The bar was eerily empty. I was, unfortunately, the first to arrive, which left me with the task of finding a comfortable enough table for my friends. I looked around as nonchalantly as possible, inexplicably embarrassed as I turned my head right to left, eventually deciding on a large booth in a somewhat desolate corner. I sat down, took out my phone, and tapped absentmindedly, having nothing of importance to look at. After a few minutes, a young woman walked up on the bar’s

In the realm of the Djinn, warmth emanated from apples. Apples were big fireballs that grew on smoky trees whose size, shape, or color never changed. Djinns, who looked like glowing strings, treated these apples as a display in the magnificent orchard and never ate them, because fire was the stuff of life in this realm. Wild stallions ran on open russet plains, where a river of lava flowed from charred mountains and formed a valley. Djinns called it the Valley of the Red. The

The classroom door slams open with the rough tumble of edge only brought upon by teenage girls. It lets in a drafty winter breeze, which the other students grumble at before quickly quieting down when they realize who’s arrived. You look up from your hidden corner by the window, undisturbed by the presence of these forces of nature. Bryce blazes in, the other girls quick to follow at her heels. Always hauntingly picture-perfect, as if they had stepped straight out of a collec

I dreamt about my sister, dead these many years. It seemed she was in a place of ghosts. In my dream I put my face up to hers and kissed her cheek and said, "I'll always be your sister." But she turned her face away and closed her eyes. Her cheek was cold. I said, "Do you want me to take you away, dear? Come, come! Let us go!" But she only looked sad and didn't speak. My son was with me but in my dream he was a young boy. I mean, my son at seven, not the way he is now. He was

Their darling souls, He does not take For it is only their hearts He wishes to save And so at night While they lay asleep, He reaches inside And takes every piece Only then satisfied, He will be With their hearts His trophies Reattached and fixed On display  In a glass case Right near his bedside He smiles as he admires Each one Because he knows They can never deny him The love He so desperately craves Ever, again #poetry #horror

attrition   seventeen lacerations on your tongue  and the bruise on your achille’s heel.  it bubbles in the corner of your mouth, parasitical, invincible,  the bullet through sedgwick’s head,  the knife kissing caesar’s thigh.  the ceasefire immediate, justice honored, and iron painted on the back of your teeth.  a word for each hash mark:  they hang your best friend in the street and when his tongue falls out,  it is clean.  they say you are brave when you do not cry but the

There is no other way around it There is no other way to win He/she who commits the most war crimes is the winner It’s automatic Chivalry has no part in it Honor has little enough to do with it Romance is just another form of survivor guilt Willingness to act is the determining factor If you want to know who won, you need only ask one thing Which side committed the most war crimes? The winner is the one with the biggest body count You can never win by demonstrating any reluct

There was a cabin in the center of a grove. Trees like giants. It looked like they were scraping the sky. This cabin sat right in the middle of a small clearing. Tall ceilings. Big porch. Windows everywhere. It was beautiful. Once a girl found this cabin. It was like finding a gem after picking away at rubble for so long. She quickly settled in. After all, the cabin was empty and looked long forgotten. Also, she had been walking for days and days and days, wandering. It was s

Destruction She runs. She runs and the Devourer hunts her relentlessly. It is a creature of fire and chaos and death. She had bound it once with powerful magics and used it as her ultimate weapon. But now it has been freed, it remembers who enslaved it, and it hungers for her soul.  She runs over the desert sands, heedless of the bloody footprints she’s leaving behind her. She looks ahead and sees a statue. In days past, she might have looked at the stone colossus and seen

the moon i see you there, legionnaire i see the pen you bear like the tide i bring in – i surface – all the tears you veneer i see them hit the canvas as you look up to me & stare – i’m a friend a glimpse out the pane whenever you need an ear these craters upon my face show i’ve too felt the strain of being pulled in all directions besides the one i felt most sane so even sometimes i disappear to gather my thoughts & fears – but i’ll always return to the sky & listen for i ha

