Zephyrus 2020 by Alvernia University

2020

zephyrus The Literary and Arts Journal of Alvernia University

Home i

Faculty Advisor: Dr. Tom Bierowski Editorial Staff: Michael Beyer, Sidney Goodman, Shannon Smith, Briana Natal The Zephyrus 2020 staff thanks every student who contributed to this volume, especially the students who ventured to submit videos to Zephyrus for the first time. So everyone can enjoy the efforts of all the students who submitted this year, a QR code leading to a Google Drive containing every unaccepted work can be found at the end of the volume. We have many people to thank this year. Thank you, Dr. Richard Law, for establishing Zephyrus as a tradition at Alvernia. Thank you, Professor Beth DeMeo, for representing Alvernia’s chapter of Sigma Tau Delta English Honor Society as its advisor. Congratulations on your retirement, and know that your contributions to Zephyrus, Sigma Tau Delta, and Alvernia will never be forgotten. A special thank you goes out to all Alvernia staff who encourage student creativity. Thank you, newly-minted Alvernia University president John R. Loyack and the board of Trustees, for all your support. Special thanks to Sigma Tau Delta and its constituents for cultivating a community of creative writers. Lastly, thank you, Dr. Tom Bierowski, the Faculty Advisor of Zephyrus, for your tireless work to bring students’ creative efforts together within Zephyrus and for always finding new ways to take the journal further. We hope you enjoy this volume, and that it’s wide variety of representations of home provide you some comfort as you stay in your own home. Next year, Zephyrus will continue to impress and strive for new heights! Kindest Regards, Editorial Staff Zephyrus 2020

Cover art: Theresa Bates and Sidney Goodman Editor cartoons: Sidney Goodman Art motifs: Shannon Smith and Briana Natal

Zephyrus 2020

In a world upside down, Zephyrus 2020 is coming atcha with a socially-distanced, completely digital ‘high-five’ and heartfelt welcome! Right on time, every Spring, the students of Alvernia University publish their visions, right here, for you, for free. 2016 – Metamorphosis. 2017 – Redemption. 2018 – Utopia. 2019 – New Beginnings. Long before the pandemic (in another era completely, it seems), Zephyrus 2020 decided upon a theme of “Home.” Now many of us are home all the time in a world. We ‘play it as it lays.’ This semester, Alvernia students responded to this theme in writing, art, photography and (this year) videos! Revelations of home as friends, family and Alvernia abound. Check for effects from our young Alvernians.

Zephyrus 2020 is a student-driven event. Impossible without the dedicated work and heavy lifting of its editorial staff: Michael Beyer, Sidney Goodman, Shannon Smith, and Briana Natal. On behalf of the University, I thank you for publishing this volume under extraordinary conditions (understatement). Likewise, thanks to all our students included in these pages, and to all who submitted work to Zephyrus 2020. We will all remember this time, and what you have showed us. As Walt Whitman says of “home,” “We were together. I forget the rest.” Please enjoy a deep breath of Zephyrus. Dr. Tom / Faculty Advisor Alvernia University / Spring 2020 iii

Table of Contents poetry Marc Awouya

Four Letters

Erica Groves

This Small Town

Lindsay Eberly

Stay

Erica Groves

She is From

Marley Werner

3/18/20

fiction/essay Saving the World One Stitch

at a Time

Michael Beyer

Compared to Home

James Jennings

Feeling Free

Briana Natal

Home Benjamin Foster

The Summer House

Sidney Goodman

It is as You Said, Mother

Michael Beyer

A Demonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Palace

Christi Myers

Super Suzy Saves the Day

Michael Beyer

art/photography Alison Yerger

Reading Pagoda

Jordan Sickler

Purple Haze at Sunset

Noah Rizzo

Sun and Moon

Jackelyn Checo

Martin Tower

Sanguine Summer

Alison Yerger

Kiersten Ingram

Leigham Elicker

House on a Hill

Sidney Goodman

Farm Landscape

Jordan Sickler

Yellow Flower

Anita Zuberecz

Alexis Schwenk et al.

Devin Foley

Jordan Sickler

Aniela Verbin

Alvernia University

Shannon Smith

The Life of... Tucker!

Elizabeth Barndt

My Morning at Alvernia

Aniela Verbin

Shannon Smith

Erica Burch

Basketball in the Air

Levitation

Cereal Killer Boxes Bee and Daisy

Silhouette at Lake

video The Inside Scoop at Alvernia Who Knows Who Best Roommate Edition The Courtside CafĂŠ at

Will the Vending Machines Ever Work Koi

Reading Pagoda (Jordan Sickler)

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Where we love is home - home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.â&#x20AC;? -Oliver Wendell Holmes-

The Editorial staff and numerous contributors to Zephyrus â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;20 are members of the SIGMA TAU DELTA International English Honor Society Kappa Pi Chapter.

vii

3/18/20

(Marc Awouya) 8:00 AM, a home behind bars. Harsh screens glare against newborn eyes, still wet with the milky stardew of fleeting dreams. A head of pixels—a face of zeroes and ones—begins the lecture. Elsewhere, the day’s doom blares off in the background.

***

Purple Haze at Sunset (Noah Rizzo)

The Inside Scoop at Alvernia (Aniela Verbin) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=58-qsH0sbKA

Saving the World One Stitch at a Time (Michael Beyer)

“Hey, Dad!” Niles demands. “What’s Fred Flex’s new super suit look like, huh? Huh? You made it, right?” I glance in the rearview mirror. Niles is sitting in the backseat of my minivan, dressed like a kid on Halloween night even though it’s an August afternoon. Yellow mask and cape. Bright red hoodie with “Fred Flex’s #1 Fan” written across the torso. Severe case of bedhead. An action figure of a muscular man with a similar outfit rests in the seven-year-old’s lap. My reflection stares back in the windshield. Large round glasses. Combed hair. Lanky frame. Short sleeved blue shirt. “Ned’s Super Suit Sewing Service” on the chest pocket. The letters are made up of tiny cartoony needles. I could create an amazing super suit for myself. But those are for heroes, and I’m just the thirty-year-old guy who makes their super suits. “Yep, I made his new super suit all right,” I grumble. “His muscles tore through the fabric of the old one, so he asked me for another.” The folded costume sits on the passenger seat. “Even the famous Fred Flex relies on your dad’s cool Super Sewing superpower.” Niles blinks. “You, cool? Then how come you don’t have any action figures, Dad?” Niles holds up his Fred Flex. “Fred Flex has super strength, so he’s got a whole bunch of figures.” Niles grins. “He’s super cool! I can’t wait to meet him!” “Daddy’s… kinda cool.” Throw my arm to the side. “With my Super Sewing powers, I can conjure any material, threads, zippers, and buttons, all right from my hands!” I will buttons to appear. A steady stream drops from my fingers, clinking like coins in a piggy bank as they fall to the floor. “Many superheroes in Herocity rely on your dad to make their super suits. Neat, huh? Niles?” Glance in the rearview mirror. Niles is shaking his Fred Flex figure, crying, “Muscle madness attack! Bam! Pow!” Sighing, I pull up to a red light and look out the car window. Across the street is a McMuscle, Fred Flex’s fast food chain. The car ahead has a bumper sticker. “Honk if You’re a Flex Fanatic.” Overhead looms a billboard with Fred Flex. Blonde pompadour. Yellow mask and cape. Red bodysuit. Torso like an upside-down pyramid. The words, “Mess with Flex, and You’ll Get Wrecked!” in a balloon next to his head. Fred Flex… What if I were like him? What if it was me on that billboard? What if… What if my son got the same spark in his eye when he talked about me? “Dad, Dad!” I snap from my stupor. “W-what is it?” “Guess what?” Niles holds out his Fred Flex figure. “If you’re ever in trouble on one of your deliveries, Flex will save you! ‘Cuz you made him another super suit.”

