Generic 18 by Generic Magazine

GENERIC ISSUE 18

EMERSONâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S GENRE FICTION MAGAZINE

Generic, Issue 18, Fall 2020 Copyright for all stories goes to their creators Generic is copyright of Undergraduate Students for Publishing, Emerson College Interior Design by Ana Hein and Morgan Holly Cover Art and Interior Illustrations by Nicole Turner

This issue is set in Roboto and Avenir

Electronic edition published on issuu.com

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TABLE OF CONTENTS LETTER TO THE READER Red Like a Fox Georgia Howe Metamorphosis Jane Nolan The Lost Lord of Avedica Sean Etter Jacksonville, MD, Almanac 2099 Zoe Leonard Poor Little Elisabeth Skyler Johnson

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GENERIC STAFF EDITOR IN CHIEF Allison Sambucini

MANAGING EDITOR Kaitlyn Shokes

EDITORS Susan Matteucci, Allison Caravella, Chloe Aldrich, Belle Tan

READERS Isabella Moreno, Gabi Jonikas, Camila Fagen Guitron, Katharine Hanifen, Celeste Wicks, Clarah Grossman, Cassandra Koenigsberg, Susan Kuroda, Angelina Parrillo, Alex Alvarado, Kayleen Haile, Mackenzie Denofio, Shannon Lawlor, Will Edwards

HEAD COPYEDITOR Abby Ladner

COPYEDITORS Athena Singh, Sierra Delk, Taylor McGowan, Madeline Wendricks, Katie Powers

HEAD OF MARKETING Sadie Hutchings

SOCIAL MEDIA MANAGER Anne Rinaldi

HEAD DESIGNER Ana Hein

ASSISTANT DESIGNER Morgan Holly

COVER DESIGNER Nicole Turner

PROOFREADER Emma Shacochis

Dear Reader,

Welcome, and thank you for picking up the 18th issue of Generic Magazine! We are Emerson’s only biannual literary magazine exclusively dedicated to publishing genre fiction. Our magazine is completely written, edited, designed, produced, marketed, and managed by students who put a lot of time and effort into making Generic the best it can be. Inside this issue, you’ll discover stories that will transport you to other worlds, whether you’re ready to transform into a butterfly or prepare for winter in an apocalyptic Maryland. Generic is home to a wide variety of genre fiction stories, including fantasy, science fiction, horror, romance, and mystery. All too often, genre fiction is considered inferior to realistic fiction, as though genre lacks the same ability to connect with us on a personal level. At Generic, we know that storytelling should know no bounds. We encourage our authors to get imaginative, fantastical, and downright weird. This issue contains five striking stories that encourage you to explore new perspectives and imagine worlds beyond our own, each offering a dramatic escape into lives that transcend our reality. During times like these, when nothing in the real world seems guaranteed, genre fiction has never been more impactful. This magazine wouldn’t have been possible without the unending dedication of our talented authors and staff. Whether you contributed to this issue from a dorm room in Boston or your childhood bedroom in California, this semester has been a testament to how hard each and every individual always works to create this publication. We’ve powered through time zone conflicts, Zoom outages, and the stress of meeting deadlines during such an unpredictable semester. I am so grateful that I could work alongside a group of such committed people. Thank you to Undergraduate Students for Publishing for continuing to support our magazine and offering your guidance throughout production. A special thank you to our Managing Editor, Kaitlyn Shokes, whose passion for Generic has been invaluable. I have no doubt that she will do amazing things with this magazine next semester. Saying goodbye to Generic during my final semester has been difficult. Being Editor in Chief of this quirky, wonderful publication has been the experience I’ve always dreamed of, and when I started as a copyeditor during my first year, I never expected to end up here. For two and a half years, I’ve been able to work with some truly inspiring individuals and stories. I’ve learned so much about the publishing process and what the Emerson community is capable of. I know that Generic is in good hands and will continue to do magical work. I hope you enjoy reading this issue as much as we enjoyed putting it together.

- Allison Sambucini EDITOR IN CHIEF

GEORGIA HOWE

FANTASY

RED LIKE A FOX Georgia Howe is a freshman Creative Writing student at Emerson College from Maine. She is passionate about incorporating inclusion and activism into her writing, and does other creative work with music, photography, and fashion.

During the Flames

hey said if you were brought into the world by flame, it was only fitting that was how you left. Devil-spawn came from the deepest reaches of Hell, poisoning the impregnated wombs of the innocent, ravishing the white milk that came from breasts with a hunger unknown to man. Such beasts did not deserve a death that went quickly. They deserved to be burned. Burned until every dark muttering and scrap of tainted skin was nothing more than ash. The burning was more than a death sentence; it was torturous revenge for every sin that had to be repaid. She could hear them now. As the flames began to lick at her feet, she could hear their cries carrying over the hiss and pop of wood. Witch! You took our children, they screamed, the light painting them red. You ate them, defiled this town, stole the breath from their lungs. You stole our children. The accusations were many, flying at her from all sides like the stones that were thrown at her nearly all of her life. The inculpations were all false, of course. She wished to deny them, to speak of her

Red Like a Fox

innocence, but the heat cooked her throat dry, taking away any chance of retaliation. She was boiling from the inside out. Her flesh seared, and everything was red red red.

Before the Flames Red was her favorite color. She had decided as much when she crushed her first berry, watching the juices dribble from it and down her arm. It was such a bold color, staining the ground scarlet. She wished to be that bright, to imbrue her colors upon the earth. As she vomited up its poisonous flesh that night, she marveled at the hue it had managed to paint her innards. Beautiful. The same feeling of wonderment filled her when she killed her first doe. Its blood fell in droplets among the blades of grass, looking like a red universe had exploded and left tiny stars scattered there. She reached a hand to the doe, wetted it, then dragged the warm liquid through her locks. The ruby streaks dried and crusted later, and she had to cut them out, but, in that moment, she felt like a fox: glorious and quick and undeniably red.

•• She had always rather liked foxes. All her best work was made with them. Fox feet, fox corneas, fox incisors like rugged blades. She adored the animal. Its natural properties were powerful, strong enough to conjure all the magic she needed for seven healing brews. It blended well with the other components she collected from the forest: clary sage, attar, and elderberry vines, to name a few. She spun spider web with fox hair to reinforce the silk used for the weavings she caught malicious spirits in. The majority of her casting bones, which revealed the secrets of the future in how they fell, were those that she had collected from the fox den found north of the bogs. The den was one of her favorite haunts; she would disappear there for hours, sometimes even days. If her mothers ever needed her, that’s where they would first go to find her. Not that they worried much for her—they knew she was the most dangerous thing in the forest. She would hide in the caverns, crushing the bones of mice and rabbits beneath her feet as she followed the kits into their

Georgia Howe

home. She liked it there. The energy was warm, not empty, and full of something a little sharp. Enough of a place to be a haven, and more of a home than any with her mothers. It wasn’t that the mothers were cruel to her; they simply cared more for nature. The girl couldn’t blame them, for she was the same way. They all were, all the sisters and aunts and mothers who lived—or was it hid?—in the woods. The women who worshipped the earth were guided by the ancestral beings of nature whom they came to know as their mothers. They knew each other by aura better than by skin and flesh. Each of them had a home outside of their home. A place, like the fox den, where they could live in their element.

•• She hoped that when she died, her body would be brought to the den so that the foxes would eat her before the buzzards could. Maybe then she could live on within the souls of the animals. Run wild and free through the undergrowth in a flash of red and gold.

•• The deaths of women like her—witches, they were called—were becoming more and more frequent, the darkening cloud of an approaching storm. She threw bones for them once a week now, examining the fallen shapes for patterns. It was hard to read, for they were being burned, and their blood evaporated into steam before it had a chance to drip to the earth and free their souls to the ground. Their cries of pain hung in the air, followed by the essence of them, trapped in the emptiness, unable to sink back down to the dirt from whence they were formed. It was a horrible death, to burn, and so she made sure never to travel near the village. Hardened people lived there. People well-versed with the flint and the flame. She made a silent vow to the Moon above to never go to that place.