The pine woods creaked lazily in the slightest of breezes as I returned to the cabin. Wood pigeons and songbirds cooed and twittered above my head, no doubt enjoying the afternoon sun as much as I did. It crossed my mind to sit down under the trees and join them for an hour or two, but I had the latest box of samples under my arm, and more than enough work to get through before the pickup scheduled for the end of the week. I’d been alone in the woods for three long weeks and

"I need to go out," Emma didn’t care whether anyone in the residence's security staff heard her or not. Everything that happened in the main hall was recorded and monitored live, so someone definitely did. "I'm going to the forest," she added, knowing this would keep them from bothering her. The forest behind the residence was a safe zone. It stretched far from public streets and was surrounded by the protected grounds of the government estate. She needed to get her thought

un soneto para mi pueblo   escrito en inglés  “when you stand up too fast and start seeing your ancestors.”  – jalain page,  january 9th, 2022.  INT.  a young woman sits on the carpet with the intricate pattern. her eyes are screwed shut, her legs criss cross applesauce – you know, the way they taught you how to sit in elementary. she wears what most young ladies wear in this day and age – a cropped, oversized white t-shirt, jean shorts, and black socks.  beaded ea

your pupils are dilated, like our mother’s when she cried  which wasn’t often, but when she cried– remember when she cried? –it was like waterfalls were gushing out of her irises  like the whole of the jordan river was drowning out her body  and neither of us could tame the rapids or save her from her own salt  weeping like the willows in our garden  hiding like the ghosts inside her mind  absent like the records at our school  yet, we were somehow so attached to her grasp–li

Unruly Cinders Eyes that criticize Hold unwarranted power,  As they gaze on with reticent anguish, Laying up a store of waste for every day and hour   Passed, by raking Emotions over embers And coals, hot with disdain – unless, Saved by a pair of unruly cinders   That escape the burnt-up heap,  Sparking compliance  Of a sort; the catalyst  For neutral acquiescence    In which the Victim and the Critic Are together absolved  By the disappointing fact They were both at fault...

Footnotes1 Is the dark side of the moon still a thing?  Or, did science already explain it?2  Let’s imagine3 it remains a mystery, and seek it together –  Exploring the concept that ideas still matter,  and the cosmos isn’t yet reduced to a textbook4 blurb. Then, we can pretend textbooks are still a thing, too. --- 1. “a note of reference, explanation, or comment usually placed below the text on a printed page”a. 2. “we now know that the Moon orbits Earth, and they both orbit

Main character of my own life, watching the world go by front seat "I" spelled with a capital letter in English, I learned it watching cartoons Why was I given this life? Why was anyone given life? Sometimes I catch myself adding flourish and new details Making it more interesting and magical than it really is I believe in God because I want to I want to think there is more than just this A name in city records that will be damaged by water-leaking ceilings A name written ins

It’s raining The water droplets are nothing but a calm, soothing hug that envelopes my body It’ll all be alright  it whispers, as if it has any idea what’s going through my head I wish I knew too, let me in on this secret that you’re hiding from me It’s a cacophony of voices that aren’t my own, choking whatever piece of me I have left and leaving the corpse of my brain out to dry It’s raining The rain makes me think of nothing or everything at all My tears are like the rain,

Jack received a package on the night of his graduation. It was from his brother, Gabriel — he lived too far away.  He opened the package with a razor and unpacked it onto the table. A hologram emitter: this small circular thing. Similar to a fire alarm or a hockey puck.  He took the device and attached it to the wall. It gave a small whistle as it received its signal, and the little machine came to life.  Jack’s phone whistled too, and so he took it up: “Gabriel?” “Alrigh

Brick didn’t remember falling asleep by the motel pool. When he awoke, he sorely regretted it. As he stirred on the plastic lounge chair, he felt miserable. Placing a hand on his stomach made him wince. “Oh no,” he groaned. After all the times he warned his daughter about using sunscreen, Brick made the mistake of napping under the blazing July sun with no protection. His chest, arms, and legs were as bright red like his hair. “Terrific,” Brick muttered to himself. “Just te