Bookmarks on Etsy by Samantha Lozinski

I just recently finished reading “It's not summer without you”!. (Btw I was SCREAMING at the ending!!!! Or more like just bouncing up and down, and trying to hold in my screams, because it was late at night.)

But anyway, if you do not have Etsy, I really recommend you get it, because the first thing you have to do is Search up “The Summer I Turned Pretty!!!!” Just to show you why, here are some of my favorite items that I will definitely be buying!

These bookmarks have a couple different options, which I love. My favorite one is probably the tan one that says “Cousins Beach” with a seashell. 

(Btw, when it says $5.17, it means $5.17 for one bookmark. This is not a set. You put which one you want in the personalization.)

Check Out The Rest of the “It’s Not Summer Without You/The Summer I Turned Pretty” on Etsy here.

Image Source: Etsy


"Moon Story" by Amelia Pearson

The moon sits high in the sky

Perfect crescent and, perfect smile

A glow in the night

But no one’s around to see him, so he lets the clouds take control

And crys tears of misery as it gets cold

But everyone in there homes, falls asleep to the sound of the moon storm

The sun burns bright in the sky

Perfect gleam, extra shine

Sets fire to the night and changes it to day

But no one can look at her, so she lets the clouds take control

But little does she know that everyone loves her so

And sitting in there homes they wait for her to appear again

So the rain is there for quite sometime

Until a small girl goes outside

She whispers a greeting to the moon

Asking if he’ll be back soon

And while she waits for a response

she sings of love to the sun

Letting her know that they all want her back again

And maybe the moon will appear again

Or maybe he won’t

And maybe the sun will shine bright

Or maybe she’ll disappear

But the whole world heard the little girl

And now they know

That you should never look down on someone that you don’t even know

Two Sentence Horror Stories (TSHS) by Mae Schnable

The Call

“I just got a call, Carol is dead,” I said gravely, my mind not fully adjusted to the news.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe someone would shoot Carol.” He said as his eyes dropped to the floor, unable to connect with mine. 

(she never said she was shot)

The Grade

“Your grade was the lowest this time, you know what that means.”

I swallow, lowered my head, and began to walk over to the organ removal center. 

(organs are being used as meat, meat has different grades)

"Writer's Block" by Madison Makita

Writer’s Block

By Madison Makita


I tap my fingers against the table

And listen to the sound

The writer’s block was getting fatal

Not a word to be found

I was losing brain cells by the second

Everything sounded so cliche

I would never get anywhere I reckoned

Even if I sat here all day


Hope was lost

The last ounce of intelligence tossed

Out the window

Goodbye



"The Climb" by Samantha Lozinski

THE CLIMB

Holding on. 

hating how some of the holds feel

But holding on

because you know the satisfaction of getting past a hard part

So you hold on

focusing on what is ahead of you

Holding on

you might get scrapes

But you hold on anyways

you might get rips on your hands

But you hold on, ignoring the sting

there will be sweat

But you hold on

feeling like you will slip off

But you hold on

gripping harder

Holding on



"The Colors of Winter" By Amelia Pearson

“The Colors of Winter”

Red is for the sled that waits for you

Orange is for when the sun still shines

Yellow is for the snow we hate

Green is when we celebrate

Blue is when the sky is bright

Purple is when it turns to night

And don't forget the grey of the world

Or the white of the snow

Image Source: Infinit





Short Stories by Stella Loverich

The Great Jelly Flood

By: Stella Loverich

Everything was going so well until I was accosted by a purple giraffe. Not only was it strange, but it inspired old memories to resurface… old memories of grape jelly.

It had all started one morning, when grape jelly started leaking out of the hole in the roof. A scenario worthy of Cloudy and a Chance of Meatballs, you might think. Not so. In fact, it was more like Bartholomew and the Oobleck.

I woke up one morning and looked at the roof. The cramped tin shack I lived in did not leave much room for luxury. In fact, I had never even tasted jelly. So it was a shock when it happened. At first, when a drop landed on my dog, Jellyfish, I was quick to celebrate. Jelly! Sweetness, a bit sickly, but still. Until, however, the jelly started to grow. 

Slowly expanding into a jiggling mass, the jam got bigger and bigger until it encased Jellyfish like a cage. Trapped inside, she couldn’t even stand, and it was starting to eat away at her like acid. I was stunned, frozen, conscience poking at my brain. 

Jellyfish was barking, trying to get past the numb shell that encased my brain. Rose? Hello? I need help!!!!!

I soon came back to my senses and sprang into action. Grabbing a rusty nail, I stabbed the jelly encasing Jellyfish. It wiggled--jiggled--and burst! Jellyfish was freed, but something was strange--the jelly had forever stained her a deep violet. She was never the same again.

It was only a matter of time before a drop landed on me. I knew I had to do something. But the gelatinous substance would be sure to have already consumed the outside of my house. What could I do? I could only stand in horror as it fell from the sky and covered everything I loved…

“Could the Great Jelly Flood resurface again? Only time will tell. One of the most significant heroes, Rose Mustard, valiantly fought but was still consumed. It took everything we loved nearly a decade ago, and we cannot let it strike again. 

Now, here’s the weather forecast for today…”

I switch off the TV.



**********************************

Some Dust, a Goldfish, and a Scheduled Lifetime

By: Stella Loverich

Anne had become accustomed to the expression “eat my dust,” after a running career, but had never seen a maid jam her head in the vacuum cleaner before. “Wasn’t in the job description,” she had remarked, her hair disheveled and grimy, “but tasty nonetheless.”

After all, Anne York was the type of person to have particularly delicious dust.

From champion runner to the first self-made trillionaire, she had been only twenty-three years old and great.

After a traumatic childhood growing up in Canada, she completed her rags-to-riches story and earned a fortune in sports. Anne then moved on to the industry, earning billions in the stock market and more from her company, TrueTime, which manufactured clocks. As her fame grew, Anne retired at twenty-five and spent her days in leisure, lounging around in Hawaii and handcrafting timepieces.

However, as her clock-making hobby became an obsession, and Anne grew older, she started to turn a bit mad. 

Her company wasn’t about building clocks anymore. It was about never missing a second. It was about counting down until death, about keeping track of everything so that when the time came, she would know exactly when it would come, down to the millisecond. 

Anne moved to the top of an Alp soon after that, becoming reclusive and secretive. The private jet never returned.

Nobody ever saw her again but her goldfish, and some say Goldie was the only thing she ever loved. Some say her goldfish poisoned her. Some say she became immortal. Some say she never existed at all. Some say she remained a hermit until she died. And some say that she took on another identity and lives to this day in New Mexico with a Goldie, laying low. Whatever happened to her, we’ll never know. 

We can only be sure of one thing: her dust really was the best thing I’ve ever tasted.