Two Untold Stories by Dahlia Laby by Final Draft

there's a girl with moon-silver skin

craters beneath her eyes

 

and a boy with sun-gold skin

sunspots flaring in his eyes

 

the girl has a star-frayed body

worn from protecting

indiscriminately

 

the boy has galaxies in his body

the whole universe ahead of him

technically

 

two people

two lives

two universes

two different stories

 

both untold

 

the girl lays in a bed

moon-silver skin barely discernable

from the lily-white sheets

an IV dripping stardust

into her star-frayed veins

craters deepening each moment

 

the boy is lost in his own mind

strapped to a table in a frigid-white room

sun-gold skin not helping him now

those galaxies are gone

his sunspots are weakening

 

our universe is dying

and two untold stories are going to go with it

Seasons by Lauren Meyer by Final Draft

The rain poured, pitter-pattering
off their black umbrellas and black clothes.
The upturned earth turned muddy
in the downpour.

The sun shone brightly,
a cloudless sky over a field of flowers
surrounding the stone
with her name.

The leaves fell, covering
the rock in reds, oranges, golds
and stayed until a cool wind
blew them away.

A crystal coat, turning the air still
a dusting of snow atop the memorial
of one gone
many years ago.

A weathered stone,
lasting season upon season
still lies there
in her memory.

The Mountain by Diego Miro-Rivera by Final Draft

The mountain

peaceful and motionless as can be

yet as wild and untamed as there is

 

Its calm and wise presence

 is harmonious with the land

as its steady and fearless peaks

 pierce through the clouds

 

Golden sunlight and silver moonshine

received by the mountain's rocky canvas

become a beautiful gallery of color

 

Fierce weather rolls over the mountain

cold and bitter winds push and sting the surface

yet the mountain stands undisturbed

 

If I was this mountain

I would be happy

without a worry in the world

and with a hell of a view

Waves by Winston Ross by Final Draft

Standing at the edge of the water
Without a care in the whole world
I was just enjoying the view
Watching as all the waves uncurled

Mesmerized by their rhythm
Forgetting about all of my jobs
Staring at a flat horizon
Listening to sea’s quiet sobs

Inevitable by Ambar Ancira by Final Draft

 

Sometimes I wonder how he sees me,

because in my mind we are always connected, 

By a string that stretches hundreds of miles across, and thousands of miles above, yet 

never breaks. 

It never frays, nor does it ever crack.

Yet sometimes I wonder if it’s only visible to my eyes.

To me, he’s always there

At the corner of my lips, 

In the back of my mind, 

an afterthought, 

The ghost of a dream, 

A familiar emotion that sometimes I wish I had never known. 

For through his eyes I might just be me. 

Small and ordinary, 

Never in his mind until I’m in his way.

Her by Leah Holt by Final Draft

Her eyes,

Green, glistening, glowing,

Gorgeous.

Her hair,

Many hues of brown,

So soft to the touch.

Her heart,

Shy, timid,

Yet so full of love.

Her,

My sweet Eva,

My love, my everything.

Her,

Overweight, eight years old,

My adorable little tabby cat.

I Can't Open the Door by Caleb Dukes by Final Draft

The sirens blare, the lights all flash.
I can't open the door.
I hear feet on the other side.
I can't open the door.
People scream as they're running by.
I can't open the door.
I call for help, but no one hears.
I can't open the door.
I pound my fists against the metal.
I can't open the door.
The sounds are gone and the corridor drops dead.
I can't open the door.
I let out a shout as my hands start to bleed.
I can't open the door.
No one is here, they all have escaped.
I can't open the door.
I flop to the ground and start to weep.
I can't open the door.
The room starts to shake and I hear a loud crunch.
I can't open the door.
I balance myself, panic in my eyes.
I can't open the door.
I hear a slight splash, then a big burst.
I can't open the door.
I run to the wall, fearing the worst.
Because I couldn't open the door.
Then it all happens, the water gets in.
The door is now open.
I hold my breath.
I wasn't able to get out the door.

