Short Stories
Short stories are engaging narratives that often present a unique snapshot of life, exploring themes, characters, and emotions in a compact format. They allow readers to dive into imaginative worlds and experience a little piece of creativity, often leaving a lasting impression with their brevity and impact.
Early Worm
By Fia Sheffler
In Rome, the Metropolitan Capital and city in Italy, where you might have seen in ancient times gladiator fights. In this city is a street along with hundreds of others, the Street Via del Corso is the Street I live on. I wake up it is 4:00 in the morning, but as they say the “early bird gets the worm.” Frankly I don’t think that’s true, because if you dig a little, there’s a worm every hour. But still here I am awake at 4:00 am. So, I get ready for my day. I decide to go downtown today because the weather is nice for a spring day in April to go into the city to look around. I decide to go to the Spanish steps since it is near where I live. I perch near a bench since it is crowded. While I am there, I think of what to do next. I could go find something to eat, I could go to Trevi Fountain, but before I can decide I see a pair of tourists looking around frantically. I realize they are lost, so I approach them and ask what they are looking for, and if there is anything I can do to help. The tourists just look at me more confused. I don’t think they understand. The tourists reply, but I can’t understand them either. I see that the tourists have a map of Via Del Corso. On the map there is a circle around a place. Under the messily drawn red circle, I can read “Fontana di Trev”. So that’s what the tourists are looking for! But how can I show them the way?
The tourists start to walk away. I try to stop them, but they can’t understand what I am saying, so I tap one of the tourists on the back. The taller one of the tourists then whips around and looks at me, since I grabbed the tourists’ attention, I grab their map too. The shorter of the tourists yells as I yank the map from their hand, when they try to grab it back, I move away and point to their red circle drawn onto their map, and I point in the direction of the Trevi Fountain. The taller tourist yanks the map back and looks in the direction I pointed to. The tourists then look at me still confused, so I go to my plan B. I grab the map back from the taller tourists. I then take to the air and speed away. The tourists run at me yelling but I turn a corner still holding their map. The tourists catch up, so I take a shortcut towards the fountain. The tourists, now frantic, run faster towards me. As I turn the corner, the tourists stop and gasp as I stop right next to the fountain. The shorter tourist then runs at me and yanks their map back. But then the tourists stop again and walk up to the Trevi Fountain. They look at me then back to the fountain, then back at me again. The taller tourist then reaches in their pocket and pulls out a couple of coins, and hands one to the shorter tourist, and then the taller tourist bends down and hands a coin to me too. We then all toss our coins behind our backs into the Trevi Fountain and make a wish. I thank the tourists as they wave goodbye to me. I then fly away heading to find something to eat. It’s still only morning, but its 8:00 am now. Maybe there’s still a chance to get that early worm.
Short Story Competition
Falling Asleep
Gianni Parillo
As another day gets put in the books, I prepare myself for bed. The routine of brushing my teeth and slipping into my favorite silk pajamas, which look like a doctor’s casual wear, is natural as I am on the verge of turning eighteen years old. The beautiful orange light shines through my window as I lie down on my bed and carefully place everything in the right order to fall asleep. After scrolling through what my friends are looking at on Instagram and Snapchat, and finishing a series on Netflix, I close everything and fall asleep. As I am dozing off to the subtle swooshes of the maple tree just outside my window, I cannot help but reminisce about how horror-stricken an eight-year-old me was at the thought of even closing his eyes.
This one particular April evening, many moons ago, I found it especially difficult to fall asleep, lying there in my bed feeling the cool and crisp air. As a young spirit who usually spent his days running, jumping around in the park, and playing soccer, the notion of laying still for the next few hours was unbearable. I listened to the crackling and whistling of the wind outside, thinking it could possibly fuel my slumber, but to no avail. One sheep, two sheep. Nothing. The final ray of sunlight finally slivered away and disappeared into the night. A shiver came across my body as I found myself alone in the darkness. I could never fathom the thought of leaving my hands and feet outside the covers. It was just too dangerous. He... is watching and lurking in the shadows.
