Month: July 2012

Are You A Photographer?

We are looking for submissions for cover images to use in our  issues! Submission Guidelines: • Photo dimensions must be at least 8.5×11 inches • Photo subject should not be of people • Photos must be submitted to us through email at • Photo must be in JPEG format and sent as an attachment • Filenames of each photo should have your name (ie. “FirstName LastName PhotoTitle.jpeg”) • Photo must be in proper position (ie. rotated or cropped) • Photo must be your own work • No more than 5 photos can be submitted • Photo must be in good taste and will only be used based on the editor’s discretion. • Do not submit copyrighted material. By submitting a photo you give Kingdom Pen permission to publish the photo. Not all photo submissions are published. We may publish images in future issues based on availablity and quality of the photo. You will be notified if your image is chosen, and credit will be given to you in the...

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Next Stop

By Braden Russell   I wake up and look at my watch. My eyes are cloudy, like somebody smeared Vaseline in them, and the green numbers are too blurry to read. I blink, and it says 11:15. The train is still moving, but you wouldn’t know it. The red leather seat I’m sitting on is solid as a post. There’s no bumping. No rattling. If you look out the window you see nothing but grey fog, wisping close to the glass. Some of the fog seems to have made its way inside the train car, or maybe my eyes just haven’t cleared up yet. In the seat across from me is a guy with his head against the window, staring at the ceiling with half-closed eyes. His forearms are stretched out, pointed upward like the white bellies of dead fish, and a glistening needle sticks out of one. Some nagging thought in the back of my brain tells me that I should be repelled at the sight, but I feel nothing. Just a heaviness in my temples, like fog inside my skull. The fat man in the blue cap is stooped over the passenger on the opposite side of the car, and I squint at him, trying to remember who he is, and then it pops into my head. The Conductor. Just the Conductor. He is talking to the...

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The Beauty Of Life

By Julia Zwayne   I walked upon a lonely path, As darkness settled in, The wind began to moan and sigh, And taunt me of my sin. The fog and clouds were creeping close, As if to kill me there, The memories and the past regrets Were spinning everywhere. The torture and the bitter pain, The callous words of strife, The sin, the lies and utter shame, Had ripped apart my life. Forgotten, beaten, cast aside, Shunned and left to crawl, No one listened to my cries, Or to my echoing call. The bitterness had seized my heart, Had made me cold as stone, And now I walked upon this path, Forgotten and alone. As I walked, with hanging head, While clutching to my skirt, A piece of paper small and white, Flew past me in the dirt. I leaped ahead and caught it fast, Then held it close to look, It seemed as if it had been torn, From somewhere in a book. Words were there, across the sheet, They smote me to my soul, They seemed to burn me as I read, “Life is beautiful.” I stood there as the icy wind Bit and gnawed my face, As angry words consumed me there, And made my heartbeat race. Beautiful. Beautiful? The word had sounded strange, I used to think it meant a lot, But that had surely...

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