•• There was a boy, and while she didn’t care much for the rest of him, she was completely enraptured by the blue of his eyes. She thought perhaps, when he had been born, a binding spell had trapped the

Red Like a Fox

entirety of a lake inside those glowing orbs. They had first found her when she was collecting ferns. Now she was hooked on them, caught like a squirrel in a snare. And she was fine with that. She was led by his solid hand into the village. She had been there twice now, lured in by the boy’s cobalt eyes. Those eyes brought her to the same place as twice before: an empty wooden structure that was simply a box with one room and hay on the floor. The boy called it a farm storage shed, but she did not care where they were. The place had no aura, which was strange to her. It was so utterly empty that there was no story to be gathered from it. Its wooden walls whispered no secrets. She thought it was strange but then thought perhaps it just needed to be filled. That’s what she and the boy would do here. They’d give it a story to tell. The first few times they came, the boy talked. His mouth spurted with words the way a new spring bubbled with water. She didn’t speak much, only listened and watched those blue eyes as they sparkled with every new thought. When she left, her hands would be coated with dust and smell like must. The foxes in the den didn’t like the new scent, so she learned to bathe before returning to her animals. But this time, when she stood to leave, the boy caught her hand and pulled her back down to the floor. She was confused, and her gaze told him as much. He swallowed twice before grabbing the hem of her dress with his other hand. Wait, his eyes said. And so she did. And, with cold, clumsy fingers, he pulled the dress back. Her skin was ivory in the moonlight, and her eyes were crystalized topaz as they bore into his, ringing with a question. He looked away and, with the grace of his god and a ballad of crickets, he went to pierce her. The boy broke into her entrance, and something there tore alongside her spirit. When she tried to push him off, he only clamped to her skin harder. She cried out, the sound catching in the wind and drifting away, reaching no ears but not unheard. Her call of distress summoned her mothers, and they came to her. Rushing up from the dirt, gushing free from the streams, flying down from the skies, the mothers found their daughter and sank into her being. They filled her blood and her bones with energy and gave her the strength to protect her sacred body. With a surge of conjured force, she used her body and her magic to push the boy off her, his skin burning and blistering wherever it

Georgia Howe

had touched her. He hissed and called her names she did not understand as he scrambled to his feet and ran from the place. Only once he left did she notice the dull ache all over her body. Fingerprints had left bruises on the delicate layers of her skin. Outside, the sky began to cry for her and all that she had not realized she had lost. She tried to think of the foxes, and how the mother and father made love to give birth to kits. But something had been wrong, something had been missing from her. It had not been love; it had just been taking. Now she felt empty. She imagined herself a skeleton, her bones pearly white and glistening from the raindrops. She looked at the blood that trailed down between her legs. The blood was red, red she loved so dearly, but it was not beautiful. No, there was nothing beautiful about that picture.

•• When she had first bled, she thought perhaps she was dying. What was this carmine ichor that flowed from her womb? Why did it hurt? She had been confused and did not understand. One of the mothers found her curled in a ball of panic. She unraveled her and explained in soft, soothing words. “You are young, sweet child, but youth is not everlasting. Now the earth has decreed that you shall grow. You shall ascend the stairs to womanhood. This bleeding, this pain, is just one of the sacrifices you’ll have to make. Do not fret, simply follow the path nature has set for you. Do not be scared: your body knows how to bloom. You will no longer be a rosebud but now a flowering delphinium. Embrace this change.” With that sage advice, the mother left her emboldened. A salve that smelled like turmeric but looked like lemongrass, to ease the pain, was waiting by her side when she awoke the next morning. A gift from her mothers, those healing spirits of earth.

During the Flames Pain was a fickle thing, its spectrum infinitely wide. She thought that perhaps, if she could ignore it, it would go away. But the pain was as persistent as the flames, flames that melted the flesh off her legs now. As her body bubbled and changed and disappeared, she

Red Like a Fox

imagined that she was transforming. That she would emerge from the ashes anew, like a phoenix, and take flight to the woods, back into the embrace of her mothers. But she knew this vision was a lie. She was not being reborn. She was dying. It was a heavy thought and entirely the fault of the people that screamed around her. The boy with the cobalt eyes and burnt fingers glared at her from far away in the crowd. After he had run from her, he had told his people where they could find her, and so they dragged her from the den all the way to the stake. She could see the spittle flying from their mouths, the tendons clutching in their meaty necks. Never could she have known something filled with more hatred. Their minds were twisted by words and noise. If they were a bit quieter, then she knew they would hear the earth calling out to them and claiming itself as their true home. But they did not listen. They were too loud, shouting, screaming, crying, “burn, burn, burn, witch!” Despite the pain and the hate that flowed so freely from these people, she was not angry with them. Perhaps she should be. They accused her of turpitude. They raped her. They burned her, wishing for her to suffer. Yet through all the hate, she could only see them as beings, things of life, just like the foxes she was so fond of. She felt sorry for their blindness.

•• Through the smoke and tears, she could just make out the scraping tops of the trees. Away from the fire, away from the village, pines mingled with open sky, wings beat the air with a rush of feathers, and a moon rose bloomed. She closed her eyes and listened beyond the angry shouts. There, she could hear the melody of fish splashing, leaves rustling, a coyote howling, crickets chirping, and the earth sighing. As the flames engulfed her head, she felt a final cool breeze. It was a breath of air, coming all the way from distant mountains and through the body of the forest. It was an apology, and a goodnight.

JANE NOLAN

SPECULATIVE FICTION

METAMORPHOSIS Jane Nolan is a senior Creative Writing major. They have always been interested in writing in different types of perspective, whether it be through the eyes of a bug or the eyes of a teapot. They are excited to continue to explore and discover new voices within our world.

uck. One more day, and it’s here. I stare at my reflection in the still water of the puddle, freshly pooled from a recent rainfall. My lumpy, green head stretches and contorts in front of me as I ponder my inevitable transformation. Visions of the rainstorm two months ago flash in my mind. That was a dangerous day. That was a sad day. As soon as we saw the thick, gray clouds swallow the blue sky, we ran for shelter. I remember turning my head to see Anthony crushed by a raindrop, the cluster of water molecules crashing down on him like a bomb. We had been best friends since we were little larvae, and, in an instant, that friendship came to an end. His funeral lasted twenty minutes. Eight ants, including three of his brothers, two beetles, a ladybug, a spider, and I, the lonely caterpillar, sat in attendance. Rain always caused loved ones to perish. The sound of little feet rumbling towards me pulls me out of my thoughts. I look up to see my ladybug buddy, Lionel, scurrying towards me. With his six feet all moving in sweet synchronicity, he finally makes it to me. “Hey Bill, having another existential crisis?” Lionel pants, out of breath from the two-foot journey he made from his log to me. “Screw you,” I laugh, trying to lighten my anxious mood. Lionel

Metamorphosis

always knows when to show up and pull me back down to earth. He’s been a great support system, especially after Anthony’s death. “You wish.” Lionel flashes me a cheeky smile, attempting to pull another laugh out of me. I look further into the puddle, hoping it will climb out of its crater and drown me. “You should be excited. It’ll be nice to get some peace and quiet for a little bit. You’ve been going and going ever since Anthony. You haven’t had a moment of rest.” “I am excited. It’s just, what if something goes wrong, you know?” I can feel my anxiety gripping my body again. I’ve been trying to talk myself off the ledge for weeks. I don’t have much time before I jump off that ledge right into the coffin of a cocoon. “You’re gonna be fine. Your whole family has done it, and now they’re gorgeous!” “What are you trying to say, that I’m ugly now?” I look down into the puddle and count all of the lime green rolls that line my body. “Actually, never mind, don’t answer that.” “Listen, I’m going to the Oak Tree tonight for dinner with Stacey and Paul, why don’t you come along? Help get your mind off of things.” Lionel gives me a hopeful look. I inwardly cringe at the mention of Paul’s name, but the Oak Tree does have great leaves. “I’ll think about it, but don’t get your hopes up, okay?” Lionel already knows that this answer is purely performative. I will be attending the Oak Tree tonight. Lionel reaches out a little arm, pats me on the back, then flies off, leaving me to my musings.

