A Deer In Headlights

The students of the Paramount Pictures Writers Workshop

N I R E E D A : S T H HEADLIG S E PRO D N A Y R T POE SE N O P S E R OF

N I R E E D A : S T H HEADLIG S E PRO D N A Y R POET NSE O P S E R F O

The students of the Paramount Pictures Writers Workshop

This book was written by the students of the Paramount Pictures Writers Workshop.

The students of the Paramount Pictures Writers Workshop

The views expressed in this book are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect those of 826LA. We support student publishing and are thrilled you picked up this book.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.

Este libro fue escrito por los alumnos del Paramount Pictures Writers Workshop en 2026.

Las opiniones expresadas en este libro son las de los autores y no reflejan necesariamente las de 826LA. Apoyamos la publicación de jóvenes autores y estamos felices que hayan recogido este libro.

Todos los derechos reservados. Prohibida la reproducción total o parcial de este libro sin autorización escrita del editor.

Editor(s):

Book Design:

Mike Dunbar

Rachel Zhu

Mateo Acosta

Cover Artwork:

Trevor Crown

Rachel Zhu Inspired by an original design by Anthony Garcia

Echo Park

Mar Vista

1714 Sunset Blvd.

Los Angeles, CA 90026

12515 Venice Blvd.

Los Angeles, CA 90066

N I R E E D A : S T H HEADLIG S E PRO D N A Y R POET NSE O P S E R F O

Table of Contents Introduction

6

Just Like That

8

Alejandra Castro

Fear of Light

Ernesto Sandoval

10

Moonbow

12

Late Shift

20

Unbroken Silence

22

Aisha J. Baylon

Ariahna Espinoza Emiliano Esparza Hernández

The Pink Polka-Dot Couch Dianne Droughton

26

Steam-Singed Wings

28

Why Can’t We Give Love That One More Chance?

46

Our Time Will Come

48

Reminiscing Simulation

52

Daniel N. Ferrell Elvia S-G

John Doe

Anthony R. Garcia

Desiderium

58

Film Making

62

Valeria X. Gamboa KJ Harmon-Peoples

An Affirmation

100

Leaving for Healing

102

Caught Up

104

The Night Fall

106

Two Wheels, Three Reactions

108

Frozen at the Front

112

The Tale of Willow & Mr. Rodger

114

A Writing to Three

126

Getaway Car

130

Acknowledgements

138

About 826LA

139

826LA PROGRAMS

140

Join the Future Bestsellers Club!

144

Allison Gongora

Jimena Sanchez Hazel

Mehboob Bhatijiwala Dayra M.

Raquel C.

Raven Solis

Nathalia Ruiz

Steven Reynoso

Introduction Do you remember what it felt like to stand on the edge of your youth, the shadow of adulthood looming over you? Can you imagine what that would feel like in this current historical moment?

It can feel like being a deer in headlights, like everything is rushing toward you headlong and so fast that the only thing you can do in the moment is react. It can feel like being in a car crash, day-after-day.

stories about the longing to capture something beautiful forever, to stay just a little white longer in to a moment that is quickly fading away.

Ultimately, these stories remind us that we are more than our reactions. That we do not need to be only the deer. We can also be the driver. Our lives are as much about the choices we make as they are about the things that happen to us. These stories ask: With headlights on, what will you make of your life? A wreck, or something more?

For those of us who have been there—and survived—the stories in this anthology offer a glance in the rearview, at the roads taken and those left behind. For those who haven’t yet, these stories read as a roadmap marked out by those just embarking on the trip themselves.

A Deer in Headlights teems with both nostalgia and anticipation, beautifully capturing the raw emotion of standing at a fork in the road of life, trying to figure out the best way forward. As the characters in these stories—sometimes stand-ins for the student authors themselves—navigate choices as monumental as toppling a kingdom and as mundane as picking out a new couch, it can feel like life is a constant war against forces out of their control.

Some fight against these forces. There are stories of war, stories of rebellion against the way things are or resistance to change, but there are also stories of endurance and the struggle to hold on those things and people that mean the most.

Some flee. There are road trips of self discovery, and attempts to escape responsibility. There are retreats to places of comfort, and desires to leave behind things that no longer serve a purpose, and relationships that hurt more than heal.

Some freeze. There are stories of being caught in moments of violence, of staring down the barrel of a crisis. But there are also 7

8

Just Like That Alejandra Castro

Growing each day Enjoying the time you have before anything gets serious New paths are coming Bright and unclear, but I’ll have to grow into you

Adulthood, how much I avoided you 18 years, just like that

I’ll face you with fear

I remember wanting to reach this point

A new path is coming

But now, I just wanna freeze time and avoid you

I’m excited but nervous

The thought of worrying about

I hope you bring me joy

Finances, colleges, looking for jobs

New experiences new habits

Oh how much I miss the days when I only worried about:

Just like that adulthood starts

Coloring in the lines

Childhood ends

Running around in parks

New beginnings

Getting ice cream from el paletero

Don’t disappoint

Having to leave the playground because your parents have to work tomorrow

See you soon!

