Wordsworth Magazine Spring 2025 by Wordsworth Literary Magazine

w o r d s w o r t h Mia Lewis, Editor Myst Morgan, Editor Elliot Christensen, Editor Miley Coté, Editor Jody Bault Adams, Advisor Victor Riley, Advisor

Staff... Alex Cusack Brooklyn Chapin Clark Cozens Dahlia Aldana Holland Rudolph Lillian Lafontaine

Lilly Sacks Liz Woodbury Lucy Collmer Lulu Duncan Luna Young Madison Jones

Noelle Foreman Rory Wood Vivian Collmer

e d i t o r ’s l e t t e r Dear Reader, While the school year begins to flutter away like a fairy, and spring shines through our windows, we would like to thank you for picking up the magic that is Worthsworth. This issue is one that is filled to the brim with a variety of lovely pieces that would pair wonderfully with a happy cup of tea and a touch of excitement as you begin your quest into these pages. But before you begin, a big thank you to Ms. Adams and Mr. Riley for being amazing advisors with their guidance in Lit Mag. There was never a folly to be had with their support. And to the amazing staff of Lit Mag, your time and effort is greatly appreciated and we are fortunate to have such an amazing team. And to everyone, we hope that your quills never dry, and that your pages never crinkle. We hope you enjoy the spring issue of Wordsworth 2025: Quills & Quests. With love and pixie dust, Your Editors

Quills & Quests

t a b l e o f

c o n t e n t s

fairy Anonymous Anonymous Asher Moody cadence.koch Ebonie Eleanor Nagle Elizabeth Woodbury Elodie Emma Horrocks Foster Freya N Frog girl Frog girl HR Isabel Miley Coté Myst Morgan Noelle Olivia B. Olivia Muñoz Rae Chin Sam swan Tessa LaPierre Tyr

The Hush Fairy 2 Eternal Spring 9 Forest Fairy 10 the fairy who belived she could write 11 The fairy 12 In the Woods 13 Tall Pines, Taller Creatures 15 Meddlesome Pranks 18 The Forest 22 Snarry and Snilly (NOT HARRY POTTER RELATED) 23 Untitled 27 Georgie isn’t a big kid 28 Miss Mary Mack hates Anne 29 Esmeralda and Odin find a fairy 30 Home 34 Her 35 Olive Green; Pine Needles 36 Untitled 40 Beth 41 An Odd Encounter 43 Underworld Pt.1 44 A Mammoth Named Oscar 47 winter 49 Sunlight 50 The Puppet-master 50

folly Alan Anonymous Anonymous Anonymous Anonymous Anonymous Anonymous Anonymous Anonymous Clark Cozen Cole Fletcher Elijahz Elishiya Crain-Keddie Hazel H Hudson Cox I don’t really care. Isabel Jasmine E kay LS Lucy Collmer

In Case of Losing Touch Too Much. 52 What was 54 The Little Boy Cave in West Virginia 55 Stuck 58 Phantom 59 The Girl Who Couldn’t Grow Up 60 Weird 62 Baba has an identity crisis 63 Unwind the rubber band 64 Caged 66 Cenotaph 68 Demons and Doctors (Preview) 69 Another Previously Unaired Radio Show Sketch 70 Monsters 76 Family 77 jeff 78 Dusk 79 Untitled 80 Bloom 81 I’m Sorry Lucas 82 The Waltz 85

Madison Jones Madison Jones Miley Coté Myst Morgan Olivia Munoz R. S. Gardner Rory Wood Vivian Collmer Vivian Collmer Zaire Brown Zyra

a crime in nature 92 Untitled 93 Pray 94 They Weren’t Zombies 95 The Fools of the Streets 98 O’ Pine 99 Only a Monster 100 The Waltz 103 Monster 105 I am grieving 109 “Beloved” 111

fortune */.\ Nyx Alsleben /.\* Everlyn Bagh is so cool Ai Hua Ai Hua Ainsley Wilson Alisa Dolia dahlia a. Dylan Haviv Elishiya Crain-Keddie Emma Horrocks Hudson Cox Jacquelin Cannon Lil Joshie Logan Road LS lucid Morgan Edenfield Pretzel Rory Wood Sierra/cc King Van Reid Yes Zyra

Have You Ever Wished You Had a Dragon? 114 Look in the mirror 115 Miss. Writer 116 here 120 He Is Still There 121 In the Blue Light Dark 122 Olive 124 My Image of God 129 halley’s comet 130 My dearest star 131 Music Poem 133 Under sun 133 Big Daddy Pizza Pockets 135 Dinner at a Friend’s House 136 Rooted 138 Come My Way 139 Sanctuary 141 Get Better 142 In the light. 143 Streetlights 141 Cuckoo Bird 145 Sweet Dreams 147 Starflower Stop n’ Shop 149

visual arts Ace Alexander Anonymous Anonymous Caroline Caroline Jaden wardell Myst Morgan Noah Laible Rory Wood Sam Scarlett Thompson yes

The Lovers; Marxist and Liberated 8 Untitled 17 untitled 57 and cover Nowhere 75 Her Majesty 84 “Beginnings” 97 The Quest Begins 110 St. Idol 119 Quills and Quests, Fairy Folly Fortune 128 Untitled 134 Lights 140 Sandwich the clown 148

[The Hush Fairy] A n o n y m o u s “Since the dawn of time, humans have imagined fairies in a specific, peculiar way. Outfits crafted from the most delicate leaves and fauna. Wings as thin as paper and as fragile as glass. Eyes sparkly and lips dewy. Living in the cutest little houses made of trees and sticks. And their folk tales are correct, for the most part. The majority of fairies are indeed delicate creatures who live their lives in harmony and their laugh sounds like the tinkling of bells, and so on and so on. But. There is a deeper, horrifying, detail about fairies that no human knows about. We are not all the same. There are other species of fairies out there, each more dangerous than the last. One’s that will scam you, steal from you, even threaten you. But the worst one by far is only known as “The Hush Fairy”. They are bloodthirsty creatures, and you’d never even recognize them as being the same species as us. Their entire hands are claws, their jaws huge and ready to feed, their skin gray and lifeless. They have no real life source, so they are constantly on the prowl, ready to attack any innocent fairy they come across. They rip off a fairy’s wings, then gobble them down, essentially resetting their expiration date. As for what happens to the rest of the fairy, no one knows. But you can bet they wouldn’t let their victim escape to tell the tale. Currently, it’s just a legend, but I believe that the stories are tru-” “And I’m going to have to stop you right there.” Azalea looks up from her children’s book, previously being nose-deep in the pages. Standing in the doorway are Hosta and you. The voice belonged to Hosta, who is shaking her head in disappointment. You are trying to hold back a smirk, amused by Hosta’s reaction. Your attempts are ultimately unsuccessful. “Azalea,” Hosta greets her coldly. Azalea cracks a nervous smile and shuts the book carelessly, some the pages folding in on each other. “Heyy, it’s Hosta and friends! What an unexpected surprise! To what do I owe the pleasure?” she says through gritted teeth. “We’re here to grab the water pails and deliver them to storage,” Hosta explains, as you remember that Hosta had specifically told Azalea

about this a couple days before, “Now, why on earth are you reading some frivolous horror fable to the children during story time?” Azalea looks down to see the semi-circle of small fairies sitting around her, many sniffling or passed out. She glances back at Hosta’s disapproving stare. “Ok, ok. Maybe not my best idea,” she admits, “but I had to tell someone about it! I have to warn them about the dangers of the Hush Fairy!” “Why is it even called the Hush Fairy?” you question. “Because the only trace of them is ever a dusting of glitter and not even a hush.” Azalea answers, wiggling her fingers and raising her eyebrows, which was supposed to be ominous, but you find it more goofy than anything else. “Don’t encourage her,” Hosta scolds you, “and how many times do I have to tell you to stop spreading this ridiculous fairy tale? All it’s doing is creeping everyone out.” “But it’s not a fairy tale, Hosta! This is real,” Azalea protests. “Your evidence?” she asks. “So many fairies have been going missing lately. Like Dahlia, Fern, and so many others. Where have they gone? No one knows. But all of the missing victims have one thing in common. The last time anyone heard from them was before they went into the Abandoned Hollow. And they never came out. Doesn’t that sound suspicious?! It’s clearly the Hush Fairies’ hideout!” “So? They could have gotten lost, and retreated back to their home when no one was looking. There’s a perfectly logical explanation for all of this,” Hosta argues. “I’d have to agree with Hosta on this one,” you say. “Not you too!” Azalea whines. “I don’t care if you believe in this conspiracy theory on your own time, but please do not share it with the younger generation,” Hosta sighs. “No! I’m going to prove the Hush Fairy is real! Why won’t anyone believe me?” You suddenly come up with an idea to please Azalea. A very risky idea. “How about I prove that the Hush Fairy isn’t real?” you propose. “...And how would you do that?” Hosta asks reluctantly. “By going into the Abandoned Hollow for a prolonged period of time and returning unscathed,” you answer confidently.

Azalea turned pale. She rushed over to you and wrapped her arms around your legs. “Are you crazy?! You’re going to get yourself killed by the Hush Fairy! Please don’t do that!” she begs. You cross your arms and roll your eyes. “There is no Hush Fairy, Azalea. And when I come out of the Abandoned Hollow, alive and definitely not wingless, you’ll start to believe it too,” you reassure her. “I don’t know…” Azalea twists her fingers nervously. “Whatever you decide to do, you’re certainly not going to do it until we finish delivering these pails to storage,” Hosta orders. “Fine, fine,” you grumble. You and Hosta each grab two pails and unfurl your wings. Azalea still has a terrified look on her face, and seems to have lost all vigor to speak. “Goodbye for now. When I return, you better be reading a normal children’s story or I will throw acorns through your window,” Hosta warns. “Bye Azalea. I’ll see you soon,” you wink. “B-bye…” Azalea mumbles and waves slightly. The fear in her eyes makes your confidence waver slightly, but you shake the doubts away. And with a flicker of your wings, you and Hosta are gone, leaving only a dusting of glitter in your wake. . . . You take your first step into the Abandoned Hollow, the sound of deceased leaves crunching under your feet. Your posture is slightly slouched, your wings sore from carrying the heavy pails with Hosta over miles of pasture. You turn to look at the creature floating alongside you. “Thanks again for joining me on this escapade, Flit,” you say. “No problem!” the firefly chirps, “I owe you one after you helped pull me out of that log.” You figured that it would be unsafe to bring no light source with you. Even though you don’t believe in the Hush Fairy, you’re still walking around in an abandoned forest. Better to be safe than sorry. As you and Flit keep trucking along, you realize that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to enter the Abandoned Hollow at sunset. Because soon enough, the only thing you can see is the glow of Flit’s behind.

You begin to grow weary. The wind is dry and unforgiving and the air smells like unadulterated death. No one was ever meant to come here. You start to wonder if it’s time to go back to the village. You’ve been in here for long enough, Azalea is sure to believe you now. But when you turn around, you notice that the path you have been using to get this far has completely vanished. All that is behind you is rows and rows of innocent-looking trees. Speaking of trees, the branches seem to be stretching out toward you, desperately trying to claw anything within close proximity. You shudder and slink away from their outstretched hands. “Y-you know, I think that’s enough exploring creepy abandoned woods for the day,” you stutter, “maybe we should head back. What do you think, Flit?” But when you turn to look at the firefly, he has completely vanished. “Flit?!” you call, but there is no response. It dawns on you that you are now alone in these woods, with no light source, and no way to escape. The panic is really starting to set in, and your breath becomes more shallow and hasty. Your fingertips feel numb and sweat begins to trickle down your neck. Your movement slows to a halt. Ok, ok. Nothing to worry about, you think. Just keep walking until you see light again. But right before you continue moving, you hear the faintest crunch of leaves behind you. All the color drains from your face. Someone is following you. Without even thinking or rationalizing, you take off, running as fast as you can deeper and deeper into the woods. Nothing matters anymore, at least not right now. You have one goal; to get out of this forest. The footsteps behind you get louder and closer each step. You run for about ten minutes, then the fatigue sets in. You’re not used to using your legs for this long instead of your wings. As much as you want to fly, you know the branches are too low, and would immediately snag and tear at your wings. Because of this, you pay your price, and your pace slows down rapidly. After panting and gasping through your last steps, you finally spot a ray of light peeking between two trees in front of you. You cry out in relief and begin to travel towards it, but then stop. You feel the gust of warm breath against the nape of your neck. It travels down your clothes, and then envelops your entire

being. Your body tenses up and you are unable to move. Your ears begin to ring and you can’t hear anything else other than your over exuberant heart. There is only one thought floating through your subconscious mind. It’s the Hush Fairy. After a moment, you realize the Hush Fairy hasn’t attacked you yet. It’s almost as if it is waiting to see what you will do next. A game of sorts. A predator toying with its food. Your adrenaline surges in, and you have feeling in your body again. You can move now, but should you? It’s a very risky gamble. With fight or flight debating over and over, you ultimately decide to run for it. It’s the only option. You take a deep breath, and sprint towards the beacon of light. The game has begun. Almost immediately the Hush Fairy is barreling towards you, sounds of growling and even delight can be heard. As tempting as it is, you don’t look back. Just as you’re about to reach the two trees, the Hush Fairy tackles you, and you tumble to the ground. You shout for help, hoping that the village is just beyond your reach, but there is no response. You squirm and struggle to escape, but the Hush Fairy is surprisingly heavy, so you barely move. The Hush Fairy smiles, its drool dripping down from its extended jaw onto your shoulders. And as quickly as it tackled you, it digs its claws into your flesh and tears off your wings in one swift swipe. White-hot pain erupts across your back, and you scream like you never screamed before. Like another creature is clawing its way through your throat and sharing its own inner agony. The Hush Fairy lifts its weight off you just enough for you to scramble to the nearest tree and place your burning back against the cool oak. You can already feel your consciousness starting to slip. Once you make it there, you finally get your first look at the Hush Fairy. And to your dismay, it looks exactly the way Azalea described. Its skin drab and lifeless, their hands sharp and dipped in the glitter from your wings, their jaw fully unhinged, teeth as big as your hand. But what Azalea didn’t account for was the pure glee in its beady red eyes, something that disturbs you more than any of the other details.

It devours your wings, sinking its teeth into the tender outer frame. The Hush Fairy eats messily, spraying sparkles and your life source all over the forest bed. You watch in horror as it licks its lips afterwards, like it just ate a five course meal. Your eyes well up with tears, both because of the unbearable pain and the trauma of watching your own wings get eaten in front of you. The Hush Fairy’s eyes grow a brighter red, and their skin becomes slightly less grey. A sign to show they had just replenished their life source. You regain consciousness after almost passing out, and attempt to crawl towards the light between the trees. The Hush Fairy immediately notices this, and dashes toward you with lightning speed. The last thing you see through your teary eyes is the delighted grin of the Hush Fairy, as everything goes dark. . . . Two fairy children rush by the opening to the Abandoned Hollow, playing a game of Bubble Toss. One is a teenager, while the other is significantly younger. The older one stops at the entrance, the bubble still in her hands. “Did you hear about what happened to the fairy who went in there last week?” The older one asks. “Yeah,” the younger one replies, “They were said to have gone into the forest looking for the Hush Fairy, and never came back.” She shudders. “Pretty sure Azalea sent them in to look, the wack-job,” the older one rolls her eyes. “It sounds like the Hush Fairy got them, doesn’t it? Maybe it is real.” “Don’t be ridiculous. No such thing exists.” The older one peers deeper into the entrance, seeing only trees and the faintest glimmer of light. She smirks. “I guess I’ll have to prove it.”

[The Lovers; Marxist and Liberated] A c e

A l e x a n d e r

[Eternal Spring] If I’m the queen, then you’re my king When you are near, my heart will sing The bells have now began to ring You know you are my everything There’s so much joy to me you bring And near to you, I’ll always cling It’s more than just a silly fling You make it always feel like spring

A n o n y m o u s

[Forest Fairy] A s h e r

M o o d y

Its wings were glittering like the morning dew on the grass, Its eyes like orbs of curiosity. I couldn’t believe just this morning I had no idea that this beautiful fairy existed. I had decided to go on a walk through the forest next to my cottage as I had nothing to do that day. I took a new path, my forest has many paths throughout it, the past settlers had made many and they had never grown back. For a while, I followed the path until I heard a light tinkle in the distance. It drew me to it, like a butterfly to a flower. I walked into a clearing and at first saw nothing, then I looked harder and saw a small, beautiful humanoid standing on a stump in the middle of the clearing, the tinkle I had heard seemed to be coming from the creature on the stump. Quietly, I listened while walking toward it. It sounded like singing. It was singing. But it was not a voice, it sounded like a small bell being tolled, but it lasted for longer than a bell possibly could. It slowly lulled me to my knees. How long I stayed, listening to its song I couldn’t know. I couldn’t leave. It was too beautiful. Soon it was twilight and the fairy, as I was sure it was, grew tired and settled down to sleep. To this day I still have not seen another fairy, and I need not, for that one day of fairy, has fulfilled my desire.

[the fairy who believed she could write] There once was a fairy who wanted to write stories but everyone told her she can’t because she’s a fairy and she should be getting pixie dust to help the kids feel happy, but that did not stop her from believing she could. So she kept secretly writing and publishing by a secret name, The Dream Getter. She wants to come to everyone and say: “I’m The Dream Getter. She’s me.” But she’s scared that she will get shunned or outcast. A couple weeks go by….. Everyone starts wondering and getting more curious about who the dream getter is. One day later… She thinks, I’m going to do it. I’m going to tell everyone I’m the dream-getter. She runs outside and yells as loud as she can. “I’M THE DREAM GETTER!” Everybody runs out and sees her and gasps are everywhere jaws dropping, but they didn’t shun her. They said, “You need to become a world famous writer.” The end

c a d e n c e . k o c h

[The fairy] A girl made of glitter, Whose wings flutter and flitter. Flowers in her pink hair, Eyes shining in the sun’s glare, Her smile bright, Her skin light. Danger looms near But she does not fear. For she is a fairy Who is very merry, And her magic powers Can grow flowers, To stop the danger From a stranger. Because she helps all, Though she is small, And though the day is done Her work has only begun. A small fairy floats throughout Helping those all about, But she’ll only help those who believe, And those who don’t are her biggest pet peeve.

E b o n i e

[In the Woods] E l e a n o r

N a g l e

She’s dead. He’s killed her. Killed her in the woods. Killed her in our woods. Killed her with a knife. Did you see? Yes. Snuck up from behind. Killed her with his knife. I saw. She lies where she fell. Still there, not warm anymore. Not as beautiful with blood on her gown. Why did he kill her? It’s against the rules. I know. I made that rule. “None may kill in the forest.” I know. I wrote it on a stump. He read it. I saw him from the trees. Why did he not obey? The wolves obey. As do the birds. As do all. They have not killed in the forest. Why has he? Where is his knife now? Took it with him. Where has he gone? Away, out of the forest. I saw him. And what shall we do with her? The one he’s killed? She was so beautiful… We shall make her a new gown. Out of leaves. Out of moss.

We shall sew up the hole he’s ripped in her. With cobwebs and dew. We shall put her under our tree. The roots will shelter her. She will remain pristine. She will wake again. When? We cannot wake her ourselves. It must be one of her own. It was one of her own that killed her. It must be one of her own to bring her back. We must be patient. We will keep her safe. Safe until one of her own comes to save her. Until then, we will wait.

