At the running trail’s straightaway, I knew I could make my legs pistons, sprint like I was 25, but suddenly Goose-Poop Alley loomed, 100 yards of goopy green and brown sidewalk smudges. I leaped, twisted, quick-minced, and lunged, the ballet dancer I’d never been but was now—magnificently!–at 74.
Paul Lamar lives with his husband, Mark, in Albany, NY, not far from three grown children and two swell grandkids.
The corridors were dark. It felt like his lungs would burst out of his chest, but he couldn’t stop running.
He couldn’t stop now, not after everything, not with everything ahead of him.
He couldn’t stop, not even for the sword pointed at him. Still, it felt good to rest.
Kelly Jacobson is a student at Orion High School. Her favorite subject is English and she hopes to someday publish a book or two.
My mother speeds down the dirt path. I watch out the back window as the bright orange fire flickers against the smoke, fading into the distance.
My mother sighs heavily. I know she is thinking what I am thinking: we feel relief.
Our past has finally gone up in flames.
Brooke Lund is a grade 11 student at Charlottetown Rural High school. She submitted this as part of her creative writing course.
Andy knew how to train a tortoise to move fast. Really fast. It was an eclectic, yet very rarely used skill.
However, when Trevor, a forty-one-year-old tortoise, won the New Haven Marathon in world-record time, news spread quickly throughout the four-legged community. Suddenly, tortoises everywhere began sprinting at lightning speeds.
I covered my eyes, hoping I’d miraculously become invisible, like a child playing peekaboo, trying to deceive myself into thinking, “what I can’t see can’t hurt me.”
Neither worked. The creature that’d been chasing me for days was, despite my hopes, still fast approaching.
There was nowhere left to run.
Bernadette Woods is an English Literature student who in addition to writing as part of her studies also writes purely for enjoyment. When she is not busy writing she also enjoys both painting and photography, or essentially anything that involves creativity and imagination.
As the hot sun descended, frightened by the rising of the cold blue moon, I stumbled on a root and fell headlong into nightmare.
Within myself, I chased and fled, pursuing sanity and evading madness.
I grasped sanity’s skirt. She pulled away, saying, “Your daughter is dead.”
Madness ensnared me.
This story was based on a title suggested by @KittyCatalyst.