An hour passed, and then another. I tossed and turned but the grandfather clock in the den downstairs chimed ominously. A rhythm that kept me safe. A rhythm that gave me an assurance that time was still lurching forward. Not even the tiny piano steps of an ant could fool me.
My eyes had become accustomed to the darkness. Peering about the room, I mustered up the courage to swiftly reach over to my nightstand to satiate my dry throat. I guzzled from my water bottle and wished that I were a chameleon so that my eyes could scan the room in two different directions simultaneously. Suddenly, something outside my door caught my attention: a tall figure with a bushy beard. He was peering in my direction and seemed to be approaching. Terrified, I shrank straight under my covers as the bottle rolled noisily across the floor. I would have given anything to change my colors to blend in and disappear within the room.
Soon after, I needed to use the restroom. This was a big decision. Do I stay? Or do I go? Was the coast clear? Could I make a clean break? I needed to be brave. This needed to be done. Even though I was tiptoeing, my footsteps sounded like thunderous booms. I finished my business quickly and scurried back to my safe haven. More time passed, and I waited. The night noises grew increasingly tumultuous. Furniture, mirrors, and the clothes lying on the rackety old chair in the corner started shapeshifting. My teddy bear turned into a monster. I knew that there were other monsters, and they were getting into my head. I thought of the things they might do to me. I wondered where they could be hiding. There was no more tossing and turning.
I was petrified and just listened. The silence entering my ears was searingly hot and deafening. Where was the familiar sound of the maple branch scraping my window? Why could I not hear the seconds ticking away on that rusty old clock? All I could count on was the sound of my breath. My pillow fort would be my shelter and protection. I hid myself and curled into a ball, where I fell into a restless sleep.
All too soon, I was awake and too afraid to share my twilight ordeal with others. Night after night, the same story...
The Cranky Old Man
Kayla Bergen
Many know the Cranky Old Man to be a tyrant. The kind of person you go out of your way to avoid. Most assume that he has always been this way. Listen closely, and I will tell you about a time when the Cranky Old Man was favored everywhere.
“Harry! Over here!” Gerald called in an intense game of basketball. Gerald stood near the netted hoop with his arms up and ready to catch the basketball.
The Cranky Old Man, going by the name of Harry at the time, passed the basketball to Gerald. After a few dribbles, the ball was shot through the hoop.
“We did it!” Harry called, as the two high-fived. Harry’s voice left a slight echo in the deserted gymnasium.
The two boys had snuck away during their study hall to play basketball in their school's empty gym.
“Whoa!” Gerald said as he tried to steady his balance.
The ground had started to shake furiously. The sound of banners clattering to the ground echoed throughout the big space. Water bottles were knocking over, creating an echo-y bang.
Gerald was working hard to crawl across the slick floor, trying to make his way to one of the few doors leading outside of the building.
Harry looked around from his new spot, kneeling on the floor. He stayed where he was, analyzing the situation. Harry determined that there was about twenty feet between the two of them.
A loud noise prompted Gerald to stop crawling and look up in time to see a small meteor come crashing into the gymnasium, taking the space between them.
What happened? Harry wondered as he squinted through the darkness. He slowly got up from the ground, searching with his eyes for Gerald.
“Gerald!” He called into the darkness. The only sound left was the crickets outside. From the looks of it, night had come long ago.
“Gerald!” Harry called again. Again, Gerald did not answer.
Desperate, Harry ran around the meteor searching for Gerald. When he did not find Gerald, he ran. He ran into the chilly night air and the nearest forest. He kept running for what felt like an eternity.
Eventually, Harry came across an old, beaten-up cottage. Knocking without an answer, he decided it was abandoned. He slowly opened the creaky door and entered the old cottage.
Directly across from him was a stone fireplace that looked inhabited by several species of spiders. A lone, flimsy chair was set in front of the fireplace. Frying pans were hung on narrow hooks on the wall. A small cot was set up against the right wall with a small table in front of it, closest to the door. The left wall had an empty wardrobe standing against it. Next to that were tall, crooked, built-in shelves. The shelves appeared to contain a plethora of canned goods. Corn, Beats, Carrots, Peas…
The most disturbing thing was a big, scaled egg, shaking furiously on the table. Pieces of the shell were cracking, and a small talon was poking out on one side.