5 The light turns green. Frowning, I mutter, “That sure would be something, son.” I pull up to the gate of Fred Flex’s estate. The brick wall surrounding the property is as oversized as the owner’s muscles. I can’t even see past it to catch a glimpse of his estate. In the middle of the wall is a metal gate. Two marble statues of flexing arms stand on the sides. No body, no torso. Just arms. Their biceps bigger than my head. “Flex, Flex, Flex!” Niles shrieks like he’s at the Super Bowl. “What is this?” a booming voice declares. “Someone calls for me!” A man jumps down from the top of the brick gate. Spiderweb cracks spread out from his feet upon impact. Smirking, he straightens up, punches at the air. “Mess with Flex, and you’ll get wrecked!” How long was he standing up there just so he could make that entrance? Niles all but throws himself out of the minivan. “Can I have your autograph?!” “Hm?” Fred lowers his arms. “What a scrawny scamp.” I get out of the minivan with the folded costume in hand. “This your son, Ned Needle?” “He begged me to bring him here, so…” “I cannot blame him. It’s not every day he gets to see a real hero.” I flinch. Jab aside, Fred is right. Superpowers are rare. When people are conceived, they have a very small chance of being born with superpowers. No one knows how it happens, but it’s a rare privilege. Neither my wife nor Niles have superpowers. “When I first saw an ad for your services in the phone book, I couldn’t believe my eyes,” Fred continued. “A superpower so pitiful, it’s owner can only use it in service to other heroes.” Fred grins. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I… needling you?” Ugh. If Fred didn’t pay out the nose for this outfit, I’d tie him up with threads and leave. “Fleeeeeex, c’mon!” Niles cries, stomping his foot. He holds up his Fred Flex mask. “Can I PLEASE have your autograph? And can I be your number one fan, too?!” Fred laughs. “Ahahaha! Sorry kid, I’m afraid the number one slot is already taken. But…” Whipping out a marker, Fred signs Niles’ mask. “I’ll give you the next best thing.” Fred writes, “Fred Flex’s #1.521632982… Fan.” Eeeesh. “Wooow…” Beaming, Niles hugs the mask to his chest. “Thank you, thank you!” Grimacing, I thrust the costume into Flex’s hand. “Let’s go, Niles.” “Leaving so soon? It’s just as well,” Fred reasoned. “I need to make my daily patrols around the city. Show off my new suit to adoring fans.” I shut the minivan door and begin to drive off. Cupping his hands around his mouth, Fred hollers, “Out to make more deliveries? You better hurry, the

6 world needs you! Ned Needle, saving the world one stitch at a time!” Thirty minutes of silence. Niles just keeps staring at his mask openmouthed as I drive home. I stop at the red light. Same one as before. Fred Flex’s smile on the billboard seems more like a sneer now. “The world needs you!” echoes in my head. I turn on the radio. Tune it to the news. “This just in. Fred Flex has been detained by a supervillain just outside of Big Bucks Bank!” “Huh?” Niles jerks his head up. “Dad, what’d they say?” Fred’s in trouble? As obnoxious as he is, I’ve never known him to lose in a fight. “Just minutes ago, Eric Electric robbed Big Bucks Bank. At the police’s request, Fred Flex went to intercept him. Yet Eric managed to best Fred himself in battle.” “Dad…?” Niles frowns, setting his mask down. “Is Flex gonna be okay?” I swallow hard. Supervillain attacks in Herocity are rare, what with Fred living here. No way any other superheroes would want to take on this Eric guy if he bested Fred. And policemen don’t have superpowers. Without anyone to stop him, Eric Electric will get away. Biting my lip, I look up at the billboard again. Could I really look the other way when someone’s in trouble? Niles may be right. I have the world’s most uncool superpower. All I can do is make uniforms. But even that’s a superpower. The light turns green. I slam the pedal. “Hold on tight, son. Your old man’s going to save the day, one stitch at a time!” We make it to the bank. Big, green bricks for walls. Sign over the door with huge letters. By the shattered glass double doors stands Eric Electric. Spikey hair. Villain suit that looks like an astronaut’s uniform. Ugh. Who even designs suits for villains? Several large bags with dollar signs on them are piled behind him. In front of him, Fred Flex is lying face down on the ground. I park the minivan. People are running away, screaming. Babies are crying. Streaks of electricity split the sky. It wasn’t long until all the pedestrians flee the scene, leaving Eric and Fred alone. Unbuckling the seatbelt, I bark, “Stay here, son.” “But what can you do against him, Dad?” Tears form in the corners of Niles’ eyes. “He beat up Fred Flex…” “Hey.” Smiling, I pat him on the head. “Your old man may be uncool, and he may not be a superhero even though he has powers. But anyone can become a hero.” “Wahahaha!” Eric Electric cackles. “Screams fill the air, hundreds of thousands of dollars are mine, and Fred Flex himself is left to grovel at my feet. How positively electrifying!”

7 Fred Flex on the ground, limbs twitching. “To think your electricity would send my muscles into spasms…! Electric superpowers are my one weakness!” “Soon, the world will know of your shocking weakness! Super villains no longer need fear you. Herocity will become our playground. Wahahaha!” “You know, you really need to work on your super villain laugh.” Eric Electric whips around. “Who dares to zap their way into my conversation?!” I walk up to Eric Electric, fists clenched. “Ned Needle. The world’s greatest superhero!” Fred grits his teeth as he stares up at me. “Ned…? What are you doing?!” “What any hero would do.” I thrust out my palm. “Saving the day!” I shoot sewing needles from my palm. Eric Electric twists to the side. The needles hit the ground, clinking. “That all you can do?” His index finger lights up with a spark the size of a beach ball. Hurls it underhand like a bowling ball. “Pathetic! I’ll short circuit you in a flash!” I’ve never tried creating fabric like this before, but…! Jumping backwards, I hold my arms out. A rubber wall forms. The spark collides into it. Fizzes out. Wall vanishes. I run forward, holding out my palm. Buttons shoot out, pelting Eric’s face. I grab Eric’s wrist, and pull his arm behind his back. Threads appear from my fingertips, and spools of wool shoot out. They wrap around Eric Electric like ropes. He struggles against them, gritting his teeth. I back up, smirking. “I wouldn’t try anything if I were you. One spark, and you’ll set yourself on fire like a candle. Wool is highly combustible, you know.” “Curse you, Ned Needle!” Blaring police cars speed onto the scene. Policemen charge up to Eric Electric. They grab him and push him towards the cruiser. Policemen have no powers, so they always seem to show up only after the supervillains are defeated. A cop runs up to Fred Flex. “Mr. Flex, are you all right?” Fred wriggles his fingers. Flashing a smirk, he stands up. “Heh, but of course! It was all an act. I was just… being dramatic! Ahahaha!” He doesn’t meet my gaze. The policeman shakes his head. “See, I told the other officers to wait until you detained Eric before we dispatched. We knew you could handle him. Good work, Fred.” Ah… Well, this outcome is to be expected. But I came here to save Fred, and that’s just what I did. Turning around, I make my way back to the minivan.

8 “Dad, Dad!” Niles runs up to me. His Fred Flex mask nowhere to be found. “Niles? I told you to stay in the car!” “I saw the whole thing. You were so cool, Dad! How come you don’t have any action figures like all the cool heroes?” He hugs my legs. “Can I have your autograph?” A smile splits my face. Ruffling his hair, I say, “Of course, son.” I look up. Another billboard of Fred Flex looms overhead. That sneer on Flex’s face looks a lot less intimidating. Earlier, I wondered what it would be like to be like Fred. Yet I’m not a superhero. I won’t be saving the day again. I don’t have fame, a super suit, or awe-inspiring superpowers. But I have something far better now.

