CANDID

Pet Killer

By Carolyn Carter 

I was a wide-eyed five year old when we adopted Oscar, a Black Lab, from the Humane Society. I don’t remember much about the events leading up to adopting him, but I remember that it took us forever to get him and five year old me could hardly even stand the excitement of a new dog. I don’t remember how long we actually owned the dog either; it is all very blurry and surreal. What I do recall from that dark time is that Oscar was a mentally unstable psychopath, but I still loved him.

O.J.B.T.

By Rebecca Clark

A short poem about my grandmother. 

Eating With Strangers

By Jessica Port

It’s amazing to think that there are so many people on this world, all thinking their own thoughts, whom we’ve never spoken too. The people on the bus are all going somewhere, maybe to a job interview or a party. Maybe the girl studying in the psych building just spent all night comforting a friend after a bad break-up. Maybe the man on his laptop in the Armstrong living room is trying to find his friend a birthday present.

Reborn

By Connor Moriarty 

When I was in high school I thought of the woman who gave birth to me slightly different than most kids would.  When I thought about her, I thought about her dark blond hair.  The kind of dark blond that she would have to clarify to her friends it was actually blonde, not brown.  So dark that she has to stare in the mirror to convince herself she wasn’t brunette.

Cancer for the (Non) Christian

By Taylor McBroom 

Ashley walked up to the front desk with her parents. She was about to have a twelve-hour surgery. She told the woman at the counter her name, sat in a chair, and waited. Later, she and her parents were led to a room that looked like an office. She was asked the same set of questions she’d answered multiple times in the past few months. But one was new.

Sunlight on Your Pale Back

By Holly Claxton 

You’re still asleep when I wake up,

It’s unlike you, but you must be too tired

from our late night spent making love

until we were both breathing heavy and satisfied.

You must be too tired move closer to my body in your sleep,

tired enough to stay relatively still as I accidentally pull on the covers.

The City Of

By Kathleen Harris 

Paris.

Have I said enough? Can the story be over now, can it just end here? You know where this is going, don’t you? I’m sure you do.

You read “Paris” and you know my story.

Bee Stings

By Sam Hunter

Except for the absence of school, summer has never had any special appeal to me. I almost always prefered being inside a climate-controlled environment whenever possible, especially when the Ohio heat stretched into the nineties and the air became so heavy I felt like I was drowning in my front yard. I have had little patience for discomfort, especially when inside my house there was not only air conditioning, but also a television, computer, and piles of books.