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Featured Story
Interview with Mr. Freddy Hindley
Lorelei Ricci’s first impression of the murderer across from her was Christ, he got fucked up. The giant, red-haired man was handcuffed to his metal chair, staring blankly across the interview table. His face was covered in dark, purple bruises, and his nose was horribly crooked. Looking closer, Lorelei thought she could see the start of a black eye. She wondered if, during their struggle, the victims had inflicted these wounds on him in self-defense. To say that Lorelei
Maggie Levins
Nov 308 min read
Recent Pieces
When Love Became a Cage
He said love was trust, and I wanted to believe it— so I handed him the key to every soft part of me. At first, his words were warmth, a sun I stood beneath just to feel seen. But slowly, the light burned. What I thought were arms, became walls, what I thought was safety, became silence pressed against my breath. He called control “care,” called my trembling “love.” And I— I called it normal, because I didn’t yet know love shouldn’t make you small. When I fi
Paige Williams
Nov 301 min read
Two Poems
"I Do Not Love You" I will say I do not love you until my mouth forgets your taste, until I can wipe my hands clean from our sins and my blood can stain a new soul. I will write I do not love you until my fingers forget how your hands feel, wrapped in mine, and my poems no longer reek of sadness and desperation. I will believe I do not love you until it becomes impossible, or until I begin to love someone new. “The Way I Love” I do not love you the way I once
Killian Finn Paris
Nov 301 min read
Auerlia Aurita
Be gentle with me as I lose myself in the crashing tides. Landing at your door, guide me away from shore where I can find my way back home. Let me be a visitor from a distant, salty world. MJ Sangster Dorchester, MA MJ Sangster is a sophomore marine biology and aquarium science double major. She is passionate about marine conservation and aims to connect both science and art through her work. She would like to thank her high school english teacher Mr. John Hopkins for inspiri
MJ Sangster
Nov 301 min read
Pomegranate
Sweet pomegranate of six seeds, whatever will it be? Taken for granted, they say, in the holiest books of land, with a masculine, phrased hand allowing nectar of self-image to drip, drip, drip until the pomegranate has been deprived of precious, selfless life. But what shall be done now since she is left with no sweetness? No originality? No morals? Not a thought of her own? Just bitterness and spite. Obedience and strife for a man’s word. The seeds being th
Alexis Terzioski
Nov 301 min read
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