Wordsworth Magazine Spring 2026

wor dsw orth

Elliot Christensen, Editor

Holland Rudolph, Editor

Miley Coté, Editor

Alex Cusack, Editor

Jody Bault Adams, Advisor

Victor Riley, Advisor

Staff...

Brooklyn Chapin

Charlie Schubel

Clark Cozens

Dayana Hernandez

Eleanor Crane

Eleanor Nagle

Foster Bukoski

Hayden Butler

Jasmine Eiland

Josh Walden

Liv Vitulski

Molly Wilson

Noelle Foreman

Riley Letarte

Rory Wood

Vivian Collmer

Yucari Hernandez

Dear Reader,

As yet another semester travels by, along comes another issue of Wordsworth. The pieces within these pages have been created by our VSAA students and peers, all coming together to form this constellation of works. Reading through this issue will take you on a journey between a fantastic variety of worlds, each one unique and exciting to explore.

As always, thank you so much to our wonderful advisors, Mrs. Adams and Mr. Riley, without you Lit Mag would not exist. Thank you as well to our staff, whose dedication and creative ideas we could not do without. The numerous people behind Lit Mag are the reason it is able to exist at all, and we’re thankful for every one of you. And thank you, reader, for taking the time to peruse these pages. We hope you enjoy Wordsworth’s 2026 spring issue: Death of a Star.

Best wishes, Your editors

a b l e o f c o n t e n t s

black hole

Ajog

Dying Star 2

Anonymous Boundaries 3

Anonymous Collapsed laughter 4

anonymous drain 5

Anonymous

Midnight Escape 6

Anonymous Someone else 7

Anonymous Untitled 8

Anonymous Where the Sun Once Was 9

anonymous (: The End of the World Where Trees Grow 10

Anonymous :) Untitled 11

Catalyst

Dear Diary, 12

Clark Cozens life and death 17

Clark Cozens

Elizabeth Woodbury

Elodie Davis

Elodie Davis

Foster Bukoski

Geneva Stewart

HRM

Hudson Cox

Jasmine E

Macy Sibley

Sterling Black - Hutton

Excerpt of “From the Shadows” 19

Writer’s Block 21

Goodbye Blue 22

Silence 23

Dahlia and the Reaper 24

Seven 27

Unhealed 28

Windy Leaves 29

House Of The Haunted 31

The Glass Monologue 32

The One That Knows Who Relies 34

Tessa, Kylee, Everlyn, Hazel Trapped 36

Violet Matsumoto

Zoe Warren

nebula

Anonymous

Excerpt from Tidal Shifts: It is so quiet... 38

The dawn of my brothers ghost 39

The Girl and the Wolf Excerpt 46

Anonymous Ten Thousand Suns 48

Anonymous Nugget

Anonymous nugget

Faded Memory 50

Secret nickname 51

Charlie Powell Starscape 52

E.L. starlight 55

Eleanor C.

Soon 56

Elizabeth Woodbury Apple Seeds 57

Emery Saldivar

Beach Days 58

Foster Are you Serious? 59

Hayden Butler I Hope For The Best. 62

joshua tree waiting in line 63

Kairos

Liana K

Liv Vitulski

mina beatty

N.R.

Noah

Noah Laible

Noah Laible

Rab

Setting Sun 64

Memories 65

Fantasy 73

untitled story 74

Balancing 76

The City of Fallen Stars. 78

THE HOTEL OF BABEL /// Chapter 15

Excerpt 80

Dear Lord, Dear Lord Of Mine 81

Colors 82

Rae Van Divergent: Down Cast 83

Rory Wood

A Bowl of Red Grapes 87

RS Mannequin 91

Sierra/cc

Violet Matsumoto

A Night Like Any Other 94

Excerpt from Tidal Shifts: ...but then I hear your laughter. 95 Yes Star fall 96

supernova

“landon” berndt

two martians and an unstable dyson sphere 100 ~luca~

Radiant 103

anonymous Applepie 104

Anonymous Don Go 105

anonymous star cycle 106

anonymous stardust 108

Anonymous Untitled 109

Anonymous :)

Douglas C.

Walgreens Run 111

An Ode to Blood & Sin 116

Ebonie Famous 118

Ejog Kintsugi 120

Hayden Butler hi 121

Leilani Hernandez Garcia

Me Gusta 123

Lex Lost 124

Lex Imagination 125

Macy Sibley

The Endless Twists of Time 126

Mary Shirk Young Love 129

mina beatty

N.R.

i love you, betty 131

Dear Billyboy 133

Noah Super Nova 128

Olivia Muñoz

Paul Collins

Paul Collins

Reddest Star in the Sky 138

The Death of a Star 136

A Message from your Mother: 139

Rory Wood Raspberry Scone 141

Sterling Black - Hutton Power Lines Down Memory Lane 144 the pizza man pizza time 148

vampire slayer starcrossed lovers 149

Vivian Collmer Moon 150

Vivian Collmer

visual arts

Alora Alsleben 98

Annika 143 + front cover

Anonymous 77

Ash Thomas 26

Ethan Ness 43

Harper Holmstrom 61

Lilliana Rosales 152 + back cover

Mary Shirk 130

Noah Laible 15

Olivia Muñoz 93

Olivia Muñoz 137

ryah LOPEZ! 110

Rhododendrons 151

~Dying Star~

They wonder how I’ve been grieving longer than she's been dead.

I’ve been living with the shell of a woman for years.

I watched a girl become a ghost before she left this earth for good. The zombie roamed my house, and I watched the flesh decay, rot off the bone.

I tried so hard to save her. Every day, I wished for a better future, one where I could see her in it.

She was the sun, I was a planet in her orbit. I spun around her as the flames went cold.

I yelled out to her, but she couldn’t hear me. Stars and space divided us.

I continue to wander around aimlessly, looking for her.

Thinking every bit of cosmic dust, asteroid, dying star, could be her.

I spent too long trying to save her life What do I do with myself now that I’ve failed?

~Boundaries~

What is this obsession

You think you're so mysterious, I know the truth

This is it

I thought we were going somewhere, if only I knew Why would you do this to me, I tried my best

This was a mistake

You're the predator, and i’m the prey

If only you were honest, this could’ve been avoided

I’m not blind

This isn’t how friends treat each other Toxic

Why do I deserve this

You stalker…

You said you’d stop I wish you good luck

But I don’t appreciate this And I don’t respect you

I’m at peace

Now I am the void and my path is empty And I won’t forget this

~Collapsed laughter~

I curve my lips like a crescent moon, practice gravity in my cheeks pull joy into shape the way space pretends to be full

They see the light or rather what leaks around the edges and think I’m glowing They don’t see how nothing lives at my center

Inside me is a black hole quiet, patient, hungry It swallows every "I’m fine” whole every laugh collapsing into itself before it ever reaches my ribs

The smile is an event horizon once you cross it you stop asking what’s really there No screams escape No truth comes back

I bend conversations around my face let their worries orbit never letting them fall in deep enough to feel the pull

Because if they did they’d know this grin is just light trying to outrun the dark and I’m not smiling at all

~drain~

Goodbye. The all-consuming fear that’s been holed up deep in the pit of my stomach has sucked me in. The immeasurable worry and terror and anxiety and overthinking Will swallow me whole.

Dragging me deep down Her quaking, slippery sloped throat, down into her sinking and unsettling ocean of a belly.

Darkness envelops and I am everywhere.

~Midnight Escape~

Twelve AM again, and her mind is racing. Summer’s over practically and yet it feels like it just began. Back to the monotony of school, friends, and homework. Not that she didn’t love most of those things, it just got so repetitive. Nothing to break the dull routine. And now here she is, thinking about school again. Enough! She tosses the covers off herself, paying no mind to the crochet blanket that falls off the foot of the bed for the millionth time. She combs her long fingers through her auburn hair, hazel eyes gazing around her room. The space is cloaked in the shadows of night. The basket seat in one corner, the paintings of landscapes on the walls, the notes and photos with friends on her bulletin board. Too normal, maybe a change of scenery could quell the overactive mind. She steps out into the hallway, mindful of the squeak of her bedroom door as she closes it behind her. She shouldn’t be though, for she is the only one there. The wood of the stairs feels cool and smooth against her feet as she descends them. Entering the living room, she looks around, taking everything in. Her senses seem heightened in the silence of the empty house. Off to her right, a light comes on. She startles, jerking her head towards it. The thermostat glows softly, its motion sensor detecting her movement. She wanders toward it, curious at how she never realized it turned on whenever anyone walked past. She turns it to 65 degrees and is happy that her siblings aren’t there to yell at her that they were dying of frostbite. Before she has time to think it over, she finds herself in the kitchen digging out a teabag from a drawer as the electric kettle hums to life on the countertop. She bustles between the kitchen and the living room with a furry throw-blanket tucked around her. She’d dragged it from the back of the couch, its light fabric warming her core. Tangelo, the big orange cat sits comfortably on the arm of the couch, his sharp green eyes following her every move. The kettle begins whistling and she puts the teabag in a porcelain mug.

Tea pours, and steam rises. The smell of mint fills her nose and she almost instantly begins to relax.

~Someone else~

I think of you at night when the world finally shuts up and my thoughts get loud The ceiling knows your name by heart I trace it in the dark instead of counting sheep

Sleep won’t come because every time I close my eyes I see you smiling at someone who isn’t me And I wonder what she has that I don't what I lacked what made you stay awake for her but let me fade

You like someone else now and I should be happy for you but all I feel is smaller Like love was a test I studied for endlessly and still failed.

I replay everything my laugh, my words, my heart looking for the flaw that made you choose differently Maybe I was too much Maybe I wasn't enough

I loved you so deeply it rewired my thoughts, made you my first and last idea of the day And now I’m stuck here, wide awake loving you in silence while you fall for someone else

~Untitled~

There are nights when I am raptured from the soft quells of sleep, left to state at my chicken pox ceiling. Why my brain has decided this is more productive than rest I don't know.

The bitter cold has spread its frosty spit across the windows

The dark is hungry tonight; nothing makes itself known outside of the solitary rim of streetlight

~Where the Sun Once Was~

I gaze out the window.

The sun is shining.

The bright blue sky roars as the birds soar.

But with the blink of an eye, it's gone.

The sky is no longer bright. Now, it's a dark blue.

The sun, once beaming with color, has died out.

Died out into a moon. A soft, crisp moon.

Anonymous

~The End of the World Where Trees Grow~

I've always known everything was unstable but I didn't know it had gotten this bad, I look out the window. It's too early, the one thing I wished were late. I rush outside and look out over the edge past the clouds and past the roots at the other half tree islands and see huge evergreens that seemed as ancient as time itself growing downward towards the islands as if trying to complete a puzzle that was never meant to be finished, it was strange 'cause you could only kind of see them like the few moments of a dream, except I don't think I’m gonna be able to wake up. I start to panic, realizing my mortality but I know there is nowhere to go and the ground starts to feel less solid so I just sit. Everything falls and the end of the world rains down upon me, and all I can do is close my eyes for a moment and wait as the feeling of impending reaches out to me.

The moment passes and my eyes don't open

~Untitled~

She can't actually move. She can't actually speak. She can't actually do much of anything. But she can see.

Observe the world melt and morph around her. As she stands in static. And when she sees you, that's all she needs.

Though when you leave, she can't reach after you. She can't call your name. Just watch you go. So she's decided to keep her eyes pressing you down. To hold you in her mind. She'll scream through your throat. Until her voice runs dry once again. And again. And again. And again.

~Dear Diary,~

3/13/2022

Dear Diary,

Is this how you’re supposed to do it? I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a diary before. I guess it doesn’t matter if I’m doing it “right”, though. Not when the only reason I’m doing this is to leave a record of my existence if that thing kills me. I don’t want to just disappear. I’m honestly really scared. I don’t know what to do. How could I know what to do? I just want to go home, but home isn’t safe anymore. Maybe it never was.

They think I’m dead. I should be. I drowned. That creature “saved” me. It made me an offer: I become Its vessel, and It saves me from death. I know it was stupid to accept an offer like that from an unknown entity, but I was dying. You would’ve done the same.

I think I did die, though. It just brought me back. I remember everything going dark. Well, maybe “dark” isn’t the right word. It was just, I don’t know, nothing. Complete emptiness. An absolute lack of anything and everything. It was almost peaceful.

But then I woke up.

I wasn’t in the sea anymore, at least. My clothes were dry, and I was lying in a soft bed, wrapped in warm blankets. It would have been almost cozy, were it not for the dark stone walls and floor of mosaic tiles depicting cycles of decomposition and life. There was a large stained glass window of what seemed to be a moth. Sunlight shone through, the gold transforming into magentas and blues. It was beautiful, that much was undeniable. But it was all horribly unfamiliar.

I left the strange room in search of someone who could tell me where I was. I didn’t have much luck. I wandered the building, which I began to realize was a truly massive temple, for hours. I ended up in a basement. There were people there, the only other humans I had seen. But it was then I first saw the creature.

Its very form was agony to look upon. If asked at that point, I couldn’t even begin to describe It, but somehow, I instinctively knew that It was the being that made me that offer. It was the thing that brought me here, and It didn’t want to let me go.

I don’t remember what happened next. All I remember is searing

pain, before waking up in the same strange room I started in. That was yesterday, unless I lost more time than I thought. Despite my hunger, I have not dared to leave this room again. I found this small journal, and figured that I should use it to document what’s been happening. It almost feels silly, in this situation. I wonder if there’s even a point to this.

3/14/2022

Dear diary,

Hello again. With any luck, maybe one day I’ll find out how to do this properly.

That probably won’t happen.

I apologize for my wobbly handwriting and the tear stains on this paper. I left my room today. My hunger proved too intense to ignore. But as I wandered through the labyrinthine halls of this temple, I was stricken with a pain unrelated to my empty stomach. A pain like fiery blades stabbing into my hands.

I don’t know what I expected to see, but the skin of my hands sloughing off to reveal blackened flesh underneath was not it. I screamed louder than I thought I could. I barely sounded human, it was almost closer to the cry of an injured fox, or some kind of horrible bird.

It didn’t even occur to me that my cry would draw the creature near. It must have whisked me away, though I remember little of the journey, and the memory of where it brought me slipped away like water in cupped hands. As much as I would like to blame the monster, I know those gaps in my memory are likely due to adrenaline.

What I do remember is how It wrapped soft, clean bandages around my bleeding hands. Despite Its claws, It was gentle. If I did not know better, I would have said that It was kind.

But It is not kind. Because even though It bandaged my wounds, I know that It is the one who caused them. It had to have been. Healthy human skin does not just slough off. It’s changing me, and I have no way of knowing what It will do to me next.

3/16/2022

Dear diary,

It stole my face. It stole my face and It doesn’t even seem like It understands why I’m upset. It held me, like It was proud. I cried.

I don’t want to be here anymore.

3/20/2022

Dear diary,

Somehow, I’m starting to believe that this thing really doesn’t want to hurt me. It’s as if It’s completely ignorant to the harm it causes.

I snapped at it today. I shrieked and yelled and It stared at me, stiller than I’d ever seen It before. It didn’t try to stop me when I locked myself in another room. I had been sure It would hold me back, or try to open the door, or do something. Anything.

It didn’t, though. I heard It move outside the door, I braced for the sound of Its claws breaking through the door.

The sound never came.

Instead, I heard It lie down outside the door, the gentle thump of Its furry body hitting the floor. I don’t know how much time passed like that. It felt like hours, but I had no way to tell. I waited for It to grow impatient, for It to try to get in, but It didn’t. It never did.

At some point, I opened the door. Just a crack, just to see what It was doing out there.

It looked almost guilty. Maybe It was, it was hard to tell. That thing doesn’t have a human face, after all. Reading Its emotions is difficult. It was definitely upset, but not at me. It was upset with Itself. A couple of Its eyes glanced up at me, widening like It didn’t expect me to come out.

It doesn’t want to hurt me. I can see that now. But how does one even begin to try and make a god understand that It hurt you?

This creature saved my life. Now I’m Its vessel, whatever that means. I’m going to be stuck with It for a long, long time. If I want to survive, I’m going to have to figure out how to make It understand. Maybe It is kind. It just doesn’t understand what humans are like. Maybe I don’t have to be scared of It.

I’m so tired of being scared.

