Gwyneth Atkinson remembers her distaste for growing up and her longing to live a simple, joyous life, full of adventure.  I never had much interest in growing up. As a way of being, it seemed lofty, tense, and brutal. As an adult now, I can say that it very much can be, but I acquiesce that there is more exhilaration in navigating your possibilities than I thought there would be. When I was nine years old, I realized I would not be a child forever. I wouldn’t be so blithely l

Upon pondering the meaning of life, the philosophy of being, and the best toppings to put on a ham and cheese sandwich, I was faced with a terrible conundrum. More terrifying, I assure you, than the potential atrocities that could be bestowed upon my fictitious ham and cheese sandwich. Fictitious, you may ask? Alas, alack, woe is me – I have been caught! There never was a ham and cheese sandwich, or, at least, I didn’t encounter one during my linguistic crisis. Though, I supp

Shall I compare thee to an airplane  in the night sky, amongst a field of shooting stars.  I lie upon the grass where brisk winds pass, the earth still temperate beneath my quiet frame; the sky stretched as wide as an unending sea, and I, its sole observer in the dark.  Above, thou lies a path through this maze of stars, thy scarlet light beams soft and slow— like some small heart suspended in the night, a distant pulse that unlocks something within.  The songs within mine e

Instead, we sit together beside the sunset, the moment and I.  We are having what’s left together  in that ephemeral yet timelessly mesmerizing glow, respecting each other’s presence,  in the shadow of fleeting clouds  already settling into memories.  All the stars can align.  I’m giving them my time, my captivated eyes. For once, let’s forget the distance between us, and sit quietly beside me.  I won’t name you a miracle  or ask you to stay—  only to exist with me,  as the n

The following is a transcript of a speech delivered at the Lycée Concours D'eloquence, which took place on February 5, 2026. It won the People's Choice and Best Performance awards. Welcome to the time store, come one, come all! One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish, wide, thin, up, down, spinning in circles or flat on the ground! We’re your one stop destination for predestination, your little slice of reason – with a capital R – that separates nothing from nothing, heaven

The following is a transcript of a speech delivered at the Lycée Concours D'eloquence, which took place on February 5, 2026. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, We’re told we’re free. Free to choose our future. Free to become anything we want.   Apparently, I’m free, But freedom is limited; it doesn’t come with any old get-out-of-jail-free card.   And if we’re really so free, why does choosing feel so terrifying?   Before we argue about free will, let’s define it. Free will u

You  Life is happening for you, not to you.  Each misstep, each pitfall, and each obstacle  Only empower you.  Only if that's how you see it of course. You  Will encounter struggle. There is no doubt that destruction, despair, and darkness Will follow you.  The type of uneasiness, weariness, that snatches the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping in its wake. You  Will feel each and every offensive word like thorns raking across your skin, each one leaving a mark.  It w

Constable Hodgkins was not a particularly intelligent man, though not a particularly stupid one either. He belonged to that rather unfortunate category of people who spend their whole lives drifting about in the current without causing the slightest ripple on their own. He was a somewhat portly man of around fifty with dark, slowly graying hair and lips that had become stuck in a permanent frown from disuse. He had a curious way of communicating solely through small grunts an

Les gens m’appellent Leila. Ils n’ont pas tort, c’est le nom que mes parents m'ont donné, et je l'aime beaucoup. Néanmoins, la façon de présenter quelqu’un par son nom, son âge, et tout ce dont ils rêvaient dans une phrase semble un peu banal. Comment est-ce qu’on peut deviner la nature de quelqu’un par une expression, toute seule dans une jungle des mots? Alors, je vais essayer le mieux que je peux. Je suis une fille, d’à peu près seize ans, avec une adoration pour les human

Dear January, sweet old January  I hate you January  Out of all the months, you remain anything but cheery Finals, alarms, Redbull, assignments,  You make me want to hide in confinement  The solidarity of your presence  Feels like a punch in the face every single day And is completely absent of pleasance  Dear January  Next year, don’t be so scary Messy Desk. Photo via Courier Journal

There is nothing like being on stage. One may attempt to dispute this, but they would be decidedly wrong, in every sense of the word. To say the stage is unique is simply a fact. Of course, one may mistake it for a pithy epigram, but, once again, they would be mistaken. The stage is unlike any other human experience – a proscenium matchbox illuminated by nothing but the fluorescence of spotlights a life unto itself. The tech booth above is heaven, the orchestra pit hell, and

It was a full moon, the iridescent light reflecting off the surface of the waves and shining through to the bottom of the lagoon. Here, under the cover of darkness and waves, shadows elongate and shift like the tides of the sea. This is the place where creatures come to satiate their hunger and devour their dinners. This unique restaurant is called…. “Fast FOOOOOOOOOOD,” famously named and known after its loooooooong menu. The eerie glow of green lanterns bobs with the curren

Funko This Is Fine Dog Pop! Vinyl Figure. Photo via Amazon In the real world  My world,  I’m always in the same position on my bed.  Against the waves,  Across the plains,  And my head resting against the cabinet,  Like it’s the only thing keeping me upright at 2:00 a.m.  Matter of fact, at my two- o’clock sits that Funko Pop.  “This Is Fine”,  Permanently calm  In a fire that never ends.  I don’t know if it’s supposed to be comforting  or mocking me.  I look at him,  And I c

The following is a hypothetical letter from Miriam to her dormitory neighbor, Augustus. Augustus has been playing loud music without fail every night for the past two weeks, and Miriam is trying to convince them to abolish this wretched habit, for both her sake and theirs.  My Dear Augustus,  Although you may not recognize my name, I assure you that with one another, we are quite familiar. If you are still befuddled, however – confused, dismayed, and unnerved – fret no longer

Alas the autumn leaves welcome me, With that ominous breeze, Pumpkins and candles, Multicolored leaves. When October comes around, I feel an electrifying resurrection, The weather, accompanied with a late dawn and early dusk. Always ignites a part of me. It’s a balancing opposition, Fall’s cozy crimson bronze and butterscotch hues Intertwine with my inner indigo and iris vines, I’m revitalized. October’s title, forever overshadowed by its darker twin. Haunting its narrative a

The ride from Paris to Versailles is not a long one. It is filled with tourists and Frenchmen alike, filing onto the rattling metal box through the picturesque countryside, lost in their own world as the train moves on. A child sits on the upholstered seats – scratchy and weathered beneath her supple skin. She places her head upon her mother’s lap, eyes wide open, resting as she watches the inhabitants of the train play out their scenes. Soon, or is it immediately – who can t

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