by Melany Johnson Just kill him. Just open your mouth and sing the toxic note that will bring him to his murky death. Don’t look into his eyes, I remembered as I noticed the cool breeze ruffling his curly, light
by Sarah Opst (Mount Pleasant, PA – Age 16) Piece composed through Write Local’s “Home” Workshop A landscape of nothingness— a black backdrop sparsely dotted with neon highway signs—transforms into a team of starry glints, and as our car nears
by Stephen Foss Years ago, my parents got us a dog named Annie. A few years after she died, my brother got a stuffed dog for Easter. Guess what he named her? Bingo. Annie. This is one of her adventures. Annie yawned.