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The Crusader’s Quill

Staff Editors

Fiction Staff

Rae Labonte

Quinlan McGoff

Cameron Parks

Business Managers

Gavin Clapp

Poetry Staff

Drew Reimels

Ava Carvelli

Evie Dorman

Fiction Editors

Rae Labonte

Quinlan McGoff

Cameron Parks

Design Staff

Evie Dorman

Poetry Editors

Tyler Douglass

Evie Dorman

Nicholas Losinski

Amanda Nollenberger

Rae Labonte

William O’Connor

Quinlan McGoff

Natalie Weber

Treasurer

Advisor

Drew Reimels

Mrs. Samanta

Cover Design Amanda Nollenberger

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Introduction This first edition of The Crusader’s Quill has been a long time coming. CTK has always offered places for students to showcase their athletic and artistic talents, and now there is a place to showcase their literary talents as well. We sincerely thank everyone who submitted their work to The Crusader's Quill: Erna Bracewell, Mayla Brinkley, Carlos Coello, Katie Condon, N. Rae Labonte, Emily Le, Quinlan McGoff, Giselle Medina, Amanda Nollenberger, William O’Connor, Drew Reimels, Xavier Vutz, and all the authors who have chosen to remain anonymous. None of this would be possible without your engaging stories, poems, and essays. We also thank all those involved in the production aspect of the book. Each person had a role to play, even if simply by showing up to the meetings; and your efforts and dedication have made our vision a reality. This thanks extends to Mrs. Samanta, whose guidance and instruction has been invaluable throughout the process of creating this collection of works. Lastly, we thank you, Reader. We truly appreciate your audience and willingness to support CTK’s writers. We hope that you enjoy these stories, essays, and poems, and consider contributing to next year’s edition of The Crusader’s Quill!

Sincerely, Quinlan McGoff and Rae Labonte

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Table of Contents Thomas More’s Life: A Marriage of Faith and Reason Carlos Coello……Thomas More’s Marriage of Faith and Reason 4 William O’Connor………Synthesizing More’s Faith and Reason 7 Drew Reimels……………………..………………….God’s First 9 Xavier Vutz……………………….Reconciling Faith and Reason 11 Nostalgia Anonymous…………………..Knowing You’ll Always Be There 14 Anonymous………………………………………………October 16 Love Poems Anonymous…………………………………………………Elegy 18 Katie Condon…………………………Personal Vignette—Father 21 Amanda Nollenberger……………………………….Coffee Cups 24 Amanda Nollenberger…………………………………I Love You 26 Medieval Tales N. Rae Labonte………………………………Flowers of the Field 29 Giselle Medina………..The Earthly Beauties of The Knight’s Tale 38 Tribute to Adventure Anonymous………………………………………..Monetary Gain 41 Anonymous………………………………………………Stranded 46 Erna Bracewell…………………………………….Nimble Natalie 56 Maya Brinkley………………………………………...Sandwiches 60 Quinlan McGoff……………………………………….Siren’s Call 71 Spooky Stories Katie Condon…………………...Binley the Ghost—A Short Story 75 Katie Condon……………………………Mirror Spirits, Chapter 1 77 Emily Le……………………………………………Knock, Knock 80 Natural Law Katie Condon……………………...Everyone Deserves a Birthday 93 N. Rae Labonte…………………………..The Tree on the Median 95 Amanda Nollenberger………………………………………Mercy 97

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The Life of St. Thomas More: a Marriage of Faith and Reason

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CARLOS COELLO

Thomas More’s Marriage of Faith and Reason

A Man For All Seasons is a critically acclaimed film

produced by Fred Zinneman that follows Thomas More, a chancellor of England, who disapproves of the divorce of King Henry VIII, making him an enemy of the kingdom. King Henry VIII’s wife is barren causing him to desire a unlawful divorce in the eyes of the church, however, with the king’s great power and influence, not many are willing to say that to his face. St. Thomas More’s life exemplifies the marriage of faith and reason by demonstrating how his religious convictions guide his opinions and belief, and how he uses reason to defend these beliefs from external pressures.

St. Thomas More was a politician, but he was a follower

of Christ first and that always shows through his thoughts and opinions. In a conversation with the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas claims, “when statesmen forsake their own private consciences for the sake of their public duties… they lead their country by a short route to chaos” (Zinnerman, Duke says goodbye scene). Thomas is a firm believer that one should never have to compromise their beliefs for the good of the people, and in Thomas’ case, his belief is in God, thus proving how Thomas always uses religion to guide

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his beliefs. An even more direct example of Thomas using religion to guide his beliefs is when Thomas resigns, stating, “I am the king’s true subject… but God’s first” (Zinnerman, Thomas resigned scene). As Thomas hands over his chain of office, it is more apparent than ever how his belief in God guides his every move, even causing him to resign from a highly prestigious office because it was going to compromise his conviction. Thomas’ beliefs are so greatly influenced by God’s word that he often finds himself going against the crowd, meaning that he must have a means to defend his beliefs.

Thomas More brilliantly defends said beliefs by using his

high intellect and reasoning to argue against anyone who might say otherwise. Thomas’ high intellect and reasoning come into effect in the final act, when he must defend himself in court from Cromwell’s accusations, claiming “The maxim is ‘Qui tucer consentire’ – the man who is silent is taken to agree. But silence gives consent only in matters where a man can speak,” (Zinnerman, Court Scene). Cromwell comes at Thomas with a well thought out argument against his beliefs, so Thomas masterfully responds with a quick and extremely clever response, demonstrating his use of reason in defending his convictions. Then later on in the same scene, More finds himself attacked again, where in he must once again use his reasoning to defend himself, stating, ‘Some men think the Earth is round, others think it is flat; it is a matter capable of question. But if it is flat, will the king's command make it round?” (Zinnerman Court Scene). Here we see Thomas using the classic maneuver of taking someone's flawed logic, and applying it elsewhere, once again showing his use of reasoning to defend his religious beliefs.

Thomas More was extremely brave for what he did;

afterall, standing up to an entire kingdom because of year beliefs is

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not an easy task. But nevertheless, he executed it perfectly, exemplifying how one can marry faith and reason together in a way that makes them way more to many, and is a testament to the combined power of faith and reason when truly used correctly by a man of high faith and intellectuality.

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William O’Connor

Synthesizing More’s Faith and Reason

Fred Zinnerman’s film A Man for All Seasons covers the

later life and execution of St. Thomas More. More lived in England during the reign of King Henry VIII, and was killed for refusing to swear to the validity of the King’s second marriage. In order to defend himself, More uses reason, but he retains his devotion to the truth he believes.

More’s reason appears in his deep understanding of the

law. This understanding appears when he allows Richard Rich to leave freely. While this action is potentially dangerous for him, more defends it by saying:

MORE: I’d give the devil benefit of the law for my own

safety’s sake. (Zinneman, Post-Resignation Scene) More understanding that if he were to violate the law in this instance, he leaves himself vulnerable to attacks by his enemies. Instead, More uses his reason to protect himself. Later, when interviewed at the tower, More continues to use reason to defend himself from Cromwell’s accusations. Cromwell uses the fact that More refused to take the oath to assume disloyalty, but More responds:

MORE: Law requires more than an assumption.

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More perfectly identifies the flaw with Cromwell’s rationale, thus using his reason and comprehension of how the law works to navigate himself out of the charges.

Although More’s reason helps him dodge accusations,

More is still ultimately persecuted, but his incredible faith allows him to face it. Firstly, More describes the importance of his belief:

MORE: Not that I believe it, but that I believe it

(Zinneman, Post-Resignation discussion with Norfolk) More has just sacrificed his position for his faith. Then

he expresses his right to freedom of conscience: the freedom to believe what he wishes, regardless of whether the king approves. Later, his daughter requests that he take the oath, and thus go against his faith. However, More responds:

MORE: What is an oath then, but the words we say to

God? (Zinnerman, Tower Scene) More is unwilling to deny his faith, he possesses a strong belief and desire to protect it. More holds onto it, even when it would be easier to lie and escape.

More’s reason allows him to defend against accusations,

but More’s faith is what motivates him to stand resolute against the tyrannical king. Both reason and faith are displayed by More’s actions. By extent, his reason communicates how necessary it is to understand the world, and that sometimes persecution is inevitable. His faith tells us to stand for what we believe, and that we have a right to our own freedom of conscience.

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Drew Reimels

God’s First A Man for All Seasons, the film by Fred Zinnemann, based on the play by Robert Bolt (itself informed by the Book of Sir Thomas More, written by Shakespeare and others), tells the story of the last days of the saint and Catholic martyr Thomas More. More did not approve of King Henry the VIII’s annulment from his wife, Catherine of Aragon, and the film depicts the difficulty he faced fighting for what he deemed right and just. Thomas More uses reason to defend the law, and his faith, then lets faith inspire his lawful actions. Thomas More uses his reasoning skills to identify the limits of political power and the need in a just society for a system of laws. While being pressured to sign the Act of Succession, he asks his inquisitors: “Some think the Earth is round, others think it flat; it is a matter of capable question. But if it is flat, will the King's command make it round? And if it is round, will the King’s command flatten it?” (Bolt 133). Here More asserts that by no means is a monarch capable of reading another man’s mind. Truth, he claims, exists regardless of power. In his final trial, when Cromwell accuses him of perverting the law and hiding behind a cloud of confusion, he declares: “The law is not a light for you or any man to see by; the law is not an instrument of any kind. The law is a causeway upon which, so long as he keeps to it, a citizen

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may walk safely” (Bolt 152–153). More does not step outside the boundaries of the law, and he trusts that all those who abide by it will be kept safe. Faith guides More, enabling him to make decisions that will glorify God before others. Once having been found guilty, he expresses his belief that the judgment against him is in direct conflict with his rights as a faithful Catholic. At which point Cromwell accuses him of malice. But More disagrees:” I do no harm, I think more harm. And if this be not enough to keep a man alive, then in good faith I long not to live” (Bolt 160). More believed that compromising his morals just to appease King Henry’s request would have made life not worth living. His last words at his execution on July 6, 1535 are said to have been: “I die the king’s good servant, but God's first”. Throughout his life, More remained a loyal subject to the King’s throne and Rule, but King Henry’s desire to disobey God’s Law required More to pick a side. Thomas More died a martyr by standing up for what was right, trusting in his faith, and using reason to provide evidence for why power does not grant a man exception from God’s laws. His decision to die for The Commandments of God strengthened the Church, and his ultimate victory as a glorious martyr inspires us to this day.

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Xavier Vutz

Reconciling Faith and Reason A Man for All Seasons, a dramatic screenplay directed by Fred Zinnemann, based on Robert Bolt's play of the same name, depicts St. Thomas More's refusal to recognize the King's claim to be the Head of the Church in England, his struggle for survival, and finally, his execution by King Henry VIII. The screenplay shows More's battle to reconcile his faith and reason, wanting to survive but not at the cost of his conscience. St. Thomas More's life exemplifies the marriage of faith and reason by showing how he attempts to protect his faith through reason, so as not to be killed for his beliefs; and how he uses both faith and reason whilst speaking to others. St. Thomas More's struggle to protect his faith may be seen in several instances. The first instance of this may be seen at the beginning of More's trial when Cromwell accuses him of denying King Henry VIII's title with More arguing: MORE. No, this was silence. And for my silence I am punished with imprisonment. (Zinnemann, Court Scene). This shows More's use of reason in service of his faith, protecting himself by remaining silent but not lying to the court or getting himself killed. Another use of More's reason in service of protecting his faith may be seen shortly after the prior example when More says: MORE. The world must construe according to its wits. This court must construe according to the law. (Zinnemann, Court Scene).