***

Sun and Moon (Jackelyn Checo)

Who Knows Who Best Roommate Edition (Aniela Verbin) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wOG-EiU-Fg0

Compared to Home (James Jennings)

SLAM! The locker vibrates from the impact of a young man being shoved into it. “Listen up here, aight?” a rough voice demands. Its owner has a hand around the boy’s neck. “I was havin’ a pretty good day, until your dumbass did this.” Raising his other arm, he reveals a red jacket sleeve stained with orange soda. “This here jacket costs $75. You seem new here, so lemme lay down some ground rules.” “I already said I was sorry, Trevor!” the trembling boy cries. “When ya mess with me you get—” The hard footsteps of an adult hit Trevor’s ears from around the corner. “Yer lucky I don’t make you clean this yourself,” he spits, releasing the boy. “Piss off.” As he was told, the boy pisses right off into the crowd of students that gathered in the hall. “What’re you all gawkin’ at?” asks Trevor, turning. The cluster of teens disintegrates back into a stream of students on their way to class. Trevor plods down the hallway. With each step, the chaotic sea of students parts as if he is Moses himself. They hurry past, avoiding eye contact. One unfortunate soul trips forward, spilling textbooks across the floor. Trevor stops. Two more students, a boy and girl, grab the kid and his books before Trevor can even turn around. Like one would break in new shoes, Trevor does the same to new students at Maple Township Highschool. Now, “breaking in” is no tradition. It is a mechanism to instill fear in others. No one messes with, stands close to, even looks at Trevor. School life for him is one of power and isolation. Entering the bathroom, Trevor turns towards the two boys loitering near the sinks. They scuttle out before a word can even be spoken. Trevor carefully removes his jacket and examines it. A sigh of relief. While a large spill, it is nothing a few wet paper towels can’t fix. His mother would have one less thing to complain about when he gets home. As he reaches for the dispenser, Trevor notices his reflection in the mirror. A long time ago, other kids called him “Bullseye” because of the circular birthmark around his left eye. He made sure no one would make fun of him for it anymore. He fixes his hair so the mark is hidden again. As he tends to the jacket, the chatter of passing students catches Trevor’s attention. “Did you hear about the new kid?” “Yeah. He looks kinda weird, but he’s actually really nice.” A new kid, huh? “Oh, there he is over there.” Trevor ducks back into the hallway, startling the two girls nearby. I wanna see him for myself. Sure enough, there he is. Rounding the corner at the end of the hallway.

11 He is smiling in the middle of a small, chattering crowd that gathered. Everyone asks questions and laughs with him. He responds as best as he can while holding his textbooks close. He has the face of a flower, bright and wide. Funny looking one even down to his clothes. Yellow shirt with sleeves so long they had to be rolled up to his wrists. Baggy pants full of holes. Old, faded sneakers. The tips of the laces are frayed, wild, and brown, just like his hair. He walks with an uneven gait as he moves slowly towards Trevor’s direction. The hell’s with this kid? Looks like he crawled out of a dumpster. Oh well. Trevor angles his shoulder and butts into him. It is a soft hit, but enough to get his attention. Everything stops. The idle chatter from the students turns into a collective gasp. All eyes turn to Trevor and the new kid. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says casually to Trevor. “HEY!” The boy turns and looks straight at Trevor, not a shred of fear in his eye. “What’s yer name?” “Ray. Yours?” “Name’s Trevor. Nice to finally meet you, Ray.” He flings his hand into the books. The students flinch as textbooks hit the ground with a loud thud. “I see yer the new kid. Seems ya ain’t familiar with how things work around here. “Wh—” Trevor stares wide-eyed at the boy as he crouches down, retrieving the books. This kid fricken’ deaf or something? He sends the books skidding across the hallway with his foot. Ray peers up with a look of pure annoyance. “OK. Now I’m pissed.” Trevor grabs the boy by his saggy collar, lifts him easily, and shoves him into the nearby locker. The surrounding students leap to avoid getting pushed as well. “Seems you didn’t hear me the first time. I told you—” “Shut up.” Trevor flinched. “If you’re gonna hit me, then hit me. Just get it over with.” This never happened before. Usually, they would be crying by now, but this kid… The bully raises his trembling fist. They are both frozen in time for a moment. Trevor releases his grip and steps away, still shaking. The look this kid gave him. It was something he had never seen before. He really wasn’t scared at all. “Why? Why can’t you just be afraid of me?” “Why should I be?” demands Ray, raising his voice. He turns around, rolling up his sleeves. The kids around him step back. They gasp as he reveals his arms. They are riddled with scars, bruises, and burn marks. “I’m not afraid—” He pulls down the collar, revealing skin blue with even more bruises and wounds. “Because compared to home, you’re nothing.”

Sanguine Summer (Alison Yerger)

Four Letters (Erica Groves)

Home—what silly four letters That house a place Where people are supposed to stay together. But what if a home was not that? Instead it was filled with empty cabinets, Unlaundered coats, Broken glass, dusty CDs, Unread books, moldy dishes, And unspoken words. Persons that averted eyes And stirred hatred inside. Persons that’d rather be expressive, aggressive, and abusive, than compromise. Persons that left their rings on the nightstand And stopped saying their “I love you’s”. They say I’m done, and I don’t care. They say forget it and I give up. People that give up on people. People that aren’t together. People that leave this house. Then is it still a home? Home—what crappy four letters.

The Courtside CafĂŠ at Alvernia University (Shannon Smith) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u8m4PwjE-z8

Feeling Free (Briana Natal)

Olive and Ivy have a problem. The 17-year-olds are goody two shoes. At Selinsgrove High, they’re honor students with straight A’s. Olive, a petit Korean-American with long brown hair and sweet brown eyes, is the President of Student Council. Her best friend Ivy, a tall African-American rocking a buzz cut and toothy grin, is the president of the Earth club. Never party. Never cause trouble. It’s late April, a warm Friday evening in Selinsgrove, PA. They’re driving home from their extracurriculars in Olive’s beat up Corolla. Bad pop music spills softly from the speakers. The smell of Black Ice and the town’s blooming flowers fill their noses. Lush, manicured lawns and tidy porches litter the small town. “You know, it’s the end of the semester, and I still have so much work to do.” “Bro, same.” “I have to write four papers within the next three weeks, prepare the next president to take over Earth club, and work.” Ivy began tugging at the loose threads of her blue, plaid skirt. “I have to prepare the next president, too, help with graduation preparations, and Mom has been nagging to get job apps for the summer. “We don’t do anything fun.” “You’re dramatic.” “No, I’m serious. Let’s do something adventurous. I’m sick of being a good kid. Our peers got into great schools, too, and they managed to do it while having fun now and again.” “Okay, but a lot of them have their rich parents to back them up if something happened. Our parents love us, but they’d have us fend for ourselves. If we fuck up, we have to figure out how to fix it. I just don’t have the time.” “It sucks being on my parents’ pedestal all the time. Suffocated by responsibilities and their idea of perfection.” “I know, but we’ll be leaving for college soon. We only have to deal with the constant breathing over our shoulders for a few more months, and then we’re gone.” “I still want us to do something fun. Tonight.” Olive peers over at her friend. Ivy perks up with a huge grin. “Ew. I hate when you get that look on your face.” “What look?” “The look that tells me I’m going to have to do what you say regardless.” *** “So, what’s your great idea?” The girls make it to Olive’s place and are now in her childhood treehouse. They plop down into the bean bag

16 chairs. Small, plastic dresser with snacks and water. Old postcards from the thrift store are tacked onto the walls. Books and travel magazines litter the floor. The only window lets in the warm glow of the setting sun. Not the most beautiful place but does its job as a hideaway. “First, are your parents home?” “No. Tomorrow’s their anniversary, so they went to New York for the weekend.” Ivy smiles big and pulls a mini, weed-filled jar out of her backpack. “That’s great!” Olive shoots up from her chair. “Are you insane? You said adventurous, not criminal!” “Listen, it’s my brother’s. He has a late shift tonight. Won’t even know it’s gone.” “Have you lost your damn mind?” “Liv, it’s hardly criminal. We’re just gonna have fun!” “Are you listening to yourself? That is a crime, no matter the reason. Not to mention you stole from your brother.” “Okay, and so what? No one will find out. Just calm down.” “I want to get out of this town ASAP and I can’t do that behind bars.” “We never do anything remotely bad. Senior year is almost over, and I think we should just let loose for a night. We won’t get caught. I promise.” “How do we even smoke it?” “I’m glad you ask.” Ivy pulls out her brother’s bowl. “You’re kidding.” *** After watching three YouTube videos to figure out the bowl, the girls are now on cloud nine. Since Liv is paranoid about someone finding them, all exits and windows of the treehouse are closed. They accidentally hotbox the space, so the girls get higher the longer they sit there. The potent, musky smell of weed masks everything. The sun set an hour ago, so their only light source is a battery-powered lantern hanging from a hook in the ceiling. The girls lay across their beanbag chairs. Eyes blood-shot and almost closed. Uniforms wrinkly and rumpled. Olive licks her finger and concentrates on getting the new chocolate stain out from her white button-up. Ivy has her skirt unbuttoned as she rubs her stomach. “Liv, I could go for another Twinkie right now.” “I think I have two more chocolate bars.” “Okay, but if they aren’t yellow-cream-filled delicious goodness, I don’t want it.” Olive starts giggling uncontrollably. “Bro, I feel like I’m on a rollercoaster just sitting here. But I also feel like I’m floating!” “Liv, strawberry jelly is superior. Change my mind.”