~life and death~

life is only fruitful because we cherish it. we cherish it because it means something to us. but what is that? that thing. that feeling, that sensation that makes us have care. have care for what we love. love for our passions. passions for our meaning. we mean something to this world. we may not know what that is. but we know that we have meaning. that meaning is just left for us to find. left for us to cherish.

always remember death. it will see you some day. nobody wants to see it. but you will see it. death is imminent. not now, but death will always be around the corner. to be fair, death is a scary thing to all of us. death is a true fear that we have as humans. it is and always will be wired into our brains. but, death is not the fear in this situation. what makes death scary is the unknown. nobody knows what happens after death. that is the fear factor. it could be an afterlife. or it could be nothing. just nothing. you need death, and death needs you. if you remember death,

death will remember you.

life is only precious because it ends. everything that exists is meant to end. the end of something gives it meaning. life would have no meaning if it didn't end. we would all just be stuck here. just moving with the rhythm. not in a good way. no, definitely not. we would simply just exist. breathing and just, being. always trapped in the mind of yourself. your brain would be a husk of its previous consciousness. there would be no inspiration, no regret, no fear, no wisdom. you cannot gain wisdom from infinite things. the loss of something can grant wisdom. so can fear, and regret. we need ending. it makes us precious. without it, we’d be worthless.

Clark Cozens

11/22/25

~Excerpt of “From the Shadows”~

Journal Entry #2

Confrontation

I was very surprised by my first encounter with my father. The first thing that he did when I saw him was hug me for what felt like a whole minute. I felt uneased for a few seconds as he pulled me in, but it was oddly comforting. My father was never good at hugging people. Always did that sort of half-side hug for a second and backed away quick. But not today. He looked sad. It does make sense, but I did not expect him to be as emotional as he was. He has always been very talented at bottling up his emotions to only have for himself. The first question that he asked me was,

“Why did you come here to see me Joseph?” I had thought deeply about it before, the reason why I came here. Yet, in this moment, I could not for sure tell him why.

“To see how you were holding up,” I replied to my father. He looked right through my eyes and knew that was a lie.

“No son, why did you come here?” I knew the true reason why I wanted to come to Rome to see him. I wanted to see if he was still as much of the glorified douchebag he was before mom died.

“I- I don’t actually fully know. And, I think that you know that I do not like to visit or talk to you, so this is as strange to you as it is to me,” I said confidently. I still don’t know why I bursted out those thoughts right in front of him at that moment, but I guess I felt like he really needed to hear them. After this, me and my dad sat at his small, grainy wooden dining table in silence for a few minutes. I then asked where my room was, walked upstairs to it, and here we are. As I was walking up the stairs, when I became out of sight of my father, he

started to say something. It was very clear that he was projecting his voice out to me as well, so I know he wasn’t just talking to himself. He said something along the lines of, “Actually, could you umuh, cou- no..”.

I stopped in my tracks when I heard him speak, yet I knew that he did not commit to what he was going to say. I think he was trying to get me to go back down to speak more with him, but he for some reason changed his mind. I actually would not have hated that, but I did not want to make an effort to go back. All things considered, I expected my dad to act similar to how he was before the death, yet the opposite is true. I just do hope that these actions continue for the next week I am here.

- Joseph Romano

~Writer’s Block~

A block on poetic illustry a devastatingly tragic blow to creativity

Hands stripped of ability my soul stripped of expression

Writer's block

mental torment

My pen is full of ink

Elizabeth Woodbury

~Goodbye Blue~

The sky is gray the ocean is brown and polluted

The flowers are all dead

I miss being noticed I miss having reason

My beautiful blue skies and lovely blue oceans They’re all gone now

Disappeared like a silhouette in the mist I hope that one day

One day I’ll be remembered

~Silence~

Sent from my iPhone Ah silence.

Hello old friend.

I’ve seen you seldom lately. You are a sensation I have missed.

While others beguile me with pointless antic dotes, you allow me peace of mind.

I’ve met others, but none are as inconsistent as you. Days go by without a trace of you.

Missing you is agony.

While others castigate me for my smallest flaw, with you I can effuse every emotion.

But with a flash and a bang, you disappear, and I’m left missing you all over again.

Elodie Davis

~Dahlia and the Reaper~

Content Warning: Death

The car felt suffocating.

For the past fifteen minutes, Dahlia had thrashed around, trying to somehow get out of the car she had been locked in, but it only made her hotter, even though she had called Mrs. Mueller for help before thrashing.

Too hot, in fact, that she noticed she wasn’t sweating anymore as she lay collapsed on the leather backseats. No amount of thrashing could fix that.

Her heart was in her throat by now, and everything was blurry.

It didn’t help that her breathing was quick and sharp, despite the air feeling hot and thick.

Suddenly, her throat and tonsils burned, and she vomited. She hadn’t felt sick, but that could be because of the heat, and now her stomach felt like it was burning like she was.

Unsurprisingly, the smell of vomit made things worse.

The sour, rancid gunk on the back of the front seats made Dahlia wanted to vomit again, so she instinctively crawled towards the window to open it, but to no avail.

By then, the heat had completely shut down all logic in her brain. The only thing it was telling her was to cool off, now.

She tried opening the door, then realised it was still locked.

–Right…–Dahlia thought–I’ve been locked in here to…who is that?--

She climbed up on the windowframe to try and get a closer look at whoever that stranger was.

They were wearing a black robe, and as Dahlie adjusted her vision, she realised that the person’s face was an animal skull, getting closer to the car until they were at the locked window.

“Hello, Dahlia,” they said, perfectly clear despite the car door separating them.

“Who–how do you know my name?” Dahlia managed, clinging to the window frame with her shaking hands.

“I know everything about every living thing, for I am death itself,” they said.

“D-death?” Dahlia croaked. “But I don’t wanna die… what’ll my friends and Mrs. Mom think when they find me dead?”

“I’m sorry, Dahlia, but I cannot let you suffer anymore.” Death told her. “I’m only here to end it for you.”

“Are you gonna let me out?” Dahlia asked them.

“Yes, I can.” Death said as Dahlia weakly smiled. “Unfortunately, your physical body and memories would be left behind in the car, and your spirit will be passed to an unborn child with loving parents.”

Dahlia’s smile then vanished. “Don’t let me die,” she told them. “I just need to keep on waiting. I just know they’ll show up.”

“Fine.” Death told her without a hint of anger. “If you lose consciousness within four minutes and no help arrives, I will take you to the afterlife, and if it makes you feel better, your parents do get consequences for doing this to you.”

“N-no, just a little longer…”

Dahlia no longer had the strength to hold on and collapsed back onto the seats as her world went dark.

The last thing she heard before completely falling asleep was the sound of the car door breaking, and a pair of hands grabbing her.

The only thing that mattered to her sleepy state was that she was out of the car, and she could finally breathe the cooler air again.

Foster Bukoski

~Seven~

Content Warning: Murder, Suicide

I hate that it ended like that. I wish things were different. It's been so long, yet I still miss your voice. I miss the times we would walk together, before things got complicated.

I didn't know that one "goodbye" would be our last. We were so young and carefree, the possibility of life changing in an instant seemed impossible. You were taken so young and innocent, by the hands of your beloved, broken father, bleeding out on the carpet from the bullet of his gun. The protector that you called "Dad" was gone the next instant, splayed out in your cold, dark home by his own hand. Your lifeless bodies lay alone for hours.

Upon hearing the sugarcoated news, I was too young to fully understand that gone meant forever. My friend was dead, and I couldn't connect the dots to figure out that it was a murder-suicide. I was too innocent to realize how utterly horrible this life can be. I was shocked, but not stunned. I was sad, but not grieving. Now, I look back and wonder why.

I still miss talking to you and seeing your radiant smile.

Life is a fragile thing that we shouldn't take for granted, as it could be taken away at any time.

It's been so many years, and the lingering sadness still remains. It was too early.

You were too young. We were only seven.

Geneva Stewart

~Unhealed~

Death is starting to relish in my soul while my breath quickens from the anxiety my heart once held, but kept not fully healed from the few words you spoke to me, about me, those 3 words that made my knees weaken. I hate you. Why does the mirror speak such things to me? The reflection has such a complexion that I can't keep up with. Replaying these memories from times when things weren't so bad, Now I've had enough of you, You left me long ago. Leaving me with this mirror of shame.

~Windy Leaves~

The leaves fall into the wind. They float into piles upon the floor.

A chilly breeze blows them in every direction.

A flurry of leaves knocks on the door.

Shaking the houses.

Blowing the limbs of the bare trees. The trees with no leaves on them. The trees that are old and worn down.

Stood for years.

Just to be blown over by a windy storm. The trees hit the ground with a thump. The roots getting pulled out of the ground.

Getting a response from the soil by coming up into the air. Various items in the air flying around.

A scarf and mittens.

A set of tea cups.

A cat stuffed animal.

Opening the door pulls everything from the house. Quickly close the door to get away from the debris. Ran inside to the fireplace.

Where things are much safer from outside. A simple gust.

Turned into a storm.

A tornado if you will. That is pulling everything into it. Like a black hole.

Anything that goes near it. Gets sucked into the storm.

The items inside going so fast that you can hardly see them. The door all of a sudden gives out. Pulls you into the storm.

To get spun around. For miles on end.

Right as the wind takes you away. You wake up.

And realize it was just a dream. After you had read the Wizard of Oz. Just last night. The wind is still fierce. But still has a calm feeling.

~House Of The Haunted~

A carcass in the woods

Hidden behind the trees

Cold and desolate with not a soul nor sound, Nothing to fear

Not a trace of a thing

Simply boarded up windows

And empty rooms,

The night is heavy with something unnamed

The stars scatter to the safety of the clouds

Winds wailing a warning of trial and the unknown, Black cloaks the land

Shadows move and stretch grotesquely

Turn back, turn back

Come close, you’re home,

Through the gate and past the shed and up to the tall wooden door, Into the darkness beyond where statues dance and the dead sing, Where you don’t know your hands from your feet nor the ceiling from the rotted wood floor,

Past and present mingle.

A lost love hand in hand with a sunken dream

An unseen child and her starry eyed mother whose name is forgotten and whose fate is sealed,

Then it all fades, Into nothing, And you are one with the statues, Singing with the dead.

Jasmine E

~The Glass Monologue~

I’ve been thinking about glass a lot. Not because I’m some expert on glass or anything, something about it just enraptures me. Specifically the stages it goes through. I mean, we never take the time to think about it, but glass has so many forms, and in its lifetime, it eventually becomes all of them. It starts with sand, that’s the beginning. Just billions of indistinguishable grains, all lying on top of each other carelessly and haphazardly. There’s no reason to why they’re there, they have no unique identity to call their own. They are just one of many. But then, something changes. Suddenly, the sand melts, and now it’s onto the next stage. Molten glass. In this stage, everything is moldable, vulnerable. The melted glass can be pulled and twisted and stretched in any direction. It can be made into any shape imaginable. However, this process isn’t as simple as it seems. The molten glass can’t mold itself, it has to be molded by those around it. It is only other people that can pull and twist and stretch the vulnerable substance. This particular stage has always confused me a little bit, I don’t know why. I mean, surely the molten glass can mold itself right? Maybe choose its own shape instead of waiting for someone else. But anyway, after this, the molten glass hardens, and it has officially become glass. The next stage. Thanks to the people who worked on the molten glass, this form has a shape. A purpose.

It has an official identity and a story to tell. Just by looking at it, some people will claim they can see the inspiration behind the creation. It has come so far since the humble grain of sand. However, this form is not sustainable. Everything can look structurally sound, but the identity is always temporary. Sometime, someplace, it will fall and shatter. This leads to our last stage. Shattered pieces of glass. Now, the glass has no purpose, no shape, no story. It is indistinguishable from any other discarded shard. This is starting to feel familiar, isn’t it? But anyway, this glass is no longer useful and does not contribute to higher society. It is in need of a new identity, a new purpose. Speaking of, remember when I said that glass goes through stages? That was a lie, actually. It’s a cycle. When the glass is shattered, it doesn’t just lie like that for eternity. It can’t. It has to

be melted and molded again by someone else, then settle into a new identity, and then shatter once it’s unsustainable. Over and over. There is no end, the cycle must continue. The glass goes through thousands of identities, is shaped by thousands of people. Nothing is ever good enough. Nothing is ever worth being permanent. I seriously hope I don’t have to spell this out for you. Don’t you get it? I have to cycle through thousands of identities because nothing is ever good enough. I have been shaped by hundreds, thousands of people, with no regard of how I wish to be molded. I have been pulled and twisted and stretched into numerous figures. I have been shattered, over and over. I am a wretched piece of goddamned glass.

Macy Sibley

~The One That Knows Who Relies~

To every word that spills out

Seeking for advice that you won’t take

To every time you say this is “The last try”

Cause you want to see your kids for the rest of their childhood lives

To every trauma you bend and twist upon us

For your monophobia and attention that you seek

To every time you went back with him just to “try things out”

Giving him false hopes and dreams of being as a family

You know his tendencies of being obsessive

You know his illness and unpredictable aggression

You know for sure well how he's always available for you You know he crawls to the heartbeat of your every move

But still, you feed onto him, then pull the rug out some day

You act bewildered when his episode goes on play

But still, you know this is a cycle of trauma entering its fourth orbit

Saying he's fine now cause of his therapy sessions or new medicine

But still, when the table turns to you with a body holding accountability

You act like they don’t understand, so you become a deaf wall for weeks

But still, as much as I love you, it's hard to talk to you when You only chatter out your relationship problems, wanting a 14 year old to help assist

I used to think he just was irresponsible

Not letting his crimson filled glass sit empty

I used to think “Dads just going crazy again”

To not roam around him when he bursts agony

I used to think that you were just a perfect being With all the energy and wrongdoings on him

But now I know after all this time you had the option to leave So he could get better, but “we would be split”

To every time you use your control

Towards a vulnerable zombie and your two entrenched kids

To every speck of respect that floods out of my lungs

I learn to separate the good of you for who I become

~Trapped~

My life feels meaningless, I’m forced to be quiet, Every day is just another cage, keeping me from living. I write, Each word speaks for me when I cannot. Each tear falls, a memory, ones that I dare not Forget, the longer I'm here The more they S L I P

My only recollection of the world outside. But in my dreams I fly, I fly away into the dark clouds, I fly away and peer at my dark grey world. In my dreams, I explore the vast deserts and lush jungles; Only to be brought back to this place Back to the War Pain and anguish

The only E S C A P E I have is my imagination-

Minutes, hours, and days pass

But we remain Stuck Still

And suffocated by the walls of this hidden home Yet my dreams are filled with fantasies Of what could have been If the world were kinder.

~Excerpt from Tidal Shifts: It is so quiet…~

Now I am standing knee-deep in the icy, January water. (It was August when we went together. November, when I first came alone.)

I reach out my hand trying to capture the Sun, blinding gold shining through the cracks between my fingers.

Until - finally - it is completely Dark and I have nothing else to distract myself with. Nothing to hold onto. And so… I dunk my head under the water.

Violet Matsumoto

~The dawn of my brother’s ghost~

Content Warning: Violence

The rain. It poured down in my car, thick, heavy, hard, and unforgiving. It being one in the morning, no one was gonna take me to any hotel. Where could I go? My dark blonde hair was soaked, making me look like a brunette, and so were all of my clothes. Each piece of clothing was stuck to my body like it had superglue on it. I’m cold and shivering, and there’s nowhere I could run for cover. All I want to do is cry, hard, warm, salty tears streak down my face, and it will be rejuvenated. Nothing else would feel better than giving up. But I had promised myself I wouldn’t give up 50 hours of driving just to get away. To get away from the awful life that I called Home with Carson. The redhead's hair is so soft to the touch of his skin; it all smells so gorgeous. But under the piercing, blue eyes, there was someone dangerous, who should never be called a lover. Now scars streak across my back, my arms, and my legs. This is when I remember something. A memory from long, long ago when I was just a girl. I was six or seven when I fell. So hard that I had broken my wrist. The bones were completely shattered in half. I had fallen off my new shiny, blue bike that was now dull red in places. My brother was about nine at the time I ran over to me, screaming my name. Over and over and over he screamed and he screamed. Gracie, Gracie, Gracie.

Over and over again. That day, he might’ve been the only reason I survived. I would've bled out or something with my tiny body not holding that much blood, or substances that would keep me alive. We had lived just next to a hospital, and Grayson begged the doctors to help me. I'm serious. The little boy got down on his knees and begged. My parents were out on a holiday, 15,000 miles away from us in China. Grayson is holding a little, bloody six or seven-year-old girl begging for help. Of course, the doctors helped me, though. We had run into the ER. That night, when my parents had flown home, it had taken hours just like this night, and I was still awake. It was one in

the morning. He was my savior again in the situation, or I hoped you would be. I drove up to his house. Prepared to take the worst news. What do you let me in? But hey, what are we big brothers for besides letting their little sister in at one in the morning?