[Tall Pines, Taller Creatures ] The front tire of my bike went flat ‘bout ten minutes ago, I’ve been dragging it home since. I should’ve checked the tire before leaving work. I wouldn’t have nearly buckled the wheel had I. With my free hand I pull my hair out of my hood. Well, not mine. I took Tobys’ coat off the rack before my shift ended. He didn’t say I could take it but since we’ve been making out all summer I take borrowing from him an open invitation. Not that it helped me much now. His coat can’t warm the goosebumps Night gave me. It’s not even cold. I tread loose gravel, one hand curled in Tobys’ pocket and the other wrapped around the handle bar. I don’t want to think about the way the trees narrow the path like it leads to nothing. I look up at the sky for stars but they’re not there — they must’ve grown tired of the tall pine trees’ constant poking and went into hiding. I don’t blame ‘em. I continue, pulling my bike with both hands now. The trees grow farther apart the further I go, revealing open pastures of half dead grass and wilting flowers. All night I’ve been fighting exhaustion, widening my eyes once I felt the lids start to fall. An achy pain courses my biceps, pleading for my arms to rest. I’m considering dumping my bike here for the night and running as fast as I can home. All I want is to be beneath my comforter right now. Then the thought occurs to me, running back here in the morning, yawning and heavy eyed, then running back home to change the wheel before dad sees. Yeah, no. That’d be a worse pain than my heavy, achy arms. I tilt my head back, my mind clearing itself of any thought as I take in the view; the sky is much clearer now, the stars slowly come out of hiding. Soon white, bright dots scatter across the sky. In the center of the skies blue-black there is one star, noticeably closer than the rest. It’s falling. I don’t believe my tired eyes. I must be hallucinating now — a streak of white light follows the star as it falls. A loud noise ripped through the sky, like a firework. Rock crashing against rock. My eyes blink away the sleepiness that crept behind them. Instantly I’m alert and

curious. I gotta find it. I begin running toward it, my bike shrieking behind. Where did it land? It’s not long for the trees to line the road again, tainting my view. Through tall pine, past imaginary shadow people there is one of the very few lights on this road. I don’t need to recognize it to know that it’s Mr. and Mr. Alvarez’ place. The yellow glow from the street light hid any trace of the fallen star. A feeling, I’m not sure what, tugged in my chest. I have to find this star.

E l i z a b e t h W o o d b u r y

[Untitled] A n o n y m o u s

[Meddlesome Pranks] It was just another ordinary day. The ninety-nine year old Charles snored loudly. His hair was thinning, his face was wrinkled, and he had a scar under his eye from his time in the military. He had a light blue walker sitting next to his bed, and a pair of glasses on his mahogany bedside table. Suddenly, he let out a huge snore, and sat up. The old geezer woke up with a new pain replacing the last. He grumbled and attempted to slide his way out of bed, without disrupting his back. It didn’t work. Charles sighed, and started getting on some pants. This process usually took at least ten minutes. Then he put on his shirt. Charles grabbed his walker, and made his way towards his armchair by the window. That’s when he saw them. The children would always come and play in his yard, and egg his house. He angrily hobbled out the door. “Get out you hooligans!” he shouted in a voice cracked with age. “I ought to call the coppers on you!” The children just laughed like they always did, then proceeded to ride their dirt bikes over his flowerbed. “Dagnabbit!” he hollered. He started to move slowly towards them. “Oh no!” said one boy in a sarcastic voice. “He’s way too fast. We’ll never get away!” “I don’t like your tone,” reprimanded Charles. The boy wailed a fake cry. Charles was on them in a matter of several minutes. He raised his cane. “What are you going to do with that old fart?” a boy laughed. Charles put down the cane, and slapped the boy across the face. The boy gasped. It did not hurt very much, but it was a surprise nonetheless. The “coppers” were called. Not by Charles, but by the boy’s mother. Charles’s court hearing was a month later. He was fined $50, and a night in prison. It was cold, damp, and dreary. He had a bucket, a cot, and a bad attitude. When he returned home, he was extra grumpy. Nobody would walk past his house. He found this as an improvement. That is until the strange happenings started.

“What in tarnation!” Charles yelled. A lump had appeared on his wall. It was huge and bulging. Charles was about to hit it with his cane when it disappeared. The next day, Charles found a sack of candy instead of his pillow. He figured that the kids were messing with him. Strange things started happening more and more often. First once a day, then twice, then every six hours, then every hour, and soon strange things were happening so often, that he could barely take a step without something weird popping up. A toy train on his pillow, a rug turned blue, a pumpkin in place of his TV. He knew better than to tell someone. They would think he was crazy. They would think he was a senile old man. Maybe he was. He had no idea. Charles decided that he would take a vacation. Not far away, he didn’t have much money. Maybe he could travel to a nearby hotel and stay the night, or he could go to a casino. He was already broke, so he decided to go to a hotel. He found one within his price range, started up his old rusted Camaro, and set off. When he arrived, he saw that the hotel was tall, maybe five stories. It was a dull gray color, and had a revolving glass door. When he entered, there was a lady at the front desk. She was tall, and pale, and had blue eyes and light brown hair, and wore a name tag that read “Candace”. The walls were blue and chipping, and the red rug on the floor had faded to a mahogany. “Hello sir,” Candace politely said. “Gimme the cheapest room you got,” replied Charles rudely. Candace’s face shifted and she sighed. “Are you a veteran, Sir?” asked Candace tiredly. “I fought in World War 2,” Charles boasted proudly. “I snuck in and fought at fourteen. “Wait, how old are you?” questioned Candace. “Ninety-nine, but that’s none of your gall-darn business!” answered Charles feistily. “I’m sorry sir, but we have a policy that states that no one over eighty can have a hotel room unaccompanied. We can’t have you dropping dead,” blurted Candace. Charles angrily stomped to his car, got in with some difficulty, and drove home. When he got home, he saw a note at his doorstep. The note read: If you want these strange occurrences to end, come to town hall, and speak to the mayor. Charles was outraged. So the mayor was behind all of this! “When I get my hands on that smellfungus,” Charles growled, “I will beat him like a hog.”

When Charles got to the town hall, he saw the mayor standing up front. He was a tall, thin man, with chilling blue eyes, black hair, and a cunning face. “Hello, sir,” said the mayor silkily. “I hear that there have been some strange occurrences at your place of residence.” “Darn right!” answered Charles angrily. “Holy cripes! Your lot have been sassafrasing me with your meddlesome pranks!” “I’m quite sorry sir,” responded the mayor. “I am sure we can come to a compromise.” A dollar bill slipped out of his sleeve. “Whoops.” Charles was having none of it. “What is causing all of these things to happen?” growled Charles heatedly. “We discovered a new creature, and some of our… contraptions went out of hand.” “How is that causing all of this?” Charles demanded. The mayor sighed. “I guess I can show you.” Charles and the mayor walked towards the mayor’s private bathroom. Charles watched open mouthed as the mayor pressed a button on the wall, and gasped as the floor started to move downward. Charles glimpsed a huge, round spaceship. It had a green dome on top, and a gray bottom. “We apprehended these alien life forms as they flew overhead,” said the mayor. Two aliens emerged from the disk. They were blue, lean, and tall. They had black eyes, and were completely bald. They were completely hairless, naked, and looked extremely angry. One of them lunged at the glass, then ricocheted backwards. Charles stepped back, wide eyed. “We have been studying their tech, and it may have caused some… disruptions at your place of residence. I apologize. We do not think they are intelligent,” stated the mayor. “How would they build that ship if they were not intelligent?” wondered Charles. “If we find out,” chuckled the mayor, “It will already be too late for you.” He pushed Charles to the ground and drew a large knife. It glinted in the dim light. The mayor held it aloft. Charles screamed. An alien lunged at the glass, and it shattered into a million pieces like spray from a waterfall. The alien fell to the ground with a thud but was back up in a flash. The second leaped out of the cage and tackled the mayor, then grabbed the knife, and threw him into the glass cage.

It grabbed a contraption from the counter, and pointed it at the glass. The glass mended itself just as the mayor leaped at it. He collided with a thud, and was knocked unconscious. “It is sealed inside of its cage,” said one alien. “We will study it,” replied the second. “What about the other one?” asked the first alien. “Wipe it’s memory, send it to its cave,” commanded the second. The alien then pointed a ray at Charles’s head, and Charles screamed. He thrashed and howled, and suddenly, he was at home, in his bed, with no memory of the whole affair… but sometimes, when he slept, he dreamt of blue aliens. “Funny,” he chuckled to himself. “Like a thing like that could happen.”

E l o d i e

[The Forest] E m m a

H o r r o c k s

What if you were a forest? If your eyes were the moss, the ferns, and the clovers. If your freckles shone bright as the stars in the sky. If your laugh was a breeze, surrounding the atmosphere, cooling the Earth on a hot summer night. If your resilience came in the form of trees; tall sycamores that tower over the canopy. If your comforting presence was a babbling brook, the frogs croaking, or a cricket’s chirp. If you were a forest, I would look at the moon. I would lay on the clovers, lying with you. The moon would glow, like a distant song. The fog would give the world a haze, painted like watercolors. The breeze would return, it would cradle the eve. If you were a forest, I would not leave.

[Snarry and Snilly (NOT HARRY POTTER RELATED)] Rain spilled down and onto the red and orange leaves, soaking everything it touched. Most people would be indoors at that time, except for a few people out for strolls and Mollie. Mollie was simply crouching next to a rock, wearing a green raincoat with a froggy hood, smiling. Wind blew past her red hair as she eyed the rock very intently as she put her hand on it so she wouldn’t fall over. “There we go!” Two caramel-coloured shells were suddenly in the very corner of her field of view. She peered closer, and saw the two snails wearing the swirly shells, slithering along, seemingly oblivious to the giant world around them. That is, until Mollie’s orange-furred paws suddenly scooped them up. “I got you!!” she grinned, standing fully upright, the snails in both her palms. Then, she ran. She ran and ran out of the park, through the rain, until she stopped at a big brick building that had a pair of glass doors you’ve probably seen in indoor public places, like shops or something. Mollie tilted her left palm so that the snail in it slid into her right palm, leaving space to open the door, in front of the bewildered receptionist. “Do… do you still remember which flat you and your mother lives in?” she choked out, eyes wide from the muddy Mollie with the mollusks in her mitts. “Floor two, number forty two!” Mollie said gleefully, her innocent yellow eyes staring into the receptionists.

* * * Mollie opened the door to her flat and took off her dark green rainboots with her feet. The only sounds she could hear were her own footsteps and the vent humming, blasting warm air all around the main area. “Mam’ll be home soon, so I hafta find a place to put you.” she told the pair, walking toward the kitchenette. She stopped at the corner of the counter and gently guided them off her paw and onto the light brown, polished surface. “Now, don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back!” She ambled over to the kitchen sink and pressed down on those hand soap things with her left paw, lathered the soap around them both, and turned on the water to wash them. After she was done, she walked towards one of the shelves with mason jars on it. She climbed onto the counter and grabbed one of the bigger ones on the shelf, then climbed back down to greet the snails again. “Thanks for listening to me!” she told the snails, who moved a couple centimeters away from where they were at first. She then scooped up one of the snails and put it in the jar, then the other. “I hope you like your new home! I’ll get you some lunch.” she said, placing the jar onto the counter, not putting the lid back on so they don’t suffocate. She then turned to the cutting board, where her mam had left most of the cabbage from this morning, when she was running late to open her coffeehouse. “Thank you Mam,” Mollie whispered, peeling two bits off for each snail. She then walked back to the jar and dropped the bits in for the snails, almost on their antennas. Click, CREEAAAK! “Mollie, I’m hom– AAH!!” Mollie stared directly into her mother’s wide, horrified blue eyes. She’d been caught. Mollie’s heart was in her throat. What was Mam going to think? Is she going to throw out the snails?! What’s gonna– “Mollie…” Mam managed to choke out. “Am I gonna die?” Mollie asked, slightly terrified. “What?! No!” Mam exclaimed. “I’m just shocked to see that you brought two garden snails in the flat! And that jar is surely unsuitable for the two of them.”

She said, gesturing her white paw toward the large mason jar. “How so?” Mollie asked while the two snails were eating the cabbage. “Well, it’s not enough space! They need enough space for them to roam about, which is certainly not the size of both your paws!” Mollie put her digits around the bottom of the mason jar. Though her paws were too small to fully wrap her digits around it, she still felt kinda bad for them. “I guess, but what can we do?” Mollie asked. “Well, we need to go to the pet shop, but I need to tell my employees first, so they close at the correct time.” Mam told her. “Mollie, leave the snails here for now. That cabbage should tide them over.” “Alright, so when are we leaving?” Mollie asked, slowly starting to walk away from the kitchen. “Just a minute. I still need to tell my employees.” * * * The pet shop was a familiar sight for Mollie, but there were so many smells, she couldn’t count them all. The smell of the kibble, the cats, the Moschops eggs, (A.N, MOSCHOPS ARE DOMESTICATED IN THIS REALM) just smells she didn’t like, didn’t hate, but vibed with. As per usual, Mam had a death grip on Mollie’s paw to ensure she wouldn’t run off. “Now, we need an appropriate tank to house both of them. Fifteen liters should be enough.” Mam explained, and just so you know, fifteen liters is equal to about five gallons, but don’t take my word for it, I just looked it up and did the math! “Like that one?” Mollie asked, pointing at a rectangular tank sorted into the “15L” section of the aisle. “Maybe not that one. How about something more… squareish…?” Mam added, pointing to one of the said square tanks also in the “15L” section. “Why that one?” Mollie asked, pointing to that specific tank. “It just feels right.” Mam said, shrugging a little. “That other tank feels like it should be for fish, and we’re finding a tank for land snails!” Mollie tried to reply, but no words came out. To her, that was too good of a point that her mother made.

Once they were at the counter with the tank, and nothing else

because they couldn’t find anything appropriate, the cashier began to speak to them. “It’s been a while since someone ordered those square tanks.” she said while scanning it. “Do you want a bag for that?” “No, we’re good.” Mam replied, gently picking up the tank with both arms. “I’m strong enough.” “So what pet are you bringing in?” the cashier asked. “My daughter here found two garden snails, and the biggest mason jars we have surely aren’t going to cut it!” Mam laughed. “And, just a tank and nothing else will cut it.” the cashier retorted, gesturing toward it. “I recommend going to a gardening shop to get stuff for the snails’ tank.” “Oh, I never thought about that. Thank you madam.” Mollie’s eyes widened in horror, as that meant MORE shopping. Dun dun duuuunnnn!!! * * * A lot of boring shopping later, it was about 7PM, and hopefully, Mam’s employees were able to manage closing the coffeehouse 90 minutes ago, and Mollie was bellyflopped on her bed, utterly exhausted from the amount of shopping she went through with her mam. Mollie then turned to the snail’s new home, but ended up pushing herself to sit up to get a better look at what her mother did for the snails. Mam used the potting soil she got to cover the bottom of the tank, then collected some rocks from outside as well as some sidewalk moss to make it seem like their natural habitat. She also put in a water bowl, some vegetables for them to eat, (A friend of hers told her that vegetables are the best food for snails) and a bit of a climbing frame made out of popsicle sticks. It wasn’t THAT impressive, but one of the snails, one with a drooping antenna, seemed to be gladly enjoying it. “It’s about time I named you, isn’t it?” Mollie asked the pair. “Just let me think…” Mollie’s mind was a blank, even though she was trying to think REALLY HARD, but she couldn’t come up with– “That’s it! I got it!” Oh, okay Mollie. You kinda scared me there. “Welcome to your new home, Snarry and Snilly!” fin

F o s t e r 26

[U n t i t l e d ] F r e y a

“They started singing bye-bye miss American pie. Drove my Chevy to the Levee, but the Levee was dry. Them good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye. Singin’ this’ll be the day that I die.” Keira pulled the truck onto I5. We sped up as sunlight poured through the tinted windows, illuminating our faces as the music illuminated our souls. Me and my sister don’t know all the words to the song Miss American Pie, but we come together to sing the chorus. A dark green truck and music is something me and my sister share, before we split up to different classes, different days, different lives. Who do you share magic with?

[Georgie isn’t a big kid] Oh Georgie, with curly blonde hair and green bucket hat, His freckled legs and green galoshes, Oh Georgie, why ever did you grow? Grew to be bitter to Penny and Cole, Cole, his red baseball cap. Their swims in the water, Their climbs up the tree. Oh, Georgie, with striped rainbow shirt, and big kid bed, His shiny blue eyes and peachy pink cheeks, Oh Georgie, whyever did you leave? Grew to come back to old friends, Friends, with their big kid clothes. Georgie doesn’t understand how to be a big kid, He doesn’t understand why Cole left him. Oh Georgie, oh Georgie, oh damned little Georgie. His stupid freckles, His stupid green hat. He isn’t a big kid, So why does he even try? Cole is a big kid. He acts like a big kid. Why isn’t Georgie a big kid?

F r o g

g i r l

[Miss Mary Mack hates Anne] F r o g

g i r l

Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack Jump, down. Jump, down. All dressed in black, black, black Jump, down. Trip. Anne wasn’t as good as her friends at jump rope. She tripped over her feet, She tripped over the red rope. Marina jumped to the rhyme five times. Star jumped 8. Anne wishes she was as good as the others. Maybe Miss Mary Mack hated her. That has to be the explanation.

