Slither

Halle Wood

As sunlight peeks through the humid, foggy morning, I look out the car window to see clumps of fallen trees lying in odd, abandoned piles, across the road. Crippled branches, bent and contorted, reach towards the car like brittle fingers.…

Trump and the Battle for Human Nature

Frances Moore Lappé

Feeling blindsided, baffled, or just bewildered, Americans are asking, How did we get here? New York Times conservative columnist Ross Douthat likens the experience of observing Republican dysfunction to seeing “a calf born with two heads…watching something that the laws…

Creative Nonfiction: 2017

Cambridge Days (a novel)

Teodros Kiros

Cambridge Days is a unique literary work that systematically combines the genres of drama and story-telling. In this book, Professor Teodros Kiros, has assembled a diverse group of actors who love to make connections with areas of knowledge...

The Ungrateful Son

Dinty W. Moore

Once a man was sitting with his wife. They had roasted a chicken which they were about to eat together. Then the man saw that his aged father was approaching, and he hastily took the chicken and hid it in a cupboard, for he did not want to share. ...

First Prize: Snapshots Of A Summer

Eddie Virgo

Through dense fog, Sylvia and I ran down the barren street. It must have been four in the morning, yet neither of us showed signs of weariness. From above, we could hear the distant rumbling of thunder. ...

Second Prize: Chicken Soup

Athanasios Lazaro

It was a cool, crisp evening. The golden sun was setting over the distant horizon, painting the clouds red. Blood was spurting from the mutilated stump of the chicken’s twitching neck, painting the trees red. Life is a fragile, serious thing, is it not? ...

Third Prize: Blankey

Myra Molloy

I love my Blankey
She is green and pink and blue
Blankey loves me too ...

Alone, Together

Nicholas Combs

I am alone. Warm bodies surround me, preventing me from moving around in the cramped, humid subway car. The scents of trash, smoke, and human odor, mix together. I’m trapped in it, unable to get outside my own overworked mind.…

Third Eye

Lizzie Fasana

Clenching a pencil in his hands, my father begins to explain the size of my brain tumor. His fingers tremble as they trace the pencil’s lead, its bitten edges. His glazed eyes are transfixed on its exposed wood and its…