Valiant Scribe
A literary hub giving voice to the voiceless by retelling the human experience

To my brother and surrogate thank you for gifting me life to see the light in my unborn son's eyes,

The siren startles with its high-pitched fever, late summer night, sending folks scrambling down side streets or indoors. Cops are either...

And in the undisturbed brick and limestone, everything quietly waiting for the nocturnal, the gutters to run clear,

My parents decided not to give my brother a funeral. I guess they didn’t want to talk about his death. I know I didn’t. Instead, we had a...

We ALL look so alien, just as what we’re called on the official documents.