Month of August '26
Work from participant
Week 1: A snowstorm traps two strangers in a bus station
The wind howled outside the glass, the branches of trees among the endless forest rubbing against each other. But inside the station, the silence was louder. Sam sat on a plastic bench, clutching a ticket to a city he no longer wanted to visit, small tears forming from the strength of her grip. Across the aisle sat a woman in a fur coat, staring at the departure board as if the numbers would go any faster.
"The 8:15 is cancelled," she said, looking at everything but him.
"I know," Sam replied. "Everything is."
She finally turned, their gaze meeting at the eyeline. "I have a thermos of coffee and nowhere to be. If you have a deck of cards, we might survive the night." Sam smiled and reached into his bag. "I have gin rummy. It’s not much, but it’s better than freezing."
My work
Week 2: A character writes a poem about a lost pet
I still leave the hallway light on,
a small, electric vigil against the indifference of the dark.
I catch myself listening for the click of claws on hardwood—
that syncopated, familiar rhythm that once soothed my evenings—
but the house has learned a new, unfamiliar silence.
Grief for you is a quiet thing.
It hides in the corners where your fur gathered like gray snow,
in the hollow of the sofa cushion that still remembers your weight.
I speak your name to the empty air,
half-expecting for you to appear,
and return what it mistakenly subtracted.
You were not a child, nor a sibling,
but you were the keeper of my unspoken days,
the silent witness to my solitary weeping.
Now, you are a geography of absence,
The house empty
My hands open,
No longer having anything to stroke.
Work from participant
Week 3: A child discovers a door in the attic that wasn’t there yesterday
Leo was looking for his missing baseball when he climbed into the attic. He knew the terrain by heart: the dusty trunk, the broken lamp, the stack of National Geographic magazines. But today, the geography had changed. Between the trunk and closet door stood a door.
It was small, painted with vibrant, glossy colors, angles floating around, reflecting like the walls of versaille. It certainly hadn't been there yesterday when he’d helped his mother store the Christmas decorations. Curious, Leo reached out, his heart palpitating against his ribs and out of his chest. The brass knob was warm to the touch, vibrating slightly, but standing behind the door remained unknown.
Work from participant
Week 4: Two friends take a road trip with no map.
"Left or right?" Jess asked, her foot heavy on the gas pedal of the beat-up convertible.
"Left," I shouted over the wind, tossing the unopened map into the back seat. "Maps are for people who care about arriving."
Jess laughed and yanked the wheel. The tires screeched on the asphalt as they turned onto a two-lane highway that didn't even have a number. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of gas station slushie orange and purple.
"We have half a tank of gas and three bags of beef jerky," I noted. "Where are we sleeping tonight?"
"Wherever we stop," Jess grinned. "That's the whole point!”