Creative Writing Stories


Listening as best I can to the teacher’s tense voice while studying her shadowed, sunken eyes, I fancy I glimpse the outline of my own profile being penciled into a sketchbook, but purposely don’t look any closer, or ask for clarification.

We rotate desks to face each other in groups. You sit still, staring at me brazenly for an oddly long ten seconds before I finally return the rather impudent gaze and ask, reddening, “What?”

“I haven’t seen your face from the front before,” you say, and I guess I can’t contest that.

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