The drive to the house is short. He was going to hang this over my head for years! What was I thinking? I would ring his fancy doorbell, and he would point a gun at me. Some kind of rifle. I hate to do this to him, but I have no other option… I pull up in his driveway. The concrete is smooth and dark gray. Last time I checked, he had red paint smeared all over his driveway because it was my favorite color. Slowly step out of my car and saunter up his boring driveway. As slowly as possible, letting my fears about him holding this over my head sink in. That’s something that Grayson would do. And he wouldn’t think it was mean, he would just think it was even. And I love Grayson with all my heart, but he can be a little much. I stand at his doorstep for a second or two. Finally, I will have the courage to ring his doorbell.

So many things that changed, but I noticed his doorbell was the first thing. While it used to be really funny, he used to be the Thundermans intro. The whole superhero thing. Ba ba ba na naw na na but now the doorbell was plain ding dong. Slightly simplistic actually. Even boring, I could go that far. Suddenly, the pale gray door swung open, and I jumped out of my own skin. His brow looked far out as if he was in deep thought before I rang the doorbell and interrupted it. His skin is pale and porcelain, the color in his eyes seemingly drained, and he looks more tired than anything. But no bags under his eyes. In fact, there is no color in his face at all. “Gracie, wow, I wasn’t expecting to visit. How are you?” He asked tenderly. “Come, come, come in, do not waste time in the bitter cold.” He says. My brother, the one who always wasted time, the one who actually enjoyed wasting time, had just said the one thing that he promised never to say to me when he was a little boy. Maybe he had forgotten that promise because it was so long ago. I shoveled myself into the house, leaving my bags in the car. “Thank you for the last-minute drop in”. I say quietly, “You’re welcome,” but you’re welcome, it’s brisk. “You’ll have to sleep on the couch because I do not have any guest room set up or anything.” So, he didn’t have a guest room, I had to sleep on the couch, and he was treating me coldly. What could get worse? I would rather be in the rain and see my brother like this, so sad. Maybe it

comes through some kind of breakup. I sit on the couch quietly, but almost jump backwards, rebounding off it.

The couch is hard as rock and extremely cold. This is absolutely freezing. There's not a trace of the heater in this room. I was shivering a little bit. “You need some kind of space heater”. “It’s two in the morning. We live in the northwest,” He says back to me, "Would you like a cup of tea to warm you up?" Why was he being so? Why was he being so annoying? He was mad at me for something I didn’t know about. “Do you want tea, again?” I shake my head, pushing all the weird thoughts away.” Yes,” I say, “yes, I would like that. I’m also like starving! You should feed me!” So he walks away. I would be surprised if anything in his house can heat up. His house was so cold that the fireplace was empty, no wood chopped, not even ashes of a fire that had happened anytime soon. Why would he have a fire? It’s not like his house is freezing. He shuffles back into the room with a small cup of tea, just as porcelain as a skin. The cup is steaming, and I am genuinely shocked. He hands me the cup gently. I noticed that the side where he had touched was also cold. I stand up. Placing the tea down on the side table. “What is wrong with you?” I scream. “Why are you so different?! What could be so astronomical that you are a whole different person?! Did you enlist in the Civil War behind my back with some kind of time traveler?!"

My brother sits down, sighing deeply like he is a troubled old man. “Look,” he says. “I’ve never been completely honest with you, but these last couple of months haven’t been honest with you or in touch with you at all,” I interject. “I know this because I never get a single text from you!” But this time, he cuts me off. “Please don’t be mad, sis. I don’t know how to say this,” he says quietly, his voice slightly trembling. “I-I died.” He whispers, “It was the most gruesome, awful thing I’ve ever experienced, and it wasn’t even cool like we had said we would die when we were children. I was murdered slowly on the side of the road.” “From what?” I ask slightly sarcastically, making him believe that I am feeding into his atrocious lies. “Grand auto theft,” He says slightly. I roll my eyes. “I don’t believe you. I hate that you lied to me. And such a stupid lie, I’m dead. I’m dead just because you don’t have a tan anymore, and your house is cold. Doesn’t mean that I’m going to believe that you’re dead! I might believe it if you were floating right here, right now!” Abruptly, I stand up, letting the tea that I had accidentally spilled with my arm fall to

the floor. “I hate that you lie!” I scream.

Suddenly, grabbing me at the throat and the chin, lifting me, and we both float mid air. I thrash, I kick, and I don’t receive what is going on around me. I don’t realize that I am floating until he drops me and I land flat on my back with a groan of pain. But I had now realized something much more important. Ghosts were, no are, real, and my brother was one of them. Looking down at me, looking me in the eyes is an icy blue eye, cold, and no emotion registers in them. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “You know about the secret now. The secret that at all costs has been kept from humans for thousands of years. And you must become one of us; otherwise, they will send us both to the wrong place. Although this place is fairly bad. But don’t worry,” he says, “I love you. And that will never change, so I will make it quick.” He reaches out to grab my hand to take my hand as if I’m going to get on a theme park ride. I thrash away and run. I ran with all my might, and I hit the door with all my force. But that does nothing. Somehow, he had locked the door. And there was no escape.

“Fine,” he says, seething with rage, his face starts moving inhumanely, “ What have they done to you!” his eyes ripping out of his socket, “Grayson, listen!” his mouth opening wide, wider, “please!” he bears the rotting, sharp points in his mouth or where his mouth should’ve been. I screamed so loud I didn’t scream louder. I’ve never screamed any more audibly than I just screamed. It was high. It was like a little girl screaming, but I am just a little girl, that’s all. I am compared to my brother now, my dead, cold, sad brother. And I sit there in anguish. Sucking in all the things that I could’ve done well. He pins me against the door, and he squeezes my throat, and the air stops blowing in and out through my nose gracefully, but it is now breath that breathes in and out every minute or so, and he squeezes it so hard that the sides of my eyes start to blur dark and it stings, and then it plain burns my entire body. “ Do you see what I had to go through!?!” he yells at my dying body. “Please!” I scream again, but this does nothing. He takes his hand and strokes my hair. “I love you. I really do,” He says quietly, “and I wish it could’ve been quick, but you tried to get away.” “If you love me, let me go and never touch me again, you monster!” “Oh” is all he says. Then quickly he beats his hand on the top of my head and slowly, my eyes roll back, greeting black everywhere, and finally the bliss of death comes for me.

Zoe Warren

~The Girl and the Wolf Excerpt~

The Girl

You know, of course, because you are a small girl living by the woods, that you should not talk to wolves. You cannot trust a thing they say, for they are hungry and greedy and your flesh is sweet and soft. You know this.

But you also know that when you see a creature in peril, if they ask for your help, you should assist them in any way you can. They will be grateful, and they will repay their debt if they can. Your mother taught you this when you were very small indeed.

So when your eye catches that of the wolf, laid low in the bracken, its blood scattered like ruby dewdrops on the leaves, when it pleads with you in a low, weak voice, “please, please help me” you reach into your basket and pull out a flower. The one you ventured so deep into the woods to find, the one you picked for your brother, to help the fracture in his leg heal faster. You hold it out to the wolf.

The Wolf

You know, of course, because you are the only wolf left in the forest, that when you see a little girl, you should eat it. Lure it in, and snap it up in one bite. Such soft skin, such sweet blood. And you are but a greedy, hungry wolf. You know this.

But you are not honorless, and you are not stupid. You can see that this girl can save your life if she so chooses, you need only accept her help. Although if she does aid you, you know you can not eat her. Even you are above that. Nevertheless, one meal is not worth your life.

So when she extends the flower clenched in her hand towards you, you do not bite her hand off at the wrist like you so easily could. Instead you crunch the flower between your teeth, tasting the bitter juice in its petals all the way down your throat. You feel the torn skin on your side grow taught and slowly knit itself back together as you roll onto your feet. The girl takes a small step back. She still fears you. Good. “Thank you.” You growl as you limp into the shadows. You know you will not see her again. The sky is darkening, beginning its red transition to night, and you are not the only hungry thing in the woods. Let some other monster have her.

~Ten Thousand Suns~

Look up at the sky at night. How many stars can you see?

Five, Ten at most,

Visible between the clouds And the fog And the pasty, poison layer of air That separates

Here From nothing.

But just thinkFor each star visible Even across these barriers There are ten thousand more,

Invisible to us, But bright nonetheless.

And these are not just stars, They are suns, In every sense and definition of the word. No less powerful, No less significant

Than our own, revered sun, That orb treasured to us above all.

And on top of theseThe ten thousand suns in our sky,

There are a hundred thousand more,

One for each seashell, For each grain of sand on the beach.

One for every person, And for every smile a person gives another,

Each one so impossibly huge and bright, The human mind can not conceive it.

But even with all this light, All this energy, With all these tens of thousands of suns, There is still room in the universe

For empty space. For darkness.

Can you fathom it?

~Faded Memory~

Summer wind blows

He looks at me as I look back

The waves splash

Birds are chirping

The sun is setting

I look up at the sky

The clouds look like fluffy bunnies

He grabbed my hand I looked back at him

Yet I can't see his face

It's a blur in my memory

Harder and harder to remember

The years go by

Seasons change

It’s fall again

I've stopped searching for what I lost years ago

Yet I still wait

Hoping he’ll come back

To say I love you

To say I miss you

To say I’ll never leave again

To hear him laugh

To hear his voice

Remember his face

It feels like forever

An eternity of waiting

In a body that won't move on

I can't wait any longer

But I don't have a choice

Until I see him again

All I have is a faded memory

Of the one I long for

Nugget

~Secret Nickname~

I have two nicknames

One everyone uses

The second a secret

I like my secret nickname

It reminds me of someone

Someone I was friends with when I was little They thought my first nickname was basic

So I let them make me a new one

One only they could use They thought for days

But the first time they called me by it I knew I really liked it

Although I don't see them anymore I still hold that name dear to my heart

It might be two letters put together

But you made it so it is special I know if I were to see them again

They probably wouldn't remember me

But that is fine

Because I still have my secret nickname

Anonymous nugget

~Starscape~

“Look up, Grace,” my Dad says to me.

I’m 7 years old

“It’s the big dipper,” he says, tacking my shoulder. pointing up a pot-shaped star collection.

It’s just me and my brother in the house now

“That and the little dipper are a part of a larger constellation called ‘the great bear’”

My older siblings left a few years ago. I don’t remember them. Just the cops at our front door.

“How did he get up there?” I ask in an innocent voice.

“He was grabbed by the tail and thrown”

I’m different from everyone

“that's why his tail is longer than a normal bear's.”

I don’t know why I’m not like everyone else

“Wow,” I say, my dad, gleaning to see I was interested in the stars. I was so young and innocent.

“Look up, Grace,” Dad said to me.

I’m 9 years old

“It’s the Andromeda,” he says as I stare up at the Hawaiian sky

With more stars than I’ll see in a lifetime. my anxiety has just started to become noticeable

“And there’s the Milky Way!”

All the stars and plants shine, casting shadows

As if they were curious about us

Instead of the other way around I’m starting to hate school as well as my life

“Look up, Grace,” my Dad says to me.

I’m 12 years old, and hyper feminine

“There's the north star”

My school counselor had Snitch to my parents last week

“I’m cold dad”

I hate him now

“I’m going inside”

I hate everything now

“Oh ok…”

I don’t know why

“Look up, Grace,” my Dad says to me.

I’m 14 years old.

“It’s a full moon”

I’m in crutches

“What moon is it?”

And my heart has stitches

“It’s the Buck Moon”

The friends I did make are leaving me

“Like the male dear?”

And I don’t know who I am

“Yes, do you know why though?”

Or what god has in store for me

“No actually”

I don’t know what my name is

“It’s because all the Bucks are full grown at this time”

Or what pronouns I use

“Oh, ok”

“Look up, Grace,” my Dad says to me.

I’m 15 now

“It’s Orion”

That’s not my name but Dad doesn't need to know that yet

“Orion’s my favorite"

I still don’t have that many friends

“Why is that?”

But I don’t really care anymore

“Because of Gaia, she sent him up there”

I like the friends I have.

“She punished him for saying he could kill every animal”

And I think after all this time I’m starting to like me too

“That's odd that you like it for that reason”

Things haven’t been easy

“I think I like him because after 500 years of being chased by a scorpion"

But I think I’ll just keep focusing on the good things

“I think he might have learned his lesson"

Because I deserve good things

“And I think someone needs to love him…” I’ve finally learned to love the boy inside me…

“That’s sweet… I think I like him too now”

“Yeah…” I say

“I think I like him too”

~starlight~

when i first see you— when we lock eyes, and when you say my name, darling—it’s as if time stops.

like you never left at all.

we’re frozen in a dream; you’re standing ten feet away and grinning as if nothing matters more than seeing me again.

you aren’t real, i know, but i’ll insist otherwise, i’ll pull on each thread of the universe until reality is rewritten to make you so.

i can’t quite say i love you, but i miss you.

i grab your hand. we fit together; two stars hopelessly tangled in each other’s gravity. i hope we end this dance soon and embrace.

i can’t save you after sunrise, you can’t bring yourself to break my heart again, so i’ll hold you tighter and promise to find you.

maybe dreams are enough.

~Soon~

Soon

The world just might be better Soon

We will be free Soon

Is a hope a dream that maybe just maybe

We have a chance to Choose better Soon

We will make the right choices That shows we CARE.

Eleanor C.

~Apple Seeds~

The apple didn't fall far from the tree but did it have to fall rotten to my core

I am just like you

Ruby red cheeks and sugar rotten teeth

“You are the apple of my eye” Are you sure?

Your eyes must be closed. I've had a bite of your apple the bitterness stung my tongue I thought fruit was supposed to be sweet

I didn't fall for this apple.

Elizabeth Woodbury

~Beach Days~

The first step onto the sand felt like opening a forgotten door. Waves crashed over each other, one by one. The salty breeze leaves a distinct taste in my mouth. One that won't be forgotten. Seagulls soar high as the time gently slows. In this brief moment, all worries are released. Sitting at the edge of the rock, I've found my peace.

-beach days

Emery Saldivar

~Are You Serious?~

Week Six, Day 1 of filming Disaster Camp

“So, you’re telling me that the final eight have to drink expired sheep milk for a challenge?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Kylie told Amber. “Even worse, it’s mixed with mayonnaise and pickle juice. I mean, what kind of drongo would think that was a good idea?!”

“Are you serious?!” the younger woman exclaimed. “First, the episode we don’t talk about, now you have to drink poison for… what is it for again?”

“Immunity from elimination.” the older Aussie said. “If a few people refuse to drink it, the ones who did can vote one of them off.”

“And what if one person refuses to drink it?” Amber asked.

“Then they are automatically eliminated.” Kylie added. “But if nobody drinks it, then the producers will stop paying us.”

“What?! Money can’t be that bad, can they?!” Amber recoiled in shock at the Aussie’s statement.

“Money’s okay, but most of the producers are a bunch of selfish old white men who can’t handle change.” Kylie said, squeezing Amber’s hand a bit. “I mean, we’ve learnt that the hard way with how you were treated here. It’s just jarring to me that a couple of old drongos could have that much hate in them.”

“Which reminds me, I’d better talk to Wesley. Have you seen him anywhere?” Amber asked.

“I reckon he’d gone into one of the trailers to rest up a bit.” Kylie told her. “If not then, I dunno what to say.”

“Thanks, Kylie.” Amber told her. “I’ll probably see you in the studio tomorrow watching Hell go by.”

As she chuckled nervously, she shuffled off the couch the two were sitting on and made her way to the off-set trailers. * * *

“Corby, can I talk to you?”

In one of the off-set trailers, Wesley stood up from the armchair and nodded.

“Ok, well, when filming of that episode happens, whatever

you do, DON’T DRINK THE PICKLE MILK.” Amber told him. “I’ve been waiting three weeks for us to leave together, and I’m really, really tired of seeing you suffer. I mean, I hate seeing everyone suffer but you–”

Wesley then put his finger up, got his notebook out of his satchel, and began to write, before showing it to her.

“Yeah, I was already planning on doing that,” he wrote. “I just really hate the direction the show is going, and I’d really like to leave ASAP.”

“Good to know, Wesley.” Amber said as she lightly grabbed both the hands of her cher amour. “Je t'aime tellement.”

Wesley placed his hand on Amber’s cheek and smiled. The two of them shared a quick kiss, and after they both pulled away, foreheads barely touching, Amber spoke again.

“See you after the worst is over, I guess.” she chuckled.

Wesley just responded by kissing her on the forehead.

