SHORT STORY: "The Confession of Mr. Klein" By Emily Waters

“The Confession of Mr. Klein”

By Emily Waters

January 15, 10:43 P.M, Deplim’s Mental Asylum         

            Rosemary shook her head and Dan grimaced. “He’s not making any progress. He won’t tell us a single thing about the night,” she said.

            Lilly sighed loudly and I peered through the single window that looked over the white-walled room.

            “Does he appear to be decreasing in progress or staying the same?” commented Riley, the head of the research. Rosemary shook her head.

            “I really have no clue. It seems like he’s rotting in his own mind, the memory of the night is making him go… insane.”

SHORT STORY: "Trippy Testing" by Glacys Agustin

"Trippy Testing"

By Glacys Agustin

For the past twelve years, I've been attending a boarding school that trains children to be in international espionage. I'm not allowed to tell you much about it, or I could disappear. I'm not exactly sure what happens to someone when they leak classified information, but I'm pretty sure that if I did that, they simply wouldn't expel me. There would be a more severe punishment. 

What I can tell you is that I've been living at the school since I was three. My parents don't stay home a lot- One, because my dad is kind of... well... dead. And two, because my mom is always out of the country. I don't know what she's doing. In fact, even if I did, I probably wouldn't be able to tell you. She calls me for video chats every other weekend. Otherwise, I don't see much of her. It's okay. I'm not really dependent on her, I've been raised to be the exact opposite. It's still nice to know I have a mother that checks in with me every now and then. Some kids here don't have parents. Others have them, but might as well not, since they never see them or anything. 

Anyway, the end of my twelfth term was coming to a close and it was time to see if I was ready to get into the field. It was time for the test. The test was actually a series of tests that take place inside a test itself. A test of concentration and our willpower. I've heard several things about the testing room. The stories alone made me nervous.

SHORT STORY: "Expected Endings" By Joshua Merchant

“Expected Endings”’

By Joshua Merchant

            I expected the phone call from my Papa. I didn’t ever want it to come, especially not this soon, but I knew it would. We knew she was sick, very sick. Momma said she was going to die soon, but that it was too complicated for me to understand. Every time I asked her to explain, all she would say was that Nanny was so sick that she was going to go to Heaven soon.

SHORT STORY: "Bubblegum Wrappers" By Joshua Merchant

"Bubblegum Wrappers"

By Joshua Merchant

            I walk, nonstop, along the side of this infinite highway. It’s just what I do, I know of nothing else. I have no friends, I have no family, for they all gave up on me a long time ago. All I’ve ever been good at is walking, so it’s what I do. Do I know where I’m going? No. Do I know if I will even make it to my destination? I most likely won’t. But what else do I have? I have nothing but this long stretch of endless Arizona highway.

SHORT STORY: "Tropic Sadness" by Shanice Skyers

"Tropic Sadness"
By Shanice Skyers 



              It’s a Saturday morning and the sun is shining through the windows that have been worn and swollen from the hurricane that finally past on last week. The hurricane was brutal, and I was scared that the windows would crack or the door would be ripped angrily from its crusty hinges, but it didn’t, and I was thankful that even though the hurricane had uprooted all the trees in my neighborhood, disconnected all the cable wires, and sent the rooftops of small zinc houses flying in the wind and rendering some homeless, my house was left mostly unharmed. The minor damages suffered a small crack could be seen now through the ugly brown swollen windows.
            The sunlight through the window is aggressive and refuses to set me free from the captivity of its assault on my eyes. This effort by the sun is successful as I sluggishly sit up in my bed. The first thing that catches my eye is the outfit my mother has chosen for me, which consists of a brown colored Capri and a green and white polka dotted top, that exudes youth and happiness. I scowl at this outfit, arose, then walk to the door where I knew I would find my mother pinning the clothes on the line she had just finished washing.
            “Shanice!” my mother called “get yourself out of bed, it’s your birthday so you have to get up and thank the Lord for the beautiful day, plus your party is this afternoon,” mother exclaimed.

I rolled my eyes, Ma has always been excited enough for both of us on past birthday’s but this time, I think my excitement nearly matches hers, but not quite.

