HEAVE by Yulia Kravchina

            A new house did not mean a new home. Settling into the floorboards and turning on the heat, I walked across the new space feeling relieved to be alone for the first time in my adult life. It was empty and cold, however, I saw potential for a cozy space that I could call my own. Nevermind that it was rented and a few strange spots and cracks oozed into your vision as your eyes scanned the room. Nevermind that. It was a place for me to finally escape from people and disappointment.

THE PATH HOME by Nausheen Ahmed

Everyone had finished setting up their tents and were starting to gather by the fire pit.  Sophie came out with a shawl draped around her shoulders.  One would expect it to be warmer in June, but the spring chill seemed to be lingering around longer than usual.  It was only about 4 o’clock in the afternoon and wouldn’t be dark for another few hours, but she spotted several campfires already burning in the distance.  The Khan’s, who had decided to go camping for their annual family reunion this year, had also gathered around their own campfire with plates full of food.  The grills had been churning out hara masala burgers, seekh kabobs, and Mama’s famous chicken tikkas non-stop since they got here.  The sounds of laughter and family gossip kept Sophie distracted for a while, but seeing all the jovial children made it harder and harder to stop thinking of Ali.  Sophie immediately tried to shake the thought from her mind.

IN THE MOUNTAINS UP HIGH by Jad Kaado

Chris and Donny Antoun joined their new friends, Sarah, Laila, and Adel for a camping trip over the weekend.  The brothers were newly arrived in Lebanon and thrilled to go up the mountains for the first time abroad.  They rode with their newly acquired comrades up to a mountain range that sat fifteen hundred meters above sea level. 

I SEE YOU EVERYWHERE by Jason Liebman

You’re gone.

I keep having to remind myself

Of that

Every morning.

HOW MY MOTHER LEFT MY FATHER (OR VICE VERSA) by Pamela Salmon

Blog - GOING HOME - SPRING SEMESTER, 2015 by Hadley Ring, AKA The Seventeen-Year-Old Freshman   

      When I first moved into my dorm room, my RA glued cutout photos of Bet’s and my faces onto paper ducklings and taped them to our door. I remembered seeing a duckling snatched by a crow from its mother. It cried out until it went silent on the branch of an evergreen tree where the crow ate him. Bet’s Dad, Franklin Rhodes, was murdered on his way to work one day. They found him stuffed inside the trunk of his Mercedes. I had a friend in Boston who told me she saw the ghost of Bet’s Dad when she worked in the kitchen at the clubhouse of the Thump Golf Club. She heard the wind blowing, thunder cracked, then the creaking floors grew footsteps; she saw a bright light covering him in the doorway.  “You’re dead!” she tried to yell, but his scent left her gasping.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.