by Ola Faleti i. Staring didn't accomplish much, I always thought. We live in the 21st century. Can't people take a picture? I should be used to it by now, after a lifetime of a face that's remarkable in all the wrong ways. When I'm feeling bold I stare back. Usually I'm too tired to … Continue reading Topography
By Austin Sanniota Edwards Staring didn't accomplish much. In fact, it seemed to worsen the situation. I missed them; I couldn't hide that from anyone. I couldn't deny that when they were in my life the world looked, well, more vibrant and beautiful. I saw things more clearly then. In that realization, all the hours … Continue reading The Last Time I Saw Them
By Sara LeVee Safyan Staring didn’t accomplish much. But, I wasn’t getting anywhere with drooling. I kept speaking, like they’ve always taught me to. Why don’t they want me to do it now? Why is the old one always yelling at me? This is getting me nowhere. I can still see it. It’s there. It’s … Continue reading A Dinner Party
by Ella Kleinman Staring didn't accomplish much. The peanut butter would win that contest. It could have been anyone who left it out. Everyone had free range of the kitchen last night, I'm sure there were various cases of the munchies. But I hated that midnight peanut butter toker. The morning - well, my shifted … Continue reading The Problem with Peanut Butter
by Michael Drone Staring didn’t accomplish much when I was faced with the mountain I have been climbing for the past three months. I am going to get super vulnerable and honest, and tell you of failures of business, the arrest, and what happened next. Strap in, this is about to spiral out of control, … Continue reading DWI Revelations
By Adrian Day Staring didn't accomplish much - the line drawn from my eyes to hers was taut (if it could be touched) and now she, in the closing crowd disappears and with her, takes my gaze and staring didn't accomplish much but my eyes on that space will remain...
By Mo David Staring doesn't accomplish much, but that doesn't stop me. We're in her mom's minivan, parked in front of the house I grew up in. The grassy lawn rises and dips in ways I didn't know I remembered. The tree is still strong and quiet. The brick walls sit solidly beneath a fresh … Continue reading What I Didn’t Know Before