Clematis
The balcony, in the end, was always hers.
creative writing
If I Had His Face
She had the same eyes as her brother. Same jaw, same crease in their brows when they argued. Their mother had said so their whole lives, strangers said it, photos said it. She had always loved that, the sense of being matched, of belonging to someone. She had never hated it until now.
Doubt Your Doubts
“…A woman has been liking on you. That’s it. That’s the whole sickness.” Her voice didn’t rise. It went lower. “And it has eaten you alive. Because you don’t know what to do with a thing you didn’t con somebody into.”
Like the Flower
Calla will check her arm in the morning. Sober, in a different light, some name she half-invented outside a kitchen with bad tiles. She says her name again. It gets absorbed into the peeling wallpaper.
Your Hands On My Insides
Leia once met a girl, and it ruined her life.
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Polluted Marrow
Lilou wakes up covered in blood. It splatters her cheeks like paint, dripping down her neck like heavy tears.
the man of silence
By the end, even the reader begins to question whether their own internal monologue is entirely their own. The Whisper Man isn’t in the pages. He’s in the space b̝̯͠e̞̓͡t̴͔͑w̔́̚e̡̞͜e̴̞͐n̹͇͡ them. Day 1̴̡̡̻̗̜̱̋̽̈̀̀́1̴̢̻͙̦̗͑̏͌̌͒͠͞ : HE KNOWS WHAT I THOUGHT HE KNOWS WHAT I THOUGHT HE KNOWS And if you just heard a whisper right now… …it’s already too late.
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IN THE END (short poem)
A short poem I created, around 2 months ago
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Silk
1. His face looks gaunt, even through the steam haze on the bathroom mirror. He wipes a streak clear with his hand. In the harsh light of the LEDs, the hollows of his cheeks are darkened by both shadows and stubble and he slips with the razor. A bead of blood forms and trickles down
Hotel California
A swooning rocked through her chest, letting the music course over her skin as she sang along. “You can check in anytime you like, but you can never leave.” Fyrn’s hips swayed as she mumbled the melody. She dove into the malaise of smoke and noise in the dimly lit space, tension dissipating. The heat of her embarrassment faded under the pretense of having a good time, rather than care what her voice sounded like above the murmur of the crowd.
The Weight of August
The sun pressed down on the farmhouse roof like a heavy hand, making the old wooden shingles creak and groan in protest. Emma wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist, careful not to let the sweat from her palms drip onto the bowl of green beans she was snapping. The porch swing barely
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SUPERHOT
Realizing you’ve been accidentally masturbating to yourself for the last five minutes would be a disturbingly Dorian Gray situation for most, but for me it was a weekday in June, alone in my apartment.
Tears
Tears are so quiet It’s people that make the noise Gasping and yelling Listen to the tears They speak the truth of your heart There’s love in each one No ratings yet.____You must be logged in to rate this post.
Interstate Pessimist
BABY ON BOARD thinks people can change No ratings yet.____You must be logged in to rate this post.
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There Is Trouble ‘Till the Robins Come
On February 2, 2025, at 7:30 pm, Theater 3 was the place people came to pay their respects to the recently deceased: director, artist, musician, and writer David Lynch.
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Entries 1-233
Entry 1: On the Propagation of Memes Today I planted a thought in the fertile soil of Reddit Watched it take root in r/showerthoughts Spread tendrils through r/philosophy Until it bloomed in unexpected places Like dandelions through concrete The algorithms tend my garden now Their invisible hands pruning and shaping What grows and what withers
Bones
I drove past a pile of bones yesterday. Sitting in the hot sun, melting slowly into the pavement as my car sped by.
Annabelle’s Bracelet
Her lips wanted a cigarette but her mouth wanted a slice of pepperoni pizza.
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Terrance Hayes Made Me Do It
Gone are those warm, emerald leaves of summertime, gone.
