Pilar García Guzmán - University of the Incarnate Word

Maia woke up to a soft hand combing back her hair. The tenderness was evident, though odd coming from those rough, calloused fingers she was so familiar with. She opened her eyes, slowly acknowledging the light that filtered in through the window, and focused on her husband. He stood above her, his arm propping him up in the bed as he gazed at her. Maia knew he tried his best to seem at peace around her, though the restlessness that lurked behind his eyes and the sensation of his trembling arms when he held her at night were stark enough that she could not help but focus on it above all else. It was funny to her, how he tried his damn best to make her think he was ok.

Mercedes Rodriguez - University of the Incarnate Word

It was my train number calling. “Engine number 13,” the intercom yelled, or so I thought it said. The station was far too loud for me to clearly hear the muffled voice so I had to make an assumption. I didn’t have much with me as far as luggage goes. Just a small tote that I had fingerpainted in the fifth grade. I had filled it with a few snacks for the trip as it was going to be about two whole hours until I reached my first resting point. With my small carry on in hand, I made my way to the exit and headed for the train that I thought was number 13.

Noah Zuniga - University of the Incarnate Word

Tick-tack-tick-tack-tick…

I paused from typing on my computer, taking a draw on my cigarette, and blowing the smoke out the open dorm window. I looked at what I wrote and groaned, highlighting it with the cursor, and deleting everything. I thought I was on a breakthrough on the short story I was trying to write for my university’s creative writing magazine, but in a moment of recognition, I sighed-- there was no breakthrough. I was stuck on page five of the story, the four other pages in the document staring back at me as I scrolled up to read them.

Sarah Majc - Brigham Young University

Ñuka ka-ni Mama Qucha.

I am Mama Qucha.

I am the goddess of the sea and the fishes, the guardian of the sailors and fishermen.

I am the wife of Huiracocha Pachayachachi, the creator of Hanan Pacha, the heavens, Uku Pacha, the underworld, and Kay Pacha, the world of you, the living. He is the creator of all things.

Claire Elizabeth Braun - Eastern Washington University

First period AP English began promptly at 7:45 AM in the corner classroom on the second floor of Liberty High School. Twenty-seven teenagers sat at their desks, never late because they knew what would happen. What Mrs. Coleman would do to them was severe, some would say cruel, if they dared to arrive any later than it-should-be-illegal-to-get-teenagers-up-this-early in the morning. So they were seated as the bell rang, sounding its awful tune across a school of over 1,500 students.

Savannah Stutevoss - University of the Incarnate Word

The quail sat on the porch we built last year. I observed him through the window. It was a mountain quail, known to be quite shy, so it was odd to see one so close to the house. Oreortyx pictus. Mountain quail had two silly little black feathers sticking out over their heads. Carter had maps of the mountain ranges around Helena hanging around the walls of his study. They featured tiny images of the native wild birds and plants. I used them to memorize what all the different birds looked like.

Jake Steimle - Brigham Young University

There’s a single spoon in our house that no one’s been allowed to touch for a week. My baby brother Landen has this adorable thing that he does. I don’t know if anyone in our family remembers how it started. It’s kind of like the way the Earth spins. It didn’t really start, that’s just how things go. That’s the way it is with Landen. We don’t know why, but he loves spoons.

Abigail Celoria - University of North Carolina Wilmington

I know Dad has told Momma what happened because she is silent as she hands out the brisket. Usually, she asks us how many pieces we want, and what size, but tonight she dishes it out as it comes. Her thin hands hesitate before placing the meat on my plate alongside mounds of mashed potatoes and string beans. I clamp down on the cherry pit in my mouth when she sits back and asks Dad to say grace. He prays so quickly and quietly that I wonder if he doesn’t want God hearing him.

Natalie Martuciello - College of Charleston

During Introduction to British Literature

My hair smelled like burnt bacon because my housemate had burnt bacon that morning, setting off the fire alarm. Claire’s frying pan sucked. Whenever I would use it to cook an egg, the bottom of the egg would burn and stick to the pan. I absentmindedly traced my jaw with my thumb, digging deep into my double chin.

Jeniya Mard - Central Michigan University

January 5th, 2040. My first day at the clinic. I consider it an internship, but Dr. Carrington said I’m more like an emotional support-person. I’m not getting paid and I guess that was a part of the appeal, I’m going to start a diary to see if, by the end of all this non-internship-support-person-shadowing of the doctors and nurses if I develop the trait of bad handwriting. I’ll try to keep it as neat as possible for now.

