Streaker in Saratoga by Julie Goldberg

In college, a girl named Libby streaked alone across the quad, limbs loose and windblown, her body a ribbon. Past the dining hall, past the new dorms, she kept on going. We cheered and roared and everyone we knew was nineteen. Past the dean’s house, into the woods where the freshmen smoked and tripped and mused. And as we watched her nude body camouflage into the flames of the foliage, the air sharpened into autumn and seemed to drop the hot weight of summer like an old textbook. We don’t know if the hyenas got her. We don’t know if she’s still running.

Julie Goldberg is currently a student at the University of Cambridge, where she is earning her M.Phil in eighteenth-century literature. Her work has previously been published in Litro Magazine. You can follow her on twitter at @timo3chalamet.