a girl with 
eyes  
as big as  
the laughing midnight  
moon,  
whose vision  
expands  
from rolling ocean shore  
to  
rolling 
ocean  
shore,  
looks around 
at the big, 
big world  
and sees the things  
we simply cannot.  
 
she looks at 
a patch of dirt  
after a  
storm, covered in  
dots and dimples,  
and sees a  
thousand birds,  
feathers so full and 
black,  
eyes beady with 
hunger, 
beaks as  
bright as the  
midday sun.  
they peck holes in 
the ground  
to find worms  
galore.  
 
or she sees a  
thousand tiny ants,  
bodies red and loopy,  
legs skinny yet so,  
so strong,  
each striking  
out for their  
own,  
building a  
house for one. 
 
or she wishes  
she just 
could have seen 
rain,  
the master  
of pointillism,  
create its  
beautiful art. 
 
she looks at the fire,  
and sees dancers  
in the flames.  
bending and bowing,  
chattering and laughing,  
their red dresses  
billowing;  
their love— 
so fierce,  
it burns.  
 
she looks at  
clouds of smoke,  
and...

a girl with
eyes 
as big as 
the laughing midnight 
moon, 
whose vision 
expands 
from rolling ocean shore 
to
rolling
ocean 
shore,
takes a peep 
at the big,
big world 
and sees the things 
we simply can’t. 
she looks at
dirt after a 
storm, covered in 
dots and dimples, 
and sees a 
thousand birds, 
feathers so full and
black, 
eyes beady with
hunger,
beaks as 
bright as the 
midday sun, 
pecking at the 
ground to find worms 
galore. 
or a thousand tiny 
ants, 
bodies so red and bulbous, 
legs skinny yet so, 
so strong, 
each striking out for their 
own, 
building a 
house for one.
or she wishes 
she just
could’ve seen, 
rain, 
the master 
of pointillism, 
create its 
beautiful art.
she looks at the fire, 
and sees dancers 
in the flames. 
crackling and laughing, 
their red dresses 
billowing. 
their love—
so fierce, 
it burns. 
she looks at the smoke, 
while others cry, 
“Tornado!” 
and point at the stream, 
she...

He began to glow.  
 
    The linens around Him, sealing His body and face, shimmered and quaked, light beaming from their every seam. The light became blinding, too bright for this earth. His body began to float, pulsing, pushing, pulling. Every muscle in His body began to strain, every cell quiver, every fiber twitch. His skin tingled and regrew. Then, His heart began to beat.  
 
    Light burst from the perfect holes in His hands and feet. It was white-hot, so luminous it was almost tangible. The linens binding Him shrank away from its heat and landed on a pile on the floor. Power coursed through His now-living body, His chest heaving as He breathed in air for the first time in days. His organs rushed the catch up on workdays undone. His mind raced and buzzed and shook, finally truly alive. 

    The light lessened a bit-- never dimmed. All that was left of it, though, was piercing the holes in His body...

*Warning: Graphic language, may be disturbing*

there's a hole in my heart/anger that bubbles to my throat/releases in tears and screams/weight bears down on me/but You take it off my shoulders/as i lunge for Your throat/

i scream in horror/as i see my fingers/flit against Your/esophagus/hatred turns my eyes red/i look away/ashamed/how could i be/so ruthless/towards an Innocent/

a snake slithers to my ear/tells me/to make it painful/to make it hurt/i smile/teeth white and glinting with evil/others arrive with a cross/made of wood/splinters sticking out/the craftsmanship revealing/the hatred we feel/

hands don't work/passing between the wood/like a ghosts/I try to pull it away/desperation spilling out/of my pores/sweat drips from/my creased brow/how/helpless/powerless/useless/am i/

a hammer materializes/in my hand/black and cold/nails appear/in the other/oily/dripping to the ground/they tie You to the cross/as splinters dig into/Your golden back/white tears stream down/Your face/and I cackle/with pleasure/

i try to hold Your hand/to give You comfort/as my own hand/drives nails through/Your divine ones/and I see/there's...