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This once again shows More's use of reason in defending his faith. He tells the courts that they cannot lawfully deduce his beliefs from their thoughts but only from what they can demonstrate. He skillfully avoids denying his faith and himself legally, forcing the court to rig his trial and, unlawfully, convict him. The marriage of faith and reason is demonstrated through his protection of others. This is first seen when More's wife, Alice, attempts to discuss King Henry VIII's marriage, with More saying: MORE. Alice, it's a point of law! Accept it from me, Alice, that in silence is my safety under the law, but my silence must be absolute, it must exude to you. (Zinnemann, More’s resignation scene). More goes on to tell Alice the peril her soul would be in if he did not remain silent, showing More's two-pronged use of reason to protect himself and his faith legally and their souls spiritually. A second instance of More's dual use of faith and reason may be seen when William Roper argues that all of the laws should be torn down, with More replying: MORE. I give the Devil benefit of the law for my own safety's sake. (Zinnemann, Dining Room Scene). More's use of faithful language conveys that while many laws are corrupt and evil, tearing the whole system down will only empower evil. Additionally, it serves as More's warning to William Roper about treasonous language, showing that More uses his faith and reason to lead himself and others to rational conclusions. More's conflict with Henry VIII is intertwined with a larger battle and synchronization of faith and reason. The marriage of faith and reason may be seen throughout the story, particularly in the court and More's discussions with others. As More’s life demonstrates, faith and reason are not mutually exclusive—they're how the human spirit rises to greater contemplation.

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Nostalgia

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Anonymous

Knowing You’ll Always Be There Home is sweet, like ice-pops on the porch in one-hundred degree weather. It's picking the prickly pears from the cacti and making them into jam.

Home is the sound of planes flying over the house every hour, the national anthem playing everyday on the way home from school.

Home is the pickle store, and painted water towers. It’s the church turned into a school, the library you spent half your life in, the playground you lost your first tooth at.

Home is rodeos and horses and music you sometimes hate. It’s not going out

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because it's too hot and the sole of your sister’s shoe is melting. Not knowing what snow looks like, and sledding on sand.

Home is moving over and over, away from best friends whose names you've forgotten the people always coming and going.

Home is nostalgia and homesickness.

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Anonymous

October Long nights, and shorter days Hazy skies, when sun says goodbye

Bonfires whisper, orange laughter. Moments endless with the people you love.

Over the years together we’ve flown Like leaves dance on this joyful evening.

Look! Beyond the ashes: The sun rises.

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Love Poems

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Anonymous

Elegy Stare, stare, you sorry soul, You poor light who has been covered, Dark mass, led by your brothers. Those that cared will surely weep, As they too know they will go some day, They stare upon the ground and wish For someone unlike any other.

A boy who defeated the ancient giants, A man with envy who never tried. Both lock eyes and understand, That being dust, they both will die.

So stare, and stare, focus now. Your chance is fleeting, and will go If you don’t summon up your courage. As I speak, I know you weep

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For him in the grave you kneel before. Your tears stain the faded grass, And the rain soon will follow.

The bones of the giants litter the field And remind you of your distant life. Not that it would matter now, Your future’s already passed through the mist.

The mist becomes fog, and so do your thoughts. Smog all around, clear vision a farce. But the light that glows in the distance Glows stronger each minute. You turn your eyes and stare. Stare at the future you’ve tried so hard to miss, The grave, and all its bones, scares you no more.

Stare, stare, you sorry soul, At the bruises on your arms And the scars on your legs, And the dark mass that plagues your thoughts. The brothers weep for the day that you died And soon will die, too, by the power of your resurrection.

The bones of the giants have always been yours.

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Your broken heart will mend in due time. Forget everything you’ve ever known, And let yourself finally view the sublime.

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Katie Condon

Father (a personal vignette) Father. One who protects. One who will stand on the highest mountain and fight the foes that rise to him. He brandishes his sword of silver, the image of a family burned into the hilt.

There is no sheath. The war he fights is endless. The one to protect the people burnt into the hilt of his sword.

Father. One who judges. The hand of the father is like hard rain,

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washing over the people. The one who wishes to please, and the one who wishes to do good, both are held in his hand. Struck like by lightning, by his judgments they fall: wishing to please, wishing to love, wishing not to be judged as criminals, afraid.

Father. One who loves. The father loves those close to his heart. The father loves those close in mind. The father loves with the strength of one thousand swords and the Word of God. The father loves with power, and with gentleness to soothe the soul.

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Amanda Nollenberger

Coffee Cups The morning light glows through the curtains And the sheets are all tousled around You walk in and you say, “Good morning,” And I smile at the familiar sound I open my eyes and see you there And our coffee cups are in your hands You hand one to me and I take it And, sipping, I think about all our plans The five-year, ten-year, the lifetime goal Thinking of what we want and wishing Like to drink our coffee at 80, Sitting on the porch, reminiscing And I think about us past then, too As we rest side by side in the dirt. What will be left of all the stories That we wrote of love, of life, of hurt?

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I only hope that when she comes here, The archaeologist, far from now, She stumbles on both our coffee cups Buried here, someday, and wonders how They got to the bedroom or the porch, And what habits of love we had shared Like how you bring my coffee to me And all the broken cups you’ve repaired.

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Amanda Nollenberger

I Love You I love you as Icarus loved the sun, Perhaps too close, perhaps too much I fell for your warmth, for your rush, Down into the waters of your love.

I love you as the sea loves the shore Rushing back for more, and more. You catching again my tidal force, There with a smile, certain and sure.

I love you as wood loves a flame, Fueling the fire while losing its grain, Small and charred, and given away, The amber of ember still remains.

I love you as a moth loves the light, Fighting and yearning, with all of its might

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For a taste of warmth amidst the cold night. Love, light the way, and we’ll be alright.

I love you as a mother loves the girl she used to be, Reminiscing and longing for a taste of being free, Wishing for the future that she used to see, Carrying it with her: a puzzle and its piece.

I love you as paper loves the pen, Together creating, making to no end Messages, meanings, sentences with intent Much like this love letter I’ve never sent.

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middle ages

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N. Rae Labonte

Flowers of the Field

“Is that all you got?” I said standing over top of Rudolf with a wooden practice sword pointed down to his neck. I smiled victoriously as my opponent put his hands up in defeat. I moved my sword and foot away from him. “I thought you said you had been practicing Rudolf?” I said whilst lending him a hand up off the ground. “I have been!” Rudolf retorted while he took my hand and got up off the ground “You just caught me off guard that's all.” “Uhhuh…and I’m the king” I replied sarcastically but before Rudolf had any time to answer, I changed the subject “Hey! Let’s go over there!” I said pointing over to a large shady tree that stuck out in the middle of the field. It flourished with bright green leaves which from the bottom of the hit made the tree look so tall. So I picked up my wooden sword and ran towards the tree without a second thought. “Huh?” Rudolf said as he saw me quickly sprinting away “WAIT! GELDWIN HOLD UP'' he yelled as he picked up his own sword and ran up the hill. Once we reached the tree we both sat down overlooking the grass we were just playing in.

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The field was a vast landscape of uncut unowned land. White and yellow Flowers covered the small hills and plains. The field was about an hour walk from any village or town, so it was basically paradise. The day was perfect too, not a cloud in sight, the sky was blue, and a breeze was present. We sat together in peace for some time. Our backs up against the tree and Rudolf with his head resting on my shoulder. We sat in silence while we both seemed to think. “So….” “So?” “You really don’t want to marry anyone?” “Rudolf,” I say, a little agitated. “we’re only 14, and I’m not going to have time for all that mushy stuff like falling in love when I’m a knight! You’ll be a knight too someday, so you need to understand that” “But like ever? Even after you get out?” “I don’t know, maybe” And with that the conversation faded back into a comforting silence as the shade of the tree covered my face. I closed my eyes as I took in a deep breath, then let out a sigh. “Geldwin…”

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I placed my head on top of Rudolf’s, fully embracing the peacefulness the field provided. “Geldwin Wake Up!” A sting spread across my cheek which forced me to wake up. When I did, I was met with an older looking Rudolf. Face matured, and his mousy brown hair turned dark brown over the years. I felt the sting on my cheek from where I guessed Rudolf had slapped me. I had also taken notice of my body’s soreness from the cot I’d slept on the previous night. “Come on. Get up,” Rudolf says “today is the day.” he continued whilst he stood up from where he had been sitting on the cot. “Today is like any other day. We will be victorious, Rudolf, don’t you worry my friend” I didn’t want to get up but I knew I should or else all of the breakfast would be gone. I rubbed my eyes to try and rid myself of the dream from the night before, which was a failed attempt. “I never said I was-nevermind. I’ll meet you in the dining hall.” With that he had left me to get dressed. I put on the Aketon and my Hauberk on top, brushed off the pants I had slept in, put my boots on and walked out the tent. Once I left the tent the sky was painted gray, and you could see no blue.

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Eventually I made my way to the dining hall, which was the biggest tent in the camp with short rectangular tables pushed to make two long ones. At one end is the entrance. The other was the food. I got my food and was now looking for Rudolf. It didn’t take me long though because he had been waving at me frantically. I sat down and we ate together in peace. The other men were usually rowdy but today they seemed quieter. I didn’t think anything of it. The men were most likely homesick. “I think you're working too hard Geldwin,” Rudolf started. I paused to look up at Rudolf with a confused expression. “There is no such thing as working too hard when you are a knight for the king, Rudolf.” I said in a manner of trying to brush off his concern. “Geldwin,” he said, ignoring me and persisting on “you're really pushing yourself these days. All you do is sleep, eat, train, and repeat the cycle. You're not taking time to enjoy yourself or just relax”. “Rudolf, you don’t get free time when you are a knight. The two of us were aware of this when we signed up. Our time is dedicated to serving and fulfilling the king's wishes and making sure we are ready to fulfill those wishes.” “But I just thought…you deserve….” Rudolf trailed off. The quietness loomed back over us as we finished our food and left the dining hall. The day had gone by at a snail's pace. Rudolf and I had departed from one another after breakfast when we would not see each other until the battle.

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I had full confidence that the two of us would make it through. After the morning hours had passed all the men went to tend to their weapons to prepare for war. I had been cleaning my armor whilst thinking ‘this battle will be over within the hour, I don’t know why the others seem to be afraid.’. Later that morning I had decided I needed to preserve my energy for the battle. So instead of working on my swordsmanship, I would attempt to write a letter to my mother back home in England. Dear Mother, Rudolf and I have been faring well here at camp. Setting up was a bit of a struggle though due to some of the men still recovering from the sickness that had gone through a couple months prior. I know you wish for me to return home and settle down. That is something you and Rudolf can agree on. He has been going on about marriage and “owning an estate” ever since we were kids. I know you do not wish to hear about my complaints though, so I shall move on. France has been colder than I originally thought.. I believe this is due to the lack of men we have because of the ailment that has swept through. My hope is that you and my sisters are in good health. I know the winter was brutal last year. May God be with you. Your Son, Sir Geldwin, Loyal Knight to the King. After the letter was added to the pile to be sent out, we all made our way to the field, ready for battle. Rudolf was now standing next to me, as we both looked straight ahead to the field in front of us. The sky was still gray; it looked like it could rain at any moment. Rudolf and I stood in peace together like we always did. That was until Rudolf spoke up “I don’t think this will be as

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easy as you think it will, Geldwin. This is not like what we have dealt with before.” “We will be fine, it’s like any battle we fight them, and they will fight us back until one of us retreats.” I said trying to ignore the irrational nervousness that had befallen my dearest friend. For he hadn’t sounded this worried before a battle since our first “But it will be them that retreats.” I said, as I patted him on the back in an attempt to comfort Rudolf. “No Geldwin I don’t think you get it. These guys are rumored to have long range weapons, I don’t think they fight the same way we do. This is not like fighting a civil war, we are fighting against people who will try to win at any cost.” His frustration towards me was evident but I shrugged his worry off. Everybody in this camp had been talking about how the enemy might be using bow and arrows, and other long ranged weapons. If this were so we would be outnumbered because we don’t have any archers. It wouldn’t be a fair fight. It would be like bringing a knife to a fist fight. That is not how we fight. We were standing on top of a hill that dipped into a valley and on the other side were the enemies, the French. The hill was covered in flowers and tall grass. The flowers were a mix of purples and yellows that complimented the green of the grass so perfectly it could’ve only been designed by God himself. Though from what I could see through my helmet, at the time, There weren't any archers. “You worry for nothing Rudolf” I say. Then the front lines of both sides began to advance slowly until it had excelterated into a run. Now everybody is running towards each other, destined to crash into one another in this big open hilly landscape. Then the blood shed starts. Men are swinging at each other with swords and pushing with shields. I engaged in combat

