creative-writing
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“I know darling. You’d let the world burn for me. But I don’t want you to. Please. Please.” “Why?” Why would she want to die? I held her face gently. She leaned into my touch.
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I called her two days before they ruled her death in the death certificate, and she didn’t answer, but I didn’t think much of it. I guessed I would try again some weeks later, eventually. The neighbors called the police when they smelled the rot.
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He hated wearing the tux, which hugged him in all the wrong places. He hated her being the star of the evening. He hated her picture on Page Six of The Post, even though his press agent had planted it. He hated the stupid show and certainly wasn’t thrilled watching other men look at what…
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even though they are shooting us dead on the streets, even though these politicians don’t care if we eat or not, even though these legislators call us fools, even if the headline every morning is about fuel hike, even though we can’t tell where this country is heading, even though we have been looking for…
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Betty Hernandez hated airports. The smell of recycled air, the endless lines, the nervous silence hanging over families pretending everything was normal—it all reminded her of the day they fled Mexico after her father’s murder trial exploded across the news. Now, months later, she stood outside West Acre High School staring at a completely different…
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Deep into the heart of the forest they eventually went, blazing a trail that could lead them back to their tent. They walked on with Wole telling them that they had come too far to go back. And so, tiredly they walked on until Adaeze fell into a—a stream! And with a gasp of excitement,…
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She found Teller Vanidicus’ eyes once more, and now—now—she understood. He knew about that green, green world, and his mind drifted there. Judith lost herself the same. “That’s what we could have?” She felt the heat of tears falling between her parted lips. “Why would we… How could we destroy it?”