"Hosanna," I sing, and I yearn to praise you forever.
Now, why don't you liberate me, do what I tell you to?
My mind has changed, my lips change form, "Crucify," I cry.

Dear Cousin Abby, 

    Hello dear. I have such sorrowful news for you. Unfortunately, I am leaving Write the World. I have met many nice people on my writing journey, people who have encouraged me, supported me, given me advise. There have been many silver linings to my time here. But alas, like all good things, it must come to an end. 

    I joined Write the World on the seventeenth of November, 2020, and this day, the first of April, 2021, I resign. My time has come to an end. I shall say goodbye to each of my friends, my mentors, my peers. I shall like my final pieces, comment my final thoughts, submit my last reviews. I pray when others look back at my memory they will remember how much I enjoyed spending time with them. 

    I had such high hopes for my time at Write the World. But I have been hurt deeply. My writing was insulted,...

Tirzah skittered between crowded streets, clinging to her husband’s hand as they weaved through crowds. The two traveled through the market of a village at the base of the Mount of Olives. They were tired from their long travel, following Jesus and His Apostles, and were going to visit Tirzah’s father’s house. Donkeys brayed and cows mooed, chickens darted between people’s feet, merchants yelled prices, and customers haggled, each noise competing with another grab her attention until she could not hear herself think over the crescendo. To Chaim, she yelled, “Quite a difference from the quiet mountains!”   
    Finally, they reached her father’s house. Ahuva, her mother, greeted her with plump arms, her beautiful purple dress enveloping Tirzah in a wave of lavender. Her father, Uzi, laughed heartily and smacked Chaim on the back, making him choke and stumble forward.  
    “So, I expect you came to tell us you’re pregnant?” Uzi said to his daughter, his eyes sparkling as he stroked his magnificent beard.  
    Tirzah looked...

God loves you.
    
    That is a pretty simple statement, right? Just three words. It is a statement that every child in Sunday School has heard a million times. But this simple statement, “God loves you,” can change a person’s entire life, and when coupled with the statement, “I love God,” it becomes extraordinary.

    Before I understood these two simple statements, being a Christian was no easy task. I constantly felt guilty for not being better, for not praying enough, for not reading my Bible every day. Going to my church was only enjoyable part of the time, though I tried my best to pay attention to what my pastor said. I chose to ‘put away’ certain verses of the Bible I did not fully understand how to follow. I knew my Christian walk was not going the way it should, but instead of turning to God, I would be mad at myself and try to force myself to become...

God loves you.  

    That is a pretty simple statement, right? Just three words. It is a statement that every child in Sunday School has heard a million times. But this simple statement, “God loves you,” can change a person’s entire life, and when coupled with the statement, “I love God,” it becomes extraordinary. 

    Before I understood these two simple statements, being a Christian was no easy task. I constantly felt guilty for not being better, for not praying enough, for not reading my Bible every day. Going to church was only enjoyable part of the time, though I tried my best to pay attention to what was being said. I chose to ‘put away’ certain verses of the Bible I did not fully understand how to follow. I knew my Christian walk was not going the way it should, but instead of turning to God, I would be mad at myself and try to force myself to become better. It never worked the way I...

God loves you.  

    That is a pretty simple statement, right? Just three words. It is a statement that every child in Sunday School has heard a million times. But this simple statement, “God loves you,” can change a person’s entire life, and when coupled with the statement, “I love God,” it becomes extraordinary. 

    Before I understood these two simple statements, being a Christian was no easy task. I constantly felt guilty for not being better, for not praying enough, for not reading my Bible every day. Going to church was only enjoyable part of the time, though I tried my best to pay attention to what was being said. I chose to ‘put away’ certain verses of the Bible I did not fully understand how to follow. I knew my Christian walk was not going the way it should, but instead of turning to God, I would be mad at myself and try to force myself to become better. It never worked the way I...

