Nonfiction
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By Sarah Yao My mother’s receipts overflow like the clogged toilet in our bathroom a week ago, before my father frantically ran to Lowe’s to buy a plunger. They fall out of her purse like the thin toilet paper from our school bathroom when she pulls out her wallet, scrambling to find her credit card,
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By Rachel Allen The avatar looked like a Moon Jellyfish suspended in midair. Pulsing. His silk shirt billowed, a parachute, illuminated by moonlight. Chad scrutinized the setting. Was moonlight too indulgent? And a full moon? Granted, from Player Two’s point of view, it was a visually compelling tableau. The innate beauty in violence is all

