Words literary journal has been in existence for several decades and is edited and managed by Thomas More University undergraduate students. As an outlet for the creative expression of individual contributors, this publication is guided by the English and Creative Writing Department, and the Department of Creative Media. The art and writing that is presented is juried with awards honoring outstanding pieces. In 2025, the following student work was acknowledged for the top awards:

Sandra L. Cuni Award | “Thanatophobia” by Morgan Esterline

Thomas More Writer-in-residence Award of Excellence | “Thumbelina” by Claire Veirs

English Faculty Choice Award | collected poetry by Taylor Crocker

Words Visual Art Award and Cover Selection | “Fazed” by Lillie Daniel

High School Writing Awards | 1st place – “Mon Ange” by Jada Dickson | 2nd place – “(Wo)men” by Elly Clift | 3rd place – “Braille” by Katherine Heuker | Honorable Mentions – “Hyphen” by Elly Clift, “The Fault of Daedalus” by Bunny Ennis

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More about Claire Veirs: Claire Veirs is a sophomore at Thomas More University. She is an English and history major who loves stories of all kinds and has been writing creative fiction pieces since elementary school.

More about Taylor Crocker: Taylor Crocker, frequently pedantic and self-critical, has been invested in creative writing since her fifth-grade teacher made the unenviable mistake of giving her a creative outlet. Now an adult and able to make her own poor decisions, she writes poetry and personal reflections on varying topics, some of which include spices, hats, the concept of light, existential dread, and corn. To this day, she continues to be a chronic nuisance and willing contributor to Words, despite her self-deprecating tendencies.

More about Lillie Daniel: Lillie Daniel is a senior at Thomas More University pursuing a dual major in life science and educational studies with minors in biology, environmental science, and psychology, and a sustainability concentration. For the second year, Lillie is president of the Blue and Green Club and a member of the biology club, the marine biology club, and the technology club. As a Marching Saint, she handles the band’s social media and is the Student Athlete Advisory Council (SAAC) representative. Other involvement includes the University Sustainability Committee, Psi Chi, BAES (Bachelor of Arts in educational studies) representative in the education community, Academic Support Service Institute work study, Sustainability celebration coordinator, campus food waste ‘Weigh the Plate’ initiative, and an AmeriCorps environmental educator and lab crew member at the Thomas More Biology Field Station. She is passionate about conservation, environmental education, and hobbies including drawing, painting, and hiking. For a Saints Spotlight on Lillie and her activities around Sustainability Week, CLICK HERE.

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Thanatophobia by Morgan Esterline

Camie stands short in her queue, metal blockades leading hordes of average Midwesterners, mostly white, where they wan to be: afraid. Specifically, the thrill-seeking, risk-taking, if-you-don’t-screem-you-won’t-be-able-to-breath-so-please-don’t-murder-your-diaphragm type of excitement.

The fear of sensation, she knows will as she watches her pallid perpetually cold hand swing helplessly next to his equally pale figure, taller and more muscular than hers but definitely slimmer. Rhys steps forward, out of the shadows into lush light with masses of smiling red-faced heaving and body odor to their front, back and left, right in a handful of weaving lines, like any theme park. Now they’re next in line for the coaster.

As she re-braids her hair for the fifth time today, he catches her eye. “Did you dye your hair again? It’s green-er.”

She forces herself to hold eye contact, laughs. “The purple faced – ” And her sense of balance fades into the words, like a soundboard turning down her volume and peaking the mics of the rest of the park.

Shouting. A few screams. Some cries of “Oh my God’ and expletives. Cued by instinct, all bodies turn toward the source. Somewhere in the shuffle. Louder. Closer. Too close.

She turns to see Rhys’s reaction, for comfort. Only to find empty space.

He’s next to the coaster, abandoned before it stopped. Sprawled on the ground. Humans bite into his arms, chest, legs – his whole body is shredded. Like they took a cheese grater to his abdomen. They chew. This isn’t Rhys. It’s an animal.

A grip on her ankle throws Camie forward, parting the Red Sea of people almost all now crying out. Jaw scrapes pavement, a kiss of red. Wrists barely catch her body weight in a crack that bends too far. Surrounding hands reaching, grasping air. In a huff, she finds the soles of her shoes under her.

Tears close the Red Sea on the Egyptians. Holding where her jaw stings wet, unbalanced, she digs her free hand into the metal bar at waist level. Heaves over. Her limbs and others’ flailing, hitting each other. All escaping the lines.

The ride next to theirs is filling up. The drop tower. She spots the worker locked in her booth. Hears her yelling for people to get on. Bodies are beating at the door and glass surrounding her. Streaking blood. Glass splintering their hands.

A woman grabs a man standing near the booth. Bites into his neck like a vampire.

For a second longer, Camis is a spectator. A woman digesting Rhys walks up behind her. Crumbs of flesh stuck in her teeth. Trips over the metal in a groan, and Camie looks down. Their eyes meet.

Fight. Flight. Freeze. She does all three and still runs toward the drop tower. She only has to hop one metal gate.

The cannibals have plenty of victims. And she watches the cycle of victims becoming perpetrators, as the bitten man has changed. Reaches out for her now, bloodthirsty.

He grabs her hand and won’t let go. She cries out, and a darker hand overlaps both of theirs. Pries the grip loose. She doesn’t look at who helped her. Only to an empty seat and steps forward to sit down. Lowers the harness.

The world spins. Moves up. And up. And up. Her lids bear down as she cries, and her eyes stay shut until the movement stops.

A vantage point, looking down on the park like a god lowered from the heavens in a play. All is death and chaos. Someone will cut her cord eventually, and she’ll die too. Until then, she holds her harness and anticipates the drop.

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“Fazed” by Lillie Daniel | Digital Photography

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Thank you to the students, faculty, and staff who served as managing and copy editors, designers and illustrators, readers and public relations managers, advisors, judges, and sponsors. We especially thank the many creative and talented contributors who give a diverse cross-section of voices to this publication. To receive your own copy of 2025 Words, call 859-344-3344 or email [email protected].