Everly? 
Yes, Graham? 
Why do you like to look at the sky?
Because it's beautiful. It's like God gets to paint the sky each day. 
It is, isn't it? 
Yes.
_ _ _ 

Everly? 
Yes, Graham? 
Why do you like to lay in the grass? 
Because it's so soft. Like God made a carpet for the Earth. 
_ _ _ 

Everly? 
Yes, Graham? 
Why do you like to touch my hair? 
Because it's soft and fluffy. Like a lamb's. And I happen to have an affinity for lambs. 
The Lamb of God? 
Exactly.
_ _ _  

Everly? 
Yes, Graham? 
Why am I black and you white? 
Because God likes to add many colors to His creation. 
_ _ _

Everly? 
Yes, Graham? 
Can you laugh for me? 
That's a funny question. Now why are you laughing? 
Because your laugh makes me want to laugh. 
_ _ _ 

Everly? 
Yes, Graham? 
Can you sing for me? 
What do you want me...

Trigger Warning: Contains sin, personified anger, personified bad thoughts, personified selfishness, brutal death, and war.


   Dear Sin,  
 
 
   This is my act of war. The first of many to come. Yes, I may cry over the way you terrorize me at night, but in the morning I forget. I may promise myself to change in the front pew, but by Monday that promise has vanished. But this-- this is official. This is something that I will never forget. This is my act of war.  
 
 
   You will die. You know you will. You hold out hope like a dog looking for scraps, but you will never survive. I will win. No, not me. My Commander will win. The One who orders me to hate you. The One who orders me to resist you. The One who orders me to fight you. He is far greater than you will ever be.  
 
 
   You have many ways to...

    The young woman sat straight-backed and tall in the cell dripping with water, rats scurrying in the corners. Her head was lifted defiantly, her arms crossed in her lap, one leg hanging over the other. She still wore a pair of long white culottes and a loose black blouse, though it was stained and rumpled. In short, she commanded respect and held fast to dignity, even as her frame was interrupted by rusted iron bars.
    Her eyes were trained on the Military Commander who walked slowly by. He was flanked by an entourage of soldiers and generals, all silent as their boots clicked against the floor. The Commander was middle-aged, his hair beginning to wisp away. He stopped in front of the woman's cell, surprised to see such a person surrounded by murderers and thieves.
    She smiled.
    "My, you're a pretty little thing to be in here, aren't you?" He asked. The woman didn't reply.
    "Eh?" Silence.
    "So,...

I heard a girl say she had naturally blonde hair today. Like it was some sort of achievement, something more special than having naturally brunette hair, or naturally ginger hair.  
    Well, I have naturally blue hair.  
    I do not know many people with blue hair. Or two different colored eyes- one pink and one purple. None, actually. The Elders say people like me used to guide and lead the tribe. People like me held knowledge and wisdom, passed down from generations. They said there were people like me, with other talents. It is hard for me to imagine someone- or someones- like that. I am a rarity, an oddity, a gift, a curse. Some think I am special. Some want to kill me like their ancestors killed mine.  
    I do not like thinking about the other people in the tribe. Elders, neighbors, friends, enemies. I like to be alone. No matter who it is I talk to, they never comprehend....

I sit in a house of heathens.
The sanctuary is teeming with wild people.
We are Gentiles.
I am a Gentile.
The people of this world who turned away from God.
We were once in His perfect garden.
But we threw that away.
We mocked God's People- the Jews.
We tried to make them become like us.
We enticed them with our fancy customs.
We lured them in with our gold statues.
We turned them from the true God above.
But they always went back.
Their God saved them from us.
Deep down, we all knew that their God was the real God.
But we buried that part of ourselves in resentment.
Why would He choose them and not us?
Bah!
That is no true God.
How could He ignore our Wisemen and our temples full of treasure?
We left them to their tabernacle.
But then, one day, strange men came to us.
They told of a Messiah, an Immanuel. ...

Spoiler Alert: This is a fanfiction series based on the first Maze Runner movie, originally written by James Dashner​ and directed by Wes Ball. If you have not seen the first movie or read the first book, this will contain spoilers. 
 
                                     ________________________________________________

 A woman in a white lab coat stared at the screens surrounding her, an amused smile on her face. Other doctors sat at office chairs, taking notes, and flipping between scenes. A young girl with curly blonde hair- also clad in a white lab coat- sidled up next to the first woman.  
   “How are my Mazes?” The first woman asked as if she didn’t know everything that was happening.  

