Synaia DeVaughn
Baby’s Boy
Kendra Hawkins
Protestin’
Keaunte' Johnson
Running
Cary St.
In Richmond, everyone was always running towards the music. It’s how you knew where to go. We all wanted to fall into something, run into something, be somewhere we’d never expected to be. And the music would take us there. On Marshall St., Kingdom Come and GKMC were pushing bass into the pavement and making us tread an earthquake. At King’s, Dreams and Nightmares fizzed in our throats until we erupted in choir. On Harrison St., Acid Rap severed the sky into an open wound, inviting us to take flight and crash into God. On Cary St., everything was static, raspy white noise.
Nia June
Mirian Luna
Wilting in the Dark
Budding
I sit in my dark room for what appears to be a lifetime, wishing myself away. That is what every day is like, staying and sleeping and breathing. Nothing can tamper with my lovely room of darkness.
I’m not sure where this dark room came from, but I do know that it is mine. There’s a soft white blanket that's never folded on top of the bed. The pillows are halfway out of their coverings. Sometimes they fall to the floor and I just might pick them up. I have a door with no lock, but I never even use it. There’s a wooden bookshelf filled with more dust than books. Books I think I’ve read, although I don’t remember holding.
Ariana Morales
Déjà vu
The ground is shaking. I can see the roads start to split open, Oh my God, it's beginning. What time is it? I don't remember it starting around this time, am I too late? I see people running to their cars with little to no belongings. Little kids being shoved, trampled on—people pushing and screaming, feeling confused, and fear filling the space. It's all the same, and I can't do anything about it. I feel hopeless. I've tried to fix it, but I can't. I don't know what to do. I can feel the wind getting louder; the clouds are becoming darker. Hail! Hail is supposed to start pouring down next. And just like that, I was right. It's happening again; everything is falling into place.
Shemiah Morris
Cullets
Chapter One: The Sins of Our Glass
If you couldn't hear a pin drop, it was because you weren't listening. The heavy silence filling the room was enough to make a person think they'd gone deaf. This type of silence cut you. It bled you dry and left no room for regret, only incomparable pain. Pain that couldn't be said in the first ‘hello’ or the last ‘goodbye.’ This pain lingered around long after death. It could be felt through generations. And right then, in that very moment, as the clock struck six on lucky day number seven, you felt that pain. We sat there. All of us. Waiting for the next person to speak. The silence was discomforting. I should be dead. I survived. But no one said a word.
Temprest Myers
ULife
Morgan Smith
Hidden Sun
The day started off so calmly Rana was almost disturbed by it. Her mother had left for work early so she wasn’t awakened by whatever gossip she usually heard over the phone. Her grandfather’s radio wasn’t blasting from the kitchen. Everything was peaceful. When Rana looks back on it now that should’ve been her first sign that something was off. But at the time she hadn’t thought much of it. As she headed down the stairs, she tried to keep her steps light to prevent the wood from creaking under her.
“What are you sneaking around for?” Rana stilled at the sound of Grandfather's voice. His tone was light, like he was holding back a laugh.