By: Nicole Le Crane sleeps in again. He calls up that girl from Nico’s apartment to see if she wants to hang out. She comes over and they smoke cigarettes together in the backyard. “Do you have any weed?” she asks….
By: Alan Berger A wedding? What are you nuts? Let me straiten you out. So, what if I wasn’t born into it? I was born, and I grabbed it. We didn’t start off in bad shape. Who does? Not us….
By: Ramprasath “What have you done, Mark?” John’s voice was filled with anxiety. “What?” “He was one like you” Mark grew impatient instantly. “John, I had to worry about my safe return. Jonathan was already dead. There was no point in…
By P.A. O’Neil Aggie slumped back into her Queen Anne desk chair, elbows resting on the slender arms, hands on her thighs. She stared at the crisp sheet of white paper rolled in-and-out of her Remington typewriter. It was as…
By: Olatubosun David See a young man smoking burrow All alone in that bush He did so last year And burnt my farms of precious crops Striping me bare of costly income And sending my wives and wards To the…
By: Kelvin J. Shachile Distraction I dream I am in a homeWhich isn’t my own.I see light like a flash far away fromThe fields where the Maasai moransHerd their flocks and cattle.And so amidst all these distractions,I find no life…
By: Dan A. Cardoza Mr. Simmons’s grips his gloved hands on the steering wheel, as his rusty Ford 150 jostles the turns, along the gravel road on a mission. The intermittent click/clack of the four speed gears is tight and calming….
By: Dan A. Cardoza The first writing ink was invented in 2500 B. C. by the Egyptians and the Chinese. It is believed that this ink was made by mixing carbon with gum. Writing, yet birthed, uncompromised, each & every word…
By Rhiannon Bird Every week you were gone my steps slowed, every day you were gone the emptiness trickled in, every hour you were gone it was harder to breath. People told me that it would get easier as time…
By: Srinivas S Flying leavesLo Behold! Here are the flying leaves!Gold-bare, orphaned from their homes;Crinkled in complexion, torn as uncouth;Against the most wan of waning skies,Little to life ladled by the sparest wind,Here they come; for dear life, they come!…