   “They’re running properly, Doctor,” the girl said, glancing down at her clipboard. “Maze 1 and Maze 2 received some new members. The new member of Maze 1 has become...

Spoiler Alert: This is a fanfiction series based on the first Maze Runner movie, originally written by James Dashner​ and directed by Wes Ball. If you have not seen the first movie or read the first book, this will contain spoilers. 
 
                                     ________________________________________________
Day 3  

   Yesterday I learned what job Will and Luke had decided for me. 

   I woke up late. My neck felt stuck in one position, stiff and kinky from sleeping in the hammock. I caught up on my sleep in the early hours of the morning, finally too exhausted to stay awake listening to Crawlers in the Maze. I climbed out of my beige hammock which swung perilously, fixing my black knee-length skirt which had twisted itself around my legs, constricting my blood flow. I saw a fire ablaze at the Kitchen and groaned inwardly, thinking of last night’s dinner...

Spoiler Alert: This is a fanfiction series based on the first Maze Runner movie, originally written by James Dashner​ and directed by Wes Ball. If you have not seen the first movie or read the first book, this will contain spoilers. 
 
                                     ________________________________________________


   “The subjects have been delivered,” said a woman in a white lab coat, her high heels clicking on the floor. The woman had an entourage of doctors following her, clipboards and tablets folded in their arms. She looked at ease, perhaps even a small smirk on her face, her blonde hair tied up in a bun. A few of her followers looked worried, their eyebrows creased. Others were scribbling on clipboards and tapping buttons on a screen. A few seemed happy or pleased, smiles upon their relaxed faces.  
 
   “Soon, the newest member of Maze 14 will remember...

Spoiler Alert: This is a fanfiction series based on the first Maze Runner movie, originally written by James Dashner​ and directed by Wes Ball. If you have not seen the first movie or read the first book, this will contain spoilers. 
 
                                     ________________________________________________

Day 1  

   I woke up here. Well, I woke up on the way here. I was in this… big, metal cage. And it was shooting me upward. Lights were flashing between the bars. There were boxes all around me in mishap piles. I started to freak out. Jumped to my feet, but I tripped over a box and fell, cutting my lip. My nose was dangerously close to the bars and the flashing lights, and I knew I didn’t want to go any further. I scrambled back, crouching in the middle of the cage. I was breathing so hard, my...

A few books immediately come to mind when I’m asked what my favorite book is: Harry Potter, The Unwanteds, The Maze Runner, Wings of Fire... But, when I stop to think about it, there is one book that subtly rises above the others, Cory Leonardo's The Simple Art of Flying.  
 
   The Simple Art of Flying stars Alastair, the African grey parrot. He and two other eggs are delivered to Pete's Pet (and Parrot!) Shop-- Ol' Pete hoping that the birds can make him a good buck. Alastair is the first to hatch but falls asleep to the sound of his siblings' voices in their eggs. By the time he wakes up, one of those voices has gone silent. This first day of life sets the tone for the rest of Alastair's life, as he tells himself, "I might have slept on the job once, but not again." His only goal is to take care of his remaining sister, the ever-optimistic...

A few books immediately come to mind when I’m asked what my favorite book is. Harry Potter. The Unwanteds. The Maze Runner. Wings of Fire. But, when I stop to think about it, there is one book that subtly rises above the others: Cory Leonardo's The Simple Art of Flying.  
 
   The Simple Art of Flying stars Alastair, the African grey parrot. He and two other eggs are delivered to Pete's Pet (and Parrot!) Shop- Ol' Pete hoping that the birds can give him a good buck. Alastair is the first to hatch but falls asleep to the sound of his siblings' voices in their eggs. By the time he wakes up, one of those voices has gone silent. This first day of life sets the tone for the rest of Alastair's life, as he tells himself, "I might have slept on the job once, but not again." His only goal is to take care of his remaining sister, the ever-optimistic and...