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with a man who had red armor on, and bared the crest of his family. The crest was gold and in the shape of a snake swirling around a tree. He had run up to me and slashed his sword. To protect myself from his blow I raised up my sheild. With adrenaline running through me, I raised up my sword and pulled downward and struck his left arm. He cried out in pain as my sword ran deep. Anger filled him now when he swung at me again. I deflected his attack, and then swung my sword again. This man did not wield a shield, so he was unable to protect himself from my strikes. This time I hit his neck and he came crashing down from where he stood. A tall and mighty man, now dying out on the battlefield because of me. A surge of confidence ran through me as I looked down upon his lifeless corpse. I had been too distracted with fighting to notice the arrows falling down around me like spears from the sky. “GELDWIN!” I heard my name from behind. I turned around without a second thought. There he was, my dearest friend running towards me. As he ran I had taken notice that his armour had been painted a deep crimson color. Which made me pause what I had been doing and just watched, I felt uneasy all of a sudden. “MOVE!” he yelled, desperation clear in his voice. I could not. I was frozen in place, the battle had finally gotten to my muscles and were too worn to move. His arms were extended in front of him as he crashed into me, pushing me to the ground. I put my hands behind me in an attempt to cushion my fall as I hit the ground with a clunk of my armor, dropping my sword. I had been caught off guard by this, as a thousand questions ran through my head. I looked up from the ground, about to open my mouth and ask him why he just did that. When my gaze had finally

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reached him my heart dropped. A large arrow stuck out of his chest. He stood there for a second motionless until his legs buckled and his knees hit the grass below him. My world fell quiet as he fell. The helmet he had been wearing made it impossible for me to see his face at that moment. For all I knew it could’ve been someone dressed like Rudolf. I did not want to believe what I had seen, but I knew I had to. The fighting continued around me but at that point it didn’t matter any more. I rushed over to him, and I could hear him gasping for air. I kneeled down as the world seemed to slow down. I slowly unclasped and removed his helmet to behold him. Once removed, I could see his face completely and could no longer deny the situation in front of me. As I knelt beside him, Rudolf lifted a hand up and tried to grasp for the arrow that was lodged in his chest. “Hey hey don’t do that, it'll only make it worse.” I scolded, as I guided his hand away from the arrow. The amount of strength he had lost was now more apparent; as he did not attempt to assert his reasoning and he had simply let me try and help him. I had moved my arms to cradle him and as I had done so, his injury became clear. I removed my helmet and tossed it to the side carelessly. At that moment it became undeniable, I couldn’t help him. I looked up and had searched for a doctor through the chaos. If I had been able to move him away from the battlefield I could’ve found someone to help him. As I scanned the field for the safest route out of there, Rudolf called for me again. I turned my focus back to him, my eyes met in his as he asked in a pained voice “Can we go up there?” pointing somewhere in the distance, “I think it would be a better place to

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die”. I was stunned by his request but found myself looking to where he had pointed to. On the far side of the valley, away from the fighting, there stood a grand tree with far reaching branches decorated with deep red leaves that overlooked the landscape. I had turned my head away, and searched again in uncertainty for a doctor or someone to help. I was met with the sight of flowers now covered in blood shed and surrounded by fallen men. “You're not going to die! I will get a doctor for you! I’ll get a doctor” I pleaded. “The tree reminds you of home, don’t you think?” Rudolf refused to let his request go unnoticed. I didn’t want to move Rudolf too much for fear of putting him through more pain. The arrow sticking out of his chest had plugged the hole it had created but his condition was still worsening. “.....Geldwin,” “We will go to the tree” I relented. I moved him slightly in order to get a better hold on him, before I picked him up with an arm hooked under his knees and the other under his back. We walked slowly through the valley, and as we did I caught glimpses of some of the men who laid on the ground. Men whom we had shared meals with, some were men I had never known until now. Once we got to the hill, it became physically difficult to carry him. It was hard to walk the incline with Rudolf in my arms, not only because he was heavy and clunky with his armor, but the blood that covered my hands made it difficult to grasp the metal armor he wore.

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Once we reached the tree, I placed him down leaning him up against it. I looked down at Rudolf and noticed he had been struggling to keep his eyes open, instead he gazed upon the field with a half lidded expression. I pushed aside the emotions that flared within me, instead I took a seat beside him. The two of us sat together in a comfortable silence overlooking the valley we had just been in. “So?” “Rudolf, you're bleeding out, don’t start this again. Now is not the time to talk about marriage.” “Just promise me you'll consider it? I only ever wanted you to be happy. I know back then what made you happy was the hope of glory and the knighthood. I knew…I hoped you would realize that someday-” He had taken a pause to catch his breath. “....you can learn to enjoy the smallest thing in life…….. You, you don’t need this fighting to have a fulfilling life…I feel this will only cause you pain. you don’t need any of this fighting…” he said as his breathing got heavier and the pauses in between what he said grew longer and longer as time went by. “I promise, my friend.” I assured him quietly. I glanced over to him and noticed a soft smile grow on his face. In his eyes was hope, and even though he seemed happy with my response, tears fell from them. He did not look at me, for his gaze was still fixed on the field of men whose blood paints the

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blooming purple and yellow flowers; as the sun had begun to lower itself to the horizon. The peaceful silence that always seemed to fall upon us as we sat side by side, fell upon us one last time. I looked out ahead as well, but could not bear the sight of the field for long. Lowering my head instead, I looked down at my hands that were stained with his blood. The bright maroon served as a reminder of what had happened. He rested his head on my shoulder and left me there.

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Giselle Medina

The Earthly Beauties of The Knight’s Tale Written by the extraordinary poet Geoffrey Chaucer, “The Knight’s Tale” in The Canterbury Tales is a chivalric romance that follows the Theban knights and cousins, Palamon and Arcite, as they fight for the hand of the maiden, Emelye, in marriage. Chaucer creates richly detailed characters through whom he explores topics such as fate, virtue, and power. Both Diana, the Roman goddess of the hunt, and Emelye, the sister-in-law of Theseus, king of Athens, represent earthly helplessness and submission to chastity, yet differ in that one is divine and the other mortal. Diana and Emelye embody the wilderness and a sense of powerlessness. For example, Theseus dedicates a temple to Diana, painted with scenes of hunting and chastity. Inside the temple stands a statue of Diana, described by the Knight as “clothed in yellowish green, / With bow in hand and arrows in a quiver” (Chaucer 2079–2080). This description of Diana reflects the goddess's role as a symbol of nature and chastity. The color of her clothing represents her deep connection to the wilderness, as “yellowish green” reminds readers of trees, leaves, grass, and gardens. Similarly, Palamon, imprisoned in a dungeon with Arcite,

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first notices Emelye in a garden “...full of green branches, / Where this fresh Emelye the bright / Was in her walk, and roamed up and down” (1067–1069). Overcome with love at first sight, Palamon is captivated by her lively spirit. Furthermore, the setting of a garden symbolizes Emelye’s beauty, but also her domesticity, as Theseus has, in effect, captured her and her sister as prizes for winning a war. Ironically, while Palamon and Arcite, confined in prison, admire Emelye’s freedom, she, though physically free, remains a prisoner of Theseus. Despite their association with the vibrant outdoors, Diana and Emelye are trapped by forces greater than them. Diana, though a goddess, cannot escape the fierce influence of the more powerful gods, while Emelye, captured by Theseus and taken from her homeland in the Amazon, has little control over her fate. Diana’s divine nature and Emelye’s mortality underscores their different roles in the story. When Emelye calls upon Diana, she honors the goddess’s authority, praying, “‘O chaste goddess of the green woods, / To whom both heaven and earth and sea is visible,’” (2297–2298). These lines emphasize Diana’s omniscient power and ability to see everything in heaven, earth, and the sea. Diana exists beyond human concerns and has already fulfilled her fate. In contrast, Emelye prays to the goddess, pleading, “Keep me from thy vengeance and thy ire, / Which Acteon paid for cruelly. /…Now help me, lady, since you can and know how, / For those three forms that thou hast in thee” (2302—2313). Emelye seeks to preserve her virginity, so she prays to Diana, which reveals the human desire for divine intervention. Emelye’s fate lies in the hands of others, whether it’s Theseus, who makes her the prize of the tournament between Palamon and Arcite, or Diana, whom she hopes will keep her unmarried. Diana’s temple, with images of tragic fates like Callisto’s, who

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angered Diana enough to turn her into a bear, differs greatly from Emelye, who seeks guidance from Diana. The contrast between Diana’s divinity and Emelye’s humanity highlights the human longing to connect with something greater, even if it cannot be fully understood. Through this comparison, the reader gains a deeper understanding of the motivations behind the character’s actions. Ultimately, it illustrates how their lives are shaped by forces beyond their control, which is a key theme in “The Knight’s Tale.”

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Tribute to Adventure

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Anonymous

Monetary Gain The crusty rocker panels of the aging station wagon twisted and crunched under tension as the car haughtily turned from a main thoroughfare onto a road lined with potholes and dribbles of solid municipal waste. Dim sodium-vapour street lights flickered as they lazily illuminated the street. The sun sets quickly in the winter on a day such as this one, and the nights are cold year round, and the days hot. The sand being blown everywhere by the tepid wind doesn’t help. The man sitting in the left side of the car was Wilhem Barchovsky, a civil structural engineer who works at Barchovsky Civil Consulting, and on the right, driving, was Walter Kurkratz, a freelancing cost engineer currently helping out Barchovsky Civil Consulting. “What’s the address?” Wilhem croaked, staring out the window, resting his chin on his palm. He adjusted his glasses, looking forward now, glancing at Walter. “...uuuh. Fourteen Forty One Rosenthal Way,” Walter mutters, sleepily.

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The car lurches into a dark street, lined with dying hedges and leaning streetlights. “Okay, look for the building…” Walter says, rubbing his eyes. The car makes another sharp turn, skidding into a vaguely sandy parking lot, with large cracks in the asphalt and parking space lines that needed a fresh coat of paint at least 20 years ago. Walter throws the car in neutral, yanks the parking brake up, and turns the car off. The two men exit the car, Walter having trouble getting his car door to shut. Walter slams the car door as hard as he can, locking it after turning the key in the door. “You reckon he’s in there?” Wilhem says, scratching his forehead. “Yeah man. He better be.” Walter says, looking behind him as they both walk towards a towering office building, one dimly lit room on the third floor, overlooking the parking lot. A balding man in an ill-fitting suit smokes from a pipe as he watches Walter and Wilhelm trudge up the steps to the large glass facade. He swings open the door for the two. “Come in, please.” He says to Walter, and Wilhelm, as they nod at him and follow him inside. The floor buckles and groans under every step that the three men take, even as they ascend a staircase. The paint and wallpaper on the walls is peeling, a moldy odor overtaking the senses on the second floor. Walter looks backwards, towards Wilhelm, shaking his head at him. Wilhelm simply shrugs back at him. Making it to the third floor, all three walk down a dark hallway. A crusty door appears out of the dark, between giant walls composed of milky, foggy glass panels. The balding man removes a gnarly set of more than just a few keys from his pocket, slowly glancing through each one in the dark as Walter and

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Wilhelm stand idly by. A few minutes later the right key appears, blindly fumbled into the keyhole of the rusty door handle. The door clicks and clacks, creaking as it groans open. The men all enter, sitting down at a wide desk facing away from the giant frothy window. The chairs are weird and old, with plush seats and backs with wooden frames. The walls are dull, covered with portraits of bald old men in ill-fitting suits, grinning strangely. The bald man sits down behind his desk, puffing little balls of smoke out of his mouth. He puts reading glasses on, grabbing a paper laying on the desk. Walter and Wilhelm both instinctively slump a bit in their chairs as the bald man removes the pipe from his mouth. “...As I am sure you two know, Rickershafen City Council has denied our request for funds that are needed for multiple infrastructure and construction projects.” The bald man says, sticking the pipe back in his mouth. “And how much did you ask for?” Walter says. “...Six million Marks.” The bald man states, stuffing more tobacco in his pipe now. “...In that currency?” Wilhelm says, concerned, tilting his head back now. “No, the equivalent of six million Marks.” Wilhelm and Walter nod. “So… uh, what now?” Wilhelm says. The bald man tilts his head to the right and strokes his chin as he speaks. “I’d suppose loans aren’t out of the question… but realistically it’d be too much of a financial burden to repay.” “...Alright Doctor Kunkelmaiyer, what’s our last option?” Wilhelm says, stretching his back on the chair.

