Fiction/ Poetry

Free-format short stories, story series, and poetry from creative minds. We have no restrictions on topic- see post descriptions for trigger warnings- and encourage writing that makes full use of students’ literary skills by messing around with traditional formats. 

Bayou Bed

Sound of the fan haunts me; inexplicable reminder of nights

pressed into each other, learning the

shapes our souls made as they morphed together, like a sound (I) never heard

from my mother’s lips, like the tinkle

of the your wind catcher as it wraps the breeze.

If i weren't a woman

if death lay his intricate fingers on the skin of my back and ripped every ounce of hope in my heart, his touch would have been softer, even kinder, than the poison buried deep in your palms

his claws would retract and his hands would caress the scars you left as you tore me apart,

and unlike Midas his touch would heal, and he’d have a soul to spare, even recite a verse from the psalms

Pomegranate

Her hands cradle the pomegranate as if it is the precious evolution she so longs for. It stains her fingers pink and she passes it to me. Look, she says, your lipstick matches. I hold the fruit between my traitorous fingers and watch her. I buy the pomegranate. Think of her perfume, lingering.

Letters to eden

wanted to eat today; didn’t. couldn’t muster up the energy, wanted maybe to see what would happen; sickness to delusion to madness to enlightenment. privileged I know- you won’t ever be afforded the same luxury. but wanted to know what it is like to be free; for us, only found in insanity. wished desperately you could taste it too.

for legal reasons i do not condone theft [part 1]

At the age of fourteen, Aster was declared crown prince, and his life turned upside down.

Until then, his life had been alright. His earliest memories were a blur of picnics with his mother and spars with his father. He recalled looking at them with nothing but admiration— And he recalled when they began to look back at him with disappointment rather than pride.

for legal reasons i do not condone theft [part 2]

It was on a particularly breezy autumn night that Aster found himself standing patiently outside the King’s study, slightly confused.

“Come in, Aster.” Aster opened the door, entering the room. As usual, not a thing was out of place, every book lined up in alphabetical order. He opted to ignore the King’s use of his real name instead of his nickname, making his way over to the King and bowing.