17 “I can’t because that is indeed correct, my friend. Do you remember that one episode of Danny Phantom?” “There are lots of them. Which episode?” Liv’s eyes drift close. “The one where Sam frees all the lab frogs.” “Yeah. Whatta ‘bout it?” “We should do that with Eddie.” Ivy’s head shoots up to look at her friend. “Like, the turtle in the lobby? The one I feed every morning? Earth club’s pet? Mascot for the science department? The school’s pride and joy?” “Yes, now stop talking so fast. You’re making my head spin.” “But what if we get caught?” “Oh, so now you’re worried about getting in trouble?” “Releasing a turtle and smoking weed are two different things.” “You right. Smoking weed is way worse, so let’s release Eddie. He should be free, and not poked at by snotty teenagers.” “His cage is kind of small for him and he should be with his turtle friends. Plus, we’re leaving soon, so he should too. It’ll be one less thing I have to show the new president.” “Exactly! I’m glad we’re seeing eye to eye, Buddy.” Ivy relaxes into her beanbag again. “Fine, but how we gonna get there? Can’t drive. No can do.” “Obviously, shit-for-brains. I’ll get us an Uber.” “You know what, Liv? You can help yourself down the ladder. I hope you bust your ass.” “How hard could it be?” Olive gets up and opens the hatch. A breeze immediately cools their skin as the spring air invades the treehouse and the smoke escapes. Ivy slowly gets up and watches her friend move apathetically down the ladder. Missing the last wrung, Olive falls over into the grass dramatically, getting a stain on her uniform. Ivy starts cackling. “It’s what you deserve!” *** The girls make it to the school pretty easily. The Uber driver doesn’t ask questions; just shakes his head when they get in the car. “Liv, what if we get caught? We can’t ‘go ghost’ like Danny.” “I know, but we aren’t gonna get caught. Whoever is at the school is in the stadium for the baseball game. We just have to worry about Mall Cop Makowski.” Makowski is the school’s security guard. “Ugh. He’s so gross with that crusty comb-over and stupid beergut. He gave me a citation last week for tying my shoe in the middle of the hallway. Said I was ‘holding up traffic’. It was the end of the day. No one was in the hall.” Ivy scrunches up her face in disgust. “He takes his job way too seriously.” The Uber drops them off behind the school. The doors stay open back there so people can use the bathrooms during the game. Mall Cop Ma-

18 kowski is pacing back and forth between the bathroom and the entrance. The girls are standing outside, watching him to find an opening in his defense. They need to sneak down the right hallway to get to the lobby. “Come on Liv, we can easily distract him.” Olive takes in everything around her, weed dulling her senses. People coming and going from the bathrooms to the stadium. Rotting smell of overflowing trashcans. Screaming from the stadium. Smell of concession stand fries linger in the air, making her stomach growl. “Ivy, can we get a hotdog first?” “No, we didn’t come for food! This was your idea.” “Yeah, but why do I have to do it on an empty stomach?” “Bro, no! We ate all the snacks in your treehouse! Let’s get that freshman to tell Makowski that the toilet in the men’s bathroom is clogged.” “Sure. I don’t have a better idea. Brain juices aren’t flowing right due to lack of hotdogs.” “Shut up about the damn hotdog! Go ask the boy. I’ll watch Makowski.” Olive walks over to the freshman. “Hey, Kid! Want five bucks?” The freshman is skinny. Just hitting puberty. Acne. Greasy blonde hair. He is munching down a glorious hotdog. Olive almost drools, looking at it. “Sure.” “Cool. Just go into the bathroom, come out, and tell Mall Cop Makowski that a toilet is clogged.” “Easy enough. Where’s the money?” Olive pulls out five crumpled dollars from her skirt pocket and passes it to him. “Here. Don’t be a dick and run off with the money before doing what I asked.” “Calm down, I won’t. It’s not enough money to risk pissing off a senior.” Olive walks back to Ivy and the boy walks in the building. The girls watch him fulfill his task. Makowski looks unhappy but walks into the bathroom anyway. The girls rush past the boy. Olive yells back, “Thanks, Freshie!” while clumsily running down the hall. Huffing and puffing, they speed over to Eddie. He only has enough room to move in the corner of the tank. Dirt, food, and water crowd the rest. “All right, Ivy, we have to make this quick.” Olive slowly pulls off the lid of the tank and stares at Eddie. “You’re picking it up. I don’t want any warts.” Ivy freezes and squints her eyes at Olive, dumbfounded. “I have no words.” “What?” “That’s frogs, you idiot.” “Nah, I’m pretty sure it’s turtles, too. I passed bio with a 97, I should know.” Ivy reaches into the tank and grabs Eddie. “I knew smoking pot makes a person slower, but making them a complete moron?” Eddie is cra-

19 dled in Ivy’s arms. He’s as big as a laptop, and different shades of green and brown cover his shell and skin. “Let’s get out of here. There’s a pond in the woods next to the school.” The girls are walking out of the building when Olive screams, “We’re in deep shit!” Ivy looks to see Olive pointing to the shadows where a jacket hangs on a coat-hook. “Olive, that’s a damn coat!” “Oh!” Olive giggles and follows her friend out to the woods. They walk a few feet into the clearing before stopping near the pond. Ivy puts him on a pile of leaves. “Eddie. I hope you enjoy your new life. I’m going to miss feeding you so much.” Ivy starts crying, followed by Olive. The girls cry and lethargically embrace each other. “Liv, I’m so glad we did this! Eddie is free, and we’ll always have this memory of home as we tackle new adventures in new places!” “Aw! I love you too, Ivy! Now, can we get hotdogs on the way home?

Basketball in the Air (Kiersten Ingram)

Home

(Benjamin Foster) Home is complicated for me because I have a colorful past. But it instantly brings to mind the Talking Heads song “This must be the place”. For home elicits feelings of warmth, safety, and comfort. I’m an outcast at home, what Hunter S. Thompson would’ve called “a proud freak.” A misfit. This freak nature led to a lot of impulsive decision-making that landed me in undesirable situations. Home was static yet perfect for the first 18 years of my life. 3211 Plantation Parkway, Fairfax, Virginia was a suburban paradise. Except for the street name, the split-level home and neighborhood, Mosby Woods, had everything a child and teenager could want. The Hussainy brothers lived two houses down the street, and my house’s massive back and front yard entertained us for years. My bedroom accommodated a ridiculous number of toys. Its floor was excellent for Lego dumping, much to the expletive-filled frustrations of Father. The warm fireplace was great for sitting next to and watching TV while weathering freezing temperatures and absurd amounts of snow (for Virginia, anyway). It housed the love and care of my parents, fearlessness, and impenetrable happiness. My perception of the neighborhood shifted as adolescence reared its ugly head. The neighborhood changed from a place for pretend sword/ lightsaber fights and into a sprawling concrete jungle excellent for zooming through on a skateboard. During mid-teens, the house morphed into the perfect environment for playing video games. Unlike most hobbies from back then, the adoration of video games has persisted. The spacious backyard offered enough room for the rambunctious dog that entered the Foster family. Ripley, a golden doodle, added to the house’s charm. In late adolescence, I discovered a love for writing, and my room became the ideal place for putting fingers to a keyboard. The house constantly shifted to ensure comfort and happiness, like the room of requirement from Harry Potter. It was the invisible third parent in the Foster paradigm. My concept of home was swallowed after entering college. College was an unexpected status quo adjustment. After the first year, the dorm at American University warped into a mirror that forced introspection. It revealed an abyss. Ignoring Nietzsche’s warning, I stared into the abyss, until despair, anhedonia, loneliness, and absolute pessimism nearly consumed my spunk and misfit originality. I became upset with the state of the world, life, and those surrounding me. I vomited chunks of despair everywhere. Bile weighed on me like the world weighed on Atlas’s shoulders. Substances, partying, and unbridled hedonism offered relief. The dorm room was nothing but a place to recharge for more debauchery. Home remained this absolute hellscape for quite a while. There were periods where I regained control and reconnected with loved ones, but nothing seemed permanent. I welcomed the death spiral, knowing the end

