By Anonymous

This is a confession. But not of something I have done, but of things that i never did. I feel that a small
thing that I have done has little impact, but the smaller things that i never did do have affected my life. I
am still young, but yet I feel as if I have lived through my best years. When i was younger I was a
dreamer, a lover, a free spirit, and a chaser of life. But as I have aged, I find myself as one who has lost
hope, pushed others away, stopped thinking, and has wasted my years. I spent my days with friends and
we lived up every moment, and spent our nights dreaming and scheming of days and years to come. But
as time has gone on, i find myself spending more time miserable and feeling sorry for myself. I wallow in
my self-given situations. I spend my time working and angry, or alone and sad. I could give a million
excuses for this, but it all comes down to one persons decisions, my own. The past few years of my life, I
have spent less and less time doing what I love, and loving those who I loved. A younger me would be out
of sight on a night like this. Lost in a creation of his, in the eyes of another, in a crowd of his homies, or
cruising down the streets. But here I am, sitting and wallowing in my self doubt as I stare at a screen. As
time has gone on, I have missed moments of my life. I confess to pushing others away instead of holding
them close. I confess to giving up on dreams instead of taking my ideas and running with them. I confess
to bringing all of this on myself. As much as I search for an answer why, sadly, none can be found. It has
not been acknowledged by me until very recently. A friend of mine who I did keep close told me of his own
issues. While helping him through this, I noticed that I too had issues that I had simply shaken off as just
what my life was. In my future I intend to be there for those who need me, to take risks, to dream, to do as
I wish, to love, to live. I confess to settling for less than I deserve and can achieve.
By Anonymous
The room echoes with the sound of the clock ticking- tick, tock. Tick, tock.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
She doesnt want to be here, hands white-knuckled, clenched shakily around the hard, cold wood
of the chair. Scared doesnt cut it, she thinks. Terrified is the better word. Maybe its unjustified. There are
plenty of people whove had this conversation before her- conversations that ended with them alone, on
the streets, despised. This wont be that bad, she tells herself.They wont be like that. Itll make life easier
if they know.
She hopes.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Her heart ticks twice with every click of the clock. She looks up, and four concerned eyes look
back. Theyre confused, obviously. No reason to be so nervous, theyd surely say, not around your
parents. Its too late to turn back now- every shakey breath just seals the coffin a little tighter. Theyd
never let her leave the room, not after this display.
Breathe in.
Speak.
Speak.
I have something to tell you, she exhales, and you wont like it, but I want you to hear me out.
The anxiety settles in her stomach even more, now- a hard stone against her gut as she tries to
make the best eye contact she can.
Her mothers head tilts to the side, eyebrows furrowing as if the pieces to an incredibly complex
puzzle have been scattered across the tabletop. Her father leans back in his chair. It creaks.
Theres a dance. Next week, on Friday. Im going to go with Abby.
Her father leans forwards, now, knuckles tappign against the wood as he knots his fingers
together.
As friends, of course, her father says.
Theres a large part of her, a massive part of her, a strangling, choking, all-consuming part of her
that wants to stand up and shout, Yes! Thats it! As friends! Thats all!, but she knows she cant.
Everything inside of her screams to just give in, abort mission, this wont end well and you know it, but
she knows she cant do that. Its time, shes lived the lie for far long enough.
So she breathes in, she breathes out, and in the strongest voice she can muster, she says it.
No. Not as friends. Its not like that. We arent Im gay, Dad. Im gay.
Its hard to know how long the silence stretches after that- its hard to even notice it with her heart
thundering in her ears and her whole world crumbling apart.

Its a long, long, silence, though. Somehow, she knows it.

