I hate snow. Not in the way most people hate the inconvenience of shoveling their driveways or the sting of icy wind slicing through their scarves. Not in the way someone groans when their morning commute is slowed to a crawl or when their favorite shoes soak through, leaving their socks clammy and cold. No, my hatred runs deeper than that—bone-deep, marrow-deep, settling into the cracks of my ribs like frost that never thaws. Most people love snow. They welcome it, yearn for it even. Their faces light up the moment the first flakes begin to fall, delicate as whispers, like the world itself is speaking some long-forgotten lullaby. Snow is magical to them, a crystalline promise of laughter, snowball…

Mr. Zimmer didn’t want his last Halloween to end like this, alone in a dark cold room, an invalid while children and parents alike roamed the streets outside asking for candy and dressed in costumes. He remembered when he was young and fit, and when he hadn’t shattered his spine by falling off a roof setting up spooky decorations. At his old age, and with what little money his family possessed, it was easier for everyone to toss him into a nursing home. Easier for everyone except Mr. Zimmer himself. It scared him how easily they became frustrated and annoyed by him, a constant factor in their lives that suddenly turned into a burden, just like that. When he was…

“DRINK MOTHER FUCKERS, DRINK MOTHER FUCKERS, DRINK!” The noxiously artificial taste of blue raspberry slid down my throat with sickening sweetness. This was only my third drink of the evening, but I was already feeling pretty lit. “Alright you, stupid pledges now it’s time for the main event.” I gulped down the last remaining bits of my sugary swill before taking a deep breath. I just needed to make it through one more event and it would all be mine: the booze, the babes, the blow, everything. “Since 1908 every Alpha Delta at the University of Virginia has been bathed in the blackness of the Raven.” A burning belch worked its way up my esophagus. “If you want to be…

It was 10:13 a.m. on a gray Wednesday morning when the internet first went out. Initially I thought it was just the piece of shit app I was scrolling through, but after several failed Google searches I realized the issue stretched much further. I sighed and slammed my laptop shut before stumbling out of bed. I was on the tail end of an especially heinous bender and was feeling a little light on my feet. Life had been throwing me curveball after curveball lately and I was swinging and missing like it was my job. Yawning, I staggered out into the hallway and made my way over to the router. Nestled neatly between a stack of unread books, it blinked…

This story is about a young guy named Finn who lived and survived in a dark thick forest where snow fell often and anything that could move was still and frozen. Finn was ice fishing with his regular gear, near a hut he had found which was made from tree bark and vines growing over a structure formed from ice. He smiled as he reeled in a large catch, and he began to dance. However he slipped on the ice and hit his head on a rock. Looking around for any witnesses of his embarrassment, he saw nobody. He sighed relief, looking at his fish once again, holding it and wishing there was someone around, to witness his catch. He…

“How the hell am I supposed to memorize all of this?” I texted my girlfriend. Century-old floorboards creaked beneath me as I paced back and forth nervously. “It’s gonna be fine,” she responded. “You got this.” I sighed. It felt like a thousand rubber bands were wound tight around the base of my skull, slowly squeezing every last bit of meaningful focus out of me. I knew I had to do well on this test. Anything less than an 80% would surely get me dropped from the class and if I got dropped from the class, I knew that I would never end up becoming a paramedic. And if I never became a paramedic, I knew that I would never…

The ball streaked towards little Jimmy Hanson, covering the distance uncomfortably fast. The scrawny boy two sizes too small with the aviator glasses, cringed out of the way. It landed directly where he had been standing, and like that the game ended. “Damnit Jimmy, you’re supposed to catch the ball not hide from it!” a fat kid with a glove on one hand cried. A skinny boy with glasses turned from the pitcher’s mound to look at Jimmy disdain clearly visible on his face, “This is the third run you’ve allowed, and you wonder why we never let you play with us. You’re dog shit! Actually, I apologize to all loads of shit out there, you’re even more useless. I’d…

It took me longer than it should have to realize one simple truth: humanity has a blind spot, and hiding in it are living nightmares. It was 3 in the morning. It was quiet there, except for the cold wind. No moon lit the sky, granting the mountains a blanket of darkness that would have been wholly pure if not for my van’s headlights and the dim stars above. I shivered, then retrieved my black coat and shrugged it on along with a black woolen hat. The seal of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service was vaguely visible on the driver door. I opened the back of the van and began to prepare the equipment organized there, first by slipping…

I used to walk with her, now I walk alone. We used to marvel at the beautiful houses together, now I look down at my feet. Each home we pass, a grain of salt in the wound, each house a reminder of what I lost. Even though it hurts, I still find myself continuing our walks. Sometimes pain is good. It reminds us that we are still living. I’d rather feel the pain of her passing, than not feel her at all. She’s alive when I walk. She’s the shadow that strolls behind. Though I can’t see her, I can feel her. Her presence is like a windbreaker draped across my shoulders in an especially violent storm. The pain isn’t…