•• I make my excruciatingly long commute over to the Oak Tree, where I see our spider friend Stacey, the beetle Paul, and Lionel all waiting for me on one of the tree’s roots. Lionel is fluttering his wings back and forth, a telltale sign that he is hangry and impatient. I approach the group and shoot Lionel a look to calm down. “Dead critter crawling! The creature of the hour! How does it feel to be on the brink of a dark, dark hibernation?” Paul sneers. I roll my eyes and ignore him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of reaction. Paul’s been a jerk since the time he was an egg, but he’s Lionel’s cousin, so he always seems to worm his way into all of our plans— except for the one to go to Anthony’s funeral. I guess he was busy that day.

Jane Nolan

“Can we go in already? It’s prime eating time. It’ll be packed in there.” Lionel waves his arms haphazardly to show the urgency of the situation. We scurry over to the inside of the tree trunk, a dimly lit tavern that everyone frequents. We take our seats around a little notch in the bark and anxiously wait as our usual server, Antonio, approaches us. “Hey guys, how are you?” Antonio flashes a smile at us. I always liked Antonio. He made everyone feel as though they were important and special. He used to stick up for Anthony and me back in the day when we were too small to fend for ourselves. Back when we would all go swim in the puddles on hot summer days. I don’t swim anymore. “Better than you, sport, sorry to hear about your brother and the raindrop. Heard he got completely wrecked,” Paul says with a grin. Lionel gives him a warning look. Antonio shifts uncomfortably. “Thank you. Should I get you guys your usuals?” Antonio waits a beat, but he already knows the answer to that question considering there are three things on the menu. He brings us our leaves and water droplets rather quickly. I try to remain engaged in the conversation, but I can’t help but think about the impending darkness of the cocoon every time I blink. I wonder if it’s similar to the darkness that Anthony is experiencing. I wonder if there even is a darkness that he is experiencing. “Right, Bill?” Lionel is looking at me expectantly, catching me again in the midst of an internal panic. “Right.” “You okay there, buddy? You seem a little shaken. Did you hear thunder or something? Scared of a little rain…” Paul flashes me a sinister smile. “Paul, what the hell is wrong with you?” Stacey gives me a warm look. “Don’t mind him, sugar.” “Yep, I’m fine. Just a lot on my mind.” I slurp up my water droplet and look around the room, trying to find something to focus on other than the piercing eyes of Paul. “Bill’s got a big day tomorrow, as we all know. He’s gonna do great.” Lionel flutters his wings a little, desperate to change the subject. “That is, if he makes it out alive. Might be joining your friend, buddy.” Paul aggressively slurps his water droplet. “Come on, Paul, don’t be a dick.” Lionel’s eyes bore into my

Metamorphosis

forehead, anxious about my reaction. I feel something inside me snap like a twig. “You know what, Paul? Apart from thinking about my huge life change and my dead best friend, I’m also thinking about bashing your head into this table. I don’t know why we even hang out with you, it’s not like you’re bringing anything to the group. All you do is sit there and bully. You think you are just so high and mighty, but guess what? You’re a dung beetle, Paul. You know what that means? You eat shit. And that’s what you should go do right now. Eat shit!” I fling the rest of my water droplet at him, causing it to splash all over his face. With that, I abruptly get out of my seat and scurry outside. “Hey, Bill, wait!” Lionel flies out, interrupting my path and landing in front of me. “Listen, I am so sorry about that. I don’t know what Paul’s deal is sometimes. He’s an idiot, and it wasn’t fair of him to say that.” “Why do you let him come around? He was horrible to Anthony. Time and time again he’s shown his true colors, and you still let him hang with us,” I snap. “He’s my family.” “A distant cousin. That’s no excuse to let him treat your friends like crap.” “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll go back in there and—” “I don’t care what you do, Lionel. Knowing you, you’ll just try to keep the peace and not do anything at all. You’re so scared to piss someone off that you just end up silent. You’re just as bad as him.” I step around him and walk on, desperate to get out of here. He calls after me, but I don’t turn around. I’m done being around people right now.

•• The sunlight pokes at my eyelids, urging me awake. I slowly open my eyes and look up at the green leaves bursting with color from the spotlight above. I soak in the light, knowing this will be the last time it showers me for a while. I try to shake my fight with Lionel out of my head in order to focus. I move down the branch, scoping out its bark for a safe place to begin. Spotting a nice dry space on the branch, I know it’s time. The formation happens naturally. My dad told me that, when the

Jane Nolan

time comes, the process will take over, and I won’t have to worry about the mechanics. I hang upside down as the sticky stuff does its thing. My heart thunders as the cocoon begins to take shape. An hour goes by, and I am completely submerged. The darkness is so consuming that I can’t tell if my eyes are open or shut. I think about what it was like to feel the warmth of sunlight on my back. I think about how hungry I am right now. Was I supposed to bring food in with me? I think about Anthony. I think about how we used to spend hours staring at ourselves in puddles’ reflections, daydreaming about what we would look like when we were older. “You’re going to have the most glorious wings. They’ll stretch out towards the sun and they’ll be the most magnificent colors.” Anthony smiles at my reflection, imagining my glorious wings. “No way. Knowing my luck, they’ll probably be tiny and fragile.” “They’re going to be so strong, just like you. You keep everything bottled up tight. It’s okay to show some emotion sometime. It’s okay to be angry with someone. It’s okay to forgive someone. It’s okay to love someone.” Anthony and I stare at each other for a moment. I break eye contact. “When you get them, do you think you could give me a lift?” Anthony grins. I smile back. “Of course.” My tears roll down my face, and suddenly I am aware of a tingling all around my body. My dad had told me about this part and said I shouldn’t be scared because it’s a natural process, but right now, in this moment, I’m terrified. It begins at my toes, attached to the top of the cocoon. It’s like a melting sensation, as though I am a popsicle on a hot summer day. The feeling slides down to the top of my head. There’s a pain—no, a discomfort I would call it. The discomfort of change. I begin to mourn my previous self. The caterpillar body with its rows of rolls and sticky, slimy surfaces. I mourn the ugliness and the pudginess, all of the things that I didn’t like about myself but became so accustomed to. There was a love in the familiar, maybe not a love for the actual self, but a love for the constant of it. I mourn the way people recognized me as I walked past them on the tree branches. I think about how I will have to introduce myself all over again to the world. I mourn through the entire agonizingly long process. My emotions are so powerful that I can see the colors of them in the darkness. The blue of my sorrow and the grief that I feel. The grief for Anthony.

Metamorphosis

The grief for me. The red of my anger flashes across my eyes. The anger I have for Paul. The anger I have for Lionel. The anger I have for the world. Anthony’s words about forgiveness appear amidst the red. Calm washes over me. And, then, the yellow of happiness appears. An odd, melancholic happiness that is swirling through me. The happiness and hope for the future, whatever that future may be. I watch the colors of my emotions as they perform a light show in this cocoon theater. Finally, it stops. I break through the cocoon, feeling how fragile the walls are under my legs. I wonder what would have happened if I escaped early. If I rejected the change and never looked back. I wonder if it would be just as painful. I crawl out to the familiar bark of the branch, feeling uneasy. The world looks the same around me, but I am so hauntingly different. My wings dramatically extend out, begging me to pay attention to them. They’re beautiful. Anthony was right. I feel him here. I feel him everywhere. There’s only one thing left to do now. I close my eyes and inch towards the edge of the branch, trying to gather as much courage as possible. I reach the end of the branch. I pause, fear wrapping around my body, wondering what to do next. “It’s okay to be angry with someone. It’s okay to forgive someone. It’s okay to love someone.” I smile. With one graceful leap, I’m up in the air. I fly in the direction of Lionel’s house.