            “If you don’t get up, I’m going to throw a bucket of cold water on you,” mother declared, I snort of course; she would use threats if I didn’t comply.
            I opened the also swollen wooden door with a firm pull and this proved useless as the door refused to move, I pulled again determined to see my mother, for I knew she would be happy, because my father was due home today from Guantanamo Bay for my birthday. After this effort the door finally swings open to reveal the bright, hot Jamaican morning I have become too used to. The sun hurts my unaccustomed eyes and I blinked rapidly waiting for them to become comfortable. When they grew accustomed I opened my eyes to the beauty now set before me, three butterflies were flying in a group, they all shared the common color of yellow but the biggest one had black spots snaking around its wings and the others had blue outlining around each wing, they looked spectacular as then flew together, as a family, and I imagined them having normal human conversations as they flew by and busily landed on various trees and flowers. I imagined they talked about common things, like what flower the like best, or the latest gossip regarding the new cocoon, and what the butterfly may look like.

SHORT STORY: "Frozen Nights" By Zachary Velarde

 "Frozen Nights

By Zachary Velarde

 

            All was silent in the public park of Chicago, Illinois, on January 7th, 2004. The sun had set and the moon had rose and now hung in the sky, projecting its faint light for all to gaze in awe of. The snow had fallen already and it left the park covered in a fresh layer of snow, the type of fresh that was only found in zones without human contact. The park had many trails the led through it and a giant park near the end. the park had many all the average equipment; a seesaw, a swing set, some chairs, a bike rack, a play ground with mulch flooring. The only sound that could be hear, as faint as it was, was the shivering of the young boy who sat alone on the seesaw.


SHORT STORY: "Behind a Broken Smile" by Glacys Agustin

"Behind a Broken Smile"

By Glacys Agustin

As Adam rode down the sidewalk, his palms began to sweat in nervous anticipation. He hadn't been to Blue Star Book Shoppe in months, and since what happened had happened, he felt that now was the time to go. The coffee bean brown gable came into sight and Adam slowed his bike down to a stop. Staring at the happy cursive lettering on the sign, he leaned his bike against the stucco wall. Calm down, he told himself.

He wasn't really sure why he was so anxious. It wasn't like he was about to undergo a task where he could possibly crack under pressure. Adam lifted the hat off of his head and ran his fingers through his dark brown curls. It's because this is my first time here... without her. The beating of his heart was like the loud pulsing tempo of a bass drum. He set the hat back on his head and opened the heavy wooden door to the book store.

SHORT STORY: "Cold Days" By Zachary Velarde

“Cold Days”

By Zachary Velarde

                It was another windy winter morning in downtown Chicago. The grass was covered in a layer of frost that made the once green patches, a frozen brown. The sun hit the Sears Tower perfectly; a shining example of how Chicago was America’s architecture king. Traffic was already piling as people rushed around heading to whatever destination they had in mind. One such person, or rather two persons, were traveling towards the Sheraton Chicago Hotel, one smiling gleefully, her dream only a few blocks away, the other silently fuming as she twisted words in her mind to try and make her target hurt as much as possible.

SHORT STORY: "Aging True Distress" by Shanice Skyers

"Aging True Distress"
By Shanice Skyers

     ‘Welcome to Aging True’ the sign read, the building looked appealing, but of course there must be some positive aspect to this building of the soon dead. The building was located in the middle of the nowhere, with rich green grass, an automatic gate and a gushing water fountain that highlighted the light blue paint on the well manicured walls and clean reflective glass.
     "See Jeanie, this place isn't so bad, your grandmother would love it here; look how pretty the building is and how nice the people look," Claire commented as the greeters approached them with perfect, plastic smiles.
     "Ma I don't think we should leave Grandma here, this place creeps me out, first it's in the middle of nowhere, and second, I don't like the way those people are always smiling; It looks superficial, as if it took years of practice," Jeanie said.
     "Oh don't be ridiculous, this place is top notch and your grandmother is going to love it here, she has to love it here, because your father doesn't want her living with us anymore, he said it's either us or her, and frankly we need a place to live," Claire said.
     "He's not my father, he's your husband and..."
     “Welcome to Aging True, where the elderly are treasured and loved,” interrupted the owner, Mrs. Tanya Parks, as she outstretched her hand. She of course approached with a smile, but hers seemed more rehearsed, more believable. She wore a dark blue suit that accentuated her dark blue eyes and a sleek bun that exuded professionalism.
     “Thank you it’s a pleasure to be here, I’ve heard that ‘Aging True’ is one of the finest facilities in Ocala, Florida for the elderly,” Claire said
     “I’m sure you have, each day we work to maintain that reputation. I hope you choose to retire your loved one at Aging True, because we truly do look after them to the best of our abilities, with all our nurses and doctors being certified and trained to excellence. Well come inside and look around,” Mrs. Parks said.
     Jeanie and her mother Claire followed the woman as she walked uniformly towards the beautiful building.
     The inside tried harder to feel welcoming: the floors were spotless; the employees had fake, polished, smiles at all times and spoke to each elder in hushed condescending tones. Aging True seemed to be the home away from home, but then there was the ghastly look each person wore. Each look told bitter stories of regret, it seemed as though each was waiting for death and was disappointed with the fact that, each morning as they woke, death seemed so close, but, yet so far away.