Foster

~I Hope For The Best.~

Through pain and suffering

Through death and hurt

Through trials and fear

I am reborn

Things all around me Evil, they are But in the light, I can see In the dark, I cannot I hope For the best I strive For life When evil is empowered And I cannot see I will fight For the light. Will you join me?

~waiting in line~

how i’ve been given pampered privileged without meaning try as i might, giving back hadn’t been on my plate from the beginning from what i can tell, for all we know my muscles ache but i still flex them because i know they’ll grow in a lodge in a snowflake deep inside of you gnawing to get out, carving with a plastic spoon my name engraved on your walls sans motive i lie, frantically taking it all in your walls shrink and i am crushed relishing, my eyes roll back mirrors surround me, embrace me and i can’t believe it, every time flowing from every comment and jest all but for the gratification of young, encompassing minds hadn’t we separated, heat emanates pink cloud on my breath and when i open my eyes i knew all along breaking by from start to end you’d been with me up until then find me out, my tussle within this rampant sense of comfort fleeting, just when

Joshua Tree

~Setting Sun~

As I stood on the branches of that silver sprawling tree with branches that glinted golden in the setting sun, I watched this world that I had built myself collapse around me. My black cloak with the silver glint of stars, fluttered in the wind, the last gale to ever bless this world. The mountains that had once graced the sky, reaching up towards the clouds, now crumble and are no longer grand. The rivers, once full and flowing, now only have drops of water. The once-vibrant watercolours I had painted this one with are fading and blurring together into light colours that are devoid of life. I look around, my glittering yellow eyes shining in the golden light. World’s end and begin, it’s a part of the universe and change, it’s inevitable, but...

It doesn't make it feel any better.

A soft crunch of bark behind me broke the silence, unmistakably someone landing behind me.

“You always did have a flair for dramatic endings,”

A voice said. I didn’t turn, “I’ve told you before, this isn’t my fault.”

“And yet…you keep trying, even though this keeps happening.”

“I just want it to…finally turn out for once…but it just won’t.”

I just wanted it to live for once.

…Just for once.

The silence stretched on until they spoke again,

“...I’ll help, and when you see the setting sun in that world, it won’t mean the end.”

~Memories~

I’m trapped. I wish I was free, but I can’t escape. Tiny birds flit through the trees outside my little window. I wish I was one of them. Maybe then I could fly through one of the tiny holes in the stone wall near the ceiling of my prison, and be free at last. My room is small, with just a toilet and a sink in one corner, and a small bed in another. I get two meals a day. One in the morning, one in the evening. The food is always the same. Saltless hard, chunky mashed potatoes, stale bread, dried hard-as-a-rock apples, and a glass of warm, stale water.

I’ve been in the same clothes the entire time I’ve been here, and haven’t been able to wash myself once, unless you count getting my hands wet and rubbing them around my body, which I don't. I feel disgusting.

I remember almost nothing from before I was here. I think back, trying to recall. For the first time since I’ve been in this prison, a memory fills my mind.

I’m in a bright, sunny yellow field. A light breeze brushes my skin, blowing my wavy brown hair around my shoulders. The faint scent of pine trees wafts toward me. I wish I could stay here forever, in this beautiful golden meadow of dandelions with trees all around me. A hand pats my shoulder as Karlynn comes up from behind me and says it’s time to go.

“What?” I ask, barely listening as I stare up at the blue sky full of wispy clouds.

“It’s time for you to get out of here,” says Karlynn.

“Oh.'' I sigh and drop my eyes from the sky. '' Is anyone else coming?” I ask as I turn toward her and stare into those bright blue eyes.

“No.”

I sigh again. I knew she’d say that, but I still had to ask.

“Come on,” Karlynn says. We walk toward the sky ship which will take me to the forest where I must prove myself to the Judges, and to my Bond.

Once we get to the ship, I wave goodbye to her and she nods back. I turn around and walk up the ramp that leads into the dark.

I struggle, trying to stretch the memory. Then suddenly, a scene flashes through my mind.

The Judges' disappointed faces look down at me and know I did something wrong. I failed the test. Failed to prove myself to them. I will never have a True Bond. I failed him.

Who is “him”? I don’t have time to wonder before other memories start racing through my brain. I can't stop them.

I’m on a hard metal table, being wheeled through a hallway, in a horrible cold, blindingly white tiled building…

I feel a sharp pain in the crook of my elbow, then everything goes black…

I try to prolong the memory, but it’s already starting to fade. I wish I could remember more, but at least that was something. I wonder why all these memories are being triggered all of the sudden. What’s the point of wiping my memory — because I’m sure my memory loss didn’t come about from hitting my head too hard — if only a few weeks later, I'm starting to remember things again? None of this makes any sense.

I slump down onto the floor, my back pressed to the wall. The cold seeps through my shirt and into my skin. I've been trapped here for around three weeks, I think. It's hard to keep track of time in this cold prison. I sigh. I really wish I could get out of here, to feel the wind on my face, to see anything besides this gray room.

The small stone door to my room scrapes open and a small tray full of what I assume is hard stale food is pushed out onto the floor. I wait until the door is closed before scooting over to it. Then I get a good look at the meal.

It’s different.

Instead of the same hard apples, same chunky mashed potatoes, same stale bread and water, there's soup, creamy white cheese, and orange juice.

Orange juice!

I haven’t had orange juice in years, but I remember what it tasted like as though it was yesterday. It was delicious. I take a moment to savor the newly recovered memory. Okay, now I need to figure out why my captors would suddenly give me such fancy food. Maybe they’re trying to poison me. After all, I am their prisoner. Or maybe they’re just being nice. I doubt that

though. Who knows, maybe they’re just giving me different food because they think it would be funny to watch me freak out about it. I’m so hungry. I decide to take a risk. I take a small sip of the soup. It tastes so good that it makes me forget my suspicions, and I dig in. I'm licking the last of the creamy white cheese off my fingers when I suddenly get a memory of licking my finger clean just as I am now, only I'm liking off creamy white liquid instead of cheese. Lishk.

Oh wow, I miss lishk. That amazing thick, spicy, creamy white soup with chives, potatoes, dragonfly wings to add a crunch, and bark bird sausage if you were lucky, although most people only could afford to get regular goose or elk. Sometimes it even had rose petals. Mom used to make rose petal lishk every other week. I loved it. We were lucky, being able to afford rose petals that often. I remember that I always took that for granted. I try to dig deeper into the memory. But I can’t. I sit back with a sigh. I feel like I've been sighing a lot lately. My stomach hurts from eating all of that food so fast, and I’m still hungry. Suddenly I'm exhausted, even though I did nothing at all, just like every other day. I get up and flop down on my bed, face forward. I sigh again and close my eyes. I’m asleep almost instantly.

<><><>

I wake up on the ground. Everything is dark, and I have no idea where I am or how long I've been here. I stand and feel wind brushing my skin, but I can't figure out where it’s coming from. Hard stone walls surround me. Soft dirt crumbles beneath my bare feet. I reach up and feel more hard, cold stone. I feel along the walls, looking for an exit. The only thing I find is a small hole near the ceiling. That must be where the breeze is coming from. I suddenly hear a soft creak and then a thump behind me.

“Ixia.”

I spin around, looking for the source of the sound. Suddenly a light flickers on, and I see a teenage girl, holding a lantern. I don’t recognize her at first because of how different she looks from when I saw her three years ago.

“Kyra? What are you doing here?”

Her hair is much longer than it was when I last saw her; it hangs in dark curly waves around her waist. Her skin is a light brown, when it used to be pale, like mine. She must be spending a lot of time outside. Her eyes have a new look to them too. More wild than they used to be.

“Shh.”

Kyra cocks her head to one side, listening. I can hear voices above us, but I can't tell what they're saying. After a minute or two, I hear footsteps and the voices fade away.

“Kyra, what are you—” I start to say.

“Shh,” she says again. “I'm getting you out of here.” She looks up at a trapdoor in the ceiling and softly whistles once. After a moment, I hear footsteps above the trapdoor. It's thrown open, as Kyra twists a dial on the lantern to turn it off.

“You got her?” a woman's voice whispers from above.

“Yeah,”

A rope ladder drops down from the hole, and Kyra motions to me to follow her as she starts to climb it, hooking the lantern around her arm. Once she’s up, I hop onto the ladder. The rope rungs dig into my feet as I climb. When I get to the top, I pull myself onto the stone floor. Three other people fill the narrow stone passageway I find myself in. One of them, a woman who looks around 25, who I assume is the one that spoke earlier, is helping Kyra up from the ground a few feet away from me.

“Thank you, Neela.” says Kyra as she gets up.

I look around at the passageway. It’s a wide stone hall that disappears around a bend not too far away. I look up and see a tall arched ceiling. Large open windows are set in the wall on one side, at what I judge to be five-foot intervals, letting in moonlight from outside. I finally take a look at the other two people that came to rescue me. They're both men, one that’s around 50, and one that looks to be around my age, 17 or 18. I don’t recognize the younger one, with the shadows obscuring most of his face. But then the light shifts outside, lighting up a smile I would know anywhere.

“Varlen!” I cry as I launch myself into my brother's arms.

“Shh! Those guards could be back any time,” warns the woman called Neela, jogging down the passageway and turning the corner.

“I missed you so much,” I whisper in Varlen’s ear.

“I missed you too, Ixia.”

“Do you know where we are?” I ask him as I pull away.

“Yes. We’re in the Prison Castle.”

“What! How did we get here?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No… Wait, yes!” I start to say, but then the dream shifts and suddenly we’re hurrying down the passageway, my bare feet slapping on the hard, cold stone. We turn left, then right, then left again. We

stop before a wooden door. I hear voices behind it and see light coming from underneath. Kyra looks at the older man and nods. He takes something small and round from his pocket and rolls it under the door. For a second, nothing happens. Then I hear the voices abruptly stop and then two loud thumps, like something hitting the floor. The older man opens the door slightly, and peeks around it, making sure it’s safe to go in. He sucks in a breath, then opens the door wider and beckons for us to follow him into the room. Neela follows him a second later.

“Hold your breath,” Kyra whispers to me before we walk in. I do as she says, then walk in with Kyra, with Varlen right after us. I hear him close the door softly behind us.

There’s two people lying on the floor, looking like they just suddenly fell asleep. There’s no sign of the little round thing the man pushed under the door.

We go through a door on the other side of the room, and into the hallway beyond.

“What did you do to them?” I ask the older man in a whisper, once the door is closed and we can breathe again.

“They're just asleep. They’ll wake up in a few hours.” he says, then starts to jog along the dark hallway.

We follow him for a few minutes before coming to a halt at a window that overlooks a lake and a grassy plain. Varlen takes a long rope from a bag around his shoulder and ties it to an empty iron torch bracket. He throws the rope over the edge of the window and hops onto the stone sill. He grabs the rope in both hands, then slowly starts backing his way down the wall. After about three minutes, he whisper-calls up to us, “All right, I’m down!”

Kyra goes next, looking a lot less confident than Varlen as she lowers herself down the wall. Then, after about five minutes, Neela goes. Then the older man. Then it’s just me. I make my way to the window. I glance down, then quickly back up. It’s at least a few stories up. I’m not exactly afraid of heights, it’s just that the idea of hanging off a wall 30 or 40 feet up with only my own hands, a rope, and a metal bracket to hold me up, scares me. I know it’s silly. Four other people have already gone down that rope and not fallen off. But there’s still that part of me that’s like, “what if I do fall, or what if something breaks’?

I take a deep breath. It’s going to be fine. I climb up onto the window and grasp the rope in both hands. I stand up. It’ll be fine, I tell myself. I walk backward until my feet are at the edge of the sill.

Slowly I move one foot off and balance my toes against the stone wall. I inch my other foot off and rest it on the wall too. I take a breath and then let it woosh out of me. My foot moves down the wall. Then the other. I slide my hands down the rope.

All I see is the wall and the rope in my hands. The wind brushes my side. My hands burn. I glance down. I still have a little more than half way to go. It seems like an impossibly long way. Suddenly my foot slips. For a second one foot is dangling off the wall, but then I swing it back up. I pause for a moment, trying to calm my pounding heart. I start edging my way down again. All I focus on is the fact that I only have a little ways to go, and then I’ll be on the ground and I’ll hopefully never have to do this again. Then, finally, I slide my foot down another inch, and instead of finding more hard stone, I feel soft grass tickling my toes.

I let out a relieved breath. I put both feet on the ground and let go of the rope. The adrenaline starts to leach out of me, steadying my shaky legs.

“Where are we going from here?” I ask, shaking out my sore hands.

“Call the dragon, Esiyra.” says Kyra, looking over at the older man.

Dragon? I wonder. Where’d they get a dragon? I feel like I should know. But I can’t remember.

The man, Esiyra, makes a shriek I've only ever heard a dragon make before. I didn’t even know a human could do that.

Nothing changes for a moment. Then I suddenly hear a noise similar to Esiyra’s shriek. It’s a long, twisted, high pitched sound that seems to last forever. I’m so distracted by it, I don’t notice the dragon flying toward us until it’s landed right in front of us.

The dragon is beautiful. I know all dragons are pretty, and all the ones I’ve met before were, but none of them were gorgeous like this one is. Even in the moonlight I can see how shiny and bright her scales are. It’s like they’re glowing. Her horns are perfectly round waves, the feathers sprouting from the end of them are glowing like her scales as they wave in the wind. And her snout. It has the perfect shape. Long, but not too long, round but not too round. But it’s her eyes that make her really beautiful. They’re not tear drop shaped, like most dragons. They're the shape of an almond and bright emerald green, with flecks of blue and gold. But the thing about her eyes that really make her beautiful is the fact they look so kind and gentle and warm. It’s like if you look into them, they will wrap a safe warm blanket around you

and all your worries will melt away forever.

“Hello, Esiyra. Is this the one we came here to rescue?” asks the dragon.

“Yes, this is Ixia.” answers Esiyra.

“Hello, Ixia. I am Sings High.” the dragon says to me.

“Hello,” I say. A bell dings in the back of my head. That name reminds me of something. I’m not sure what though…

I sit bolt upright. That dream was a memory.

Huh. Everyone in that memory–dream was speaking the common language, except… What was his name? Esiyra? Anyway, I’m pretty sure Esiyra was speaking in the dragon language when he called Sings High. Wow. Hardly anyone — human or creature — tries to learn any languages other than their own and the common language, so that means Esiyra is special for speaking the dragon language.

Another thing: I wonder if I'm in the “Prison Castle”. I guess I have to figure that out later. I remember that little bell that went off in my head. I wonder what that was about. It seems to be connected to the dragon in my dream — Sings High, I think her name was — but how? Her name sounds familiar. Like I knew someone with her name. I freeze as I suddenly get a flashback of me, in a sunny, grassy clearing. In front of me stands a yellow dragon, who is not much taller than me.

“My name is Suns High.” he says as he smiles down at me. And then the memory’s gone. I flop back down on my bed, thinking hard. Who is Suns High? I know he was important to me. Then it hits me. Suns High is my Bond. Or was my Bond. Who knows if he’s even still alive? The idea that Suns High is dead is so suddenly horrible that I gasp at the sudden pain as I try to blink back tears. I have to think about something else. Now.

I frantically race around in my head, trying to find something to think about, to distract myself. I come up with Bonds. I fill my head with everything I can remember about them. Every human child is born with a Bond already chosen for them. The same is true for the non-human Bond. Any animal that can carry a human in some way could be chosen for a Bond, but not all of them are, as there are always more of them than there are humans.

A few of the most common non-human Bond species are dragons, bats, eight-winged butterflies, and anterpillars, a mix between a type

of giant caterpillar and equally huge ants. Once both Bonds are five years old, their parents have them meet each other. From that moment on, they are official Bonds. They are to become the best of friends and they are to help each other in any way they can for the rest of their lives. If they are not friends after a year of knowing each other, then they are separated and not given new Bonds, but this hardly ever happens.

The goal of every pair of Bonds is to become True Bonds. If you and your Bond are True Bonds, it means you have proven you are truly loyal to your Bond, and that you are worthy of having a Bond. You are officially considered an adult, you are given more respect, and you are given your assignment, your job.

Bonds must pass a series of tests to become True Bonds. The earliest a pair of Bonds can take the True Bonding tests is when they are both 16. If you or your Bond don’t pass any one of the tests, then the Bond that failed is… put somewhere, I can’t remember. The Bond that didn’t fail becomes one of the Bondless, which are the ones who either had a Bond that failed one of the True Bonding tests, or didn’t get along with their Bond, or… were never given a Bond? I’m not sure if I remember that right, but I think I do. It seems like it’s right anyway. I still feel like I don’t remember everything though. What can I be forgetting? It seems like I’ve remembered everything except the part about where the failed Bond goes. I sigh. I don’t know and I can’t figure it out. Will I ever figure it out? I slide off my bed and go over to my tiny window to watch the sun rise.