What is this? Wondered Harry, still trying to catch his breath from the long run.
A small horned head started to emerge from the top of the egg. The horns were stone gray, and the head was ruby red. The eyes, blinking as they adjusted to the light, were emerald, green.
My very own dragon, Harry thought, as a malicious smile spread across his lips.
What makes a hatter go mad?
Florence Jay
She wonders this as she approaches the shop where she's been assigned to work. Her brothers scared her, talking of deadly poisons and experiments gone wrong. But Mr. London was a nice man, albeit a bit odd. She settles into work quickly, surrounded by other apprentices, cutting and dipping beaver pelts in vats of chemicals she can't name. “What's in these?” She asks on a whim, and the older, more experienced apprentices laugh. One tall, gaunt young man cackles eerily and points to a skull drawn in the side of one of the barrels. “Poison.” He says, leaning towards her face. She backs up to Mr. London, who has just exited his office. He touches her shoulder gently and pushes the other boy away. “No need to scare young Eva, Sebastian. All that's in those barrels is mercury nitrate, dear.” He says she returns to work, a little hesitant to dip her hands into the barrels. Weeks pass, and her hands begin to tremble. She feels dizzy and sick whenever she goes to work. One night, the apprentices gather after hours and drink teaspoons of a silver liquid she can't name. She drinks as well, pressured by Sebastian and the others. Her illness gets worse, and she brings it to see things that aren't there. She opens her eyes and sees a doctor in a black bird mask leaning over her. “Mercury poisoning.” He says gravely to her father. She slips away into blackness, not wanting to hear his following words, though she already knows. One last thought floats into her mind as she gives in to the dark…
What makes a hatter go mad?
Love at First Sip
Haley Hegarty
Campbell Jenkins watched in horror as some guy picked up her Starbucks order from the counter…and took a sip of it.
She was already having a bad day. From her hair sticking to her forehead, even though she washed it last night, leaving her to sport a messy bun, to her mascara bottle running out—Cammy was a hot mess. Not to mention, her usually put-together self was wearing pajamas to class. Not even sweatpants. But from finals and college stress, her appearance was the last thing on her mind. She just needed her caffeine, her reward for even doing the bare minimum of her work today, to make her twenty-four hours of mid-term preparation torture…less…torture-y.
So, when a guy wearing frumpy grey sweatpants and a crewneck with messy, curly brown hair picked up her precious caramel macchiato with two pumps of white mocha and took a sip —Cammy was about to flip out. Then, just as she was starting to fume, he also picked up the brown bag carrying her warm, sweet, mouthwatering cheese Danish.
If this had been the first offense that had happened today, Cammy would not have minded and would have just ordered something else. But from a bad hair day, her mascara running out, and final exams stressing her out—and now some random guy taking her food and coffee—this was all just unacceptable.
With puffy bags of purple and blue painted under her eyes, such eyes that were begging for sleep, Cammy could barely even process what she was doing. School had been her focus this week, having spent hours flipping through flashcards, reading textbooks, and falling asleep with her head between the pages of her books. She had been stuck on a desert island of academia. But now, her mind was drained. Her once vibrant and motivated brain had become a hollow rock of nothingness—incapable of anything other than bland or rash thought.
This all resulted in Cammy approaching the order pick-up counter and saying, “I’m sorry. I think that’s my order,” to the back of the six-foot-two guy holding her precious macchiato with its dainty caramel swirled in the heavenly confines of the cup, as well as the mouthwatering pastry with the sugary sweet cheese delectably plopped in the center of the flaky Danish.
Although, her heart stopped when this man turned around. She was brought face to face with the guy who sits in front of her in one of her classes, otherwise known as Cameron Sawyer.
Campbell stared stone-faced at this familiar, yet not so familiar, man. Does she know who he is? Yes. Have they spoken any other words than just “Hey” or “Do you have an extra pencil?” No. Is she worried that he will recognize her because now she really regrets confronting him? Yes.