SHORT STORY: "Unlucky" By Christina Adepoju

  “Unlucky"

By Christina Adepoju

            At exactly 8:25am,  the school bell rang ,the sound of a death bell sounded through the hallways as the students sluggishly made their way to the auditorium to test for the next 3 ½ hours. Somewhere among the huge crowds of sophomores, Carlie and Shane managed to somehow find their way through the clump, making their way to the front of the massive group.

“Oh my gosh, how long is this going to take? Carlie exclaimed. “If people would just MOVE their feet instead of walking like penguins, then all of us would be able to get inside and take the stupid AP exam. Gosh, I can’t even breathe with all these people rubbing their skin against me.”

The shoving, the pushing and the clamoring were really irritating to Carlie and she found it annoying, but Shane found it amusing to poke fun at her claustrophobia.

“Wow, Carlie! It’s not even that bad,” he said. “Stop overacting over the slightest things, it’s not that big of a deal.”

 Carlie rolled her eyes and pretended to ignore him for the time-being. The administrators finally came around and opened the double doors, kind of like how a zoo-keeper opens a cage to capture the animals. As they walked in through the doors, the school administrators and proctors handed each of the students a chiseled, wooden # 2 pencil, a scantron, and the AP test booklet.  The fear in each and every one of those students began to arise as they received their materials, and made their way to their assigned desk, prepared to take the exam of their life. The administrators thought it would be encouraging if they posted posters with quotes like “ACE THAT EXAM” or “YOU can do it” as a way to “boost the students confidence in the exam.” It was nice of them, but it didn’t calm their nerves down.  It was funny to see how easily people got lost trying to look for the seat, because they went by alphabetical order. They were running like chickens without their heads.  Carlie was able to find her seat within no time, while Shane was walking around with a bunch of other students like little lost children, trying to find their way. Everything was awful in the auditorium; they gave the students broken chairs to sit on, where the back of it was broken into pieces, piercing through the student’s back as they sat back. Carlie was playing around, fiddling with her pencil and playing on the table while waiting for the administrators to give the instructions, when she felt something stick and gooey under her fingertips.

When she removed her fingers from under the table, she saw a huge, moldy, sticky wad of watermelon-scented gum. The contents of the gum were now stuck under her fingernails, and she could see the teeth indents in the gum from the person who chewed it, and left it so graciously under the table, as she tried to peel it off with the top of her eraser.

            Shane was able to locate his seat after wandering for about two minutes. His seat was directly across from Carlie, and started scribbling little notes on the desk as he waited.

            “Good luck, you’re going to do great,” he said in a whisper as he gave a thumbs-up.

SHORT STORY: "How To Satisfy Your Parents Completely" By Ynden Lizardo

"How to Satisfy Your Parents Completely"

By Ynden Lizardo

All A’s and a sixty-three.

All A’s and a sixty-three.

Kevin Li sat on his bus and stared at his progress report in utter disbelief. If he was smart enough to receive excellent grades in the rest of his classes, then why was he struggling to pass calculus?

He never imagined his grade could ever be that low. His mom was a math teacher at another high school, but he never asked her for help because he didn’t want her to know he needed it. Why couldn’t he have inherited her “good at math” gene? A sixty-seven meant that Mrs. Li would make him do an hour of calculus practice every morning and night until he could raise his grade at least twenty points higher.

SHORT STORY: "An Accident Waiting to Happen" By Kaylyn Koutz

"An Accident Waiting to Happen"

By Kaylyn Koutz 

         I remember that day, my mom had big plans. She was so happy that I was turning five she was taking me to the park. I was really excited because everything changed a few months before- my bigger brother had moved out of the house. It was just me and my mom in the house now. 

         As we walked to the garage the car was a sparkly white color. Mom unlocked the doors, and got in the driver side. I decided that I should sit in the front because it is my birthday and I’m going to be a big girl soon.

        “Honey, you need to get in the back seat now,” Mom said sternly.

        “But why? Today please! Just for today! Please!” I whined back.

        “No. Now get in the back seat or you will march your behind right back inside.” Mom said with force.