Its her mother that speaks up first.
Honey, youre young, she breathes, voice snapping the silence in two. At your age, it isnt.
you can be confused, honey, and thats okay. You havent found the right guy yet, but you will.
Its not like that, okay? I would know- its not that I havent found the perfect guy! Ive met plenty
of great guys, I just- it doesnt feel right. Not like you say it will. Not with... boys. It never has.
Her mother crosses her arms and looks down. The flicker of disappointment in their eyes feels
like a knife in her side, but she tries not to notice it.
This will be hard for us, her father says, Obviously.
Well, its not exactly easy for me, she thinks, but nods.
We love you, he continues, but this is. not
And she knows. She knows every argument they can make, and has built up a barrier in her mind
filled up with her carefully crafted responses. Now, however, the walls crumble down, and shes left
unsure. Unable to explain.
This is too taxing.
Im sorry, this was a bad idea, she interrupts. Can I just- I want to go to my room.
She knows she shouldnt. This is just putting a cap over something bubbling and boiling- itll
overflow eventually. This conversation needs to happen, needs to go deeper. This was what she expected
in her gut, but she had hoped itd be better. That theyd be more content with it.
The frustration in their eyes tells her that theyre not.
They dont understand, and she cant make them.
Her parents nod, exchanging a glance. She pushes the chair out from under the table, and it
shrieks against the hardwood floor. With quiet footsteps, she makes her way out of the kitchen.
Louise, her mother calls from behind, We will be talking about this later.
This was too soon. Or was it? She doesn't know. She never knows.
Louise sighs. She goes to her room, and drops herself onto the mattress, almost hoping that
sleep will send her back in time, removing this whole conversation from memory, erasing it from
existence.
It doesnt, of course, but its nice to dream.
By Anonymous
80 mph. Ear-splitting sirens screamed at Eric on what seemed like all sides. His gaze trailed
down and fixed onto his own white-knuckle grip on the wheel, one trembling foot easing the gas pedal
further down. He looked up at the stretches of highway hurtling towards him. 85 mph. He wouldnt get
away with something like this; it didnt happen. If he pulled over now, he could probably survive. If his ego
would allow him to surrender, he could make it. What would happen then? He would spend the rest of his
life in jail, only to possibly be executed later. 90 mph. The rumblings of the engine could no longer be
heard, but now they were felt. Every inch of his body shuddered with adrenaline, urging him to go faster
and prolong the inevitable. 100 mph. Against his instinct, Eric slammed on the brakes as hard as he could
manage, squeezing his eyes shut as the squeals of protest from the tires filled his ears. Maybe if he was
lucky, the police cars would crash into him hard enough to kill him. The mans features split with the
wickedness of his grin, the airbag slamming into his face and, in an instant, knocking him out cold.
Eric awoke to the blinding contrast of flashlights pointed straight at him in the murky tendrils of the
night, pointed by the uninjured policemen who had chased him which, for good reason, looked very angry.
Too pained to laugh and too fear-ridden to try to run, he managed to sit up after considerable effort. One
policeman took a step closer, practically snarling with rage.
Youre sick. Pathetic. You committed the worst crime of the century, and for what?
This time he didnt care if it hurt. He forced out a laugh and frowned when it came out throaty and
thin, like the croak of a dying frog.
Crime of the century, oh please. Im not a criminal. Someone tampered with my writing journal
and I got curious, thats all.
You know traveling by portal is an automatic death sentence, right?
It was cool.
The policeman looked so smug, Eric was convinced that if the cops smile got any wider his
mouth would fall off.

Is that a confession, sir?

Uh huh. I have another confession Id like to make, sir. See, Im gonna let you in on a little
something. First, though, you and your buddies have to hold hands, or Im not gonna talk.
The policemen did so after exchanging a few puzzled looks. Meanwhile, Eric had studied their
badges and written their names in the journal, along with the date 1930.
Have fun in the 30s! Eric yelled as he threw the journal, hitting the policeman closest to him in
the chest. With a burst of white light the men dissipated into the past, rendering himself and the wreckage
of cars what was left of his mistakes.
By Anonymous
A Good Girls Confession
Dear Diary, school is hard. Im pretending to be someone Im not. Everyone thinks Im the good
girl, the innocent Christian. Anna murmured as she wrote, pausing, pen poised above her journal. If only
they knew the real me, the street fighter. The non-virgin. The church hating Christian.
My parents dont even know that I hate church. They just think I stay home because I have a lot
of homework. Turns out Im just training instead, using my brothers old punching bag when theyre not
home.
The clothes they make me wear are good for hiding the bruises and scratches, though. Nobody in
my family ever notices, not with the loose jeans, sneakers, and sweaters I am forced to wear constantly.
If they found out I wasnt a virgin, they would freak.
Anna flipped to the next page, rolling over to lie on her side as she wrote.
Everyone at my school would have a heart attack if they saw the clothes I really wore. If they
knew my secrets. Thats how I get through school, knowing that I have a secret they would kill to know.
Its quite comedic to be laughed at for being frail, when I pin any one of them before they even knew what
was happening.
Im pretending to be something Im not, just biding my time until college, where Ill be able to be
the real me.
By Anonymous
Dear Diary,
I didnt even know the guy. I was at a fraternity party with my boyfriend, Sam, and he went to get me a,
virgin drink for the virgin Hailey as he called it. While waiting for Sam, a tall, blonde, blue eyed, piece of
art, came towards me. He looked as if he was made in a factory. His name was Ben, everything on him
was made to perfection: his face construction, his athletic look about him, his firm six pack abs, and his
curly smooth hair. Ben asked me if he could take me on a tour around the house and I was very curious to
see what a fraternity house actually looked like. I had only seen in the movies what a frat house looked
like and what goes on upstairs. I didnt think the movies were going to be true at all so I took the chance
and went for it. We went up stairs and didnt tour at all, it was just like the movies. He first came to his
room which was at the end of a very long hallway. He closed the door and started touching me very
inappropriately. I felt a very large rush come to me as if I wanted it to happen. I had never been touched
so aggressively and I wanted to feel good. He made me feel really good in that moment. I wasnt used to
this because Sam and I were very respectful of each other and knew that sex wasnt for us because of
our bright futures ahead of us.
I didnt see Sam for the rest of the night or in the morning because I woke up next to Ben. Ben woke up
and said I have school umm.. whats your name again? You need to leave. What have I done? I was
so lost, afraid, and scared. I ruined my perfect relationship with a guy who didnt even know my name. I
went to confront Sam about all of this. I looked everywhere and couldnt find him, so I went back home.
He was on my front porch of my house. He greeted me with a big smile and a kiss on the cheek. He said,
there is no need to explain, we are meant to be with each other. I can tell you are very sad and feel
lonely right now, but we can make it through this. I dont want to hear what went on upstairs. Everythings
in the past. Lets move on from here. I had seen so much grace from him in that moment. I didnt know
what to say or how to react. So I just kissed him a lot saying Im Sorry.I feel that God gave me Sam for
the long run and knew that this would happen. The people who care the most about you will always stick
by your side.