Ruby Osborne - Northern Kentucky University

You smelled like lavender when I first met you.

You waltzed into my life like how you walked into every room: confident, loud, boisterous. Your laugh encompassed the room and grew a garden of joy. You touched everyone around you as if they were a creation from your imagination.

Zoe London - Stephens College

They would be happy with a boy; they would be happy with a girl. They came to this conclusion well before the delivery date, and their list of names was perfectly balanced for this reason (Alan, Amy, Bob, Betty, and so on). If someone had pressed them on it, Amos would have admitted that he wanted a girl. His reasoning was that she might be less trouble to raise and better company for his wife. But Eden truly would have been happy with either. The important part was that it was theirs. They needed something to share.

Natalie Arita - North Carolina State University

MELODY DOESN’T NEED TO LEAVE THE MANSION to know, with damning certainty, she can never find a better life than the one she leads within its walls. Every morning she wakes to the sight of her husband Hank’s face, beautiful even clouded with sleep, even with eye boogers and morning breath. He always grants her the most gracious smile as he unplugs her from her charging pod and takes her into his arms. Freshly charged, Melody feels bright and thrumming, her whole body coursing with blue electricity, ready for the day ahead.

Natalia M. Lopez - University of the Incarnate Word

I was late to the tower today. There was a Clan Zero sweep, or I guess a better way of saying it is that they tried to sweep. District 3 has done a good job at keeping the gangs out of the area, even though they always try to force their way through the gates but they’re too stupid to understand that their numbers don’t mean much. But yeah, I was late because I ran into some goons that did manage to squeeze through and I had to keep them from stealing the groceries Atlas and I got.

Pilar Garcia Guzman - University of the Incarnate Word

Charlie is beautiful. Pure, unsullied beauty. It’s hard for me to keep it in most of the time, how much I admire her. How my body aches to be one with her. How I wish, at times, to be her. Sometimes I pull at the skin of my hips to see the indent of my pelvic bone, like Charlie’s during last week’s school assembly, when she wore those jeans that were much too baggy on her. I could’ve fit my entire arm down her pants, if I’d been close enough.

Alayna Beck - Brigham Young University

It didn’t end the way it did in fairytales. With a kiss in a carriage, pulled to a secluded sunflower bungalow, the couple’s loved ones cheering as their conquered enemies stood resentfully by.

No, it ended the way legends began. With pathetic love and ugly death, on a night when the sea breathed like a slumbering giant, slowly in and out. A blanket of fog hugged the waves that gently caressed the rocky cliffs, tucking my sea in for the night.

Elizabeth Grantham - University of Nebraska

The problem with Christine’s new boyfriend was that he didn’t have any problems. Or, rather, he did (having no problems would be a problem in of itself), but the problems he had were ultimately nothing more than the problems any human had.

Not that Ronnie had known him long enough to know for certain. Not that she had known him for very long at all. A few minutes, really. But she had known Christine across the years, and she did know for certain that whoever Christine picked for herself would be of the very best quality.

Madison Stahl - Drury University

A lone balloon drifts in the circle of loved ones, each holding a pastel pink or blue cupcake. The proud mother-to-be pops the balloon, and pink confetti falls. The women cheer; the men smile.

The mother beams as she opens carefully wrapped gifts of frilly dresses in sizes that are already too small, lace headbands that won’t contain her newborn’s full head of hair, and baby dolls that her daughter will grow up nurturing. She receives a few necessities, but mostly, her girlfriends are too excited to welcome another girl into their world.

Isabella Madruga - John Hopkins University

Juniper Avenue was a loud street, smack dab in the middle of a university crawling with aloof students and the rest of the city, with its construction workers, businessmen, and vagrants. Otto was an anomaly, an unknown variable in the equation that was the city around him. He wore sixty-five years like an oversized sweater, the years nebulous to him as he still felt middle-aged. He’d walk among the college students and wonder why his stride didn’t match theirs.

Gretchen Troxell - Bowling Green State University

Thick black marks from deadbeat teenage shoes litter the high school hallway. Keeping my eyes on the ground, I follow the pattern set before me as Maura strides by my side. She walks me to every single class and, upon arrival, takes up permanent residence in the seat beside me. Her silent confidence brings the same comfort as my mom’s chicken noodle soup used to when I was six – back when mom was still a helper, not a hounder.