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I took the yellow powder in my hands and gently sprinkled it on the cupcake. I handed it to my sister. “Take this with you” I said. She turned around picked up her leather suitcase and marched out the door. I shut the door and took a deep breath. And threw the rest of the powder over my right shoulder. “Please” I whispered, “please”
By Bob Gurni on 08.21.2015
Oneword, I need you like a drug, a magic powder, because you make me feel like a writer when I’ve misplaced my vocabulary, when I can’t remember what it was like to spew words at night to polish off in the morning, when I need to look up words’ meanings and synonyms and query the internet to jiggle my wires, so that by the end of the day I have managed a great paragraph…
By Nada on 08.21.2015
As she gazed out upon the landscape, she saw the snow covering the fields, like a powdery, magical blanket just waiting for someone to wrap themselves in while sitting in front of a cozy fire.
By Alaina on 08.21.2015
There once was a powder that could make people have magic powers. One day a company took it all and would sell it for billions which no many could afford.
By Brittany on 08.21.2015
It was everywhere. White covered carpets and vanities. Along with a brunette standing at the mirror, hair covered in white powder.
“Mason!” she wailed through the house “Did you loosen the cap on my dry shampoo?!”
By Michaela URL on 08.21.2015
The white powder dropped into the cauldron as the which cackled. This would make her the fairest of everyone and take the magic of the land.
By Coy URL on 08.21.2015
The powder room is the first door on the right.
By Becca Seale on 08.21.2015
Powder cakes on her face. Puff, puff, puff. More powder, more layers. More, more, more. More powder, more power. She fights in her own way. Fight, fight, fight. The powder makes her sneeze. Achoo, achoo, achoo. And then she sees a reflection of the knife glinting behind her.
By Stephanie URL on 08.21.2015
I’ve got great sea legs, for lack of a better term. I wipe the powder from my credit card and lick the residue off my fingertip. BOOM. Turbulence. My last dram of coke now banished to the wasteland of the carpeted bathroom floor.
By asavas URL on 08.21.2015
Somedays I slipped out of bed early in the morning, you grumbled and so did I, but “drugs don’t make themselves” I would say, toeing my sneakers on in a hurry, as I rushed to my pharmacology lab.
During the day-long chemical synthesis, the hours between steps 3 and 4, I thought of you, and wondered how your mornings were without me. Did you still lay in bed waiting to wake with the rise of the sun, or did you leave just as easily as I did, without regard for the rumpled sheets.
By Anna Meursault on 08.21.2015
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.