Bad Things for Good People by Kristen Pletcher by Final Draft

It was a regular day

until my best friend tugged me into the bathroom

with panic in her eyes.

Something was obviously wrong 

so I went along,

sitting on a ledge jutting from above the sink.

She took a deep breath and didn't speak for a bit, 

so I waited patiently for her to collect herself.

It took a while,

and when she spoke, she did so once into her hand,

then once into the air. 

People say bad things happen to good people, 

and I can only agree.

Because as soon as the word 'cancer' 

escaped her lips, 

that theory was confirmed in my eyes. 

It was her mom. 

And it wasn't looking good. 

I think she knew as well as I did that her childhood was ending

as she sunk to the floor, myself closely following. 

So there I sat, 

embracing my friend in the disgusting bathroom,

anchoring her to the ground.

Heroes by Jules Shelby by Final Draft

 The pink paint was still drying on her skin. She angled the rear view mirror down to her face, conjuring up a smile. "You..." Suddenly, she was close again. The smell of bubblegum was close again. Her pale pink lips were close again. This time, for sure, I thought she'd kiss me. "You are brilliant." Instead, she just tapped a thin finger on my chest. "Seriously, like, ground control to Major Tom, we've found you a new career: make up artist for Bowie fans. Your mother will be so proud." Of course she ignored my mock-Monets and just-for-practice-Picassos. That's one of the reasons I adore her—reason is immensely irrelevant. Life is whatever strikes her fancy. "My mom will probably be my first client." Another thing I appreciate is how much joy that girl can pack into a mellow grin. "She's a smart woman, your mother." She reminded me of my father, leaning back into her seat, head titled to the stars, eyes closed. If I leaned over, real quick, I could avoid peering into those fraternal twins of sight—one an envious green, the other as azure as Earth might appear from Mars. Free of judgment, I could've kissed her. But, in a weird way, that'd be like kissing my dad. "But, she's too late, because I was first." "You're always first for—" "Shh..." There I was, about to gouge my heart from my chest and sew it onto her sleeve. That way she could never forget or ignore it this time. Did she interrupt me or was it David Bowie who did it? Perhaps I interrupted him. Long after we'd pulled into my driveway, she'd convinced me to paint that iconic lighting bolt on her face. Hours prior, 95.5 had promised to play a Bowie song in an hour. So, we rode around in her backwards car, the European kind with the wheel on the right to ensure I always feel near death, for well past an hour. Past sunset. Past our homes. And, apologetically, past curfew. When we were near the school parking lot, I convinced her to wait it out there. With her legs hooked over the wheel and sun roof open, Heroes came on. It was nearly midnight. The silence of the hour fell upon her as she listened to her euphoria. Silence fell upon me as I gazed at mine. She came with her own encompassing aura of stardust and theme music:

"And we can be heroes just for one day." 

Seasons by Lauren Meyer by Final Draft

The rain poured, pitter-pattering
off their black umbrellas and black clothes.
The upturned earth turned muddy
in the downpour.

The sun shone brightly,
a cloudless sky over a field of flowers
surrounding the stone
with her name.

The leaves fell, covering
the rock in reds, oranges, golds
and stayed until a cool wind
blew them away.

A crystal coat, turning the air still
a dusting of snow atop the memorial
of one gone
many years ago.

A weathered stone,
lasting season upon season
still lies there
in her memory.

Without Her by Jane Cooper by Final Draft

Beneath the sunken waves of hollow bitterness, he wept.

Layer after layer of suffocating, blistering despair cocooned around him like a thousand hugs from a thousand needles. He could not feel, he could not thrive, he could not be.

She had been the quiet laughter following him in the halls and around unknown corners. She had been the tickling sand beneath his bare feet well into the ungodly hours of the night. She had been his adventure, his passion, his love and hope and happiness.

And now she was a gravestone -- cold and dark even in the glowing summer.

