Post- Magazine Narrative

these walls remember [narrative]

By Jedidiah Davis | March 12

Houses are living things. Maybe not quite as sentient as Encanto’s Casita or the literal living house in Monster House, but they have hearts—a pulse beating through the pipes, a unique personality built into the walls, memories ingrained in the foundation. There's credence to the saying, home is ...

unrooted [narrative]

By Helen Xie | March 12

I stand in the kitchen of my off-campus apartment, staring at the lumpy sack of Japanese sweet potatoes on the counter. The shape is wrong. They are smaller than the ones Mom buys from the Asian Food Markets back home, their skin covered in little scabs as if they’ve made a hard journey to get here. ...

in the glow of the screen [narrative]

By Elijah Puente, Katheryne Gonzalez, Jessica Lee, Tabitha Lynn, Emilie Guan and Susanne Kowalska | March 5

let’s go to the movies

post- cards [narrative]

By Sarah Frank | March 5

Imagine your text messages were for sale. Imagine a girl, much younger than the usual patron of an antique store, digging through a box of your most intimate correspondences. Imagine she buys them, takes them home, and tries to piece together what you might have been trying to say—who you might have ...

i'm moving out [narrative]

By Benjamin Herdeg | February 26

At the start of school, everyone said they had moved out of their homes to come to Rhode Island. I didn't move much. Two suitcases: a few sweaters, sheets, New Balances, a bottle of wine that was finished in a week. Toiletries. My home was in Connecticut. It was close, so close that I didn't bring much. ...

the art of flower arranging [narrative]

By Sarah Frank | February 26

I don’t believe in signs, but then again maybe I do.

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my favorite visitor [narrative]

By Ana Vissicchio | February 19

“Freshly 21!”

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providence in 20! [narrative]

By Lynn Nguyen | February 19

Soft, hazy flashes of warm oranges and yellows paint the window, leaving speckled imprints in my memory that recede with the ever-changing images of infinite leaves. Humming reverberates from where I gently rest my head against the wall—an illusion that I am hearing the spirit of atoms themselves. ...

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why i journal [narrative]

By Jasmine Willoughby | February 12

People are hoarders of various things. Some collect antiques, dolls, shoes, or clothes; some dedicate their entire lives to the unfulfilling quest of storing mounds of money. I guess you can call me a hoarder of memories, of experiences. I am a journal enthusiast. Nothing delights me more than using ...

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winter's blanket [narrative]

By Gabrielle Yuan | February 12

The red bench stands out in the stark whiteness. The tarp above, which sits at a slight tilt from the weight of the fallen snow, protects the bench from icy remnants. The steady shiver of my hands, a few brave fingers dangling out of my parka, is perhaps a sign of the harshness of winter. If I tasted ...

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maffa way [narrative]

By Joseph Maffa | February 5

There is a street in Charlestown that carries my last name. A small bypass that converges Broadway and Mystic Ave into that infamous Sullivan Square rotary, Maffa Way stretches a quarter mile at most. Despite its unassuming length, I would guess that this is one of the most frequently traveled roads ...

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anchored [narrative]

By Vanessa Tao | February 5

tw: suicidal ideation

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24 hours in Toronto [narrative]

By Sarah Frank | December 5

I was sure that something would go wrong. I had never left the country before, and I convinced myself that the moment my passport was checked, I would discover that I was living a lie. Perhaps my name wasn’t actually my name. Maybe I had unknowingly committed a crime. Maybe they’d arrest me right ...

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a century well loved [narrative]

By Ana Vissicchio | December 5

20 years. In January, it’ll be 21. That feels like a long time, probably because I have nothing longer to compare it to. But this weekend, I came pretty close.

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a love letter to apples [narrative]

By Lynn Nguyen | November 22

With the pastel blue peeler—its slightly rusted metal speckled with black, remnants of the countless fruits and vegetables eaten, cooked, and shared by my mom and grandma—I shaved the ombrés of scarlet red and golden yellow off seemingly innumerable apples. The precise, crisp peels revealed a smooth, ...

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i wanted to see how long i could go [narrative]

By Benjamin Herdeg | November 20

I was on a bike ride down the hill. It was finally getting colder. It felt like I had pennies in the back of my throat. I shivered in my unzipped coat and slowed as it parachuted larger. But the incline pitched steeper, and I kept pedaling. I wanted to see how fast I could go.

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what we inherit [narrative]

By Michelle Bi | November 13

I decided when I was six that my favorite color was blue. Blue like the far-off horizon as I perched at the peak of the playground slide. Blue like the crayon I clamped in my small fists, coloring in lakes and rivers and seas. Blue like the eyes of the girl next door.

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echoes of autumn [narrative]

By Ana Vissicchio | November 13

I try to catch myself. As the autumn leaves start to fall, sometimes it feels like I do too.

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about fire [narrative]

By Nina Lidar | November 7

Afterward, the breeze stirred the ash and the ash settled back down. The breeze tried again. And again. And—whooohhh. When the flakes lifted, something small and bright and green trembled under the new caress of the mildest rays.

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i missed my sister's call last week [narrative]

By Benjamin Herdeg | November 6

My sister called me last week, but I didn't pick up. She texted that she wanted to talk. But then I forgot.