SEAN ETTER

FANTASY/ROMANCE

THE LOST LORD OF AVEDICA Sean Etter is a fantasy writer and lifelong fan of the genre. He is currently pursuing a Creative Writing degree. This is his first published work.

eon’s life ended with a kiss. Before that moment, he lived for twenty-one years as the son of Lady Olivia de Silva, a powerful noblewoman who served on King Atilio’s council. Leon’s days were spent in and around Avedica, the largest town in the southern region of the kingdom of Legiessa. Much to his mother’s disapproval, Leon preferred to spend his time wandering the streets and getting into all manner of trouble. Any attempts by Lady de Silva to get her son to settle down and focus on his studies proved futile; a fire had been lit in the boy’s spirit the day he was born, and no amount of scolding could put it out. In his early years, Leon found himself a partner in crime: Dante Lupo, a hazel-eyed young peasant boy from the poorest part of town. Their friendship began when a nine-year-old Leon decided to steal several fireworks that had been intended for a local noble’s wedding. To avoid recognition by the town guards, Leon had smeared his face with dirt to obscure his identity. As such, the merchant transporting the fireworks believed him to be just another urchin when she discovered him sifting through her boxes. Perhaps it was fate, or just dumb luck, that a young Dante happened to be walking past at that time. Compelled by his compassionate heart, he intervened and managed to spare the grateful young

The Lost Lord of Avedica

noble from a vicious beating by convincing the merchant that Leon was his rascally younger brother. From that moment on, the two boys were as thick as thieves. Leon never stopped getting into trouble, but Dante would always be there to temper his friend’s wild nature. That is, until the day came that Lady de Silva put an end to her son’s antics. On Leon’s thirteenth birthday, his mother informed him that he would be sent away to study at a prestigious academy known for tutoring the children of wealthy nobles. There, he would learn to govern, as was the duty of the nobility. He’d be leaving at the end of the week. The news hit Leon like a fist and drew the breath from his lungs. He wanted to scream, to cry, to fight against this decision. Instead, he bit his tongue. His mother only wanted what was best for him. Later, he slipped away from the celebration and ran off to seek comfort in the company of the only friend he’d ever known. In a flurry of words, Leon told Dante the news. If it hurt Dante as much as it had Leon, he did not let it show. Instead, he silently wrapped his comforting arms around Leon as his friend wept. Long after the tears had dried, the two friends sat in silence on the roof of Dante’s home, looking up at the moon and stars. “What if we ran away?” Leon asked. Dante’s eyes widened in surprise. “You don’t mean that.” Leon looked over at him. “What if I do?” Dante fell silent for a moment. “You know we couldn’t make it,” he said. Leon nodded sadly. Legiessa was a vast place. With no time to plan and no meaningful worldly experience, they couldn’t hope to make it far on their own. He knew in his heart, as reluctant as that knowledge was, that he had no choice but to obey his mother’s wishes. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” Leon whispered. Dante looked into Leon’s eyes and grabbed his hands. With a voice full of conviction, he made a promise. “This isn’t goodbye,” he said. “We will meet again. No matter what it takes.” Leon looked into his friend’s determined eyes. He hoped Dante was right. When the dreaded day came, de Silva ushered Leon into the carriage that would take him away. He looked out onto the crowded marketplace, taking what felt to be his last look at Avedica. Just as the carriage reached the town gate, he managed one final glimpse at Dante, who stood waving from the rooftops. Wet tears had carved canyons through the dirt on Dante’s face.

Sean Etter

•• Seven long, lonely years later, his time within the austere walls of the academy had come to an end. After being forced to learn the intricacies of alliances, trade, and the deadly theatre of politics— all of which held no interest to him—he longed to breathe the familiar dirty air of Avedica’s slums. As the carriage carried him through Avedica’s gates for the first time in ages, he felt a weight drop off his shoulders: he was home. He looked out eagerly at the cobbled streets. To his surprise, everything seemed the same, save for small changes. The marketplace still buzzed with activity while guards patrolled the same streets in the same armor, though the faces under the helmets had changed. To his disappointment, Leon couldn’t find the one face he’d longed to see since the day he left. The carriage came to a stop in front of his mother’s manor, high on the hill overlooking the rest of the town. Lady de Silva was waiting for him, flanked by her protector, a large man named Oscar. She did not move when Leon stepped out of the carriage; he was to come to her. “Welcome home, Leon,” she said. “I’m glad to be home,” he said, keeping his voice formal. “Your professors spoke highly of you in their letters. They had nothing but praise for you and your accomplishments. Some even expressed that House de Silva was in good hands.” Her usual businesslike tone was tinged with pride, and Leon noticed the ghost of a smile on her lips. “Of course, I’d expect nothing less from the future head of this house.” His mother had never expressed pride in him before. He had long hoped it would spark inside him a sense of purpose, a sense of belonging. But a knot was forming in his stomach. The future head of this house. He gazed up at the imposing stone walls of the manor. They looked more similar to those of the academy than he remembered. The next day was his twentieth birthday. As was the tradition among nobles in Legiessa, this was to be the day that Leon chose one individual to become his protector. This individual would serve as his bodyguard, advisor, and confidant. The common folk believed the bond between nobles and their protectors to be even deeper—that of secret lovers. Such a thing was forbidden,

The Lost Lord of Avedica

however. The beds of nobles were only ever shared with other nobles. Relations with anyone else would cause a scandal unlike any other. It would ruin a family’s reputation and could cause them to fall from power. Protectors and nobles never dared cross that line, even if they wanted to. A large arena just outside of Avedica’s walls was where the candidates would compete to become Leon’s protector. When he arrived at the arena that morning, he was shocked to see how few candidates awaited him. Normally, a young noble would choose their protector from a large pool of candidates from around Legiessa. But, while he’d been away, Lady de Silva had taken it upon herself to start the process without him. What once had been a pool of nearly a hundred candidates was whittled down to just three before Leon had even laid eyes on any of them. When he questioned his mother about why she’d done this, she regarded him with her steel gaze. “I just wanted to help you find the protector best suited to you,” she explained. Her voice was like the perfume of a carnivorous flower, a sweetness intended to ensnare. “Don’t worry,” she continued. “I chose the candidates I know you would have. No one knows you better than I do.” Though sullen and uncomfortable with this turn of events, Leon bit his tongue. She only wanted what was best for him, he told himself, even if her methods seemed duplicitous. The day’s festivities flew past, consisting of jousts, races, and strength competitions. All three candidates—a woman whose strength excited the crowd; a man whose prowess with a blade impressed even de Silva herself; and a man who proved surprisingly nimble despite his bulk—performed well in different areas, but none in all of them. Something about the nimble man tickled the back of Leon’s mind, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. He wished to take a closer look at the man, but as was the custom, all three candidates kept their faces concealed behind their armor until one was chosen as his protector. Then came the final test. Oscar presented the candidates with a scenario—a political dispute with a rival house—and asked them what advice they would give their charge. The strong woman advised that Leon make a show of strength. The swordsman suggested his lord demonstrate cunning. The nimble man gave unexpected advice: “I would tell you to follow your heart.” Lady de Silva laughed derisively at his answer. “This man seems

