The Book

I’m already sitting in the grass, cross-legged, when you meet me after class. “I’m sorry,” I say as you sit. “I forgot your book.”

“Bring it Thursday.” You smile. “We’re almost done. I can’t wait.”

The rest of campus trudges past. I’ve had your favorite book for months—and I’m not forgetting it so much as I’m scared to give up this piece of you, the only one I have. “Won’t you miss this, once we’re done?” I ask. “It’s our last finals week.”

“Maybe someday,” you say, and look away.

In the evening sun your white t-shirt turns golden.

From Guest Contributor Natalie Schriefer

Natalie received her MFA from Southern Connecticut State University. She works as a freelance writer and editor. Home base: www.natalieschriefer.com

The Gladiator

He was a Gladiator, slaying every question with his answers. Judges admired him as the Atlas lifting our team. At first, I pitied for our status, consequently he hoarded us.

I couldn’t even try to lift my head because of my shame. He slogged us into the finals. In the finals, we had partaken and led our way to the trophy till the judge asked our last question. The sound of the question holed my heart, other team was celebrating their win, already.

A voice raised from our side answering the question. That spotless answer navigated us to the trophy.

From Guest Contributor Vivek Vr

A Rational Rebuttal To The Philosophy Of Futility

Eric got up from his table, leaving his philosophy books sprawled across the surface. Cramming for the test at this juncture was a futile gesture. He was certain Paul Nystrom would agree, but it wouldn't help him ace this test.

He'd heard of one student from several years back who aced his finals with a single sentence. "What's the point?" He'd gotten the only A in his class.

He also knew of at least two students who tried the same trick last year, and they'd both failed.

Philosophy professors love all ideas, except the one that questions their own validity.