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The balding Doctor Kunkelmaiyer takes a drag from his pipe, making a sour face, and turns, as the sound of a car alarm is heard. Walter stands up and looks, before jogging quickly to the door, shrugging. Wilhelm stands up, looking out the window. “...Someone’s, uhhh.. in his car.” He says, scratching his forehead vigorously. Walter skips steps on the way down, going three or four at a time, slamming into the walls of the stairwell as he sprints down the stairs. He makes it to the first floor, throwing open the foggy glass door. A man is digging around in Walter’s station wagon, the door open. “HEY!” Walter screams, sprinting towards his car. The man who broke into his car scrambles out of the rear bench seat and stumble-runs off down the street, leaving Walter’s stuff all over in his car and on the ground. Walter shakes his head, regaining his breath. He sighs, looking back up at the room. Walter bends down, grabbing all of his stuff, including papers, a briefcase, and a metal clipboard case. He sorts his documents, putting them each in their containers as he walks back into the building and up the stairs. He swings open the door to Doctor Kunkelmaiyer’s office, panting, out of breath. “...I guess they thought it was an easy target?” Wilhelm says, shrugging. “...This is a business park. Nobody’s ever here, not even the homeless people.” Walter says, sitting down, uncomfortably. He glances around at the walls. “....Your calendar is off, Doctor Kunkelmaiyer.” Walter says, staring at a faded looking calendar marked ‘JUNE NINETEEN NINETY SEVEN’. Walter throws his head back, exhaling upwards. “...So what was our last option?” Wilhelm says, leaning forward onto Doctor Kunkelmaiyer’s desk.

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“Ask for a top-end government grant.” Kunkelmaiyer says, puffing from his pipe. Wilhelm and Walter sigh. “I guess that’s what we’re gonna have to go for.” Walter says. There’s a moment of silence as the men let this new information sink in. “...Alright, Doctor… We’ll see you again next week.” Walter nods, standing up. Wilhelm looks at Walter’s papers, as Walter pushes in his chair, grabbing all of his documents. Doctor Kunkelmaiyer simply nods back, puffing on his tobacco pipe. Walter walks down the sagging stairs first, groaning out a sentence, slowly. “I genuinely don’t know how much of what we’re gonna need to do to get a government grant.” Wilhelm shrugs and thinks for a moment. “...Guess it’s like that thing we hear people say, ‘preaching to the choir’?” Wilhelm laughs, turning the corner. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. What time is it?” Walter asks. Wilhelm sighs, turning the last flight of stairs, stumbling a bit. “Too late for me to drive home. Can I crash on your couch?” Wilhelm says, scratching his head. Walter sighs. “...I guess, just let me call my girlfriend.” He pushes open the frothy glass door, looking around. They spot a payphone and stroll over to it. “This place genuinely gives me the creeps.” Wilhelm says, looking around, tall office buildings with blown-out windows and abandoned cars in parking lots looking back at him. Walter shrugs, opening his cracked and emaciated fake-leather wallet and pulling out a set of dull, defaced coins minted in a bygone era. They look at the payphone, realizing it’s been vandalized as they get closer.

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The actual ‘phone’ section of the payphone is gone, being destroyed by some vagrants a long time ago. The shell still stands like a scarecrow in this concrete wasteland. They both sigh, dejectedly walking back to Walter’s car. As they come up to the door, Walter hesitates, picking up a broken, dropped disposable camera. He stares at the camera for a few moments, before finally speaking. “I guess we’ll find somewhere in town where I can call Marla.”

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Anonymous

Stranded The following letters and journal entries were found in the Singapore airport on the fourteenth of March, 20– May 2, 20— Dear Caitlin, How are you? I’m very sorry, but I won’t be able to get back home to you. I miss you very much, but no one here is telling me what happened to my flight, or, if they are, I can’t understand them because they don’t speak English. My phone is almost dead and I lost all my money. I don’t have anything or anyone with me and I am starting to panic. I have a charger, but it’s not the correct charger and I can’t find an outlet. It seems that there is a plane that can bring me home to Charlotte, but it won’t get here until next year. I am very sorry that we won’t be together, but I promise I will keep trying. I know my parents don’t like us together, but you are just going to have to try to get on their good side. I love you! Love, Alex.

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June 2, 20– Dear Caitlin, Since recently turning twenty, I never would have thought I’d find myself stranded at the Singapore Changi airport alone. It's been one month since the day that I got stranded at the airport. I spent today trying to get a flight and looking for someone to help me. A flight attendant tried to help, but she spoke really bad English. It feels like I haven’t slept in days. I have tried walking around outside of the airport but it is a very scary world out there, without many people who speak English. My phone is dead, I have no cash, and no family, obviously. I don't know what people will do when they see a young man just wandering around Singapore all by himself. Regardless, I hope you’re doing better than I am. Have my parents tried contacting anyone to get me home? I miss you. Love, Alex. September 16, 20– Dear Caitlin, It has now been four months. I am still in Singapore. I got kidnapped. A guy tried throwing me into an all black van with tinted windows. I beat the guy up with my karate skills. I tried telling a police officer, but he either didn’t believe me,

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or he didn’t understand. I had a very scary dream last night about you. We were at my parents’ house. My parents were upset at us for wanting to get married. They said we weren’t ready. My parents were yelling at us, even pushing you. I yelled at them to stop. They didn’t stop. They beat you up and dragged you out of the house. I hope something like that never happens. Love, Alex.

Dear Caitlin, I found a Bible next to me, something that I have never read on my own before, because my parents never taught me how. I tried opening it but I struggled to understand what I was reading so I put it back down next to me. The guy sitting across from me saw me put it down and started yelling at me for not reading it. I tried to explain to him that I don’t know how to read the Bible, but he just ignored me. I have to keep telling myself that I’ll be able to go home soon. Love, Alex. November 24, 20– Hey Caitlin, It's been six months since I have been stranded in Singapore. Since I have been at the airport for so long, someone who works at the airport offered for me to

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stay in an airport capsule room for free, but only for one night. I agreed! I finally got an actual meal there, unlike the scraps of food that I had found on the ground. I also got a warm blanket! This day was the best day for me. The next day, however, I was back on the streets wandering around Singapore and checking if there was an airplane that could take me back to Charlotte. The flight information display system still said I had to wait until next year. This news upset me but my parents always taught me to be optimistic. I decided to walk around Singapore even though I smelled terrible because I hadn’t showered or changed into clean clothes in six months. After walking around Singapore for a while, I got tired and decided to sit down under a tree. I found a plastic cup next to me and I decided to try asking for money. I never really liked begging for money, because I saw it as stealing from other people. While sitting under the tree, I was only able to get a couple of Singaporean dollars. I tried getting some food from a gas station, but I got yelled at and kicked out for looking so gross. It makes me so sad to see how rude people can be. Sincerely, Alex. January 3, 20– Hey Caitlin, It's been eight months now since I have been stranded. I am homeless with only

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a little cash. I am not giving up, though. I still have hope that I will survive and get a flight back home. I have tried getting a flight for eight months now but there is still no sign of one until next year. Four more months to go! Today, I had some motivation to try to find someone I could talk to. I found this American girl who looked alright, so I walked up to her. We started talking together and she seemed nice. She told me her name was Allison. After we talked she asked if I wanted to get her luggage with her. I told her that I would love to! She then asked if I wanted to walk around Singapore with her and her family. I was a bit skeptical at first, because I didn’t want to disturb their family vacation, but she was very adamant that I go with her, so I did. Allison's parents were both very suspicious of me. It brought me back to when I first met your parents. After I met Allison's parents, we walked around Singapore. I got a sense that someone was following me, but it was just because I was feeling guilty. I looked around to make sure, but I just brushed it off because I couldn’t see anyone. Allison and her parents later invited me to grab something to eat with them. I told her that I didn’t have any money to help pay, but she told me that it was okay and that her parents were going to pay for all of it. As Allison’s parents walked away to get some food, she told me that she would want to

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hang out again sometime. I told her that I think it would be nice and that we can hang out tomorrow. I told her we can meet for breakfast together at a little breakfast shop, called “Ya Kun Family Cafe.” The day went on, and I was so happy that I met someone that spoke English and someone that was nice to talk to. I am so excited to go get breakfast with Allison tomorrow and hopefully learn more about her. After meeting her parents and her, I went back to the airport to hopefully get some sleep in a nice capsule room again. As I tried asking for a capsule room, the manager told me to leave because I trashed the place. I now had nowhere to sleep except outside. I had to spend the rest of the night outside in the humidity and heat, next to a tree. While I was sleeping I got trash-talked and spat on by drunk and high people. It wasn’t a great end to my day, but it had been the best day I had had overall. Alex. January 4, 20– Dear Diary, I managed to find a small notebook someone left behind. This morning, I woke up early to try to find something nice to wear and hopefully some cologne to wear from the dumpster. I somehow found a nice shirt and shorts that surprisingly smelled pretty decent. So I changed my outfit and got ready for breakfast with the girl I

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met. On the way to breakfast, I pickpocketed a lady and got some cash and a little bottle of perfume. I sprayed some of the perfume on even though it was women's perfume and I stuffed my pockets with the cash for breakfast. As I got inside the restaurant I saw Allison, mesmerizing me with how beautiful she looked. She ran up to me and kissed me on the cheek. I was caught by surprise but I secretly liked it. For breakfast, we both got butter sugar toast and iced lemon tea. I guess we have things in common. As we were eating breakfast I asked her if she liked how I looked. She told me she doesn’t care how I look or if I stink, and that she only likes people by their personality. That is how she knew that I was a nice person to talk to when we first met. I liked the compliment she gave me and I started thinking to myself if she liked me and if that was why she kissed me and was acting all weird. After breakfast, I told her that I had fun meeting up with her and getting to know her more. On the way out, I kissed her goodbye, telling her that I was going back home to Charlotte. I felt guilty because I had just cheated on my girlfriend, Caitlin, back home in Charlotte, but I haven’t seen her in so long that I don't know if I ever will. March 16, 20– Dear Diary,

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It's been ten months since I was first stranded at the airport. I have some cash still from when I pickpocketed the woman. I now have two people I am dating. Allison, who is with me in Singapore, and Caitlin, who is back in Charlotte. I don’t know what girl I should stay with. I could stay in Singapore for another year with the girl I met in the airport, or I could go back home to Charlotte, with who I thought was the girl of my dreams. My phone is still dead, I think, unless someone stole my stuff somehow back in the airport. My mind is spinning and I have so many thoughts. Thoughts of me not making it out of Singapore ever, me dying, and me getting hurt. Regardless, today is finally the day that I can go back home to Charlotte to see my family. “Do I really want to go back home to see my family though?” What if they don’t want me because I have been gone for so long?” I have many questions and I don't know what is the right decision for me. I decided, however, that I am going to go back home. I feel ready to get new clothes and hopefully be a different man. On the way to the airport, I almost got run over by a speeding taxi driver. I was just so excited that I was finally about to make it home to my family that I wasn't looking where I was going so it was partially my fault.

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As soon as I got to the airport my suitcase was gone. There were so many people that I couldn't see who had my suitcase or not. I was very hungry, so I went to a little bakery in the airport called Bakery Cuisine. I got a chocolate banana prata for breakfast. It was very delicious. I’ll be sure to write again once I’m safe on the ground in Charlotte. I closed the small journal I kept on me, getting up from my spot on a bench. On the way to my gate, I looked for my flight. I tried finding it, but I didn't see it on the board where all the flights were listed. I was told to go to this gate, and that the flight was going to come today to bring me back home. I waited a little bit longer because the flight might have been late. As time passed, however, it never showed up. I was there for almost two hours. A guy named Zion came up to me and tried asking if I was alright and why I was waiting for that long. Zion didn't speak good English but I could somewhat understand him. He was trying to tell me that the flight never showed up because it was a false advertisement for the flight. The flight never was going to show up today. The advertisement was a joke. I grew so angry that I had to get up and take a walk around the airport. Zion tried calming me down but he was just making things worse. I finally got away from Zion and tried talking to the front desk people of the flight. The lady I talked to didn’t understand what I was saying because I was yelling half the time. The lady walked away and got security. When they arrived, I turned and ran.

