My hands used to create magic. I think with the increasing demands of adulthood, they’ve had their spark pulled right out of them. My little sister’s hands still glisten with it, but I fear he... [+]
Creative Nonfiction
My hands used to create magic. I think with the increasing demands of adulthood, they’ve had their spark pulled right out of them. My little sister’s hands still glisten with it, but I fear he... [+]
How Yosemite can fit
within these four fragile walls,
stretched across the bedspread
with hip... [+]
Fred tiptoed into his room and slid into his desk chair, casting a worried glance over his shoulder as he opened his laptop. Typing as quietly as he could, he logged onto Artium Obscurorum and... [+]
The bunny soft glow falls languid,
seeping into the fibers I so tenderly draped
over the prostrate... [+]
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... [+]
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... [+]
The people speak!
“This dictator…our dictator! Man…this man just
killed himself!”... [+]
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... [+]
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... [+]
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... [+]
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... [+]
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... [+]
“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... [+]
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... [+]
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... [+]
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... [+]