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Non-Fiction

Morning Bread

by Mosaic Team
written by Mosaic Team

Author: Leah Harrington

Every morning, my grandmother baked bread. The smell of yeast and warm crusts filled the kitchen, curling around us like a hug. I watched her knead the dough with calloused hands, fingers moving with care and rhythm.

One morning, she said, “Bread is like life. You have to work it, stretch it, and let it rest.” I didn’t understand then, but I do now. Kneading, waiting, and baking, patience turns simple ingredients into something wonderful.

I still bake bread, and every loaf reminds me of her.

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Non-Fiction

Midnight Game

by Mosaic Team
written by Mosaic Team

Author: Emma Li

I always thought the woods behind my house were silent at night. Just trees whispering in the wind, nothing more. But last Friday, when I was walking Zephyr (my dog), I noticed lights: blue and red, flickering through the trees, way off the path.

Curious, I followed. Zephyr tugged at the leash but obeyed. As I got closer, I heard a low hum, like the sky vibrating. The lights were coming from an old radio tower I didn’t know was there; rusted, leaning a little, wires dangling.

I approached. The hum got louder, making the hair on my arms stand up. Zephyr growled. I saw something moving behind the tower, like a silhouette, long and thin. I froze.

Suddenly, a voice: “Get out.” It sounded mechanical, distant, maybe coming from the tower itself. Zephyr barked; I jerked back. The silhouette stepped out, no face, just a dark shape, limbs stretched weirdly.

I ran. Don’t remember much after that except the branches scratching, heart pounding, and Zephyr matching my pace. We didn’t look back until we reached the road. The lights were gone.

At home, I locked the door and brushed it off as sleep-blurred imagination. But then Zephyr just stared at the door all night, ears pricked, growling softly. On the porch step in the morning, I found a loose strand of wire. Cold metal.

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Non-Fiction

Thirteen Dollars

by Mosaic Team
written by Mosaic Team

Author: Matteo Alvarez

I had exactly thirteen dollars to my name and a phone that wouldn’t hold a charge. My mom said she’d send money “soon,” which usually meant next week.

So I went to the corner store for instant noodles and a soda. The cashier, Mr. Gupta, always gave me an extra pack of sauce. That day, he didn’t smile; just nodded like he knew something I didn’t.

Outside, an old guy sat on the curb with a cardboard sign: Need a bus ticket. He looked tired, but kind. I don’t know why, but I gave him my soda and half my noodles. He said thanks like I’d just handed him a mansion key.

When I walked home later, I saw something shining near the curb. A crumpled bill. Ten bucks. I laughed out loud. Maybe the universe wasn’t so bad after all.

I still only had thirteen dollars, but it felt different this time.

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Non-Fiction

Rain Delay

by Mosaic Team
written by Mosaic Team

Author: Javier Torres

The baseball game was supposed to start at four, but the rain came early. Thick, loud, unbothered.

Coach said we’d wait it out. The team sat in the dugout, joking around, tossing sunflower seeds. But I wasn’t really there. My mind was back home, where Mom was packing boxes again.

“Yo, Javi,” Malik said, nudging me. “You good?”

I nodded. The truth was, I didn’t know if we’d still be in the same house next week. Or the same city.

When the rain stopped, everything smelled clean, like a restart. The infield was a mirror, puddles reflecting gray sky.

We played anyway. My cleats sank into the mud, but I hit the ball farther than I ever had. Didn’t even care that I slipped rounding first.

Sometimes, you just play through the storm.

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Non-Fiction

Slow Burn Summer

by Mosaic Team
written by Mosaic Team

Author: Riley Thompson

It was the summer before college, the one everyone said would be the best of our lives. For me, it mostly smelled like sunscreen and gasoline.

I worked at my uncle’s gas station, pumping fuel for tourists on their way to the beach. Every day, I watched the same families pass by, their cars stuffed with coolers and sun hats, while I stayed behind in the heat.

Then one afternoon, this girl pulled up in an old blue pickup. Hair tied up, music blasting, Fleetwood Mac, I think. She smiled like she’d known me forever and said, “Fill it up?”

We talked while the tank filled. She said she was driving cross-country “just because.” I told her that sounded nice. She laughed and said, “It is.”

When she left, she stuck a Polaroid out the window. “So you don’t forget this place.”

I still have that picture taped inside my wallet. The pump, the heat haze, her truck driving away. The summer didn’t turn out amazing, but for one afternoon, it almost was.

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