Sean Etter

to misunderstand the nature of politics,” she whispered. Though he said nothing, Leon felt differently. The other answers had felt expected. This man’s answer felt honest. The time came for Leon to make his choice. “That swordsman seems promising,” Lady de Silva told her son. She’d praised the man’s performance all day, more so than the other two. “He’s cunning, just as you are. You’d make an effective team.” Leon stood up. He looked down at the three candidates knelt before them. His eyes darted between the swordsman and the nimble man. His mother’s words echoed in his head. His heart pounded against his ribs, harder than it ever had. He pointed at the nimble man. “I choose him,” he said. Lady de Silva laid a hand on her son’s arm. “Are you certain? What of the woman? She is blunt, but I’m sure you’d feel safer with her strength.” Leon hesitated, then declared, “I’m certain. He’s the one.” She nodded, and Leon thought he noticed a glimmer of respect in her eyes, sparked by his decisiveness. “Very well.” De Silva turned her voice to the candidates and the crowd. “My son has made his choice.” She gestured to the man Leon had chosen. “You may remove your helmet.” The man obeyed. Leon stifled a gasp when he saw the face. It was older, rougher around the edges, and had grown a scruffy beard, but he still recognized the face of Dante looking back at him. While his old friend kept his expression neutral, Leon could see a smile shining in those familiar hazel eyes. The night continued with a lavish birthday celebration. Leon drifted through the crowd, begrudgingly greeting the guests his mother had invited. All the while, Dante, now his protector, dutifully shadowed him. Leon wanted nothing more than to pull his friend aside and talk of the years that had passed while they’d been apart, but his mother had been sure to lecture him on the importance of gaining the favor of other nobles and maintaining their family’s reputation. To disappear tonight would be seen as rude and would reflect badly on him, and more importantly, on her. So he pushed down his desire to leave and stayed. When the night came to an end, Leon retreated to his room with Dante in tow. The moment the door closed, he bombarded his old friend with questions. Dante beamed at him. “I promised we’d meet again.” After Leon had left, Dante started searching for a way the two of them could reunite. When he’d learned of the role of protector, he knew that would be his best

The Lost Lord of Avedica

and only chance. He’d joined the town’s guards and trained hard to become a candidate. His desire to see Leon again had fueled his determination, and his speed, honesty, and loyalty earned him the coveted spot. “To be honest,” he admitted bashfully, “I was terrified that you were going to pick Claudia over me. She was certainly the crowd favorite.” Leon gave Dante his mischievous smile. “Perhaps I should have, after the way she knocked you on your ass during the joust,” he teased. Dante laughed, the sound booming and joyful. Spurred on by the familiar sound, Leon wrapped him in a tight hug. “I missed you,” he whispered. After a moment’s hesitation, Dante wrapped his large arms wordlessly around him. Leon found himself suddenly aware of how warm Dante’s embrace was and how safe he felt within it.

•• Though much had changed since they were young, Leon and Dante fell back into the easy groove of their companionship. It was as though they’d never been apart. But Leon’s joy was short-lived as he soon found himself unable to leave the manor. Every day, there was another meeting, another hearing, another task assigned to him by his mother. The manor had become his dreary, gilded prison, and his only respite was what little time alone with Dante he could steal. In between all of this, something changed between the two of them. Or perhaps Leon had finally noticed something that had always been there. Hoping to remedy his lord’s despondent mood, Dante decided to teach him archery. In the secluded courtyard where they trained, Dante drew himself close to guide Leon’s arms into the proper firing position. Heat gathered in Leon’s cheeks at the gentle, electrifying touch of Dante’s strong, calloused hands. He looked up to see Dante’s face illuminated in the warm glow of the late-day sun. It was a face he’d seen a thousand times, yet this was the first time he’d noticed how beautiful it was to behold. At that moment, he realized that the only place he desired to be was here, at Dante’s side. It terrified him, that desire, for he could never act upon it. As lord and protector, they could never dare to be together. If anyone were to discover them, the ensuing scandal would ruin House de

Sean Etter

Silva, and his mother’s wrath would be terrible. What had started as a joyful reunion had become a bittersweet torment. He would spend the rest of his life beside Dante, but they could never truly be together. As long as he was a de Silva, his love was doomed to die. Still, each night he dreamed of spending his days alone with Dante, far away from the manor, wrapped tightly in his protector’s arms. Then came the news that changed Leon’s life forever. His mother had taken a trip to the kingdom’s capital city to meet with King Atilio. The day after her return, she came to Leon in his room and requested that Oscar and Dante leave them in private. Dante threw his charge a look of concern. Subtly, Leon nodded for him to go. Once mother and son were alone, she broke the news. “You’re to be engaged to Princess Natalina,” she informed him. “The king’s eldest daughter. The heir to the throne.” She placed great emphasis on this final part. For the first time in his life, Leon heard genuine excitement in his mother’s voice. All he could feel was a frigid cold creeping up his spine, spreading over his limbs. “Engaged?” he asked. His voice was soft, barely above a whisper. “As in…marriage?” De Silva raised an eyebrow. She heard the disappointment in Leon’s voice. “You should be happy,” she said. He could hear the steel edge in her tone. A warning. “You’ll be the second most powerful person in Legiessa, next to the Queen herself.” Leon’s heart was beating out of control, pounding against the ribs that encaged it inside. “When did you decide this?” he asked. De Silva narrowed her eyes into daggers. “When I met with the king. He seemed enthusiastic when I made the proposal. It will prove to be a mutually beneficial arrangement. Atilio will bolster his power in this region, and our family’s power will be cemented for ages to come. It’s everything we’ve ever dreamed of, Leon.” How could she have made a decision as life-changing as his marriage without consulting him? Everything we’ve ever dreamed of. She knew nothing of what he wanted. She never had. Words of protest teetered on the edge of Leon’s tongue. He reached out to pull them back, but he couldn’t hold them in any longer. Years of frustration, fury, and protests that he’d silenced over the years coalesced into a boulder that shattered the dam he’d hidden them behind.

The Lost Lord of Avedica

“What if I don’t want to marry her?” he asked. “Did you ever consider that? Or am I nothing in your eyes but an obedient tool to be used for your selfish ambitions?” “You accuse me of being selfish?” de Silva hissed. “You have no idea what I have sacrificed for you, for this family. You care nothing of the generations that came before you, that risked everything to ensure you could have even half the opportunities you do today.” “You’ve taken my life away! I went to that academy for seven years because you wanted me to. I spend my days trapped in this gods-forsaken manor because of you. And now you’ve sold away my future, and for what? To secure your damn legacy. I—” Leon was silenced by his mother’s icy palm striking him across the face. Her wedding band cut into the flesh of his cheek. A thin stream of blood ran down his face. De Silva’s voice was low and threatening as she spoke. “You will not raise your voice to me again. You are nothing but an insolent, selfish child, and I have had enough of your arrogance, Leon. You will be marrying Natalina. End of discussion.” With those words, she turned on her heel and left the room. The blood from Leon’s cut dripped onto the floor. He didn’t notice. All he could think about was the life he would never get the chance to live, the places he would never get to see, and the paths he’d never get to choose. Later, Dante and Leon trained in the courtyard in the dying light of the orange sun. Leon was acting strangely, and Dante knew it. His friend swung his practice sword with far more ferocity than he ever had before. Dante held up his hand and halted their sparring. “Leon, what’s wrong?” he asked. The concern in his voice was all it took to break Leon out of his haze. Leon dropped his sword, his shoulders shaking from the effort to contain his sobs. He told Dante everything. The academy. The candidates. The engagement. Every path his mother forced him to take, every choice he’d never had the chance to make. As he spoke, the tears he’d been fighting back for years finally won their war. They rolled down his cheeks, warm as the blood his mother had drawn from his cheek. When he finished telling his tale, he asked in a withered voice, “What should I do?” Dante placed his hands soothingly on Leon’s shoulders. “What’s your heart telling you to do?” Leon looked up. Dante’s eyes were like lighthouses guiding him to safety through the fog of his tears. Before he could stop

Sean Etter

himself, Leon leaned in and kissed him. He stepped back and saw surprise inscribed on Dante’s face. He feared he’d crossed a line. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Dante pulled him in and kissed him, silencing the words in his mouth. Leon wrapped his arms around Dante’s broad shoulders. The hairs of his friend’s beard tickled, but Leon didn’t mind; he was too lost in the warmth of his soft lips to notice. Later that night, the two men lay in Leon’s bed, their clothes discarded on the floor around them. Leon’s head rested on Dante’s chest, his fingers tracing lazy circles around his protector’s abdomen. Dante’s arms were wrapped protectively around his lord’s body, a slight smile on his lips. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. As Leon laid there listening to Dante’s heartbeat, he realized that his life as he’d known it was over. Here, in Dante’s arms, he’d finally had a taste of the freedom he’d longed for his whole life. It would be impossible for him to go back to the status quo, to pretend this night had never happened. He thought of his mother, of the future she had planned for him. Leon shook Dante lightly. His hazel eyes fluttered open. “What if we ran away?” Leon whispered. Silence passed between them as Dante searched Leon’s eyes. Finally, a smile spread across his lips. “Okay.”

