The Birth of Venus
Venus was born of sea-foam. Ella, on the other hand, was born on Dr. Thomas Loeb’s operating table.
Student Work: Fiction
If I Was a White Oak and You Were a Deer
Lane looked up from his book in the direction of Molly. He squinted his eyes with confusion and a slight irritation at her laughter.
Muse
My face and my head pulse, and so does the radio. I’m losing track of time, but I can tell that we’re close to the beach when the police officer stops us—the ceaseless strip of road has gone satisfyingly gritty with sand.
Misery Swamp
Phone said 2:45pm. This means school is out, scream and shout. In case future daughter/granddaughter is reading this, a few things to note: all students wear tiny gray uniform skirt, boxers poke underneath.
The Return
“How am I supposed to connect to you, or anyone, if I don’t even know who I am!” I shouted as she slammed the door behind me. I left my girlfriend’s apartment in Spanish Harlem that rainy September night feeling strangely liberated.
The Curious Account of How I Became a Ghost
Sitting on an airplane, suspended somewhere over the gulf of Mexico, I stared numbly at the shapes and shadows flitting over the eight-inch screen in front of me —one I had thoroughly disinfected with a Wet One®. I wondered, was …
Perfect Earlobes
She puts on long, droopy earrings and stares back at me in the mirror. Try these, she says, and hands me a pair of danglies. You have perfect ears, she says. Look, she says. Perfect. Look at your earlobe.
Aposymbiosis
I had only ever thought about it as my shadow. I was in middle school when I first noticed it.
Parables of Law and War
The outpost had existed for centuries, stocked with soldiers for reasons lost to time.
Zlata’s Orb
There was once a young woman named Zlata hailing from a far away land. A land that was neither real nor unreal. This land of origin was a blissful safe haven, and was all that she knew—she knew nothing of …
Lonely Plus One
I hate drinking games. Why do you need words to consume alcohol? Why do you need alcohol to consume words?
House
I already miss home. As expected, moving was a mistake. This house is big and empty. I don’t like big houses; my mother knows that. They make me feel small.
Hearing Sadness
My therapist, a woman in her mid-forties with short hair and small spectacles, clears her throat and finds eye contact with uncomfortable politeness. I admit that I enjoy watching how therapists bend over backward to maintain composure, “Jess, I think you might be Bipolar.”
ENJOY THE SILENCE
April, with its watery eyes and cherubic yawns, ushered in an unconvincing spring that year.