We've finally reached a unanimous decision. Not only was this selection a favorite with all three judges, it was a reader favorite and the post with the highest number of views on our site.
The winner of The Flounce Non Fiction Writer’s Award 2015 is Catherine A. Brereton, for her essay
This world has become a scary place lately, hasn’t it? Bombings, shootings, terrorists attacking, lone gunmen making treacherous plans, police brutalizing minorities, internet bullies leaking personal photos -- and that’s just what’s happening in someone else’s neighborhood, if you’re lucky enough that it’s not happening in your own.
I saw my new therapist yesterday. She's a wicked nice 30-something who seems to have her head on straight, and genuinely wants to help in my next stage of therapy work. At this point in my treatment, after several years, I've mostly resolved and closed the books on
Before we raise our lighters in tribute to the impending “dislike” button, let us not forget The Fire Challenge. Last summer, soon after the Ice Bucket Challenge had gained chilling popularity in my news feed, I scrolled into a video post entitled, “Fire Challenge Gone Wrong.” Not without a flashback
One time, not recently but a few months ago, I watched my boyfriend close and lock the door to our apartment. After walking two and a half blocks away from our place, I felt the deep compulsion to go back and check that the door was locked. I fought the
Half my suitcase catches in the wheezing doors of the metro. I panic and pull, while a bot-like female voice urges passengers to step back from the entrances to the trains. The red bulbs blinking adjacent to the tracks blur as I keep tugging. I recall a poster
An eight-year-old girl lays in bed with her covers pulled tight around her chin. She squeezes a bear just as old as she is against her side. Her parents are in the hallway screaming at each other about any and every misdemeanor that had ever occurred in their
I am 15 years old and standing in the back yard of a house in Seaford, Long island. It is a four bedroom cape with an above ground pool in the yard. My parents are with a real estate agent and they are discussing the property or rather
“I think we need to talk.”
No good has ever, in the history of spoken language, come from those words. He is standing across the room from me, near the doorway. He has me in plain sight, the only point of egress covered. Still, he feels
“She said no.”
The words pushed past my lips in a hiss of fury. My pulse was beating in my ears and my throat was clenching closed, strangling my breath. There was a wide swath of counter between myself and my father-in-law, gleaming white and