Every Writer

The night before my 17th birthday, my mother and father spent the day in the kitchen rolling sushi, my very favorite. If I had closed my eyes walking down the stairs, I could have duped myself into believing I had entered a wharf off the coast of Cape Cod. My mother?s hands were glowing with fish oils and lingering rice. My father kept clasping the bottom of his palms to the sides of his head whenever he tried to eat more than his personal best of wasabi. I only looked on, but every time he swallowed, I could swear my sinuses cleared just from watching him. Sheryl Crow was complaining about some guy who had a secret lover from my mother?s phone in her back pocket turned up loud. I stood and watched, tapping my hips to the countertops lightly.

Well things are happening so quickly around here, I thought I would take a sometime to tell you about exciting things going on here at EWR. We are making some big changes, and they are happening quickly, so here we go.

The Dead Tree by Lee Ann Petropoulos There is a dead tree by the neighbor?s house.? Too close for comfort,

Tanned arms swing from the windows of a bone-white vehicle. The truck rattles west, where the sun is bleeding all down the horizon.

An angel was flying over a town with its wings snow-white and fluffy. It fluttered above red tiled roofs and variegated chimneys. It hovered over some young folks with their eyes lifted up to the sky, and it was just a girl?s drawing. With her aureate hair and timid smile from above, Gala appeared like an angel herself: she was very tall, quite young and extremely shy.

His last name was Krasowicz. His family was from Chicago though he had grown up in Guatemala, Honduras, Ecuador and Chile. Because of his dad?s various jobs. An interesting family background for someone who was now a chubby, mostly bald nobody, sitting alone in a seedy bar in the outskirts of Nowheresville, USA. Strangely, he remembered that disturbing incident from his college days. Alcohol was the key to bad memories.

A child reaches her hand up into a glittering web. She is caught under a spell of shimmering strings made of threads so fine that they hum with music of the passing wind. It is as if you can almost hear the gentle sound of glass raindrops falling on blue and white crossed strings

The ambulance screamed through the night. Its exciting lights flashing there red and white warning. When my eyes opened, I stared blankly into the gaze of an Emergency Medical Technician.

Wishful Thinking by Jules A Riley ?You?re smiling?? Ludvik frowned.. ? It?s nothing,? replied Asdis. ?Come on, why?? ?I was

JUNK by Robert Kalkreuter She tore through the clutter on the back seat of her husband?s car, scattering the pieces