Creative Writing

The two mounds play with my mind when I realized how they have strategically trapped me into their straight. Trying to flee and break away, I tiptoed my way around—towards the grassy patches—attemping to maintain the cleanliness of my feet. Deceived by the solid ground, the misleading hard surface caves as my body weight dives deeper into the Earth. The ambush triggers my fight and flight response and I transfer all my pressure onto my ten tiny joints and —. The balance break

At the edge of the Caldera, the hot springs of Wyoming exhale– Smoke whispers up into the skies like spirits. Craters stretch on plains of rock– round footprints of some ancient being. Orange ripples into blue. The etchings of her grey veins zigzag like cobweb. The geysers here erupt without warning every thirty-minutes or so, over three-hundred feet up, splashing the sky with scalding water. The tour guide says people have died from the burns. I am seven-years-old. I stick

Dani and I sat outside today, eating nectarines in the sun. I played guitar and she mocked the way my hands, covered with juice, stuck to the strings. The sun didn’t set until 10:45pm. When it got cool we layed on the grass under a blanket and watched the stars. As one shot across the sky I wished this would last forever. ______________________________________________________________________________________ After being gifted the journal for her birthday in late June, Isla w