This is the final version after workshop. Dear Enemy, Why do you fight? For religion, as they tell me? For Family, as I suspect? For country, as they disown you? I am shown a silhouette of you as I land on your soil. What do you see? My family is safe from you with
This is the final version after workshop The Green Room The nurses threaten it, pointing to the heavy steel door with massive sliding lock. I go to meet it, as the other mental patients cower and contain what is putting me there. The tan door opens silently, the room is unknown, the floor
This is the final version after workshop. Memories of Ancestral Knowledge By Jeremiah Stillings The drive was over, and I pulled into the only available parking spot, much to far from the gates for my wife’s liking. I announced “we are here” loudly to the two boys asleep in the seats behind me. I sat
This is my final project showing my progression as a writer during the Wayne Community College’s Creative Writing Course.
11 pm, flopping down, the air is stale, the pillow exhales loudly. Breathing in with expectation of her smell, rewarded with sneeze and cough. My mind makes a false memory and tells me she is still here. Forcing a smile at my ability to still believe, knowing I lie. The air is stale, her smell
The heat from the fireplace warms my feet and legs as I sit in the armchair. My eyes close and suddenly I recall a memory ages old. There I was at my forge. Keeping the coal, the right temperature after adding three hard black bricks of new coal took work, planning, and a little luck
The Green Room The nurses use it as punishment, threatening it, pointing to the heavy steel door, massive lock. My rage continues, my mouth spews, my volume becomes the norm in every patient, chaotic bliss. The nurses press buttons under desks, men rush to silence, contain, still, I am stronger. “The room awaits” they shout,
