Essay about what it means to be brave. I talk about my experience with panic attacks, and focus on the particular experience of having one while hiking up a mountain in Italy for a class trip. This is a very personal essay, one that I'm very proud of both because of how it turned out and because of what I went through. It's non-fiction, obviously, and was written for class.

I was prepared for the airport security, for the pat-down and the anxiety, and for pretty much every other terrifying aspect of traveling alone for the first time. I wasn't prepared for the bizarre interactions with my seat mate. (Written for my Travel Writing class, so this is nonfiction)

I'm angry, but all I can think is how great of a place Sterne would be to bury a body. It's all sand and sun and dried-up riverbeds, cut through by an empty two-lane interstate here and there. Strangers passing through on their way to Tucson or Phoenix probably wouldn't even blink an eye if they saw some redneck local with more fingers than teeth bludgeoning a neighbor to death...

When Allie's cat crawls into a mysterious hole in the wall, she runs in after him - and finds herself in a strange bar where underage kids hang out and men have the feet of birds. With the help of a 14-year-old hostess and other strange characters, Allie travels through the bar in an attempt to find her cat.

I was lying on my stomach in the living room, Xbox controller in hand, when Mom came in through the front door. I didn't turn to look at her, but she stopped in the doorway to stare at me and I could feel her eyes on the back of my head. "Can I help you with something?" I asked, my tone bordering on...

Short poem.