With her right hand at one o’clock on the steering wheel and left hand deep into a one-pound bag of Mister Bee potato chips, Aunt Mary Jo remarked, “We’ll just keep going until we get there.”
Read More Hiraeth – by Rhonda E Carper
I have been chosen because I can move silently with my nimble feet not yet weighted by adulthood, though tonight, I feel clumsy
Read More To Flame, To Flee – by Jay McKenzie
“Quick, to the bathroom.” Lena waves her hand, though I am right behind her. “Can you keep it quiet when we go by mom’s door?”
Read More Stowaway – by Mel Andela
In the summer, it’s not dark until well after he should be asleep in bed.
Read More I Miss the Stars – by Melissa Grace Reeve
She looks beyond the fire to the flat surface of the lake. There is little in the way of moon and stars tonight, but lights from the lodge on the opposite shore glimmer on the water’s skin. In her eyes, the dancing amber flames ripple.
Read More Split – by Jay McKenzie
“We saw you look,” the girls’ voices echo in my head as I run out of school, all the way home, panting and crying by the time I reach the front door and, “Boys don’t go to dances with fat girls,” my dad tells me.
Read More The Weight of My Own Voice – by Finnian Burnett
When I was fourteen—no, thirteen (gee, maybe even earlier?), the chronic pain began.
Read More Upstream – by Ramona Eloise
The band leader saw the flame first, signaling his musicians to begin playing “Stars and Stripes Forever,” or what circus folk used in code for “emergency.”
Read More Weary Willie – by Bethany Bruno
Turning from the window to look at Mom and Dad, I watched as she zipped the last bag and he pulled the blankets up over the pillows in his sloppy man-version of making the bed. Mom was vibrating with anger. I had no idea why she was so upset, I was just thankful that her anger wasn’t aimed at me.
Read More God Loves The Sinner, But Not One Like Me – by Suann Amero
There was no trailhead. Rather, I should say that if there was a trailhead, we couldn’t find it. I grabbed the metallic tube that my parents called a ‘torch’ to join Bill in the search. I flicked it on only to realize that, compared to Bill’s floodlight, my flashlight had the candlepower of, well, a candle.
Read More Little Cabin in the Woods – by Andrew Shaughnessy