THREE STORIES

ONE

I could never be that girl. So I choose to scatter my glitter out the window, set my bras ablaze, and move to Seattle to study philosophy. My love understands. He says long distance relationships work, sometimes. He knows a friend who sends poems across the country to his girl, and his girl sends him voice messages in the middle of the night. We could be like that. His thumb caresses the palm of my hand.

“I’ll miss you”, I tell him, and I mean it.

This body I have been packaged into betrayed me. The head of a cherub atop a soft torso; cigarettes look funny between stubby fingers and vanishing nails; breasts collide when I walk across a room. This is not the body of a goddess–someone who gets coffee for free, captures the regard of men, women, and children alike, and sends the first unaltered iteration of her voice messages.

I had been living on a shelf all my life before I met him. I did not choose him, so he felt expendable at first. But his presence grew on me and his love gave me courage. The courage to leave.

My body won’t fail me in Seattle. Beneath dog wool and small business caps and thrift scarves I can pass as illuminated. I will devour Ayn Rand and de Beauvoir and crack my brain open with psilocybin. Become wise, a cherub with profound thought.

“No one can judge a cherub for trying,” I laugh.
“Take photos”, he says. “I want to be a witness.”

Story by Daniela Tabrea

TWO

Why would she think he would ever ask her out? He had barely spoken to her since they were kids. They had classes together growing up. They saw each other at football games. They were in a play together once, but not the same scenes. After they graduated from high school, he’d come into the restaurant and she’d have to serve him coffee and pancakes. He’d always ask for extra butter with his short stack. He’d ask for extra cream for his cup of coffee. That’s about all he said to her their whole lives. They orbited each other, but they weren’t in the same solar systems, it seemed.

But then, one morning he went into the diner, sat down, smiled up at her and said, “We should figure this out over a movie or something.” She didn’t know what he was talking about. She didn’t even know if he was addressing her, but, yes, he was writing his phone number on a napkin and handing it to her. But, yes, he had just asked her out.

The night of, her sister was making fun of her. But it was a big deal! She got out of the shower and wondered what dress to wear and wondered what lipstick to put on. He wouldn’t think of kissing her, would he? She was so nervous. He might kiss you, his sister howled with laughter. She was so nervous and so very happy. Someone was paying attention to her. Someone noticed her. Saw something. Maybe even beauty.

Story by Jonathan Shipley

THREE

Kaitlyn felt the ongoing pain in her chest as she inhaled her cigarette. She had lost count how many she had gone through; perhaps it was from her second or third pack. Nevertheless, Kaitlyn is always stocked up when it comes to feeling something else. All she ever wants nowadays is to feel something different to numb her from her own existence. A gram of anything would do, she just needed a little something to get her back into a familiar mindset. Without it, she would feel empty inside, and nothing would have meaning.

Kaitlyn constantly asks herself if she is the only one who feels the way she does, and why. She may not realize it; however, many of the people she spends her time with feel the exact same way. There’s no telling how many more in the entire world.Lately Kaitlyn has been spending a large amount of her time with her most recent boyfriend, Kyle. To her, it seems like Kyle is the only one who understands her. Kyle is always there when she needs him, and he always shows his thanks. More importantly, he also brings all of the pills, crystals, and other party favors. Whenever they are together, Kaitlyn has no problem feeling at home.Upon breathing in her snowflakes, Kyle captured a picture of Kaitlyn in her familiar state. She didn’t approve of it, but there’s no undoing a polaroid picture. At the same time, she was too fucked up to care anyway.

Story by Jacob V