(I wrote this and submitted on accident without logging in. I tried to delete that prompt and rewrite it here.)

Last night I stood on my balcony overlooking Central Park. My skin tightened under the charcoal face mask, and I could practically feel my pores shrinking. The air was stale and thick, but the twinkling city lights calmed me.

This morning, I found myself standing in the smallest city c...

“Tonight will be our last sunset. You will never see me again.”

I watched the ocean’s rhythmic waves crash into the rocky shore before me. Its normally soothing sounds deafened me. I could taste the salty, ocean air on my tongue. Time slowly brought out a waning moon and the distant stars. “One last sunset,” I whispered to myself. “We were supposed to have one last sunset.”...

Some things never change. A leopard’s spot, a zebra’s stripes, my mother’s hatred toward my father. She let him destroy her, and she took me down with her. It wasn’t until I was older that I truly understood her grief. She let it build within her, like a fire that threatened to take everything around her down, and that included me. She burned me when she self-destructed. I tried to understand her ...