ZOE LEONARD

SCIENCE FICTION

JACKSONVILLE, MD, ALMANAC 2099 Zoe Leonard is an Emerson undergraduate studying for her BFA in Creative Writing. She is originally from Baltimore, MD.

JACKSONVILLE, MD, ALMANAC 2099 Distributed by the Baltimore County People’s Department January

Safety Precautions

eather this January is expected to change capriciously. On mild days, temperatures may be as warm as 50°F, but a polar vortex is expected to hit the East Coast on the 16th with lows in the -20°F. Record accumulation of up to 13ft expected to peak on the 25th. While snow is falling, continue to clear a 7x5 space outside, clearly visible from the sky, to allow BCPD Relief Drones adequate space for landing and delivery of relief packages. You can go online to customize the contents of your January relief supplies at bcpd.gov/relief. Standard relief packages for a family of seven will be delivered between January 15th to 18th and include: 21 gallon drinking water refill, 8 cans canned vegetables (carrots, beans, peas, corn, tomatoes), 8 cans soup/stew, 2.5lb soy protein, 3 boxes dry cereal or oatmeal, 1.5L cooking oil, 3lb flour, 1.5lb

Jacksonville, MD, Almanac 2099

sugar, 12 eggs, 1 gallon Mylk, 1 package American Mylk Cheese, 1 family package (49) dietary supplements, 1 family package (49) mood supplements. Specialized supplies, such as infant formula, dietary supplements, and hypoallergenic foods may be included or substituted in your relief package. Families larger or smaller than seven persons may request proportional increases or decreases in relief supplies. Go online to opt into pharmacy delivery and get your family’s medications delivered with your relief drop, free with Universal Insurance. The US Department for Environmental Safety recommends all citizens stay indoors during extreme weather conditions, but all essential workers are encouraged to wear multiple layers and heat insulated jackets that can withstand up to at least -5°F. You can apply for a BCPD issued insulated jacket at bcpd.gov/winterequipment. Please allow up to 3 business days for delivery. Temperatures this January are predicted to drop to a record cold of -18°F in the third week, from the 18th to the 24th. All citizens are required to shelter in their homes during this week. Refer to the temperature chart below and continue to monitor your state weather channels before venturing outside. Be advised that wearing winter clothes, including BCPD insulated jackets, is not enough to protect the wearer from long exposure to temperatures below 25°F. Citizens should strive to remain inside a building or within a vehicle with up-to-date Extreme Weather Conditioning (EWC). Federal law dictates that all makes and models of vehicles sold in the US since the year 2082 must comply with EWC standards. Maryland requires that vehicles are to be Extreme Weather tested every two years. Visit your local MVA or MVA.maryland.gov/extremeweathertesting for more information. For the safety of all citizens, BCPD drones will be monitoring travel ways during weeks of deadly temperatures. Any citizen caught breaking the shelter in place order will receive a fine of up to $7,500 and may be at risk of having their travel license revoked. In the case of an emergency, BCPD can be called to deliver emergency medical care via drone drop, but medical personnel may not be accessible. Go online to bcpd.gov/shelterinplace/emergencies to see video tutorials on treating and coping with common medical emergency scenarios including stroke, heart attack, hypothermia, heat exhaustion, attempted suicide, etc. See the key and weather chart below to know when weather

Zoe Leonard

permits venturing outside. LOW RISK: Citizens may venture outside as per usual. Citizens are encouraged to go outside to exercise and do their shopping on these days. MED RISK: Citizens may be outside for 45 to 60 minutes at a time and should stay active. Cold-sensitive or at-risk individuals such as elders and young children should limit time outside to a maximum of 30 minutes and wear thermal gear when necessary. HIGH RISK: All citizens are advised to stay inside a protected home or vehicle during high risk freezing temperatures. If travel is absolutely necessary, wear protective thermal gear and do not stay outside for more than 10 to 20 minutes. DEADLY RISK: For the safety of all citizens, an announcement of deadly risk weather and shelter in place will be ordered by the state. No citizen should be seen outside and risk a hefty fine, or freezing to death, if they do not comply.

Week 0, 1 January High 53°F

51°F

43°F

Low Risk

44°F LOW

34°F MED

Week 1, January

45°F LOW 4

High

28°F

64°F 51°F 19°F

44°F 57°F 41°F

Low

15°F

50°F 43°F 2°F

31°F 44°F 32°F

Risk

HIGH LOW LOW HIGH MED LOW MED

Week 2, 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 January High 47°F 44°F 59°F 46°F 55°F 24°F 8°F Low 34°F 35°F 46°F 33°F 42°F 12°F -14°F Risk MED MED LOW MED LOW HIGH DEADLY

Jacksonville, MD, Almanac 2099 Week 3, January

35 24

High

2°F

0°F

1°F

2°F

-1°F

-4°F

20°F

Low

-24°F

-22°F

-21°F

-22°F

-20°F

-18°F

10°F

Risk

DEADLY DEADLY DEADLY DEADLY DEADLY DEADLY HIGH

Week 4, 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 January High 23°F 15°F 45°F 57°F 66°F 12°F 39°F Low 7°F -2°F 34°F 43°F 42°F 2°F 27°F Risk HIGH HIGH MED LOW LOW HIGH MED Flora and Fauna We will see more trees freeze to death this winter in the layers of snow and record freezing temperatures. Help protect the trees in your neighborhood by insulating their roots with mulch, sandbags, blankets, or any other insulators you can find. If you are aware of or find any uninsulated endangered or at-risk trees in or around your neighborhood, please register them with the Baltimore City People’s Department before January 12th so that wildlife police can install insulators on your tree before snowfall. You can register your tree and learn more about endangered and at-risk species at bcpd.gov/endangeredspecies. Some common trees currently at-risk in the Baltimore area include Southern Magnolia (Magnolia grandiflora), Chestnut Oak (Quercus prinus), White Oak (Quercus alba), Dogwood (Cornus florida), and American Beech (Fagus grandifolia). See the complete list of at-risk species, as well as photos and tips on identifying them, online at bcpd.gov/ endangeredspecies. Many wild animals will not be able to survive the week of deadly temperatures without human protection. While some animals, such as squirrels, groundhogs, skunks, and snakes, had adapted to burrowing and hibernating in the winter, you may find that some animals, such as rabbits, birds, wild cats, raccoons, and even deer, will attempt to seek shelter in or around your home. If you choose to quarter a wild animal during this winter, you can register your

