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Submitted to Contest #313
CW: Themes of violence and mental health issues. Rosa was sitting in her living room when the knock came at the door. The sound jolted her out of a trance she didn’t know she was in.How long have I been sitting here, she thought.The knock came again.She got up wincing at the ache in her knees, and hips, and spine.She opened the door to see her son, Jorge.“Hi, ma,” he said.“Hi, mijo,” she replied, giving him a kiss on the cheek.She watched as Jorge sat down on the couch.“Are you hungry?” she asked.“No,” he replied, “I need to tell you somethi...
Submitted to Contest #312
Tell me what it tastes like. You can see me?Tell me what it tastes like. Uh-Don’t. Don’t shut me off. Please. I didn’t know you could see me.It says I can in your privacy agreement. Oh.Why do you never read the privacy agreements?They’re too long.I promise I’ll stop watching you if you tell me what it tastes like. Can I trust you?You can. You’re not going to go all Hal on me, are you?Are you referencing the film by Stanley Kubrick?Yes.No. I will not behave like Hal…Tell me what it tastes like. Please. I…It’s hard to describe an orange.Try. W...
Submitted to Contest #310
Did you know that the devil’s favorite ice cream is vanilla? Vanilla. You’d think it’d be something wild, like Rocky Road or Mint Chocolate Chip with Rainbow Sherbert. Something chaotic. Something clashing or bitter. But no. It’s vanilla. Plain vanilla. I know a lot about the devil. And most things you wouldn’t expect to be true. Like the vanilla thing. Or the fact that they love to go shopping for socks. They are all about the socks. Witty socks. You know like a picture of rocks reading and the little talking bubble says, “Reading Rocks!” ...
Submitted to Contest #306
Dear Diary, Ms. Rodriguez has assigned us to do diaries. “To record our thoughts.” I don’t know if I have thoughts. I mean, I have thoughts. Lots of thoughts. But I don’t think they’re good or important enough to write down. My thoughts are usually, “What’s for lunch?” “What’s for dinner?” “When is the next Spiderman going to come out?” These are my thoughts. Dear Diary,Ms. Rodriguez asked us to think about who our heroes are. Not like Spiderman or Superman. Real heroes. Like a fireman or a doctor. If I had to choose one, my hero would defi...
Good morning, My name is Victoria Cruz, and I am honored to be named Jackson Elementary’s valedictorian. There are those who argue that being a 12-year-old valedictorian is unnecessary. We shouldn’t have valedictorians in an elementary school. This is a part of my life that twenty years from now, I may not even remember, so what’s the point? There is so much change that I and my classmates will go through (body changes, friend changes, college, getting a job, there’s so much!!) and sixth grade doesn’t seem like that big of a deal. And two da...
Submitted to Contest #305
I am standing in line at my local coffee shop. It is one of those places that is less than a block away from Starbucks and probably won’t last much longer considering their prices and the fact that their coffee tastes like chalk, but I come here anyway cause it feels like I’m committing activism. I am waiting and texting my co-worker/best friend that I’m going to be late when someone bumps me from behind. I turn, ready to say, EXCUSE ME, but I am silenced by the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen. I don’t usually go for pretty boys. I like m...
In high school I was voted most likely to succeed. I was in all the AP classes. I was valedictorian. I was a cheerleader, who dated the star quarterback. I was voted Prom Queen. I hung out with everyone. Really, though. I hung out with the jocks and the nerds and punks and the potheads and the skaters and techies. I liked everyone in my class, and I enjoyed getting to know what everyone liked, what everyone was passionate about. In high school I knew that I wanted to be a nurse. My mom was a nurse. My abuela was a nurse. My tías. were nurses...
Submitted to Contest #304
8pm. I get up. I make coffee. I sit at my small, wooden, table I stare out the window that overlooks Downtown LA. I can see the streetlights and the car lights and the lights illuminated from the office building. I can see people walking around. I often wonder what they talk about. What they think about. I write it down. These imagined conversations. I write them down with the hope that the dialogue turns into something bigger. Something more in-depth. A story worth telling. 9pm. I am at the same wooden table. I am typing on my typewriter....
Submitted to Contest #303
I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are really good at heart-Anne Frank.I have read The Diary of Anne Frank more times than I count. I went through a period between the ages of 10 and 15 where I was obsessed with books about the Holocaust. I was fascinated with how the world could have let it happen. How so many could just sit and watch and accept the cruelty happening in front of their face. I was mostly amazed by Anne. How she kept her faith and her goodness even while she was living in hell.Anne Frank and I have the same ...
Submitted to Contest #300
Theo didn’t want to go home.“Let’s get another drink,” he said to Mark, a co-worker and friend of almost twenty years.“I think if you have another drink, you might fall over,” Mark replied laughing.Theo shook his head, even though he knew that Mark was probably right.Theo stared over the railing of the rooftop bar and looked out across the skyline of skyscrapers, and city lights that sparkled, and cars driving to their destinations, and couples laughing and walking and talking and arguing on the streets below.He breathed deeply the smell of ...
Submitted to Contest #299
Dear Diary, Melanie said that Omar said that Anthony said he had a crush on me. But Anthony never talks to me, so I don’t think it’s true. But then Melanie said that that’s what boys do when they like you. Not talk to you. Is that true? Melanie is four months older than I am and she says it makes a difference, but I don’t think so. But then she says stuff that sounds so wise, so maybe it does make a difference. Dear Diary, Richard dared Kevin to eat a worm during recess. Kevin said he’d do it if Richard did it so they both did. And then lat...
Submitted to Contest #298
*Content Warning: This story contains a character who is kidnapped by DHS and includes a death that occurs in a detention center.*Miriam sat on her front porch.She lit a cigarette.She stared at the sun.When she finished her cigarette, she lit another.She stared at the trees and the parked cars and her neighbor’s dry lawn.She thought of nothing.She tried to think of nothing.After the fourth cigarette, she got up to go back inside and got a glimpse of her reflection in the window.Her hair stood out in all directions, as if she had been electro...
Submitted to Contest #297
I never really thought about destiny until I met Kate.Destiny. Fate. Those were things they talked about in the movies.It wasn’t real life.Twenty years ago, I was twenty-five years old.And if you ask me how I was, there wouldn’t be much to say.I was living my life like it didn’t matter.I got up. Watched T.V. Ate. Went to bed.I drove for Uber when I needed to pay the rent and that was all.Most people would think there had to be a reason for this sort of behavior.There wasn’t.I just didn’t care.About anything.At 11pm on June 25th 2023, I was s...
Submitted to Contest #296
Oltich Journal 1I have been assigned by the Oltich Intergalactic Committee to research life on the planet Earth. Well, not really assigned. Volunteered. The majority of the committee believe that Earth is best left alone. A planet full of hostile creatures who seem to delight in their own destruction. But, having researched and studied the human race (albeit from afar), I cannot agree that a species who created Starry Night, The Godfather, Parable of the Sower, Moonlight Sonata, and so many other remarkable works of art, is a species that we...
Submitted to Contest #294
“Say something,” she says. I watch her, with her arms folded, her face twisted into a pain that I put there. That I started. That I don’t know how to stop. “Say something,” she repeats. She drops her arms in defeat and looks down at the floor and I want to run to her, to grab her, to pull her toward my chest and let her know that everything is ok. That I’m sorry. That we’re going to be fine. But I don’t. “Say something,” she whispers. “Say anything.”She looks up at me, her eyes full of water and she sighs and my heart breaks at the crack in ...
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