Stream of Consciousness

Avery A fiction story My grandma was old — well, all grandmas are relatively old — but mine was nearly in her ninth decade of life. Calloused fingertips, cheeks stamped with sunspots acquired from her days under the blazing sun, and sagging eyelids covered in blotches...  But I never let her appearance hinder my appreciation for her imagination – every time she spoke, it was with such profundity and raw experience that I never missed her story-telling.  Mom and dad worked late, so grandma was the only one who took care of us after we came home from school. A few nights, when I didn’t have too much homework or when swim was cancelled, she’d let us travel with her to Philadelphia, Vancouver, New York, Japan. Not literally – we didn’t have the money.  Sitting in a heap of blankets with Tommy and Aaliyah, amid Elmo stuffed animals and plastic ponies, nothing else mattered but what she chose to enlighten us with for that particular night. Tonight was Alaska.  ...

  Avery   When I first embarked on the arduous journey known as middle school, I entered with mere acquaintances as opposed to friends and a desire to find my “bff.” Placed at the same table in Mrs. Meyer’s (the same teacher mentioned previously) class, the shy smile of a girl named Rayna instantly caught my attention. Drawn together by a mutual interest in art, we formed an inseparable bond quicker than Vincent Van Gogh could say “Starry Night.” Together, we learned how to play the flute, took a trip to Venice beach, and made an unhealthy amount of inside jokes during sleepovers.  However, in a few months’ time, our social circle expanded, making room for Nicole, Robin, and Dana; we called ourselves the “fab five.” Just as Rayna and I had bonded with one another in such a short duration of time, so did the fab five (a name I now find too cringey to say without grinning). For the remainder of sixth grade, I had a clan, a coterie, a clique. Having a group t...

Christina My heart was pulsing rapidly within my chest and my clammy hands were trembling by my sides. Deep within my mind, I knew that I was thoroughly prepared, but I couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. What if I stutter? What if I forget? What if I run out of time? All of these uncertainties, these “what ifs,” formed a haze within my brain that intimidated me far more than the staring, well no, glaring, panel of judges. Most importantly, I wondered what if I don’t win? After all, I had spent almost an entire year preparing for this moment: the annual Global Stock Pitch Competition in New York City. My partner Lauryn and I had been preparing for this competition for months, and it all started with selecting a publicly traded stock on the U.S. Stock Exchange. In fact, I clearly remember our conversation from that day: “What stock should we pick? A pharmaceutical company? An oil company? What about a retail company?” Going back and forth, we weighed and debated our options...

Avery Fiction story written 11/13/18, a few days following the tragic Borderline shooting and Woolsey fires, two events that shook our community and altered my outlook on life. This short story is one of many that I would like to share, and it is one I had actually forgotten about until now. It's no masterpiece, but it is something that best reflects my state of mind during November of 2018. I wanted to write something that highlights the detriments of materialism and how items offer no true source of peace or joy, because ultimately, they are fleeting.  <><><> Ten minutes.  That’s it? For seventeen years’ worth of belongings? Insane, are they?  Isabella Beaumont – a girl with a mellifluous name who garnered the attention of lovestruck boys and envious girls – scrambled; but not the way she did on Black Friday or when police sirens echoed from a distance during a round of beer pong at Sally’s, but in a way that drained each and every ou...

Christina **This is another random narrative that I wrote. Enjoy! Her eyes glistened and lit up as I walked through the door. She looked exactly as I last remembered her all those decades ago. Sure, deep wrinkles now characterized the skin beside her eyes and perhaps her cheeks weren’t as glossy as before, but to me her appearance hardly mattered. It only mattered that I was finally there. There were no longer any barriers of distance or drama between us, and our relationship, our friendship returned back to its pure, innocent self which we experienced all the way back in grade school. I sat in front of her wondering where all the years had gone and recounting all the days we spent together in the past. All the memories were flooding back to me at once: the time we ran to class thinking that we were late when in reality, we were early or the time we laughed so hard that drool dripped off our chin and snot flew out of our noses. Suddenly, her voice jolted me from this pensive...