Short Story
The Birth of Seren Dipity. Content Warning.
As any comic book aficionado knows, every superhero origin story requires three key elements. The first is trauma. Sarah Divine had thought long and hard about how she wanted to end her life. It was a choice between a razor and pills. She wasn’t sure she would be successful with the former, but with her access to medicine at the hospital, she was confident that a cocktail of chemicals would do the job. If it was good enough for rockstars and actors, it would suffice for a nurse nobody noticed. Still, she used the blade, too. Everyone loves a trier, right?
By Leo Dis Vinci2 years ago in Fiction
Mama's Superhero. Runner-up in Epic Beginnings Challenge.
Mama tells me I’m her superhero. She tells me I am strong, brave, and kind, even when I don’t feel like it. She says, “That’s ok, I’ll help. I can be brave for you until you can stand against the monsters.” She is brave for me a lot.
By M. A. Mehan 2 years ago in Fiction
Humpy Dumpy And His Amazing Jumpy Shoes
Hi, my name is Humphrey, but you can call me Humpy Dumpy. I am 4, and I am a hero, a SUPER hero! I got that name yesterday, (actually a month ago - 4-year-olds remember in dog years, but backwards), anyway, that's when I saved all the kids in my class from a terrible disaster.
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden2 years ago in Fiction
Paul: A New Kind of Hero
When Paul was a little boy, he was shy and clumsy. The other kids would make fun of him, saying he wouldn't ever be anyone great. Sometimes Paul believed them. He was afraid to say what he thought or how he felt. He was just there. But he knew one thing, deep down inside of him, he had really big dreams. But of course, these were just dreams.
By Judith Jascha2 years ago in Fiction
Sweet Justice. Content Warning.
Swan River, at the chocolate factory with my family. Palms sweaty. I don’t like family outings. My knees buckling as I watch my father in line, ordering more and more. Two boys. They’re behind me. They poke. Come this way nerd. I… follow. Eyes darting. Where are they taking me? Bam. My heels in the air as I plunge deep. It’s warm. Sticky. I begin to drown. Chocolate? Gasping I come to. My father giving me CPR. Chocolate mixed with blood hurdling out my lungs. I’m home now. 3am. I feel so nauseous. Furious. I vomit. The sugar rush makes me dizzy. Delirious I stumble into the hallway. Stumbling I smash my mirror. Why me! I wasn’t bothering them! Pixelating vision I feel my body heating up. Maybe the nausea. Maybe… Blackout. I lie in bed watching the news. Teenagers have been hung. How horrible. 2 boys aged 15 brutally beaten, hung like pinatas. Their feet surrounded by candy wrappers. Can’t trust anyone. Tuesday 6am. I’ve been vomiting for 7 days. The news hits. Bloodied images flood my screen. More teenagers. Eshays. Hung up with wrappers at their feet. What a sicko. One photo steals the spotlight. The guy. They got a photo of him… or it? He’s hideous. Slimy, piercing eyes… dirty? He’s covered in …mud? Yet… he’s huge. Like a yeti. Wrappers all over. More video footage. The creature lifting boys above his head like stuffed toys. Snap. Their necks gone like chicken bones. All the victims. Teenage boys? I better stay home. My stomach nauseous. I better sleep. Rolling over I hear a crunch. My pocket? I pull it out and... gasp. A candy wrapper? My head spinning out of control. I haven’t left the house all week? My stomach cries. Head foggy…wait, did I...? Blackout.
By Anna Harrison2 years ago in Fiction