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The next thing I knew, the security guard took out his gun. I put my hands up, but, as soon as I did that, I heard “BAM!” The gunshot went off and I fell to the ground, blood gushing out from my heart. All the people around me ran, and all I could see was darkness.

Erna Bracewell

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Nimble Natalie Meet Natalie! A nimble child, she woke up early in the morning, read books in the afternoon, and went to bed on time. She was smart, well-behaved, and never made a fuss. One might call her the perfect child. So perfect, in fact, that her parents decided they could handle another. So, after three years, they did just that. However, they weren’t prepared for how drastically different this second child was from the first. Jasmine was a difficult baby. She screamed so loudly that Natalie would cover her ears, and her screaming would last throughout the day. She hardly slept at night, and neither did anyone else. As the girls grew up, it seemed to Natalie as if their parents would give Jasmine more attention than Natalie. If Jasmine had won the first place spellathon trophy, Mom would say “I’m very proud of you for your amazing spelling, my little bookworm.” This made Natalie jealous. “I wish we could just send her to an orphanage,” Natalie muttered. If Jasmine got a good report card, their dad would say “Who’s my little brainiac? You are, yes, you are!” This would make Natalie even more jealous. There’s no way she can stay here, she thought. Natalie tried many ways to get rid of Jasmine: leaving her with strangers, dumping her in the trash, losing her in stores, and much more. But these actions caused Natalie to get in more and

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more trouble. Every time Natalie and Jasmine would fight, their parents would separate them and send them to their rooms. Inside their rooms, they’d think to themselves. This. Means. War. One day, when the girls were playing outdoors, Jasmine thought of a wicked idea. “Hey Natalie,” said Jasmine sweetly, “how about we play a new game?” “Okay, what will we do?” asked Natalie. Jasmine pointed to Mom’s flowerbeds. “You should dig a big hole here. Once you do that, I’ll tell you what the rules of the game are.” Natalie grabbed a shovel and started digging a deep hole. When she was done, Jasmine smiled and said “Perfect. Why don’t you go show Mom?” Natalie ran inside. When she came back outside and showed Mom the hole, Mom screamed. “Natalie, how dare you dig up my flowerbed!” she shrieked. “But…but… it wasn’t me,” stuttered Natalie. “Jasmine made me do it!” Natalie said, pointing at her younger sister. “Don’t be naughty, Natalie!” said Mom. “Jasmine wouldn’t do anything like that. Now, go to your room and think about your actions!” This is so unfair!, thought Natalie, as she went upstairs to her room. While in timeout, however, she began to come up with a plan for revenge. The next day, Natalie was released from timeout. She immediately approached Jasmine inside the house.

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“Oh, Jasmine,” said Natalie sweetly, “would you like to play soccer with me?” Jasmine frowned in confusion. “Didn’t Mom tell us not to play ball around the house?” she asked. “Don’t worry,” said Natalie, “she won’t notice. Plus, we’ll just play safely and not break anything”. Jasmine thinks for a moment, then reluctantly agrees. Natalie runs with the soccer ball and kicks it to Jasmine. Jasmine then kicks it back, much harder than she originally intended to. The ball bounces uncontrollably and ends up knocking over Mom’s vase, smashing it into pieces. Hearing the noise, Mom ran up. “What’s all this ruckus?” shouted Mom, staring down at the broken pieces. “My favorite vase! Alright, who is responsible for playing ball around the house?” She turns to face her two children. “I didn’t do it,” lied Natalie, “it was Jasmine’s idea. I tried to stop her, but she kicked the ball too hard.” “It was an accident!” said Jasmine, desperately looking to her sister to confirm her story.. “Don’t be jaunty, Jasmine!” said Mom. “She’s older than you. You should’ve listened to your sister. You know better than that. Now go to your room and think about your actions!” This is so unfair!, thought Jasmine, as she went upstairs to her room. One day, Natalie and Jasmine went to the park while Mom talked with one of her friends. It had been a few weeks since they both started getting each other in trouble, and both girls began to feel bad for what they had done to each other. Perhaps we should apologize to one another?, the two girls thought. Natalie, on top of the play structure in the middle of the playground, decided to be the first to apologize. But, just as

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Natalie approached the slide to get down to Jasmine, two bullies approached. They looked down at Natalie condescendingly. “What’s the matter, little girl?” asked one bully. “Are you afraid you'll hurt yourself?” “N-n-no, you see, I was just about to g-go over the slide,” she stuttered, nervously. “Ah, enough with the stutters,” said one bully, chuckling. “Perhaps we should just start pummeling you?” said the other. Natalie was terrified. Oh, no, I’m done for, she thought. In a desperate, last attempt to save herself, she shouted. “Jasmine, help me!” When Jasmine heard her sister’s voice from the playground, she didn’t stop to think. Instead, she ran all the way to the top of the play structure and stood up for her sister. “Go away, you big meanies!” she shouted. “Leave my sister alone!” Jasmine then let out a roar of a lion so loud that the two bullies screamed and ran out from the playground. Natalie, relieved, started to cry. Mom ran up and cuddled Natalie around her arms. She turned to Jasmine. “Don’t be jaunty, Jasmine!” shouted Mom, pointing at her. Natalie looked up from Mom’s arms, sniffling. “Jasmine’s not jaunty,” said Natalie, “she saved me from these two big meanies.” Mom looked down at Natalie in surprise. “Really?” she asked. Natalie nodded. “My hero!,” said Mom, kissing Jasmine on the cheek.

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Just like that, both girls apologized for being hard on each other and shook hands. The girls walked home with Mom in the afternoon after getting ice cream, both realizing that this was the beginning of a wonderful sisterhood.

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Maya Brinkley

Sandwiches Tomorrow, I leave everything I know behind. The reason? A library. Of course, it’s not permanent. But my racing thoughts say otherwise. Should I be worried about my safety? What will people think of me? Am I really ready to leave London in a mere 12 hours? The door opens, and my best friend, Sophia, walks in. She looks at my chaotic dorm, almost certainly taking note of the leftover food wrappers in nearly every corner of the room. She looks back at me. “Do you need any help packing?” “Yeah, that would be nice.” We pack in silence for a few minutes before I finally speak. “...I don’t really know how to feel.” Sophia smiles. “You’re going to be fine, it is going to be so much fun.” We packed for a couple of hours before calling it quits. It was getting late, and I had to get up early the next day. I laid down, my mind still riddled with worry, and fell into a fitful sleep.

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I woke up at 4:45 am. “Ugh, it’s entirely too early for this…” I mumbled, rolling out of bed. My dorm was an hour away from the airport, and I had to arrive by 6:30. I packed the last couple of things I needed, and drove off. After getting through security, I sat down by my gate. I opened my phone, looking for something to distract me from my worries about the journey. Inevitably, I opened Google and began to read up on the library and the town surrounding it. “The largest library in the United States, the XXXXXX Library holds over a million books, from The Odyssey to the newest books being published.” “In addition, most residents of the surrounding town work at or for the library itself. Jobs range from being a librarian, to managing the building’s social media account.”

The more I read, the more interested I became. “Maybe

this won’t be so bad after all…” I said, mainly to myself. In a better mood, I looked around for some kind of food or drink to calm my nerves. I found a coffee shop, and, after paying for my drink, sat down at the windows to watch the other planes take off and land. Sipping my coffee, I began to allow my mind to wander back to my own trip. I booked a cute little cottage to stay in, one on the outskirts of the town where the library is. In addition, the only scheduled activity I had was going to the library to write my college paper. “Huh, maybe I could do some sightseeing while I’m there,” I thought to myself.

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I was pulled back to reality by the sounds of flight attendants calling for my flight to board. I stood up, careful to gather all my belongings, and made my way towards the gate. Flying in, I realized that the town I would be staying in looked a little less quaint than what I had imagined. It was overcast, cloudy, and the few people I saw out and about seemed to be in a hurry. After touching down, I grabbed my bags and headed towards the exit where a woman was waiting to take me to where I would be staying. The woman was not very friendly and seemed like she was in a bit of a rush the whole time she was talking to me. Despite this, she still told me a bit about the library as we drove, primarily things I was already aware of thanks to my research. After 20 minutes, we arrived at the cottage where I would be staying for the next week. The woman practically kicked me out of her car before speeding off. The abrupt departure left me confused and a bit uneasy, but I brushed it off and started to get settled into my new home. The cottage was small, and a bit sad looking. Faded green walls, tiny rooms, furniture that looked like it should have been burned many years ago. I sighed. “Maybe I shouldn't have been so eager to leave the family farm after all, huh? At least it was bigger than this place.” Looking around, I spotted a microwave in the corner. I lit up, unpacking the ramen noodles I had brought with me. After just a few minutes, I was in salt heaven. Having eaten, I instantly felt more relaxed. The ramen reminded me of home, both a good thing and a bad thing. I felt

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more comfortable in my new environment, but I missed London. To get my mind off of it, I finished unpacking. I decided to venture outside of the cottage to go to a nearby store. I bought the necessities, went back to my new home, and prepared to go to sleep, dreaming of a day of exploring and meeting new people. I woke up and headed to the library to do some research. I found a nice, quiet corner in the library and continued my research on the history of the town and the library. After a few minutes, however, I found myself rereading information I already knew. “This isn’t going anywhere. Maybe I should just interview some people?” After having that thought, I left my corner and approached the library’s front desk. The counter was huge, with 5 total librarians manning it. I walked up to one of them, but, before I could ask any questions, she looked up from her work, almost glaring at me. “Who are you?” She asked in a curt manner. “My name is Elly. I’m here studying abroad from London.” “Alright,” she replied, looking rather annoyed. “We’re all very busy. I suggest you not bother anyone.” I was admittedly taken aback. “I’m sorry, is there a better time or day when I could ask a few people some questions?” This time, the librarian made no attempt to hide her disdain. “I’ll have you know that we are all very busy all the time. Unless you have something important to tell us, do your own research.”

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I replied as quickly as possible. “Okay, thank you.” I packed my things, feeling unwanted and scared. I made my way back to my cottage, trying to distract myself from my thoughts by window-shopping. I found a shop selling postcards, buying a few to send to my family and friends back home. After leaving the shop, a small sandwich shop caught my eye. The shop was situated near my cottage, and their fresh baked bread had been calling my name since yesterday. Besides, I thought, it’s about lunchtime anyway. I walked into the shop, immediately being greeted by a kind-looking woman at the front counter. I waved back, still a little hesitant to talk to people in this town. As I scanned the menu, I realized that I had no idea what passed as “good food” in the States. I looked back at the woman manning the counter. “Excuse me, do you have a favorite sandwich here?” Her face wrinkled a bit in thought. “Hm, if I had to choose one… it would probably be the turkey and cheese on homemade bread. It’s hard to decide though! They’re all very good.” She beamed at me. I smiled back. “Okay, well, if you like it that much, then I suppose I’ll have to give it a try.” I paid for the sandwich, and she handed me my food. I walked over to a small table for two in the corner of the shop. After unwrapping the sandwich, I examined every angle of it, looking for the best place to take a first bite. Eventually, I found a suitable spot to start eating. As soon as I took a bite, I realized just how good this sandwich really was. “Wow, she wasn’t kidding. This is the best sandwich I’ve ever had!” I muttered to myself. I quickly scarfed down the rest of it.

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I headed back to my cottage, doing some of my own research into the staff working at the library. I hoped to identify the best people to interview tomorrow and, sure enough, I found some videos of previous interviews held with some of the managers of the library. I watched through the videos, making notes and questions to ask the interviewees myself. By the time I finished, it was already dinnertime. “Wow. Time really flies, huh,” I said as I looked at a small clock on the wall. “And that sandwich place is only open until 4… I guess I’ll have to find somewhere else to eat.” With a new mission in mind, I once again left the cottage. As I searched, I again began to worry. Would the managers of the library treat me the same as the librarian I talked to earlier today? What if they don’t want to talk to me at all? And man, is there anything to eat around here? My thoughts were interrupted by the smell of pizza. I hadn’t realized just how long I had been walking for, nor how hungry I actually was. I followed the smell to a small shop which sold personal, one-person sized pizzas. I practically ran inside, ordering one and digging in as soon as it was ready. The pizza was hot, burning my mouth, but it was by far the best pizza I had ever had. Maybe there’s no such thing as bad food in the States. Afterwards, I went back to my cottage. Dinner had helped take my mind off of my task for tomorrow. I was still a little stressed, but I was able to take comfort in the fact that I may be able to get another one of those sandwiches for lunch the next day.