Zoe Leonard

animal with the BCPD and receive extra supplies for your winter visitor. Be advised the Department of Environmental Safety recommends to not foster an animal if you lack adequate barn, shed, shack, garage, or basement space where the visitor can live separately from your family. Consider building or purchasing an animal hutch, a small, insulated shelter for animals that can stand anywhere in your yard. Instructions on how to construct a hutch and a buyerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s guide for pre-made hutches can be found on the Maryland Wildlife Police website, wildlifepolice.maryland.gov/ sheltersandhutches. The DES also recommends keeping children safely away from wild animals at all times. Studies by the DES recommend avoiding giving your wild visitor a name, as it helps children cope with the process of releasing the animal after temperatures become tolerable again. Educate your children on the dangers of wild animals as well as their importance to our environment and our responsibility to protect them. If you find that your home has been visited by a wild animal, but your family is unequipped to deal with these animals, you can call your local wildlife police at 711, and they will escort your visitor to a local wildlife protection center. Wildlife protection centers are temperature-controlled safe spaces for wild animals to shelter under the watch of Maryland Wildlife Police. The animals are held until temperatures are deemed safe enough for their release. Wildlife protection centers also operate during the weeks of extreme heat in the summer. More information on wildlife centers can be found at bcpd.gov/wildlife/wildlifeprotectioncenters. If you find that your quartered animal is causing excessive damage to property, ill or infected with disease, or otherwise adjusting poorly, call wildlife police to have your animal relocated. Keepers of livestock and owners of domestic animals can see tips on keeping their animals healthy this winter on the US Department of Environmental Safety website. Small livestock keepers with more than six large animals (sheep, cows, pigs, horses) who are not eligible for membership in the US Farming and Livestock Collective may apply for extra grants and supplies through the BCPD website. BCPD works with local farmers to supply feed, water, and insulated vests for livestock in Maryland. Bcpd.gov/livestock has information on recommended protective measures to keep your livestock warm during the snow, including a buyerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s guide to barn-specific extreme weather conditioning machines.

Jacksonville, MD, Almanac 2099 Health Resources

January, like the summer months, can feel slow and restrictive due to long periods of sheltering at home. The WHO reports that, while rates of attempted suicide rise 30% in the early winter months, the number of deaths per attempt is lower, as nearby friends and family members usually discover the victim and call emergency services in time for them to be saved. Nonetheless, mental health, as well as physical health, is recommended as a frequent topic of discussion for families during the darker days of winter. Most pharmacies provide over the counter mood boosters and SSRIs at low-cost prices. If you or someone you love is showing signs of depression (extended periods of low mood, lack of appetite, sleeping too much or too little, see WHO.globe/depression for more symptoms), schedule an online appointment with a doctor or psychologist to be prescribed stronger mood boosters. All mood boosters are covered by Universal Insurance, and you can find a list of care providers on bcpd.gov/care. The US Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) estimates roughly 80% of adults experience depression at one point in their lives. For cases of Major Depressive Disorder and/or Generalized Anxiety Disorder, the HHS recommends Apex Regular, a standard, low cost SSRI developed by US experts capable of treating mild to moderate depressive and anxious symptoms. For more severe cases of depression or in extreme grief scenarios, the HHS recommends Apex Severe, a higher strength version of the Apex drug. Research has emerged suggesting that more and more Americans are experiencing a syndrome known as Apocalypse Stress Disorder (ASD). Patients with ASD characterize the disease as a constant looming anxiety related to the idea that humans are living through or are imminently approaching an apocalypse. ASD can also manifest itself as recurring episodes of depression, usually in reaction to tragedies, both intimate and within news media. ASD affects millions of Americans every day, especially those from older generations, and can make individuals more vulnerable to developing more severe depressive symptoms. The HSS recommends EverydApex, a dietary supplement that contains the regular vitamins and minerals needed in an adult diet as well as a light dosage of Apex, intended for everyday mental and physical

Zoe Leonard

wellness. If you or a family member have questions or concerns about medications, consult a physician or research online at bcpd. gov/mentalhealth. Setting up an appointment with a doctor or psychologist is easy with the Maryland Universal Healthcare Center. Go to universalhealthcare.maryland.gov/search and complete a short, confidential medical survey, and the MUHC matchmaking program will connect you to nationwide network of medical professionals and recommend physicians best for your family. Connect with your doctor or mental health professional with your mobile device’s video call, or use UniLink, the MUHC’s online video calling service, to talk with your provider. Staying in physical shape while being stuck inside can be a challenge, but the WHO recommends every adult get at least 25 minutes of exercise per day. You can design a workout that works for you, or you can go online to bcpd.gov/stayinshape to view free recordings of yoga, aerobics, and general fitness classes. During the shelter in place, citizens are encouraged to eat healthy by cooking whole meals using ingredients provided in state issued relief package but also to eat out from local businesses by ordering from a drone delivery service such as DropEats or Amazon Delivery.

Mediating Family Matters Modern American families can be extremely diverse. Most families live with three different generations under one roof. Age, culture, personalities, and opinions are bound to clash at some point. The BCPD recommends all families consider and develop a democratic decision-making plan (DDP) to resolve decisionrelated disputes and a general mediation plan to resolve other domestic disputes. The BCPD’s standard family DDP guidelines are described below: Standard DDP Practice Gather each member of the family either in person or virtually. One member of the family propositions a decision that the family must decide on. Each member of the family over 18 shall receive one vote. Children do not vote until they are over the age of 13, when they receive half a vote until they graduate into adulthood. All votes are counted equally with the exception of an adolescent’s half vote. After voting concludes

Jacksonville, MD, Almanac 2099

a decision is made with the majority and cannot be overturned without another DDP meeting. If votes are split evenly, continue to discuss with your family until a decision can be reached and voted upon. You can adjust your DDP based on your own individual familyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s needs, but the standard DDP is a good place to start. Consider your familyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s needs and personal identities when discussing a general mediation plan. Do the individuals involved need to distance themselves after an argument before a resolution can be made? How much time after a dispute do individuals agree to let pass before another discussion takes place? How are your children affected by domestic disputes? In cases where a mediator cannot be produced from within the household, or in extreme cases where an individual feels or is threatened by violence as a result of a domestic dispute, BCPD can be called to mediate between family members. All BCPD mediators are trained by the state to navigate even the most volatile disputes. Visit bcpd.gov/mediation for more information.

Our Commitment The Baltimore County Peopleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Department is committed to keeping the citizens of Baltimore County informed, healthy, and safe through all the extreme weather conditions and disasters throughout the year. BCPD can be called in matters relating to citizen safety (interpersonal disputes, health emergencies, dangerous scenarios involving weapons, etc.) or for the daily weather report at 911. BCPD strives to publish free, reliable, and fact-based information for the benefit of all members of Baltimore County and its surrounding areas. If you perceive that any of the information in this almanac is false or otherwise erroneous, please submit a form to us at bcpd.gov/almanac/suggestions. Remember that BCPD is here to support you and your family. Following recommended safety regulations and staying aware of the temperatures outside will help ensure that members of our community survive the winter.

SKYLER JOHNSON

FANTASY

POOR LITTLE ELISABETH Skyler Johnson is a junior Creative Writing major. He enjoys Minecraft, YouTube, and late-night walks.

oor little Elisabeth. Why didn’t they choose you to be queen? You would’ve settled for duchess, or even prison guard, if it provided a nice room in the castle. You slayed the dragon. You saved your tiny town. Going to the kingdom was supposed to mean something. They were going to make you queen. King Phillip did much less: he killed a troll in the presence of the former ruler. You killed a dragon. You should be queen. After all, they paraded you around the kingdom. They told you that you were beautiful. They gave you a pretty dress done up with flowers and frills and told you it looked beautiful. You stood before the king, and you were happy. You were glowing. Beautiful. Now you lie here in the dirt. What did you think when they first dragged you away? What did you think when you came to the realization that you had to step out of the carriage with marble floors and onto the dirt you had known all your life? Onto the dirt you were so desperate to never see again? Did you expect the driver to look you in the eyes as he led you back down to the dirt? Did you expect him to hesitate? To even flinch? Poor little Elisabeth, you didn’t even see the carriage until you climbed in. Poor little Elisabeth. You used to build castles out of mud. Every

