by Ruby Castañeda EDITOR’S NOTE: This is a multi-media piece with several things highlighted in black. To read what has been highlighted, simply copy what has been highlighted and paste it in another document, or the Google Search Box. Troy’s face changes from a catatonic expression to one of pure horror. HAROLD Oh God… oh […]
“Mama, do you miss the Sun?” I try to ask as inquisitively as possible. Her eyes shine with that artificial glow from above as she stares out into the field we’re standing in. The languid grass under me grazes my barren ankles. Mama said grass used to be vibrant green and had a distinct sort
If Only the Sun Shone Read More »
All I needed was a comeback. They had run me out of France, but I could not be kept away from fashion. Living life in Switzerland with an old German officer was not for me. I was bored out of my mind and fashion needed women to rebel once again. Men should not dress women.
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On the eighth of April, a solar eclipse shed fleeting darkness on the countryside and my father sold the family car to a man who looked like Grandpa. I could tell because when my mother and I peeked through the living room shades, which were tinted yellowy-orange by street lights, I saw that the man
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The poetry collection was written by Kori Harris, the 2024 non-fiction editor for Draft 303.
“Road to Gascón”, by Eva Alcaraz-MonjeBased on true events, dialogue translated from Spanish. The clunking giant shakes as it trudges along the dirt path, encountering every rock that stabsitself in the rubber of the thick wheels. You can feel it most in the backseat, yet Praga is lulledsoftly to sleep in her baby carrier next
“She was an astronaut.” He said, staring at me with the coldest, deadest eyes I think I hadever seen. “Why do you keep saying that?” I asked again. This was, like, the twelfth time withinforty minutes.He turned to me and just pointed to the picture frame with his late wife once more. Ifinally got up
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At the center of sprawling fields, the drone of cicadas and soft thunk of blades hittingripened crops go on in a ceaseless repetition. As the unforgiving sun bears down, it feels asthough my skin might crack and shrivel in imitation of the small tufts of grass growingthroughout the field. Sweat has already soaked through my
Freeing. Scared. Cold. The ocean is a mystery to me and a recently discovered fear. After seeing images of thelarge bodies of water that surround us, countless shark movies and a couple of close calls, Inever really enjoyed being in the ocean for too long. However after watching people race into theshallow waters of Fort
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Howard Smith—his friends call him Howie—can’t go up nor down without help. It ispeculiar, really, but he makes it work. At the time of his birth, he weighed nothing. The midwife pulled him out, and he justhung in the air. She called in other doctors on the hospital floor, and they stood there,experimenting with minutes-old