There are a few books that at once come to mind when someone asks me what my favorite book is. Harry Potter. The Unwanteds. The Maze Runner. Wings of Fire. But, when I stop to think about it, there is one book that subtly rises above the others. That book is Cory Leonardo's The Simple Art of Flying.  
 
   The Simple Art of Flying stars Alastair, the African grey parrot. He and two other eggs are delivered to Pete's Pet (and Parrot!) Shop- Ol' Pete hoping that the birds can give him a good buck. Alastair is the first to hatch but falls asleep to the sound of his siblings' voices in their eggs. By the time he wakes up, one of those voices has gone silent. This first day of life sets the tone for the rest of Alastair's life, as he tells himself, "I might have slept on the job once, but not again." His goal in life is to take...

Hiatus 
[hīˈādəs] 

Noun 
hiatus (noun)· hiatuses (plural noun)
A pause or gap in a sequence, series, or process. 

"She felt swamped, so she took a hiatus." 

"She was not writing as much as she wanted, so she took a hiatus." 

"She wasn't able to reply to comments, so she took a hiatus." 

"She had long-standing friendships with like-minded people on another writing site that she felt she was ignoring, so she took a hiatus from Write the World." 

"There were things she wanted to say and talk about, but she didn't feel comfortable doing so with so many strangers, so she took a hiatus." 

"The only reason she will be on Write the World (breaking the rules of her hiatus) is for the new Book Review contest."

"She had been on a semi-hiatus for quite some time, so now she was making it official." 

Origin:
mid 16th century (originally denoting a physical gap): from Latin, literally ‘gaping’, from hiare...

"For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us."  
-Paul, Romans 8:18  
 
Dear Jesus,  
 
Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.   
Lord, I don't give You as much honor as You deserve. You are an amazing God. I pray that we on Earth can give You the honor and the glory that You deserve. Even through this crazy year of 2020, Your power has been displayed. I pray that whatever You want to happen will happen, and I pray that we will be surrounded by Your power, glory, and love.  
 
Give us this day our daily bread 
Lord, there are so many people right now who are starving, shelter-less, naked, lonely, and dying. My family has been blessed by You, and I pray that You will...

The Christmas season was all aglow,
But now I'm writing to let all know

That while I was away,
From writing, I strayed.

But do not fret,
My time with family I do not regret.

I am writing to let all see,
Writing again I soon will be.

Yaya tried to make small talk with her friend, Ara. They were standing in the yard outside Yaya’s house, the sun setting. "So," Yaya said, clearly hiding something. "How's your little cousin? The one that’s getting adopted soon?"  

  "She's doing good," Ara said, nodding, playing along with the game. "We're all excited and getting pre-"  

  "I got to tell you something," Yaya interrupted. Ara smiled. She raised her eyebrows to signal that Yaya should continue. "I... found something." Ara sighed. Yaya tended to drag her feet when it came to important things. "It's pretty cool," she tried to disguise her voice. The same voice she used when she was on the phone with strangers. The voice that said that everyone was fine and perfect and normal and woohoo*. She slung the new backpack she had bought off her shoulder, rummaging through it even though she knew exactly where her 'something' was at. When she reappeared from the bag full of pencils, paper, drawing...

   The dragon flies above her head. It's beautiful. The wings are twelve feet across, blue like the sky. Its scales are purple, glimmering, and shining as it swims in the clouds. Its horns twist and curl like an un-Earthly crown. Its tail flicks like a fly and sways like a tree branch. She knows the power it holds in its throat. Power to kill. Power to destroy. Power to burn. 
   Beautiful. 
   She sits in a tree, holding in her breath. She thinks of the people crouching beside her. Of her family. Her teacher. Her training. She sighs. 
   Time to kill.

Always, always asking: Who is lying?