22 would offer permanent relief. Every night it was a different couch with a different single-serving fraternity “brother.” Even those little vestiges of home evaporated. Suddenly, light appeared. Hope took shape, and home returned. Although the light shined meekly at first, it grew every day. The abyss shrank, but it will forever look for opportunities to reclaim the driver’s seat. Still, I doubt the emptiness will return any time soon. I’ve found a new home, one just as pleasant as that idyllic split level, here in Pennsylvania. Home is a geographical location and the friends and family you surround yourself with. Home is an amalgamation of all things pure and compassionate.

***

Levitation

(Leigham Elicker)

The Life of... Tucker! (Elizabeth Barndt) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QCMBz-pfSmw

The Summer House (Sidney Goodman)

When I was young, there was a treehouse in the woods. It sat in a dip too small to be a valley, raised above a tiny stream on four, stilted legs. Dust and cobwebs fogged the windows, creating ghostly figures for me to fantasize about. My brother and I would sit in the cool mud beneath the house and wonder what it once was. “Obviously a playhouse,” he said. Even though he was younger, he was the rational one. “No, a superhero hideaway,” I countered. “Whatever you say.” He swirled his chubby child hands through the mud, and with a devilish grin across his round face, smeared it on my favorite pair of overalls. I retaliated in the only way I knew how—by holding him down with my wiry adolescent strength and mashing his face in the dirt. The house was momentarily forgotten as we engaged in combat, but when we had reached an armistice, we couldn’t help but look back at it. “We should go inside one day,” I said. My brother scrunched his nose. “What if it’s dirty?” “You’re dirty now.” He stuck out his tongue. The house stayed in the back of my mind as summer waxed on. My brother and I were grand explorers, the intrepid Lewis and Clark in miniature. Those woods were the wild, unexplored terrain that called our names. I was, of course, the fearless head of our expedition, while my brother held the map we scrawled out with a stick. When we found a clearing big enough, we cobbled together teepees of dead sticks and propped against a tree trunk covered with pine boughs, creating our settlement in the wild. “Do you really think a superhero lived there?” my brother asked one day as we lay in our adjacent houses. The sun was setting, but neither of us could bring ourselves to leave. “Lived where?” “The house.” I sat up, blinking as a twig fell from my scraggly hair onto my cheek. “Well, of course. Can’t you just picture it?” His dark-eyed gaze made it clear that he had no idea what I was talking about. “Think about it. Batman can’t come all the way out here from Gotham. He’d never get here in time.” I pointed at him. “Well. I guess he would need another hideout.” “Exactly!” I snapped my fingers. “But isn’t that house too small? Where does Batman put all his stuff?”

25 I paused. He flummoxed me. “I was just using Batman as an example,” I said, nose lifted. “It could be anybody. Superman, maybe.” “In a treehouse?” “Well, we won’t know until we go inside, right?” My brother looked down. “I guess so.” I held out my finger, pinkie extended. “Promise you’ll go inside with me one day?” He hesitated. “Promise,” he said, locking pinkies with mine. The discussion was cut short by our mother’s call for dinner. We scampered home, tossing leaves at each other and giggling all the way. I dreamed of houses in the sky that night, white buildings resting on the clouds. Their doors were open, warm light spilling out onto the front steps. I had only placed a hand on the door when I woke up.

***

House on a Hill (Sidney Goodman)

This Small Town

(Lindsay Eberly)

Winding backroads and tall, strong trees with leaves that fall and crinkle under feet. Mountain ridges that hold the sun’s setting glare, and the scent of cut grass lingers in the air. The glassy blue lake sits just beyond the corner, there’s a great white heron that stands at the border. Fields of golden corn are stretched all over town, and horses that pull buggies are trotting around. Sunday’s are for supper with the whole family scattered, at 5’oclock sharp everyone gathers. This place may be small, but it sure has it all. It’s the place where I’ve grown and it’s the place I call home

***

Farm Landscape (Jordan Sickler)

My Morning at Alvernia (Aniela Verbin) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tVE8Uv7-Gbw

It is as You Said, Mother (Michael Beyer)

“This field is a paradise rivaling Mount Olympus. And it is all yours, my son.” Mother’s words from six years ago echo in my mind. I gaze upon the field of wheat in the valley below the hill I’m standing on. Wheat stalks bathe in the rays of sunlight, luminescent as they sway in the breeze. Rows of them stretch to the orange horizon. The scent of dew reaches my nose. Birds are chirping, bidding each other farewell for the day. The very picture of peace. Began working this field when I was ten years old. It’s been six years. I’ve toiled in it every day from when the sun rises until it sets. Cut down wheat stalks. Bundled them. Carried them on my back. Traveled two dolichos to Athens and back. Over and over again. And yet… I stare at the ground. Notice a puddle. Reflection stares back. Curly blonde hair. Golden eyes. Garbed in a white chiton. Athletic build. I am a demigod. Son of the king of the gods, Zeus. No matter how fantastic this field seems, working in it all my life is a farce of a future weighed against my heritage. I should be defeating monsters with a magic sword and exploring unknown lands, hailed as a hero. Yet the only monsters I’m cutting down are stalks of wheat with a scythe. My Mother calls, “What are you thinking about so intensely, Bliss?” Looking over my shoulder, I notice Mother hobbling up the hill, a basket clenched in her shaky hands. “Mother, what are you doing out of bed?” She sits down on a large stump next to me. Just great. She manages to turn everything into a lecture, and I’m in no mood. Holding up the basket, she smiles. “For you. Your favorite.” Inside are luscious grapes. “I knew you’d be tired after gleaning the wheat field.” “You picked these for me?” I swipe one. Biting into it squirts a blast of juice. Swallow. The juice washes down my parched throat. “They’re delicious.” Mother’s weary eyes stare into mine. “If you stay in this field, you will be able to eat from the grape trees all your life.” “Mother, please.” “No, don’t ‘mother please’ me. You were thinking about how you want to leave and become a hero, weren’t you? The only time your eyes alight with passion is when you think of something grander than this field.” Sighing, I run a hand through my curly hair. “Yes, I sometimes wish to be doing something more befitting a demigod than working in a field, all right?” “Those thoughts are dangerous. The gods are not trustworthy. Even your father, Zeus, is a god unfit for his throne. He talked a big game, filled my head with empty promises and sweet nothings, but when I became preg-

