Creative | Posted by Jules C on 01/30/2015

Princes

When I was a little girl my grandma told me that there were princes. Sitting in our house in the Sunset, the N rumbling by, the sky grey and the ocean roaring, she’d tell me about them as I sipped my soup and tore off bread to dip. She said the princes were scattered around, trapped in skyscrapers and under bowling alleys and hidden away in train stations. Some had green eyes, some had black hair, some had baby faces, some were short, some less so. But they were all waiting. They had nothing to do but sit around, doing pushups, combing their hair, shaving their beards till they were just roguish enough for a princess to save them. For a princess with an AK-47 and a leathery attitude to …

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Creative | Posted by Charlotte P on 06/21/2013

Curtains

It could not be said that the moment was unusual. There was a room and within it there was a table. The weather outside was unimportant, as the temperature within the house was tolerable aside from a chilling air of contentment. Courtesy disguised relevant tasks as temporarily trivial; the will of her late husband could be settled later. Voices spoke in urgent laziness.

“She likes the floral.”

“I do think the floral is nice, yes. I like the floral.”

“The floral clutters the room a bit.”

“She does like the floral though.”

There were three women in a room. One was distinctly older, while the other two were nearly half the age of the first. You could see that there were three, yet your eyes gravitated toward the woman in …

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Creative | Posted by Carson R on 06/22/2012

Everything Was Okay

*Trigger warning: the following story may be upsetting to survivors of / those sensitive to descriptions of sexual assault*

Eve is a palindrome. Reverse the order of letters, and the word remains the same. You’d never notice anything wrong with a backwards eve.

Eve is a marketing consultant. She lives in a narrow townhouse in Seattle. Her cat, Charcoal, roams the metal stairs and hardwood floors. In her living room, a whiteboard of scribbles rests on the black sofa. On the kitchen counter, a stack of invoices bears coffee stains. This is her office, where the computer is always on. Every morning, she comes downstairs and shakes the mouse, and the monitor casts a glow upon her face. The sky is just beginning to brighten as she types out her …

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