But as he stood, being as stoic as possible, with slightly scrunched eyebrows and set lips, Campbell realized he didn’t know who she was. There was no flash of recognition across his stern and unreadable gaze now focused down on her.
As thankful as she was at this moment that he had not recognized her, she could not help but notice her slight disappointment. She noticed everything about him. From how he would always only bring one pencil to exams, always wore the same blue pajama pants to class on Wednesdays, and how he styled his hair less and less as the week went on. She should have known it was him. After all, it is Thursday, and it looks like he just woke up and got out of bed, judging from the state of his wavy hair.
Cammy was left star-struck. She was sure she looked crazy just staring at him, with her eyes wide and mouth slightly open. You know those scenes in horror movies when the actor is brought face-to-face with the murderer? —Cammy’s face was like the tamed down, sleep-deprived-college-student version of that.
Her fumes of anger were smoked away into the aroma of coffee, embarrassment replacing her anger as her attire brought her back to where she was. She couldn’t believe Cameron was seeing her like this. As soon as he opened his mouth to speak, Cammy, with flushed cheeks and her head facing the ground, mumbled a less angered apology and rushed to the counter to reorder her coffee before she was embarrassed further.
She did not dare look back at him. Not only did she look homeless, but she also just acted like a full-on weirdo rushing away from him. Maybe if she ignored him, he would go away, and this could all be forgotten. Her head was spinning, not only from the desperation to sleep pounding into her head but also now from her inability to stand up for herself and get her coffee normally this morning.
She tried to keep her eyes fixated on the six people in line ahead of her, but her eyes betrayed her, slowly drifting over to him. When her eyes reached his, she noticed the confusion swirling in his blue painted irises. He was staring at her, studying her as if trying to understand a complicated biology chapter—the type of chapter that kept Cammy up all night and brought her here.
However, Cammy didn’t notice a hint of judgment or humor in his eyes; he looked…entranced and stuck in place as if her humiliating actions had frozen him in stone. Oh goodness, did she stun him? He still was not moving. With his head tilted and body directed towards her, his entire attention was planted on her.
Now, with guilt tumbling around in her veins for stunning this poor guy, Cammy stood in the line that led to a sip of happiness, feeling anything but excited for her drink. So, ignoring what her drained head begging for caffeine wanted, Cammy exited the line and walked over to him. She tried to smile and look somewhat normal to him, but she knew she just looked pathetic. He, on the other hand, looked perfect. Even with messy hair and sweats, he still looked presentable. If only she could pull that off herself.
As she approached, winds of wariness blew around inside her. She tried to think of what to say, but the thoughts cluttered her mind. How does one even speak after this? Should she say, “Sorry, I angrily approached you when you took my coffee”? Or maybe, “Sorry I walked off without explaining and then made you freeze in the warmest coffee shop in town”? There was no comfortable way to handle this. So, Cammy pulled together some courage, and her legs moved toward Cameron, even though her mind still told her to turn around.
“Hi, there,” was what she brilliantly blurted out when she approached him.
“Hi,” he replied, his eyes still scanning her, now raking over her face, but then he looked back at the cup and Danish. “Was this yours?”
Her eyes turned to look at the caramel temptation in his hand. “I think so,” she confessed, still seeing her name on the cup from when her name was given when she ordered it.
He chuckled. “I figured it wasn’t mine after I tasted caramel. I ordered a cold brew but only looked for my name before sipping it. The Danish was also a very welcomed surprise, but here it is,” he said, handing her her study break snacks. “Sorry about all this by the way. I will totally buy you a new coffee since I sipped the first.” He fumbled in his bag, pulled out a credit card, and then walked over to the counter. “Was it a caramel latte you ordered?”
“A caramel macchiato,” she corrected. “But seriously, that’s not needed. You don’t have to do that. I don’t mind drinking the one I have—” Before she could finish, Cameron was already walking away from her toward the line. Dread filled Cammy’s lungs as she quickly rushed to him in line. “I’m serious; you don’t need to do this. I think I’m just going to go back to my dorm.”
