Leaves weaved into her hair, grass looking piercing but feeling soft, laced around delicate fingers, a celestial body that belonged among the stars lay nude among the imperfect earth that was dented with...

The wind howled through the trees and I shivered. It was not from the cold. Ahead of me was a forest, filled completely with darkness. With trembling fingers, I grabbed my elbows to give me something...

Casey Blank ran the tip of her finger down the edge of her Sunday paper.  There was something elegant to be found in Casey’s big ears and narrow chin, and her hair curled in a way that the earth seemed...

Ransom Riggs, the well-known author of the Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children series, included Atlanta, Georgia on his five city book release event to announce the most recent addition to his...

My room is covered in glow-in-the-dark stars, and when I get scared of dying, I imagine myself being absorbed into a black hole and refuting existence. I imagine my body combusting into stardust so that...

I stood atop the dew-covered path waiting for the summer sun to climb the sky. I was in my domain, over-looking the entire forest.  It was early, 7:00am, but that was the opportune time for capturing...

In the spring, we took a trip to the mountains, except that it was not so much a trip as it was a complete, tumbling, dangerous fall, and it was not so much the mountains as much as it was a moderately...

  It’s hard for me to think in color. I’m used to the dreams now. I’m sixteen years old, and I can still remember the nightmares I had when I was a little kid, where the monsters were...

Caragh O’Brien illustrates a dystopian society in The Vault of Dreamers in a manner similar to Scott Westerfield’s series, Uglies, and Veronica Roth’s series, Divergent. The Vault of Dreamers...

“I had a dream about you last night.” “What about?” It’s a question, but the way he says it makes it sound more like a statement. His voice is garbled, due to the way he uses his mouth like...

It started with less to do with the cigarette smoke that his father could smell on his breath, and more to do with the way he spoke of heaven: it started with “ifs”.  And then he spoke of God with...

Astrid checked his leather bound journal one last time: “June 3rd 1 PM, meet Anderson in the square north of the market” the entry read. “Right place, right time. I swear if he forgot-” Astrid...