Prose
Cold Snacks on a Freezing Cold Day in Brookfield, Illinois
Blake Croft November 11th, 2003 Mr. Marconen told me I should start journaling, that it might make me feel better, so here I am. I’ll introduce myself now, if that’s alright. If there’s anyone reading this. My name is Finn, I’m 15 years old, and I’m a hired hand at the Brookfield Zoo. More of… Read More Cold Snacks on a Freezing Cold Day in Brookfield, Illinois
there is a hole where the sun should be
Alicia Cai There is a hole where the sun should be. Not a black hole, a red one. Its flat color is the only trace of the heavens. Last night I saw the edges of this World. It cut off, cleanly, one deliberate edge where the land ended. Just like that.… Read More there is a hole where the sun should be
September 29th
M I’m sure the poets would be able to find something beautiful in the way my body still hurts where you touched it, but at the present I must leave poetry behind, for my body still hurts where you touched it. But that’s not like me, is it? No,… Read More September 29th
Hot Air Rises, Cold Air Sinks
Adam Wurst There used to be a graveyard across the street from my apartment. When I first moved in, I didn’t even notice it as there was a tall, thick hedge between us. One night recently, however, I peered outside of my fifth-story window, over the hedge and onto smooth stones and grassy… Read More Hot Air Rises, Cold Air Sinks
The Subletter
Gus Moody Three years into what they thought was a well-deserved early retirement, Mr. and Mrs. Jarrus found that they had been a bit too optimistic about how long their savings would last. It was the house’s fault, really. It was a grand turn of the century home with an address that matched… Read More The Subletter
Night Riders
Alivia Wynn Eliza lived on the edge of Elisburg Alabama, but Mama insisted that she never go into town alone. The glint in her eye and the stern hook in her pointed finger usually kept Eliza from asking why. The few times she did question her mother, Eliza was met with fire. … Read More Night Riders
The Gilded One
Sirin Jitklongsub I suppose it is going to rain all afternoon. Normally on a day like this (gray days, Mary calls them), I’d grab an umbrella, Mary’d button the children’s raincoats, and we’d go to the park. Timmy would jump in the puddles, thoroughly soaking and upsetting Lois, who would cry because her delicate blonde… Read More The Gilded One
Year Gone By
Jiakai Chang May began warmly in Riverside. Since mid-April, after a spell of cold, rainy days, the region had slowly been heating up, reaching a peak around the turn of the month. This was a boon for the Fujimotos’ strawberry crop. The market price was up to $1.25 a tray, and the fields produced more… Read More Year Gone By
Capturing the Human “Being”
Lauren Joyce I used to understand “being” as an inherent, singular verb with odd conjugations; to me, “am,” “is,” and “are” all signified the act of merely existing. Yet, the time I spent intensively studying the “self” in recent months (through the Kaplan Humanities Scholars Program) and unforgettable encounters with the work of Evar Hussayni… Read More Capturing the Human “Being”
Once Removed
Elizabeth Vogt That morning, I could smell my mother before I could see her. I would have recognized her perfume anywhere, the heady scent of jasmine and coriander. She hadn’t been a particularly polished woman, but she’d never gone anywhere, not even the gas station, without several spritzes of the stuff. The little black bottle… Read More Once Removed