29 nant with you, he wanted you dead. Said he’s had one too many demigod children and has grown weary of Hera’s complaints. When I insisted on having you, he—” “Broke your femurs. I know. They never healed properly.” “If you know, then why do you dream of the gods? Zeus destroyed my happiness. That is why I named you Bliss; you are my only comfort now. Please, do not think of the gods. Their empty promises of glory will destroy you.” Glance at the fields beneath me. Then at the skies. “If you say so, Mother.” Lying in a tree branch, hands folded behind head, I gaze at the field of glistening stars. Beautiful, yet so far out of reach. The constellation Perseus seems to mock me, as though his raised arm was waving me away. He’s my half-brother on Zeus’s side. Perseus grew up in the countryside, but he left home to battle the Gorgon. If only I could be like him. Escape from here and begin my hero’s journey. But even Perseus had magic items, not to mention the aid of gods. A god has never even uttered my name, I’m sure. Close my eyes. Zeus has undoubtedly forgotten me. “Bliss,” a voice whispers. So chilling, like someone pressed cold fingertips on the back of my neck. “Who goes there?” In front of me, the air ripples like a puddle. A woman garbed in a black robe appears, floating in front of the tree branch. The hood of the robe is up, obscuring all but her full lips. Black makeup. “Now, now, Bliss. Is that how you greet your mother?” “Do not toy with me. You are not Mother. She’s sleeping in the cabin.” “Forgive me, it seems I did not make myself clear. I am your step-mother, Hera.” Eyes widen. I sit up. A god has acknowledged me? “What have you come here for?” “Oh my, so serious. Just like my husband.” I flinch. “Does he catch your attention, little boy? Well, he is not a god worthy of interest. As many stars as there are in the sky, my husband has had more affairs.” She put a finger to her lips. “Your mother, you, and I all are victims of his lechery. Forgotten. Abandoned.” “Why are you telling me this? Have you come to mock me?” “Perish the thought. I have grown weary of Zeus’s affairs. That is where you come in, Bliss. You are Zeus’s only living son right now. If we work together, we can rebel against him.” I can… rebel against Zeus? “Just think of it, Bliss. An epic battle to overthrow an evil, lecherous god! Isn’t that what you want? To become a hero with a legacy worthy of your heritage? Should you succeed, imagine the tales humans would tell.

30 For generations they’d pass down the legend of Bliss, the hero among heroes who overthrew the licentious god Zeus.” What a thought! If that became true, then even Perseus’s legends would be nothing compared to mine. Yet… “How is such a thing possible?” “Here.” Hera digs her hand into her sleeve and pulls out a golden dagger. The blade is a leaf like a Corinthian column. “I used all the power I could muster to create this dagger, a weapon capable of felling even a god. Stab it into Zeus’s heart, and he will die instantly.” I reach out to the knife and stop midway. “This… This is absurd.” But I want to believe it. “Why do you not use it yourself, then?” “Boy, I may hate Zeus, but he is still my husband. I cannot bring myself to kill him.” “No matter what you say, Mother warned me about you gods. You’re dangerous.” Now, say you think the same as me. That mother is a fool to be content with an ordinary life, and I’m in the right. If you do, I’ll follow you anywhere. Hera shakes her head with a sigh. “Bliss, your mother is human. All humans fear the gods. She foolishly believes you should feel the same. Demigods deserve a more impressive future than toiling in a field of wheat all their lives.” I smile. “You are right.” Take the dagger. Feels light in my hands, like I was always meant to wield it. The leaf blade is far more appealing than the leaves on the wheat stalks. “I want a greater legacy. A legacy befitting my heritage.” Hera smiles. “You have chosen well. With my power, I will teleport you to your father. You will become a legend tonight!” She is my step-mother. Smirking, I run a hand through my hair. “If you say so, Mother.” “Close your eyes.” I do. I hear the snapping of fingers. The cold night air is replaced with a pleasant breeze. “Look and behold.” I open my eyes. A palace of gold stands before me, larger than the entire span of my wheat field. No door. A row of carytid columns. The statues of the columns depict a muscular god with a close-trimmed gray beard and arched eyebrows. He’s in a white chiton like mine. Atop the columns is a large, triangle-shaped roof. On the front face is a relief depicting the twelve Olympians on their thrones. The palace sits on a sea of orange clouds, extending outwards as far as the eye can see. Overhead is a field of glistening stars in a night sky. I reach my hand up towards them. The constellation of Perseus doesn’t appear so out of reach now. “It’s incredible.” Hera smiles. “So too, shall your legacy be.” I hide the dagger in my chiton, then walk between the columns. Hera follows. We’re in the throne room. A red carpet extends from the entrance up to the throne. Gold statues of Zeus lifting a lightning bolt above his head line both sides of the carpet. Painted on the domed ceiling is a mural of

31 Zeus, Hera, and the other gods battling the titan Cronus. In it, Zeus holds his lightning bolt. Streaks of crisscrossing lighting spread across the mural like a spiderweb. At the end of the room are twelve thrones, but one is far larger than the rest, big enough for a man twice my height. Zeus himself sits upon it, looking just like his statues. The throne is made of pure gold. Its top comes to a spike. Vines spread across its surface, and leaves matching my dagger blade dangle off the throne’s arms. I’ll topple you from that throne yet, Zeus. Zeus’s golden eyes fixate on me. “Hera, you’ve brought the boy?” “Look not at her, but at me, you treacherous pig. I have come to end your tyranny.” “You dare speak to the king of the gods in such a manner?” Zeus narrows his eyes. “Foolish child, I could have killed you at any moment, but I let you live. Do you know why?” Zeus stands up from his throne. A head taller than me. “Because you amuse me. While you ate grapes, I drank fine wine. While you commanded a field of wheat, I controlled armies. While you built a cabin of wood, I lived in a palace of gold.” “Silence!” I march down the red carpet. “You are like the darkness of the night. You do dirty deeds while the sun is away. Yet if you are the darkness, then I am the light. And my light will overpower you, until there’s not even a shadow left for you to skulk within!” I pull out the dagger. “You think that toy can damage me?” Zeus pulls at his chiton, exposing his chest. “Give it your best try, child.” Shouting, I throw the dagger at Zeus’s chest. The blade connects. Shatters on impact. The pieces of gold rain down onto the carpet. No. No, this isn’t right. It was supposed to kill him immediately. That’s what Hera told me. I turn to her. She says nothing, hiding her mouth behind her hand. A hand wraps around my neck and lifts me off the ground. Squeezes. Pain. Mouth opens. Can’t breathe. Muscles lose strength. Paw at the hand. Hopeless. “You thought a mere blade like this could kill me? Pathetic.” I crane my neck. Hera, help me! Let’s rebel against Zeus together, just like we planned! But a huge smile splits her face. “I thought your birth was a mistake,” Zeus spits. “But Hera talked me into having a private audience with you. Said perhaps you were as bold and wise as your half-brothers. Yet in our first meeting, you mock and challenge me, drunk on the idea of being some sort of hero. You are a failure of a son.” Zeus throws me to the ground. Brain rattles in my skull. Vision goes black. Fades back in. Everything is a blur. Zeus kneels, then grips my thighs. “Die, wretched mistake.”

32 Heart pounds. Hera lied so Zeus could kill me. She’s always hated his demigod children. Rebel against Zeus with her? What a farce! No. I look to his throne. The palace of the gods is the real farce. An unattainable promise of glory. But my field of wheat was no lie. What did Mother tell me? The gods will destroy my happiness. Why didn’t I listen to her? Why did I have to be blinded by my heritage? The field of wheat was the true palace. Two snapping sounds in succession. A thousand hot needles pierced my thighs. Legs appear to have two new knees bent at impossible angles. Sweat drips from every pore. Zeus stands. Lightning bolt appears in his hand. Eyebrows knit. Nostrils flare. Upper lip curls. Eyes never leaving mine, he pulls his arm back. I whisper, “It is as you said, Mother.”

***

Yellow Flower (Anita Zuberecz)

Stay

(Erica Groves) Written for the ones who leave before they have the chance to stay. My mother stands by the door as she watches the car go by. A hundred times and more with always a careless goodbye. As if leaving the people who love you the most is the easiest thing in the world. I wish goodbye didn’t involve a suitcase. I wish you didn’t leave your family behind. I wish I had a bigger space to compress all the emotions I find. I wish leaving never meant long, lonely nights of worrying where you are and when you will call. I wish leaving had meant that you’d stay. Day after Day.