Liana K

~Fantasy~

Fantasy is so much more than a genre

It is a universe of many different worlds to escape to

A place to go when you need to cut the chains

The chains binding you to this earth

You can go anywhere in the safety of your bedroom

You're never bored

There are always people to meet

Things to see

Places to be

Time to explore

~untitled story~

Martha, with her soiled apron and once beautiful, but now almost rotted housedress, stood in the corner, listening to Missy’s toils as she spouted the wonderings, wishings, and misses of her day, as she always did from the times of five-thirty to six-fourty-five after the bus home. Both of the friends got off work at four, took the same bus home, which was an hour, and walked back to Martha’s for some refreshments. The bus ride home had been Martha’s time to spurt to Missy about her day, but once the kitchen was reached, the conversation flipped.

As Martha stewed the tea kettle, she listened to Missy complain for the fourth time this hour that she felt she was failing her children in some way.

“But, Missy, don’t ya think you’re holding yourself to such high standards? Standards that no one should be expected to reach?” Martha cut in.

“Well, poor little George has just been thrown against the wall walking back from the school again, and I have a feeling he isn’t tellin me every time it’s been happening,” Missy murmured, looking away towards the window to hide her disgust. “I want a better life for him, for all of them.”

Martha stood, looking at Missy’s face for a good, long time, until Missy quietly stood up, thanked her for the tea, and began the short trek one house down to her own. Martha never moved from her post in the corner, deep in thought through it all. Her mind was racing; she’d only seen Missy have a tiny bit of uncertainty in their entire friendship, and that was only right when she got the call about her husband’s death, but her best friend looked troubled. Troubled beyond Martha’s help.

As Missy slowly walked back to her own small house, she contemplated the choice of bringing children into the world in the south,

at this time of apartness, now more than ever, and hate for black people seemed to become stronger by the hour. She felt insecure, uncertain, doubtful, and, above all, felt that she was responsible for her children’s pain.

Her day went on as normal, without a hitch. Her children came home, George with some new bruises. She cooked dinner, cleaned the house, and firmly told everyone to go to sleep, though she did not, and would not for the rest of the night.

As a late night morphed into an early morning, Missy Tranton spent her time thinking. At one point, she wondered what time it could be. The sun had long since set, and there was no way to keep track of the hours passing, as the only clock was in the kitchen. She weighed sneaking out of her bedroom to see, but decided against it, as waking up her peacefully sleeping kids seemed selfish. She wanted to talk to her husband, but the other side of the bed had been cold since the year of his passing. Her next best option was Martha, but worrying her even more seemed futile. She wanted to tell Martha that she felt like her walls were closing in, stronger than before, and that she couldn’t push them back in place like times previous. She wanted to tell Martha that she had this horrible, eating feeling that something was going to shake her world apart soon. She wanted to tell Martha that she’s scared of the fact that she can’t prevent it. She couldn’t tell Martha, so she told herself, over and over, until the sun broke through the dusty sky.

~Balancing~

Green light through the trees, yellow through the blinds

Darkness falls and dreams creep out, lovely and confusing

Sometimes horrifying, sweating and terrible

The air gets cold and dark and leaves swirl down, the world trotting happily through the dying trees, then Halloween. Soon Christmas comes and the cold gets warm and light

Bright like fire and sun and white snow, bright like comfortable shadows and love that doesn’t have to mean anything

Bright like a night when sleep is impossible because everything is together and exciting, not because you can’t keep balancing with your eyes closed

N. R.

~The City of Fallen Stars.~

I wake up from a nightmare and a loud explosive sound. Who am I exactly? I am an astral creature called a celestialite that lives in a city of stars. I am gigantic, over fifty thousand feet tall. I am one of the smaller astral giants but I am still bigger than some. I live in a large city with tens of thousands others and we roam the universe. Although we are large and powerful we are not invincible, and my nightmare makes me feel nervous.

Sweating, I look outside, and peek through my hot, burning window. I see a dark but powerful and bold glowing light illuminating down the scattered galactic roads. I run outside and see that my whole neighborhood has turned from glowing powerful stars into large clouds of dust, helium and the old remnants of exploded stars. The area is a desolate wasteland full of the lost souls of my neighbors. I wipe the sleep out of my eyes and look around hoping I was just seeing things. Nope. It’s reality.

I step through the glowing, broken street made of flame and I step quickly hoping that everyone else is here. I sprint through the empty streets hoping for a face but all I see is astral dust and dark, burning light that cuts through the dark. I run faster and faster until I’m done and my lungs feel like they are exploding and my legs are jelly. I collapse on a chilling sidewalk of flame and heated helium, my mind racing and heart pounding. This is a dream, right? I stand up and run again, with my body screaming at me to stop but my mind takes over and I can’t.

I finally leave the neighborhood and halt at town square. I look around and see more dust and endless lights. My eyes burn, my head hurts, my legs are completely dead. I think this is it then I look at my skin and I start glowing faintly and my hands start changing colors and fading out into astral dust. Yup. This is it for sure, I say to myself. I stand up and start limping around searching for a sign, my hands are now barely hands anymore. I feel my soul fading faster than my body,

and as soon as I think I’m lost I hear a weak, faded and familiar voice saying in shock.

“Sidius, is that you?” I swiveled my head around in shock looking until my dull eyes rested upon one of my good friends named Steilla standing in front of me, half faded away.

Stellia lives only a couple solar systems away from where I lived. She is about as tall as me and she has long glowing hair and pretty blue eyes. My eyes widened half in terror and surprise and glowed dimly, hot tears gliding down my fading face.

“What has happened to you?” I say breathlessly and in distress.

“I am not sure but I awoke and my house crumbled in front of me, and then I started to fade away and now. And now look at me, I am losing myself.”

I stare wide-eyed in terror. "Maybe. Maybe someday we shall all be reborn and for us. I think it’s best we rest in peace without worrying about this. I don’t like this idea but, I think the best thing we can do is enjoy the beautiful and peaceful expanse for the last time and enjoy it.” I really tried to enjoy it but my time ran out too fast so I guess this is it.

Noah

~THE HOTEL OF BABEL /// Chapter 15 Excerpt~

“I am the one to grant you passage,” the figure spoke, their voice tired yet commanding. They seemed expressionless, like a soldier, their halberd balanced across their shoulders, arms draped over it as if on a cross. Their helmet hid their eyes from the moonlight, but Tasha and Pokov could still see them biting their lip, as if they regretted what they were about to do. Their skin was pale, almost a light blue in color. It matched the silver hue of their armor to a tee. They didn’t seem to balance the halberd as it lay across their arms. It was as if they were constantly, perfectly steady. Graphite-gray hair covered one of their eyes, yet they seemed just as young as them.

Noah Laible

~Dear Lord, Dear Lord Of Mine~

"Now, dear lord, dear lord of mine. While I understand our situation may seem… ineffable, to the common-man to whom you used to oh so faithfully be, it requires a certain… permanence, which you seem to writhe your way around at every which way. I remember that your world is not one to take lightly, but for the rest of this day, I request that you spend it here, doing your work, clutching and pushing the hands of the clock. Meanwhile, your friends, though they may be occupied, are of your greatest concern, this we know. So, when you see them, specifically that… destructive one, relay the following, exactly as I tell you."

“Your wrath is righteous. Your hands are pure. Cleave theirs as you see fit. We’ll see to it.”

"Until then, dear lord, dear lord of mine."

Noah Laible

~Colors~

Blue. Purple. Orange. Which one is it? Blue once, maybe still. Orange, too. But then the purple creeped in like shadows at sunset. It crawled and clawed until it was all I could see. Until it was all I could hear.

It never goes away. Not really. It only dulls into background noise. The blue and orange are muted, now.

Maybe it's red. There's red staining my hands, and I can't wash it off. I've tried.

Blue and orange and purple and red.

Green and red, but not crimson like my red. Red like strawberries. Green like pine trees.

Then green becomes purple.

For a while, nothing but purple is left. But slowly, it begins to fade.

Blue and orange, green, and red. Purple still lurking in the corners.

Sunrise is nearing.

~Divergent: Down Cast~

Chapter 1

The brick wall behind me began to make a sound, I knew from the many adventures I had in the past 2 weeks, not to be worried by it. In the last 2 weeks I had dodged 21 falling brick walls, so I could handle a 22nd brick wall practically killing me. It began to lean on to me and my sister, Coraline, Coraline and I knew what to do, run. By the time the brick wall was out of sight, me and Coraline were standing in a Mini Mart, or what was a Mini Mart anyway. Since last Tuesday nothing in our world has been the same, so naturally this “Mini Mart” was no longer a Mini Mart. Shelves of Taki’s and Lays were scattered everywhere. The glass case that once held soda and juice, was now broken. Broken glass covered the floor.

Coraline and I were very careful not to cut our feet on the glass. Even though we were both wearing shoes, they were covered in holes and looked like I owned them my whole life. Most kids at my school had new shining shoes, like Converse or Nike, but for me I had these shoes since fifth grade, and that was four years ago.

My sister Coraline had new seventy-three dollar shoes from the mall. We had “visited” the mall a week ago. It wasn’t really “visiting,” it was more walking in and taking things without paying. Although there wasn’t really a way to anyway, cuz there was no one to give the money to.

Me and Coraline split up to try to find any food or drinks that we could save for later. Because Coraline had shoes that weren’t covered in holes, she took the drinks, which left me with the snacks. As I was searching for a non smashed bag of Taki’s, I realized that my sister hated Taki’s, so I found her a bag of Lay’s potato chips.

It was starting to get dark and we needed a place to stay, and the “Mini Mart” was not a good place to sleep. The Mini Mart had barely any walls, which was not a lovely place to spend the night.

Coraline came back with an armfull of soda and apple juice. We continued down the long alleyway behind the Mini Mart. Coraline and I were getting tired, so we found a place in the alleyway to rest. Coraline handed me a creamsicle soda. I hated creamsicle

soda, but that's all they had. Coraline sipped on her soda, and we both looked up and out into the distance and into space.

Chapter 2

By the time morning hit, I was wide awake. Coraline however, was not, so after many tries and attempts to wake her up, she finally woke up.

After a breakfast of Taki’s and apple juice, we were off.

Last night me and Coraline had decided to go to seven-eleven, the one problem was it was 5 hours away from the “Mini Mart”. My one goal for this “mission” is to find a working slushy machine. I love a nice blue-rasberry slushy.

After 5 hours of walking, with a few breaks, we made it to seven-eleven. And the best part: it had a working slushy machine. I graded a cup and filled it to the brim with the blue-rasberry slushy, and Coraline filled hers with Very Berry Punch. We left with our slushies and more food.

Chapter 3

Now at this point, you might be wondering why the heck me and my sister are alone in a seven-eleven, well that requires me to go back a week and seven days to when the world fell apart.

Me and my sister Coraline had loved reading together. We would sit on the window sill in my room, all curled up in soft fuzzy pink blankets my mom made for us, and would read. We would read things like The Princess and the Pea, or Rapunzel, something cheesy like that. Truth be told, a week ago I loved Princess and the Pea, but now that the world has fallen apart, I would rather punch the Princess and the Pea in the nose.

One day when me and Coraline were peacefully sitting in our own corners reading, we heard a sound, a very loud sound. And it wasn’t just another one of those stupid boys that lived next door that would come and scream in our front yard. It was a woman, she looked to be in her twenties, she had red hair that went about to her shoulder. The problem with this woman was that she had no right to be in our neighborhood. So naturally I had the nerve to run downstairs and shout at the woman to GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE! But this woman was not here to start a war or to do something bad, she was here to warn us of the dangers that were to happen in the next two weeks.

However I was not in the mood for listening to a lunatic lady

that doesn’t even live in our neighborhood. But my sister Coraline, however, freaked out and ran down the stairs, her green Big Into Energy labubu bouncing on her thigh.

I was not freaking out for two reasons, one like I said SHE DOES NOT LIVE IN OUR NEIGHBORHOOD! And secondly, she is a total lunatic. Why would I listen to a lady I just met today?

I sat in my spot in the window, adjusting my pink pearl bow. I stared down at my BlackPink t-shirt and looked back up to find that my house had gotten very quiet, more quiet than usual. And not the kind of quiet that comes when my parents go out to a bar with their friends and leave me in charge of Coraline. At this point it had gotten so quiet that I even thought Coraline was gone.

Even though I loved my spot in the window where I could see the whole neighborhood, I got down anyway to see why it was so quiet. Coraline probably ran outside screaming and my parents are trying to get her back inside, but upon arriving downstairs I found Coraline under the dining room table, head in her arms, crying. Crying like there was no tomorrow. She looked like she was told that she was grounded for dating a boy who was now a, well I would want to say the B word, but I won’t, so let’s say a loser.

I kept back, not sure if I should walk over to her. I stood there, frozen, not sure if I should go back upstairs and wait for her to return. I chose option 2, I knew from experience that she was not one to talk to when she was in a bad mood.

I walked back upstairs, the floorboards creaking under my feet. Just as I reached the top, I noticed that the lady was gone. Now you might think, wow-hoo that's great! Well, no, because everyone else in my neighborhood was gone. This is when I knew something was wrong. Maybe I did underestimate the whole “situation”.

Before I went back down, I grabbed a tote bag that contained my ruby red Stanley cup, a bag of taki’s, a knitted sweater my grandma made me, and an emergency phone in case anything happened to my phone. On the way down I also grabbed my headphones and pink big into energy labubu.

In the kitchen I also grabbed a pack of water bottles and three diet pepsi’s.

I sat down next to Coraline and asked her what was wrong, after she told me, I knew we had to get out of here. I grabbed Coraline’s hand, as my hand touched the cold metal of the door handle, I looked back at my house. I knew I might never see it again so I thought one more look would never hurt.

And that, my readers, is how me and my sister got into an abandoned seven-eleven.

Chapter 4

By the time me and my sister had woken up, it was raining, which was lovely, because that meant we had to walk in the damn rain. I don’t hate rain, but when there are no walls or fully intact buildings then you kinda want to hate the rain, I also was not wearing the proper shoes for rain.

After a quick breakfast of Taki’s and Cream Soda, me and Coraline were on the way. I was very careful not to step in any of the rain puddles that were accumulating in the holes of the uneven pavement. Lucky for us the government was “not in the budget” to replace the roads and sidewalks, which meant there were lots of holes and broken concrete.

We continued walking by lines of parked cars and discarded protest signs that read things like STOP ICE, or to F ICE, or to let the immigrant people go. I dodged some broken glass and my foot brushed against a good copy of the 2006 Winnie the Pooh. I figured that the person who owned it would never return, so I could technically keep it and make some cash out of it. I thought that was an excellent idea, so I picked up the book and set it in my tote bag.

I looked up and my gaze was met upon my favorite Chinese place. I have been going there with my family for 3 years now. We go there every New Year's Eve and get Chinese food. I remember the first year we went there, I made friends with every staff member that worked there. They drastically felt like family to me.

Upon walking over to see if there was still some orange chicken left, I heard something, the slightest faint sound of metal against broken bricks. Before I could stop myself, it CAME OUT.

“RUN!” I shouted to Coraline. I ran as fast as the wind could take me, Coraline running on my heels. I knew what the metal sound was, it was THE ROBOTS, they belonged to the government, and they were one of the two causes of this whole "situation". They went around trying to find any humans who “survived” the whole “situation” thing.

To Be Continued…………………....

~A Bowl of Red Grapes~

The room is warm. So warm it chokes me.

She is sitting on a white couch whispering her secrets Sheepishly to the sunlight

That glimmers between the red petals of Hibiscus flowers and bright green Monstera leaves.

I desire to know what She is whispering about But I am too far from her To hear.

In fact

I am too far from her in general. Spiritually, Physically And everywhere in between

I stand in the shadow of the doorway

Looking down at the porcelain bowl of red grapes That I cradle in my freckled hands, The fruit she requested a few moments before.

And I willingly got it for her Like a dog

Blinded by aspiration And eager to please

The room is dusty And I, the dog, am out of tricks.

and step into the light, And the floorboards creak under my bare feet

She turns her head to the side, Giving me half of her rosy smile.

She’s beautiful.

Her hair is honey against the sun And Her dark eyes swirl in the light Deep and rich like the Spanish coffee in her hand And her voice is even more grand.