The water couldn't get hot enough. The food couldn't get sweet enough. Everything he did was lacking, and so was he.

The earth kept turning. His mother caught the subway to work and his sister planted azalea seeds in the backyard. The baker baked, the typist typed, and the driver drove. All around the world, faces swirled by like blank, unfeeling orbs of dust. Blind, and blinding him.

The world was whole without her. To everyone else, life would go on.

And he ached. 

Mountains crumbled. Unholy waves crashed against the shore. Lightning struck every inch of the ground until the entire planet was nothing but a charred mess of ash and faded memories.

To him, the flowers weren't glistening shades of red and gold, they were deep abysses of darkness and despair. Even the sun above was nothing but a swirling, howling storm -- its light nothing but the blinding rage that made his toes curl in his shoes and burned at the back of his eyelids.

Without her, he felt nothing but agony and heartbreak. Nothing was there -- nothing but a gaping hole where she had once been, where she should be, and yet he felt every fibre of the lack of her in his very bones. His soul burned with all of the unsaid jokes, the untold stories, the undiscovered adventures.

And so, the choice was clear. To go to her. To be where she was -- or to not be at all. 

And so he went. 

The Trap of Hope by David Womack by Final Draft

I wake from the dream

Not a very long dream

But a dream of hope

Hope for more

 

 

Not the first time nor the last

Not a dream but a trap

 

A trap built from a wish for change

Words are spoken

Nothing more

 

A heart laid bare

The blind one sees not

 

An affliction not of the eyes but of the soul

 

A Whisper by David Womack by Final Draft

A whispered name

The darkness closes in

A whispered love

The future yet to come

I know not when

 

 

A whispered name

I wish to wait no more

A whispered love

For my pale Rose

 

A whispered name

The secret close

A whispered love

Still pain to bear

It's Gonna Be Alright by Caitlyn Embree by Final Draft

She looks out into the ocean, unsure. Unsure of what she's doing here, what her purpose is, what her passion is, and where she's meant to be, where she belongs. All she knows was that she had to get away, but now that she'd done that, up and left, moved to a new place with a fresh start and a new beginning, it was unclear to her where to go. All she knows now is that the ocean is here- moving, but never changing too drastically. Each grain of sand has been there for millions of years, never moving, never changing, only getting smaller, and smaller, and smaller, until that rock that it once was is gone and all that remains is a fine powder. And now she seeks what little she has that's left unchanged, like the ocean, like the sand. Her blue coat, worn from wear, is pulled over her head to protect from the sharp wind of the east coastline, and she likes it, the feeling of the wind on her back, because the wind is a constant. It might be gone for a few days, but it always comes back, and she can count on it. Her coat, too, is unchanging. It's been with her, through good and bad, but it's still the same coat. Maybe a little warn out and faded, but still soft, and warm, and protecting. She can't find the strength to turn around, look back towards the city, her new life, and wonder what she is going to do. Instead, she stays here facing the water, forgetting for a while, unmoving and still. She can think later, about how she's just plunged off the deep end and dove into icy water head first, ignoring the warning signs. She can think about how she got into this mess, and how she's gonna turn it around, make it better. But that's for later. Now, all she wants to do is enjoy the salty taste on her tongue, the beat of the wind against her coat, the astringent smell of the ocean. She wants to take deep breaths, and tell herself it's alright, it's gonna be alright. 

Back to Reality by Zaneb Rashid by Final Draft

Blues and pinks turn to browns and greys

 

the humidity gets the best of my hair

tangles upon tangles, like the earbuds in my bag

the morning is cold, and dark

mothers are bundling their kids up,

preparing them for their battle with the wind

I hold my hand out, each droplet softly kissing my palm as they fall

I look up, only to see the dull sky, filled with clouds of all sizes

one looking like a feather in my eyes, but just an ordinary cloud in another’s

eventually, the pitter-patter comes to an end

a bright light shines along the horizon, spreading warmth throughout the city