What’s in a name, really. Cindy? Garth? Veronica, Beth, Bryant. Then there is me: short, fat, black-haired. My name is Violet. “There’s power in a
“Fascinating!” I hear Joe’s sarcastic voice. “Best view of the Caribbean!” “Mediterranean,” I correct. Joe has no appreciation for art, and no patience for art
I stared blankly at the cascading folds of violet cloaking my sight from the blazing street surrounding us. The wisteria tree was the only living
The passing of her beloved grandfather had signalled the beginning of the end of the joyous Spring awakenings for Zelda. No more wondrous days with
“You know, you’ll never really know if anyone is friendly if you don’t step out of your comfort zone and try.” Martie’s mother was beautiful
Light travels faster than sound. A second before the explosion, her face reflected the dull lavender glow of the fireworks which set the sky alight.
Grandma Zhao cranes her neck over to her neighbors’ garden; forever glued with ever-sprouting hues of cerulean and green and yellow. Bright, optimistic, enviable. Then
“You know why I admire wisteria so much?” my friend Melody used to ask, pointing to the stubborn vines clinging to the trees. The air