Author: JavonW

by Javon Waddle

The son slams down the bag, and his father retorts, “Why did I buy you all that stuff?” The son replies, “It was just a bad game. I’ve got to practice in the morning.” His father, still frustrated, says, “You’re still missing? Maybe you should listen next time.” The son pleads, “I know I’ll fix it next time,” but the father replies, “Bullshit.” Feeling disappointed, the son goes to bed. His father commandes, “Wake up.” It’s pitch dark outside, and the son misses another shot. Father sinks a basket and retorts, “Why can’t you be more like me?” Picking up the ball, the son looks up. “I’m trying. I need to learn my way.” The father calmed down, “You think you can do it differently?” The son replies, “Yeah. I’ll figure out what works for me.” The father understands, and responds, “Alright. Let’s figure this out together.” The son nods, and they step back onto the court. Not just to practice, but for each other.

by Olivia Cruz

When teachers ask “What animal represents you?” I freeze like I’m on the ice of the icebreaker. For me, there’s no real answer; but I say my favorite animal, a seal. Yet I’m not confident nor social, even I want to be. Maybe I’d be a whale shark, absentmindedly floating through life. Maybe, even, the beautiful sea anemone; or a free dog; or even a tree, reaching for more.

Secretly, I’m the paralyzed deer, caught in the headlights of choice, smelling the fresh scent of grassy petrichor with rough gravel between hooves. I’m in a weird stage of life – maybe an adult, but not quite – succeeding, but not quite – almost perfect grades, but not quite – an eternal limbo of maybes and almosts, accompanied by a resounding “not quite”.

I don’t want to be the deer.

I want to embody all the traits of whale sharks and seals and every animal I love. But choosing one leaves me paralyzed. Dizzy with fear, questioning whether to move. Like a blinded deer, peering at the red car barreling towards me that forces a choice. For others, it’s the difference between moving and staying; for me, it’s only someone else choosing for me sooner.

by Mae Carter

The wife cleans daily, the sweat beads falling down her back, with the taste of salt lingering in her mouth. “But there’s still dishes in the sink?” says the mother in law. The wife makes dinner for the family, the pungent spice filling the room. “But that’s not how I used to make it” says the mother in law. The wife joins family time hearing the joy filled conversation drain from the room. “But you suck out all the fun when you come” says the mother in law. The wife tries to become close with her mother in law, the thick smell of her perfume giving a sense of becoming trapped. “But you’re unlovable” says the mother in law. The wife becomes distant, the feeling of love has become a long forgotten memory. “But don’t you care for my son?” says the mother in law. The wife sends divorce papers, the crisp smell of the ink straight from the printer sending a strong message. “But what will happen to my son when you leave?” says the mother in law. Looking at the untouched face of her daughter in law.

by Joshua Rojas

The man made a television. “You are mine now”. The man made the television speak. “You speak because I made you speak”, said the man. The man listened to the television while it made him laugh, it heard him too. He chuckled, his laugh so ugly and volatile, a gut swinging when he did so. When off, it had no sound to make, it was not commanded to do so, but when turned on, it could make any sound you could imagine. Cheering, laughing, talking, breathing. The man was happy with the television, “You make me so happy”. The man kept watching the television and it looked back at him. “Why are you looking at me with those eyes?”, said the man. A single eye was staring at him, ominously, with only the whirring between the man and the television. While originally the images on the television appeared flat, the eye terrifyingly looked like it was embedded with the machinery. The man looked inside the television. In an instant, they became one, with each wire and cable taking each part of the man. The television had a terrible smell, organs rotted and beating. Disgusting creation, he was wretched.

by Colin Arning

She stands at the threshold, the door yawning open as if exhaling years of dust and overwhelming silence. The house leans toward her, aching in its stillness, its bones brittle with time. Floorboards creak under her steps, not in protest, but in recognition.

In the kitchen, the ghost of her mother hums over a forgotten pot. The air is thick with dust and the phantom warmth of a gas stove left burning. The wallpaper curls, exposing the raw plaster beneath, wounds never tended, stories never finished.

Upstairs she finds the remnants of her childhood pressed into the walls. A handprint, much smaller than she remembers, smudged into the banister. The sliver of a mirror catching her face in fragments. A whisper of laughter, then a sob. The house does not forget.

