, the Archway of the Woods and the lonely white house guarded by the three-legged dog. It could be that I tend to see the surreal in everything, but I won’t deny the eerie and unnerving urban legends that surround an area where nothing interesting ever happens.The House of the Three-legged Dog3 weeks ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I moved here some years back, coming from Los Angeles, California where my expectations were reserved and quite low. For the most part I was right. It wasn’t until I engorged myself in w
Picking Pumpkins Our green station wagon squealed to a stop in the gravel parking lot outside of the Louisburg Cider Mill. My sister and I flew out of the car faster than spring-loaded snakes in a can. My mother dragged herself out and hauled up her packed leather purse. “Girls, wait,” she called. We were already halfway down the parking lot, in the middle of a square dance of cars.Picking Pumpkins1 month ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Colorful pennants fluttered above the entrance to the Cider Mill. Dozens of tank-topped women and men in sweaty t-shirts emblazoned with advertisements lined up for snow cones, barbeque, and the entrance to the Cider Mill store. Some kept close watch on small children, but most of the young ones trampled about in the little pumpkin patch filled with hay.
“Girls, see?” My mother pointed towards the little patch. “There are plenty of pumpkins to choose from right there.”
Stream Of ConsciousDear…You know what? Fuck that, nevermind. No one wants to listen and no one cares anyway. Why should I pretend that I am not locked in a box screaming at myself to only hear my words return empty? They have touched no one and if they ever found a soul to connect with, they merely bounce off with no impact.Stream Of Conscious2 weeks ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Why should I even continue to forge connections when every meaningful relationship has ended with a bridge to nowhere set ablaze? Every friend I have has left me or I have abandoned them. Memories sitting abandoned on empty railroad tracks. Their boxcars slowly rusting. Degrading until I can no longer access the happiness that once lived inside. I do believe to this day that there was a time I was happy. Back when nothing really mattered. You know, when you’re a kid, money has no value and the only pain you know is a skinned knee. Well that’s how most childhoods end up. I like to think that’s how mine was but over and over professional
A Two-World Heart"I haven't changed much." I laughed, forcing myself to smile. "No, you're always Red, that's for sure! Constantly goofy." One of my old friends remarked. For a few hours, I'd be surrounded by happy memories; here I am, visiting my past, and having a good time with people I thought I wouldn't see again.A Two-World Heart3 weeks ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
The warmth of too many bodies in one small room soothed my soul. I closed my eyes, tilted my head back against the couch, and took a slow, deep breath of oxygen.
"He never told me that! I thought he wanted to marry her-"
"-No, she wanted to finish college first, they split up."
"-Oh my God, reminds me, guys did you hear about Jesse? He dropped out, apparently he's rooming with some kleptomaniac crazy hippy-chick, dropped his cell plan too-and his mom can't even get a hold of him."
"Trevor is gay. He told me last month."
I opened my eyes and sat up straight, noticing the silence in the room. Then eve
On a Blustery DayFeeling warmth like the Texas sun.On a Blustery Day3 weeks ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
my hands are coldi was once told in fifth grade that things will always get bettermy hands are cold3 weeks ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
and thati should shut up
i was once told in eighth grade that God would help me if i prayed to him
and one day i did
and God laughed atme
i was once told that if i do good things, good things would come to me
karma would be kind to me
but everythings slowly getting worse
because the storm never goes away
it clears up for a second and then strikes lightning in the same place