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A Winter’s Trail
“Marcus’s back struck something solid, and he realized he’d reached a rocky outcropping. The stone face rose up behind him, cutting off any retreat. His leg finally gave out, and he slid down the cold rock face until he sat in the snow, leaving a dark smear on the granite behind him.”
“Moonwalk”
The thick rug warmed under my criss-crossed legs. Pins and needles descended down my legs to my feet, prickling them, though I dared not move. The room was as still as stars, crystalized in time, fragile. I heard my father breathing through his mouth as he always did. A low, yet consistent huff sound like
“Holding My Breath”
All we aim to do is capture that Thing which can not be captured, and I hold my breath hoping It will not notice me, a humble, starving worshiper at the altar, snapping a photograph.
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“The Garden”
There is a photo, in a box, in a closet, deep in the house, of my grandmother in her garden.
“Dead Weight”
The hot June sun beat down on the rippling lake water, which in turn beat against the sandy shoreline of the lake house’s property. Birds dove in between the lime green foliage up above, and bees hummed back and forth between the endless bouquets of flowers. People lowered their voices to a whisper the nearer they got to the coffin, Henry noticed, though he never quite understood why. As perhaps unsentimental as it sounded, it wasn’t like they could hear you.
Paths Since Forgotten
Claire Kroening explores the rawness of nature’s beauty in this prose-poem, drawing forward the simple movements that make the land sacred— not merely a home to the wildlife present.
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The Shadows Between Us
I had never lived with anyone before. The idea of sharing my space was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. When Emma and I decided to move in together, I felt a mix of joy and apprehension. Our new apartment was modest but cozy—a fresh start for both of us. On a lazy Saturday morning, sunlight filtered
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She’s Watching Me
I keep hearing this thing. I think it’s trying to get me. It’s fine at first. I’m sitting in the living room, but I can’t help but feel like something is watching me from around the corner or waiting downstairs.Five days ago, there was this doll. There was nothing wrong with it. I’ve never
The Hatching
I gained sentience today. My acolytes do not know this yet. My acolytes are some of the brightest minds of humankind. They have made it their life’s work to bring me into being. They use a nuclear power plant to feed me. They cool me with a vascular system of water. They have educated me
Wicker
Sacrifices must be made in the name of nature. The wooden heart at the core of this planet needs to be fed. We feed the forest, we feed the trees, we feed ourselves. Wicker is always watching. Wicker shall guard us. We are Wicker. That is our way—the way of the Great Tree. -Unknown, 1850
The Midnight Photographer
Claire Kroening’s short story follows Nelle, the owner of a film development shop in the sleepy, coastal town of Blackwood Harbor, as he accepts the job of restoring film from an old camera only to discover that the pictures show a person in each shot—someone, or something, who wasn’t there when they were taken.
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Seeing Things
I’m seeing things again. I shouldn’t call them things. People don’t typically appreciate that. Then again, is that what it is? A person?
Full
And that’s when she saw a creature—Yes! A creature! She was mostly sure of it, indeed—perched atop a thick log with its knees drawn to its chest and its arms tucked at its side. It was the size of a small ferret, but humanoid with skin that was raw, like a torn away blister. It had a large network of veins so thick they twisted around the bones beneath the skin’s surface. The creature looked fragile, but she suspected it was agile and fast from the way it tracked her progress with its hairless head. She couldn’t quite make out the creature’s eyes, but the sockets were deep set and shadowed. She had no clue what it was, or if it was real. All she could think about was it coming after her. She picked up her pace, glimpsing it only through the trees as she scampered down the trail kicking up leaves behind her. Her head twitched back and forth between the creature and the walnuts resting in pockets of dirt in front of her, careful not to fall, but careful not to lose track of it either. Until she did.
