Illustration by Laura Endy It was cold. Amber watched as the leaves fell slowly down from the trees and onto the sidewalk. They moved around her feet and across the grass to her neighbour's lawn. She pulled the sleeves of her orange sweater down over her hands to try and fight the biting wind. She watched as some little boys from the neighbourhood played football in the street. One of them fell down, and she took a step forward to help him up, but he was soon back on his feet
Photo by Abbie Bradford It was the summer of sunsets. The summer of joy and love, and most of all, new life. And that very July, that hot summer of 1999, Elizabeth was born. A sun kissed baby they said, like God had shed his golden-sun tears on her.
Newborn: Nobody remembers what their life is like as a baby. I do imagine though. My mother watching my hair grow in, in her lounge chair at the lake. She would caress my face, and she remembers when I first smiled at her, earl
I remember the icy chill of a pale pink glass against my warm brown skin. The sweltering heat of a Southern Arizona summer. “Dasia.” My name from her lips was more of a question than a title.
Nonetheless, I turned around to face her. She was still, standing in the open doorway. Cool air leaked through and I could almost hear the hum of an air conditioner, the bustle of women gathered around to discuss horror novels and honey scented candles.
“Yeah?” I asked, instinctively
That’s how sure he is of how invincible we are — or maybe it’s just in my head. Art by Grace Mazzucchi Wind blows through my hair, and I laugh out loud throwing my hands in the air. The wind blows stronger and stronger until it’s a roar in my ears. Payson sits beside me in the driver’s seat, his foot pushing harder on the gas pedal with each passing second. I know we’re being reckless, that at any minute a cop car could pull up beside us, but we don’t care. We’re free in thi
Art by Andreya The plane takes off, and I can barely breathe. I feel it vibrate under my feet. “Do not pass out. Do not pass out,” I keep telling myself. The boy next to me doesn’t even look up from his magazine, doesn’t even notice when the plane evens out and the turbulence ends. When I can finally remove my hands from the armrests, I turn and look at him. He glances up briefly in my direction, before looking back down at this magazine.
I want to