Damaskox

Jay Knowles

Sean King

Jacob Sherman

Adia Reynolds

Yolanda W

Benjamin Chandler

Pennywise  

English

A majestic beast stands on its strong legs in a distance. Should it get too close it can easily rip limbs off any living things. It sways its huge head in the wind and looks around. It almost looks like it's sniffing the air. Should it be ogled at, or evaded, or advanced towards?

These are all tempting options. I guess I’ll ogle at the beast? There are two giant wings on the creature, and its scales reflect the sunlight. Yep, just a dragon. Oh, brave and noble knight, do you choose to slay the dragon, befriend the dragon, or make a deal with the dragon?

None of the above! I choose to Google the dragon instead. I find a roller coaster, a space capsule, a heavy metal album… ah here we are. Scaly, breathes fire, loves gold. Learn more? Don’t mind if I do.

“Dragons originated from the Dragon Dynasty of the year 1337 BCE, only to be hunted to near extinction in the year 666 CE.” Thank you, Google. Now what do I do with this newfound information? Take down the dragon? Tame a dragon? Ride the dragon?

"Dragons originated in the Dragon Dynasty, yeah duh."
"None of this tells us what to do if we find one in real life!"
"Call animal control?"

We all squabbled between each other for a couple of minutes before eventually resorting to calling the police. I mean cmon, what’s animal control gonna do?! Tell us to put the poor thing down. It was only a baby, cute little thing with purple iridescent wings and twinkly eyes.

It was decided each of us would take turns caring for it every night. Kimmy Farnsworth made a little bed for the fairy out of an Altoids container with cotton inside & a blanket made of a Kleenex. It was during the night of my turn that the baby pixie finally awoke & spoke to me.

"Why did you do it?" she said in a tiny voice. I drew closer in a daze at her starry little eyes. "Do what?" She giggled: "Leave me to die!" In an instant the pixie's face contorted into a goblin-like scowl. I jumped back & before me, the corpse of my sister stood. "No!" I sobbed

What manner of beastie?

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Davi Razuj

Sam Becker

Nonexistent. Not around. A figment of my imagination. My best friend does not exist, no, nor do my regular friends.

Do I even exist? We’re all just spinning on this big ass rock through space. But what even is space?! Can anything really be proven or justified? Anyway, that’s enough philosophical contemplation for today, I’m heading off to bed.

“Wait, Professor?” A student asked from the back row. “Yes?” “What’s an ass-rock, and how big is big when it comes to ass-rocks?” Suppressed giggles through the room. “That’s an intentional hyphen misplacement and you know it!” He yelled back.

But ever since that day he was plagued with the thought of ass-rocks. As much as he’d tried to suppress it, forced his whole life into the role of academic, he could no longer hold himself back: the time had come for him to leave the classroom and become a sculptor.

So then he tried making a sculpture he made it and tried to sell it… it was the ugliest thing people ever seen

The sculpture's ugliness was so intense that a 3rd world dictator tried to buy it. She wanted to use it as a form of punishment. All criminals against the state would be forced to sit in a room with this ugly statue & stare at it. She was willing to pay the artist $2 million.

"Not for sale." The artist knew this woman only wanted to buy the sculpture for its profound ugliness. "$10 million," she countered, imagining the torture she could inflict. "$100 million," the artist said, offended, but weary. Under the shadow of the grotesque form, they shook.

Butt Ugly

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Lauren Coles

Sam Heller

Emma wiped the dust off her pants. I was just going to go through some things up in the attic. Grandma was a pack rat. I know that she was your mother but I bet you are happy that she is gone

off to the retirement community in Florida. She can play golf, or bingo, or swim in the pool if she likes. But she left all this junk for us to deal with. There are a few treasures in this attic, so we’ll have to go through the boxes carefully.

This box is filled with 13 different air fryer cookbooks. Does she even have an air fryer? Here are my old toys. Snuffles, my old stuffed elephant! She told me she threw him away! A broken lamp...toss that. But what's this? A crate full of books with her name. She wrote a novel?

“The Little Air Fryer”, “I Believe I Can Fry”, and many other novels. All about air fryers! She dedicated her whole life to air fryers ever since the day of its invention, truly the best invention, since sliced bread! If you don’t get it, well… Clearly you don’t own an air fryer.

But who needs an air fryer when you have a deep fryer? What does an air fryer fry? Air? And what do toasters toast? Toast? As an Italian plumber once said, “All toasters toast toast.” Miss that guy. But I digress. Speaking of novels on air fryers, the writer now released a book —

‘Air Fryer’s 101’. To which I scoffed to myself. See the thing is, gadgets have become far too complex nowadays. What’s wrong with normally frying something. God forbid if I ever showed a youth a frying pan, they’d probably ask me “Where’s the on button?”. But anyway I continued

"How hard could it be?" I chuck the instructions to the counter. It slides off and into the trash, and I couldn't care less. I crack my knuckles, "Home made french fries here I come."

The first step was arguably the easiest. I gathered all the ingredients: Potatoes, oil, salt, and ketchup for later. Next I began peeling the skin off the potatoes, I had seen my father to this plenty of times. Of course, he was a three star chef.

The following step was where things got substantially more difficult—the start of the ritual. I placed the skinned, oiled, and salted potatoes in a circle around the dog, then drizzled the ketchup across them. The dog whimpered longingly at the potatoes surrounding her.

I chanted the ancient words that would bind the dog's soul to mine. Her snout elongated, her fur receded, then, miraculously, standing before me was my long lost sister. It made so much sense—tater tots were her favorite food. We hugged and cried amidst the smell of fried spuds.

A puppy with brown fur greeted the woman and jerry. The puppy licked their face. The dog name was lucky

Night Owls

Night Owls: Part II

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Rietje Becker

Miriam sat at the train station clutching her purse. She was dressed formally, wearing sunglasses despite the fact that it was raining.

She took a sip from her flask, placed it to the side of her on the bench and proceeded to get up and walk to the edge of the platform. Before reaching the very edge Miriam stopped, looked up at the grey clouds above, let out a sigh, and then slowly closed her eyes. This was it.

She felt a strong breeze on her face, and her hair was swept to the side. Miriam opened her eyes again. The train whistle rang. It was time. She put one feet through the door, and looked back at the station. Goodbye, she thought, I’ll never forget this place. She finally entered.

Nothing would hold her back now. Not her family, not her past, not the hand reaching out to grab her by the shoulder.

Consequences didn’t mean a thing to her anymore. If she wanted to set everything right, back to how it was, she would have no choice. She held her head high and walked firmly into the portal. What lies ahead? Nightmares. Her nightmares.

Her nightmares involve clowns and claustrophobia. She thought she was prepared, but she wasn’t ready. She spent a seeming eternity running down tunnels being chased by screaming Bozos. Until she finally awoke, drenched in cold sweat, to the light of a new day.

Adia Reynolds
@adiareynolds

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