[Esmeralda and Odin find a fairy] “Have you figured out where we are yet?” Esmeralda asked, tired of the ropes around her wrists. “And can you loosen these or something? Or maybe just untie me altogether? And can we leave now? These trees are freaking me out. They have faces” Odin inspected his map for a good minute before answering her. “No.” “No to what? Which question are you answering?” “All of them,” he replied, his eyes not leaving the map. He had no idea where they were, the map only covered so much of the forest. “Wait, what about the trees having faces?” He looked up at her, her face displeased. “Why do you process people speaking to you at the pace of a snail? Do you always do that or are you just doing that because you hate me? Actually, don’t answer that, I don’t care enough to wait for a response,” she sighed. She moved her hands as much as one could when they were bound together towards her left. “They have faces. Look.” The trees looked to be hundreds of years old, the bark faded and chipped away. They had faces carved into them, the carvings also appearing to be rather old. They all had different faces, though all equally detailed and creepy. “Hm. Wonder what that’s about,” Odin said, looking back down at the map. “I don’t like them. They’re giving me the creeps. Look at that one,” Esmeralda said, pointing her finger at the tree right in front of Odin. “That one is extra creepy. I can tell it’s having impure thoughts.” He looked up from his map and at the tree in front of it. “Looks about the same as all the other ones to me.” “Nuh-uh! You barely even looked. They don’t all look the same. That one’s eyes are beadier than they should be,” she replied. “But the one next to it has kind eyes. And the one next to that one looks tired. Look!” “No,” Odin responded, still looking at his map. He crumpled it up out of frustration after deciding it wasn’t going to help. He hadn’t

realized just how big the forest was. “The map isn’t going to do us any good. We’re just going to have to keep going until we get back. I think we’re headed in the right direction though.” Esmeralda rolled her eyes, disappointed. “Great, another night out here,” she said. “Can we at least leave this area? I’m not sleeping surrounded by a bunch of unsettling trees.” “Guess you’re not sleeping then,” Odin replied, placing his bag on the ground and pulling out some spare wood to start a fire. Esmeralda loudly groaned, dramatically throwing herself at the ground. “Whatever. Don’t blame me when we get killed by these creepy trees.” “I won’t be blaming anyone for anything. Because I’ll be dead. Can’t really do those things if you’re not alive.” “I hate you. Why don’t you go back to not talking?” “We’re not going to get killed tonight, Esmeralda,” Odin sighed. “Be reasonable, god. We’ll sleep, then be on our way tomorrow morning. And I’m sure tomorrow we’ll find our way back to the kingdom.” “You said that about today. And yesterday. And maybe the day before that, but I can’t really remember now since it feels like we’ve been out here for an ETERNITY.” “Well, I’m saying it again about tomorrow,” Odin replied. “Also, it’s only been four days since we’ve gotten lost. So calm down.” Esmeralda looked at Odin, following him with her eyes as he started a fire. He was painfully aware of this, as he was painfully aware of everything she did. He just wanted to get back to the palace so he could turn her in and never have to look at her or speak to her again. She completely disrupted his way of living, with all her senseless chatter. “I didn’t mean that, just now,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “What?” “When I said you should go back to not talking. Don’t do that. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re totally insufferable and one of the most frustrating people I’ve ever met and I’ll be glad when I never have to see you again. But I hate silence. Hate it. I’d rather talk to someone I hate than not talk at all. And I can tell you feel the opposite and that you want me to shut up, but I just want you to know that I don’t care.” “Well, I wasn’t really listening to you when you said that, so

you probably could have said much worse and I wouldn’t have noticed,” Odin said, sitting down in front of the now finished fire. Esmeralda opened her mouth, probably to insult Odin and then go on a tangent about something that he didn’t care about, but her face froze and nothing came out. “What?” Odin asked. “What is it?” She pointed behind him. “What is that? That light.” Odin turned around to see what she was seeing. There was a faint pink and green light shining on the ground a few feet away from them in the trees. Odin stood up from his spot on the ground and slowly approached it. “Oh my god, it’s the TREES!” Esmeralda said, panicked. “Don’t get any closer! They’re sending us a message. That thing is probably going to explode in your face and kill you. I told you! I told you these trees were up to something, Odin! And you didn’t believe me! I don’t want to die here, especially not with you. This is-” “It’s fairies,” Odin said, his voice casual. “It’s just a few fairies, so you can stop talking now. Look.” The pink light started to flutter upwards and into the trees. The green light remained on the ground right next to the trunk of the tree. “Fairies? “ Esmeralda replied, still anxious. “They’re fairies?” “Yep,” Odin said, kneeling down to get a better look at the green one. “Looks like there’s a colony of them in this area. They probably did the carvings in the trees. Better hope they didn’t hear you earlier.” Esmeralda looked intently at the green fairy from afar. “You know, I’ve never seen one before.” Odin turned his head to look at her. “What? Really? You’ve never seen a fairy before?” he asked, surprised. “No, there isn’t any where I’m from. Which is fair, since that place kind of sucks. I wasn’t even sure if they were real.” Odin looked at her, entranced by the curiosity and light in her eyes. This caused Odin to be nice to her, a moment of weakness. He gently scooped up the fairy into his left hand and covered it with his right hand to ensure it wouldn’t fly away. He slowly stood up and walked back over to their fire and sat down next to her. “Look,” he said, moving his hands closer to her. He had his hands clasped just tight enough so the fairy couldn’t fly off, but left a small space to peer in and get a look at it. She lowered her head down to his hand and peered into the

space he had left for her. He couldn’t see what she was seeing, but he could see the green light reflecting on her face. Her mouth formed a small smile, and he noticed that her pointer tooth was just the slightest bit crooked. He hadn’t noticed before because they were never this close to each other and she also hadn’t done much smiling in the past few days. He quickly turned his face away from her, deciding that they shouldn’t be this close to each other and neither one of them should be smiling. Noticing his shift, Esmeralda lifted her head up and looked at Odin. “Wow,” she said in awe. “I can’t believe this. My sister would be so jealous right now.” “Yep,” Odin replied, peering into look at the fairy. “Pretty cool.” “It’s so cute! It has little boots on and a shirt made from a leaf. I wonder what it does. What do fairies do?” Odin shrugged. “Fairy thing, I guess.” He opened up his hands and the fairy flew off, the green light becoming fainter and fainter. The two of them watched as it disappeared into the night sky. It was a nice, clear night, the sky full of stars. For the first time in a while, both of them felt content.

H R

[Home] I s a b e l Childhood feels like a fever dream, as years stack on. I can’t go back, to slippery wooden walkways and motherly hands wrapped around mine. I am losing the girl, who collected stamps, rocks, feathers first. I am scared of the new woman, the logical one, the thinker one, the mature one. I am afraid that the memory will disappear and mean that time is for sure. That its going, not stopping for my timidness. I am grasping for my adolescence the way my mother clings to me, as though she knows we’re both fighting against the impossible

[Her] I am an angel. I crawl out of myself and dance into the night. Only to crawl back in each morning. No one knows of the reality of me. If I were her, I would twirl my fingers into the air and spin in a flowing summer breeze. I would wear baggy jeans and tight shirts. I would be known. I wish to be known for more than what I am not. I wish for a golden ticket to a land of freedom. I wish for the existence of not needing. I wish for her.

M i l e y

C o t é

[Olive Green; Pine Needles] The question of how many times you had to talk to someone before you could consider them a friend had been circling in my mind for the last few days. The whole process of making new friends was unexpectedly foreign to me. Everyone I knew now I had begun chatting with in elementary school, when friendship was as simple as playing with the same bracelet making kit. Olive was entirely uncharted territory. I had talked to her a few times since she’d watched the cheer practice, when I’d seen her around, but only quick conversations of what she’d been observing from her vantage point or if the weather was nice enough to expect her on the bridge. At least she didn’t seem to mind talking with me. She’d even initiated a few conversations herself when I’d walked under a roof I hadn’t noticed her perched on. Just simple things like how cheer was going or why I was walking down main street carrying a large potted cactus (my mom had decided to get rid of it, and Ms. Thomas had offered to take it in). Olive and I were certainly friendly, but it felt too soon to think of her as a friend. I didn’t even have her phone number, and I never talked to her in school hours. She seemed content in the back of the room, and I was too swarmed by my usual social circle to seek her out. And yet I still wished to get to know her better, to spend more time with her. I couldn’t pinpoint what it was that drew me in about Olive. Perhaps it was the mystery of her, or how the little I did know mismatched so greatly from my assumptions. But the question of why was less vital than how I would go about reaching a stage where I could call her a friend. I was pondering this in geometry, one of the few classes with assigned seats, and therefore Olive in front of me where I could get a good view of her. She bounced her leg when focused, I noticed, her braids bobbing up and down ever so slightly. I wondered if anyone had ever looked at her long enough to notice that about her. Either I made some subtle sound she picked up on, or Olive just had an extra sense for when she was being looked at. Suddenly she turned to stare directly back at me. She blinked, her eyebrows raised, and her usual neutral expression, while I whipped my head back to my paper as quickly as I could. I attempted to focus on the words of the teacher as my face grew deeply flushed from an un-

founded embarrassment.

Olive was in her tree again at cheer practice after school. I did my best to avoid meeting her eyes, still self-conscious for reasons I didn’t understand. But as soon as the cool-down stretches had finished, Olive was already climbing down, looking as if she expected me to talk. And after the coach had gone in and the rest of the team had stepped into the changing rooms, I had no excuse to ignore her. “I thought you usually didn’t watch Thursday practices,” I tried. “I don’t. But I thought you wanted to talk to me today.” Olive stopped one branch up from the ground, one leg hanging off, the other propped under her chin, with her hands laced over the knee. “At least, that’s the impression I got from how you were staring at me in geometry.” Straight to the point then. I hoped the blood rushing into my cheeks didn’t look as noticeable as it felt. “You had a leaf stuck in your hair.” I said as defiantly as I could. “And so instead of telling me, you decided unrestrained eye contact would get the point across?” Olive smirked. For someone who I had barely two weeks ago assumed was too shy to speak, Olive’s confidence in conversation caught me off guard every time she spoke. “I just… I didn’t think you liked talking to people at school.” The grin slipped from Olive’s face as she thought for a moment. “I don’t dislike talking to people,” she finally said. “I usually just don’t have anything to say.” I was taking any opportunity to change the subject. “You seem to have plenty to say to me.” She shrugged. “You give me something to work with.” There was a moment of silence that seemed to prove the exact opposite of her point. Just to fill it, I spoke again. “You did actually have a leaf in your hair.” “Did I now?” One of Olive’s hands left her knee to trace her braids. “Is it still there?” I stood on my tiptoes to get a better look at her, hair the color of autumn tucked gently in and around itself in simple braids. The leaf I had made up was certainly not there, though she did have some scraps of evergreen from her current tree. “Nah, you’re good. You’ve

got a few pine needles though.” “Doesn’t surprise me,” she sighed, reaching up with both hands this time in an attempt to fidget them out. “People always act like pines don’t shed in fall. They do, it’s just not as obvious. Except when you spend your days in them.” Even though I had only just gotten safe from her questioning of the staring, I couldn’t help but look at Olive again. Gnawing on the inside of my cheek as she worked the scraps of green free. The rest of the team wasn’t out of the changing rooms yet, and they probably wouldn’t be for another few minutes. And Olive was making such slow progress on the needles when I could so easily grab them. It wasn’t like I had anything else to be doing. I moved closer to the tree, but my words caught in my throat, held back by some sort of nervous bubbling. I took a breath. I would’ve without thought done it for my friends. And if I wanted to get to a stage of friendship with her, this was the best chance I could have. “Let me help you with the pine needles.” “Huh?” Olive seemed surprised at the comment, but not uncomfortable, which I took as a good enough sign. “Oh, sure?” I placed a shoe on the bark and attempted to push myself up enough to get on the branch where she sat. I would’ve thought cheerleading strength would’ve been enough to get me the four feet off the ground, especially from how easy Olive made it look. Instead I spent the next few moments failing to do any more than scrape off a chunk of moss from the trunk. “I can come down--” Olive started, watching my struggle. “No, it’s fine.” I could feel my face turning as pink as it had in math class once more. “Just gimme a second.” After said second and still no progress, a hand reached out to me. My heart paused for a moment and before my mind could think, I found my own palm in hers. There was a coolness and roughness to her skin that I hadn’t anticipated. Olive pulled me up next to her with strength that shouldn’t have been surprising, given that she’d spent who knows how long pulling herself into trees. Her hand slipped out of mine as I steadied myself on the branch, attempting both to find a stable way to sit, and to mentally recover from Olive essentially picking me up with one arm. Words seemed impossible to find when all I could focus on was the fading feeling of her hand. “Thanks.” Was the best I could manage. “Mhm.” She was back to trying to pick pine needles from her hair.

Right. Pine needles. That’s why I was up here. I adjusted myself again to make sure I was in no danger of falling before leaning over to her. Careful not to pull her hair, I began smoothing the needles out and letting them fall to the ground. Olive must’ve been hotheaded in the most literal sense, my hands felt warm just being close to her. “Honestly, I’m impressed you don’t have more debris on you in class from how much time you spend in trees,” I muttered as I worked. “I try to be neat there.” Her voice was the slightest bit quieter than usual, I thought. “Got scolded once for tracking dirt around in middle school.” It was hard to imagine Olive being even the slightest bit of a problem student, but it occurred to me that was probably by her design. Any sort of trouble, even the most minor of kinds, brought more attention. “Well, your effort is impressive.” “Apparently not enough if I had a leaf in my hair.” She turned her head slightly to look at me, her smirk back. As if she knew she had caught me in a lie and that there was nothing I could do to deny it. “Maybe it was just the lights. Or a piece of paper. But there was definitely something.” I knew she didn’t believe me, and I couldn’t help but catch a small bit of her smile on my own face. “I’ll trust your word for it then.” She turned back to face ahead, letting me return to my job of plucking pine needles in peace. “As you should. My word has been noted by many across the ages to be very trustworthy.” I was too flustered to realize how stupid I sounded, but Olive laughed anyway, the same sharp bark as it’d been the first time. “I suppose that’s a pretty reliable source.” The last pine needle from her hair fell to the ground. “Alright, I think you’re good,” I told her. And then Olive was facing me. I hadn’t realized how close she was until we were eye to eye. I could see every freckle that spotted her cheeks, the loose strands of hair falling down her neck. The air from my lungs evaporated into the autumn wind. She reached out a hand towards my face, and I thought my heart had stopped. Olive gently tugged a pine needle from my hair. “Seems I’ve infected you,” she grinned. And I nearly fell backwards out of the tree.

M y s t

M o r g a n

[Untitled] N o e l l e From my rotting body Flowers and words grow Not to be made into paint Or paper But to stay as an oath of the life I lived

[Beth]

I’ve been waiting at the airport for seven hours. My flight keeps getting delayed and the intercom goes off about every thirty minutes before we are supposed to board. I’ve also heard everyone simultaneously groan about five times after they heard the lady at the booth start talking about anything other than boarding the plane. I have also decided that I should no longer get my hopes up about anything regarding today. My sister’s wedding starts in three hours, I’m in the wedding party and I’m waiting for my four hour flight. I’ve tried to call her and the rest of the wedding party but no one will answer their phone, plus I’ve filled up everyone’s voicemail. Looking over, I see an older man bickering with the ticket clerk. Clearly as annoyed with the situation as the rest of us but was the only one ballsy enough to say anything. Unable to steer my attention away from the excessive rant this man was having, he started to raise his voice. “Do you not understand that you are currently losing a loyal, paying customer? Or are we just supposed to not pay attention to the fact that you,” the man jabbed the lady’s arm. “Clearly don’t deserve a job because you can’t do it correctly considering we have had to wait, and wait!” He let out an exasperated sigh and the lady behind the counter took a deep breath and explained once again the situation in the kindest tone she could muster. “Sir, like I have told you the last five times there is nothing we can do. The pilot had an emergency and wasn’t able to make it. As we have offered multiple times to all passengers,” she looks over the entire room while letting a slight bit of annoyance slip into her voice as she continues. “That we, at Goose Airlines would refund the tickets and pay for a complimentary meal inside of the Goose Elite Club,” with a dramatic sigh she starts to recite a script for GEC, one that she has recited at least ten times. “GEC is intended for frequent flyers who just need a bit of time away…” Once she stopped her mind numbing speech, the man once again asked if she knew how to do her job. “Beth is it?” He asked as she started to mumble something about the time and started fastly walking away with the man that had gray hairs poking out of his nostrils trailing closely behind still com-

plaining. Baffled at the audacity of that man, I grab my phone to see a text from my sister that says The weddings off with no other context. Unsure of how I should feel, I tap the call button at the top of the screen. As my phone starts to ring, Beth comes walking out of the break room to announce over the speaker that our flight will be boarding in five minutes. As I walk onto the plane, my phone goes to voicemail once again and I sit down wondering what I was going to walk into once I landed.

O l i v i a

B .

[An Odd Encounter] O l i v i a

M u ñ o z

A sense of nostalgia crashes onto me. I look up and see thick trees— no. Those are mushrooms. All around me they sit, mushrooms galore. Freakishly tall mushrooms, freakishly small mushrooms, bleeding mushrooms, dying mushrooms, mushrooms everywhere. Almost immediately after making the observation I’m hit with a horrible stench. The air around me turns a hazy magical purple-pink, but it sure doesn’t feel magical. My bones ache, my muscles tense, and I can feel myself freezing. Something is hunting me, but I can’t see through the fog to tell what it is. A low chittering noise started near me as the fog got thicker. Thicky, thicker, then suddenly, it parts to reveal the maker. It has horrible posture— or maybe that’s just the way its bones work. It looks like a mangled human corpse, its skin the color of rot, and its bones protruding at unnatural places. Its lower jaw looks as if it had been ripped off and replaced with the mandibles of a bug. From its back came a red stained set of clear wings. It twitches as it comes closer. “YOU SHOULD NOT BE HERE,” the creature says, its voice accompanied by thousands of others. I cannot move; cannot blink, cannot flinch, can’t even breathe. The creature looks at me, hundreds of eyes suddenly opening from its skin. It lunges at me, suddenly, finally— I awake once again, this time sitting in a circle of mushrooms. Upon looking up, there are only trees and a blue sky. The fog is gone. The creature… I vaguely remember the name, but can’t seem to recall it. Something that started with an F… The thought slips my mind. Where am I? I should probably get home. It’s getting dark out.

[Underworld Pt.1 ] R a e

C h i n

In the forest the snow was falling and covering everything in soft white powder. Everlynn walked quietly through the forest, the snow crunching under her boots as she weaved through a patch of trees she noticed a glimpse of a pink light weaving through the trees. She swore it was a fairy “But that would be impossible,” she said, “There are no fairies in these woods, only the woods of the north.” Or not she thought, what if they are in these woods after all. She weaved through the trees to find the pink light, she got to a clearing in the woods with no tree and only a patch of bushes in the middle. She saw the pink light dart to the bushes in the middle of the clearing. “Hey” Everlynn shouted, but it was too late the pink light was gone. Everlynn poked her head in the bushes and saw a hole down to nowhere, in Everlynn’s mind she said, “Go, just go. But I also don’t want to go because I am not dying.” Just then she got pushed down into the hole and fell about 54 feet to a hard dirt floor covered in patches of grass and clouds of dirt. Everlynn coughed from the clouds of dirt everywhere. Just then the pink light flashed by her and went down a hall that looked to be 6 feet long, Everlynn got down on all fours and crawled through the hall and into a second room with a 10 foot tall ceiling covered in paintings of Fairies in long gowns and flower crowns made of vines and flowers. Everlynn continued along to the next room where the pink light reappeared. She noticed that the pink light was a fairy, a fairy with a long pink satin gown and a pink flower crown with pink hair. “ Hi,” she said, “My name is Jade, Jade Boller.” “Ok.” Everlynn said, “My name is Everlynn, Everlynn Benson.” Everlynn walked closer to Jade to get a really good look at her, but then Jade flew off to another room, Everlynn quickley ran after her. In the next room she found beds of all sizes lining the walls, some beds were so big you could fit a whole family on it and some were so tiny it could only fit a mouse. On the far right was a bed that caught her attention, it was a big bed covered in satin sheets and satin pillows and satin pillowcases just satin everything. On the bed lay what seemed to

be another fairy, except it was not Jade, it was a boy with blue wings and a green top and bottom. He lay there motionless, not moving at all. Everlynn assumed he was either dead or sleeping, Everlynn had no clue which it was. Above the bed was a shelf holding books and a mental, which Everlynn couldn’t read what it said. Above the shelf was another bed which was tiny and empty, as she looked around she spotted Jade on a bed to the left of her. The bed was big but not too big, on it Jade lay there ready to fall asleep. “Wait, Jade,” Everlynn said, “ Don’t go to sleep yet.” But Jade didn’t answer, she just sat there. Everlynn decided to go talk to the boy on the bed, but he was gone. Everlynn looked back to Jade and caught a glimpse of the boy’s wings going out a door at the back of the room. Everlynn started climbing beds to get to the door at the back, she went straight through the door and into another room covered in tables and chairs. Everlynn looked around and saw a waterfall of candy and fairy juice, and there was the boy. “Hey, what’s your name?” Everlynn asked the boy, since he was the only one in the room. “Ryan, Ryan Mollacassy.” Just then another girl that was not Jade entered the room. “Hi, my name is Nollaaminen, Nollaaminen Bollacassyacoll-Williams.” Everlynn was in shock, Ryan flew out the door and towards a new room. Everlynn walked across the room and found Jade with two other boys. “Hi,” Everlynn said nevesly. “Hi, Jake Rongrac,” he said, still talking about X-MEN to Jade. “Belleiganis, Belleiganis Amberosewesterntoller” he also said, still talking about X-MEN to Jade. What is it about X-MEN that is so important, Everlynn thought. Ryan walked up to her and said, “Do you want to go to the Dragon room?” “Are you kidding me, Ryan, yes please.” Everlynn and Ryan walked to the dragon room, with Ryan leading. Inside the dragon room were dragons of all sizes, colors and shapes. Red, Blue, Green, Yellow, Purple, Orange and every color in between. Small dragons, big dragons, medium sized dragons, all kinds of dragons. “Sooooo, do you want to feed a dragon?” Ryan asked. “Of course I would, Ryan.” Everlynn answers, excited. They walked over to a blue Dragon in a cage bigger than her. “What’s this guy’s name?” Everlynn asked Ryan, “Blue Benson Blabberlynn Flower Cole.” Ryan responded.

