The Color of Wine
My walls are stained with the skittish color of burgundy.
A shade that reminds me of my mother…
My walls are stained with the skittish color of burgundy.
A shade that reminds me of my mother…
there, by the hallway, a little girl stood. forlornly, she paced—the wind stinging her eyes. or so she told herself…
Continue Reading“You see? You’ll never be able to see me. Not really.” She gives a chuckle, his blood on her arm mixing with her own…
Continue ReadingNot one star shines above us as the city’s lights illuminate every inch of the sky…
Continue ReadingTrigger Warning: The following stories contain references to hopelessness, self-harm, loss, and suicide. Editor’s Note — Izzy, Aliyah, Anjali, Maryam, and Lorraine submitted stories to our May Writing Challenge. I was impressed by both their writing and the content, and it struck me that together they create a larger story– one of despair that, ultimately, […]
Continue ReadingAllison is thirteen years old and from the United States. Her entry for the May Writing Challenge was one of those chosen to be a featured story. I hate the way every time I walk past an ice cream shop I see couples kissing or holding hands. Like, there’s always a girl and boy together […]
Continue ReadingKarina is seventeen years old and from the United States. Her entry for the May Writing Challenge was one of those chosen to be a featured story. My stomach growls for the sixth time in three minutes. It’s late at night, and I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. I would go grab food from the […]
Continue ReadingAxel is seventeen years old and from Honduras. His entry for the May Writing Challenge was one of those chosen to be a featured story. The sun shines brightly. My brother and I go with my father to Castata Lodge. Once there, the plan is to have a good time, but I notice that my […]
Continue ReadingAvery is sixteen years old and from the United States. Her entry for the May Writing Challenge was one of those chosen to be a featured story. Our fists connected, bruises blossomed, spreading across our chins. Brother and I, outside the garage of our summer home, grabbling each other, rolling around in the dirt, yelling. […]
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