‘Hola Hannah’

I nod in response, shuffling around the couch And sitting next to her Fiddling with a chip in the edge of the bowl.

It cracks And a small bit of glass slides to the bottom of the dish I watch guiltily, as it lazily slips into the puddle of water Beneath the red fruit.

She doesn’t notice But I do, and it bothers me

She sets her coffee on the arm of the couch, and takes the bowl from me before I could flick it out.

I shift to stare at her for a moment, My eyes buggy And nervous. She looks back at me silently

We stare at each other for a moment I could see that sparkling shard of glass in her eyes Like a star in her cup of coffee, That now rests on the couch arm.

She clears her throat I flinch and look away quickly

Face red, I tell myself not to look at her.

I sit there stiffly

As she eats a few grapes

She watches me

And I blush, shrinking into myself.

Don’t look

Don’t look

I glance at her curiously Then look away just as quickly.

She leans forward trying to meet my own eyes, I shift so my frizzy hair covers my red face

She takes another grape.

The view of her garden Is pretty

But my eyes still find their way back to her

She’s prettier than the flowers and it’s so very hard not to stare

I watch as she slowly eats more I don’t even think of eating a grape I just watch her

Through the veil of my long hair.

She meets my gaze for a moment Curious.

I look away quickly

Mentally scolding myself

She leans forward

Don’t look,

Don’t look!

‘¿Por qué te escondes, Hannah?’

Her voice is sweet

I don’t answer, too focused on not making eye contact, I avoided her eyes like she might be Medusa

If I continued to stare at her beauty, I would surely turn to stone.

She sighs,

and places a cold hand on my head, The sun shifts, And the insects of her garden chirp

My hair is red and frizzy, Her golden ring is cool against my head, my face is redder than before, I end up shrinking away from her touch

Leaning away to the side, Glancing at her once more with a rather confused look.

She sighs again, And takes back her hand, setting it against the fabric of my black dress. I watch as her fingers trace the edge.

She takes her hand back, And plucks another grape from its stem, I notice the shard of glass, sticking to the side of the fruit.

I open my mouth to tell her, But she has already placed the grape in her mouth, I swallow.

Unable to look away now.

I watch as she eats the rest of them, Leaving the bare stem in the puddle of water, That pools at the bottom of the bowl,

I don’t eat any, I let her have it all. I worry that my love for her, is too fragile.

She coughs, A spot of red blood pooling in her hand.

Rory Wood

~Mannequin~

The mannequin

In the window, Of my next door neighbor, With their grand old garden, And old cars, And snowbirds, Is a mannequin. It stares down at me as I walk. It's somewhat comforting. I wave to it, occasionally. I often think of its purpose.

Maybe the snowbirds make clothes. Maybe they make grand outfits For the lifeless figure.

My parents like the snowbirds, We take their garbage can to the curb, Their personal paradise in suburbia, Is completed with the mannequin.

Or, maybe, It's to scare the kids that walk by. It's in front of a beautiful window. With panes that look like jewels, And a frame that captures the figure perfectly.

There is a tree across the way, From the mannequin house. So big that you can walk inside the trees leaves, Hidden by the thick pine needles. My brother and I often play there. Light filters through the needles, And dots the floor.

The mannequin watches the golfers,

Watches me roll down the hill, When the ground is covered in snow, Watches my dog yip and bark at the passerbys.

I hope the mannequin does not leave. As much as it unsettles me, It's comforting to have it there.

~A Night Like Any Other~

How dark the night can appear

Voids intertwined with one another

Sparks flying through the speckled sky

Grass as soft as a blanket

The smell of mildew on your clothing

Socks soaked

Hair draped across your face

Drips of dew drops from your hands

Darkness in light

Sickness in health

A night no one else will remember

But the moon is full

The stars are bright

And the rain is heavy

How quiet a night can sound

~Excerpt from Tidal Shifts: ...but then I hear your laughter.~

The salt stings my eyes as I fight to keep them open, my need to know what this water knows, what it has witnessed, outweighing my discomfort.

And it tells me. It tells me about all the moon’s cycles. About gravity, and time, and Change.

It speaks of thundering waves, of whirlpools and shipwrecks.

But it also speaks of light. And I ask - does it remember? “Yes.” It remembers everything. It remembers Us.

Violet Matsumoto

~Star fall~

Star fall

The night sky

The cold sky

The dark sky

The silence in the sky

The shape

The light

The details in the sky

The parts that bring the sky together

Every star

Every light

Every night

Someone wishes

A star shines brighter with every wish

A star shines because of the night

Looking up, the stars shines high

It all creates a whole

Everything is connected

Everything is falling

Everything is bright

Everything is dark

One by one

Star by star

Light by light

Darkness by Darkness

The sky falls

The sky dies

The sky is losing the light

The stars are disappearing

Darkness is taking over The stars fall over The stars are gone forever

Light is gone till it can be reached again

Alora Alsleben

~two martians and an unstable dyson sphere~

*Two martians hanging out in a spaceship orbiting a Dyson sphere.

“You know what would be really funny?” …

“Do you wanna know what would be really funny?”

“What.”

“If the star blew up”

“What?”

“Yeah like if it died and there was a supernova and it broke all our technology and stuff”

“I mean yea I guess it would be interesting”

“Yeah… We should go on a space adventure together”

“I’m good”

“If we leave now we can make it back before eating time tomorrow”

“No dude we can’t leave post, green baby would kill us”

“It would be really cool though”

“There’s nothing for light years anyway it would just be empty space”

“I keep trying to tell you dude there’s more to space than just our little ship and the star and eating time and cool games”

…

“Oh my god”

“What’s up?”

“Look at the star”

“Oh my god”

“Yeah dude do you see that "

"Yeah"

"That’s totally not normal we need to do something”

“What do we do”

“I don’t know

"Call green baby Martian boss boy call him right now”

“Okay... He's not picking up”

“Why is that your contact for him”

“What?”

“‘Green baby Martian stupid boss weak baby’”

“What about it?”

“If he sees that he’ll snatch you up and take you away and lock you up”

“…okay”

“Do you think we’re gonna die?”

“I mean probably if it does actually blow up like you were saying then yea I guess in that case”

“Are you sure we can’t leave or something?

“I don’t think so I’m sorry dude”

“No it’s okay it’s whatever I had good food today I don't really care" …

“You wanna play a game?”

“Yeah what do you want to play”

“I don’t know what do you wanna do?”

*The two martians play super monkey ball as the star blows up, killing the both of them and destroying all their technology.

The star died because it was old.

“landon” berndt

~Radiant~

I can feel my body tiring out

I’m barely running on anything And can barely exist right now

How am I still here?

Let me go

I’m so tired

I can feel my core dying

I barely have the power to breathe

As I fall through this empty world

This place I've experienced for so long

This place I've witnessed so many things from Good And bad

My time has come though

I'm not ready leave such a beautiful

But awful place

No I have no more time

My death won't be forgotten

I will leave a mark on this world

And I’m not going down peacefully

I’m going down violently

Catastrophically

Yet radiantly

~Applepie~

Applepie, tart but sweet

You lift my heart up and I can never stay defeat

Around you, you fill the atmosphere with warmth, Approval, love and understanding.

Apples and their core, your core is bright Like a starlight, beaming and glistening I want to make you into an Applepie,

Support you like how you support me, And never feel defeat

~Don Go~

Good. i eat blueberries

Yummmm

Rain rain

Don go do n go

I love you soooooooooooo.

Rain

Cold

Im wet

Good. smell.

Anonymous

~star cycle~

a dark sky vast with glowing lights a dark sky vast with mystery filled with artifacts of the unknown.

its inside carrying clouds of swirling dust and remnants of dead stars, clumping together.

creating an illuminating silhouette to the earth below.

a symbol of rebirth and transformation grasping the concept of being able to find beauty in chaos, called a celestial nursery for stars, the intellectual nebulae.

in a dark sky vast with glowing lights a dark sky vast with mystery filled with artifacts of the unknown.

it's inside holding many catastrophic events one a star that instantaneously increases in brightness creating an incredible explosion, ejecting its mass. then becoming an emblem for renewal yet resilience. releasing the guts of once a star, but now a great supernova. quickly leaving behind a fearful, inescapable disk.

happening in a dark sky vast with glowing lights a dark sky vast with mystery filled with artifacts of the unknown.

this disk, so immense not even the speed of light can get away from its gravitating pull swallowing anything in its path. representing an empty void of death or despair a metaphor for an inevitable end. known as the point of no return, the destructive black hole.

however, all is unseen from the earth below you can only visualize at the dark sky vast with glowing lights the dark sky vast with mystery filled with artifacts of the unknown.

it's inside illustrating rebirth, resilience, and soon death. creating a somewhat cycle, for the glowing stars above.

~stardust~

my love for you is greater than the explosion of light coming from a supernova, our connection is deeper than a bright constellation and the nebula inside us forms new constellations with each touch.

I feel an intense pull gravitating towards you as if you were a black hole. and I believe that I am a reflection of you. as if you were the sun and I was the moon. revolving around you.

every time you leave, I know our love should last, and you will always turn back like how a comet always returns to the solar system.

our care for each other feels like a dance, as if we were planets orbiting each other so complex, so ethereal like the vastness of a magical galaxy

and my love for you is greater than the depth of our entire universe our connection is as if we were the dust from the same sparkling star.

You can't see the stars tonight

They've been bleached from the sky

One day I will leave to find them

Anonymous ~Untitled~

~Walgreens Run~

The sliding doors of Walgreens opened and struck Solomon’s eyes with sterile fluorescent light. Compared to the dimness outside, he could almost believe he was back in heaven again. The store was completely empty, which made sense. Who would be in a Walgreens at two in the morning? Except them, of course. A tired-eyed cashier glanced at them as they walked in, probably trying to decide whether they were stable and sober enough not to cause trouble during his already miserable shift.

“Do you need anything else while we’re here?” Vincent asked as they headed toward the back of the store, toward the only thing they really needed: food.

“Ibuprofen. I’ve had a horrible headache for the past two days, and it’s starting to drive me insane.”

“Are you sure it’s not from trying to replace two nights of sleep with a box of energy drinks?” Vincent asked with a smile.

The urge to pull out the cross right then and end this nightmare was strong. But doing it in the middle of a public place–even an empty one–was a bad idea and would only cause more problems. Besides, he needed Vincent right now, whether he liked it or not. So instead he sighed as they walked into the food aisle and muttered, “I actually believe it’s from someone’s constant complaining,” and left it at that.

The aisle was filled with bright two-serving cereal boxes, endless rows of Campbell’s canned soups, and packaged ramen that Solomon refused to ever buy because it would make this situation seem even more pathetic. Half-reading labels, Solomon grabbed whatever looked at least decent and tossed it into the small blue basket dangling from his arm. Meanwhile, Vincent shopped like a picky healthnut mom, examining the nutrition label on everything and taking ages to read it just to slowly put it back on the shelf.

“We need something other than junk to eat,” he said, hovering over Solomon’s shoulder.

“What are you talking about?”

Vincent ignored him and reached past to grab the only vegetable soup on the shelf, flipping it over to scan the label.

“We should stop at an actual grocery store next time. Isn’t

WinCo twenty-four hours?” He paused, turning the can back around. “You like lentils?”

“What is up with you all of a sudden?”

Solomon grabbed the can out of his hands and examined it. The picture on the front showed an orange, watery-looking soup in a white bowl with vegetable chunks floating in it. If that was the best picture they could put on the front, what did it really look like?

“I just think if I’m not allowed to eat how I want, then at least we should be making healthy choices.”

Solomon scoffed. “And why do I have to get dragged into this?”

“You drag me into everything you do! And also,” Vincent grabbed Solomon’s arm and held it up, making the thinness of his wrist obvious. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you eat. I think all you ate yesterday was a share-sized bag of Nerds Gummies and three energy drinks. That can’t be good. Like, at all. Just because you technically can’t die doesn’t mean you can’t run this body into the ground. Isn’t that a sin or something?”

“What do you care about my health?” Solomon pulled his arm back. But Vincent did have a point, which he would never admit.

“Because I don’t want to deal with the consequences of you ending up in the hospital. I don’t know—passing out from lack of sleep and crashing the car. Maybe having a heart attack. Something stupid. And I don’t want to have to play dead either.”

“Wouldn’t going to the hospital get you out of this mess? I thought you said you wanted me dead before. Or at least out of your hair.”

Solomon noticed he had subconsciously set the vegetable soup into the basket and hoped Vincent wouldn’t notice.

“Well, first of all, the only way you’re dying is by my hands. And think about it, what would happen if you got sent to the hospital with some… well, literally anything. It would kind of suck if they found out your blood is all sparkly and stuff.”

He dropped two boxes of cereal claiming to be heart-healthy and organic into the basket before clearing his throat to make a point and continuing. “I mean, wouldn’t they send you to a lab or something? Then they would start asking questions. Why I was with you and yadda yadda. And besides, you still have all of my worldly possessions hidden away somewhere, so that wouldn’t be good if you were taken away.”

Solomon didn’t have a response to that, so he scoffed for

what felt like the hundredth time and started walking out of the aisle.

“You can check the frozen foods section while I grab more drinks,” he said. “Don’t make any trouble.”

He turned back to look straight into the pure black eyes and sharp smile of the “man” behind him. “I mean it. I want to see the cashier breathing when we’re done.”

It took a lot of effort not to steer toward the candy aisle. That would only prove Vincent right. And the mention of committing yet another sin made Solomon want to vomit, or maybe that was just the other bags of candy he had eaten earlier. Instead, he grabbed two cans of a random energy drink and some caffeinated tea, making sure they weren’t big enough for Vincent to comment on. They met up again a few minutes later, and Vincent was holding two green cardboard boxes labeled “Healthy Choice”. He slipped them into the basket before Solomon could get a good look.

“We really need to go to a real grocery store,” he said.

“Well, then you’re going to be the one cooking.”

“I’m fine with that. As long as I’m able to have some actual good food if you’re not going to let me go out and get some.”

Solomon shot him a glare as they started walking toward the medicine aisle.

“You say that like you’d just go to the store and not do something horrific.”

“Who knows? Maybe you should let me go find out.”

“Dream big.”

The medicine aisle had something for almost every possible symptom, and it took a while to track down the ibuprofen. Once they did, Solomon stared at the boxes, trying to decide if spending the extra four dollars on the larger pack was worth it.

“No way! Vinny, is that you?!”

The sudden, high-pitched voice made Solomon flinch and drop the smaller box into the basket. He looked up to see a young woman standing stunned at the end of the aisle. She had dark brown hair in thick spirals with light brown highlights, pulled into a small side ponytail. Her makeup looked deceptively simple, just sparkles under her eyes, but it was obvious it had taken a lot more effort than that. Her tight hot-pink club dress stopped just above her knee and was covered in black lace.

Her shocked expression faded into a giddy smile as she ran over and grabbed Vincent’s arm, pushing the itchy looking cheetah-print coat into him.

“It is you! It’s been so long since we last saw each other! I thought I’d never run into you again!”

Vincent’s eyes widened, and he didn’t say anything for several seconds. But once he recovered, the facade was quick to be put up again.

“Oh! Angie! It’s, uh—nice seeing you here!”

She let go of his arm but kept hold of his hand. “I thought you would’ve forgotten me by now,” she pouted.

“Oh, of course not! How could I forget you? You look great, not a thing has changed about you.”

She giggled and swatted his arm. “Flattery won’t get you out of this,” she said, though something told Solomon it probably would.

Her voice softened, almost whining. “Why’d you go and skip town on me? I thought we were getting along real nice.”

Vincent shot a quick glance at Solomon, his nerves showing for just a split second before disappearing again.

“Oh yeah, sorry about that. I had, um… things to do.”

She giggled again, apparently forgetting she was supposed to be upset. “How mysterious you are! Okay, fine. I’ll let it slide this time, now that you’re back.”

Solomon stood there awkwardly, watching the strange interaction. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do until Angie suddenly turned toward him.

“Oh? And who is this?”

She let go of Vincent’s hand and walked slowly toward Solomon, like he was some sort of animal she didn’t know was safe or not.

“Uh, that’s a friend of mine,” Vincent said. “Solomon.”

Both of them held back a cringe as he said the word friend.

“Solomon,” she repeated as she stopped in front of him. The smell of floral perfume mixed with alcohol drifted along with her.

“Solomon, huh? I’m Angela, Vinny’s girlfriend. You can call me Angie. Can I call you Sol?”