Ryan walked over with Everlynn on his heels to Blue’s cage and opened Blue’s cage. Blue flew out and to a purple dragon. “Is that Blue’s true love?” Everlynn said jokingly. “Proublebly.” Ryan said not joking. There was an awkward silence between Everlynn and Ryan. To break up the silence Everlynn said, “So how can I feed Blue?” Ryan said nothing, he was looking up at the purple dragon. Everlynn thought, what is wrong with him? To be continued………

[A Mammoth Named Oscar] S a m Oscar stood an imposing 13 feet tall, a powerful and sturdy mammoth. His tusks arched skyward, stretching 15 feet. One tusk was severed at a mere 13 feet, a testament of a great battle. He yawned, revealing his large teeth, 4 molars each with 26 complicated ridges for eating a diverse palate of grasses and shrubs. With practiced ease, he used his tusks to dig beneath the thick sheet of snow, uncovering hidden patches of greenery. His trunk curled down to pluck the plants from the frozen earth, his molars grinding through his meal with steady, rhythmic force. The wind ruffled his long, shaggy coat, which hung just under 15 inches—his natural armor against the relentless cold. Thicker strands of hair cascaded down his legs, nearly brushing his cracked, sturdy feet—built for gripping uneven terrain. His tail, more of a stub than a true tail, swayed slightly, its scraggly hair serving as a meager defense against persistent flies and gnats. His small ears, like his tail, were an adaptation to conserve body heat in the unforgiving climate. He listened to the hum of the wind, his vision blurred by the blinding reflection of the sun on snow, turning the world into a vast sheet of white light. Oscar was alone now. He had been since he was ten. He had left the matriarchal herd long ago, as all males did, setting out into the vast expanse to wander until the end of his days. Solitude did not trouble him. Occasionally, he would encounter another herd or an indifferent male. Some of those encounters turned aggressive—that was how he had lost two feet of his left tusk. Faint memories of his youth surfaced from time to time, though rarely did he dwell on them. He recalled glimpses of an impressive male mammoth mingling with the herd, mating, and then vanishing. 20 Months later, new calves would appear, each one younger as he grew. From a distance, he had studied the males, understanding that their path would one day be his own. He remembered losing his milk tusks, the ache as his permanent ones pushed through. But such thoughts belonged to another time, another mam-

moth.

The cold and other mammoths were not his only concerns. There were pack hunters—wolves, cave hyenas, and even large felines. When he was younger, he had been more vulnerable, struggling to defend himself against such threats. But he was older now, stronger, seasoned by survival. And then there were the humans. Small groups would pursue him, flinging sticks and spears, draped in the furs of other mammoths, their scent strangely familiar yet unsettling. He knew what they wanted. His tusks, his hide. A trophy, a bowl, a shelter. But so far, he had eluded them. Unlike the wolves or hyenas, they had not yet come close enough to truly threaten his existence. Oscar paused. He scooped a mitten full of snow into his trunk, it melted quickly and he brought the water to his mouth. Oscar never directly put snow in his mouth. It had to melt fast. even he avoided the chilling sensation that could disrupt his thermal balance, Which was extremely important, in the frigid environment he called home. Home. He rarely thought of such a concept. He was always moving, always searching. But if home had a name, it was the Mammoth Steppe—a vast, icy expanse teeming with grasses, stretching across what would one day be known as Canada. Here, north of the equator, he belonged. And so, Oscar walked on. He would continue walking until the end—until his last set of teeth wore down, leaving him unable to chew, slowly succumbing to starvation. Or perhaps fate would deal him another end—a hungry wolf, a misstep on treacherous ice, or he would die for keeping a human warm. But Oscar did not dwell on such things, because right now, Oscar must walk on.

[winter] s w a n arctic winds sting as they kiss me trees left skinned and limbless stiff and aching, they stand still their warm breaths seethe through the air petals of ice glaciate me, lingering like cold fingertips stroking my skin an ivory duvet blankets the earth as if the world becomes anemic in december and january and february whilst the wind whistles impatiently, the earth smothered in sheets of aspirin dust waits and waits and waits for the sun to enter its mouth

[Sunlight] In the silvery moonlight, she flys through the sky longing for sunlight, When will it come? Her hope is nothing but a small spark of light, as she waits for the golden glow of sunlight.

T e s s a

L a P i e r r e

[The Puppet-master] T y r He pulls the strings, And my limbs obey. His control runs deep, For my will is his. Bending over backwards, At his every command. Pulling the strings, All throughout the land. Heed his call, Or thou shall fall. He is the Puppet-master, Once and for all.

[In Case of L o s i n g To u c h To o M u c h . ] A l a n I just wanna be true, To me, and everything I want to be. But I thought it was the flu, Can’t say why I feel so blue, I feel like I let you down, Guess I just wanna drown. Messing up relationships, with under-hated hypothetics But honestly, I just wanna be true, Not some glass half empty, I wanna be full, too. All my goodness found a hole, All the pureness left my soul, Left with saturated, oversaturation, thicker than some spit, Man with all these downers I really contemplate to quit. But I’ll be true, I’ll hold to my morally gray stanzas, To hopefully find myself in these stances. Getting closer to those scattered, splintered lights and views I hope I’m growing, and showing the capacity to change To change for the positive, not so positively negative such as I The kaleidoscope of my contradicting feelings, To reprimand the invalid and toss it far beyond the garden Maybe then, with our forks in hand, we’ll be Eden.

But to hide and gnaw away at broken pieces Won’t fix the collapsing puzzle that is what we refuse to call ourselves. Let go of my pride, and finally be true True to me, myself, to be what I want to be Let in self issued weakness, to mend the self conceited wounds of the past. Maybe, just maybe that’s what it means to be free.

[What was] A n o n y m o u s I remember when the world was vast and wide, When dragons soared above the heavens high, And fairies danced in circles in the dew, And monsters hid beneath my bed at night, asking me to hide, too. I remember when my heart would race with glee, As I imagined all the things that could be, And time would stand still, as if by some divine decree, For hours on end, lost in my own mind. But time, it has a way of moving on, Of stealing innocence and leaving us undone, And as the years go by, it seems to race along, Until we find ourselves here, at this strange, new place. i tell myself that, you lose your imagination, That somehow, with each passing year, it’s diminishing, And all the things that once brought me such great delight, Are replaced by worries and cares that never seem to leave my sight. And yet, I wonder if that’s really true, If losing our imagination is just what we are meant to do, Or if perhaps it simply hides, waiting for a time to reveal, The beauty and the magic that still dwell within my soul. So here’s to imagination, dear and precious thing, That has the power to make the world seem new each time it springs, And though i may grow older, and my body may change and bend, my spirit will always hold that spark, that fire within.

[The Little Boy Cave in West Virginia]

I’m guessing that you’ve heard the song Country Roads, in which the lyric “West Virginia/Mountain Mama” is featured prominently in the chorus. However, I have to sadly inform you that that lyric is simply inaccurate. What it should be is “West Virginia/Cave Little Boys”. After all, West Virginia is home to the little boys who live in the little boy cave. Who are the little boys in the little boy cave, do you ask? I mean, you really shouldn’t ask. That’s your first mistake. The little boys don’t like when you ask questions. They hate curiosity. Anyone curious enough to enter their cave is immediately encircled by them and turned into a deer-sheep person. The little boys in the little boy cave are exceptionally adept at circling, mostly due to the fact that they don’t really have hands. Their arms just sort of melt into the next little boys, so that when they circle they make a nearly impenetrable wall of flesh. That is all they are, after all-flesh, darkness, and a little potassium. I suppose by this point it is clear that the little boys who live in the cave in West Virginia are not truly little boys- but they do a very good job of imitating them. They even appear to be wearing semi-formal clothing, but this is merely an illusion. No one is really sure what they are, but to ask is to endanger yourself, so they are known simply as The Cave Little Boys. Anyways, the little boys, who aren’t really little boys but some malleable substance resembling flesh, live in their cave and wait until someone enters their cave and disturbs their peaceful torment. They wait until questions are asked, curiosity is sparked, until someone, on a casual stroll through the West Virginia wilderness says, “Hey, Jerry! Wanna check out that weird lookin’ cave over there?” Then, the little boys create a whispering flesh-wall around the cave’s new visitors, whispering all sorts of dark phrases into their ears until they are no longer people, but instead creatures we refer to as the deer-sheep men, who are sent out into the world to collect souls for the little

boys to feast on. Now, you may wonder, why am I telling you this story? That’s another question! I will answer this one, though-- because you should visit West Virginia, of course! I’ve heard it’s nice this time of year, and completely out of harm’s way… and don’t worry one bit about the strange figures in the woods! You’ll be perfectly safe as long as you don’t ask questions.

A n o n y m o u s

[untitled]

[Stuck] Falling is like turning a page. The fall itself doesn’t matter It’s only filler A means to an end. The director needs time to set the stage; so they close the curtains and leave you Waiting… Here I am Stuck behind a wall, a door, a closed curtain Waiting… Hoping I see others around me grow restless. Anxious to see what happens next The brave break through, push past that wall The cautious find a way around it But I… I am neither I don’t have the courage to push through, nor the wits to find another way I’m alone, left behind. My friends, colleagues Everyone Has long since moved on without me It wasn’t till the lights turned off And the door screeched to a close behind the last stragglers, That I realized what I had been waiting for. The show’s been over for ages I was longing to move on I’d been waiting for the end, and just never knew it.

A n o n y m o u s

[Phantom] A n o n y m o u s She was majestic. Her hair like the lazy river, her freckles like specks of snow, her laugh like a subtle breeze at twilight. One glance of her amber eyes could set my heart on fire. Every word she spoke became my favorite song, stuck on repeat like a damaged record. Even in her absence, she lingered in my memories. Almost like a phantom. Too much like a phantom. One afternoon, she was dancing. In the way only she could. Suspended above the ground, lithe limbs painting a mural only the two of us could see. The next morning, she lay broken in her bed. Every attempt to stand made her a castle of cards, a single breath could knock her off her feet. I could have prevented it. If I had been there, if I had seen, if I had… I’ll never forgive myself. She’ll always be the phantom inhabiting my conscious. She’ll always be the guest that never leaves.

[The Girl Who Couldn’t Grow Up] A n o n y m o u s I really like stuffed animals Scratchy fur, reflective eyes Sewed on smiles Someone to hold onto when I’m sad An absorbent tissue that soaks up all my tears A friend to talk to, even They never judge me, or give me weird looks I never have to search for validation, tripping along the way Because they’re there for me No matter how old I get They follow me Like a mistake you couldn’t fix A relationship you couldn’t mend A person you couldn’t walk away from They can’t leave me

Or get so disgusted or uncomfortable that they distance themselves No sir They stay like a good friend should I love stuffed animals Because they can’t hurt me

[Weird] You were my first love. Not in the way of kisses Dates Valentines But in a way that was gross Unlovable Weird You scooped my insides out on the floor You stared at the mess of innards Ribbons of intestines My beating heart pumping blood over the carpet Chunks of liver Kidney Lung I am gross Unlovable Weird Yet you stared at my shamble of a body And you smiled.

A n o n y m o u s

[Baba has an identity crisis] A n o n y m o u s I am me. If not, who else would I be? I cannot be you. You are you. You are not two. I cannot be them. They are them. They are not two, too. I am me. If not, who else would be me?

[Unwind the rubber band] A n o n y m o u s He’s not dead. My chest heaves as I take deep breaths, my body trying to calm me down. But the smell of iron in the air is not helping. The hammer in my hand seems to be growing heavier by the second, but my fingers won’t let go. My mouth is dry despite my whole body being covered in sweat. I can’t see anything, my eyes blurry with adrenalin and warm tears. Everything is static. Me, the hammer, Him. He is made up of a blur of color. Like a painting, one that I want to smear red paint on. The static grows stronger. It fills my mind, a buzz, like a fly hitting the walls of my skull. I need to let that fly out. Or it will chew through my eyes. How is He not dead? I can’t feel my body. Only what’s inside trying to get out. White hot rage. Scorching my soul. Burning any other thought but its buzzing fury. My arms lift. But it’s not me. It’s like the hammer is moving and I’m following. Well that’s what I would like to believe. I hold the handle so tight that the smooth surface feels like it’s giving me splitters. My whole body is hot, too hot, it’s burning through my skin, but it can’t escape. I need to help it out. I need to or skin myself alive. Why? Why is He still alive? My breathing is so heavy it feels like I’m breathing in water. I can feel the handle of the hammer on the back of my head. My arms are shaking, trying to decide which direction to go. I need to. I feel like a wind up toy, the rubber band inside me twisted so tight it’s about to break. And the crank just keeps twisting. I need to let go. I need to make it let go, undie. Before I burn alive from the friction of the rubber band. Before I go blind from the fly in my head. Let the crank go before It

snaps, before I snap. It’s not my fault. What am I supposed to do? It’s not like He matters. He doesn’t deserve to be alive. The fly dies. The fire cools. I let go of the crank and the band unties. The hammer swings down.

[Caged] C l a r k

C o z e n s

Nightmare. My body, drenched in a cold sweat. My bed, also, absolutely sopping wet. I even have to wipe the sweat off my eyes before I can slowly bat them open. I almost wish I hadn’t. Surrounding my bedroom is what looks like prison cell bars, climbing all the way to my door blocking me from getting out. I stumble out of my bed, trying to process everything that’s happening. Then I notice a note on my desk. My arm skinny enough to reach through the narrow opening between the bars and grab it. What it says makes me want to gag. “30 days to escape. If you go to sleep, you’ll sleep forever. If you last 30 days, then well… I’ll give you a surprise.” I almost slapped myself right around the face at the realization that I could be dreaming. I just woke up from a nightmare though. And I’ve never had the experience of a dream within a dream. Is this also a nightmare? I got my depressing answer as I pinched myself and nothing happened. Well, I guess the only upside to all of this is that I don’t have to go to school. I realize that if I really can’t sleep, then I’ll have about 7 days to get out. If I go past that without sleep, I’ll either hallucinate my way to death, or my body will just shut down on me. This is turning into a very deadly escape room. Then I remember, I have two pocket knives on my desk. I always knew they would come in handy at some point. I again reach my skinny long arms through the bars that barricade my desk, and grab the two dark brown identical knives. I unfold them and start sawing away at the bars covering my door. I expected this, but the dull knives barely even make a dent. I try hacking at the bars. It surprisingly makes a little bit of progress, but it’s not enough to keep going. With the high chance of the knives just breaking. I give up. I didn’t have the chance to eat breakfast, and the hacking of the bars wasn’t light work. My mind went to the leftover Halloween candy that I have stashed up high on my bookshelf. It’s fairly old considering that Halloween was 7 months ago, and it’s not the most nutritious thing in this scenario. But at least it’s food. Then I think about water. All I have is the half empty water bottle on my bedside table. I guess I’ll have to ration it until I get out of here.

After eating a couple pieces of candy and drinking a bit of water, I pace back and forth thinking about everything. How did this happen? Why did this happen? Who in the world put me in this position, and how did it happen overnight? I probably won’t be alive long enough to find that out. Then I start punching at the bars with my fists. Out of anger. Confusion. Sadness. I surprisingly make it through the night without going insane, which is saying something considering it’s ME that’s in this position. me me me me. I continue looking around for anything that would make it easy to get out of here, but find nothing useful. Until... the second note. “closet. you’ll be happy you escaped. in my way.” I immediately felt stupid after not checking the closet this entire time. But what I find in there doesn’t make me smile. Doesn’t make me happy. In fact it makes me sick. A gigantic piece of paper with a simple drawing of a bed on it with a stick figure in the sheets. I remember the note from yesterday. “If you sleep, you’ll sleep forever.” Which has to mean I’ll die. But I’ve now checked every part of my room, and found no more clues. No more objects to break out with, nothing helpful. I’ll die if I don’t sleep. I slip my body underneath the cooling smooth covers of my bed and shut my eyes. Next thing I know I’m tied up in a chair, surrounded by walls of dark green chalkboard. On about every square inch of the walls were the words in small, precise handwriting. “Congratulations”. To be continued in the next LIT Mag…

[Cenotaph] C o l e

F l e t c h e r

The light hits the glass. The condensation scatters and blurs. I find myself breathing. I’m awake. My mind races. Do they? A single thought holds that much power. Should I? It has a chokehold on me. Its teeth are sunk. The scar it leaves will stain. And in my bed, I will thrash and become breathless. It will come with time. So for now I’ll stay.

[Demons and Doctors (Preview)] E l i j a h z “Then why would you suggest it?” Calian exclaims back, throwing their scaly hands into the air in frustration, and they begin pacing. “If you would have known that, you wouldn’t have suggested it! But you did! Do you have any idea how much trouble we could get into for this-That you could get into?” Calian stopped pacing, standing in front of the other immortal being, and glared at him. “Yes, I know, but there’s just so much to it! I mean, look! Look at this!” He exclaims excitedly, and grabs a book from the desk, and he flips through the pages, before showing one to Calian. “See? They plant and grow their own food! So they can have stuff like ‘Sal-ad’ and ‘Bag-ettes.’ Ooo, and my personal favorite: ‘Coffee.’ I’d love to try some. To, uh, what’s the word. . . oh! To drink!” He went on with an excited grin, putting the book back down. Calian pinched the bridge of their nose, shaking their head in disapproval. “Brutus, no! Just no! You can not go hang out with those mortals! I am the embodiment of life! You are the embodiment of chaos! We are not meant to go hang out with MORTALS!” Calian snapped, grabbing Brutus’s shoulders, looking directly into his eyes. Brutus looked at them surprised. He opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t know what to say. Calian sighed, and let go of Brutus, walking off in a rage.

[Another Previously Unaired Radio Show Sketch] TECHIE: You’ve got to be kidding me! Christian couldn’t possibly have left his fascinator on a stage light AGAIN and started another fire! CHARLES: Well, this is great. Two days until the Fall Show opens, and I have to spend all day tomorrow cleaning ashes off the cyc. I’m supposed to have sixty musicians ten feet up in the air in two weeks, but I don’t have time to nail all those boards together. TECHIE: Well, you know, Charles, there’s only one place we can go when we have to assemble a safety-rated platform in 24 hours without any proper equipment… ALL: Duct Tape City! Duct Tape City! ANNOUNCER: What’s the one-stop shop for all your duct-tape-related needs? ALL: Duct Tape City! Duct Tape City! ANNOUNCER: What duct tape seller’s prices are so good, you won’t need to travel all the way to Portland just to avoid sales tax? ALL: Duct Tape City! Duct Tape City! ANNOUNCER: What’s the only store in Southwest Washington with over one million rolls of duct tape in stock and readily available for you toCHARLES: Wait. What on earth is happening here? What is this place?