        “I’m a big girl,” I mumbled as I crawled to the back seat.

SHORT STORY: "Time to Change" By Kaylyn Koutz

"Time to Change"

By Kaylyn Koutz

           I was walking along the streets of Abbey Road, when I found a trail leading into the woods. I followed the path hoping no one saw me. I stumbled a few times over the rocks, some of them no longer stuck in the ground. I was glad I wore pants and my Converse, no matter how dirty they were. The grass came up past my knees, staining my used to be white jeans as I kept walking farther down the trail. There was an opening in the trail and I made my way over to it. 

SHORT STORY: "Warmth in the Winter" By Christina Taragjini

“Warmth in the Winter”

By Christina Taragjini 

     The snow fell on the already icy road with a determination that was unbreakable. The steady amount dropped from the heavens and created a stark white blanket over the sky. The 2012 Volvo S60, driving along the newly hidden path, stuck out like a sore thumb. Its deep black paint color made it distinguishable from miles away, but the fresh wax reflected the white light and intensified its pure aura. He sat behind the leather steering wheel, scarred with centimeter- thick grooves meant for finger placement. The new air-freshener embraced the vehicle’s interior with a nostril-pleasing hug. But it did not go further. It was unable to penetrate the cloud hanging above my head and his head. For the first time, my cousin’s new boyfriend had picked me up from my job as a customer service representative and I had only met him once before. The awkwardness was undeniable. My nerves were frayed from dealing with impatient customers and his arrival did nothing to aid in their defraying. He drove continuously down this lonely two- lane road, leading us toward home. The tension cloud continued to hang above us until he began to talk to me.

SHORT STORY: "The Time When..." By Christina Taragjini

“The Time When....”

By Christina Taragjini

     We waited outside of the locked grey door as patiently as teenagers could possibly be. The hustle and bustle of the high-school hallways was starting to fade away, but within moments, the noise was replaced by the rattling of keys. She came toward us. With her villainous smirk, she strutted down the hallway, making sure to take her precious time. “Here she comes.” These words were transferred from mouth to mouth until...

SHORT STORY: "The Machine Man" By Ashley Barron

"The Machine Man"
By Ashley Barron

On the very edge of the great steel city of Idenro, there is an old machine shop. The wind blows through the windows, rusted open from years of disuse. It makes a hollow, forlorn keening as it whistles through all the rooms and around all of the old metal contraptions that are so rust-covered, you'd swear there was no metal left, only rust. Because of this moaning of the wind, the old machine shop is nicknamed the Howling House by all the citizens of Idenro, and is generally avoided.
However, once a month, an old man comes to visit the machine shop. He was once a well-respected, well-loved tinker; but now, time has taken its toll on him. His shop stands empty and unvisited; his workshop, once so filled with the sounds of whirring machinery and clanking gears, is silent.
So once a month, the old man takes his bucket and his tools and makes his way to the Howling House. He walks inside, lovingly and curiously surveying all of the old, rusty gadgets with the keen eye for which he was respected in his day. Then he chooses one, and only one, out of the piles of ancient machinery. He brings it home with him to his empty workshop, and for that one night of the month, the small room comes alive again. He oils it, polishes it and generally repairs it until all its flaws have been buffered away and it is as good as new. Then, he brings it home with him and puts it on one of the innumerable shelves lining the walls of his house. He does this once a month, every month, without fail.

SHORT STORY: "Dying Peace" By Christina Adepoju

"Dying Peace"

By Christina Adepoju

      It was a cool, rainy August afternoon. Valerie had nothing to do; the house was quiet and silent and peaceful. It was a dying peace. She sat on the firm, leather couch, holding the maroon pillow and looking out the window. She and her mother Victoria,  replaced it last week after their couch of twelve years finally gave out. The new one was so much nicer and much more firm, comfortable, and had a wonderful color. Just by looking at them, they looked like bars of chocolate all stacked side by side. The same ugly drapes for six years had still been hanging on the windows, shifting from side to side as it hit Valerie in the face. She hated them for as long as she could remember. She hated everything in the house. The pitter-patter of the rain struck against the window, the way a drum stick hits a drum as it drops a beat. The rainy, dreary afternoon was only part of why she hated this day. It ruined her day with her friends to go to the beach, and to go shopping as well, but also she would be receiving an unwanted visit from a familiar stranger.

