Creative Writing

Revenge: to avenge (oneself or another), usually by retaliating in kind or degree. It is also defined as an opportunity for getting satisfaction. P.R Thompson narrates an instance of revenge that was as sweet as it was unexpected.

In our confusing and conflictive times, P. R. Thompson provides the definition of parenthood, Fatherhood, that he grew up with. For some, the Militant or the aggrieved ones, it may be an old-fashioned, archaic, or even toxic relic of an old bygone era. P. R. can assure you that those old ways made a decent, productive man out of him. It worked very well for his parents’s family. It may work well for yours as well.

Parenthood is one of those activities that you can only afford to get right. The consequences are too dire. Life is not fair and gives you no choices. You must do with what you have and do it right, regardless of your circumstances. Others will question your methods, even consider them barbaric, but in the end, you will be saving several lives down the road. As a father, sometimes you will need to approach your sacred duty with a sense of mission and a clear eye for right and wrong. If you get it right, you will sleep soundly for the remainder of your days. Society and your family will appreciate it. Get it wrong, neglect your parental duties, and you will be in an inferno of shame, regrets, and loss.

Molecular Story Thus began the journey of water molecules frolicking freely with glee , merrily dancing on the leaps and bounds of waves along with its co-molecule friends. Together they explored the wilderness of the sea , the storms and underwater too. Many times going through the fishes’ mouths a few times coming out of

You have the soul of a soul Sorrows carry the weight of your words As the blood that pours from your wrist Leave the bittersweet Aroma from the drops on the floor  There’s cheekiness in your tone like you always want to keep others warm but never any less, never anymore  You’re willing to cascade … Continue reading Edit My Review

Secrets L.W.Nelson Secrets 6/6/24 Secrets Linda Williamson Nelson I want to write secrets, but not the ones you only tell close friends. Even better ones are those you shuffle around in the heart, wondering if anyone would care to know. But they are secrets to you because the words are hanging on trees, nearly bare,

In the Jungle where I was born, survival is a daily struggle. It’s a zero-sum game. One must die so the next guy gets to fatten himself. It was a constant reality around me. Our lives became a constant tribute to Darwin’s postulate: The survival of the fittest. The moment you get to roam the prairies, the Jungle swallows you, and you become her prisoner. The limits of your universe become clear. Up, the trees canopy, and down, the mud and the swamps. To the east, one finds the expanse of the Serengeti, and to the west, the river. The only way out is in captivity. 

  Calloused Hearts   Calloused hearts are  too common these days. We either lock our love up or throw it away. If you can’t give a man hope  maybe you could give him some change so he can add it all up  before it’s taken away. 

All sorts of dogmas proclaim to liberate us, raise us out of poverty, guarantee our freedom, or make us great again. But in the end, they make us surrender our freedom to the shackles of the dogma or blindly follow, like in a cult, the self-proclaimed savior. I realized that ideological “isms” in religions, politics, science, or society in general were all branches of the same psychological tree. They obeyed the same man’s messianic needs for absolution, redemption, and salvation or mere desire to belong to “something bigger than ourselves.” These ideological traps respond to man’s desperate quest for explanation, meaning, and belonging.

Mommy says no candy. “It’ll rot yo’ teeth.” Daddy says no Tank tops, “You aint no piece of meat.” Battered down and broken Never swung a fist …it’s the inner battle, The one no knows exists

“Is that a 2 way mirror?” I could barely get the words out of my mouth without vomiting last night’s spicy ramen. The aftertaste of the onion gave my mind a half a millimeter vacation from reality. “They can’t see you, Tara. Now, do you or do you not see the perpetrator?” Perpetrator. The word … Continue reading Edit My Review

The 93-degree heat of Harlem in the middle of July has me wishing these converse sneakers were flip-flops. The streets are lined with cotton-sheets drying as fast as they are hung. Three young teens sit on the street corner swapping spit through a 2liter mountain dew bottle and discussing upcoming tattoo ideas. Music blares from … Continue reading Edit My Review

Hi. I’m Paige. Paige Evergreen, to be exact. I’m a 14-year-old product of an overworking attorney and an underpaid real estate agent. If asked to physically describe myself I could sum it up into one word: “cringy,” well, maybe that’s more my mother’s outlook on my appearance than my own. To me, it’s more “original”…maybe

Mama says there’s light at the end of the tunnel; there’s beauty where we least expect it. Mama says you have to look to see it. Sometimes it aint even there. I guess you have to picture it. Pretend it’s there. Mama told me those that never see it, never live. She told me when … Continue reading Edit My Review

