A Familiar Panda_Grow Up_The Path of Moonlit Feathers_Orogenesis
Catalog Guide:
A Familiar Panda
Well this is a weird prompt, Sancha told himself. He looked at the writing prompt on the Blackboard assignment with his head cocked to the right side and his eyebrows furrowed. Describe the perfect person you have never met. Provide a physical, emotional, and mental explanation of the person as if they actually exist. Usually, Sancha’s imagination could fabricate wild kingdoms, alien planets, and talking animals immediately. It’s been his super power since the first grade. In between his chaotic family, selfish associates he thought were friends, and his uncharacteristically emotional father;...
Grow Up
“Grow up.” They all said. Their hurtful words stabbed me like a knife. “Youwww.onedoor.cc need to grow up, Kiera.” “Your ideas aren’t good enough.” “Be better at what you do.” These statements were all that I got every day at school. I was enrolled in one of the top schools for inventors, the Invention Academy. And, if I’m being honest, I was kinda the nerd that everybody always hated. Until one day, I triumphed.“Hey, Ben.” I said as I closed my locker door, “How was your weekend?” “It was pretty good. I came up with a new idea for our invention that we’ve been working on for only 2 weeks!” “Okay, okay. I g...
The Path of Moonlit Feathers
Stories are not always formed in straight lines, but in circles. Picture a conical pendulum. Can you see it? It’s just like any other pendulum, only it hits different points each time it swings. If you connect these points, you’ll end up with something round. Back and forth it travels on its predetermined trajectory, always cutting through the center, always without a finish line in sight. This is how our story moves. We’ll start at whichever point the pendulum decides to swing towards next. It’s beyond my control, you see. Everything is random.But do not worry. I won’t spoil the ending— I pro...
Orogenesis
Days before my ailing elderly grandmother passes, she appears to me in a dream. I am visiting her in a nursing home, but instead of finding her in the usual bed, she lies in a baby’s crib. And the air, rather than thick with the stench of antiseptic and death, is sweet smelling and fresh. I inhale deeply: Andes chocolate mints, her favorite, and mine. The floor is covered with their discarded emerald green wrappers. Next to her cot is an octagonal tin – the same one I so often reached into as a child – brimming with Andes mints. I unwrap one and savor its familiar flavor.As I approach I take i...