The sun was rising the first time I fell in love with Charles Tuckerman. I watched as the dark, foggy sky paled dimly, then blushed a brilliant shade of magenta as the sun peeked between skyscrapers. Gradually it reached out its fingers and tickled the fog’s underbelly, startling it into the dark recesses of the city.
I was sprawled drowsily above one of the entrances to the roof, having decided several hours earlier that I had no interest in remaining at the party downstairs. I had been dozing on the rough concrete and watching the sky since then. I was trying to decide, in my half-asleep state, whether a certain rosy cloud looked more like an elephant or the Liberty Bell, when a curly blond head blocked the nimbus formation. Continue reading
It was grey the first day we walked. Our spirits had burned with our crops, and there was nothing left for us but to let the soldiers herd us like sheep. There was much wailing as we left our home.
By the fifth day, our moccasins had worn through and each step stung with the cold. The ground turned the color of rust as we walked. Continue reading
Kiley is starving. She has been studying for finals for the past six or seven hours, and missed dinner. Actually, a couple of those hours were spent on Netflix, watching a rather amateur horror movie. Ah, well, she needed a break. But now she is hungry. And she has something of a sweet tooth. Continue reading
She took Astronomy senior year, so she knows that the Earth rotates at over 1000 miles per hour. And yet her body is not flung into space, to drift forever, past Saturn and Pluto. Gravity glues her fingers to the tendrils of young grass. Suddenly she feels like a fly on sticky paper: out of place, unable to escape.
He is there next to her. He is not glued to the ground. He could probably fly if he wanted to, but instead he lounges with his guitar singing about wanting to hold your hand. She wonders whose hand. Continue reading