Stories
Fiction
He’s got a nice, deep kind of voice. He doesn’t sound redneck at all.
Story of the Week
His mind was a glass vase shat-
tered into pieces across the floor.
tered into pieces across the floor.
Poem of the Week
The danger of the shirt—always, every moment, it is so obvious.
Poem of the Week
The day holds a cup of milk and sits on the couch, legs tucked up.
Fiction
When the coach called again, Wayne felt his temper slipping.
Winter Contest Winners
The plant’s root must be cut cleanly. Not too close to the bulb.
Story of the Week
We shall still cherish in our hearts the memory of those dead.
Classics
“I can’t die, I don’t want to die, I love life,” Prince Andrei thought.
Story of the Week
My own experience is that the more we study Art, the less we care for Nature.
Story of the Week
You and me is as good as anybody else, and maybe a damn sight better.
Poem of the Week
In the truck’s bed, resting where a dog’s might—the dead deer’s head.
Fiction
You don’t feel anything when they cut you, not at first, just the blood.
Story of the Week
“I can’t hold it any longer. I have to pee,” I finally confessed to Viola.
Nonfiction
I can’t see a way out of this. Things will not necessarily get better.
Poetry
However hard I trudge and search I cannot find the hills I have climbed.
Story of the Week
He studies their mannerisms, looking for clues to the psycho spirit.
Fiction
They caught those few of us left unclaimed by the one emotion, or the other.
Fiction
In exchange for our labor, we would each be given a new set of clothes.
Fiction
I don’t think I was very frightened. I was simply hungry for home.
Story of the Week
It had taken Thursdale seven years to form this fine talent.
Spring Contest Winners
“You think you know me,” the girl spat back, locking eyes with Esiha.
Poetry
Decay enters us through the eyes. As always I lose focus.
Fiction
There’s being young and growing old, being here and being gone.
Fall Contest Winners
The students usually didn’t look up to see who was serving them.
Fiction
Some people you come across you come to love. He was one of them.
Poem of the Week
The flail is raised high, back bent in echo of the boys’ backs.
Poem of the Week
When I saw her, I was witness and weapon both, charging at her.
Story of the Week
Each harbored a sense that a family of three was not a real family.