Looking forward to seeing your friends at school School, how much I hated you The homework, the boring days, and the projects How much I hated you, but I’ll miss you I’ll miss the good times when I wasn’t thinking of adulthood The walking around during lunch The school lunch cookies The book fairs How much I’ll miss you Just like that time flies by Days go by quicker 9

Alejandra is a senior at Helen Bernstein High School. This is her fourth year in the Paramount Pictures Writers Workshop. She enjoys spending time with her friends and family, and especially her dog Tiger.

10

Fear of Light Ernesto Sandoval

Moonbow Aisha J. Baylon

Awakes a man in the dark of night. He sees no light or anything bright, just pitch black of the night. His eyes wide open, or are they? Nothing is seen or all he sees is nothing.

To be or not to be,

His feet feel the dirt in between his toes, the smell of himself overwhelms his nose. He is frozen in place, safe from harm. Not a thought crosses his mind. He just has to stay put, safe as can be.

No trouble at all can come of it. Just him and his dirt pit.

The heartbreaks in life won’t leave me be.

right?

To be with them or not?

I think of it all the time. The time he left.

It wasn’t just once,

A spark in the distance makes him shiver. He wants to flee and duck for cover. “What is that?” he must think. Not a thing he’s ever seen.

It wasn’t just one,

A man lives in the dark unaware of anything other than himself. It is different; it is something new, something unseen. He is frozen in fear. Should he go and see or should he run and flee. There it goes again, brighter this time. It’s warm.

And multiple times.

He feels different now, but it’s a new different than what he’s used to. Should he follow? Should he go? Should he fight or should he run? A small beam shines down his arm. His mind goes blank. He jumps back scared out of his mind. He wants to run it’s so close.

Not once, but multiple times.

It doesn’t burn or hurt a bit. It makes his arm feel warm and safe.

He lets it rest there a bit more, not scared, not scared by it.

Should he trust it or should he move away? It’s something new, something unseen. Warm feels good, not like the cold in the dark.

He wants to feel it more, but should he? He steps back and just looks. So different, so good it feels on him, his eyes still adjusting to it. It grows bigger. It should fit his arm now, but will he go in?

Is new good or is it bad? Should he stay here or enter? To trust something so new, so different, he’s unsure. It feels so good on him he wants to feel it again.

Ernesto is super tall—a huge 5’6. Ernesto is a pet owner of cats.

Ernesto is the worst guitarist you’ll ever meet.

11

but multiple.

He leaves and I’m scared.

He leaves and I’m back at the beginning.

I wanted it all the time.

Not the affection, but the company.

The warmth and tenderness of it.

In a blizzard of snow, it’s all that I had.

To live without it. Could I? How could I? Oh Romeo, oh Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?

Why would you leave?

12

Is it me who’s not enough?

And it weakens my soul.

Or am I too much?

The crater they leave in my chest.

You acted like the greatest.

Hearts have bones too.

You talked about greatness.

A five letter word doesn’t fix the damage done.

Yet,

Pretending nothing happened makes it worse.

you left me alone.

What could repair it but my tears and heartaches.

They say time heals, but does it?

Living without it almost everyday.

Their flights arrive and it’s their time.

Yet I still wonder if I could live without it?

I can’t say goodbye.

Old man, where are you?

Your heart is cold, and still I’m nothing like you.

I’m stuck in this frame of memories,

From my birth ‘til now.

memories too scared to say goodbye.

My mistakes make you leave.

I don’t want to forget.

Your mistakes make you leave.

The words get stuck in my throat.

But I’m the one taking the weeds out and watering the plants.

My body’s heat leaves,

I’m the one putting the broken pieces together to fix the vase.

and I’m suddenly aching for the heat and warmth.

And it’s always my fault.

Why?

But the worst wasn’t a he, or the old man.

Why do you leave?

It was a she.

Why do you keep leaving me pondering on this earth to feel alone?

The thought of it makes me sick.

A day after a day

Am I just a compromise to you?

full of celebration,

You say you’re sorry for saying that, yet you make me feel that way?

life and love.

One call changed it all.

To long and yearn for someone.

Stage 4.

Not just the affection, but the love I wanted from him,

The time is 11:59.

from my birth ‘til now.

But loving you is tiring, 13

I sat and sat, 14

and cried

my tears keeping my pillow wet

and cried.

Sullen all the time

For I could handle them leaving, but not the thought of her leaving.

open eyes all night

What do I do?

ruthless mind

What do I say?

ruthless thoughts

I didn’t.

yearning for days that wouldn’t come back.