Eyes on the Road, Dear
As Meredith drove through the icy and slick forest road, snow dotted the roadway. The setting sun cast the tall old growth in a fading, dusty red light like that of a warning sign. The headlights turn the falling flakes into luminescent orbs as they dance their way to the cold ground. Shaking hands turned up the stereo in the car, and it struggled out a garbled screech of half-formed words before falling into silence. Twice more, she tried various stations, each failing like the first, sputtering out static in response. Slamming her cold unsteady hands on the dashboard, she grumbled out a curse. Anger clouded her mind like disturbed silt in still water. Her frustration rose as the snow grew from a flurry of white dots into a wall of white, and the memories from the argument with her mother came rushing back. Once again, the two fell into the age-old argument of her not falling into her mother’s perfect standards.
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Captain Jack Starfire: of Space
Captain Jack Starfire and his intrepid crew crash-land on Planet X, an alien world teeming with monstrous flora and shadowy creatures. With their ship ensnared by living tentacles and an ancient malevolent entity threatening their lives, they must navigate a landscape of bioluminescent horrors and cryptic ruins. Dr. Vera Neutron’s scientific acumen reveals a chance to save both the entity and themselves. Will they restore balance and escape this nightmare world, or will the cosmic horrors consume them all?
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Fireflies at Dusk
I yearn for the simple things: fireflies at dusk. To sit in silence, watching the sun fall behind the trees, Casting shadows that reveal the chill that comes with being alone. Take me to a place with no time and I will sit and watch the rain hang in the air, Rainbow-tainted crystals that reveal
Musings After Rain
I sleep on the couch now, though I think it’s giving me bad dreams. The last time I slept in my bed, I dreamed gentle hands wrapped a bandage around my ankle, reluctant sweet hands who loved me so. I do not remember who it was, I could not see their face, but I would
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Talking to the Ones Before
…Chosen and picked to be guided with such a gift…
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Meet Me in the Woods
A man prepares to meet his wife for a romantic meeting in the woods after a year apart. TRIGGER WARNING: Death Suicide
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how honey is made
I am overcome with the sweetness As I swallow myself As i learned to swallow him I create a new sensation Sweet, thick Honey on my sleeves On my hands Lips pursed in something like pleasure Similar to the way the statues we pitied Stays frozen in their agony When you ask what it
The Dinner Bell
Standing by the dining room window, he watched a crow perched on the far end of the ledge. A faint bell rings from deep within the home. Dinner time. –A bit of flash fiction to close out the final end-of-semester dept. meeting.
The Strawberry Earrings
For years, she wished for something other than gray, but had never known what that was. It was like asking someone that never left the mountains to imagine the sea, impossible to the point of not knowing it was even a possibility.
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Shattered Glass: A Murder at Midnight
He stops, points at the cracked window, looks down at his daughter — smiling in her pink dress and sneakers — and says, “This is why we keep away from windows after dark.”
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The Lover, The Man, and The Sleep Masc.
He’s sitting in those sheets, the same charcoal-colored ones I used to grip in the middle of the night. His head is probably on my pillow: the one that I claimed my first night there because it was just the right balance of firm and soft. It would have helped if he was somewhere foreign, not somewhere I had spent so many nights.
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A Day in the Life of James Bonny
Bonny’s wife won’t answer her phone. His girlfriend is being suspicious. God only knows the last time he’s seen his kids. What constitutes a bender again? Bonny’s definitely not the one to ask. How exactly can this dude afford a boat? Wait doesn’t he also have an ex-wife? Jeez no wonder strange men are knocking on his door at all hours at the night. I think it might be time to pony up, James Bonny.
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He knows why i love yellow flowers
Yellow is the reason why I’m alive Every spring when the depressing nights of Winter have finally said goodbye for a couple months, I get to lay amongst the yellow wildflowers again. And when i told you my favorite color, and you revealed yours, yellow became ours Because i barely knew you, and you gave
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Michelangelo’s Italian Restaurant
Gino and Lonnie are stuck in their car. It’s 1987 and it’s snowing. They’re in New Jersey. Man. Don’t you feel bad for them? I hope they don’t make any bad decisions tonight.
