The Oakridge Field Trip
The leather chair in Dr. Mitchell’s office always squeaked when I shifted my weight. I stared at the geometric patterns on his…
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The cedar smoke from the campfire clutched at our lungs, a thick, gray shroud that seemed to isolate us from the rest…
Read NowThe Birth of Spencer Terrell
The desert wind always sounded like someone trying to whisper through a throat full of sand. Outside of Natasha’s bedroom window, the…
Read NowThe Crimson Collector
The rhythmic creak-crunch of the rusted swing set was the only soundtrack to Mia’s childhood. At nine years old, Mia was a…
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The rain hit my bedroom window like a handful of gravel, throwing distorted shadows across the walls. It was just past midnight.…
Read NowHenrietta: A Whirlwind of Imagination
The house on 4th Street didn’t break all at once. It fractured slowly, in the quiet spaces between arguments, until the tension…
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