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I woke up the next morning, and, after visiting a local bakery and ordering some breakfast, felt much more ready to find those five people and interview them. I made my way back to the library, wasting no time in walking up to the librarian from before and asking if I could meet with the managers of the library. Admittedly, she wasn’t too happy to see me back. She sighed. “I’m afraid all five of our managers work at various different times and places throughout the library. You’ll have to find them yourself if you wish to talk with them.” With that, she turned back to her work. Undeterred, I started searching on my own. I saw a lady organizing shelves, so I walked over to her. Before I could say anything, however, she glared at me. “Hey, leave me alone. I’m trying to get my work done, but you’re distracting me.” The woman then continued to sort the books on the shelves, ignoring any attempt I made at communication. I decided to leave before I made her any more angry. I continued to search the library, finding a technician sitting at a table, tinkering with a small device. I confidently walked over. “Excuse me, do you have a minute for me to ask you a few questions?” I smiled, hoping a more friendly nature would convince him to say yes. I had barely finished asking my question before he responded, “No. I am busy doing actual, useful work, not some stupid school paper.” He scowled. “Leave me alone before I get you kicked out of here.” I practically ran out of the area he was occupying, stopping near some bookshelves to collect my thoughts. “Is everyone here really so opposed to answering some questions…?”

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I felt myself losing hope. If no one would talk to me, then how am I ever supposed to finish my assignment? I could feel my breathing get quicker, and tears began to well up in my eyes. I looked around the rest of the library, spotting someone whom I had originally intended to interview. The social media manager was standing nearby, and she looked relatively unoccupied, leaning against a wall and surveying the work of the other library workers. I sniffled, composing myself. “I can’t let her see that I was about to cry. Third time’s the charm, after all,” I told myself. Again, I imitated confidence, walking over to the woman and flashing the same smile I had seen the woman manning the sandwich counter give me yesterday. The social media manager looked up, seemingly surprised someone was coming to talk to her. I ignored it, instead asking her, “Hello! Do you have a couple of minutes to answer some questions?” She stared at me in shocked silence for a moment, before letting out a small, humorless chuckle. “A few questions? And who might you be? Some aspiring journalist?” She laughed again, something condescending and cruel. My smile wavered. “No, I’m just a college student. I’m from London, and I’m looking to write a paper on the library-” The woman held up her hand, stopping me mid-sentence. She lowered her hand, a smile of mock sympathy on her face. “Look, sweetie, no one here has time to answer any of your questions, okay?” She took a slightly threatening step forward, causing me to take a reflexive step back. “Obviously you

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haven’t noticed, but the people here are doing real work. We don’t need someone like you near us, getting in our way.” Smiling wider, she stared me dead in the eyes, watching my confident facade crumble. I didn’t say anything more. I turned around, leaving the library as quickly as possible and running to my cottage. Tears stung my eyes the whole way home, and even the smell of the sandwich shop couldn’t comfort me. As soon as I reached my bed, I started to sob. I couldn’t help it. No one in this town wanted me here. They all treated me like a problem. I’ll never finish my paper, and I’ll never make any new friends. I rolled over in my bed. “Oh God…why is my life like this…?” I choked out those words before crying myself to sleep. When I was in the third grade, I didn’t have any friends. There was an old bench by the playground that served as my only source of comfort during recess. Every day, I would sit at that bench. And, every day, the other kids would ignore me, despite my constant attempts to play with or even talk to them. My head hung low in defeat, I would sit and wonder why no one liked me for 20 long minutes. I had a dream about those days in third grade. Except, instead of children whose faces I could barely remember ignoring me, it was the people I had met so far. The librarian, the technician, the social media manager, and the woman who drove me to my cottage all stood far away, chatting, as if they were best friends. Meanwhile, I sat on the side, unable to interact with them.

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I felt foreign. Like I was part of a different world. I began to cry. Sob, the same way I had cried myself to sleep. However, in the midst of my tears, someone sat down beside me at the bench. I looked up, and saw a flash of a brilliant smile before suddenly waking up. I shot up out of bed, the small clock on the wall reading 2 pm. My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and I had spent the day sprinting through town and crying. Reluctantly, I got up out of bed. I cleaned up a bit, deciding to cheer myself up with another one of those sandwiches from the shop nearby. I changed into some fresh clothes, and set out for a late lunch. Walking inside the shop, the same woman as before greeted me. As soon as we locked eyes, however, her expression changed from one of happiness to concern. I walked over to the counter, but, before I could order, she leaned over, whispering, “Are you okay? You look stressed and upset.” I looked at her in surprise. I opened my mouth, intending to tell her that I was fine. One look at her face, though, and I ended up saying otherwise. It had been so long since I had met someone who actually cared about me. I ended up telling her everything: the situation with the library, how no one would talk to me, and how I worried I’d never be able to finish my college paper.

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I hadn’t realized it, but, as I explained, the woman had made me a sandwich and sat down with me at a table, intently listening the whole way. As I ended my rant, I realized what had happened. “Oh, jeez, I’m so sorry for making you listen to all of that. I should just go home. What do I owe you for the sandwich-?” I went to stand up and leave, but stopped in my tracks as the woman grabbed my hand. She looked up at me. “Hey, it’s okay. My name is Lucy. You’re going to be alright. I’ll help you through this, ‘kay?” Tears once again welled up in my eyes as her compassionate voice reached my ears. “R-really? You’re going to help me?” She flashed me a smile. A brilliant one. “Of course. Here,” Lucy stood up, still holding my hand, and walked towards the front counter. “Come back here with me and I’ll teach you how to make some sandwiches.” She turned to smile at me again. I sniffled, wiping the tears from my eyes. “Okay, that sounds good to me.” Lucy let go of my hand, turning to prepare some supplies for the sandwiches. I hesitated before speaking again. “Um, Lucy?” “Yes?” “Thank you so much.” She gave me her same familiar smile. “Of course. Now get over here and I’ll show you how to make the turkey and cheese sandwich you like so much.” A few hours later, it was time to close the shop. I had spent my time making sandwiches while Lucy took the orders of the customers who came in.

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I was so deep into the sandwich-making zone that Lucy had to practically drag me back to reality. After removing me from the kitchen area, she turned to me. “So, Elly, what did you think?” I practically jumped with excitement. “That was so much fun! I wish we could keep going…” A sly smile spread across Lucy’s face. “Well… are you coming back tomorrow?” My eyes widened in shock as I realized where she was going with this. “Absolutely! Can you teach me how to make even more sandwiches?” Lucy threw her head back and laughed. “Of course! But you’ll have to help clean up this time, alright?” “Really? But cleanup is the worst part of making food…” I complained, half joking. This banter continued until it was time to go home. As soon as my head hit my pillow, I was asleep. As I drifted off, I began to feel hope, not only in the next day, but in my budding friendship as well. I woke up early the next morning, speeding off to the sandwich shop so as to help Lucy make the homemade bread. Lucy taught me the basics, and I caught on quickly. This practice continued for a few more days. I would come in early, help make the bread, then would spend the rest of my time in the back room making sandwiches while Lucy took orders. One day, as we let the bread bake, Lucy and I got to talking. I remembered that I was leaving that night, and that I was to be taken to the airport at 7. Mentioning this to Lucy, she pointed out how perfect the timing was. “You’ll have plenty of time to make some sandwiches, then do some packing before you leave!”

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I chuckled, deciding not to mention the fact that I still had to figure out what I would write my final paper about. For the rest of the day, Lucy and I talked about various different things. The topic eventually turned to the library, and I finally worked up the courage to ask a burning question that had been on my mind all week. “Do you know why everyone who works at the library is so cold?” Lucy looked up from her half-finished sandwich. “I hear it’s because the library workers know that their library is the best. They don’t have to worry about impressing anyone if they’ve already achieved their top status.” Lucy shrugged, turning back to her sandwich. My question having been answered, I also continued to make sandwiches. The rest of the day progressed as normal, Lucy and I talking and laughing the entire time. Eventually, the clock hit 4. Not only was it time for the shop to close, but it was also time for me to head back to my cottage to pack. I turned to Lucy. “Hey, Lucy? I’m going back to my house to pack my things. I’ll come back to say my final farewells in a bit, okay?” Lucy once again smiled at me. “Okay, but don’t be too long now! You better not leave without saying goodbye.” She playfully waggled a finger at me. “Of course not, I wouldn’t dare!” I replied in sarcastic flare, before exiting the shop and making my way back to the cottage. As I packed, I desperately wished that I didn’t have to leave Lucy and the sandwich shop. Everything had gotten so much

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better after I had met her: people seemed kinder, I had more to do, and I learned new skills and made a new friend. However, I also knew that this couldn’t last forever. If I wanted to be somewhere familiar with people who would treat me decently, my only choice would be to head back home to London. This thought in mind, I went back to the sandwich shop. As soon as I walked inside, Lucy nearly tackled me with a hug. “I was so glad to have met you,” she said, face half buried in my shoulder. “Come back to visit and work anytime you like, okay?” I hugged her back, just as hard. “Of course. Just know that you will always have a special place in my heart. You’re the one reason why this trip wasn’t completely miserable.” At that, Lucy chuckled. We continued to hold each other in comfortable silence for a few moments before I heard a car pull up outside the shop. I turned, spotting my ride back to the airport. Lucy and I gave each other one final hug before officially saying our goodbyes. I loaded my things into the car, and watched the sandwich shop, the library, and the town fade into the distance as we drove back to the airport. My mind wandered, thinking back over everything that I had been through over the past week. Eventually, though, my thoughts circled back to my paper. I still hadn’t decided what to write on, and I had failed to get any information out of the people who worked at the library. However, in the middle of that thought, I had an idea. I took out my computer and began to write. Sometimes, it’s the little things that matter. And, sometimes, just one friend is all you need.

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Quinlan McGoff

Siren’s Call I can almost hear her calling As we crest the top of another wave. I can barely see her, but She is beautiful, Even more alluring than the last time. I’ve refused her call time and time again.

She tempts me, Urging me to heed the call. This time, I comply.

“No!” My crewmates warn me, Holding me back. Her arms open, As if to embrace me.

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Emboldened, I pry myself loose from the grip Of what feels like one hundred jealous men. I think they want her for themselves. I think they want to prevent my happiness. But I’ve earned this. She wants me.

I jump off The side of the ship, My arms slicing through the storm-torn waves.

She smiles, watching my approach. She looks happier than ever. I can hear her song clearly now. I swim past driftwood, rubble, the broken bodies of dead sailors.

As I get closer Her smile fades. She stops singing. She lunges towards me, and now I see The sweet malice in her eyes, And I feel that familiar regret As, once again, I sink into the tumultuous sea below.

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Spooky Stories

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Katie condon

Binley the Ghost—A Short Story Binley was born into a stable family to his mother and father. He had an eldest brother, and a little sister. From a young age, Binley loved to experiment and carve into things. Trees, wood scraps, rocks, even the occasional vegetable or gourd! He would often help his father, a carpenter, with his work. Binley became known for his large, strong hands and, while he was a hard and genuine worker, he kept to himself around most of the townspeople. He often showed more personality around his family, especially his siblings, who would describe him as upbeat and kind. His brother noted that Binley often loved to swing on and climb trees, carve objects for fun, and do cartwheels in the grass. His sister confirmed these stories, but also added that he had a passion for carving pumpkins, specifically. Binley was known as somewhat of a prodigy, quickly surpassing his father in skill. He became known around town as the best carpenter there was. Tragedy struck one fall evening when Binley was working on a chair for his father. He tried to keep his hands steady as he carved the detailing into the side, but his hands had been shaking all day as he was working. His head started pounding but, despite this, he had continued to work. Eventually, Binley was uUnable to take the pain. He went to sit in the newly constructed chair to take a short break, not knowing that he forgot to install a crucial support in the back of the chair. As Binley leaned, the back

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of the chair and part of the seat broke, sending him backwards. His head and neck crashed into the floor and against the headboard of the chair. He dropped the tools he held, his body falling limp. Binley had died at hardly 19 years old. Legend has it that, in his afterlife, Binley would watch humans carve into wood, just as he used to do. As time progressed, however, most found wood too hard to work with, so they turned to pumpkins. Specifically, on the week that he had died, families would carve their pumpkins and place them on the doorstep for all to see. Binley, the now ghost, sometimes observes these festivities. The week of Halloween, he floats throughout his home district to view the pumpkins, decorations, and fall customs of the new world that he had left all those years ago. While he enjoys the occasional spook, Binley the Ghost is remembered for his carving skill and expertise, his close bond with his family, and his odd hobby of pumpkin carving that eventually became widely practiced on Halloween. While many might not remember Binley, his effects on his community still live on to this day.

