MHS Literary Journal

A creative writing class may be one of the last places you can go where your life still matters.

                                                                                                                                    -Richard Hugo

Rachel Zelazny - Poppies

Taryn Feltke’s cigarette glowed poppy-red against the gray twilight. She finished her smoke, and scuffed it out with the toe of her Pepto-Bismol pink pumps, wrinkling her freckled nose at the smell wafting from the filthy dumpster that stood between her and the smoke-stained brick wall of the alley.

Nick Riddle - Dinner Party

              Snowflakes fell like dying fireflies as the squad car headlights pushed through them. Christmas lights flew past in a multicolored blur through the foggy window.

              Jerry turned and looked through the black metal grate at the two other officers. They stared ahead, not daring to say a word.

              Jerry smiled.

              “So, I mean seriously, guys, do I have to ride like this every time we go somewhere?”