CREATIVE NON-FICTION
ISSUE 7
Serenity
by Isabella Pesce
27 Minutes
by Amanda Wilbur
7:05 am:
I sit on the hard wooden bench. Every day, on my way to work, I sip my nearly too hot coffee and wait for my 7:32 train. Every day. Except one thing is different- I am here 27 minutes early. So here I am, coffee in hand with nothing to do but sit. I feel different this morning. I did not bustle around
my house, walk hurriedly to the station, and just make the train. I can sit, sip, observe. The empty platform feels foreign, I hope the bustle of the station will begin soon.
Home
by James Shandrowski
It sounds strange but it is the truth. I know it is common for people to fall asleep to the sounds of ocean waves crashing, or even a soft lullaby, but for me, unless there is the piercing sound of a siren from a first responder vehicle going by, or a car horn blaring that wakes up every dog in the neighborhood, I may have trouble getting some rest. As far back as I can remember, my Mom and Dad were always searching for a new place to live on a QUIET street.
In My life I’ve Been to More Funerals Than I Can Count on One Hand
by Elle Lombardo
In my life, I’ve been to more funerals than I can count on one hand. Eventually, I stopped keeping track—not because I forgot, but because remembering felt like carrying stones in my pockets, dragging me under. I think about the Titanic sometimes, how people dressed for dinner while the ship tilted. We do the same at funerals, pretending not to notice the sinking beneath our feet, the low groan of the church floorboards.
Seanchaidhe
by Olivia Lieby
The walls pull close, but the ceiling arches high above, and the strike of my boots on the stone tiles echoes. There is murmuring around; snippets of conversation from the gift shop, from the café, and from the alcoves that open into exhibits are just barely audible. The words are unintelligible, and the sound is hardly noticeable on its own; having grown up in a busy city, the ambient hum of people is as familiar to me as breathing.
A Box
by Gabriella Panagiotakis
A box.
Feet planted on something too small to trust.
What is under you? Wood? Air? Nothing that would save you if you fall.
Don’t move. Stillness is crucial here. Maybe you deserved this but I can feel that you don’t.
Use the Mountain
by Jamie Lewis
I can feel the cold air sweeping across my cheeks. Chills roll down my spine. Bindings snap into place. My eyes focus on the mountain trail ahead of me.
My board slowly begins to slide. My mind slowly begins to clear.
I can feel the music begin to fill my head. I can feel my heart beginning to pound.