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Katie condon

Mirror Spirits, Chapter 1 Huh? Who are you? I tossed and turned in my bed. In front of me stood a whitish, glowing figure who looked like me. I took note of her round glasses and ginger hair, exactly the same as mine! The figure stood before me like a statue laughing haughtily, appearing everywhere I tossed my head. “Mira, honey? Wake up for school!” I awoke to my mom sitting on my bedside, the alarm clock beeping distantly. She gently rubbed my arm and turned off the alarm. “Mira, I was worried about you,” she said sweetly. I rubbed my eyes in response and smiled up at her. She smiled back. “I’ll be downstairs making your lunch.” As she left, I sat up and sleepily tossed away the blankets. My feet dangled down from my bed as I grabbed my glasses from the nightstand, their round, golden frames reminding me of that eerie dream. I brushed my fingers through my hair, jumping off the bed and walking across the hallway to my bathroom. I rubbed my eyes from under my glasses and turned on the light. I looked at my mirror. From my habit of putting

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affirmations on the mirror, its frame was littered with Post-it notes and cards. “You can do it!” said one note. “You are loved,” said another. All of those cards and notes seemed to open their eyes and smile down at me. I tenderly reached up for one of them— “EEK!” I screamed as a hand from the mirror grabbed my wrist! I shrieked and spluttered as this white, ghostly hand pulled and pulled on my arm. “Let me go! Urgh–” The hand kept pulling. Another similar hand reached out and grabbed my other arm. My breathing quickened as I fought to get away. Finally, the glowing hands gave one last tug, and I found myself flying through the glass of the mirror. I landed on the other side of the mirror with a loud scratching sound and a thud against a gray, dirty floor. I scrambled up to my feet and whipped around to look at the mirror from whence I came. In the cloudy, grey atmosphere of the world I now found myself in, the rectangular shape of the mirror seemed to glow. I ran forward and banged my fists on it, finding it to be solid. I couldn’t get through. Oh no. Oh no. I looked into the barrier in front of me and saw a ghostly, white figure on the other side of the mirror, its back to me. It was clothed in an aura of light purple and sky blue. As the figure turned around, I saw ginger hair, and round, golden glasses frames.

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She looks like me! She made a disgustingly pompous expression at me before whipping around and running out of sight. “No… No!” I tried some more to break my way through, but found it to be no use. Disheartened, I thumped my fists on the mirror one last time, before slumping down to the floor. The mirror showed my whole bathroom, and I could see the shadows of the sticky notes littering the other side of its reflective surface. That awful girl who pulled my arm had pulled me through the mirror and escaped into my house! I looked around me. The large, empty room I was in only hads a grayish clay floor and the mirror to my house. I stood up and took a few steps out from the mirror and deeper into the room. I saw beyond the uncertain boundary, also gray like the clay floor, but cloudy. I saw a few other mirrors with… PEOPLE! I timidly slunk back into hiding near where my mirror was. I looked back up at the notes, with the hope that those affirmations on the other side would help me somehow. While desperately hoping, a message on the back of one of the note cards caught my attention. “From Alice” Alice! At least if I could find her, I would feel safer. I ran out from my hiding place and started yelling her name out. “Alice!” I called. I got confused looks from other figures in the darkness, but I didn’t care anymore. I continued to yell until I finally found something. A girl about my age heard my yelling and turned around. Her long blonde hair swayed as she turned and her face looked just like my best friend and neighbor.

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“Alice! I’m so happy to see you,” I exclaimed, running to her. She looked at me, puzzled. I noticed that she was cloudy and blurry, and her hair wasn’t as bright as I remember. “It’s me, Mira! Do you know who I am?” She reached out to grab my hands, but her hands fell through mine like she was made of wind. Then, she looked up at my eyes and raised her hand towards them. “You’re… Human,” she spoke softly. “Of course I am!?” I returned her puzzled look. “I’m Mira! Your best friend since the start of fifth grade!” The girl started to smile, so I continued. “Remember how we met on the swings and how I’d see you before class? And when your family moved to be closer to the middle school, I realized that we were neighbors?” I paused briefly and reached into my pajama pocket where I kept the friendship bracelets we made together. I looked into her eyes and repeated, “Do you know who I am?”

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Emily le

Knock, Knock London, once considered by the couple as the dream place to live, had not treated them well. After a long honeymoon, they were beyond ecstatic to settle down in the ever-bustling city, but reality quickly set in for the two. Their flat was cramped and humid. The windows never shut properly, and rain leaked through the cracks. Boxes and various stacks of paper towered over what little furniture the flat contained, and the putrid smell of sweat lingered in the air. She walked through the path of trash that had accumulated after many years of wishful thinking. Today was the first day that the woman had gathered enough strength to begin the unbearable task of clearing everything away. Carefully navigating the room, she allowed herself to steal a glimpse at the papers surrounding her, and as she did so, memories of her life in the past years arose. Her marriage, once seemingly idyllic, was fraught with conflict; she had begun to feel like it was a mistake of her youth. The glint of a photograph caught her eye, and out of

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curiosity, she made her way to the box from which it came. There, she found pictures of her husband from before their marriage, printed email conversations between them, and postcards she had sent him from her travels. BANG! She whipped her head around, scouring the flat for the source of the sound. Unsatisfied, she looked at the clock hanging precariously on the wall across from her. 3:45. Her husband was due home at any second. Looking through the pictures, she plunged again into the bittersweet memories of their life together. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she missed the slight creak of her front door opening, and the muted footsteps of her husband walking through the flat. He crept up behind her, so close that she just barely missed his breathing over her ear, and stood there, watching her. They stood together, unaware, like statues, until he whispered: “Whatcha got there, honey? Thinking about someone?” She jumped, and a small yelp escaped from her mouth. He stepped back, grinned, and waited for her response. Sighing, she shoved the contents of her hand into the box sitting by her feet and started clearing away a spot for them to sit on the couch together.

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They sat down, and her husband pulled out a metal clasp envelope from his briefcase. It was bright, completely unmarked or scuffed. Compared to the room around them, the envelope was perfect, almost a gleaming ray of light against the filthy flat. He handed it to her with a smile and beckoned her to open it. She did so gingerly and was greeted with yet another stack of papers like the ones she had previously cleared away. Stifling a groan, she leafed through the pages and was surprised to read “Job Contract”. She asked her husband, “Does this mean you’re getting a job? No more random gigs?” He nodded, and replied, “Yep. The interview was at noon. I waited to tell you, mostly because I wanted it to be a surprise, and partly because I…” She cut in, “It’ll be good for us. Take it.” He continued as if she hadn’t interrupted, “...wasn’t sure I was going to land it. I know we’ve been needing money lately, but to be honest, I don’t want to take it unless I have to.” A confused expression played on her face. “What? Why not? This is perfect! We’ll finally be able to move out of this dump!” A grin appeared on her face, and her eyes glittered. Her husband hesitatingly assented after hearing this and leaned in towards her, but she jerked away suddenly.

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“What?” “It’s nothing.” Without another word, she rose from her spot and made her way to the bedroom. She closed the door as silently, taking great care to hide from her husband. Standing barefoot on the carpeted floor, she went to the closet, and reached for the small black safe nestled in the corner. The woman opened it, and found what she was looking for: a tightly rolled-up wad of cash. As she silently slipped it into her pocket, waves of guilt began to wash over her. Who was she to keep money from her husband? He was the one making the money, after all. After she was done, the woman closed the safe, moved the dial, and stacked mounds of clothes in the corner where it sat. The small black box stood in the corner, like an empty treasure chest, unceremoniously buried beneath layers of clothing, waiting to be discovered. She then walked towards the front door to leave. Her husband asked, “Where are you going? It's freezing out.” She stammered, “I just need a walk. I’ll be back soon with dinner.” His face was sour. He angled his body towards her and asked again, this time with much more force than the previous time. “Where are you going?” The words were spat out and laced with suspicion.

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Again she responded, “Just out for a walk. It’s no big deal.” Her husband slammed the wall next to him. He advanced towards the door and towered over her. Reaching out as if to caress her shoulder, he grabbed her tightly and stared straight into her eyes. She protested, but her cries were met with an increased grip on her shoulders. He began speaking in a hushed tone, as if to pacify a child, “You’re my wife. We don’t need to keep secrets from each other. I’m just concerned about you.” Tears began to crowd her eyes. “I know, I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again. I just felt embarrassed that my,” she raised her fingers to make quotation marks, “‘condition’ has been so bad lately that I can’t get a job. I just need some air, I think.” His fingers relaxed and his face softened. He asked, “How’s that therapist you’ve been seeing? Has he been any help?” She shook her head. She moved towards the door, and her husband made no attempt to stop her. Leaving the flat, she headed right, with no clear destination in mind. The sidewalk led to a small park that was rusted and had long since been abandoned by the local children. She sat down on one of the swings after wiping the water off and continued to survey her surroundings.

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As she moved her head, she noticed some movement from behind the streetlight near her. She stood. She heard a rustle, and from the shadows a tall man emerged. He was weirdly tall, as if his limbs had been stretched violently. He started to walk towards her. This man walked with a measured grace, each step he took seemed calculated and perfected. He took his hands from his pockets as he glided across the ground, and she could see how they were just the slightest bit burnt. The tall man was getting closer. She was getting concerned. Why is he getting so close? What does he want? She started backing away from him, tripping over her own feet. His voice boomed, “Fear not! I am here to serve you, for I possess powers no man could ever dream of!” She stopped. She stuttered in response, “Stay away from me! I don’t want anything to do with your ‘powers.’” He replied, “I know what problems have burdened you. You are unhappy. Come, and I will make things right.” Still wary of him, she called out, “Leave me alone, I want nothing to do with you!” The tall man sighed and reached into his pocket. When his hand emerged, she could see a thin vial filled with a black fluid of some sort. His charred fingers pulled the cork out, and he downed the fluid in one gulp. His whole body shuddered, and the

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vial dropped to the ground, shattering. She continued watching as the tall man began to transform. With an agonizing scream, his legs grew shorter, and his face twisted. His skin that previously hung limply retracted into a face radiant with youth. His mouth opened in a wide gasp, and his crooked rows of razor-sharp teeth shrank into perfect and flat lines. She couldn’t believe her eyes. The tall man was no longer standing in front of her. No, try as she might to believe otherwise, this was not a trick. Her own husband was before her. He opened his arms, beckoning her forward to him. She didn’t move. His mouth opened, and he drawled, “What, why so shocked? Didn’t I say that I was concerned for you, darling?” She was terrified, but as if in a trance, she stepped closer to him. Seeing this, his mouth stretched into a hideous grin. He withdrew a flask from his pocket and outstretched his arm towards her. “That’s right, come closer. I’m here for you. All you have to do is drink this!” Her legs seemed to move of their own volition. She stepped closer. His arms widened even further. “Come on! Trust me, darling!”

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She stepped closer. They were at arm’s length from each other. She gingerly accepted the flask from him, unscrewed the lid between numb fingers, and began to drink. He could barely contain his excitement. She didn’t notice that his eyes were turning ever so slightly green, or how his teeth were beginning to sharpen, and that with each passing moment, he began to tower over her. For the final time, he whispered, “Just one more step.” She stepped closer. She barely had time to blink before she realized that her husband was no longer there, and in his place was the tall man. He cackled, seeing her reaction, and pounced. He seized her by the shoulders and bent down, their faces at eye level with one another. He tsked, “You really shouldn’t trust people so much. I have you right where I want you.” Her knees shook and were beginning to buckle. She couldn’t bear to keep her eyes open any longer, much less stand there with him. He leaned in close to her ear, whispering, “Don’t fight it, sleep. You’ll only make it worse. It won’t hurt a bit…for me.” She felt the flask drop to the ground beside her as she slipped off into a deep sleep.