SHORT STORY: "The Sound of a Breaking Heart" By Ashley Barron

“The Sound of a Breaking Heart”

By Ashley Barron

January twenty-second, 2031. 
I will never forget the day that they came to collect my son, the same way they had come for my husband and my brother so many years before. 
Back then, in a happier, more distant life, the perils of war and the tragedies that come with combat were something that I, and my family with me, had very little knowledge of, and certainly no prior experience with. We were content to exist within the pleasant little bubble that we called ‘life,’ ignoring the trials and tribulations of the world around us. There was no war coming, we imagined, if it didn’t affect us directly. 
If I had known how much that would change; how our happiness would fade and slowly be siphoned away, bit by precious bit; how the war and all its hardships and horrors would rise to consume our existences; I often wonder if I wouldn’t have found more time to treasure it while it was ours.
I was in the living room, dusting, when the message arrived. I remember it clearly, the musical chime of the doorbell breaking the almost-reverent silence around me as the purple feather duster slid carefully around the portraits on the mantel, collecting the fine layer of grey lint on the white surface. I would save the pictures themselves for last.
“Kat, could you get the door?” I always hated to stop in the middle of my chores, especially this particular chore.
My twenty-year-old daughter, then, God bless her, was the first one to receive the news. I tuned out the world around me again as she bounced toward the door from the kitchen where she had been making strawberry shortcake, whipped cream and sugar still dusting her hands and cheeks, and reabsorbed myself in the delicate task of dusting, moving on now to the photos themselves. Carefully, I straightened my husband’s picture,  adjusting the small glass memorial plaque beside it back into perfectly symmetrical alignment. 

SHORT STORY: "Give Me An Answer" By Ashley Barron

“Give Me An Answer”

By Ashley Barron

“Pssst. Hailey. Hey, Hailey.”

She tried to ignore him. She tried to ignore him with all of her might, focusing her eyes with vicious intensity on the sheets of paper lying on the desk before her. The standardized testing answer sheet, with its countless little circular bubbles waiting eagerly to be filled in, was resting neatly on top of the right page of her State Reading test booklet, blocking the questions from sight. She was halfway done with the test, and there were still forty minutes to go before Mrs. Goodwin would call a halt. 

“Hailey. Come on, I know you can hear me!”

The whispered solicitation came again, cutting through her concentration as her eyes flickered across the words of the Dickinson poem printed on the pale white paper. She did not want to look up; did not even want to acknowledge him, but she knew that if she didn’t, he would not be averse to blowing a spitball at her in the middle of the test. 

Sighing, she let herself look up, a glare settling itself comfortably over her pale, rounded face as she shoved her mouse-brown hair behind her ear to make eye contact.

Drew waved at her, his innocent smile masking the spark of mischief in his bright blue eyes. His mop of dark brown hair hung into his face and slightly over his glasses, and he pushed it back as he continued to smile and wave. 

“What do you want?” Hailey hissed, eyes flickering nervously around to make sure that Mrs. Goodwin was not standing nearby. “I’m trying to take this stupid test.”

“Yeah, I know,” Drew whispered back, nodding eagerly. 

“So shut up!” She crossed her eyes at him. “We’re gonna get in trouble!” 

“I need your help, though.” His voice was pleading, beseeching; it was the puppy-dog begging voice that he always used when he was trying to wheedle her out of something. His eyes were doing it, too; begging her, their sapphire depths seeming to yank right on her heartstrings with their neediness. 

“You need my help with what?” she whispered furiously. 

“This question,” he jabbed the eraser end of his mechanical pencil at his own test booklet, which was covered in marks and smears of graphite, despite Mrs. Goodwin’s admonition not to write on the testing booklet. From the corner of her eye, Hailey could just make out the inscription ‘this test sucks eggs,’ scrawled right below the neatly printed text of the Dickinson piece. She dared not look further, though; already a cold, squirmy feeling was developing inside her gut.

SHORT STORY: "Cyprus Garden" By Emily Waters

 “Cyprus Garden”

By Emily Waters

            A stone path twisted through a thick crowd of people from different countries, emptying into a garden full of topiaries with a five story waterfall that fell from man-made jagged rocks. Flowers cascaded over their confinements to flower pots and perfectly green grass was cut to fresh perfection. Women in large hoop skirts and tight curls erupting from bonnets pranced around with lace trimmed parasols. People paused and stuck out their cameras to strangers who took them graciously and positioned themselves in front of their woman of choice and the camera owner. Her smile stretched across her face and she pointed her umbrella up towards the sky.

            After night had fallen, the women in hoop skirts met by a rabbit topiary. It towered over the women as they slipped their shoes off.