I have never thought about my favorite part of Christmas before. 
  It used to be the presents, most likely. 
    But the good ones usually come from my parents, and they don't need to give me any. 
   It could've been the food. 
 Mashed potatoes and casseroles are amazing, but old apples and sandwiches are good, too. 
   Maybe it was the decorations. 
    Driving around and looking at lights is a fun Christmas tradition, but it isn't necessary. 
   Perhaps it was the Christmas PJs. 
 Those are nice, but my gray pants with the holes in 'em are more comfortable. 
   The ugly Christmas sweaters, maybe? 
    Those are cute, but you can only wear them once a year!
   No, it was almost definitely my family. 
 I love them to death, but maybe one day I could live without them. 
   But now, it is different. 
    It is none of those...

1. Write about a possum, living in an attic. 
 
   This is Les. He is a possum. And he lives in an attic. I’m not going to say who owns the house and attic, because they might become seriously angry that I am sitting in their attic writing about a possum named Les as they eat their dinner of steak and potatoes. You would think that the owners of this house, being remarkably rich, would have pest control (although I do not consider Les to be a pest), but I assume they spent all their money on steaks and potatoes.  
   Les is a very lazy possum. He sleeps all day and is awake at night, though he has no need to go scavenge for food. I have been bringing him food for a total of 2 years. The first time he saw me, he pretended to die, which I have heard is normal behavior for possums, but was incredibly impolite,...

Dr. Yaya S. 
The Fantastical Creature Research and Care Center 
For Educational Purposes 
December 13, 2020 
 
   Many of you have seen dragons, or at least pictures of them. Here at The Fantastical Creature Research and Care Center, we can observe, research, and care for dragons of all breeds, shapes, and sizes. They have many flaws, although most would not like you to point that out. Most commonly, dragons are depicted as sinister, gold-loving, fire-breathing, princess-guarding, knight-killing monsters. That depiction is most accurate for many of our breeds of dragons. Some, on the other hand, can be truly kind, pleasant, smart, or joyful creatures. But there is one flaw that runs throughout the entire species. Perhaps the biggest flaw. It is this: They cannot and will not participate in, celebrate, or enjoy Christmas.  
 
   Yes, it may be difficult to fathom, I know. When we first started introducing human holidays to the dragons, they took a liking to holidays such as Saint Patrick's Day and the 4th of July, most...

Spoiler Alert: This is a fanfiction series based on the first Maze Runner movie, originally written by James Dashner​ and directed by Wes Ball. If you have not seen the first movie, this will contain spoilers. The footnotes may also contain information from the trailer for Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials. I cannot testify for what the books do/don't contain, or if this will contain spoilers from the book.


Day 3
 
   Yesterday I learned what job Will and Luke had decided for me.

   I woke up late. My neck felt stuck in one position, stiff and kinky from sleeping in the hammock. I caught up on my sleep in the early hours in the morning, finally too exhausted to stay awake listening to Crawlers in the Maze. I climbed out of my beige hammock which swung perilously, fixing my black knee-length skirt which had twisted itself around my legs, constricting my blood flow. I saw a fire ablaze at...

I sit on an airplane, all by myself. All the other passengers have picked up their trash, brushed crumbs off their shirts, fixed their masks, struggled to get their suitcases out of the overhead compartment, and shimmied down the narrow aisle, trying desperately not to hit another flyer with their bags. The single flight attendant’s seat is in front of me, next to a microwave or something of that sort. I am waiting for the flight attendant; my backpack sits on my lap; my suitcase sits in the aisleway.   
 
   I woke up at 4:30 this morning to get to the airport by 6 and have the paperwork signed by 7. I had said goodbye to my mom and my 4 siblings, Maddox, Dailyn, Walker, and Collete at the hotel, and my dad at the airport. Even though I've taken a trip like this every year, I'll still miss them.   
 
   The masks are different from the other trips, though. Never before have I had...

I sit on an airplane, all by myself. All the other passengers have picked up their trash, brushed crumbs off their shirts, fixed their masks, struggled to get their suitcases out of the overhead compartment, and shimmied down the narrow aisle, trying desperately not to hit another flyer with their bags. The single flight attendant’s seat is in front of me, next to a microwave or something of that sort. I am waiting for the flight attendant; my backpack sits on my lap; my suitcase sits in the aisleway.   
 
