Just a Bike

By: Ed Dzitko

Out in the garage, Kelsey limped toward the two wheeler. Dad was right. It was just metal, rubber, and plastic. It wasn’t mean or out to hurt her. It was just a bike, and it came to life only when she made it go.

Kelsey had learned to balance on the grass, so the hard spill she took on the street surprised her. The scrape on her leg had hurt like nothing she’d ever remembered feeling. And when Mom cleaned it…

Nope, not there. I can do this. She turned the handlebars and walked out to meet her friends.


By: Ed Dzitko

It’s today, I think.

Why do guys put us through this? Why do they ruin everything? Does every woman they all meet have to be a conquest, a notch, a trophy?

I’ll admit I like how it feels when our hands touch, or when we hug, laugh, or cry. But I don’t want to kiss him anywhere other than on the cheek. I don’t want to get into his pants, and I don’t want him in mine.

As so, I’ll sentence our years long, fun, casual, platonic, can-tell-you-anything relationship to death.

“I think we should stay just friends,” I’ll say.

Language Class

By: Alexis McGuinness

Sri Lanka. Thailand. Brazil. France. Spain. Portugal. South Africa.

USA heard her classmates haltingly introduce their countries of origin with erroneous emphases and odd lilts. Spain th-ed in places a th never belonged. Sri Lanka mixed up the ä’s and a’s. Smiling inwardly, USA knew how to hit her consonants.

But on Day 2 USA saw Thailand chatting fluidly with the teacher. USA skulked out of the class to avoid the small talk of her classmates. As she descended the stairs, she heard Sri Lanka laugh at a joke she would never get in any language.

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