Little Sloth

Mother Sloth is always sluggish, always worn out, and always in pain. She is always complaining about her day. Mother Sloth always has had the worst day. Little Sloth doesn’t always understand but she knows that she can be the same way. She is called for coffee and as she gets her cup, Mother Sloth tells her how sleepy she is. All she wants is to go back to bed. That’s the same thought Little Sloth thinks of when she gets home from work every day. Little Sloth is embarrassed by that thought. She doesn’t want to be a sloth anymore. How do you change what you are? How do you change who you are? Little Sloth tries her best not to live on her bed. Little Sloth tries to be more active in life. She tries to be more social. She tries to eat right and exercise. She tries to jog more often. She tries to read instead of watch tv. Little Sloth tries many things but she ends up playing video games all day instead.

 

 

By Cristina Wilcraft

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Night Life

The DJ throws himself into the throng.

Everyone’s arms are up in the air. They’re jumping to the music. The crowd’s too huge. Everybody’s too close.

The tune’s too loud. But they’re all still having fun. Tripping out. Losing their minds. You’re never drunk enough. You’re in your own world. Dancing alone until you become two then you become three.

You’re not scared. You don’t even notice, the world has transformed into something else. You’ve changed to someone else.

 

By Rose Cohen

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Word Picture

Picture these words: Neon dust clouds ring in a pair of shadows, a girl and her dog. Close by, an approaching tornado of pastel teals and cyber pinks. A star-filled duke sky surrounds the cornflower moon. Onyx grass holds the scene over it. The girl’s smoke dress dances with the commanding gusts, yet she blandly leans and tilts along.

The delighted graphite dog barks in pure ecstasy at the girl. He hyperventilates, tongue out. Running to the field was no walk in the park, but he treats it as if it is when there’s a color storm.

The girl’s hands hover high above her head, grasping at the sky as the tornado nears. Her hopes are to touch the shades of every color, to understand the nature of beauty.

 

By Amber Black

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Detrimental

An accidental sentimental mentally tangential oriental parental rental I rent till my experimental intercontinental environmental change ends.

A foreign exchange student. A changed student. Confused of a diffused transition into infused translations of induced impatience and produced inflations.

Didn’t sign up, threw no signs up, but sigh and size up lies from shy skies to look up to. Terrorize disguised, slick ties and snake eyes. Advise the unwise to crystalize crystal eyes and devise, polarize, downsize and reorganize the prize of demise, a country.

Visualize and internalize a theorized civilization intellectualizing and internationalizing international-eyes-ing. Idolize THEIR idol eyes. Minimize the glamorized digitized advertisements. Agonize and empathize failure to analyze behavior. Recognize unutilized minds not realizing they’ve got so little, timewise.

They’ll regret.

By Seth McAllister

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