Fiction + non-Fiction

Walk | Don't Walk

I stood on a familiar street corner during this morning’s rush hour as the crosswalk signals flipped green

we were teenagers (cause = time)

I was twelve and you were fourteen. A mop of dirty blond hair grazed the tops of your hazel-green eyes, your black rectangle glasses resting sideways on your nose.

Rita the Rockstar

Once upon a time there lived a little girl named Rita who played the violin like a rockstar. She played like a rockstar because she practiced three hours each day ever since she