As I make my way through the hellish white I am beginning to wonder exactly why it was that I agreed to attend this evening.
The wolves hunt, sun blazing high in the sky.
By Aryana Motaghian I killed myself with a bottle of barbiturates. In the glowering half-light of a late autumn evening I departed this world, taking
The still summer day’s sluggish temperature was broken intermittently by the chirping of birds. Not even the wind could bring itself to muster a gentle
During a creative writing class on Modernism we were asked to write a short piece exploring the stream of consciousness style. We were also given
One. She could feel them behind her, hear the scratching on the wooden floor getting closer. Two. The whispers started. A language she couldn’t understand,