Cereal Killer Boxes

(Left to right: Alexis Schwenk, Anita Zuberecz, Antwann Cade, Leah Kemper, Michael Beyer, and Natalie Axt)

Will the Vending Machines Ever Work (Shannon Smith) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=flBr-ceYnB0

A Demon’s Palace (Christi Myers)

Black. The room is nothing but darkness. No shadows, no figures, no specks of light shining through the curtains. Silent. Nothing moves inside or outside. No clocks ticking, no insects chirping, no leaves rustling. Peaceful. What a perfect time to… “AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Wait for it… THUD. There it is. Bare feet smack against the hardwood floor as they come closer. The door squeaks as it’s pushed opened, flooding the room with light. The woman enters my chambers. Dark brown hair sticks to her face where she once drooled. It’s knotted in the back. Bags hang under deep green eyes wide with concern. Light green nightgown. Wrinkled and twisted. Stains cover the front. “What do you need?” As if you don’t know. You could start by looking presentable. “Yes. Of course. I’ll be right back.” She turns out the door and rapid footsteps fade in the distance. Look around at my chambers. A dark wooden dresser with gold handles sits across from the bed, clashing against the bright pink walls. Yuck. Pink. They think it will please me because I’m a girl. They should know better. The throne, five times my size, sits in a corner off to the left. A towering bookshelf filled with dozens of colorful books sits between the large chair and the dresser. On the top shelf sits a picture of the proud peasants holding me, their queen. What is taking so long? She will feel my wrath. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” My scream continues as another frazzled peasant enters my room, ears covered. Short. Blonde hair. Brown eyes. Nothing but boxers? Does no one in this palace know how to look presentable? “Just a little longer. She’s almost done. Please don’t scream.” The woman runs in, carrying two cups and a few snacks. Taking the cup, I sip. WATER? What makes this woman think I want water? Throw the cup across the room. Grab the snacks. Cheerios? Throw them too. These people are worthless. Cutting off a scream, she presents a cookie and another cup. Oh good, milk, because I am obviously Santa Claus. Nonetheless, these will have to do. As I lay down and drift to sleep, they talk. “Mark, why did we accept this… this thing into our house? Clearly, we’re not capable of pleasing this demon. We have to kick it out.” “Shhhh! Sydney, don’t anger her. She’ll start screaming until our heads explode. We have to keep her for just a few more years. It’ll go faster than you think. And by then, you’ll probably even miss her.” “HA! Miss her? The only thing I miss is sleep.”

38 Waking to birds chirping and early morning light, I watch the figures slouched over on the floor beside the dresser. They look so peaceful, would be a shame if someone were to just… “AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Sitting straight up, they bang heads. Unable to help myself, I laugh as they rub their heads. They blankly stare. “Babe, she’s laughing.” I return their gaze. Scream. The peasants stand and run around the palace, handing me books, drinks, and food. After moving to my throne, I flip through pages of books, scream when the peasants are incompetent, and throw books in their direction. For hours they run around. As the sun begins to set, their presence is no longer welcome. Slinking to my bed, they notice the sentiment and exit. Darkness sets in once more. Tonight, I will allow the servants to sleep so they can better attend to me in the morning. Tomorrow I’ll make them take me into town where the village people worship me. The peasants will try to bribe me with ice cream to call them by their real names, “Mama” and “Dada”, but I will remain strong and not give in.

***

Bee and Daisy (Devin Foley)

She is From

(Marley Werner) She is from closets painted like the sky, from hairspray and dill pickles. She is from a hair salon downstairs (Vivacious, welcoming, the chemicals tickling up your nose.) From the strong oak tree, whose roots run deep down. From butterflies that carry the soul of a departed loved one. She is from cookie cutters and curly hair. From Denise Renee and Heather Lynn. She is from strong women and nurturers, From “It is what it is” and “You are my sunshine.” She is from what was brought up Roman Catholic that now believes in spirituality— that has faith and hope in her heart. From Berks County and a jumbled family tree, ham and green beans, and chocolate chip cookies. She is from the book that is handed down from mother to daughter. From lots of cliché quotes that hang around the house, to priceless handwritten recipes tucked away in the kitchen. From the cancer that battled with her Meme And the Navy ship that was home to her Pop-Pop. Tucked in the attic in boxes of all shapes and sizes, material memories strike a tear. She is from these objects held dear that are coated in dust and aged with time.

Koi (Erica Burch) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pzPjf0lW_Ps&t=1s

Shiro (SHEE-roh) - White Gasp – Group of Koi fish Goshiki (goh-SHEE-kee) – 5 colored fish scales giving the appearance of purple Kin (keen) – Metallic Gold Orenji (oh-REEN-gee) – Orange Hisoku (hee-Soh-koo) – Yellow/Green Iro (EE-row) - Color Yogyo (YOHG-you) - Young Fish Kana (KAH-nah) – Male Koi Kinrin (Keen-reen) – A koi with gold-colored sparkling scales Namikins (nah-Mee-keens) – Tail Fins Nezu (NEH-zoo) – Grey Magoi (MAH-goy) – Mud Carp, originally wild carp Nishikigoi (nee-SHEE-kee-goy) - Jeweled Carp

Silhouette at Lake (Jordan Sickler)

Super Suzy Saves the Day (Michael Beyer)

you?”

“What the hell are you doing here, Vivian? And why’s the kid with

The tall brunette I used to call my wife stands in the doorway to my apartment, nose lifted so high it looks like a ski ramp. Worse, her burgundy turtleneck emphasizes her grotesquely long neck. Ugh. Did I really once find this attractive? A little squirt clings to Vivian’s legs, not even reaching her hips. Same brown hair as her mom. Thank god not the same nose. Or neck. No, she’s got a normal face thanks to my superior genes. Frowning tightly, she squints and sizes up an enemy. Snapping my fingers repeatedly, I back up, stuttering like a fool. “It’s been, ah, what, four years?” Glance at the kid. “That’d make you… six, Abs?” Knitting her eyebrows, Abs mutters, “Seven. And my name is Abby.” Cheeky little brat. Clicking her tongue, the Ex rolls her eyes. “God, I can’t believe we’re here, Bart. You don’t even remember our daughter’s age.” “The hell should I know anything about her when I never see her? Need I remind you, shithead, that ever since the divorce, you two have been ignoring my monthly visitation rights?” Flaring her nostrils—that only made her nose seem even bigger— Vivian bitches, “My lawyer said that if the child doesn’t want to see the parent, visitation rights can be ignored.” “Bet that only made you all too happy.” After flapping her mouth like a fish, Vivvy kneels down and turns to Abs. Holding her shoulders, the slithering snake coos, “Honey, you don’t want to be here. You know that. Why don’t we go somewhere nice? I’ll buy you another book. Any you’d like.” “But I wanna be here.” “Oh, honey. I admire you so much for forcing yourself to be brave for this… man. But don’t worry. Mommy’s going to do some shopping at the VF outlets for a while. It’ll be five hours until I’m back. I’m just a call away, okay? And keep telling yourself, ‘Just five hours, just five hours.’” Vivian pats Abs on the head, and the kid smiles. Look at that. Abs is capable of more than frowning. “And if you decide you want to leave early, just give me a call.” “All right, shut up already,” I groan, holding my head. “She hears your shit every day.” Standing up, the Ex scowls. “I can only hope this dump is more presentable than your room back home was. You always were a jobless good for nothing. A slob. For your sake, I hope that’s changed. You better take

43 care of my daughter.” Wordlessly, I pull Abs in by the arm. I shut the door on Vivian’s face. Silence. Abs still in my arm, I become keenly aware of what a shithole the place is. Well, what did you expect from a cheap apartment in Reading? Cracked wooded floors. Piss yellow walls. Flickering lights. Few windows. Lint and DoritoTM crumbs dot the ground, encrusting between the toes of my bare feet. The hallway we’re standing in leads to a tiny kitchen (just a gas stove and refrigerator, not even a microwave) and next to it, a living room (coffee table dotted with cigarette butts on the top, puke green couch with the stuffing leaking out, and one of those old 90s style box TVs.) An open door in the living room leads to my office. As Abs looks up at me, her frown returns. Well, why wouldn’t it? I’m sure I look like a homeless person to her. Bald head. Scraggly, unkempt beard. Beer gut hanging out, barely contained by a grey (once white) shirt with holes in it. I cough once and let go of Abs. “Well, uh, this is my place. Got a kitchen. Don’t touch the stove. Got a family room. Oh, TV’s in there. Probably worse than the one your mom has.” Scratching the back of my head, I glance down at the kid. Her eyes haven’t left mine all this time. It’s creepy. “Soooo, yeah. That’s it. Don’t know why you want to spend time in this dump, but, hey, I can’t judge.” I nod at her clothes. “Should probably take your coat off. Considering, you know, it’s the middle of July and there’s no AC in here. No windows, either.” She takes her coat off, stares at it, then looks up at me. “Just throw it on the floor.” “But it’ll get dirty!” “Then you can carry it for five hours.” Grimacing, she uses her shoe like a broom and sweeps the lint and crumbs away, then rests her coat down. “Great,” I say. “Well, find something to do. I’m sure you brought coloring books or whatever, so play with those. I’ll be in my office.” Scratching the back of my head, I walk into the office. Brown walls. Smells like old chicken. A fan overhead turns at full blast, making a piercing sound. Issues of Playboy lie on the floor. A La-Z-BoyTM spinny chair sits in front of my desk. Well, I call it a desk, but it’s just a fold-out metal table. A bulky monitor sits atop it, along with a tiny desk lamp and countless scattered papers. A picture in a tiny glass frame sits there. Picture of Vivian, Abs, and I standing in our old front yard. I’m pulling Vivian towards me with one arm. In the other, I’m propping up a three-year-old Abs on top of my shoulders. We’re all smiles. But that was years ago. Sitting down in my chair, I stare at the picture. Abs asked to come here? Completely out of nowhere after four, five years? What the hell for? “Bah, it doesn’t matter. Might’ve come to laugh at me for all I know.”