Sometimes we fall in love with the right person, but with the wrong soul. A mate, but not a soulmate. We don’t connect on a deep level. Our bodies, minds, and souls do not dance; they walk. We exist well together, but we don’t dream. We don’t have depth. We’re hanging comfortably in the shallow … Continue reading Edit My Review

Why do all the others have cute names and fancy clothes? They go with sunny park themes and clean-laundry fragrance. They bring color to pictures. Meaning to feelings. Not Me. I sit alone in the corner of a the box. Sharp, and ready to go, but never picked. I’m the kid in gym class …that … Continue reading Edit My Review

She looks and sees what there is to see but digests what isn’t there. She hopes to see what she wants to see, but the reflection is hard to bear. When she looks again to see what others see, she’s blinded by the glare. So, she looks again to see what she thinks she’ll see,

Is hate and its twin siblings, bigotry and prejudice, as old as humanity? Probably yes. It dated to the moment the first man woke up, stood up and stretched, opened his eyes, and looked across the river, realizing he was not alone. To his surprise, at a short distance, he saw a guy standing there in front of him, who was not menacing but looked and sounded different than him. He immediately feared that the Stranger would take his parcel or destroy him. In the privacy of his thoughts, the first hater, the Primordial man, immediately felt a rush of self-righteousness, privilege, and entitlement and convinced himself that all his surroundings, as far as his eyes could see, belonged to him. A burning desire to destroy the other guy promptly took root in his soul. Only by destroying the Stranger would his original privileges be restored. His survival rested on the elimination of the Stranger.  The suspicion born out of the brief encounter of these two individuals has since marked the course of our history. 

As primates, we all share standard features: the love of open spaces, the warmth of the sun on our skin, and freedom. We wandered wild planes and climbed steep mountains, searching for shelter or the wonder of discovering. No experience replaces the wonder of viewing an unknown place for the first time. Nature is the great canvas on which the gods painted their masterpieces. We were like stray dogs. “Perros Realengos,” they say in our country.  The type that roams the streets, free, unleashed.  In our case, because it was the summer, we were free from school, and our main occupation was to fill our days with fun while escaping the summer heat. 

Life is full of Ironies. The more you wish for something, the more it eludes you or is out of your reach. It may seem like wishing, hoping, and dreaming are in vain. Reality, being the most ruthless of tyrants, seems to take pleasure in denying our desires. But life is merciful. Your wishes may come true—not on your schedule, but on life’s one.

Joseph Koper for weeks ambulated around his home like a penitent in Dante’s inferno. Always nauseous, tortured, with butterflies in his stomach. His sleep was worse than normal. He was now having nightmares. He kept on dreaming about being chased in the dark of the night, by someone with a butcher’s knife and as he ran through the woods, he tripped and fell into an abandoned well. As he was falling, however, he always woke up before going down to the darkness of oblivion. He decided that the best way for him to preserve his sanity was to stay busy. He compulsively started to clean the house.

On the last days on planet Ludus, one Radioactive spider possessor of uncanny wisdom and high dose of cynicism, struggled to appease his conscience considering his past immoral decisions. Perhaps as a justification for his rotten actions, questioned the whole validity of its existence, the planet and the universe that surrounded it. In his quest for absolution, the Radioactive spider, “Lucius”, ended up debunking all myths that society held sacred and made the existence on its planet possible. Finally, toxically wounded and on the abyss of death, he just surrendered to the inevitable fact that his life was over.

Love, the ever binding force of the universe, always rides along with her twin: Destruction. It may render Men deranged , or like wandering, wounded stray dogs; for Love is a prison from which Men are only freed by death. Man, the ever-eager beast, Brutus, lunches himself eagerly with hardly contained aggression , full throttle to the conquest of Nympha. Woman, the Nympha, in her ever sinuous, slippery, never conquest forest, just patiently wait and delights in his presence. Then, methodically inebriate him with sweet nectar, unctuous massages and then, mortally wounded, renders him her prisoner. Only the Fates will determine his future. Once betrayed, Men’ s humiliation turns into a fire that burns very intensely. Only destruction would put out that fire.

It was my first day. My heels floated above the frozen stone – descending the university’s decaying steps into the bowels of the earth felt akin to stepping into an uncharted world. The air grew cooler, denser, as if the very atmosphere was laced with napalm. I was to meet Dr. Interfolgio, a name that

A poem by S. Harkness

Hey, look at that.

Linkoln Castro, a 23-year-old salesman burdened by student debt, navigates his daily life in a small Floridian town. He lives with his family in a deteriorating home, selling solar panels to chip away at his loans. Amid routine rejections and a fleeting distraction with a co-worker, he contemplates the American dream’s elusiveness and his stagnation, highlighted by a college friend’s career shift. The story captures the weight of his reality against the backdrop of faded aspirations.