Why are there walls and walls filled with nothing but… duct tape? And why was that weird TV announcer just yelling in my ear aboutCLERK 1: (overly cheerful) Why hello, Charles Swarts! Welcome to Duct Tape City! THREE CLERKS: (cheerful, in unison) What can we do for you? CHARLES: Why… hello? I need to purchase 250 rolls of duct tape so I can put together a pit for the Fall Show musicians. Just don’t have time for nails this year, y’know? Sometimes you just have to cut corners. THREE CLERKS: How wonderful! CLERK 2: What is your Fall Show about? CHARLES: Umm… I don’t actually know. CLERK 3: What is its name? CHARLES: Uhhh... “Joyful Jambalaya”. THREE CLERKS: Why is it called that? CHARLES: Well, I actually don’t know that either. CLERK 1: That’s just lovely! Anyway, two hundred and fifty rolls of duct tape coming right u- OW! Clerk #3, you just elbowed me into the… DUCT TAPE??? CLERK 2: What have you done? You have committed crimes against duct tape! CLERK 1: Seize the heretic! CLERK 3: (as Clerks 1 and 2 quietly chant “Duct Tape City!” in a low voice) No, please! Anyone! I have a family!

CLERK 1: You should have thought of that before you committed crimes against duct tape!

CLERK 2: At Duct Tape City, we sell duct tape… CLERKS 1 and 2: (suddenly menacing) AND THAT’S ALL! CLERK 3: (guttural scream) CLERKS 1 and 2: (once again eerily cheerful) Hello again. We are sorry to have caused any inconvenience. Is there anything more we can help you with? CHARLES: What did you do with the third clerk??? CLERK 1: What third clerk? There is no third clerk! CLERK 2: There have only ever been two clerks… me and Clerk #1 over here. CHARLES: Wait, what??? What on earth is going on in this place? Can I speak with the manager? CLERKS 1 and 2: Why, of course! We don’t actually have a manager, but this guy keeps showing up and saying that he is. GEORGE SANTOS: Hello. My name is George Santos, former US Congressman, two-time Miss Universe pageant winner, and founder of Duct Tape City. With the magic of duct tape, my company has successfully wiped out the common cold, brokered lasting peace in Ba Sing Se, and duct-taped Ed Sheeran’s mouth shut so that he stops putting out terrible records. Now please excuse me, I have a brunch date with Barbara Streisand in fifteen minutes. Goodbye, losers. CHARLES: Well, he was no help. CLERK 1: Do not worry, Charles Swarts. He matters not. CLERK 2: This place belongs to us now. Us… and all of our duct tape brothers and sisters. CLERKS 1 and 2: Together with our sticky brethren, imprisoned inside this concrete cell, we are forever in peace.

CHARLES: Ooohkay. You both seem very nice and all, but I am afraid that I must leave now. Goodbye. CLERKS 1 and 2: Oh, you cannot leave yet! We still have a wonderful job offer to give you! CHARLES: Thanks, but… I’ll pass. CLERKS 1 and 2: (gradually louder) It comes with healthcare and sick leave and vacations and chocolate and candy and FRIENDSHIP and FULFILLMENT and ETERNAL SERVITUDE andCHARLES: That’s it. I’m outta here! The door’s just feet away, but I need to get out of the way of that shel… oh no. CLERK 2: He has knocked over the duct tape and broken it! CLERK 1: He has killed and laid waste to an entire civilization of our brothers and sisters! CLERK 2: What have you done? You have committed grievous crimes against duct tape! CLERK 1: Seize that madman!!! CHARLES: (as Clerks 1 and 2 quietly chant “Duct Tape City!” in a low voice) No, please! 911, any of you, out in that audience, please, help me! I am trapped in an abandoned old warehouse with a cult of duct-tape-worshiping zealots! I don’t know what they’re about to do to me! I have students- you there, you in the audience- blonde girl, I had you in my Tech Theatre class last year, didn’t I? Please, help mehelp me, anyone…my school needs me… CLERK 1: You should have thought of that before you committed crimes against duct tape! CLERK 1 and 2: At Duct Tape City, we sell duct tape… At Duct Tape City, we sell duck tape… At Duct Tape City, we sell duct tape…

ALL (except Charles): AND THAT’S ALL!

*blackout* CHARLES: *guttural scream* *a pause* ANNOUNCER: Stop by our Vancouver location this week for 30% off your next order! *Duct Tape City jingle on piano*

E l i s h i y a

C r a i n - K e d d i e

C a r o l i n e

[Nowhere] 75

[Monsters] H a z e l

Muscles tensing, dark wings flapping, they soar through the night sky. As the seasons change they fly on, ever moving, as the world evolves they fly on, never stopping. Their cold hearts pumping like an old steam engine, fiery and fierce. The sound of their breath floating on the wind lingering, intoxicating, dancing in the breeze waiting to grasp onto another nameless victim, ready to grab them in their cold hard clutches, ready to take them away, far far away. The victim screams but no sound will come out and all you see is their lips moving wordlessly, their breath turning cloudy in the air, as their body jerks and twists in agony. They can only see the darkness that has consumed them. All they feel is the pain of their doubt closing in on them. No longer normal enough to be called human, they’ve been reformed by sadness and infused with hatred. They have felt pain wrap its icy fingers around their neck and squeeze until all the air is gone from their lungs, until they no longer feel anything at all, until they become the monster that has corrupted them

[Family] H u d s o n

C o x

The warmness, The coldness, The happiness, The sadness, Family can be everything and anything, From a big mansion and fancy cars, To a small apartment that you squeeze into, Family can be chaotic, Family can be peaceful and calm, And it can be home, Family matters. And we wouldn’t be anything without it

[jeff] I took Jeff Jeff took me Jeff created me I created Jeff Jeff is kind Jeff is tall and jeff is small Jeff is all and Jeff is fine Jeff likes pie Jeff is all all is Jeff and Jeff will never die Jeff is my guy Jeff is god Jeff wont lie Jeff is a fluff and Jeff is a buff Jeff is trapped in a plush Jeff can’t punish us Now with all the sins we made Jeff would cast us away & with all of that Jeff will say good day

d o n ’ t

r e a l l y

c a r e .

[Dusk] I s a b e l “can you hear the train?” she says quietly telepathically “yes”, he imagines to her. how can two hearts be so close and two minds be so close and two bodies so far away and still crave to be closer. how can two people wish for each other without wanting, how can you smile at me and push me away how do i grasp for your touch and let go as soon as i have you? “can you hear the train?” she says to him, as she lies. lies next to him and spindles their minds together forever, “yes” he responds and cries because he is stuck in wanting and waiting and waning, like the moon who hangs over and weeps for two hurting hearts.

[Untitled] J a s m i n e

Carefree girls running through the rain, It’s never easy, it’s all the same. Chocolate swirls, ice cream at the park, Now I don’t know who you are. Silent words, looks that say it all. Winter, spring, summer, and fall. Times have changed. Life goes on. it’s all you can do to stay sane. Carefree girls running through the rain, Sipping lavender lemonade. Chocolate swirls, ice cream at the park. It’s hard to know if you’ve gone far.

[Bloom] When I see you in the morning it’s like breathing in sunshine. I want to tell you every thought that pops into my head, mail a letter to your doorstep giving you my beating heart. Your voice is like a song I’ve never heard. I want to take you to a canvas we can paint on. Fill it with rolling hills and willow trees. Smell every golden flower we see. Every stroke of the brush is filled with secrets I wish to share with you. Our love is incomplete, similar to the world that surrounds us. The world which holds us in its gentle hands like two baby birds. I hope our love can be like a flower ready to bloom. A bud that can only bloom if given care. Are you the person that can be my forever, Or will our wings get tired?

k a y

[I’m Sorry Lucas] I’m sorry I never really liked you. My friends and I were sitting in the corner during PE, watching you jog across the gym. Your sandy hair blew as you ran, and you looked like one of those tan Italian soccer players. I wanted to impress my friends with our newfound “friendship,” Lucas. Do you remember how I asked you for the answer to that one biology question? My friends were all pretty girls who seemed to get all the boys, and I wanted to prove I could win you over too. So I walked over to you, Lucas. It’s not like we were good friends or even acquaintances. I had nothing to lose except the approval of my friends if I didn’t try. I remember sitting on the steps. You were out of breath from running around the gymnasium when I plopped down next to you. “Hi, Lucas!” I said, pitching my voice higher than usual. I was more cheerful in that moment than I had ever been in PE. “Hey,” you replied, glancing at me briefly before looking at my friends, who were giggling in the corner. “How did the bio test go?” I asked, trying to sound casual. You looked deep into my eyes. And I’m sorry to say, Lucas, I didn’t get butterflies. Sure, I noticed your handsome brown eyes, but I was distracted by your crooked teeth. Remember how I said it was my friends’ idea to talk to you? If I’d approached you on my own, maybe things would’ve been different. In the past, when I had real crushes, I couldn’t stop smiling while I talked. But in that moment, my smile felt forced—glued to my face. “I didn’t do so great. I got, like, half the points on the last test,” you said. Your voice wasn’t as deep as I expected; it had a slight whine at the end of your sentences. “Oh yeah, me too,” I lied. I had nearly gotten full points, but bragging wasn’t the way to win you over. My friends had taught me that much. I lied to prove to them I could “win” boys too. As you kept talking, I began to feel distant. My thoughts wandered away from you. It’s not that you weren’t attractive—you just weren’t

my type. At that moment, after I lied, I could tell you liked me. We had common ground now—both “bad” at biology. But I shouldn’t have lied, Lucas. That lie made everything worse. You smiled at me with your crooked teeth, and I smiled back, hiding the guilt behind my forced expression. That flirty moment, built on a lie and the pressure from my friends in the corner, defined our relationship—if that’s even what you could call the painful four months we spent together. I shouldn’t have lied to you, Lucas. I shouldn’t have talked to you just to gain my friends’ approval. I am so sorry.

L S

C a r o l i n e

[Her Majesty]

[The Waltz] L u c y

C o l l m e r

1 2 3. 1 2 3. It was about twelve o’clock on a regular Friday afternoon, and Arthur and I were watching the world fall apart. Our feet dangled off the side of the building over the rusted fire escape by his apartment. My fingers brushed over the bumps of the worn down concrete ledge we were sitting on as I stared in dread at the eerily calm streets of what should’ve been a busy city in the middle of the workday rush. Below us, a handful of people made their way down the lonesome road, so few and far between that you could easily watch each one travel along the street. Some scurried around like ants, their fear pushing them to hurry into whichever grimy apartment building they called home. They would join however many people were hiding inside, I supposed, all of them searching for answers so that they could save themselves from whatever It was. Their search was a helpless, hopeless one, but they were the ones who were still trying. They had something the others didn’t – hope. The stragglers meandering along under the lifeless street lamps had already given up and accepted The End. They stumbled down the road aimlessly, taking in the world before It stopped. They looked so pathetic, like beetles flipped on their backs, waiting for something to squash them. Still, better to watch them than the sky. I blinked again and again, holding back the tears I could feel creeping closer to the edges of my eyes. I really didn’t know which category I fell into- the ants or the beetles. I had been trying not to think about It too much. That was, until Arthur pulled me up here to sit with him in front of the awful thing. “Why did you drag me up here? I don’t like It,” I said, my voice sounding a bit childish. Our legs were swaying back and forth, our swinging shoelaces matching the rhythm of the diluted light above. “Let’s go back inside and close the blinds.” As if that would block It out. I remember how foolishly I had thought that I’d eventually get used to the odd, slowly pulsing orb of light floating above us that first day. That was before we realized Its flashes of light were speeding up, of course. Slowly at first, but then faster and faster, with no knowing of what would happen once It eventually stopped- if there even

would be an eventually. It had become impossible to ignore, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to try to. “Cigarette?” Arthur asked, ignoring my plea. He had taken up smoking again after It had first appeared. He reasoned he “might as well enjoy things while they last.” I knew exactly which of the categories he fell into. I shook my head. I already felt like I couldn’t breathe through the tension in the air. I was counting every breath to the remembered rhythm of a tinny music box waltz. “Oh, well, there’s only one left anyways.” He stuck one end into his mouth, fishing around in his coat for his lighter. “Arthur,” I begged. “What?” “Please.” “Why? The power’s been out for days. The apartment’s all dark and the air is stale.” “I don’t like looking at It.” I knew I could go inside on my own, but I didn’t want to be left with my thoughts. “Do you know what the latest predictions were? On Tuesday when we still had television?” “No.” I said with an edge in my voice. I wished he wouldn’t tell me. “Three weeks,” he said with a helpless laugh, lighting the end of his cigarette. “A lot can happen in three weeks. Maybe by then the scientists in Victoria will have figured out what’s happening and be able to stop It.” Arthur stared at me with a mixture of pity and frustration. “Sure they will.” He made each word sound like some twisted joke. “I mean, look at It.” “Arthur-” “Look at It!” “No.” “Kit.” He sighed. “The pulses are getting exponentially closer. It’s like a damn bomb that we can’t do anything about except wait for the explosion. I wouldn’t be surprised if It stops pulsing by Sunday.” 1 2 3, 1 2 3. I watched its undulations out of the corner of my eye. Dark clouds had appeared, blocking the sunlight, as if to aim even more focus at the looming purple sphere above us. It had taken over my subconscious. I counted each of Its pulses in my head, in the tapping of my fingers next to his, in the swinging of my

shoes patched with duct tape. I was filled with a sickening feeling of dread, as if I was being pulled into the rhythm of the alien orb without control. As if all my free will had crumbled away. I was part of the ticking, ticking, ticking. It was controlling me, controlling all of us. I was the ballerina forced to spin to the music until it stopped and the lid fell and I was shut in the box in the darkness, shoved into a dusty corner. “You know how long we’ve been dating?” I blurted out. “How long?” He asked tiredly. His tone was so condescending, like I was a five year-old he got paid to put up with. Still, I pressed on. “Three weeks and four days.” “Just before It appeared.” “Arthur…” He didn’t even look at me. My hands traced over the bumpy texture of the worn down concrete ledge, inches away from his fingers but never quite brushing them. I wanted to cling to them, wanted to cling to him. “Kit, why are you still here?” He sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make that sound so mean. It’s just, you don’t have to stay.” “Well, all public transit’s been shut down since It appeared, and as much as I’ve looked I haven’t found anyone to lend me a car with fuel left. They’re in pretty short supply.” My throat felt even tighter as I thought about how I might never see my parents again. I’d been trying to call as much as I could, but the service was so spotty. “No, I know you can’t leave the city. I mean why are you still here, in my apartment building?” “I don’t know.” Everything I could’ve said would’ve just sounded pitiful. I realized I don’t have any close friends here, just acquaintances. You’re the only person here that matters to me. I don’t want to be alone with It. Being here with you keeps me from breaking down. “So you’re just here.” I pretended not to hear the annoyance creeping into his tone. “Yeah…” One small movement. That’s all it would’ve taken to wrap my fingers around his. They were so close, but I still felt like I was being pulled farther away from him every second. 1 2 3. 1 2 3. “It’s funny,” I said. “The first time I asked someone out, I was a sophomore in high school. He never talked to me again. I cried every night for a week afterwards.” I thumped my fingers against the ground. “Then when I was a freshman here, there was this other dude. He didn’t even give me an answer and just walked away.” I

laughed unnaturally. “I never saw him again. He probably avoided me on purpose. Pathetic, right?” Arthur didn’t say anything, just stared out at the angular city skyline. His silence was a clear answer. “You even think so.” I tried to laugh again, but the noise got stuck in my throat. “Then, you finally asked me out and-” I stopped. “And It appeared and we’re all doomed anyways.” “Stop. We don’t need to talk about this.” “Yes we do!” “Why?” “Kit-” “I mean, really, why?” “Kit-” “Arthur, everything could be fine!” “Or It could explode, killing us all! Or It could slowly smother us with toxins as It closes in! Or-” he said, with mocking placation, “Everything might be fine. But let’s be honest. Something like this has never happened before. This is not just some everyday thing. Chances are It’s going to affect us in some way. And here you are, avoiding the truth. Ignoring what might be the end of civilization! Why do you have to be like this?! Why can’t you grow up?!” He seemed to suddenly realize that he was yelling in my face. His eyes were filled with a helpless, guilty look as he moved away. Each little inch of space between us felt crushing. “Listen,” he said, wiping the spit off his lips. “There’s nothing we can do. There’s a very good chance we’re all going to die. And I’m sorry, Kit, but I can’t help feeling like everything the last few weeks has been pointless.” Everything. The word created a nagging question at the back of my brain that I didn’t want the answer to. I fiddled with my fingers, willing the looming uncertainty to go away, but it just crept closer and closer. “What about us?” my voice was small. “Have we been pointless?” “Maybe,” he laughed helplessly, and with one small confession my stomach filled with dread. “I don’t know. We were thrown into this so quickly that I don’t know if I’ll ever know.” Something about that was just enough. I don’t know why, but it was. The air was finally choking me, and the incessant ticking seemed to get louder and louder. The entirety of the world suddenly felt dizzyingly, tragically real. Pointless. He thinks we were pointless. And life has been pointless for weeks. Everything might be over soon, and

I might never get to do all the things I wanted to, I thought. I might never graduate, get married, or have a family. I might never get the chance to run through the field outside my home again. I might never see my parents again, never get rid of their doubts about me, never ride a bike or dance in the sunshine again. The world seemed to already be crumbling behind my eyelids, leaving me to fall, and fall, and fall. 1 2 3. 1 2 3. The beetles and ants were gone from the street beneath us. No one was left to catch me except him. “I love you.” “What?” “I love you,” I said again, more urgently, grabbing his hand. He tried to pull away gently, but I held on. He stared at his feet, refusing to look at me. 1 2 3. 1 2 3. The silence was choking me. “Say something!” “You don’t,” he said softly. “Arthur…” “No. You don’t.” His voice was firm but flat. He had no fight left. “Yes, I do, I love you. I do love you. I do.” “You’re lying. To me and yourself.” “I do, I do!” I repeated, trying to convince myself that he wasn’t right. “Stop! No!” “Of course I do! I love you!” Tears were forming in my eyes. “You don’t-! You can’t mean it. It’s not possible.” “How do you know how I feel?!” It came out as a shriek. “You know it isn’t true,” he said with a sad smile. His eyes were all shiny, like he might cry too, and his voice was softer than I’d ever heard it. “But I need you!” My voice broke as I began to sob. 1 2 3. 1 2 3. He stared at me for a second with a look of pity, then reached up to wipe my cheeks with the sleeve of his flannel. “You might need me, but you don’t love me.” “I do,” I whispered through a hiccup, my last feeble protest. “It’s okay,” he said wearily. My tears began to slow down. “Let’s stop. Look at the pulses. They’re getting close together.” They were. The flashes of light were nearly constant. “I thought we had longer.” My voice was barely audible. “I did too. I mean, I guess we should’ve known better than to think we could predict when It would stop, considering we don’t even

know what will happen when It does.” He sighed, and the truth of his words struck me, because we never really can know or control what will happen. Only how we react, I suppose. “I’m sorry,” I hiccupped. “Me too.” “I don’t want to spend what could be our last moments fighting.” He looked quickly back at me, even though my voice was just loud enough for him to hear. I think he was surprised by my firmness. “I’m not going to say they are the last, but. I don’t want to ruin them if they are.” “I don’t either. We should find something nice to do.” 1 2 3. 1 2 3. “I have a music box,” I whispered. “I brought it here in my backpack. I don’t really know why. Well, I guess because it’s a waltz. Just like this. It has a little ballerina that spins around and around. I loved her when I was little.” I watched as a pebble crumbled off the ledge under the weight of my foot. “Yeah?” His voice was gentle. “I wanted nothing more than to become an elegant princess ballerina and find my prince charming. I danced around to it in my bedroom and dreamed of when I was all grown up.” I wiped my eyes. “Could we listen to it? Please? I think it- I think it would be nice.” “Sure.” He smiled sadly as he stood up. “I’ll be right back.” Something inside me made me directly look at the orb for the first time in days, watching the undulating purple pulses, and I realized It was pretty, in a way. Even beautiful. Frighteningly, awfully, beautiful. I didn’t think I wanted to be like Arthur, fearing for the worst. Really, I didn’t think I could if I wanted to. Disaster was a very real possibility, but I couldn’t help but want to hope. I guess we were more different than I had realized. “Is this it?” Arthur was back with the ornate oak box. “Yes,” I breathed, running my fingers over the smooth, polished top. It had a comforting musty aroma like the faint smell of Play-Doh and mothballs. I looked up at him. “Thank you. Truly.” He sat down and gave my hand a little squeeze as I popped open the box and the bright music began to fill the air. Each beat nearly matched the flashes of light. 123. 123. His hand was wrapped around mine, and I wished it was in a romantic way, but it wasn’t. I couldn’t help feeling, though, that it was still some sort of love. The same sort of love you might show a strang-

er by helping pick up their dropped groceries, but love nonetheless. In some ways that gave me more hope. If two disjointed, different humans can still love each other in some simplistic yet vital way, maybe the universe isn’t so bad. Maybe there’s still hope for me to fulfill my childhood dreams yet, I thought, listening to the final notes of the music box. 123,123… I rested my head on his shoulder, watching the strobing sky as my mind floated off to someplace in my youth. Sticky popsicle fingers scraping against the cracked sidewalk as I picked up each bug struggling through the pebbles, my chubby fingers carefully moving them until they were in the safe shade of the blooming plum tree.

