Young Adult
I Wrote My Way Out
I am not supposed to be here. Alive, on this stage, at this place. Alive. I should have died when I was born. That was something that The Devil Con Man of Pembrooke drilled into me. Not because of my mother's body threatening my life from the moment I existed in her womb. Not because the same thing providing me life wrapped around my throat, choking me as I came into the world. No, he never said it as admiration, as a thing of pride that I beat the odds. It was a weapon he kept jabbing into my sides, bleeding me of my joy and self-respect.
By Alexandria Stanwyck2 years ago in Chapters
The Empty Room
I couldn’t believe that it was finally happening. After 28 years, my family and I were moving out of my childhood home. I sat on the floor of my old bedroom, taking it all in. The big window. The pink carpet and walls. All the empty space. It seemed even bigger than I ever realized. It was weird to think I’d never seen my room like this before.
By Jaye Ruggiero-Cash2 years ago in Chapters
Arizona State of Mind
So, with no jobs, money burning a hole in our pocket, and a deep need to see a new part of the country, we packed up and started the hours-long drive to Arizona. From Texas, with all of our stops and such, it ended up being about an 18-hour journey. Not including, of course, the overnight stop that wasn't even planned by us that we were essentially peer-pressured to make by Madi's travel-bug grandmother...
By Raine Neal2 years ago in Chapters
Boys of the Jungle
BANG! The trunk door slammed closed on his mom’s Honda Civic. The beige car with its rusted wheel wells, and terrible power steering was the only car his mother had ever owned, but this was the fifth home they’d moved into — at least of those that he was old enough to remember. In his hands was the last of the cardboard boxes that held their things. In this particular box was the last of his own belongings: Comics he no longer read, a martial arts uniform for a studio he could no longer attend, old socks. None of these things were particularly heavy for the fourteen-year-old, and yet he found himself struggling to carry the box up the front stairs of the apartment complex.
By Vagabond Writes2 years ago in Chapters
Breaking Free
I remember the summer of 2021. Beautiful warm weather, sunny skies as waves crash and mist the air. Life felt simple. Life, felt simple. This was one of the first times in my life that I had felt as though I was truly living my life. Trying new things, doing things for myself, not only doing what was expected of me. There was a change coming.
By Connor Stermer2 years ago in Chapters