   I woke up at 4:30 this morning to get to the airport by 6 and have the paperwork signed by 7. I had said goodbye to my mom and my 4 siblings, Maddox, Dailyn, Walker, and Collete at the hotel, and my dad at the airport. Even though I've taken a trip like this every year, I'll still miss them.   
 
   The masks are different from the other trips, though. Never before have I had...

Spoiler Alert: This is a fanfiction series based on the first Maze Runner movie, originally written by James Dashner​ and directed by Wes Ball. If you have not seen the first movie, this will contain spoilers. The footnotes may also contain information from the trailer for Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials. I cannot testify for what the books do/don't contain, or if this will contain spoilers from the book.


   “The subjects have been delivered,” said a woman in a white lab coat, her high heels clicking on the floor. The woman had an entourage of doctors following her, clipboards and tablets folded in their arms. She looked at ease, perhaps even a small smirk on her face, her blonde hair tied up in a bun. A few of her followers looked worried, their eyebrows creased. Others were scribbling on clipboards and tapping buttons on a screen. A few seemed happy or pleased, smiles upon their relaxed faces. 

   “Soon,...

I sit on an airplane, all by myself. All the other passengers have picked up their trash, brushed crumbs off their shirts, fixed their masks, struggled to get their suitcases out of the overhead compartment, and shimmied down the narrow aisle, trying desperately not to hit another flyer with their bags. The single flight attendant’s seat is in front of me, next to a microwave or something of that sort. My backpack sits on my lap, my suitcase sits in the aisleway.  

   I woke up at 4:30 that morning to get to the airport by 6 and have the paperwork signed by 7. I had said goodbye to my mom and my 4 siblings, Maddox, Dailyn, Walker, and Collete at the hotel, and my dad at the airport. Even though I took a trip like this every year, I would miss them.  

   I wear a purple shirt with the word “Love,” spelled in Harry Potter symbols in silver on...

Trigger Warning: This is a fanfiction series based on the first Maze Runner movie, originally written by James Dashner​ and directed by Wes Ball. If you have not seen the first movie, this will contain spoilers. The footnotes also contain information from the trailer for Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials. I cannot testify for what the books do/don't contain, or if this will contain spoilers from the book.

Day 1 

   I woke up here. Well, I woke up on the way here. I was in this… big, metal cage. And it was shooting me upward. Lights were flashing between the bars. There were boxes all around me in mishap piles. I started to freak out. Jumped to feet, but I tripped over a box and fell, cutting my lip. My nose was dangerously close to the bars and the flashing lights, and I knew I didn’t want to go any further. I scrambled back, crouching in the middle of the...

1. I'm thankful for God. My Deliverer. My Savior. My Father. The Man who makes the oceans rise and fall. The Man who makes planets spin in orbit. The Man who saved me from my sins. 

2. I'm thankful for the Bible. The beautiful story of God's love, power, mercy, and judgment. The opener of eyes, and the voice of God. 

3. I'm thankful for prayer. A lifeline between me and God. A direct message. A cry of help. A place of peace.

4. I'm thankful for my family. Momma, Daddy, Maddox, Dailyn, Walker, Collete. They bring joy into my life, hope into my heart. I would be totally and utterly lost without them. 

5. I'm thankful for friends. People to joke with. People to cry with. People who I can be myself around. People who encourage me. 

6. I'm thankful for long drives. Silence. Times for me to sit and think. To look out the window and watch the miraculous...

Here we write,
and we all read books.
We take up the fight
to grow our fandoms.

Sometimes we whiz through them,
reading 10 in a week.
But when we stop and look through them,
we'll see beauties untold.

We open the pages,
and ah! the smell is so wonderous.
Pages with knowledge and scenes upon ages,
and ages.

In simple black and white,
is a world full of color.
Authors show their might
with stories so vivid.

The feel of those books,
so smooth and crisp. It's more than just looks,
it's the feel of worlds unknown.

The voice so clear,
writer and character.
They both whisper in our ears,
and shout with the power of fantasy.

Oh, those books,
they bring back old times.
Masterpieces on which we are hooked.
There is beauty in those books.

