Short Fiction

The Red Lipstick

Niki Farivar

When I woke up, we were surrounded by water as far as I could see. You smiled at me.
“Hi!”
I smiled and nodded my head as Hi!
I stretched a bit. You handed me a cup of tea and I... [+]

Creative Nonfiction

The Russian Song

Niki Farivar

I’m sitting on the couch, staring at the roof. One of my legs is on the table that is filled with cups and garbage. The plant next to my foot is dried. A slight light enters the room from the gap... [+]

Creative Nonfiction

My Bravest Year

Valerie Ohtsji

SNAP! At first, it did not even register. The world suddenly tilts, like looking through a camera while it drops, your vision spinning with it. Then, you are blindly wondering why you are on the... [+]

Short Fiction

The Girl of Time and The Clock of Life

Karino Gibson

The Girl was always alone.
She always sat on the same park bench, reading a book, day after day, month after month, year after year. She was always there, but no one was ever there with he... [+]

Short Fiction

The Bassoon Player

Callie Holloway

The house on Eleventh Street boasted a stout reputation of being haunted. Mr. Scott Reynolds, a skeptic by nature and a cynic by nurture, did not believe in ghosts.
The first incident occurred... [+]

Creative Nonfiction

To All the Toys I've Loved Before

McKay Fritz

Blue, the Dog:
You really broke my heart, but I know it wasn’t your fault. I cried when you came back. It just seemed so innocent, and the neighbor girl was my best friend. I trusted her. I... [+]

Creative Nonfiction

Dear Academic advisor,

Ryann England

Dear Academic advisor,
I hope this email finds you well. I am a bit confused about my college experience assignment. The one where I figure out who I am and what I want to do with my life... [+]

Creative Nonfiction

The Street in West Cambridge

Kathryn Alexa Jackson

During my transition from being a Harvard lab technician to a Harvard graduate student in the summer of 2015, I went home to New York for three weeks of vacation. My last day there was sunny and not... [+]

Creative Nonfiction

The Alarm Clock

Madison Hutchings

“93, 94, 95...” I stared blankly at the ceiling, counting sheep in my head. “98, 99, 100...” My stomach did another gurgle, telling me that we wouldn’t have another normal lunchtime. I... [+]

Creative Nonfiction

Love Letter to my Immigrant Family

Annmarie Charles

In 2010, the street artist Stephen Powers completed a series of murals as a love letter to the city of Philadelphia, his home. I had never heard of him before, but I’d seen these murals on my trips... [+]

Creative Nonfiction

Remember the Fireflies

Angelina Mullins

One of my earliest memories is running around my great-grandmother’s backyard catching fireflies. Grandma Marie lived in Virginia, and, at least once a year, we would make the nine-hour journey to... [+]

Creative Nonfiction

Who Am I?

Oge Ogbogu

MY MOTHERS TONGUE:
My mother’s tongue is precious to her. It clicks and snaps as her lips form her words. Sounds that I can only hear, but I can never make myself. My lips don’t make the... [+]

Creative Nonfiction

Double Snail Shells

Rebecca Cazanave

This story isn’t a cute story or a quaint story, but it is a true story that I can’t quite make sense of. There was traveling and there was cancer, and then there were snail shells that have to... [+]

Creative Nonfiction

My Stranger

Megan Doxey

I was sitting in a public square in Athens, when I saw something that Intrigued me. A young man, not five meters away from me, who also sat on a smooth bench of stone, was happily chewing on a gyro... [+]

Creative Nonfiction

Passage

Alixa Brobbey

Rites are supposed to be heavy, large things. Difficult to carry or pass through. Empty stomach and a bulging suitcase as you make your way out of your mother's arms in a way that feels final. Empty... [+]

Creative Nonfiction

Wetness

Yueying Yu

The bed
In the corner of a furnished room
It is purple
It is purple with little flowers, sprinkled on the edge of the linen.
It is...mine.
The room is also mine. The red bookshelf... [+]

Creative Nonfiction

To What I Owe Myself To

Lee Schwartz

I’m assuming you came for a story and not an existential crisis. Well. Sucks. Because I think that everyone is lonely—figuratively, of course, and maybe literally. I’m not sure. It’s really... [+]