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William Bates had a hold of the tail of his daddy’s coat. They were moving slowly down the street and Willy could only see trouser legs and skirts. It seemed the whole town was heading to the same place at the same time and nobody was paying attention to anyoneContinue Reading

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The house was expensive, endless, and normally boring. Cheap 1990s fake-hardwood lofts, fake antique ceiling fans. But it was the time of the great competition, and every room was full with NBA stars. Shaq was downstairs, sprawled out on a sectional, but it was a discount Shaq—the Shaq from Minecraft. Continue Reading

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The only thing comforting about the hour of 3am is knowing that someone who is in pain is no longer in pain, is sleeping, is breathing steady, is not thinking of the reality of life.  Someone knocking on your door at 3am is the scariest thing in the world. TheyContinue Reading

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The late autumn grass was crackling in our ears, faces lying sideways on the ground with the dry blades rubbing coarsely against our skin, as we waited quietly on the hillside. We spoke seldom, and in hushed voices, fearing any noise may off-set the chance of the event. We wereContinue Reading

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When the smoke cleared, I knew my essay was done. I was writing on a prairie cabin’s porch. I set down my pen and poured a few drinks, then lit cigars and let them burn like candles for an hour. Satisfied, I called a friend and told him I wasContinue Reading

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My father painted a world that was consumed in shadow, but it was my mother who told me to stay idle by the glow of the light.  I had to abide by their reasons and judgments alone.  Demons resides in those shadows, but that isn’t entirely true. However, it wasContinue Reading

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In my dream, P wrote a musical about chickens kept in prison planning great escape. The show was all over the world in small but ambitious culture centres. And when it was coming to Warsaw I took all the people I knew. I was one minute late and everybody wasContinue Reading

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I’m nine years old on July 31, 1996, when I write the evil queen dream in my diary, in pink pen on a pink-lined page with a heart and a bow in the corner: “A night or two ago I had a terrible dream. I dreamed I had gone toContinue Reading

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Spencer Pond is a non-binary femme who is a film photographer and a writer. They have taking photos since they were 17 and found joy in poetry while Working at Food for Thought Cafe while studying at PSU. They co-curate the bi-yearly Persistent Existence benefit and previously were a curatorContinue Reading

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You wake up in a seemingly unknown bedroom.   You don’t know how you got there or why you are sleeping alone. You are scared. In fact you cannot remember what you ate for dinner, or even what day it is, but those are meaningless facts.  All you know andContinue Reading