44 Grabbing my flip top off the desk, I speed dial “Work.” The Big Man picks up. “Bart. About time. I sent you an e-mail with data on the next set of ads I want you to write. We’re not getting enough clicks.” Not even a hello, or how are you. “Make the headlines drastic. I don’t care how dumb they sound, only idiots will click them anyway. Got it?” “Ayup.” A sigh. “At least try to sound like you care. Anyway, remember, you can write whatever the hell you want for the ads, so long as you don’t directly put words in people’s mouths.” “I know. I’ll try to get it done later tonight.” “Try? …Well, whatever. Just hurry. And remember, clicks, clicks, clicks!” “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to say, ‘Thank you’ for a change.” A pause. “Do your damn job.” Dial tone. “Stupid bastard.” I throw the phone back on the desk. Pull up a Word Doc. The words “Win Everything you Ever Dreamed! Just Click!” is the only thing in it. An unused tag line for a click bait ad. (“‘Drastic and dumb,’ the Big Man said.”) Glancing at the photo on my desk, I mutter, “Claiming all your problems can be solved with just a click… It doesn’t get any stupider than that.” A mousy voice calls behind me, “Why don’t they have clothes on?” Whirling around, I spot Abs. Staring down at… Oh, shit. “This one looks kinda like Mom! But with a small nose…” I swipe up all the Playboy mags and tuck them under my arm. Several fall out. “Didn’t I tell you to find something to do, Abs?! I got work to do!” “I can’t. Mom took my bag with her. …And don’t call me ‘Abs.’” “What bag?” She sighed and shook her head. Cocky little shit. “It had books and puzzles in it, Dad.” “Book, eh. Whatcha reading?” “Charlotte’s Web. I’m at the part where Charlotte—” “Never mind. What about anything else? How about TV? The Terminator movies, Breaking Bad, Criminal Minds?” “No, nothing like that.” Glint in her eyes, she smiles. “Super Suzy Saves the Day.” “What the hell is that?” Gesturing with her hands, Abs steps back a bit. “So, um, it’s like a superhero show! But with a girl. She can fly and has super strength and stuff, but she doesn’t like to fight. She solves people’s problems, and helps bad guys be good guys again.” Abs tugs at the hem of her shirt. “See, see?” There’s a decal on it of a smiling girl with a cape and a pair of goggles over her eyes.

45 Does the kid really expect me to be impressed? Well, this is the second time I’ve seen her smile all day. And it’s kind of nice to see her happy for once. Guess I can’t make fun of it. “Wow, that’s… Great. Really. Do you want to watch it?” “Can I?!” “It’s fine”. If it’ll keep you out of my office, that is. “I’ll set up the TV.” I throw the Playboys to the side before walking out of the office to the living room. Abs trails behind, her little feet going pitter-patter on the wood floor. After a few minutes of messing with the AV receiver and channel inputs and other shit, I eventually set up the show. Bright colors splatter the screen. Cheesy, high-pitched voices call out to one another. Cartoony music plays. Ehh, I’ve seen worse. It’s still better than the soap operas Vivian used to watch. Abs plops herself on the couch. It lets out a noisy creak. “Ah, this is a good one!” “You know this episode? Don’t you want to watch something else, then?” “No, no. It’s good.” Abs suddenly pauses. “Um, thank you.” I blink. “What… Did you just say?” “I said, ‘Thanks.’” A churning sensation fills my stomach. I flap my mouth open and closed. “Abs, er, Abby.” “Hm? What?” She doesn’t tear her eyes from the screen. Why did you ask to come here? The words are at the tip of my tongue. But after a pause, I just shake my head and slink back to the office. “No, never mind. Have fun.” I plop down on the La-Z-BoyTM chair, heaving a great sigh. My eyes are drawn to the family picture again. Smiles on faces… Hearing ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’ every day… Having people rely on you… How did I lose all that? Where did things go wrong? “I can only hope this dump is more presentable than your office back home was. You always were a jobless good for nothing. A slob.” Vivian may be rotten, but she’s right. I just lazed around at home the moment we got married. Thought I could live easy. Let Vivian do all the work. Never thought she’d divorce me over it. We were supposed to be together forever, yet all we did was fight. And Abby got caught in-between our crossfire. Every. Single. Day. It all seems so… stupid now. It feels like so long ago when I got married. God, I had such a stupid grin on my face all day. I was just a dumb little twenty-year-old back then; no job and no idea how to raise a kid or take care of a wife. Thought love would work out everything. But life isn’t that simple. “Is that us?” Seems Abby snuck up behind me again. “Yeah. That’s us.” “Were you thinking about Mom?”

46 “I was thinking about a lot of things, kid.” A pause. “You aren’t trying to kick me out anymore.” “I’m not really as busy as I claimed. I got time.” “Oh.” Silence. I spin the chair around and stare at Abby. “Why did you want to meet me today?” “I…” Her cheeks tinge red. “I wanted to be like Super Suzy.” “Eh?” “I wanted to save the day. Solve all the problems, just like she does!” Putting her hands on her hips, Abby smiles. “My dream is to be a superhero when I grow up! So I have to help all the bad guys become good guys.” I glance around the dingy, dimly lit room. “Do you think I’m a bad guy, Abby?” “Well…” Abby stares at the picture. It’s practically the only thing in the room without a crack or smudge of dirt on it. Abby smiles. “You may not be as bad a guy as I thought.” I stare at the picture. If I didn’t take everything for granted, we’d still be all smiles, wouldn’t we? Now look at me. My gaze turns to the computer. The Word Doc with “Win Everything you Ever Dreamed! Just Click!” written on it is still open. Maybe life really can be that simple after all. Standing up, I pat Abby on the head. She lets out a little, “Eep!” at first, but she eventually smiles. “Well, if you wanna be a super hero, you’ll have to work harder. Hell, look at me. Even though you showed up to make me a good guy, I haven’t learned a thing yet! You’re gonna have to visit whenever you can to try to reform me. How’s that sound, kid?” Abby’s eyes widen. After a pause, she smiles. “Super Suzzy’s gonna save the day!”

MEET THE EDITORS:

Michael Beyer “Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere.” (Albert Einstein)

Sidney Goodman “Life is so much better when you’re laughing.” (Mel Brooks)

Shannon Smith

“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” (Oscar Wilde)

Briana Natal

“The worst enemy to creativity is selfdoubt.” (Sylvia Plath)

The following is a QR code that leads to a Google drive folder containing all works that were not included in this journal. Thank you all for your contributions!

***

Zephyrus, the west wind...

(Stuart James & Revett Nicholas - 1762)

***

zephyrus 2021 Contest

Use the following page to write a short poem about home. Rip the page out and turn it in to Dr. Tom Bierowskiâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s office for a chance to win the Zephyrus

2021 Contest! The winnerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s poem will be published verbatim as the first written work in the volume. Start getting those creative juices flowing!