Poor Little Elisabeth

time it rained, you’d build their walls and the huts inside. You’d make dolls out of sticks and weeds, placing each at a hut. You’d always try to have the biggest doll. You’d put on its head a leaf, its color as red as your hair. You would name it Elisabeth. You’d try to place it on the largest hut, but it would always fall down, always sink into the mud. Poor little Elisabeth, who had to kill the dragon. You didn’t even know if it was going to attack. All you saw was it landing nearby, and you just assumed it would be dangerous for its big teeth and hot breath. Maybe the dragon was resting, Elisabeth. Maybe it was only baring its teeth to yawn. You didn’t hesitate to force the nearest pitchfork into its eye, Elisabeth. Your father was closer, a bigger target, yet he knew not to move a muscle. Did you enjoy the sound of its final breath, a little whimper you can’t seem to forget? Did you enjoy looking into its sad, beautiful eyes, looking at you with not even the slightest bit of hatred, despite what you had done to it? Did you enjoy trying to pet it with your sweaty, trembling hands, your sweaty, trembling hands that were covered in blood? In dirt? Remember, that was only three days ago, Elisabeth. The dragon’s blood still stains the earth. You got to see King Phillip, Elisabeth, even if just for a moment. He smiled at you. He nodded at your praise when you were introduced to him. He said a few kind words to you, thanked you for your service. Didn’t it feel like balancing a doll on top of a hut? Even if just for a moment, before you were taken away as quickly as you had come? Poor little Elisabeth. Did you think your name would help you? Did you think that it mattered that you were named after a queen? After all, your mother accidentally spelled your name with an s instead of a z, like the Queen’s. Did that detail help trigger your failure? I’m sure you met plenty of Elisabeths today. None of them will be queen. Did you see how tiny the marking for your village was? They didn’t even give it a name. All it is to them is the tiniest splotch of ink. King Phillip’s son will be king, he who didn’t even smile at you as you entered, he who was too stupid to brush his own hair or put on his collar right. He will never have to slay a dragon, yet he will be king. Welcome back to the dirt, Elisabeth. Did you miss it? Did you miss how it wrinkled your clothes, covered every inch of your skin? It’s starting to crawl back in, can’t you see? Before dusk you’ll be just as you were before, a grubby little girl who dreams of being clean.

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Mother’s standing in the doorway. Did you think they might take her to the kingdom? Did you think another carriage would come around and take her away from the dirt? You have to go inside now, Elisabeth. You can’t stay out here forever. It’ll further ruin your dress. You do realize you’re going to have to sell that thing, right? Mother won’t want you keeping a nice, pretty little dress around. It can be sold. Some rich little girl from a rich little village will buy it to use as a bed shirt. If an esteemed guest is to see her room, she’ll throw the hideous thing in the back of her wardrobe. Mother gives you a little hug. Father gives you a pat on the shoulder. His hands are still rough; you don’t know how he would’ve lasted in the capital, with their fine cups and gentle handshakes. After a few moments and a few words, things are back to the way they’ve always been. Father sits smoking his pipe. Mother bends over a frying pan. Steam and smoke fill the air. The smell of liver. You’re sitting in your usual spot? You should really take that dress off before you do. Mother will use it to buy better food than liver. Maybe a real cut of meat, who knows? Are you picking the paint off the wall again? Stop it. I know you’re upset, but there’s going to be a hole. After everything today, do you really want a hole in the wall? Maybe your dress will buy a nice pretty coat of paint. The paint scraps are littering your dress now, Elisabeth. They might embed themselves in the frills. If you keep scratching, you might not be able to afford the paint in the first place. You might not be able to already. Maybe you can say that a goblin broke into the house. There are no goblins for miles, but you can say you heard its squeal. The neighbors will feel sorry for you and look on you kindly when they visit. They won’t bother making any remarks, they’ll feel so bad for you. Elisabeth, you can’t actually consider that. That’s crazy talk. Did you think that that would work? You have it all over your fingernails. But away you pick; you can’t help yourself. The spot is getting visible now from the kitchen. Your parents are going to look. Mother did just take a peek, and, although she didn’t notice anything, you know she soon will. For fuck’s sake, Elisabeth. You can’t get startled every time a door opens. It’s Michael. You remember Michael, of course. He married Bethany. You remember Bethany, don’t you? She helped you build the doors on the clay huts. She could scratch away just enough dirt. Doors and windows, each hut having a different look. And you had

Poor Little Elisabeth

Matthew make up the names. He was so good with names, wasn’t he? Marcus Bimony, Frederick Fawklehorn, James Peewell. Do you remember how he said each one? Rem Horneyblocker. Richard Baumsteiger. He made you laugh so hard. It’s too bad what happened to Matthew, isn’t it? Swept up by a group of thieves and left for dead, falling off a horse he barely knew how to ride. He lay baking in the hot summer sun after he died, a few miles from the village. What a life. Being a criminal for half a second before dying. I’m sure you wonder if he thought he’d made it then. I know you hope he did and that the feeling continued until after the blood started flowing out onto the rock. Into the dirt. He made a strange noise then, just before he died. The neighbors could hear it for miles. The thieves laughed. He could’ve been reminded of all the weird noises he made as a kid. All the laughter from you and Bethany that would ensue. You understand reality, of course. He gasped for breath and begged for life. Dizzily and tiredly was how he faded away. Bethany thought of nothing as she lay dying. Sickness is a funny thing that way, isn’t it? Do you remember how death seemed to creep up her, starting from the toes and working its way up? It was clearer to see how Michael was doing. On her final day, he didn’t move a muscle. He breathed heavily, fists clenched, eyes dilated. He usually tried to pull at his crooked teeth to make them straight. His nails were so long they punctured his lip. The dirt gave him infections. Teeth came out. As you stood over Bethany, he stared over at you. Waiting. Michael’s here to ask for your hand in marriage. Ever since Bethany’s final breath, you’ve seen this day coming, haven’t you? There are no other boys to marry inside your tiny town. Bethany had it so lucky, didn’t she? A life over before it even began. You’re going to grow old and ugly, Elisabeth. You’re going to blend into this village. When the next carriage comes, you’ll look over at it with old, beady eyes. You won’t even sigh. Michael will come out to join you, laughing at you for staring. You’ll yell back. Soon lunch will be ready. Your daughter will have it prepared. She won’t bother dreaming of carriages. She won’t bother with much of anything. You hear that, don’t you, Elisabeth? There’s a sound outside. Another dragon. Are you ready to look into its eyes again? It’s going to look at you with the same ones as before. Don’t bother petting it this time. That’s just cruel. Try to aim for the head this

Skyler Johnson

time. Try to kill it quickly. You have to do this now, Elisabeth. Get up. Out the door! It might fly away before you reach it. Poor little Elisabeth, you don’t understand the difference between a dragon and a carriage. The carriage is going to save you, right? The driver just figured you were going to get your things. They don’t understand that you have nothing. That the only thing here is dirt. Poor little Elisabeth, you were silly enough to believe your worst fears would be true. The carriage is a little nicer now, isn’t it, Elisabeth? Drawn by four horses instead of three. You can see it’s the same driver as before, can’t you? Oh, God, can’t he drive faster? Can’t he be closer? It’s hard not to pounce on him right now, isn’t it, as he draws closer in the carriage. He’s clean, shaven, and well-dressed. The second he stops, you’re going to marry him. You can’t gamble on being queen. You need anything. You’ll live in the smallest room in the castle. It doesn’t matter. Poor little Elisabeth. Your eyes don’t deceive you. He drives right past. He doesn’t even flinch as you wave your arms. He thinks you are a silly girl with a silly crush on the man in the big, shiny carriage. The big, shiny, clean carriage without a speck of dirt. Poor little Elisabeth. Remember. The tallest hut, the biggest hut, the prettiest, nicest, best hut could never fit your doll. Your doll always belongs in the dirt.

Poor Little Elisabeth