[a crime in nature] My skin curves like the bark of a cedar tree Interrupted of the truth in its flesh Born a victim of society’s corrupted acts Etches of a couples initials engrave in my torso My body rots yet it goes unseen False amusement found in people’s gaze They disappear quickly while I remain in the soil The soil my roots dug into as my life began And the soil I’ll eventually take my last breath in

M a d i s o n

J o n e s

[Untitled] M a d i s o n

J o n e s

Vanishing feet coated by boiling sand One foot before the next Soothing winds blow my frizzy hair adversely Distant waves rush closer in my direction Colorful kites paint the sky Children’s laughter heard along the shoreline Trails of paw prints mark the sand Left by panting dogs in the distance Finally I’m met with the shore Taking in the vast temperature change And letting all my worries flow out to sea Focusing only on the beach before me

[Pray] M i l e y

C o t é

My eyes bleed into a bloodshot red. My cheeks follow suit. The inside of my heart expands, leaves my body, and envelops everything that I am. I pray they don’t notice. I dream of a life no one knows. I pray for the symphony of rising colors to leave my brain. I pray the feeling never leaves. I pray for a chance to hope for it all. I pray I wasn’t aware that I can’t. All I know how to do is pray: longing into the deep expanse of nothingness. I stop practicing my instrument. The notes flow together in the orchestral harmony. I stand up, my legs leading me unknowingly to where I know I long to be. I pray to be. All other eyes are searching for their desire. I know not the extent of mine. The room I enter is far from quiet, yet my subconscious shows no trouble pinpointing what I can’t help. I can’t help it. I can’t help the feeling. The feeling is like being embraced by the Earth. My mind transcends logic and escapes reality. I know nothing except this. All I can dream of is for them to be here. All I can do is pray.

[They Weren’t Zombies]

They weren’t zombies. Zombies weren’t real. And anyway, she’d never witnessed them take any particular interest in a brain. They certainly weren’t undead either, which, from the movies she’d seen, were the main two criteria of a zombie. They did walk like she’d imagined a zombie would, with staggering disjointed footsteps, though much faster than she would’ve been comfortable with. Not that she was particularly at peace with any of the current situation. An apocalypse, even a non-zombie one, was still a rather stressful time to be alive. She was currently gripping her gun with the strength to turn her knuckles white as the creatures that weren’t quite zombies sniffed the air for her. They couldn’t reach her, of course. The interrogation room had been built to be impossible to break through, no matter which side of it you were on. But she couldn’t stay here much longer. She was down to her last of the plastic water bottles from the case in the room, and food was in even shorter supply, consisting of some four day old grease on a Subway sandwich wrapper. She’d already been half tempted to try eating the paper. She hadn’t been thinking about the long term when she had first barricaded herself in the room. Even after the first night on the cold concrete floor, she’d hardly given the next step further consideration. She’d been too focused on the screams from outside. The second day, she decided she’d wait until the things that weren’t zombies went away, then she’d try to find a new place to run to. Somewhere that could be locked securely, but still had enough food to last her until she could think further. Probably Costco, she thought. It was a bit of a drive to get there, but she hoped the apocalypse would at least mean the roads would be free. However, this plan had weakened as the fourth day had rolled around and the shuffling from outside was still as loud as it had been. Less screams than before, at least, though she didn’t take that as a good sign. Likely there was no one left who could scream. The creatures lingered outside the door, rattling at the handle, throaty groans and the sounds of fingernails scratching at every hour. Four days and three nights, they hadn’t let up. Either these not-zombies had the

most incredible constitution a creature could, or there’d been enough of them to replace the ones who grew tired or bored. She didn’t know if they could feel either of those things, actually. In fact, her data seemed to imply that they very well couldn’t, which made them all the more worse. She knew how to deal with human traits. How to whittle down someone’s weaknesses, play off their emotions into a trap. But these things had no weaknesses, and they certainly had no emotions. They were the steadfast hunters, and it was her turn to be the prey. It would’ve been downright embarrassing, had there been anyone else left to see her. She had to leave this room. If the crowd of inhuman bodies scratching for her hadn’t decreased yet, then she had no reason to believe it would any time soon. Without any new food or water, she’d only get weaker as each moment longer passed. Her best chance of survival was to act now. She checked the bullets in the gun again. All six were still there, just as they had been the last twelve times she’d looked. It was only a small pistol, but it was better than nothing, at least. Once again she ran through her plan. Open the door, shoot, and run. It was a horrible idea. She was honestly ashamed; she’d always considered herself at least a bit of a strategist. This was truly a new low. But she couldn’t seem to come up with anything better. Shoot for the hearts, she reminded herself. That was at least something she could use to her advantage. Their brains could work around a lot of damage, but they still needed blood, just like any living creature. That’s how she knew they weren’t undead. Shakily, she stood. The plan, if it could even be called that, wouldn’t work. She’d be killed, probably torn apart, as soon as she let that door open. It was a stupid hope that she’d make it out and to somewhere better. There wasn’t anywhere better anymore. She picked up the last water bottle and nearly downed the thing in one, not caring about the wasted droplets spilling down her front. She’d forced her own hand. In a choice between a death of thirst and a death of zombies, one was substantially less bruising to her already ashamed ego. She rolled her shoulders (as if that would make up for the stiffness that came from spending three nights on a cement floor), and walked to the door. It needed a key to unlock from the inside, which she kept on her belt. She pulled it free from its loop slowly, and delicately set it into the lock. One more deep breath. She’d always thought breathing exercises were stupid. She turned the key.

M y s t

M o r g a n

[“Beginnings”]

J a d e n 97

w a r d e l l

[The Fools of the Streets] O l i v i a

M u ñ o z

Walking around on two left feet Stating you’re a Peasant King While no one cares, While all shall stare, They still share the same hate Because no one likes the Liars Liars Of the streets And while you say you’re Nothing Everything Let it be known to all, That the fools are first to fall.

[O’ Pine] O’ Pine, Ever entwined with your root webbing, Thread yourself to the cloth of earth, Branched not of cage, branched for letting, Hands of weed make home and hearth, O’ Pine, Lasting embrace with your siblings, Your wooden limbs twisting together, Grasping your darling seedlings, Still with leaves to tether, O’ Pine, Red crosses ribboning around your bases, Shaven bark lines the grass, Lifeless sorrow left painted faces, Dry leaves tremble as remnants, praying to pass, O’ Pine, Lumber lay as remnants, corpses of love, Stand in silence and in solidarity, Among the past, you mountain above, From present until eternity, O’ Pine, Alone.

R .

S .

G a r d n e r

[Only a Monster] The wind slinks against the coupled ground. Like a snake it is as it coils around my throat. ‘Such an evil chill this strange spring brings’, I think to myself as I tug my dark green scarf closer, it’s made of wool from the neighbors sheep. I will admit I was not supposed to take the wool… or kill the sheep. But honestly I could have done much, much worse. I walk steadily forward, feeling the vibrating thunk of my feet against the stone road in my ears. I found the echoing sound of my own feet comforting. That’s how I know that I’m still at least a being and that I’m alive… even though there’s an army on horseback trying to find me and a hundred dead people down below the ground calling me a monster. I can hear them, hissing at me as they roll in their graves. I listen to them for a while. “Only a monster would do this to himself.” “He’s evil itself.” “That wretched weasel needs to be stopped.” It all really was fun and games as I listened, their hatred was adorable, it was in fact funny, but all ‘fun’ stopped when I heard that sadly but thankfully familiar voice behind me, trailing my footsteps like the sneak they are. “Grimm Rowell, if you must listen to the restless souls, I would recommend not to laugh, it’s disrespectful.” I stop, the last thud of my brown boots coming together thumping in my sensitive ears, right next to that sharp stab of Mellona’s voice, still as always and thick but without an echo, unlike any other sound on this planet. “Don’t laugh,” she said, and I guess that’s fair, I did take their lives. I should show a bit of respect even if they have none for me. I didn’t answer her at first, but I did stop my chuckling, turning my ears from the ground to instead listen quietly to the woods around me, trying to ignore my mentor’s and the ghosts presence, by distracting myself with anything else. The whispering of the oaks. The sad singing of flowers sitting trapped on a window sill in the Yorkshire town down below. The sound of a thousand men rushing across the mountain on their black horses trying to find me and take my head (unsettling but useful to know). And just a faint whisper on the wind of Milo with a quill filled with black ink, slowly and steadily writing me

100

101

a letter on crinkling paper, in his house among the tulip fields, a letter he won’t send, and I won’t get to read. I breathed in sharply trying to hold on to that faint peaceful sound before I lost it, and like a candle being blown out I did, only smoke lingering in its beloved place. “I really can’t help it, their anger is so pointless and filled with folly.” I said. Finally answering the bird headed woman’s statement. “Don’t make this a joke.” she said flatly but still somehow the squawk in her voice didn’t fade. “I wasn’t joking Mellona, I was just stating facts.” Her slow sigh crept slowly into my ears like a stealthy snake, before she muttered, “Look boy.” and cocked her blue feathered head toward the tip of Mount Vance where the solid rock castle of Yorkshire stood towering over all, “You see that building?” I followed her yellow eyes, already knowing by memory every grove and rock on that blasted place. I growled under my breath at the thought of the clanking, the screaming, the blood. “It hardly leaves my sight.” I spoke, staring evenly at the rock towers. Everyone has to admit that my history with the crown was not at all pretty, it in fact was gruesomely ugly. Eventually I felt her light hand on my shoulder as she leaned her sharp beak to my ear, “Only a monster can defeat a monster. There are no heroes in this tale…” “I know,” I said sharply, listening to the loud demands coming from that bloody awful king, behind his rock walls, sharp as steel they are on the roaring wind. “Only you could stop him Grimm,” she now has the hem of my gray shirt as she started to yell, “So buck up! And stop fooling around! You’re their only hope.” I didn’t move, as she screamed in my ear, not even by turning my gray lifeless eyes to look at her. She spat at the ground and snapped, “Grow up and be what the mystics need you to be.” and walked back up the hill to her crooked black tower. I still didn’t tear my eyes from that rock castle. I had gotten her point. I took in a ragged breath, starting to growl in the castle’s direction. I had so much hate for the people inside those walls I shouldn’t need to dwell on the dead. Only a monster can defeat a monster. … But you’re not a monster… Milo’s voice whispered into my

ear, the remembered words were faint but as always there, a reminder either to keep me grounded or to one day tear me apart limp to limp. I bit my lip and ignored those famous words, too much they haunt my thoughts, too much do I think about yellow tulips. I just need to focus on what’s ahead, one step at a time. I turned away from the castle and started down the road again pulling my scarf even closer as the wind roared through me. I didn’t listen to what’s in the ground, I ignored the galloping horses, and I didn’t try to listen even though I wanted to for any sign of Milo. I just listened to my footsteps, and the king’s yapping. What I need to do is, find my dignity, kill the king, ignore my guilt. … All of it surprisingly is a lot harder than they make it seem.

R o r y

W o o d

102

[The Waltz] V i v i a n

C o l l m e r

How long had this been playing? Marlene tried to remember-- something, anything else. Another tune, another song to replace the dizzying 3-4 that ran at her in waves. She felt the strong urge to march over to the piano player now and tell them to stop this instant, but her feet were of a mind of their own, waltzing faster and faster, her arms pressed tightly around the man beside her. Again, she tried to pull away, but the man only pulled her closer to him. She didn’t recognize him; had they switched partners? She was sure this frail man before her was not the same as the strong one who had just been. His features were the same, but something was… wrong. His face was twisted into a thin grimace, and tears fell past his lips. He looked like he was being pulled apart from the inside out, a mere splinter of who he used to be. But still, just as her, he spun on, his feet in perfect rhythm against the shiny hardwood floor. Teal and rose colored panes of glass sent cold, sharp shants of light twirling through the ballroom as the waltz continued on, and the musicians only played louder and more violently as each phrase passed. Although outside the winter wind was whistling, inside the ballroom was warm, heated bodies pressed sardine style against each other. The stained windows were clouded with condensation. The whole room felt… frantic. A blur of bodies, each person blended into another. Nothing about the scene felt solid, logical. She couldn’t remember… where had she been before? Wisps of memory floated past her as she danced on. The brief memory of the smell of smoke, of a long set of winding stairs. Running, falling.. and a sharp, static pain, that pulsed through her head. She could feel it now, the more she thought about it. Each step in the waltz matched the pounding rhythm in her head. Marlene tried again to pull away, and this time, the man’s grasp loosened for a second. But she soon found herself pulling back to him, as if her hand was stuck to his narrow shoulder, her chest magnetically drawn in against his thin frame. She didn’t understand. She wanted to sit down, to press her hands over her ears, for it all to

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just stop. Just as the music reached its crescendo, the walls began to fall in. The room burst out in panicked cries as the stained glass windows shattered, shards flying out. Marlene shrieked herself, panic bursting from her features. She tried harder now, to pull away from her partner, and he pulled away himself. Still, they stood pressed together, their feet moving forward. All around them couples danced on, their own panic reflected in the others. It was a blur of spasming bodies, swaying to the rhythm of a never ending waltz. Marlene danced on, glass shards cutting her legs as she went. The world smeared together, until all Marlene could hear was screams and all she could remember was spinning, spinning, spinning. Marlene lay at the bottom of the stairs, blood pooled around where she had hit her head. Smoke poured out from the hallway above her, flames licking just at the edge of her body. Sirens sounded in the distance. Her hair was beginning to catch on fire, flames dancing through her auburn curls. She didn’t wake up. In the distance, if you listened just close enough, you could hear a steady 3-4 rhythm, a mesmerizing waltz humming through the cold night. The song was finally beginning to come to an end.

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[Monster] I wasn’t surprised when I walked into the living room and saw him standing there. I didn’t even flinch as he grunted softly, his stringy hair dripping water onto the hardwood floor. It was as if, deep down, I knew I was expecting him. “Hello? Can I help you?” I prompted harshly. I didn’t know why I was angry. It wasn’t his fault, he hadn’t chosen to come here. The Monster had cold, dull, skin, the same color as the snow that lay on the ground after days of being driven over. It was gray and muddied, with streaks of brown. His arms and legs were covered in thick, peeling scales, and random lumps and growths sprouted from his arms and legs. He stared at me long and hard, and yet still said nothing. He had grown since the last time I saw him. His eyes were a sort of hollow black, void of any emotion, or truly, anything at all. The smell that emitted from him, just as I remembered, was not altogether too unpleasant; he smelled like fall, like wet earth and decomposing leaves. His lips were pulled back to reveal his crooked teeth… he was smiling, I thought, or at least trying to. As tempting as it was to leave him here alone, let him wander away and go about my day as usual, they had made abandoning your monster illegal years ago. They were unruly creatures, and when enough of them were left to wander on their own… things got messy. Each monster stuck around with their person for different amounts of time… some just a few hours, and some years. They came and went throughout a person’s life, disappearing and reappearing when you least expected it. But mine hadn’t come for many years, and in all honesty, I thought I had seen the last of him. And yet, here he was, standing in my living room, looking out of place and extremely uncomfortable. “Well,” I said, “let’s get on with it.”

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I locked the door behind me, walking slowly through the misty streets. He followed me, always just three or four paces behind. He moved with an elegant precision that didn’t match his features at all, and it would have been a nearly flawless sight if not for the slight

hobble his right knee gave him. I would stop occasionally, and wait for him to catch up, but he never seemed to. Each time I stopped he would stop behind me, leaving the same space between us as before. So I continued on, letting him trail behind. When we reached the diner he stepped forward and swung the door open for me abruptly, and I felt a rush of warm, greasy air hit my face. I stepped through just as a cheery waitress walked over to us. She led us to a single sided booth with a checkered table. I ignored the crumbs that littered the booth as I slid in, The Monster right next to me. His large frame filled nearly the whole booth, and I ended up squished right up against his dry, scaly skin. “Cozy.” I grunted, settling my napkin onto my lap. He flicked his eyes to me, almost… self consciously? Then he scooted over, leaving me space to breathe. He still had not stopped smiling, and it was beginning to become unnerving. I decided that if he was talking, he couldn’t be smiling. “So, what are you thinking of ordering?” I didn’t want to startle him with any too forward questions. He looked up at me but still said nothing. I was starting to think he couldn’t talk. Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember him speaking when I saw him before, years ago. Just as I began to speak again, the waitress walked over to us. “What can I get started for you folks?” She asked cheerfully, her words slurred in a thick Southern accent. “Just an earl gray for me please. Hold the cream and sugar.” “And for you, sir?” She turned to The Monster, her whitetoothed smile a stark contrast with his coarse grin. “I don’t think he can--” I began, but he cleared his throat loudly. His voice was shy and deep, a low rumble of gravel at the bottom of his tone. “A hamburger and fries for me please. And a Pepsi, if that isn’t too much trouble.” I froze in surprise as he took our menus and handed them gingerly to the waitress, who nodded and walked away, bouncy as ever. “So you can speak!” I exclaimed, my voice pitching accusatively. “Yes, I never said I couldn’t. I just don’t when I feel there is nothing to say.” I didn’t know what to say to this, so I just nodded slowly. I

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was getting nowhere with small talk. I needed to know why he was here, why now, after all these years of absence. “Why’d you come? Why this day, out of all the days?” “Why not? Do you not want me here?” I sighed, ignoring his question. It was clear he wasn’t going to answer any of my questions. “Well, what do you want to do?” “Can we just eat?” His tone was surprisingly timid, polite, and it didn’t match his rugged exterior at all. So we waited. And we ate. It wasn’t as strange as I would have thought to have him sitting across from me, and at some point I even became, admittedly, slightly fond of his disconcerting grin. It was nice to eat with someone else, for once. When we had finished, I paid the bill and stood. I didn’t know what to do now. What had I done with him in the past? How had I ever lived with him, with this part of me that I didn’t know at all, who only followed, always just a few steps behind, in quiet contemplation? I felt an empty, cold, ache in my stomach. I couldn’t quite pin what the feeling was. Behind it, I could feel a sudden wave of anger creeping up on me. Why had he come? Why? Why couldn’t he just leave me alone?? I realized I had been staring into the checkered floor for a while now, and when I looked over, both the waitress and The Monster were staring at me, the waitress with a quizzical look in her eyes, The Monster’s eyes still the same shade of hollow gray, looking right into the deep parts of my soul. All at once, I hated the sight of him again. I cleared my throat, quickly hurrying to the door, The Monster in tow behind me.

