Category: Creative Writing
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Gracelyn Polk sat at her desk in the middle of her world history classroom at Cabbage Junction Primary School. She was fidgety and nervous and chewing on her nails like she knew she shouldn’t. But she couldn’t help it. She hated giving speeches. Hated it so much. She softly sighed.…
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Gracelyn Polk sat in the Cabbage Junction Public Library reading about the Napoleonic Wars from an old, oversized book.
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The mercury red was dripping through the lights of the downtown bars – it was blood running through rainbows and icy chalices clinking with the rhythm of this night beat
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And there’s a manic man behind a typewriter, his heart in his hands, sweating away in this disillusioned reality fantasy
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His eyes stained this townon a sunny autumn daylike leaves dropping from his eyescrunchy, veiny tears that smelled of winter blissand so,he took a taxi to the world’s greatest fair,and as the visions of this townbounced before his wet eyesthe wicked witch kissof life’s black doorswung open and hit him…
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This isn’t my heart on a TV show, isn’t my heart crushed on Cannery Row
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Linnifrid was hungry, but she had nothing to eat. Her stomach grumbled. “I would give anything for a steaming pot pie right now,” she moaned aloud to the flames and the darkness. “I can just imagine the flaky crust, the creamy gravy, the crisp garden-fresh vegetables.”
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CEREAL AFTER SEX 