“Campbell, just let me get you your drink, okay?” he blurted, annoyance and a hint of aggravation tainted his voice. “You’re going to need it for this biology midterm tomorrow, and I won’t be the reason you’re too tired to study.”
Any other retort she was planning to say died on her tongue after he said her name. “You know who I am?”
He gave her a puzzled look. “Why wouldn’t I? We sit near each other in class. I know we haven’t formally spoken before, but I heard one of your friends say your name once. I also saw it at the top of your test when I was leaving the room.”
“Oh, ok.” That made sense, but it was not what she expected. Given the number of people in her lecture hall, she did not even expect him to recognize her face, However, they always sat relatively close to each other, so she supposed it was not a completely outlandish idea. Yet, romantic hopes bubbled inside her. What-ifs of him possibly noticing her because he liked her, not just because of a shared class, bounced hopelessly in her head. However, when wafts of vanilla, chocolate, and espresso fluttered through her nose, her mind was directed back to what was important. “How did we switch up coffees anyway? You said your name was on the cup?”
“Mine said ‘Cammy’ on it, so I figured the barista shortened Cameron to Cammy. But I’ve since figured out it was for Campbell,” he laughed. “I’m sorry for the mistake, Campbell, really. I guess I’m not fully awake yet. If I hadn’t been so stressed because of midterms, I probably wouldn’t have drunk your coffee.”
The explanation clicked in her mind. It was an honest mistake—one that she would most likely make herself.
“Hi, what can I get for you today?” cheered the bubbly barista at the counter, and Cammy had not even noticed that they had reached the front of the line.
Cameron ordered her coffee, as well as two coffee cakes, which Campbell selfishly did not tell him not to buy because she adored those things. Then, as she walked past the pickup counter, she found his actual coffee. “Is there a Cammy looking for a chocolate cream cold brew? Anyone?” she teased.
“Funny,” he said, rolling his eyes and grabbing his drink. He hesitated after picking it up unsure where to go from there. His eyes flicked from her then to where her coffee was being made and back again. He cleared his throat and asked, “Do you want to sit at a table while we wait?”
She could not be opposed to spending more time with him. Even disregarding her feelings, he just paid for her breakfast. “Sure, that sounds good.”
She sat in the booth, and he sat in the chair. They talked for five minutes about the test material before their stuff was ready and Cameron got up to bring it to her. “Now, I promise I didn’t drink out of your coffee this time,” he joked.
“Thank goodness for that,” she laughed, standing up to grab her coffee.
As much as she wanted to stay, she came here to get enough energy to study, something Cameron needed to do anyway so they do not fail their class. “I wish I could stay, but we should both get going. You know, big test tomorrow.”
“Yeah, yeah. Of course,” he said, yet he made no move to leave or say goodbye.
“Well, thank you for the coffee,” she smiled and lifted her cup slightly . “I’ll see you tomorrow, Cameron.”
She began to walk away, but he spoke. “Wait, wait. Just one thing.” He looked almost out of breath, and curious blue eyes beamed down on her. “Tomorrow…,” he paused, discontinuing his thought.
“Yes?”
“Would you maybe want to meet here again after the test? I enjoyed this time with you, and I’ve always seen you around campus. I was just wondering if—”
“Yes!” Cammy interrupted, immediately regretting her obvious enthusiasm after hearing him laugh. Calming her voice before she spoke, she said, “I meant that sounds good. I’d really like that.”
A grin washed over his face. “Perfect. I’ll see you here.”
“Yeah. Bye, Cameron.”
“Bye, Campbell.”
Campbell walked through the doors with two coffees and two bags of baked goods; the chilled frost of winter painted her skin with a rosy flush, adding to the flush already on her face for a completely different reason. She sipped her coffee, making her taste buds wish the time spent drinking the coffee would never end, just as she wished her time with Cameron never had to end. She looked back into the coffee shop, finding him still sitting at their table watching her.
He waved and smiled at her, and she returned the favor. The sweetness of her coffee and their time together had warmed her heart.