I still speak to my dead dad, call his name when I’m alone, yet phone conversations with my grieving mother drip with dark, heavy silence.

Austin Eichelberger just keeps writing.

The 14-year-old swiped mascara on her friend’s eyelashes with a practiced hand.
“My eyes feel all sticky now.”
“Hush, you’re beautiful.”

Lydia Stevens enjoys writing and summer sunsets in Michigan.

There was no sudden shiver, no tingling sixth sense. The night you died, I suspected nothing. Didn’t feel a thing.

Still don’t.

Kelsey Sorge’s (@kelseysorge) resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Funny thing about memories while you’re dying: as they flash in your head almost concurrently, you acknowledge that it was always about you.

Miguel Paolo Reyes is a researcher from the Philippines.

I always crawled into my mom’s bed when I’d had a nightmare. Now I have nowhere to crawl, and the monsters aren’t under my bed anymore.

Molly Mullen is a high school student from Dearborn, MI, who enjoys writing to express herself. Find her at @mollymaeeee on Instagram.

At night, you dial a number you used to know. You ask if it remembers you running your fingers through her hair, how it fell out like stars.

J. Bradley lives at jbradleywrites.com.

They lay in bed side by side.
“The candles were nice,” she said.
“It was just one candle,” he said.

Joanna Arnow (@arnowjo) is a filmmaker. Her most recent films are BAD AT DANCING and I HATE MYSELF :)

After the tornado, Dorothy cobbled shoes from splinters, made a path through rubble and walked, dust like rouge across her cheeks.

Lisa Ahn (@Lisa_Ahn) writes quirky fairy tales from a small desk in a house filled with coffee, pets and kids.

I watched our apartment burn, praying I’d shut off the stove.

Andrew Dolbeare (@adolbeare) writes lies.

The broken body of a yellow bird. I found it outside my house. “I will make marshmallows in your image,” I whispered.

Marcus Haugen has been described as “pretty laid back.”