Monthly Archives: February 2017
by Bekah (Williamson) Medendorp | Feb 28, 2017 |
I scour the wall for any ledges, any possible edge to rest a hand or foot. Nothing. The drop to the next balcony I would guess is eight feet. Not impossible.
by Brad Zwiers | Feb 27, 2017 |
We danced on moonlight and settled scores by imagining things differently.
by Nick Meekhof | Feb 26, 2017 |
On Thursday, February 16, production came to a grinding halt at the greenhouse because most of my coworkers took a personal day for the nationwide protest, “A Day Without Immigrants.”
by Jack Van Allsburg | Feb 25, 2017 |
The difficult task we’ve all received is—like Vonnegut—seeking the slippery truth buried in muddiness and mess.
by Julia LaPlaca | Feb 23, 2017 |
Nowhere else in this big wide world of ours can you find a life-size Michael Jackson and Princess Diana made entirely out of marzipan.
by Matt Medendorp | Feb 22, 2017 |
Fifty seconds of the wind whipping, a few tires screeching, nothing more, nothing more needed. Two days of slipping up the coast, of stinging sand, of white adobe buildings.
by Gabe Gunnink | Feb 20, 2017 |
There’s nothing like bustling down the baking needs aisle with a week’s supply of Oreos yelling out for “Anthill!” to make you realize you’re not currently leading a traditional life.
by Mary Margaret Healy | Feb 19, 2017 |
The US eventually emerged from The Great Depression, but my grandmother did not.
by Ben DeVries | Feb 18, 2017 |
The number nineteen appears with such frequency in this deposition, it begins to feel rehearsed.
by Andrew Knot | Feb 16, 2017 |
Where had he been when? What happened on the way? Why was he there? How did he die? The answers were dispersed on these 28 square feet. We needed them to get out.
by Cassie Westrate | Feb 15, 2017 |
I have a significant other. His name is JJ, and he’s a bird.
by Will Montei | Feb 14, 2017 |
Outward Bound, Super Camp, tutors, counsellors, mentors—my parents spared no expense in trying to figure out my 2.33 cumulative high school GPA. Nothing worked.
by Catherine Kramer | Feb 13, 2017 |
0734:
Bobby pin located by companion, lock picking commenced. She picks. I pick. The lock is deemed unpickable.
by Abby Zwart | Feb 12, 2017 |
But the sun comes out and doughnuts exist and there’s a one-eyed cat who likes to roam the school grounds and often visits my window. This happens, too.
by Elaine Schnabel | Feb 11, 2017 |
Driving in Cambodia is not a careful endeavor. It is not orderly. The rules are, at best, flexible.
by Katie Van Zanen | Feb 10, 2017 |
Last fall, my much-delayed Megabus dropped me off in Chinatown at 2:30 a.m. I had seven percent battery life, four dollars in cash, and no idea how to get to Brooklyn.
by Bart Tocci | Feb 9, 2017 |
The grate creeks and I move to step off, but it snaps under my weight. I’m falling. I thought I could grab the side of the sidewalk, but I can’t.
by Paul Menn | Feb 8, 2017 |
Don’t look back, keep walking, project confidence, don’t run, keep calm, almost there, almost there, almost there – RUN! Lose yourself in the crowd!
by Caroline (Higgins) Nyczak | Feb 7, 2017 |
At dinner, we held hands and prayed out loud at the restaurants. Everyone did. To different gods.
by Josh deLacy | Feb 6, 2017 |
I had no cell phone service. No way to leave. I had ridden here in the back seat of a minivan, lurching through miles of winding and branching dirt roads, through a night black with trees and dust and stories of fights.
by Alissa Anderson | Feb 5, 2017 |
I went to Denmark. For my first trip to Scandinavia. In January.
by Ben Rietema | Feb 4, 2017 |
The semi-employed anti-hero of this tragic sob-story did what we all want to do but cannot because of various reasons, mostly time-related.
by Meg Schmidt | Feb 3, 2017 |
Today, he is known as “the father of gynecology” and is loved for—as his statues say—“treating empress and slave alike.”
by Jacob Schepers | Feb 2, 2017 |
In my afternoon with wizards and troll farts, I collected electronic sparkles, almost broke my neck, and unknowingly imprisoned myself and my younger brother.
by Katerina Parsons | Feb 1, 2017 |
I sent the email at 3 p.m., and at 3:05 I wondered how they would get the blood from the seats and I couldn’t get it out of my head.
