I WANT YOU TO MEET SAM

I WANT YOU TO MEET SAM by Yulia Kravchina

Before you meet Sam, I want you to think.

I know you hate thinking, but wait, don’t you blink.

At school, it’s a bit of a different deal.

But this time around, let’s talk about how you feel.

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ME, MY SKIP, AND I

ME, MY SKIP, AND I by Christian Angeles

The moist air wreaked of rainwater and Skip’s curiously pungent aroma, which left an oddly familiar taste of vinegar on my palate. Not that I should be surprised. Humans have always tasted salty and oily and on rare and refreshing occasions: sweet. Especially in the summer. And most especially after eating ice cream.

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THE KIDS MEET A HOMELESS MAN

THE KIDS MEET A HOMELESS MAN by Jason Liebman

Jimmy was walking home from school with his friends, Peter and Sarah.

They walked past a stranger sitting on the floor outside the convenience store. He was dirty, his clothes were torn, he was holding a cup and begging for money.

Peter turned to Sarah and Jimmy and said, “Hey watch this,” with a mischievous smirk on his face.

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THROUGH INNOCENT EYES

THROUGH INNOCENT EYES by The Sir Shaggs

Mia arrived with her son, Jacob, at the bus terminal nearly an hour early. Mia grabbed her phone to call for Phil, their welcoming ride into the heart of New York City, as Jacob stared around in amazement at the people zipping to and fro.

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VICTORY RUN

VICTORY RUN by Jad Kaado

Twelve-year-old Vincent Victory packed up his comic books and blanket in his school bag, glancing around his room for the final time.  He dredged up enough courage to leave and cracked open his noisy window to the muffled screams of his parents.  They didn’t notice, of course, as the trend of the past year was a focus on his father’s new political career, the “Victory Campaign.” And ever since he won, things were never the same for the family.

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ISLAH

ISLAH by Jad Kaado

Ali the thief tightened the keffiyeh around his face, leaving only his bright blue eyes piercing through the veil. He surveyed his surroundings to make sure no one was around, and grabbed his knapsacks in a hurry. Gently, he cradled the ceramic bowls under his arms while tying the sacks onto the saddle of his camel. A smile slithered onto his face, as he admired the fine paint on the vases and the lapis lazuli stones that filled them. He easily obtained his new treasures, and reveled in the fact that they would sell quick in the markets.

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PLEASE MOVE

PLEASE MOVE BY JASON LIEBMAN

I'm scared. I don't know what the future will hold. I can't see past this moment. The results of my actions are unknown, but I need to move. Please move. My mind begs my legs but they are frozen in the grip of fear that roots me where I stand. This is fine. The coffee stains on my shirt add character, the length of my shaggy hair speaks for my commitment, my beard is a symbol of who I am and my body is a temple that needs no maintenance because it's still going strong!

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PANIC! AT THE FRAT HOUSE

PANIC! AT THE FRAT HOUSE By Whitney Derman

A sense of panic flowed over me as I watched my best friend get dragged away by the local cops. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t even say goodbye, my mind was in a total funk as I witnessed the officer walk my friend out of the interrogation room. It felt surreal, like a nightmare, only it was real. I could have easily prevented this, but of course I had been too caught up in my own self-preservation. I’m Evanna, and here’s my story.

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THE BOX

THE BOX by Toni Kwadzogah

you’re a reflection, ever seen

            The flood of light dimmed, fluorescents clicked on, and Abigail let out a soft sigh. The skin on her cheeks and forehead burned, her hands tingled in the sudden cool. Sharp spasms rattled up her spine in rough waves, but she remained upright, wrists locked, shoulders down, back straight, neck wrenched. She stared down at the bleached white pages before her, rigid finger joints imperceptibly twitching, a teacup trembling slightly in her hands.

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THE CELL

THE CELL by The Sir Shags

Since the day I was born, I've been locked in a cage. Or at least it seems that way.

Although these four, rotten walls dominate me, I can always look forward to the fleeting escape of a long nap. Sometimes sleep comes, but never easily. Once it finally does, it's gone too soon. And when I've awoken, there is that sweet, blissful moment before I recall my own wretched condition. That precious tenth of a second is shattered when I roll over and finger the jagged brick edifice of my cell's wall. I scratch in another meaningless tally mark denoting one more planetary rotation, a ritual which long ago ceased to matter. And then I just face the day, because that's all I can do.

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