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FICTION / Gasping / Alexandra Lee

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It was as if the world itself had stopped breathing. As the last child was whisked behind closed doors, as shutters were drawn and prying eyes averted, the street stood, immobile. A gray hoodie shifted somewhere down the line and electricity crackled.  Thick-soled rubber scuffed against loose gravel, tiny stones skittering forward. Leather whined as it tightened its grip on heavy, unyielding plastic. Sleeve after sleeve linked to form a wall of cotton resistance. Behind curved plastic, attention narrowed. Focused. Sunlight refracted off spinning glass as it shattered, showering the street with multihued frustration. Bright, white-hot shot forth as desperation sounded off, echoed at either end. Across, behind plastic windows of protection, an opposing call from the blue and white. The pitter-patter as low-top canvas pushed forth, crushed beneath the weight of heavy leather and laced oppression. An explosion of unheard, undervalued and overlooked. The deafening roar of desist and obey as pop pop pop balls of rubber sought the path of least resistance. Red ran. As did gray, yellow, brown, purple, and green until blue and whites alone remained standing, padded protection heaving in triumph, while the world resumed holding its breath.


Alexandra Lee is a Bay Area native and recent Harlem transplant. She has been an avid writer and voracious reader her entire life. She mostly writes young adult sci-if/fantasy, but also enjoys performing her prose poetry as spoken word. She is very excited for this opportunity to share her work.