Hailey
By Matthew Monge
The confession
The plane was spiraling down. Tearing across the sky and exploding through clouds it sailed like a fire
work. Emergency lights blinked on and off. The cabin of the small private plane was a dark red from the
emergency lights and full of a thick smoke. John looked across the aisle, desperately looking for his
father. John and his dad were two different kinds of people. John was a rebel, Michael, his dad, was an
honest, hardworking father desperate for his sons love. John only received it, never returning it. He
moved away as soon as he could and didnt return the phone calls from his dad. But John caved and
finally agreed to meet his dad. They decided to take a trip to the Hawaiian Islands, his dad hopeful to
make up for lost time. Now, they were in the present moment, in a plane that was soon to hit rock bottom.
In all of the panic, John felt a hand on his shoulder. Firm, but soft and understanding, he knew that the
hand belonged to his dad. He spun around and embraced his presence with a colossal bear hug. A wet,
sorrowful and regretful tear rolled off of Johns face like a kid going down a slide. He tried to speak but his
throat was dry and shriveled up. Like opening a book that had been closed for too long he forced his jaw
to move and spoke. Im sorry All this time I have just wanted to prove to you that I can be independent,
that I dont need help. I just wanted to make you proud The plane started to rumble and shake just
then, like a volcano giving off its warning that its ready to blow. Michael broke into the biggest smile that
John had ever seen. His large teeth were pearly white and his smile shone like a crescent moon. Large
shrieking and metal grinding against metal, the plane split into two. Michael was torn from Johns arms,
being trapped on the other half of the plane. John watched as the part of the plane his dad was on
disappeared into the depths of the ocean. Milliseconds later, the rest of the plane crashed into its own
watery grave.
By Tajanae Pierre-Louis
I dont have much of a confession to make. But I am a short-tempered person that has a boring life, and
likes to curse people out for the heck of it. Im a very angry person, who had taken anger management,
which kind of helped. But over the years, as people started trying to get on my bad side, the anger just
started rolling back in. I admit, I do let my anger and attitude get the best of me, but I am also the type of
person that blames other people for my reaction to their action. I guess its my fault because its saying I
dont have control over myself. But everybody has a bad side. Not everybody is perfect! Everyone has to
have lashed out at someone one point in their life.
Truth is I want to be a happy person, and be able to talk to someone without having to yell at them, or
being the first to go extreme about it. I get mad over little things, and if its something huge, then I just
angry cry. Angry cry is the worst because I think about the most horrible things I could do that person, and
know I might not feel any remorse for it. Being an angry person sucks and I dont like that part of me
sometimes. But once you start, GUARANTEED Im gonna finish.
By Danielle Randle
Dear Diary,
I did a terrible thing! I called the one man I used to love, his new girlfriend a name that I shouldnt
have called. It all began when I was working and he came and brought her in. Apparently, they came in to
get a rug for her apartment. Of course he had to bring her in just to hurt me even more.
Once they both had left, I immediately had tons of thoughts going through my head about this
new chick. Like was I not pretty enough for him, did I do something wrong, but most of all why me over
her. He said he always loved me but I guess not because he dumped me for her. Then I did the terrible
thing.
My friends came in to talk to me about what had just happened. They tried comforting me since I
was just crying. I was so angry about it all that I called his new girlfriend a slut and a tramp. My best
friend, Katie, had told him and of course he told his girlfriend. Later that night, when I got a text from the
girl saying how mad and rude it was to call her that since I didnt even know her. Then it suddenly hit my
mind what I had to do.