Mr. Zimmer didn’t want his last Halloween to end like this, alone in a dark cold room, an invalid while children and parents alike roamed the streets outside asking for candy and dressed in costumes. He remembered when he was young and fit, and when he hadn’t shattered his spine by falling off a roof setting up spooky decorations. At his old age, and with what little money his family possessed, it was easier for everyone to toss him into a nursing home. Easier for everyone except Mr. Zimmer himself. It scared him how easily they became frustrated and annoyed by him, a constant factor in their lives that suddenly turned into a burden, just like that. When he was…

I hate snow. Not in the way most people hate the inconvenience of shoveling their driveways or the sting of icy wind slicing through their scarves. Not in the way someone groans when their morning commute is slowed to a crawl or when their favorite shoes soak through, leaving their socks clammy and cold. No, my hatred runs deeper than that—bone-deep, marrow-deep, settling into the cracks of my ribs like frost that never thaws. Most people love snow. They welcome it, yearn for it even. Their faces light up the moment the first flakes begin to fall, delicate as whispers, like the world itself is speaking some long-forgotten lullaby. Snow is magical to them, a crystalline promise of laughter, snowball…

The ball streaked towards little Jimmy Hanson, covering the distance uncomfortably fast. The scrawny boy two sizes too small with the aviator glasses, cringed out of the way. It landed directly where he had been standing, and like that the game ended. “Damnit Jimmy, you’re supposed to catch the ball not hide from it!” a fat kid with a glove on one hand cried. A skinny boy with glasses turned from the pitcher’s mound to look at Jimmy disdain clearly visible on his face, “This is the third run you’ve allowed, and you wonder why we never let you play with us. You’re dog shit! Actually, I apologize to all loads of shit out there, you’re even more useless. I’d…

I used to walk with her, now I walk alone. We used to marvel at the beautiful houses together, now I look down at my feet. Each home we pass, a grain of salt in the wound, each house a reminder of what I lost. Even though it hurts, I still find myself continuing our walks. Sometimes pain is good. It reminds us that we are still living. I’d rather feel the pain of her passing, than not feel her at all. She’s alive when I walk. She’s the shadow that strolls behind. Though I can’t see her, I can feel her. Her presence is like a windbreaker draped across my shoulders in an especially violent storm. The pain isn’t…

It took me longer than it should have to realize one simple truth: humanity has a blind spot, and hiding in it are living nightmares. It was 3 in the morning. It was quiet there, except for the cold wind. No moon lit the sky, granting the mountains a blanket of darkness that would have been wholly pure if not for my van’s headlights and the dim stars above. I shivered, then retrieved my black coat and shrugged it on along with a black woolen hat. The seal of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service was vaguely visible on the driver door. I opened the back of the van and began to prepare the equipment organized there, first by slipping…

“DRINK MOTHER FUCKERS, DRINK MOTHER FUCKERS, DRINK!” The noxiously artificial taste of blue raspberry slid down my throat with sickening sweetness. This was only my third drink of the evening, but I was already feeling pretty lit. “Alright you, stupid pledges now it’s time for the main event.” I gulped down the last remaining bits of my sugary swill before taking a deep breath. I just needed to make it through one more event and it would all be mine: the booze, the babes, the blow, everything. “Since 1908 every Alpha Delta at the University of Virginia has been bathed in the blackness of the Raven.” A burning belch worked its way up my esophagus. “If you want to be…

“How the hell am I supposed to memorize all of this?” I texted my girlfriend. Century-old floorboards creaked beneath me as I paced back and forth nervously. “It’s gonna be fine,” she responded. “You got this.” I sighed. It felt like a thousand rubber bands were wound tight around the base of my skull, slowly squeezing every last bit of meaningful focus out of me. I knew I had to do well on this test. Anything less than an 80% would surely get me dropped from the class and if I got dropped from the class, I knew that I would never end up becoming a paramedic. And if I never became a paramedic, I knew that I would never…

It was 10:13 a.m. on a gray Wednesday morning when the internet first went out. Initially I thought it was just the piece of shit app I was scrolling through, but after several failed Google searches I realized the issue stretched much further. I sighed and slammed my laptop shut before stumbling out of bed. I was on the tail end of an especially heinous bender and was feeling a little light on my feet. Life had been throwing me curveball after curveball lately and I was swinging and missing like it was my job. Yawning, I staggered out into the hallway and made my way over to the router. Nestled neatly between a stack of unread books, it blinked…

This story is about a young guy named Finn who lived and survived in a dark thick forest where snow fell often and anything that could move was still and frozen. Finn was ice fishing with his regular gear, near a hut he had found which was made from tree bark and vines growing over a structure formed from ice. He smiled as he reeled in a large catch, and he began to dance. However he slipped on the ice and hit his head on a rock. Looking around for any witnesses of his embarrassment, he saw nobody. He sighed relief, looking at his fish once again, holding it and wishing there was someone around, to witness his catch. He…

