Once upon a time there was a girl living in a tower- No Once upon a time, there was a princess named Rapunzel, and she was doomed to live in a tower for- No. Once upon a time, Rapunzel dreamed she could fly out of her tower and never return, but her parents- My heart somersaults when I feel a gentle tug on my hair. Long blonde locks litter the tower floor, spilling, and now jostling, over the window sill. Nothing else to indicate a visitor had approached though. No hoove

“I don’t know how anyone could do this to me,” you declare as you sip my tea. Your split tongue wraps around the lip of the mug and tips it back. With the other tongue, you confirm, “I am the victim.” The cafe table isn’t conducive for the spikes on your back. You complain to the waitress, who can’t do much, then you decide she’s a bitch once she’s out of earshot. The universe is conspiring against you. Having been inside of your stomach, I’ve learned to tune you out withou

A boy calls for his cat in the wood behind his family home. The sunlight is just starting to fall beneath the treeline, and he worries the cat will be late for feeding time. He calls and calls until long after the word “Mittens” sounds no more like a word than “higgly piggly.” By the time the North star points at his green eye, the tuxedo cat is still nowhere to be found. The boy still has hope, for Mittens has never stayed away from home too long. For three days he’s search

(Celeste Cota Photography) I never remember how numb Maine water feels on my toes. Irrelevant the cloud count or the blazing hot iron sun brought on by these scorching months, the heat breaking open the skin on my back, raising and razing hell from the bone out. 50 degrees is 50 degrees. The tidepools are irrelevant too - misleadingly inviting. Close your eyes and you could picture yourself in Cancun. But no, the Atlantic doesn’t care for your daydreams. My one-piece fee

To marry a king, a girl would be thrilled, or she should be. Security, wealth, admiration of millions of citizens, a girl would have to...

John was a half hour late, and not surprisingly, he smelled of liquor - nonetheless his preferred coping method of choice, Captain...

"Black metal door handle on brown wooden door" Photo by Wolfgang Rottmann This story was first published in the Open Field Undergraduate...