She spoke a mile a minute, and somewhere during that introduction she had taken both of Solomon’s hands in hers. His face slowly began heating up. He was so focused on that fact that he completely missed the whole Vinny’s girlfriend part.

“We should all hang out sometime!” she continued without waiting for a response. “Like, uh… this weekend. Yeah! This weekend.”

Vincent looked like he was barely holding back laughter at Solomon’s struggling face as he said, “Yeah, about that, we’re only here

for tonight before we have to get going again. Really sorry.”

She freed one of Solomon’s hands, which at this point were starting to sweat, to turn towards Vincent and gasped dramatically.

“But you can’t leave already! I just found you! And I haven’t even gotten to know your friend yet!” She paused, thinking for a moment, before lighting up again. “What if you guys stay the night at my place? It’d be way better than whatever motel you were planning to find. Or sleeping in the car. You're not going to stay in your old place right?”

That was enough to snap Solomon out of his trance. He shook his head aggressively behind her back, silently begging Vincent to say no.

But it was already too late. Vincent had taken her other arm and was smiling brightly.

“Oh no definitely not. We would love to crash at your place. Just a warning, Solomon snores.”

She laughed and began leading them toward the front of the store and the exhausted cashier, already halfway into another rapid conversation. But it was hardly audible to Solomon. All he could do was let himself be dragged along while glaring at Vincent with more anger than he’d felt in a long time.

Vincent glanced back over Angie’s head with a smug smile and mouthed two words. “Good food.”

Solomon sighed. He really should have gotten the larger pack.

Anonymous :)

~An Ode to Blood & Sin~

VIOLENCE. The body, cage to the soul. Structure of the mind. The gentle pale world, absent of any meaning. The empty canvas, with no pen to lay ink upon.

The soul, red and entrapped, divine essence held back in rejection to thy lord’s wonderful reflection. Spill the red hot, viscera.

With heavy hearts, pick up your pens. Hack and slash in a wonderful display of what holy remnant lies in your hell bound bodies.

Swaying rope like vines from dry oak. Suffering leaves, suffering leaves. VIOLENCE against thyself in life will not be tolerated. Do not tarnish the body given to you by the hands of God. You will not be given the gift to splay thy holy innards in eternal punishment.

Let the world be painted a holy red. You who want to be redeemed in the eyes of the lord and his angels. Show them the good from your beating heart in your palm. Move on from your unholy, sin ridden body.

Rid yourself of LIMBO, LUST, GLUTTONY, GREED, WRATH, HERESY.

Lost under the notion of ignorance, forever searching for the light that will never return for you.

Loving one another is a sin, for no one is perfect in the eyes of God. And to love one another, is to allow the sins of mankind to be praised as only the lord should be.

The over indulgence of man, to be lost in material possessions. To be tied down and drowned in the ignorant suffering you make for yourself by neglecting the light of the lord.

Wanting all, but never being satisfied. You among men tarnish the holy gift that is your body with impurities and evil desires. Do not want, you will never be wanted.

For those whose rage kept uncheck, or left bitter and choking. Flow endless and forever alone in that anger. For that is all you deserve in eternal torment.

You who denounce the lord above all else, to be flayed and charred. In the open and shallow tombs you made thyself lie.

You are nothing in the eyes of God, God is all. VIOLENCE solves all. You, worthless husk of hell. You cannot be saved, nor redeemed. Your punishment is eternal. The least you can do is return your gift from the tree of life. And splay the world a holy red once more. War, death, silence. Blood solves all. Humanity is a plight. -Humankind is dead. Blood is fuel. Hell is full.-

Douglas C.

~Famous~

Sequins glimmer in the glaring lights, She squints into them, Her mouth forming words, The crowds singing along. Place to place, Hotel to hotel, Stage to stage, She belongs to none. She grins, White teeth shining, As she steps onto the stage, And performs.

That’s all she does, Perform,

She’s forgotten how to do anything else, Forgotten how to be human.

She’s an idol, A star nobody can reach, When she’s out of sight, She is nothing. If a tree falls and nobody hears it, Did it make a sound, Did she make a sound, As she fell?

She fell into the nothingness, She fell from the stage, From the fame, The stardom.

She’s nothing, And she is everything, A story of warning, To young dreamers. Stars burn, The lights too bright, The eyes too many, The pressure too much.

They can’t last, They cycle, They burn, She burned.

Ebonie

~Kintsugi~

Do you remember when you told me “We could last forever”

After only a month or two And I laughed in your face because Two months wasn’t long enough To mend my splintered heart

Trusting you was less a choice And more a fact I fell into As months and years grew on

You witnessed my heart shatter Turned to dust again and again You were always ready with a Dustpan and glue to build my heart anew

Do you remember when I told you “I think we’ve become forever” Knowing my heart was Cradled in your careful hands Gold lacquer shining through

Content Warning: Suicide, Murder

Hi. Have you ever wondered why we do things, why we live? People of religion (such as myself) would say God. But not everyone believes in a deity, and that is okay. So, to keep you going, I have a short story for you.

hi. My name is Jackson. I live in North East Vancouver, Washington. I am 26 years old. I work as a midwife at Linteer Private Hospital.

“No, no, no! I can’t put that on my dating application! I just want someone who wants… well, me. Darn it! Why am I even still alive? I could always go to the afterlife a little early, the Charlie way. No. I couldn't do that, either. Maybe I should just get some sleep,” Jackson conversed with herself.

Charlie was her boyfriend for eight years. He killed himself after Jackson refused his proposal.

Jackson went to bed at 9:20 that night, which was odd because she usually went to bed at 4:00 a.m. She always slept with her pink baby blanket and her white teddy bear from her grandpa. He died when she was eight, murdered. His body was never found. The only reason they knew what happened to him was that his ring was found sitting on his clothes, neatly folded, covered in blood. The bear was his, and he happened to be wearing a red tie that day. Her grandma, ‘Nana,’ tied it around its neck and gave it to Jackson.

The next morning, Jackson woke up somehow on the other side of her room. No bed. She couldn't afford one. She only had three expensive possessions. Her phone, a small room rented by her mother for her, and a set of wedding clothes, dresses, and other things for parties or ceremonies.

After mumbling around while she ate breakfast (and doom-scrolling on TikTok) for a few hours, Jackson left the apartment. She needed to go shopping for food; she was almost entirely out of food, and the only thing she had left was a half-eaten box of expired Captain Crunch.

Jackson was only able to afford a rag towel (the only affordable substitute to tampons) and some extra fiber oatmeal.

On her walk home, she saw one of her friends (she only had one),

Lailee.

“Hey, Jackson! Nice to see you! Hey… Are you alright?” said Lailee.

Jackson, at that moment, had turned silver in the face. She was afraid that her only friend would unfriend her because she had avoided her for a month. Things were really hard for Jackson, and she didn’t want to pull Lailee in with her.

“Hi, Lailee. I am doing fine,” responded Jackson.

“You don’t look like it! My BF is having a party at nine. Be there, okay, honey?” asked Lailee.

Jackson hated parties. But she hated disappointing people even more.

“Okay. I will be there. Your BF’s house at nine,” said Jackson, enthusiastically.

After a small dinner of oatmeal, she put on her only nice non-wedding dress. Then, she left for the party.

What happened at the party is up to you, the reader, to decide, but she came out with a pregnancy test. Two pink lines.

The next few years went by in a flash.

She got married. She gave birth.

She moved into a nice house. She got a job, and a car.

She was happy.

She never ended up finding out the meaning of life, but she ended up a great-grandmother and on her deathbed, declared:

“Ma, Pa, Charlie, Lailee, Nana, Papa, and Mike, (her husband) y’all should be proud. I am… Happy,” were the last words of Jackson Sawer.

Hayden Butler

~Me Gusta~

The highway is full of cars going nowhere fast, And people smoking anything that burns. Some people wrap their lives around a mezcal glass, And you sit there wondering, Where you're going to turn. I don't know. We are all lost, Finding ourselves along life's ride. Me Gusta tu chica.

~Lost~

The death of a star that shined so bright

One in a million that shines in the night

Flicker and blink

Whither and shrivel

Lost the light

Trying to hold onto a wish that was made years ago

Now gone and dead

No one will know

They are one in a million

No one will know

There was a death of a star

~Imagination~

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 div ine 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

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 Endless Twists of Time~

Silky paint dragged down the curves of my face

Tumbleweeds of rich midnight, dewy and coiffed, plastered along the swoop of my neck

Glitter lightly pressed into the creases of my eyelid

I step back and let the light seep into my pores then back out again

Slowly, these adjustments pour life back into my complexion

Blood quietly returns to its usual circulation

I can feel history’s quill etching into the back of my skull

Memories of a severed past, swirling and cascading into the forefront of my daydreams

A familiar figure before me, except she’s bathing in fabrics I’ve never seen before

Red, green, cream, and magenta, they gallivant joyously until they’ve enveloped her completely

They twist and wrap seamlessly like a choreographed routine

The girl’s head emerges from the layers, and suddenly she’s across from me, trapped behind reflective glass

I try to grasp her hand, but the image starts to blur altogether, becoming fuzzy and unreachable

My body is pulled back down harshly, the levity of before unfathomable

The day is dawning, and the mirror is warping

That dream is long since gone, no matter how much time I spend trying to wretch it out of my subconscious mind

So every so often I will embellish my face and dampen my curls

For just a chance to see that girl again

Even though it’s a pipe-dream, I want to feel closer to her

And maybe twirl with the fabrics that sparkle like stars Macy Sibley

~Super Nova~

A large star glows bright

A different sun that has shone bright

Breaking the sense of space

Speeding through this race

A new light of deadly power

A rain of fire a deadly shower

The sky shattering from the explosion

The star done after millions of years of erosion

Finally the star burst out

A beam of light that would make you shout

As the star finally blows up

It creates a super nova

~Young Love~

Love at this age is innocent and pure. It takes your breath away at every glance, every new step, feeling like you could never love him more. She is drawn to him at first glance, to his smile and his eyes that softened whenever she walked into the room. He is intoxicated by her. He drinks in the scent of her perfume when he is lucky enough to get the chance to sit by her, but they were best friends. They kept their feelings locked down, too afraid that the other won't feel the same. Eventually, after months of flirting and stumbling around each other, ache and ecstasy…

They confess.

It's a whirlwind of emotion; both of their words stumble out of their mouths in two incoherent sentences. His eyes widen as she starts to blush. Her insides felt as if they might explode from her body in joy, letting out everything she had kept from him in one big explosion. You could see it on his face, he loves her too. He swallowed once. Then again. She watched him closely as he did. He stands up and takes her hand, his touch feeling like a high-voltage shock through her. They stand there for a moment, hand in hand, eye to eye. Deep in the tension of this moment, they will both remember forever.

He pulls her closer, into a deep embrace.

They laugh, and their mouths find each other in a light kiss that took her breath away. A few tears slipped from her eyes as he hugged her tight, drinking in the scent of her perfume, the scent of his childhood. The trademark scent of her.

Their love exploded into one that would last a lifetime.

Mary Shirk

Mary Shirk

~i love you, betty~

November 4, 1942

My Dearest Betty,

How I miss you, darling. I hope this letter finds you well, and tell your sister, Charlotte, that I send love and good wishes. Double digits are a big number, and I’m sure she looked gorgeous. She’s strong, and you’re doing an amazing job taking care of her after what happened with your mother. I might be sending you something special. I found a necklace on the floor of an abandoned home, and I couldn’t help but think of you. I know it isn’t the best to steal someone else’s jewelry, but I wanted you to have something to remember me by.

I pray for Charlotte that she doesn’t die of food poisoning from your cooking. I’m so happy to hear that you feel better. I know how hard this has been for you, and it’s breaking my heart. Don’t overwork yourself, though, Betty. That could make all your recovery for nothing. Please take some rest.

I also hope this war ends soon. I don’t know how much longer I can take. It’s rough, to say the least. We haven’t had a good meal since, well, I can’t even remember. I would honestly take your cooking over some of the meals we have been eating over here. No offence to you, of course.

Tell Jack and Patricia congratulations from me. I miss just being around you and talking to you, not through pen and paper. I just want to come home and be with you and my family, and just be together. I want you to know how much I want what Jack and Pat have, being together and all that, for us. If I could escape this military, I would do it in a heartbeat.

Please keep telling me the happenings at home. I always feel a

little more hopeful about this whole war when you tell me all the little details. And keep me updated on your sickness. I can’t express in this letter how incredible you tell me you’re getting better makes me feel. It gives me strength to come home to you. I pray for you all as well, that you keep recovering, that Charlotte stays strong, and I’ll also pray for Jack, Pat, and little Kathy. What a sweet name!

And finally, stay safe during the holidays. I won’t be there to give you my coat, so you’ll have to tell Charlotte to remind you. Happy Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's! I wish more than anything in the world that I could come home for at least a day, but as I can’t, fill my stocking and pretend I’m right there beside you.

I love you too, Betty Josephine Wilson, so very much. I promise I will come home to you safely. I promise.

Love,

William R. Ford

mina beatty

~Dear Billyboy~

Johnny pulled the car right up in front of the bar and told Billy to hop out and wait for him while he parked. Billy did, he slid out and stepped up onto the curb. He watched Johnny drive off, the old jeep grumbling as it rolled away. He turned and looked up at the familiar yellow-lit sign of the bar. The big black type read Joe’s Joint—Bar. The place had been standing stubbornly here since Billy had moved to town. A group of six moved by, laughing their way through the big double-doors. The place had gotten more popular, a new crowd of California hipsters had begun to flock to it in recent years. Billy didn’t mind, they were mostly 20 somethings—like him. He liked their vibe and attitude, but Johnny despised the new popularity.

“It’s hard to enjoy a hole-in-the-wall dive bar once the hipsters crawl in and take down the whole wall, and drain all the character.”

And now here was Johnny, walking along the sidewalk with purpose and confidence, towards the bar that he still went to often, despite the hipsters. He was spinning the jeep’s key ring stupidly around his finger. He dropped it and had to stop to pick it up, then resumed, still swinging the keys around.

“Are you ready for this wonderful, record-breaking evening we are about to experience, Billyboy?”

“I’m not gonna be breaking any records.”

“What’d’ya mean?”

Billy looked seriously into Johnny’s eyes, which glistened with alcoholism and a thirst for life. Billy spoke in a clear, steady voice, hoping to effectively transfer the weight of his request onto Johnny’s shoulders. “You have to stop me after my third drink. You have to. I’ll be a little hazy, and that’ll be fun, but I need you to stop me. Okay? Or at the very least remind me. I don’t hold my liquor well Johnny. In college I was terrible.”

“That’s no problem, buddy. Nothing like a little alcohol to grease life’s sweaty, greasy, wonderful gears. Aren’t you hungry for adventure? Don’t you wanna see the world?”

“Not tonight Johnny. I’ve got things to be doing here. In town.”

Johnny nodded, still staring at him, his wild, stubborn look still sticking to his face like Joe’s Joint had always stuck to 2808, 26th street and Broadway. “Haven’t you read On the Road? That’s living.

Jack Kerouac.”

“I’ve never read it, and I don’t want to. Promise me, please. You have to stop me.”

Johnny’s eyes slackened, softening and he dropped his shoulders as he sighed. “Okay, yes. I’ll stop you. You know me, man. I’ll do it.”

Billy stared at him warily.

“I will. I won’t let you down.”

They walked towards the double doors. “You’ll stop me?”

“I’ll stop you.”

Billy woke up with his head on fire and his stomach swinging like a hefty pendulum in his gut, its chain creaking and rusting and slowly coming loose. He was surrounded by shrieking, wailing darkness, and the steel ground shook and tossed him into a wall of metal that clanged inaudibly as his head made its acquaintance. He knelt and covered his head and screamed, because he knew where he was. Or at least what he was in.

He raised his head and saw the thin line of flickering horizontal light. He crawled towards it and stood, swaying with the gargling pain in his head and trying to surf the pulsating, jostling ground to avoid falling like a bowling pin. He heaved the massive and peeling iron door open about a foot, then another, and it slid back along its track, revealing to him a wide, rolling countryside that wasn’t all too familiar to him, whipping by at a facepeeling speed of forty miles an hour. This part of the track was winding and didn’t seem to be serviced so often. The boxcar rode along about as smoothly as a hacksaw through a chain-link fence.

He noticed a piece of neatly folded paper stapled to his sleeve, and he staggered to the other side of the car to read it. He sat down with his back to the other door—which was locked—ripped the paper from his sleeve and opened it.

