By Alicia Reese
As I walk out the door, the crisp air hits me like a wall. It’s quiet, except when the coyotes call. The stars are lit like flames in a lantern while the sky is as dark as an abyss. My soul is finally filled with peace and sweet bliss. I inhale deeply through my nose and watch my breath against the cold air, escape. Only to watch it linger for a while then disappear into the darkness.
By Grace Heckman
Dry and barren, the Sahara holds no candle to my vast emptiness. Untouched by desires that once ran rampant through my nervous system, now meaningless sour nothings are my dearest friends. As I stare in the mirror at each crease and fold, a deep loneliness confines and isolates me. My fingertips brush the smooth and stiff texture of my middle earth. An index finger searches earnestly for pleasure, anything to spark a flame of passion. Alas, where passion once made a home, now only a wasteland of cinders reside. I am numb to the demands of my nature. Dry and barren, I lay in my bed with a likeness to lifelessness. I wait until my mind submits to slumber.
Pitt-Bradford’s first year writing program’s new publication features our best student writing from our composition classes. Learn more at BradfordWrites.com.