Once I called her that name, I knew it was wrong of me to say that to her. I guess the real reason
why I called her that was because Im not used to the fact of him having another girl that was prettier than
me in so many different ways. So I sat down to really think about what I said and to decide what my
actions were going to be. I sent him a text saying, I am so really sorry for calling her that name, I was
really upset and didnt know what I was thinking. I shouldnt have called her that because in reality I dont
know her. All I know of her is what you told me when we were dating. Again, I cant emphasize how truly
and gratefully sorry I am that I called her those terrible names. I sent the girl a text saying that I was
really sorry and it was wrong of me to say that about her.
In the end, I was just happy that I finally got it off my chest and I hopefully wont have to deal with
that situation ever again. Maybe they will be able to accept my forgiveness and not hate me for what I did.
-D.
By Antonette White
I have a confession to make, one that will clear my conscious, clean my soul, and allow me to start on a
clean slate. I, Trixie White, dog of Antonette White and Earl White, ate my owners tuna fish sandwich
when she walked away for a few minutes. I just couldnt help myself when I approached her sandwich that
was just sitting there on edge of the sofa. I know I shouldnt have done it, but I was just so hungry and the
sandwich looked so good. I know my owner wasnt going to eat it right away. She was going to sit there
on her sitting cushion with the sandwich in her hand tapping away on her little touchy device that I have
seen other humans using. After a few minutes of her tappity tapping, she would then change the box with
the moving pictures behind a screen to whatever she felt like looking at (usually its a brightly colored,
yellow box looking thing). Finally she would then begin to eat her sandwich, which she would devour like
the animal she is. However this time she did not get the chance to follow through with her routine,
because when she returned her sandwich was not where she left it; instead in its place was an empty
straight eating bowl ( I later learned its called a plate) that was licked clean of evidence. I should have
known that I would not have gotten away with it because sadly, only my human and I were the only ones
home at the time. However, did I confess to my crimes? I did not. I walked away feeling the satisfaction of
my accomplishment while my guilt was buried awayuntil now where I lay on my deathbed. I, Trixie
White, am responsible for the mystery of the missing tuna-fish sandwich.
By Joby Joseph
The Captain of our ship is a strong and bold man, but a man who is willing to let his crew drop like flies.
As the chef of this ship I decided to tell him we were running low on food. It seemed natural to do, as he
was the Captain, and he should know what is best for his ship. I was wrong. I told him I can feed only 3
men a week, not including myself. But by the time that week is over, we will be out of food. We were at
sea in the Atlantic, for 3 months, winter had begun, and the rods were breaking. The Captain, said to me
by two days, comes to me in my chambers and we will discuss this issue. I came to him, and he told me,
him and I will take a small boat we have on our ship, and leave the men behind, taking all our valuables
and everything we can carry. He said if hesitate or say no, I wont leave this boat. I agreed, it was winter
and I was cold and tired so I decided to do what I had to do to survive. That night when the crew was
asleep we left and with everything, we could take and threw the rest in the ocean. We rowed and rowed
until we made it too some European country where I am now. That was seven months ago. 15 crew
members were on that boat, and we abandoned them, left them to die. Im writing this because it has
been eating me alive, and I refuse to never tell this to anyone. Someone will read this when I put it on the
courts door. Then they will know
By Zachary McMillin
Father, I have a confession.
The man behind the wooden partition fidgeted a bit.
Go on then, child, continue, replied the elderly priest. Hed sat through about a thousand
confessions just like this one in the old Church. Hed make him do a couple Hail Marys, maybe an Our
Father, and his conscience would be clear.

Its been awhile since Ive done this, confessed the man. But I really need to get something off
my chest.
The priest paused for a moment. Not many people admit to the severity of their sins.
No matter how severe the sin, God will always forgive those who ask. Now tell me, what is it that
you have done?
The man took a deep breath, and then began.
Im... an arsonist. Something about watching a fire tear down things has always made me feel on
top of the world. Its an addiction now. I cant stop it. Ive always gone after buildings that cant be saved.
Old buildings, made mainly out of wood.
The priest shuddered a bit. He never liked taking confessions from criminals.
Im glad you came to me for this then. The first step to stopping a terrible addiction is admitting it.
Now-
Oh, Im not planning on stopping, the man cut in. Im just getting started.
Fear started creeping upon the pries.
If you werent planning on stopping, why did you come to confession in the first place?
The priest heard the door leading to the mans partition open, and the striking of a match.
I just wanted you to understand why.