The ball streaked towards little Jimmy Hanson, covering the distance uncomfortably fast. The scrawny boy two sizes too small with the aviator glasses, cringed out of the way. It landed directly where he had been standing, and like that the game ended. “Damnit Jimmy, you’re supposed to catch the ball not hide from it!” a fat kid with a glove on one hand cried. A skinny boy with glasses turned from the pitcher’s mound to look at Jimmy disdain clearly visible on his face, “This is the third run you’ve allowed, and you wonder why we never let you play with us. You’re dog shit! Actually, I apologize to all loads of shit out there, you’re even more useless. I’d…

“How the hell am I supposed to memorize all of this?” I texted my girlfriend. Century-old floorboards creaked beneath me as I paced back and forth nervously. “It’s gonna be fine,” she responded. “You got this.” I sighed. It felt like a thousand rubber bands were wound tight around the base of my skull, slowly squeezing every last bit of meaningful focus out of me. I knew I had to do well on this test. Anything less than an 80% would surely get me dropped from the class and if I got dropped from the class, I knew that I would never end up becoming a paramedic. And if I never became a paramedic, I knew that I would never…

I used to walk with her, now I walk alone. We used to marvel at the beautiful houses together, now I look down at my feet. Each home we pass, a grain of salt in the wound, each house a reminder of what I lost. Even though it hurts, I still find myself continuing our walks. Sometimes pain is good. It reminds us that we are still living. I’d rather feel the pain of her passing, than not feel her at all. She’s alive when I walk. She’s the shadow that strolls behind. Though I can’t see her, I can feel her. Her presence is like a windbreaker draped across my shoulders in an especially violent storm. The pain isn’t…

Mr. Zimmer didn’t want his last Halloween to end like this, alone in a dark cold room, an invalid while children and parents alike roamed the streets outside asking for candy and dressed in costumes. He remembered when he was young and fit, and when he hadn’t shattered his spine by falling off a roof setting up spooky decorations. At his old age, and with what little money his family possessed, it was easier for everyone to toss him into a nursing home. Easier for everyone except Mr. Zimmer himself. It scared him how easily they became frustrated and annoyed by him, a constant factor in their lives that suddenly turned into a burden, just like that. When he was…

It was 10:13 a.m. on a gray Wednesday morning when the internet first went out. Initially I thought it was just the piece of shit app I was scrolling through, but after several failed Google searches I realized the issue stretched much further. I sighed and slammed my laptop shut before stumbling out of bed. I was on the tail end of an especially heinous bender and was feeling a little light on my feet. Life had been throwing me curveball after curveball lately and I was swinging and missing like it was my job. Yawning, I staggered out into the hallway and made my way over to the router. Nestled neatly between a stack of unread books, it blinked…

It took me longer than it should have to realize one simple truth: humanity has a blind spot, and hiding in it are living nightmares. It was 3 in the morning. It was quiet there, except for the cold wind. No moon lit the sky, granting the mountains a blanket of darkness that would have been wholly pure if not for my van’s headlights and the dim stars above. I shivered, then retrieved my black coat and shrugged it on along with a black woolen hat. The seal of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service was vaguely visible on the driver door. I opened the back of the van and began to prepare the equipment organized there, first by slipping…

I hate snow. Not in the way most people hate the inconvenience of shoveling their driveways or the sting of icy wind slicing through their scarves. Not in the way someone groans when their morning commute is slowed to a crawl or when their favorite shoes soak through, leaving their socks clammy and cold. No, my hatred runs deeper than that—bone-deep, marrow-deep, settling into the cracks of my ribs like frost that never thaws. Most people love snow. They welcome it, yearn for it even. Their faces light up the moment the first flakes begin to fall, delicate as whispers, like the world itself is speaking some long-forgotten lullaby. Snow is magical to them, a crystalline promise of laughter, snowball…

This story is about a young guy named Finn who lived and survived in a dark thick forest where snow fell often and anything that could move was still and frozen. Finn was ice fishing with his regular gear, near a hut he had found which was made from tree bark and vines growing over a structure formed from ice. He smiled as he reeled in a large catch, and he began to dance. However he slipped on the ice and hit his head on a rock. Looking around for any witnesses of his embarrassment, he saw nobody. He sighed relief, looking at his fish once again, holding it and wishing there was someone around, to witness his catch. He…

“DRINK MOTHER FUCKERS, DRINK MOTHER FUCKERS, DRINK!” The noxiously artificial taste of blue raspberry slid down my throat with sickening sweetness. This was only my third drink of the evening, but I was already feeling pretty lit. “Alright you, stupid pledges now it’s time for the main event.” I gulped down the last remaining bits of my sugary swill before taking a deep breath. I just needed to make it through one more event and it would all be mine: the booze, the babes, the blow, everything. “Since 1908 every Alpha Delta at the University of Virginia has been bathed in the blackness of the Raven.” A burning belch worked its way up my esophagus. “If you want to be…