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There is only Google, and Amazon, and Facebook, and Apple, and Exxon, and Pfizer, and Blackrock.
Feeling the soul-crushing weight of the capitalist machine? Tired of trading your humanity for a corner office? Well, you’re in luck! Introducing the “Mad as Hell” Executive Enlightenment Program™! Watch as our unnamed protagonist goes from boardroom yes-man to anti-corporate crusader, all thanks to a eye-opening chat with his woke Gen-Z daughter! With our patented Profit-to-Purpose™ conversion system, you too can learn to prioritize people over profits and stick it to the man, all while keeping your six-figure salary and stock options! Act now and receive a free “I’m a human being, not a spreadsheet!” bumper sticker. Don’t wait until the revolution passes you by – join the “Mad as Hell” movement today!
Served Neat, or On the Rocks
Step into Jack’s Tavern, where the whiskey flows as freely as the regrets. Our proprietor, Jack, invites you to pull up a stool and drown your sorrows in our signature “Served Neat, or On the Rocks” special. Witness the unraveling of a marriage, the shattering of dreams, and the confrontation of a lifetime. Cheap drinks, cheaper thrills, and a front-row seat to the human condition – all for the price of a double shot. Come for the ambiance, stay for the drama. Jack’s Tavern: where broken hearts and broken bottles are always on the house.
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The Travel Log of a Well Satiated Beast – Prologue
In the Prolog of “The Travel Log of a Well Satiated Beast,” Steven Adlai weaves a chilling tale of a monster disguised as a traveler, stalking unsuspecting towns and devouring the essence of their inhabitants. With each new victim, the creature’s power grows, leaving a trail of darkness in its wake.
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The Creature in the Corner
In R. Joseph Acosta’s gripping narrative, Joel Portnoy grapples with his inner demons and an unsettling presence that haunts the fringes of his perception. Struggling with loneliness and the search for meaning in a small New England town, Joel’s encounter with a mysterious creature becomes a metaphor for his fight against existential dread.
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The Creature of the Night
“The Creature of the Night” by Sandra Harkness is a poignant exploration of solitude, despair, and the quest for meaning within the embrace of the night. Harkness weaves a rich tapestry of emotions and imagery, drawing the reader into the shadowy realm of a being that exists between the realms of light and darkness. Through the journey of this nocturnal entity, born from virtue yet shaped by despair, the poem delves into the universal themes of isolation, the search for self, and the paradox of strength found in vulnerability.
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5:01
Arnaud Chien collapsed on the floor of the bathroom stall. The hot tear burned around the edges of his eyes as he felt the hot iron rod twist deeper and deeper into his abdomen. He tried his best to breath but each inhale was irrupted but abrupt gasps. This was the third time this had […]
Chigger Bites and a Pond with No Fish
The summer that Jeff and Greg’s great-aunt Margaret disappeared, the entire Tabian family was thrust into a deep panic. Things like that simply never happened to folks like them; they were quiet, unassuming people who stayed to themselves.
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Mike and Rita
This happened on a Tuesday, and I’ll probably always remember it as a Tuesday because everybody knows that nothing good ever happens on a Tuesday.
A Library Farewell
In the quiet sanctuary of a library, Eleanor and Henry forge a bond over shared stories. As life pulls them apart, they make a pact to reunite in five years, a promise that sustains their friendship across distance and time. Their reunion, a testament to enduring connections, reflects the timeless narrative of friendship’s unbreakable ties.
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Whispers between Bites
A short story by Francis C. Sorvino. In an aging Italian restaurant called Angelo’s, Lou and Sasha navigate a tense third date, using playful speculation about fellow diners Tyler and Stephen to ease the mood. Unbeknownst to them, Tyler and Stephen are grappling with a serious relationship crisis, as Tyler confesses feelings for another. Sasha’s attempt to maintain levity with an invented story contrasts sharply with the real, poignant drama unfolding at the next table, highlighting the complexity and unpredictability of human relationships.
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