“ice fair”

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“These ice sculptures are surprisingly not that boring.”

“Mhmm,” I said, scanning the area. The lot behind the city art hall had been strung with Christmas lights. People milled around in winter jackets to admire the handiwork of the sculptors. But no sign of-

“Larsson!”

Something socked me in the shoulder. I turned around to find Fred frowning up at me.

“What was that for?”

Fred sighed. “Dude, you haven’t been paying attention… to anything.”

“Have I?” I mumbled, glancing over the lot again, my eyes widening as my sight locked upon twin braids and a purple beanie.

Fred followed my gaze. “Anya’s here?”

“Come on,” I beckoned, then broke into a sprint in her direction.

Fred chased after me. “No wonder you’ve been so absentminded!” A loud groan could be heard. “Now why did I have to be best friends with a romantic?”


Word count: 144. For this week’s Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer.

✪ Angie

“taking off”

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Delphine always wanted to pilot her father’s plane and when he forgot his keys on her tenth birthday, she knew that taking off would be easy. 

Everything was already in order: the gears, the locks, the control board. Not that Delphine needed it be set before she started; the girl had seen her father fly innumerable times, and she could recite the position of each switch and pedal with her eyes closed. But it was nice, she supposed, that the plane was prepared to take off before she even entered it. Because as her father rummaged their small home for his car keys, Delphine would take the Marshall Jane for a short spin and come back down before Pops even noticed anything awry.

As she swooped in the air, enjoying the unique closeness to the sky and the sun and world above, the newly ten-year-old remembered something she ought to have considered before she even began. Taking off would be easy. Landing, on the other hand, was a completely different story.


Word count: 145. For Monday’s Finish-the-Story. I had some trouble with the given sentence start, but I think I managed through. Ah, Delphine. Maybe her father pre-set the plane to teach her a lesson… who knows.

✪ Angie

stack – “pancake”

the top is for yesterday (kurt called me “dumb”)
below is the skate park where i was left out
lies from my sister comprise the stack under
‘neath those are too many cruel moments to count

i stack up my problems one by two by three
it wells in my gut as it climbs to my throat
a fearful foundation a tower is built
like a stack of pancakes but not quite as sweet


For this week’s Poetry 101 Rehab: “stack“. I guess instead of “bottling up your feelings”, the speaker is “stacking up his or her problems”.

✪ Angie

hiatus – “let’s take a hiatus”

let’s take a hiatus
from the humdrum of daily routine
from our work and schoolwork and home
from all of our social scenes
a hiatus from blogging and writing po-


For this week’s Poetry 101 Rehab: hiatus. This was actually quite hard for me. Hopefully my poem is understandable, but yeah… 

 Angie

#52 silent & loud

shatter the silence
with demands of happiness
let yourself be loud

(Shatter the silence with demands of happiness.)
(With demands of happiness, let yourself be loud.)


For this week’s Haiku prompt. I listened to this as I wrote, which is probably why the mood of the haiku is as it is.

✪ Angie

rain, rain, go away

Droplets fell on the little girl’s cheek, so she reached a chubby hand to wipe her mother’s face.

“Rain, rain, go away,” she sang. “Come again another day.”

Just as the seasons would always cycle, the girl’s father would never return, and the storm would stay in the mother’s eyes.


50-word story for the prompt of “rain, rain, go away“. I’m trying my best to keep these more as “stories” rather than “moments”, but I’m having a hard time with it. Hopefully practice will equate to improvement.

✪ Angie

rape culture (n.)

rape culture: (n.) a concept in which rape is pervasive and noramlized due to societal attitudes about gender and sexuality

The topic of rape is littered with common misconceptions. Here’s one: The Stranger Myth. Perpetrators are rarely random men lurking in alleyways. The 2010 CDC report on Sexual Violence found that over half of female rapes were inflicted by intimate partners. Over half of male victims were raped by acquaintances.

There’s one thing that binds both female and male victims together: the fact that it is not their fault. They weren’t the ones out raping others. The rapists were, 97% of who will never spend a single day in jail.

Back in April, when I was telling some of my friends about my TEN Talk topic, I got a lot of mixed reactions. Some were genuinely excited. Many others, however, were visibly discomforted. I’d tell them I was doing rape culture, and then they’d be like, “…oh.”

That’s the thing. If it’s awkward or even taboo to talk about rape on an English assignment level, how much harder would it be to talk about rape to actual rape victims? When we, as a society, turn a blind eye to sensitive subjects, we create a veil of silence that makes it even harder for victims to report their abusers.

Rape isn’t going to just disappear. But if we stop ignoring or even joking about rape and start listening to our victims instead of blaming them, then we can make progress.

o – o – o

(Aaand that was my snippet of a presentation I participated in last May with two of my fellow classmates. It’s called TEN Talks, because I was in tenth grade at the time, and also because puns make the world go ‘round. Sorry if it was weird to read; it was written in the format of a speech.)

First off, yes, there is argument over whether or not rape culture exists. Are victims actually mistreated over their supposed histories of sexual abuse? Or is this another ploy those feminazis cooked up to push men into submission?

I have followed under my personal belief that rape culture is real. It’s there in the streets and alleyways and sidewalks of my city, and I know that, because I see it around me. I suppose you could say I may be over-analyzing, calling something by the wrong name. That’s okay. You are entitled to your own opinion, just as I am entitled to mine.

But anyhow. Word for Wednesday: rape culture. See you next week.


Word for Wednesday, yo! Couldn’t participate in it last Wednesday, because I was out and away at business camp.

✪ Angie

#51 future & give

there is no future
when there is no cake for me
you must give me yours.

(There is no future when there is no cake for me.
When there is no cake for me, you must give me yours.)


Back from business camp! For this week’s Haiku prompt. My submission is kinda dopey this week, but ah well. Edit: Oh, haha, always so close to being first poster.

✪ Angie

“sherman city hall”

<!-- Invalid wp shortcode URL --> fts629The Mayor and the town manager waved as their next victim approached.

Max Rodriguez pulled up to the side of the Sherman city hall, skidded her Camry to a stop, and fumbled out onto the open grass.

“Welcome to Sherman,” said the two men, as they ran towards her. “And who might you be?”

“I’m freckin’ lost, that’s what,” Max growled.

The men eyed each other. “They sell maps at the general store in town.”

“And where is ‘town’?”

“A little bit past the woods. It’s not far at all.”

“Alright,” Max growled, clutching her phone to her chest and following the men into the forest. She opened her Tumblr feed as the men led the way, silent. For town leaders, they were lousy conversationalists.

“The freck,” Max uttered. “There’s no connection here.”

“Oh, we must’ve forgot to mention,” began the mayor. “Sherman is strictly anti-technology.”

“Hmm,” Max said. “I’d rather die.”

“Good thing we’re here,” said the town manager.


Word count: 148, cutting it close. I saw “murder” in one of the tags, and I knew exactly what I was going to write. For this week’s Finish-the-Story. I was gone on a business camp last week, so I couldn’t make it. Wonder what happens to Max. Will she survive, or will she be “just another victim”? What do you guys think?

✪ Angie