The tall man crouched beside the woman and gazed at

her sleeping figure. He caressed her cheek with his burnt fingers,

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then pried her mouth open with a single motion. As if to pull string out of her mouth, the tall man began reaching into her throat. With some effort, he retracted his hand, which was followed by a shimmering thread, golden yellow. It writhed in between his index finger and thumb, snaking out of her mouth and into the open air. The tall man coiled the thread into a jar, and laughed as it dissipated into gas within. He tucked the jar into the inner folds of his clothes. Now his attention was on the woman. He picked her up, carrying her like a new bride, and brought her to a narrow alley nearby. He left her there and vanished. The woman woke up in stages, blinking while her eyelids lost their weight. It was too dark for her to tell where she was. She began to rack her brain for any memory of what had happened, but nothing came out. There was no time to panic. She stood up and staggered toward the road to figure out where she was. After a long journey of stumbling across the sidewalk, she finally reached the flat. A sigh of relief escaped her mouth as she turned the key in the door, and walked inside. The sight of broken glass and strewn papers greeted her. The woman’s eyes darted across the flat. She was too tired to fight with her husband, especially not during one of his outbursts. She turned to the clock. 2:30 A.M The woman flicked off the lights and headed to the bedroom. Her husband was already sleeping. She settled into bed and fell asleep.

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She bolted upright and looked around her surroundings nervously. She dreamt about a tall man, and she could’ve sworn that she felt his hands around her shoulders. She shivered at the thought. Come to think of it, she did feel extremely cold. The blanket was wrapped around her, and yet, she was freezing. She stood up, wrapping a robe around herself, and headed to the thermostat. 22°C. It was the standard temperature her husband kept the flat at, but she still felt cold. Regardless, she brushed it off, and headed back to bed. She woke up the next morning as cold as the night before. As she made the bed, she noticed that her hands were shaking uncontrollably and her fingers were tinged blue. Goosebumps appeared across her body, and the shaking did not cease. By lunchtime, the blue tinge had wormed its way to her arms and legs. As she stood in the kitchen making food, her husband passed by and gasped at the sight of her. The woman was shivering, almost convulsing, and her skin had faded to a pale white. He cried out, “Darling! Are you okay? What happened?!” She dismissed the subject. “Oh, it’s nothing. The weather is getting to me, but it’s no big deal.”

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“No, seriously. We need to get you to a doctor. Good grief, you’re blue!” She brought a mug of tea to the table where he was sitting and slammed it down on the papers next to him. “How many times do I have to repeat myself before you listen? It’s nothing, stop asking! You never know when to just keep your mouth shut.” He looked away from her, and in an overly sarcastic tone, he replied, “Oh I’m sorry for caring, your highness. Next time I’ll just ignore my blue wife!” She raised her voice, screaming, “I didn’t ask you to do that! Why do you expect me to be perfect all the time? I’m working on it! Just stop, okay?” Taking a deep breath, she tried to change the subject. “How was work? Her husband couldn’t believe it. “Are you seriously asking me this? Jeez! I just ask one thing, and my wife, the one person in this entire world that I care for, can’t even give me a straight answer! Don’t change the subject!” He stood up, bringing his mug down onto the table with such force that it shattered. She turned away and walked back to the kitchen. But he wasn’t done.

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He continued, “Have you looked in the mirror yet?” Resolutely, he added, I’ll grab my keys, you get in the car…and maybe grab your coat ” She remained silent. Her limbs were starting to lose feeling and the blizzard was reaching her chest. She looked down at her legs, completely blue, and noticed that her toes were turning black. Suddenly she felt ashamed. She turned around, tears in her eyes, and dashed to the bedroom, locking the door behind her. She sat down on the floor, leaning against the door. Her husband had chased after her, but he was too slow and got locked out. He pleaded with her to let him in, but his cries were unanswered. She continued sobbing, letting the salty tears roll down her face freely. The droplets caught in her hair, which hung in wet, limp strands. She could hear her husband on the other side of the door. His fists banged against the door. The noise echoed through the flat. “Let me in! We can get through this together!” She lurched forward with each hit to the door. Barely managing to choke the words out, she replied, “No, you shouldn’t see me like this.” The barrage against the door continued. He continued, begging her to open the door. “God, please!”

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The air in her lungs was dissipating. As she continued to cry, her tears fell to the floor. Thunk, thunk. She looked down, vaguely aware of what was creating the sound. Her tears had frozen and fallen on the ground in tiny beads. As she looked, she saw that her entire body was engulfed in blue. Shocked, she tried desperately to move her arms. They wouldn’t budge. The flat was dead silent. Driven by fear for his wife, he raced to the kitchen, and rummaged through the drawers, searching for a knife. He grabbed the first one he saw and raced back to the bedroom. Slipping the blade through the slim crack between the door and the wall, he managed to pry the door open. Something was blocking the entry. In his concern, he slammed his body against the door, attempting to shove the obstruction away. He succeeded and ran into the bedroom, tripping over something. His eyes furiously searched the room, until, turning around, he found his wife was laying on the floor. Her body was completely on its side, frozen in a sitting position. He laughed. Is this a joke? He bent down and grabbed her hand. He yelped, taken aback by how cold it was, and jumped away from her. With a snap, her hand detached, and he was left holding the frozen appendage.

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He couldn’t move. The hand fell to the floor with a thud. Mindlessly, he walked out of the room. He walked out of the flat. He walked down the sidewalk until his legs couldn’t carry him any further. The man collapsed on a bench right in front of a streetlight. After sitting there for a few minutes, he noticed a shadow appearing next to him. He slowly turned around, fearful of what would meet his eyes. A freakishly tall man stood behind him, wrapping his arms around the pole. He smiled, displaying sharp rows of teeth. In one fluid motion, he moved from the streetlight and eased himself next to the man. They sat there, as quiet as mice. The tall man broke the silence, “Knock, knock!” Not knowing what else to say, he decided to humor the man. “...Who’s there?” “Needle.” “Needle who?” “Your wife needle little help right now, huh?” He buried his face in his hands and cried. “Oh God, she’s dead! My wife is dead!” His body rocked back and forth. He continued to repeat himself, a twisted mantra of grief. The tall man silently sat beside him. He pulled a bulbous jar from within his pocket and began passing it flippantly between his burnt

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fingers. The quiet sound of laughter emanated from the jar. It was a sound the man hadn’t heard in a long time. The man exited his trance and turned to the source of the sound. He slowly reached for the jar, which was freely relinquished by the tall man. The laughter swelled. Bringing the jar to his ear, he took in the sweet sound as the realization set in. This was his wife’s laugh. “How?” With a sly smile, the tall man leaned in close and whispered into the man’s ear. “I took her soul.” The man was speechless. As hard as he tried, the man couldn’t get the words out. He opened his mouth, shaping his lips into a question, but there was no sound. The tall man chuckled softly as he watched. “ Do you want to save her?” He nodded. “What would you do to get her soul back?” The man’s voice finally returned. He cried, “I’d do anything! Take my money, take our flat, just let me have my wife back!” Pleased at this, the tall man struck a deal. The tall man would stand there for two hours, and if the man could get enough money to fill one of his pockets by that time, then he could have

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the jar. If not, it would be lost forever. With no other option in sight, the man accepted. He ran home into the bedroom, past his wife on the ground, and into the closet. Crouching, he shoved piles of clothes aside to reveal the small, black safe. A cold sweat was starting to cover his body and his hands shook as he fiddled with the dial. It opened, but there was nothing inside. The man gasped. He sat there for a second, reeling. Enraged, the man balled his hands into fists and drove them into the wall. Just as he struck the wall, he was also struck by a realization. He was wearing his wedding band. The man hurried out of the flat to the nearest pawn shop. After walking for a short amount of time, he reached his destination. The store’s facade was adorned with cheesy neon lights advertising fast cash and rare items. The signs fizzled and crackled as they perpetually blinked on and off. The man grabbed the greasy door handle and entered the building. The floors were grimy and there was a general air of unease that hung around the store like fog. The room was cramped; there were many shelves throughout the store, all overflowing with random assortments of various goods. At the counter stood a young woman tapping mindlessly on her phone. She didn’t notice him entering. He went up to the counter and cleared his throat to get her attention. She continued tapping her phone. Exasperated, the man said, “Can you put your phone down for one second? I really need help.”

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She rolled her eyes and lowered the phone. Relieved, the man began to explain his intentions. The woman stared off into space, vaguely listening. She did not say anything to him until he finished. “Best I can do for you is 120 quid.” “What? This is a nice ring, at least 350!” “200.” She blew a massive bubble with the bright pink gum in her mouth.

“300.”

The bubble popped. “250, final.”

“Deal.” After questioning glares from asking for the cash in as

many small bills as possible, the man rushed back to the bench to meet the tall man. However, when he got there, the tall man was nowhere to be seen. Tired, he sat down to catch his breath. The run had left him panting and in want of water. As he sat there, he again noticed a shadow forming next to him. He turned around, watching the tall man gracefully slide into position next to him. Silently, he began channeling the cash into his pocket, the notes disappearing into the endless void. He watched in shock as the money dwindled and the pocket seemed as empty as before. The tall man’s mouth stretched into that hideous grin that his wife was ever so familiar with, and his eyes shone with mirth. Miraculously, by the time he came down to his final bills, the pocket seemed to

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have gained some size. The tall man shook his head and began to stand up. The man cried, “Stop! Wait! You said to fill your pocket, but you never said it had to be completely! I did as you asked!” The tall man laughed and turned to look at the man, and reached into his other pocket, taking out the jar. The man grabbed it, singing his appreciation to the tall man, and left. He rushed back home and into the bedroom once more. He sat on the ground next to his wife and pulled the cork out of the neck of the jar. He watched as the gaseous yellow substance within floated directly to his wife. He held his breath and watched. She didn’t move. The contents of the bottle were completely gone now, floating up her nose entirely. He reasoned to himself that it would take her longer than he had expected to come back. He was completely fine with waiting. The man gathered his wife into his lap, leaning against the door for support. He breathed into her face, hoping the air would rouse her. He had no success. He whispered sweet nothings into her ears, willing her to wake up. She didn’t budge, and she never would. From that day forward, the man sat with his wife for every waking moment of the day. Long forgotten were his dreams of a satisfactory career, or any career at all. He never left his house,

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instead opting to care for his wife in the hopes that she would awaken.

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Natural Law

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Katie condon

Everyone Deserves a Birthday Everyone Deserves a Birthday From conception to natural death But not everyone understands, Truly the scope, sincerely the breadth

Everyone Deserves a Birthday For people big and small Better a life, a life to live Then no good life at all

Everyone Deserves a Birthday The babe who cries and cries Protected by the womb, but not the world Without defense, she dies

Everyone Deserves a Birthday

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Until the elder is pained “Put to rest” or “set to sleep” The elder’s life is drained

Everyone Deserves a Birthday, No matter who you are No age nor size, no sex nor race The Lord made you a star

Serving death we can’t obey If Everyone Deserves a Birthday

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110

N. Rae labonte

The Tree on the Median On either side of the road it stood tall, The tree of oak was blanketed in snow. For years the oak had watched the others fall To make room for the human roads to grow. The cars drove past where the oak friends one stood Humans were not yet satisfied with this. Their greed raged on the noise of falling wood Without the other trees it felt amiss. On the shoulder of said road, vultures eat This claim to which humans refuse credence We were told by God to care for them yet They’re left to rot for our convenience. So the oak sits by itself and waits there, For humans to replace languor with care.

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Amanda nollenberger

Mercy

It seems all you want is to hear me cry “Mercy”, But that is something I haven’t seen as of late. Now I lie here, and I’m battered, bruised and bloodied, I’m shouting at the sky, and crying out in pain And I’m screaming your name as a prayer, a curse, But I’m looking and you are nowhere to be found, So I lie here, my body caked with blood and dirt. So tell me, God, where are you now?