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I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew I needed to keep going, or else I may just lay down right here, on the cold pavement. It was raining now, and thick water droplets cascaded down my glasses and landed in my hair. The Monster stayed in pace with me, although still always leaving just a few steps between us. I wished he would leave me alone, go crawl back to whatever cave he had come from. The cold in my stomach was still there, and it seemed to be quickly spreading. The same wave of hot anger roiled behind it, building against my eyes and lungs. My skin felt too tight, itchy all over. I paused suddenly, spinning around to come face to face with The Monster. He stopped short, his empty gaze and gnarled smile forever unfaltering. “Are we done here? What do you want from me?” I spat, each

word laced with poison. He only gazed on. “Do you hear me?! God, what’s wrong with you?! You’re so useless! All you ever do is make my life harder! I’d hoped I had lost you for good the last time, and yet here you are again. And…” I paused, an anger that I never knew I had filling my chest, my voice. “... Even when you’re not here, you never seem to leave me! You just sit at the back of my head, forever threatening to show up again, to come ruin my life and…” I stopped short as I looked up into his face. His plastered smile had faded, and his eyes were no longer empty. They looked so cold, so lost. Thick tears ran down his face, mixing with the rain. There was nothing to say as he slumped onto the ground besides me. The empty feeling that had been filling my stomach all day long suddenly flooded my body. It was a deep kind of sadness, a sort of discomfort I never knew I could feel within my own skin. As much as I had denied the existence of him for years, I could always sort of feel him scratching at the back of my head, a constant reminder of every part of my life I had never lived. Of all the choices I had never made, of all the people I would never love. But I didn’t hate him. It wasn’t his fault. I was a part of him, just as much as he was a part of me. “I’m sorry.” I muttered quietly, falling to the ground besides him, our heartbeats in slow synchronization as the rain dripped on, the air a fuzzy halo of mist. And there we sat, watching the world pass us by, My Monster and me. I wasn’t sure what it meant yet. I still wasn’t sure how I would ever learn to love this part of me. But I was stuck with him, and him with me. We would figure it out, together.

V i v i a n

C o l l m e r

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[I am grieving] Z a i r e

B r o w n

I think I am grieving the loss of myself, my beautiful self To me I am sorry I am sorry for letting you go I should have held on I swear you are nothing I should throw I am sorry for hurting you I am sorry for letting him have control over you I think I’m grieving the loss of myself, my beautiful self my god given self I’m sorry for treating you last loving you last treating you as if you’re in a queue I’m trying, I’m trying to help us to heal us To become a new, us For to become a new me I must be through with me I must pursue me I must be a jewel to me

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[The Quest Begins] M y s t

M o r g a n 110

[“Beloved”] Z y r a “Beloved,” you call me, pouring your heart’s blood into each time you say my name. Mesmerizing syllables dripping off your tongue while we walk arm in arm through our world. “Beloved,” you whisper each night, observing my drowsy movements through amber eyes. I am the mortal fascination of your eternal knowledge. “Beloved,” you shout, all teeth with no bite, false decadence masking your hollow core. You’ve exposed your rotted soul to me before, why hide it now? “Beloved,” you cry after me each time I risk to leave, knowing I’m an addict for the shape of that word from your lips. “Beloved.” You won’t respond to my begging voice, preemptively painting your hands red from the sin I beg you for. Don’t mourn now, say yes and we’ll have time enough to weep.

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112

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[Have You Ever Wished You Had a Dragon?] * / . \

N y x

A l s l e b e n

/ . \ *

Have you ever wished that you had a dragon? With scales or unusual feathers, like glistening, precious rubies, Or teeth and claws like silver blades, or if you prefer crescent moons, One that collects gems and gold, One that is ready to defend you at a moment’s notice, As ready as a blade in a fight, A dragon to be there for you, To keep you warm, even when nights are cold, A dragon with eyes like the cool blue skies on a summer day, That can do amazing things, A dragon that can make a creme brulee, A dragon is amazing. Just remember please, Everyone has a dragon in them, just as amazing as you are.

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[Look in the mirror] ✿ E v e r l y n

B a g h

i s

s o

c o o l ✿

I look in the mirror; and see, not the me I was in 5th grade, no longer the little girl who snuck out of her room in the middle of the night to play with her dolls because she was embarrassed. No longer the cargo-pant-crop-top-wearing Montessori private school kid. I see a 7th grader who is much more mature. I see a girl who loves to dance, and who loves the feeling of freedom she gets from performing, even though it still makes her nervous when she is practically alone in front of 500 people. I see a young person who likes girly things: perfume, makeup, pink bows, and Pinterest, but also loves being outside, camping, riding her bike, and reading. I see the me who cares about what I look like, not to impress anyone but just for me, who has a style but also whose favorite outfit is sweatpants. I see someone who doesn’t have to wear makeup every day but can because it’s just for me and it’s fun. I see a girl who is strong inside and out. Strong by being connected to my roots and my history here. I see a girl who loves her family, pets, and even her little sister. I see a girl who has friends who listen to her and help her with whatever she is going through. I see me.

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[Miss. Writer] A i

H u a

Her eyes wore bags, as heavy as a trip around the world. Golden glasses framing them while she pitted about on her notepad. Placing the tip of her pen between her lips every once in a while. Perhaps it was to help her think, or a result of writing too much. But always, eventually, she would begin scribbling down seemingly everything on that legal pad. The train accompanied her sighs with baritone rumbles while the sun to the moon watched over her shoulder. I couldn’t tell you how much time she spent here. Rooted to her window seat on the east bound train. But I could tell you her favorite tea, though not the way she liked it. How many pages she’s ripped out, though not what’s on them. And the shape of her golden locket she twirls with her fingertips, but not who’s in it. I sit across from her each morning, and evening. On my way to the bank, and on my way home. Each time, my heels sink into the worn velvet carpet as I walk down the aisle. There’s always the most lovely jazz playing from the car ahead of us. I don’t believe she notices, even as I set my briefcase down next to me and smooth down my skirt to sit in the row across from hers, in the aisle seat. I truly don’t mean to stare, not at all I assure you. However, I can’t shake the feeling that she knows me. Today is no different. “Excuse me miss, is anyone sitting here?” An older gentleman asks, his voice soft and cracked. Sunlight fills the car as she looks up to the man. From where I sit, he wears a black suit and matching fedora. He carries himself kindly, with shined shoes and a shaky lean to the right while his wooden cane supports him. I can’t see her expression, but I can imagine it as she speaks. Firm and matter of fact. Yet respectful as always, “Yes sir, I’m saving this seat.” The old man looks around for a moment, before turning back to her. “Of course. I do hope they show up soon, the train will be moving soon.” She doesn’t respond. “Are you sure you should even be here Miss? Haven’t you heard the news?” The shaky man sighs, and walks away.

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She mumbles something I can’t quite make out. I’ve never spoken to her. I make it a point not to, we’ve been here too long. Sat in our spots for far too many months, to start now. So I pick up my book and begin the same chapter I’ve begun for the past too many months. Each time I try to read, my mind wanders off. The view to my left from where I sit is lovely, even if I’m two seats away from the window. The world out there glistens with magic and whimsy, I can feel it. The clouds always silently flitting along, the fields painted with wildflowers that frame the hills. I urge myself not to sigh too loudly each time we travel. Both at the nature just outside my reach, and at the sense that her eyes are burrowing into my skull whenever I’m not looking at her. Each day I look back at her. Each day, she pays my curious looks no mind. There’s a part of me who would like to change that. Be bold. Sit down next to her with my briefcase on my lap and ask her what her name is. I can’t know her as “Miss” for forever after all. And yet, a little whisper in me says that I very well could. Why can’t I be peeved at her alleged staring, while being ever so silently smitten with the way her ruby hair tumbles down her shoulders in the way I wish mine could. “All aboard the Princess east bound train!” The harsh voice of the conductor rings over the intercom, “Please ensure that you handed your ticket to the conductor, and are on the right train.” I check my golden watch I had custom made to go with my outfits. If we didn’t leave soon, I would be late for work. Shaking myself off I take a quick peak around me. Save for the old man who has found a napping corner at the front of the car, and a few ladies silently chittering over knitting needles, myself and the woman with golden framed glasses are alone. Today could be that day. I can do it. It’s just a simple hello after all. My confidence surges as I try to sneak a quick check in my compact mirror. Dabbing only the smallest bit of rouge on my lips, I press them together in thought. I can feel her eyes on me. I can do it. “Hi there! My name is Alice. Whattcha writing?” I tumble over my words to the point they are a rolled mess. Awful. She raises an eyebrow at me. Oh someone take my shovel away, the hole is deep enough. My heart skips every other beat, my eyes widen and I can feel my face flush before my brain tells me to shut up, be quiet, be elegant, say something other than…

“Ohmygoodness-sorry-you’re-beautiful-sorry.” The train began to move. The writer lunged at me. In a wild sort of panic, her gaze bore into me. (Did you know they were green?) Her mouth began to move. (Did you know her lips were heart shaped?) And she reached out for my shoulder. (Her nails are beautifully manicured.) It took too long before I noticed that she was speaking or yelling and where she was pulling me. Down. Away. Covering my eyes as a deafening warp shoots into my senses.

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[St. Idol]

N o a h 119

L a i b l e

[here] A i

H u a

coming back would be irrelevant. for everything i’ve worked for is there. my garden of petals made out of poetry still grows there. nurtured from seed to blossom. my rocking chair that would creak on misty chilled mornings. the knitted cushions she made me, forever molded to my lazy form. the cherry red door we painted on a sunday morning after coffee. the white trim stained on the edges from our giddy shaking hands. my life, my love, i leave here. her shoes are worn from the outside in. frosted in mud, grass, and seeds. always carrying with her something new for me to sigh on about as we smile over shared tea. i remember when she taught me this blend, made a song to memorize, tunes as sweet as syrup. today my paper cup holds that brew, yet it numbs my tongue just as my heart is. i love you to bits and pieces, the pebbled road winding my lungs like yarn on your spool. around and around i would follow you, yet now i cannot. my own shoes sit in a box at the back of our cherry red truck. i’ve left the garden in full bloom. coming back would be irrelevant. for you are no longer here.

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[He Is Still There] A i n s l e y

W i l s o n

The room By the closet The pain it brings me to step Even one foot in The pain feels like dipping my foot in cold water He is still there The feeling is as strong as pain The ache is like a punch in the gut The tears The quivering lips as I cry He is still there The final moment of peace as he places a hand on my shoulder The tears start falling down Like how my stomach drops He is still there The thought of the bed Is like a knife gliding through my skin The night I went to a sleepover Without saying goodbye The pain still kills me Part of me died that day Because he is still there.

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[In the Blue Light Dark] A l i s a

D o l i a

We see a man Walk down the street. Cold pavement, Dirty old walls covered in graffiti with crumbling bricks. He sits on a bench. Under an old oak overgrown with moss, An antique lamp post etched in intricate details and outlined with decade-old dust. In his fingers A little shiny brick. A portal to an informational neverland. That glow on his face, reflected in his dull, tired eyes. And he doesn’t see as two cats parade down the street. Tails high, proud as kings. Doesn’t see the little bluejay that lands on the tip of his shoe. The spider that crawls up his denim pant leg. Still as a statue Eyes glued open He doesn’t see the alligator that swims under the sidewalk drain The flamingo that opens the blue flowered curtains in the apartment across the street. He sits still As a field mouse in a coat and hat walks down the way, accompanied by his mousey wife, wearing lace with her black-laquered Sunday shoes. His finger tics mechanically as the old oak’s roots grow, picking up chunks of the pavement. As the old lamp post flickers on, bathing in warm light the home of the bat that lives in the oak’s hollow. As the walls slowly mend themselves Until they’re newly a fresh mellow pink And roses grow in the drainage pipes. He stays still. Bent forward

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As the bear rides a unicycle past As two giraffes in blue berets meet over coffee As the crawfish climbs the fire escape to attend the hummingbird’s fiddle concert. Stays bent as day turns to night and night to dawn Over and over again. And when he finally rises, Yawning and rubbing his bleak and tired eyes Raindrops are starting to fall. On the cold pavement Running down the dusty lamp post Pattering between the leaves of the wet, mossy oak. Away he puts the little brick in his pocket And with a frown Strolls down the street with dirty old graffiti walls and crumbling bricks. Into the gray evening Oblivious to the flamingo and the alligator and the cats and the bear and the mice and the giraffes and the bluejay and the little spider and the crawfish and the hummingbird and the bat Who watch him go in silence.

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[Olive] d a h l i a

a .

Elenore had always wanted a big family. Four kids, at most six. She wanted an even number of children, so none of them ever felt lonely. For the past day, she had been lying in a hospital bed in her blue hospital gown, surrounded by boringly pale white walls. Beside her to the right was her newborn, resting in her incubator. To the left was a nightstand with a red undrank mug of lukewarm “hot” chocolate topped with a melting iceberg of whipped cream. She felt exhausted and wanted to sleep longer than she ever had before. Elenore continually stopped herself, though, afraid that when she opened her eyes, her baby would be gone. Perhaps it was odd she felt so wary, but still she remained alert. Every part of her body felt limp, and it took her every bit of strength to stay awake. She had decided to name her first child Olive after her old teenage best friend. If you didn’t know them personally, you could’ve easily assumed they were twins. They had the same big cheesy grin, and they both wore the same Radiohead shirt at least once a week. They both had light hair that faded from blonde to a deep brown, which they had dyed together. Despite their rather close friendship, it was obvious to everyone except Elenore that Olive was jealous of her. There were different ways to see it. It could be how often Olive spoke endlessly about how she adored Elenore’s family, or how she would stare at her, like a kid staring at a lollipop in a candy shop that her mother won’t buy. A stare filled with longing and spite. It was on Elenore’s seventeenth birthday when Olive’s envy became apparent. The first thing was Olive’s continuous attempt to outshine Elenore. She had purposefully bought a much more fancy black dress in comparison to Elenore’s cute cyan dress she’d picked out from Target. Each time Elenore would try to speak, she would be interrupted by Olive. The second thing was Olive’s unnecessary rudeness. She teased Elenore for the music she played, even though they had created the playlist together. Elenore had baked her birthday cake herself, and Olive spat it out as quickly as she took a bite. What was weirdest of all, though, was how she was acting to Elenore’s parents. It was different from your average polite respectful kid. No,

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she was acting like she was their daughter. When she wasn’t ruining Elenore’s party, she was helping Elenore’s parents, hugging them, and even saying how much she loved them. After two hours of nonsense, Elenore ordered Olive to leave. “I don’t know how I haven’t realized before, but do you like, hate me or something? You’ve been all up in my party like it’s yours and not mine,” she spat. Olive furrowed her brow, shaking her head. “What’re you talking about? You’re making stuff up,” “Oh, I’m making stuff up? Ask anyone here if I’m lying. Go ahead,” Elenore retorted. Olive looked down at her shoes, before glancing around at the other party guests. There were no sympathetic faces, only glares and scoffs. Even Elenore’s parents, who she had been as sweet as sugar to, offered her nothing but disfavor. Olive tightened the fists on her side, her eyes rolling back in her sockets. “Yeah, duh, obviously they’re gonna be on your side, it’s your birthday. Are you trying to make a fool out of me?” she snorted. Elenore’s eye twitched, steam practically fuming out of her ears like a cartoon character. “Olive… just.. just leave. We’ll talk about this later.” And with a turn of her heel, Olive stormed out (not without slamming the door behind her). Her red heels clicked against the sidewalk pavement as she stomped home. Every now and then she grumbled and mumbled how stupid Elenore’s party was, and how her feet were killing her. She stepped onto the crosswalk, checking out her freshly painted nails. Even if she just lost her best friend, she didn’t lose her style. Perhaps she should’ve bought the cheaper sequined dress instead, and at least then that sleepy driver wouldn’t have crashed into her.

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Elenore played with the hem of the hospital blanket, smiling

as she watched baby Olive rest so silently. Her peace was broken when she suddenly squeezed the side of the blanket into a crumpled ball. Her body tensed and her eyes widened. The inside of her body felt as if it was being turned upside down, her head felt as if it were being played with like Play-Doh. She looked over to Olive, who was missing in her incubator. Elenore gasped, looking around with a hand clasped on her stomach. There was a crying sound from below her bed, and she found to her right on the floor was her baby, sobbing uncontrollably. Elenore tried to reach out and grab her, but each movement was more painful than the last. It felt like needles were being shoved into her skin, like her bones and muscles were being twisted left and right. Her eyelids squeezed shut from the agony, tears dripping down from her cheekbones. A cold sweat spread on her skin, subtly soaking the sheet beneath her. She couldn’t scream, she couldn’t move, and it was hard to even breathe. Her fingers suddenly felt as if they were being broken, each one by one. She shakily lifted her hand into her eyesight, to see each of her fingers were half what they used to be. Not cut-off, no. They were the size of a baby’s hands. In fact, both of her hands were the size of a baby’s. Suddenly, she fell back onto the bed, her hands too tiny to support the weight of her body. She couldn’t understand why no one was there to help her. The doctors were nowhere to be found, her stupid husband was on a work trip, and the rest of her family lived hours away. Where were the nurses to check up on her? She continued to cry with pain, confusion, and fear for her child. She expected to cry that day, but only from happiness. Each of her limbs were slowly being shrunk into a fraction of what they used to be, and there was nothing she could do about it but sob, just as her newborn daughter was. When she glanced down at Olive again, she was growing as rapidly as Elenore was shrinking. She couldn’t tell what was more horrifying. Her being squeezed into a baby, or her baby being stretched into an adult. All of a sudden, she felt her head ache harder than if ever had before. Her brain felt like it was being squished into a meatball while simultaneously being beaten with a club. Out of instinct, she began to scream. It made everything hurt more than the agonizing pain she already felt, yet she couldn’t help it nor could she stop. Her sight began to go blurry as her once fitted hospital gown came to cover her body completely. Why couldn’t anyone hear her? What happened to her Olive?

