sjsprWriting

Every morning he sat across me, red bowl in hand,

stirring mindlessly at the cereal and milk that never seemed to run out.

That's just how he was, constant.

Then one day we were out of cereal,

He walked a lot. Some days he would start nowhere and find somewhere, but for the most part, he’d just be lucky to find anywhere.

He saw all of his friends die. Family, too. Killed themselves, in fact. Every last one of them. They didn’t get him, and eventually, somewhere, they all died.

He’d walk up to his mother’s front porch, bang the door a couple times; wait a while. He preferred this. He didn’t like the doorbell mu...

She is just gorgeous. I can’t even look at her sometimes. Okay, no, I lied. I can look at her all the time because she is beautiful. How is it even possible to look that good? I wonder how her clothes haven’t burned off her body yet, or how that drink she’s holding hasn’t turned into a river of melted gold. I’m such a poet, I swear. I’m quite possibly in the presence of the only angel that fell from heaven and survived both the drop and that ridiculou...

Sometimes,

you are worse than vinegar.

Like when that arid smell hits your nose,

and you can't help but cringe in revulsion.

Or when you put too much of it,

and you don't even want to look at your food,

much less finish it.

How it has the abiity to burn

and twist

the insides of my stomach,

yet I can't help but want it anyway.

Vinegar is nice for some things,

Melanie Rhodes

A Short Story in the Making

Bright lights and gusts of wind flowed in from the open window. Blonde strands of hair brushed against her rosy cheek, sweeping away with the breeze and landing on the glasses that framed her face. Her right cheek, heated by tender contact, laid against her arm and her wilted body rested on the cool...

I was playing the Game Cube enjoying the limited free time Saint John’s offered us. It was just Wednesday; two more days of surviving, but I should not complain. After all it is an easy week. However, I soon realized that my week will be hell. As I went to go to the bathroom, I stepped on Adjani’s headphones.

“Fix my headphones right now or I will beat you up,” said Adjani.

Sometimes,

I wish I were made out of cloth.

That way, I could be

Smooth or

Sturdy or

Soft.

I could be desired and coveted.

I could be called beautiful with no surprise or hesitation.

Sometimes,

I wish I were made out of cloth.

That way, I could cut away the frayed edges,

And the ugly stains,

And the people will still look at me and say, “Beautiful.”

Sometimes,

I am glad...

Wipe the smeared evidence from your face

What was supposed to mask is now gone,

There is no wall, no barrier

Feelings creep through the slightest crack in your disguise,

Revealing the contained truth,

What you try to hide with your various veils.

Someone approaches you in concern,

But help is not accepted, another guise is put in place

A slight curve in the mask, hides what you’ve been putting in ...

When all other options were exhausted, 

I asked you: peace or freedom?

I would have followed you to hell 

if you asked me to,

and that's where we

were headed, I suppose 

But then you looked at the charred hole on the map

where your north star used to be and

I knew then

(of course)

you'd choose the only path I couldn't follow

People use elevators on almost everyday of the week in apartments, offices, schools, parking lot buildings, etc. Adults hold jingling car keys in their hand, babies play with pacifiers, people wear loose rings or bracelets, and kids use Nintendo DS sticks to play video games. When the elevator stops on its destination, just as these people in the elevator step over the bridge from being suspended in the air to standing on solid ground, a hand gets slippe...