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A six-word story written by eighth-grader Marlon Jiminez.

All my life, I’d been shy, and I wasn’t about to change that.

Barbra Nightingale

She was the idiot who fell in love with some high-class gigolo.

Since the accident she lost her hold on the world and never got it back.

She imagines his clothes on the floor, his arms wrapped around her waist.

The grass is always greener in the cemetery, was a joke I made to Jed.

I should look at what I’ve done. How loosely she let him come to me.

He hadn’t meant to hurt her. Drowning people will do anything for air.

Howie and Nadine were confident they’d be among the survivors.

Her will is resolute, and he knows enough not to challenge it.

I dream of watching my grandfather stagger home through the snow.

In school, he was called gook, chink, and one boy called him ching-chong.

Your hands along her spine. Her hips unfolding like a cotton napkin.

He probably had an order. Ludes, Dexis, Black Birds—who knew.

The owl was a white that could not be compromised by any other color.

The clown has taken a seat at our veranda table in absolute silence.

I could shoot you and nobody would say boo. I’m within my rights.

Soledad is the name a woman is given, a sentence a woman must serve.

Try to make order in one direction, and things shoot off in another.

His thoughts swirl around him. Maybe women aren’t women anymore.

The sight of her belly ring and the smooth, tight canopy of flesh.

On this small island, everyone knows who comes, especially who goes.

Mr. Holt had grown old since Beverly last saw him. He looked weary.

Beached on the kingdom I learned to swim with my eyes closed.

Ahab went mad when he saw the sea is just the sea and nothing more.

He grabbed me, groped for my hips, kissing me, smelling my hair.

The wind was like a girl sobbing out her story of betrayal to the stars.

Maybe all of it was possible. Maybe it all could work out.

Maybe this was one thing in his life he had done right, or so he hoped.