On the first of January, I, Timothy Legonawy was sitting in a stale attic on Meadowlark Lane in a small town in New York state, wrapped in blankets. It was a large house with multiple rooms, beautiful furniture, wonderful décor, and two stories, not including the attic. The Mrs.’ favorite item was a large family portrait that hung above the fireplace.  
  
   Mr. Farrington was a broad man with deep brown skin, a black suit and blue tie, and a shining, bald head like a watermelon. He rarely smiled- since he was a prestigious prosecution lawyer- unless his granddaughter, Patricia, was visiting, bringing drawings she made and a kiss. Mrs. Farrington was a short, slim woman with light brown skin, a tight, dark bun that remained on her head after she retired from the journalism business, and preferred floral print. Mrs. Farrington ran a Garden Club for the other wives on Meadowlark Lane. The couple was celebrating the New Year with a...

On the first of January, I, Timothy Legonawy was sitting in a stale attic on Meadowlark Lane in a small town in New York state, wrapped in blankets. It was a large house with multiple rooms, beautiful furniture, wonderful décor, and two stories, not including the attic. The Mrs.’ favorite item was a large family portrait that hung above the fireplace.  
  
   Mr. Farrington was a broad man with deep brown skin, a black suit and blue tie, and a shining, bald head like a watermelon. He rarely smiled- since he was a prestigious prosecution lawyer- unless his granddaughter, Patricia, was visiting, bringing drawings she made and a kiss. Mrs. Farrington was a short, slim woman with light brown skin, a tight, dark bun that remained on her head after she retired from the journalism business, and preferred floral print. Mrs. Farrington now ran a Garden Club for the other wives on Meadowlark Lane. The couple was celebrating the New Year with...

On the first of January 2019, I, Timothy Legonawy was sitting in an attic on Meadowlark Lane in a small town in Northern Tennessee. It was a large house with multiple rooms, beautiful furniture, wonderful décor, and two stories, not including the attic. The Mrs.’s favorite item was- and still is- a large family portrait that hangs above the fireplace.

   Mr. Farrington was a broad man with deep brown skin, a black suit and blue tie, a shining, bald head like a bowling ball, and who rarely smiled, unless his granddaughter, Patricia, had come to visit in her pink dresses with lace. Mrs. Farrington was a short, slim woman with light brown skin, a tight, dark bun like a schoolteacher’s, and floral blouses which matched her garden, the prize of her yard. Mr. Farrington was a prestigious prosecution lawyer, and Mrs. Farrington was a journalist at one time, but had eventually retired from her work and hosted a Garden Club for the...

christmas 
‘tis the most wonderful time of the year 
for us atleast 
but what of others? 
what of the children who spend their christmas in war-ridden villages mud up to their ankles roofs collapsing above their sleeping heads strange men come to kill and take their brothers as soldiers? 
in famines dust caught in their eyes clogging their throats their bellies more empty than the ordinary child? 
with extremists banging on their door and demanding them recant and join their bloody cause? 
with governments that take and steal then say no this is good as their own people starve and die? 
where is their christmas? 
yes, my darling. 
i see you there my age huddled in a corner out in field carrying a brother caring for a mother. 
i see your mind push christmas to the back as problems rush to the front with every ticking second.
but... 
maybe i can bring you christmas. 
maybe, just maybe. 
i can bring...

She drives along the Yukon River; a perfectly white, flat, sparkling expanse of frozen ice.

6 dogs pound on the packed ice, their chests heaving as “Mush” falls off her lips. 

The mountains cradle the river, protecting it from the hustle of the outside world; it’s white-capped peaks reach for the sky. 

Not a sound can be heard apart from the dogs; they are completely alone in the frozen land. 

It’s quiet, peaceful, pure. 

The sun begins to set and the sky turns dark blue, deeper than the depths of the ocean. 

Night comes but sun set lingers.  

The sun turns bright orange, a glowing ball of fire. 

A sense of purity washes over her like rain as beauty stole the breath from her chest. 

She was captivated by the magnificent pulse coming from all around her. 

Her broken heart began to heal; “There must be a God out there, somewhere.”