Contents

when I became the bleak
Faith Angiocchi

I Am Your Witness (I Promise)
Kenny Borsch

Offshoot
Isabella Kaufman

Our Own
Sasha Jade

Caramel
Em Loney

Riverbed
Emma Hoffman

The Final Birthday
Hannah Rieger

Through Her Eyes
Carleigh DeBrock

Letter to a Phoenix
Sydney Schimmel

Serenity
Carleigh DeBrock

There I Found the Sun
Paul Wagner

Luminescenza
Claire Palopoli

The Kingfisher
Josie Jones

Design Rationale
Audrey Pierson

Entropy
Emma Hoffman

ode to your cup of tea placed warm in my hands
Mady Thetard

mt
Carleigh DeBrock

A Heavy Space Between Us
Kenny Borsch

Silent Ephemera
Kai Clark

The Photo Taken By Ella Jean
Em Loney

Lapsed
Em Loney

Field Lament
Elizabeth Angione

Under the Mirror
Paul Wagner

Idolatry
Braylon L. James

Veiled Fragility
Kai Clark

Vanity
Braylon L. James

Will I Ever See You Again?
Kenny Borsch

Lush
Rinoa Chech

 

Idolatry

She visits me in the languid night—brazen, lithe, cunning. In three sweeping steps, she glides across polished marble towards my torpid form. 

I stir. 

Striking eyes bathe me in their gaze, frothing seas of sapphire with waves that capsize me beneath their depths. Frothing seas of sapphire surrounded by a mane of dark cinnamon cascading across Olympian features. Soft ringlets stroke my neck, reaching, winding, constricting. Her features are smooth as rose petals, perfumed with jasmine and vanilla and carved of the most pristine alabaster, a sculpture transcending the work of divine architects with undulating contours and arches that intertwine to birth a glorious idol of ivory dazzling amidst a temple of burnished quartz. Her courtyard overflows with milk and honey as I kneel in revelry before her spiraling pillars and behold as she speaks to me in the cadence of Venus, her lips dripping golden nectar. My siren speaks to me, licentious, hypnotic words that penetrate bone and weave carnal tapestries within. 

I am transfixed.

Shapely claws begin their work, cleaving into my feeble flesh. As the cavern in my chest expands, she unearths my innermost prize, a firebrand of sinews and carnelian sap clutched between talons that have become soaked with a ferric ambrosia. I lie in languor as her gaze sweeps a landscape of pulsating tissues with predatory zeal. Her nails burrow into the yielding, snapping fibers, drawing me to her flame like a drunken moth. Her eyes demand authority as I crawl across polished marble towards her spellbinding silhouette, following the trail of blood that trickles from her fingertips. My siren flees me in the languid night, a porcelain gazelle bounding in full stride. Upon my sunken collarbone rest two threads of cinnamon hair encompassing my throat ever tightly, and upon my tongue rests her name, saccharine as honey, tainting my breath.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Braylon James is a sophomore at Ohio University with majors in English and Philosophy. His journey with creative writing began at the age of four after reading children's stories by A.A. Milne, and it has since become his foremost passion. For Braylon, there is no greater delight than creating an experience that will resonate with readers and allow them to develop a heightened adoration for literature. His catalog of literary influences includes friends, faculty, and established authors alike, and he aims to one day inspire those around him just the same. His writing is evocative of his background in classic fiction and philosophy, and he is prone to losing himself within the depths of a particularly enthralling metaphor.