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She opened her eyes, unable to speak. A figure appeared next to her, lifting up her limp body. The figure stripped Elenore of her much oversized gown, placing her in the incubator that previously carried her own baby. The slim familiar figure slipped the gown onto herself with a shiver. The figure who looked identical to Elenore quickly sat on the bed, throwing the blanket over herself. Just a few seconds later, a nurse appeared by the doorway, smiling kindly. “Would you like to hold her again?” the nurse gently asked. The woman in Elenore’s hospital gown nodded. The nurse walked over to the incubator, swooping her up and swaddling her in her arms. The nurse softly plopped Elenore into the woman’s discomforting hold, and not long after Elenore burst into a cry, squirming in the woman’s arms. The woman with the blond-brown hair stared down at the baby, no longer with hate or longing, but with fulfillment. The nurse watched with sparkling eyes as the woman’s gaze rested on her child. “I hope I’m in your place one day, admiring my baby as you are now. Have you decided what you’ll name her, Ms. Olive?” Olive chuckled with a happy nod. “Yes, I have. You know, I’ve actually thought about this for a long time. I’m going to name her after my childhood best friend, Elenore.”

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[Quills and Quests, Fairy Folly Fortune] R o r y

W o o d 128

[My Image of God] D y l a n

H a v i v

I will teach my boys to be dangerous men. To pick white flowers for all of their friends. and to think of patience when they think of strength. I will teach my boys to be dangerous men. If a sister cries then you cry with them. and I’ll teach them to stop. Before they descend. Too deep in their pain. For those who depend. On us to feel safe. To keep them all warm. and when you feel the cold you knock on their door. And hope someone like you is there keeping watch. To tap you out And make your bed Then sharpen your sword and kiss your head. and die as a man who knows what it meant. To be remembered for love, and the kindness he spent. I will teach my boys to be dangerous men. Not to base love on a paid performance. But in the soft silence of three in the morning. Where their love is safe sleeping. Just bringing them some water. To know that it’s not in the war that you wage. But you’re choosing to love despite all the rage. I’ll teach my boys to be dangerous men, and not naive enough to pretend that they won’t have to fight for the ones they defend. But if you must fight- fight to never again. I will teach my boys to be light when they can, and know in the darkness to reach for my hand. And I will teach my boys to be dangerous men. So the danger for all of us, finally ends.

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[halley’s comet] the way your smile always lit the night like halley’s comet cutting through the sky eyes burning brighter than the morning light a dream that I could never bid goodbye however, in due time, that gentle glow faded like the galaxy at dawn I prayed, in vain, to let the light regrow alas, by then, my love was too far gone until one night, those golden eyes of yours vanished and in turn unbound the doves a war to end all bleak and pointless wars a love to end all vain and fruitless loves you hung the moon until it waxed too far my glowing sun, my sky, my shining star

E l i s h i y a

C r a i n - K e d d i e

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My dearest star E m m a

H o r r o c k s

This evening I was thinking. Thinking of you. About your everglowing presence, in a sea of dark blue. When I see you tonight, I will surely swoon. Your dance is so elegant, next to the Moon. I still remember the night we met. You gleamed so brightly, and I was shy, but still, we meet nightly, under the sky. Sometimes I wonder where you go, when the Sun hides me from you. Do you wonder where I am, or do you have a greater view? Although I love the rain, The clouds cover you entirely. But whether the weather allows it or not, I still love you undeniably. When you gently twinkle, do you do it just for me? Does it mean “I love you, too,” or do you just agree?

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I love the night, as I can see you. Your glowing light,

and your sea of blue. I wish I was up there. Up there, with you. Then, instead of one star, It would be two.

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[Music Poem] H u d s o n

C o x

When you walk through a storm Hold your head up high And don’t be afraid of the dark If you are I’m gonna fight ‘em off And seven nation army can’t hold me back I’ll wait for you there Like a stone I’ll wait for you there Alone don’t worry How could I ever forget? It’s the first time and the last time we ever met

[Under sun] Great evil dwells in mothers aura. Under sun, he swings mother earth so great and strong his hands become hot. Mother earth hides behind Father sky, but father sky carries seed to her surface. Bringing great rain and thunder, flooding her whole. He protects mother earth from his heated hands so well he burns bruised.

J a c q u e l i n

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C a n n o n

[Untitled]

S a m

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[Big Daddy Pizza Pockets] read in iambic pentameter Big Daddy Pizza Pockets The meat and sauce are super good Money from your pocket There isn’t any better food Pockets in mouth I want me some, I need me some Pockets from the south Getting some, I’m with the chums I’m in the cafeteria I’m with my friends, soul getting cleansed Achieving the criteria Big Daddy meat adrenaline Big Daddy, Big Daddy I will always be your caddy

L i l

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J o s h i e

[Dinner at a Friend’s House] L o g a n

R o a d

Formerly distance filled the air around the dining room. Now there was a thick loathing, separated by differences. United solely by hate. His Mother sat at the head of the table, her fork poking repeatedly into a moist meatloaf. Each poke contains forty years of hatred and anger, driving into the meat as if she was the one killing it. She muttered swears under her breath with every stroke, names would pop up throughout her mutterings, names of family members and friends. Each stab to the voodoo doll meatloaf makes it more and more of a paste. Next to her was his Father, wallowing in his self pity. The bags under his eyes stretched until his jowls. His chin mixed into his neck and body, creating a folded pile of pale skin. He has no thought in his head, he simply exists, He’s there, but not present. He doesn’t want to be with his Mother, he keeps on going because this life is all he knows. A fear of change curses his sad life. Across from him was his Sister. She hadn’t even touched her meatloaf, she was too busy with her face buried in a book. His Sister was probably the only sane one in the whole family, everything she does comes with good intentions. She would never do anything to hurt anyone of any shape or form, not on purpose. She talks to me from time to time, asks me how my day is or how my mom is. It’s not a lot but it’s more than the rest of the family. The only problem is her ignorance. She’s trapped in her own world, she doesn’t understand what’s going on in the world around her. Maybe that’s a good thing. Lastly was him, a friend since childhood. In elementary school we were inseparable, but as the years went by we fell apart. I’m only here because our Mothers are friends. All he cares about is his appearance. He makes his parents buy him expensive clothes and spend eighty dollars on a haircut. If he could he would just stare at himself in a mirror all day, like a modern day Narcissus, he will never love anyone more than he loves himself. Of course I’d love myself that much if I could, In a way I resent him for his confidence.

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I look across the table and see only sadness and regret. Each member has their own demons. Hate, Depression, Ignorance, Narcissism. My own family isn’t much different, although no household is without its dysfunctions. Compared to this family, for my family I am grateful.

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[Rooted] L S Then I was rooted to the wrong people, who instead of watering me Chopped me down. They took away my water so instead of photosynthesizing, I stayed level with the ground. Now, I chopped off the roots malnourishing me with a silver ax, It left behind no drama or pain. And because the cuts were so clean New roots with new laughs and water grew back quick. If I have to harvest the rotten roots once more, I will know how Since the silver ax remains under my floor, But there will never be a bigger harvest than the summer of twenty-four.

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[Come My Way] l u c i d When fortune finds you send them my way. I believe I have nothing else to say Because if I have fortune If I have luck. Maybe my happiness will go up. Maybe my people could be prouder. Maybe I could sing a little more louder. Do I have fortune? Am I using it right? Let me wield you lady luck. Give me your beauty. Yet as they say, The beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

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[Lights] S c a r l e t t

T h o m p s o n

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[Sanctuary] Through jungles of misfortune, a lead never followed, I find myself often under those vines. The leaves’ song soothing and forgiving, I yearn to find myself in the valley, past the world. Words lay rest where the sunrays leave cool, The heat of my thought dancing away. But when the haze swallows my tree, I take a reluctant step back to the world Where I belong.

M o r g a n

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E d e n f i e l d

[Get Better] Get better a whisper coursed through my mind despite of myself, Seasons changed, the leaves turning brown and withering away, Get better, The dark circle sink deeper into her skin, her face still held high, The familiar tub of red vines placed on the counter of the outdated kitchen grew more empty by the day as countless family members say goodbye, Get better, life seemed to carry on, In school we’re all still trying to find where we belong, Many people belong with those they call their friends but I belong with my family, Get better, The light aglow against the now frost touched grass, announced the holidays were fast approaching, The holidays one would spend with their family, But where are you now? Not in your chair watching game shows, Not in the room with your cabbage patch dolls and behemoth collection of beanie babies, She was strong, despite her small figure, She was kind despite her cleverness, She was undeterred by those who dimmed her bright light, But most of all she was surrounded by those she loved and cared for.

P r e t z e l

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[In the light.] There was this girl in the window. She just drank tea and looked out into the lands beyond the glass, she looked past me and into the rest of the endless straw field in a trance. Emotionless, painless, but beautiful. She never went outside, she never said anything, just stared at nothing. Or maybe she’s staring at everything. It was driving me crazy. I looked out at the vast land she stares into, white clouds, blue sky, yellow wheat. Nothing else out of the ordinary, like always. I stared with her until my eyes strained, nothing. All until surprisingly there was something, an apple rolling across the field, slowly unsteadily, I blinked at it, watching as it rolled toward me, and stopped. I picked it up. It was a yellow apple, the sweet kind, the best kind. I fell into its trance staring at it, turning it over in my straw hands. It was light, and shiny like a jewel. I loved it, no I actually was in love with it. “Why do you stare?” I looked up at a girl, she seemingly appeared out of nowhere. And she looked exactly like the girl in the window, in fact she was the girl in the window. Out of the shade and into the light. The window was a reflection. “If you mean the apple,” I said, not taking my eyes off her, “I am in love with it…”

R o r y

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W o o d

[Streetlights] S i e r r a / c c

K i n g

The frozen rain hits my shoes, making a soft Clink sound. The zipper on my jacket flies through the air as I run down the busy street. I can hardly breathe. I feel like my lungs are burning even if it’s below 30 degrees outside. My nose is freezing, and my hands seem frostbitten. I don’t even know where I’m running to all I knew was I needed to. I needed to feel alive again, to get out of the house even if it was just for 10 minutes. The cars ahead of me were bright and loud, making me feel even more disoriented than before. Some honked and others couldn’t even see me. It didn’t matter. I was running and that was it. Running made me feel better. It forced my adrenaline to spike letting all other thoughts wash away until all I was thinking about was how fast my legs were hitting the ground. My tears were frozen to my cheek, glistening in the soft light of the moon. I was tired, thirsty, and cold but I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to sit under the streetlights. It was weird during the day. They never seemed that interesting. Metal poles with random ads taped onto them and different colors of spray paint blending together. But at night they seemed to change. The ads had blown away, the spray paint had somehow turned into a blur of artwork and different pops of color that reminded me of a mural. The muted glow of the light shining down on me made me feel like I was the only person in the world. Looking straight at the light made me see more stars that weren’t actually there, and for the time I was ok with that. As I sat there under the streetlight I had only three thoughts. The first one was wondering where I even was. The second deciding if I would be able to stand up because my legs were so worn out, and finally the third, my favorite: “When will I ever be able to relive a night like this?”

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[Cuckoo Bird]

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A hunter. Waiting. Followed a deer. But now the deer’s eluded antlers grow like roots and crowd your vision, don’t they? You need prey. If not a deer, a rabbit? A mole? You’ll wait. You’ll get what you get. A dark place. A place for the victims. You don’t want to hunt. You don’t see them as living, they are just something needed to be rid of. You kick them out of your nest, because it is your nest now. Well, for a small while. Then the next nest over, then the next. You must Empty Each nest, clear of the rodents, the roaches, the ovals of white that don’t belong in your domain. You lay your egg and leave, the puddles of eggshells and yolk dead, absorbing into the floor, feeding the trees and making them much sturdier holds for the nests now Yours. You watch from a distance as all those poor birds come back to see that their eggs are all dead. Oh, but you’ve tricked them well. They see your beautiful eggs in the nests and you can hear their brains cherishing that they have one egg left, oh what stupid mothers, not seeing the simple difference. When the deers warn them of hunters, they will hide “their” children and flee, the hunters will shoot, the mothers will die, your children will flee, make the journey you did, Empty Each nest, and then join you, watching from a distance, as the mothers enter the same illusion, You’ll be proud, now your descendants carry on your “tradition,” those birds all die, And soon the forest will be filled just with you, just the worthy, just the untricked, just the birds that can escape the illusion. Just the birds that can escape the dark place, the dark box that holds your victims, bleeding dark red and covering the forest floor, chewing up their lives and feeding them to you like nutrition from a

mother, feeding your soul and happiness. You laugh, at the stupid mothers.

V a n

R e i d

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[Sweet Dreams] Y e s Our heads lay on your pillows What once were bright eyes drift to sleep I love you, my blue butterfly I know I cannot keep you in my arms reach

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y e s

[Sandwich the clown] 148

[Starflower Stop n’ Shop] Z y r a Casper enjoyed taking walks. Or, more accurately, Casper enjoyed not being home. Foregoing lingering among the stormy scrutiny of his parents to instead window shop along cobblestone streets was barely even a choice to be made. He could wind around the city for hours, taking in every flower box and balcony while the sun dipped lower and lower, street lamps clicking on one by one. He knew every bench to rest on, every alleyway to avoid in the never-changing town. The familiarity was nearly as boring as it was comforting. Which is why, on a meandering spring evening, Casper was surprised to spot a new shop just off of main street. He hadn’t been out for very long, just long enough to quiet the sounds of shouting parents and slamming doors that still echoed in his ears. Feet brushing listlessly down the sidewalk, Casper paid little attention to the shops cascading down the street. People bustled around him with purpose. He wished he had a reason to be out beyond escape. It was as he flumped onto an empty bench that he noticed it. Just around the corner and shoved between a nail salon and pizzeria. The storefront was made of brown bricks in contrast to the surrounding red brick buildings, with a blue-and-white striped awning drooping over a rounded display window. Bunches of vines trailed up the brick without touching the neighboring businesses by an inch. And this building had not been there before. Casper stared, sitting up straight and blinking hard. “What the…” he muttered. If he wanted, he could make a map to label every shop, as well as what their window displays had been in the past few months, and maybe even name some of the friendlier business owners. And he could say, with absolute certainty, that this shop had not been there before. There hadn’t ever been a shop between the nail salon and pizzeria, not even space for lease. Somehow, a whole extra building had grown overnight. He stood up and walked across the street towards the shop. Weirdly enough, nobody else seemed to notice the shop. Nobody was

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lingering in front of the window, nor moving in or out of the door. The sign hanging down from the awning read Starflower Stop n’ Shop in swirling green paint. A smaller sign next to the door read Open. Either I’m dreaming, Casper thought, or I’ve finally lost it. Glancing around to double check that nobody else was taking notice of the shop, he took a deep breath and pulled open the door. --Dingaling! sang the cluster of bells hooked to the inside of the door. Aria looked up from the book in her lap to see a boy around her age cautiously step in, fingers lingering on the door handle before letting it fall shut behind him. Swinging her legs off the counter and pushing her book aside in an attempt to look slightly professional, Aria rattled off her customer service script. “Hi, welcome to Starflower Stop n’ Shop! We carry all magical bits and bobs your heart could possibly desire. My name is Aria, how may I help you?” “Um… yes, hello. Sorry, I have a weird question?” The boy said. “Ask away,” Aria responded. The boy just stared at the overflowing shelves. There was a certain chaos to the shop, since there was no consistency in what they sold, when they sold it, or even where. Lilah’s potion brewing in the back frequently gave the space strange aromas. Many hastily scrawled notes sat in front of dangerous or mysterious trinkets. A cursed mirror next to a blooming mandragora next to three of five volumes from a series of amateur spellbooks. It really was wonderful to take in. But the boy already seemed to have forgotten Aria, and she didn’t want to wait forever for a question that seemed like it might not come. “You had a question?” Aria prompted. “Oh! Yeah, well, it might sound like I’m crazy, but I was wondering…” the boy chewed on his lip, not finishing his sentence. “You’re wondering why the shop appeared out of nowhere?” The boy blinked. “Yes! How did you—” “Yeah, don’t worry about it. We get that one all the time,” Aria shrugged. “Some people are scared, most are just confused. Occasionally we get people storming in and accusing us of witchcraft! Which isn’t incorrect, but it’s still rather rude, right?” “But how do you do it?” His voice dropped as if he were inquiring about a secret, “Are you actually magic?”

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Aria tilted her head, scrutinizing his face. Some people believed her when she was honest. Others didn’t. It never really mattered what she said, most had their minds made up before she spoke. “It seems all the evidence would point to yes, don’t you think?” “Prove it.” Okay, not the response she had expected. Not from this boy, at least. It was fun to be surprised. She curled her hand into a fist, breathing deep. Then she flicked her fingers out, turning her palm towards the ceiling. A small burst of flames shot up from her hand. Raising her eyebrows at the boy, she asked, “Do you believe me now?” --Real fire. A small ball of it hovering centimeters above the girl’s hand. Glowing red and orange and wholly impossible. Casper stumbled forward and closed the gap between himself and the counter, planting his hands on the wooden surface and shoving his wide eyes too close to the real-but-impossible fire. It crackled quietly. “How do you do it?” He gasped, moving his eyes to meet the girl’s. “Is this something you’re born with, or can anyone learn? Do you realize just how cool this is?” The girl laughed, “Pretty cool, isn’t it?” She wiggled her fingers around the flame before closing her hand and dispersing the embers with a shake. Without the fire stealing his attention, Casper suddenly realized how close he was to this stranger’s face. He straightened up and pulled at the hem of his shirt, awkwardly backing up a few steps. What was he supposed to say now? How was he supposed to ask this fascinating girl if she could teach him magic, and if not, at least teach him all about the fascinating world he had stumbled upon, pretty please? As if she’d read his mind, she let out a quiet “aha!” and snapped her fingers. A stack of thick books—he assumed from one of the numerous bookshelves lining the walls—zipped past Casper’s head and settled in a neat stack in front of the girl. “I can’t teach you magic. You’re either born with it or you’re not, and believe me, you would know by now if you were born with it. But these—” she plopped her hands on top of the leatherbound books, “—contain an abridged history of magic. If you’re interested.”

“Those are abridged? Really?” he asked skeptically. “History is long and complicated. There’s only so much you can cut out before it becomes too fragmented to understand,” she shrugged. “Okay, um. I would love to read those books, I really would, but I don’t have any money on me. Will you still be here tomorrow?” “I’ll need to double check with my sister, but I think we’re here for a couple weeks. You could even read the books here so you could ask questions as you go. And maybe,” she leaned conspiratorially forward on the counter, “you can tell me some about this town. The people, like yourself. What do you say?” Casper blinked at the girl, then down at the books, then back up at her. She really meant it. This fascinating, magical girl wanted him to come back. Wanted to teach him things and learn about him in return. “...I’ll consider it for sure. I should probably go now, though. It was already late when I left my house.” “Of course. Thank you for stopping in. Have a good evening!” The girl’s voice took on the same bland, memorized tone she had greeted him with. “You too!” He responded before turning around. Casper walked towards the door with an odd feeling in his chest. It was never fun to go back home, to submerge himself once again in the black tar of his parents’ presence. But he hoped it would be more bearable this time, knowing there would be magic awaiting him when the sun rose again.

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Wordsworth Literary Magazine Vancouver School of Arts & Academics Spring 2025 Issue “Quills and Quests”