She kneels in the hollowed-out bedroom where the moon spills silver onto the warped, wooden floor. Her fingers brush against the empty space where a bed once stood, where she once dreamed, where she once cried.

She doesn’t know how long she stays, but when she rises, dust clings to her sweaty palms, the echoes settle, and the house, at last, exhales.

by Kayla Dobrovsky

You packed your bags and walked out the door
I watched the sunset as you left
I sat there weeping on the floor

My eyes were drowning and sore
I had to wipe my own tears
You packed your bags and walked out the door

I wish our family meant more
You left with no remorse
I sat there weeping on the floor

I knew your actions weren’t the start of a war
But how could you think we would forgive you?
You packed your bags and walked out the door

This wasn’t something I could just ignore
You were the first man to break my heart
I sat there weeping on the floor

I just wanted to go back to how things were before
You left a hole in our lives
You packed your bags and walked out the door
I sat there weeping on the floor

Although it was late September, the sun was warm and the paths dry. Having walked this trail a hundred times, the boy could easily recall the scenery each new turn brought. He and his father were on their way to see their mother, as they did every Sunday. But today was different; today they came bearing gifts. His father carried a picnic basket full with fruits and sandwiches, and the boy held some flowers that he had picked from their garden back home. It was his mother’s birthday, and the family planned to have dinner and watch the sunset together. After a few minutes, the boy spotted the hill where his mother lay. “Hurry along” the father called to the boy, as they crept up the hill. Once they reached the top the father pulled a blanket from the basket and stretched it across the overgrown grass. The boy walked over to greet his mother “Happy birthday mother” he whispered as he propped the flowers against her gravestone. Then the boys sat down and ate their sandwiches, enjoying each other’s company in silence, as the sun receded past the horizon.

The man begins digging a hole and dumps trash in it. A park activist comes up to him and says “why would you dig a hole if not for a plant”? The man would change the environment by moving and destroying the plants “why would you change something that is already perfect?” the park activist said. The man would change the park’s fresh and crisp smell to one of rancid and foul “why would you ruin the park’s wonderful smell?” the park activist said. The man would grab his shovel and hit the activist. The loud bang hitting the activist’s skull echoes throughout the empty park. “Why would you do this to me!?” the park activist shouted. The repeated blows to the skull soon killed the activist. The man would put the victim’s body in a bag. The man begins digging a hole and dumps trash in it. A park activist comes up to him and says…

I walk alone through the highland forest with beautiful Coast Redwood surrounding me. As I walked I came across a patch of wild blueberries “Oh thank god,” I thought. On the brink of starvation, I ran up to the bush and started shoveling them by handfuls into my mouth, I cleaned off the entire bush in 10 minutes. I was about to start walking away I noticed one tiny little blueberry hanging in the front of the bush, “Huh I thought I cleared the entire bush might as well” I thought as I popped it into my mouth, closed my eyes enjoying the last taste of the sweet juicy blueberry, when I opened my eyes it was like everything around me grew tenfold, but all I know is that I was surrounded by huge leaves and human-sized ants making their way towards me. As the giant ants wandered toward me, their intentions unclear, I felt a strange numbness creeping through me. The sweet taste of the blueberry turned bitter, and my surroundings blurred into darkness. The forest’s charm, once inviting, now became the blanket that concealed my final moments. The world faded away, leaving only the echo of the wilderness.

Dizzy endless spinning stars.
All too small to shine brighter.
Should one get too big, it soon collapses and loses its shine.
Its death in a firey explosion only to be met with the greatest darkness.
The blades of grass, so rough yet soft, together make a carpet of green to lay my head upon.
Should they cover me up and drag me under, I will lay in the dirt all the same.
Nature’s cycles all flowing like the river.
Balance attempting to regain footing.
The death of something old;
The life of something new.
Dizzy again.
Always so dizzy.
Oblivion is so close and yet too far.
For those cursed without death, all you can do is close your eyes.
Simple comforts for those with no end in sight.
No way to close the book they are forced to read.
It is such a cruel joke, for all those who wish for it out of fear of the unknown.
If only I had known this sooner.
I will wait until every star goes dark.
Maybe that will provide me with the comfort I crave.
All things end for a reason.
I wish I had learned that sooner.