Bunk Room 942 wasn’t quiet for long. Ammona scrolled through a media feed on her PTD while she lay on her back, left arm behind her head. She tried hard not to listen to the conversation Hian and Barrett were having, but it wasn’t easy. “So, where you from?” Barrett inquired, while he attempted to play Tetris with his belongings…
Ammona knew she had to contain her excitement. Otherwise, she might scream, dance, or freak out, and then the STSA would probably suspect her of something other than travel. So she stood in line like any good citizen would, and waited for someone to tell her to step through the weapons detector. With her boots and bag off and in…
By Corissa Haury The gilded edges of the trophy felt cold and clean in Rayna’s hands. She clutched it close to her while she walked, unable to believe that she had just won it. Something about her own self-doubt usually held her back, but this time she had an object to prove her accomplishment. “Where should we put that?” Jaren asked,…
By Corissa Haury I feel his fingers grip mine for the last time, before we plunge into dreamless hibernation. Before we crawl into the hard-coated, white shells before us. Others stand around while I hold his hands, while I kiss his lips. His soft kiss, affectionate yet powerful, holds my mouth there, as if time suspends for our kiss the way it will…
By Corissa Haury Winter was on its way, but it was not yet present. It still felt like it could have been late autumn, when the cold doesn’t fall below 40 degrees and there is a damp stillness to the foggy air. One still put the seat warmer on when one got in the car, but it wouldn’t be the case…
By Corissa Haury Writing a novel is not easy. Whether you put pen to paper, type on a typewriter, or use a tablet with a keyboard like me, you still have to do something hard. You have to write. You have to write a lot, too. 50,000 words in one month is no joke. The daily minimum to reach 50k is 1667 words,…
By Corissa Haury A short poem about writing indoors.
By Corissa Haury I can see the rectangular ship descending from just above the platform outside the entrance to the port. Its gleaming silver coat reflects some of the Sun’s luminescent, uncontrolled rays beaming through our solar system. The tainted glass on the ship’s bow indicates the cockpit. Its thrusters are on low. This is a class D civilian and cargo…
By Corissa Haury I know I am spoiled, but I can’t help thinking how much faster the line could be if people would move and make a decision about their stupid morning coffee. I remember how long the lines were on Earth… You’d need a full 45 minutes just to get up there and get a coffee, but it was so expensive to buy…
By Corissa Haury “Mom?” I call throughout the house. She doesn’t answer the usual, “I’m home!” I call out when I return from my best friend’s house in the evening. Over the water, the sun is setting, and I knew she would be cooking up dinner. That is, she usually is cooking up dinner around this time. I look at my watch. 5:57. Where…
By Corissa Haury I close my eyes and I let the venom burn through my veins. The viper’s juice is soaking into my skin. The little yellow drop of rejuvenation filters through the open wound and rips through my bloodstream. Pain dips into my psyche and into my blood, burning on the surface of the skin, renewing the sharpness of…
by Corissa Haury My sister and I wander amongst the veterans’ graves on a rainy day in May. The cemetery is bigger than I had originally thought; so much so that we will get lost on the way out, but I don’t know it yet. We are making a sort of pilgrimage towards a World War II monument. We won’t see it is…
The 5 Major Mind Melts of A Writer As a 20-something woman, I have forged through many preconceived notions about running, marriage, citizenry, tradition, education, history, America, and my own past. I continue to shed unhealthy misconceptions and open my heart to the billions of truths we encounter. The most intimidating obstacle, the longstanding wound on the flesh of my…
by C. E. Poley We often find ourselves struggling to define how we feel both inside our selves and outside. We struggle to find methods that express our thoughts and emotions, such as writing, painting, making music, mathematics, astronomy, and countless other things humans do. It is not easy to express the self with clarity. We are told every day by American…
By C. E. Poley One of the things you discover during National Novel Writing Month (which I have sometimes participated in since 2008) is what kind of a writer you are. What I mean by that is, you discover all kinds of things about the ways that you like to write. For example, what your methods are, what your personal physical…