Dearest Billyboy,

You’ve been an incredible friend to me, you’ve been there for me in so many ways, through so many hard times. I love to think about what it would be like to wander the world on a freight train, to see the great fields and trees and the great American landscape sway by. I did used to have a motorcycle, but the truth is it scared me and I sold it. I never really crashed. I wish I were brave

enough to go with you, and I know you’ll have the time of your life. Living isn’t done indoors unless you’re with someone or smoking something interesting or writing something interesting. You’re in my bathroom right now as I write this, making some pretty horrible noises, and I think you’ve eaten a lot of my toothpaste. You’ve told me what you want to do, and I know it’s probably the stupidest goddamn thing you’ll ever do, but I want you to. I want to, but I’m scared and I can’t go with you, because I’ve learned that I’d rather sit on my ass and watch other people do stuff. I don’t want that risk, but I know that I’m stupid to avoid it. You’re going to have dad-lore. I wish you the absolute best Billy, you’re my best friend.

Sorry I didn’t stop you at #3.

I’m gonna go save my toothpaste.

Your friend, Johnny

Billy crawled to the edge of the car and threw up, wiped his mouth, then did it again. Then he crawled back against the other door and sat watching the clouded sky mosey by, the blue was electric and everything else was dull by comparison. A thicket of Doug Firs passed, blocking the sky, but then it popped right out again, over a patch of deciduous, a couple of Oregon Oaks.

His voice shook and he sobbed. He read the note again, his eyes teary with anger and fear and a strange lively joy. He smiled strangely, laughing. He would be doing some living. He felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped out of his skin, his head whipping over to see Johnny’s solemn face watching the trees roll by.

Billy couldn’t speak.

Johnny looked over, from Billy’s shocked face to the note, then back again. “We had a couple more drinks after I wrote that.” He looked back at the sky.

There was silence between them as Billy’s mouth opened and shut like a salmon that’d just been yanked from its nice, cool, Alaskan water and onto the slick white deck of a fishing boat. Johnny looked warily into his glassy eyes, ringed by dark circles. “Man, you might be an alcoholic.”

They didn’t ever end up back at Joe’s.

N. R.

~The Death of a Star~

There I am, sitting at a golden table surrounded by colleagues the media thinks are my friends. Sucking in as much as I can, everything is nipped and tucked, frozen and plucked. I’m basking in the hot lights of the theater, Faded? No, not yet… I'm still here.

The papers used to call me the brightest star Hollywood has ever seen. I was America's sweetheart. I want to be their sweetheart again. I’d give anything to be their sweetheart again. I’m sipping some champagne from a glass, waiting for them to announce the winner. The accolade of the year, for the best actress. I’m the only one above fifty in my category, the only one above fifty in seven years! I have two Oscars already, sitting proudly on my desk at home. If I win this one tonight, I'll make Oscar history. But who would want to see that?

“Tired and Old,” the papers will say, “She needs to make room for newcomers.” What they mean to say is “She's not pretty enough” or “She isn’t young enough”. It kills me to say it, but I am on the end of my rope here. I'm like a sun-faded box, a hint of color… but I’m not as beautiful as I used to be, and that’s the ugly truth. It feels like opening that envelope is taking decades, but eventually, the presenter pulls out the letter with the winner's name.

I sit there, waiting with bated breath, my hand is squeezing my glass so tight it could shatter into a million pieces. I want this so badly. It’s mine. After all the years, time, and money I spent working in this godforsaken industry, I deserve it. My life is Hollywood; without it, I wouldn't be me. I want to win, I should win, I need to win… I have to win. Because if I don’t, I will dwindle, my gas will run out.

Like a star, I’ll die and explode into a million pieces. Remnants of my impact will be scattered across the country through old reruns or auctioned memorabilia, and I’ll never shine again.

Paul Collins

~Reddest Star in the Sky~

The stars look upon me they’re very menacing and the world slows as they stare but why would I care? They’re just stupid stars they’re much less bright than cars and you can’t even see them past the fog… the city is so bright I only see a couple stars every night but when you travel far enough, without the pavement, in the rough, The stars are as bright as the sun.

And while I am out here, the stars see me, so clear, they reach down their hands to grab me. ignorance is bliss, I think that I hate this their hands are surprisingly cold… and as they hold me, they squeeze me, please, release me. I was a stupid fool.

But the stars don’t bring mercy lately, they’ve been thirsty, tonight, the sky’s a bit red.

I’ve finally ascended, is this heaven?

I am surrounded by stars.

Olivia Mu ñ oz

~A Message from your Mother:~

A Message from Your Mother:

Nice, cool aquamarine waters flow endlessly on my surface

Melted rocks destroy and make way for new designs on my canvas

I am life itself, an empath created to nurture, I have given and given, they call me Mother Earth

In four million years, I have accomplished more than any human could in one hundred

I try to help humanity, giving them protection and shielding them from interstellar threats

Trees grow like multiplying cells, gallons upon gallons of water fill my surface, nourishing my body

Where humans function as one system, the trees do the same, the animals too; life weaves harmoniously like intertwining vines on a tall oak tree

But in return, they scorch my skin, they burn my paintings, and call themselves geniuses

They are ignorant of the chance they have and the possibilities that lie within it

Within our solar system there are eight planets, within one galaxy, within one universe

Yet I’m the only one capable of creating life

So, when humans create their own undoing, where will they go

There is no planet B or backup option

I feel stuck in this loop, this orbit of stupidity

If I am a mother, are they not my children

I tell them I am hurting, I tell them to stop, but no one listens

It seems like no one really cares that if nothing changes, all that will be left of me is the hollow shell of a world that once used to be the crown jewel of the Milky Way

I will be a mother left to bleed out into the cosmos, murdered by my own creation: a simple human.

Paul Collins

~Raspberry Scone~

The smell of raspberry scones had just begun to waft from her plate. It reminded Colette of the clouds out the cafe window, pink and fluffy but not quite like cotton candy. Ted sat across from her, talking about his car. The dark blue one, without a hood.

She glanced at him as he buttered his scone with the small white butter knife, the one with the lilies engraved in it, and matched the butter tray. He was so annoying. What even was a fog light?

She glanced down at her raspberry scone, she usually orders the blueberry one, but for some reason, she broke the pattern. Colette Hardening wasn’t necessarily the type to change things up. She has been ordering blueberry scones for how many years now? She wrinkles her nose and looks up at Ted, there was something just so boring about this life. She watches as he goes on and on about how they finally put on the shiny, engraved hubcaps he got for his birthday, that was actually just last Saturday.

Colette had gotten him a gift card, and they went out to dinner, nothing fancy.

She watched him talk, her eyebrows furrowing slowly, as she tried to follow along. But it seemed like he might be talking in a foreign language that only car guys like him know. She blinked hard once and opened her blue eyes again, a frown dragging at the corners of her pink mouth.

That's the moment she realized she didn’t like Ted much. In fact she couldn’t remember a time she did.

“Ted…” she said, interrupting his monologue.

He shuts his mouth for a second, noticing her sluggish sadness before responding, “What's up?”

Colette took a breath and looked out the window at the

happy couple walking into a store together, their hands clasped. The paint on the metal lamppost peeling under the chill spring air. She exhaled and turned to face Ted. Leaning over the comforting new smell of raspberries, using it as a bit of motivation, looking deep into his confused eyes.

She needed a change. “Ted, I’m breaking up with you.”

~Power Lines Down Memory Lane~

It’s 2AM, and you’re all alone. You were the only one to survive “The Plague.” Vines twiddling across the Tokyo skyscrapers. Ashes with the scent of dryer linen, lurking around the convenience stores. It’s been 30 days since everyone passed away from the infection, and at least 10 since all of the power went out. But with your flashlight leading the way, you suddenly see something much brighter – a still running lamp post. Suspicious, you decide to explore it anyways, and the flashlight exposes a road that seems like all of your memories stumbled upon. Though you haven’t even been on this road before, it’s an almost exact replica of the clam chowder shop you used to go to in Manzanita. A 7 year old whose biggest worry was which ice cream flavor you wanted. There was your family you’d crack jokes with, cringy or not. Your face starts pulling back tears on how their presence will never be here again. Never having a permanent friend since how much you’d move, they were the only people you could count on at your deepest points – never having to rot away your adolescence.

Looking out the tinted windows, without thinking, you see a full sunny beach. The kids are playing volleyball, or flying their kites. The parents are talking to others, laughing or gossiping. And the light shines through the window, warming your body from the almost too cool air conditioning. But once you look back, your family isn’t there, and turning around again, nobody is there. Just the invasive blackberry bushes slowly spiking through the cracked glass. You sigh, but wonder where that vision even started from, walking away like nothing happened.

When you keep exploring this road of all your past nostalgia. You again find something you used to go to all of the time, your favorite record store. With you pulling the handle of the door, it’s right

until that lamp post goes off again. Bumping into many unknown objects surrounding you. You keep trying to reach for the flashlight in your pocket, and once you do and turn it on – you find your favorite jacket covered in dust and dirt. It’s really only 10 seconds until you give up trying to sweep the grimes off. Though it’s one of your last valuables you have walking around Tokyo, valuables start becoming an illusion to you. If you can’t be a value to anyone nor the world, why can something value you?

After all of that time zoning out on a thought, you jump back to reality. Fading in like an Astronaut coming back to earth, you finally and fully push the handle open to the record store. But once again – it’s the same vibrant colors that flood the walls of the one back in Washington. The music playing isn’t background music, nor overly loud. The LED lights flash orange and red stripes, occasionally green. It’s a song you’ve never even heard before, yet it feels like it was meant just for your taste. As the owner welcomes you, you ask what album they are playing, and you want the exact copy of it. Right when she’s about to say the name, everything fades back to darkness, except your battery powered flashlight. No music, no lights, just simply yourself.

And looking at it now, it's much more rugged with even a hole in the ceiling. It should hit close to home still, but it barely does with nothing left. Right at the entrance, your favorite album of all time is in the middle center of the store, like an actor in show lights. Thinking to yourself, “Oh how this album cured times in my life like this, but I’ll never hear them again". The joy you once had now feels artificial, yet you still grab all of the vinyl you recognize. There’s nothing real left, but the only thing that makes you happy is pretending there is. The only reason you’re still here is because your body is fighting to live, not your soul.

As you keep walking down the city with a bag full of records in your hand. Your nostalgia blooms like a flower in springtime. And in your head, you now call this road “Memory lane”. There’s the venue you saw your favorite band in – where the music was so loud, it shook the antique chandelier like an earthquake. Or the lookout at the bridge, reminding you of your dads favorite hike. There would be clouds mirroring the river, and you’d be trying to see where the red of the mountains emerge from. Your convos would go from lighthearted to serious, whether it was his weird crooked eyebrows or pouring

your heart out — telling your deepest secrets not one knows.

You hear him call your name from the venue, looking at him in a stylish but formal uniform with tickets in his hands. Everyone is taking photos in line next to the sign exclaiming “Sold Out”. And once you wait in line, talking and smiling to him how excited you are for the concert. Right when the Usher scans your ticket, an almost blinding light hits like a beam. Pulling yourself out like a fever dream and taking a few seconds for your breath to be steady again. The barrier ropes are knocked down, with even traces of blood on the box office. It’s a matter of time until you tilt your head to see what’s behind you, another running lamp post. You spin your eyes like an owl, noticing this was not just one or two running lamp posts. It’s a path leading with hundreds, so vivid and beautiful–it reminds you of what you think the gateway of heaven would be, where your family is.

From the hallucinations you’ve been enduring, you don’t even know the definition of real or fake. But you’d rather spend your life in delusional hope–so once the day comes, you die happily. From taking your time to absorb these raw emotions, you notice your feet start sliding against the slick concrete faster, and faster, soon enough - sprinting. Like a broken clock, turning 1 hour into 10 minutes. You never thought you could run this far, with the entrance these lamp posts started–being dissolved to what can’t be seen by the human eye. And like a book, there’s always a start and an end. Suddenly having your eyes glued to a wall of bricks.

There's no lights going further. All that is left is a red painted building with its windows blocked off, tangled in streaks of white lines. You notice the bag of vinyl isn’t in your hand anymore, but you don’t even care a single bit. And your eyes wander upon the bland but dirtied brick building. Until you find a color of contrasts that’s actually different, but a brown double door. And oh you’ve explored everywhere and every building without any skeptic. But with no corner or inch of leaves around here, it should feel the vice versa of lively, though it is not. You sweep the dust off of the handle, seeing a goldish knob that you pull outward, hearing a strange sound of back to the record store, music crescendoing. Before you know it, there’s an ocean of people of all ages talking and playing games – hundreds. But you just blend in, like a casual walk you used to have in the downtown of Tokyo.

You can just feel that this isn’t just some illusion this time. Because of what’s happened in the past few hours, you forgot each time that you were stuck alone, and you actually thought you were in that moment. But you’re not alone in this huge cafe, with your soul breaking from a cavern of darkness to a towering sky. You still know the risks here. What if people don’t allow outsiders? What if they think you’re a traitor? Or even worse, what if they think you have “The Plague”? You don’t know how these people got here, nor if they’re dangerous. You logically plan to just camouflage.

But all of the sudden, something looks awfully familiar, as what you just saw at the venue. As the crowd in the coffee shop backs away, you see a man in a limp, a patch over his left eye, looking at the scratched wood floor. He can’t see that you’re staring at him one bit. But it’s the same crooked eyebrows, the beauty mark on his nose, and of course, the same yellow plaid shirt he always wears. You’re the only one who hasn’t moved away from the circle, with everyone staring but you not having a clue. Suddenly, he looks up at you dropping his clam chowder, eyeing you down with confusion. You stare at each other for seconds, and each second your vision gets closer to static while the record in the back still plays. You don’t even realize what is going on with yourself, thinking, “I have finally found the paradise my life has waited for”--while all of your senses dissolve. By the time your vision is only left to the center of his chin, your mouth starts to open and mutter the word…

“Dad?”

Sterling Black - Hutton

~pizza time~

It’s getting late it’s getting late

As we march towards the starting gun

We bake at a faster rate

Soon at noon begins our run

We work nonstop to define our taste

Now it’s time to see how many we can make

Tick tock tick tick

Bang bang bang bang

Now it’s pizza time and you are late

Customers march in like soldiers to war

The sky turns red the color of pizza paste

Six chefs bake more more more

The feet stomp excited for the date

The air smells of oregano plus mountains of cheese

Nothing will stop their insatiable hunger and greed

Now it's time to go go go

As we flatten another round of dough

The server serves

The baker bakes

We will get them what they paid

We’re so close it’s almost one

The final customer leaves with a fattened face

Now here we are finally done

~starcrossed lovers~

multitudes of universes exist freely, but to cease and in those varieties we found each other.

stars and energies align us with one another we swarm with no time to exist.

when the new time comes altercations clash, and the forces rip you from me.

you must speak to me, my star, look me in the eye— and tell me, is this what you wanted? is this what fate has declared for us? i’ll go as you wish.

but you cannot tell me you no longer hold space for the atoms that brought me to you.

slayer

~Moon~

Silver strands reaching, each surface bathed in light

A stark contrast, striking, in the velvet night

What lies beyond each pool of melting pearl?

Unfolding lunar light, like a flower may unfurl

Solitary, sitting above each dreary cloud

Unnoticed, unstirring, does it make the stars proud?

Casting down radiance, eyes on the ground

Luminous, aglow, blues painted all around

Ignored by the world, caught up in the noise

However unappreciated, still with quiet poise

Does anyone stop to look up, wonder at your gaze?

Withhold your gentle brilliance, the passing of each phase?

Too far to touch, but nearly just in reach

Leaves dance, and your soft glow kisses each

The same silver light, which caresses us all

And you, the moon, sit still; wait to fall

Vivian Collmer

~Rhododendrons~

You are viridescent, asleep under the cloudy winter sky

Frigid wind dancing among glossy leaves that softly sigh

Blending in among the dreary, dimly-lit day

A backdrop of hazel painted delicately on gray

Unassuming in the cold, dark, January nights

Your dark hues withhold the gentle glow of streetlights

A quiet giant, branches spun with shades of brown

Bending in the breeze, with eyes only cast down

Winter nights fade into spring days, grass speckled with dew

Skies are bright, the birds take flight, clouds are rare and few

Blossoms begin to grow on your arms, first only curled buds of green

Then pink petals unfurl, an ethereal scene

Delicate and blushing, illuminating the night

Alive; awake; majestic, under moonlight

Rosy and radiant, once unassuming, now unsurpassed

The world is wonderful, under the rhododendron’s cast

Vivian Collmer

Wordsworth Literary Magazine

Vancouver School of Arts & Academics

Spring 2026 Issue “death of a star”