Category: 16th Edition
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Brenden Stock is currently a Creative Writing Major at Lindenwood University. When Graduating from Lindenwood University in Spring 2024, he will have earned his BFA in Creative Writing and a minor in Anthropology. He deeply enjoys writing and photography and is overjoyed to be featured in this publication.
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Cuffley, EnglandAugust 15, 1910 The smell of a campfire was Cascadia’s perfume. Heat-warped air drifted up past a kettle hanging low over the flame. The welts on her body from her prize fight in London had long faded away, but the bruises on her knuckles remained. Those were renewed with increasing regularity as her brother’s…
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Thanksgiving dinner, Laid out on the table. Turkey and potatoes, Noodles, gravy, Rolls and cranberry sauce, Stuffing and casserole. Pies set out for dessert, And whipped– “Hey, cat! Stop eating that!” Kaya Bain is a homeschooled high school senior planning on studying engineering in college. She is currently taking dual-enrollment classes at Lindenwood University. In…
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Set me free from this prison– one built of my flesh and bone! Skin aches to breathe, I deny it. The chest it burns, lungs they scream! Limbs are skinny, limbs are weak. Curves of a woman, no man! Parts missing, parts too many. I wish to cut! To be free! “It’s what’s in your…
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I hear the whisper of a midnight raven, and a memory starts to unfold— a living nightmare awakens! Is it death, or a prophecy to behold? I listen to the ocean, and before the moon I cry, drowning in sickness and desire, is it better to live or to die? My organs suffocate in neon,…
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There’s a thickness in my throat, a shallowness in my breathing as my lungs contract. My chest is heavy, like it’s been filled with sludge, and my shirt is stuck to my skin with blood and sweat. Lifting my head is futile; I’ve been here for too long. I’m too tired. My neck aches under…
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Winner of the 2024 Linda Ross Award for Creative Writing “The thing you are most afraid to write. Write that.” – Nayyirah Waheed Part I: The Roots My mother’s roots began in a place called the “White Lily Orphanage” in South Korea. From there her roots expanded across the ocean to reach within the…
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The sky unfolds and I watch the rain fall, Cars pass me by idly through the storm, Despite the bite of the wind, my heart is warm– For this is the beauty of autumn, the beauty of fall. Dancing drops and the rumbling of clouds, Red, brown, and gold the leaves they turn, This chilling,…
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“Small towns tend to have big rumors, Nathan Jr.” Farmer Henry stopped and positioned his shoulders to look at his young new farmhand. “But in this case I reckon they’re right.” His chest heaved with a laugh, and Nathan Jr. drew an eyebrow up in concern. “You look stiff, Mr. Henry; are you alright?” Farmer…
Arrow Rock Literary Journal 