He was waiting for his flight out of here.

And yet she was still there.

He probably went to Europe.

It was never time healing me but her.

Somewhere new, somewhere with warmth.

It was the hugs and kisses she barely had strength to give.

More warmth than me.

The reassurance that I was gonna be okay even though her whole world was

The flight number was called and I hesitated to let go.

I don’t want it at all.

We said goodbye.

He didn’t look back and fled.

crumbling apart.

My first breath on this earth.

She held me in her arms for the first time, she never let go.

The time is 12:00.

Every bone breaking,

I got sewn into midnight.

The love she gave me never vanished.

Sewn into time.

My heart hurting,

And she was there.

The love was always there.

my mind nowhere to be found.

Every year the candles are lit up by her.

Yearning for someone who didn’t want to be there when I needed them the most.

I blow them out.

She’s crying because I’m getting older.

Yet I did the same thing.

The cake is my favorite flavor,

Anchored to a non-existent boat.

she took hours to make.

I’m crying because my old man isn’t there,

I slept and slept 15

yet she holds me and tells me that I am the best thing she’s ever had.

16

The reminder that she’s there.

I sit and sit.

The reminder that she’ll never leave.

With a heavy heart and watery eyes

A reminder that she loves me dearly.

but, with the sunshine hitting my teeth,

Stuck on them,

laughing.

my mind on them.

Because even with cracks in my soul,

Instead of the one who cared and nurtured me.

even with no one around,

But the faults lie within my own stars.

she is the reason my smile never fades.

For I’m anchored by boats who cut my chain off.

Instead of lowering myself into the sea to anchor my Titanic.

You weren’t there just once, It wasn’t just you,

The wounds in my heart aren’t felt by me but by her.

but multiple,

She waves her wand around and everything is fixed.

and multiple times.

Suddenly the world spins slower and, I’m okay.

My heart aches

I’m okay.

but not in a bad way.

You’d never do that to me.

For the time I left her,

But my heart aches,

words can’t fix me leaving,

because it flourishes each day.

but the rest of my heart beats on this earth can.

And for that matter,

I choose not be stuck in this moment,

you matter most to me.

I choose to grab the scissors and,

You make the stars and moon

cut the strings that had me sewn.

seem so easy to caress.

The time is 12:01.

It makes me want to try

And the clock keeps ticking,

to fly

the seconds, minutes, and hours pass.

and touch the starry sky.

But this time by her.

This time with her.

17

It’s only a matter of time ‘til I can give you the world.

18

Until then, and even then,

Late Shift

I’ll love you with all my heart.

Ariahna Espinoza

Because the love you give me is the one my soul yearns for, and keeps yearning for.

The door opens, followed by the sound of two bells ringing against each other. The store clerk greets the man as he enters. The clerk can’t help but notice the man’s wandering eyes as he makes his way through the aisles. She looks at the security cameras as the static worsens on the screen.

Eventually the man makes his way to the front register, and with a shaken expression on his face his hand makes its way down to his pocket. She knew that taking a late shift wasn’t the safest, especially living where she does, but she never thought this would ever happen to her. She had always told herself she was strong enough to defend herself. But this time, she isn’t. There is nothing she can do to defend herself.

The clerk stares at the man now holding a gun towards her. Facing him, she can now notice his dilated pupils and his hair coated in some sort of grease. She tries remembering all the self-defense tips she has heard from friends and family, but nothing is coming to her. She knows exactly what she has to do. The only thing she has to do is comply with this man standing in front of her. Open the bottom register and hand over everything they’ve made that day.

But her limbs stay put. No matter how many times she tries to get herself to move, she can’t.

Aisha is an eighteen-year-old high schooler who is still trying to figure everything out. Her biggest fear is not being able to be her true self.

She has been part of the Paramount Pictures Writers Workshop for two years. Writing is one of her big passions even though it’s very hard for her. She enjoys spending time with her family even when she has things to do.

19

The man begins to shake his gun towards her, as if that will make her move faster. He is growing impatient. The store clerk hears a muffled yell, but she can’t understand what is being said. She looks up for a second and sees the man pacing back and forth, but never once does his hand leave her direction.

She is terrified to even look at him. The clerk’s eyes wander around the room in an attempt to ignore the scene right in front of her.

She catches a glimpse of the water stain on a tile of the ceiling.

She can’t help but let out a chuckle because management was 20

supposed to fix the tiles months ago. She wonders to herself if she will get to see the day when the ceiling gets fixed.

The man, now standing in front of her, says, “Do you think this is funny?” Her thoughts are now put to a stop. She’s now forced to remember what is actually important. Their eyes meet and she opens her mouth as if she’s going to speak. Even though no words are shared, her trembling hands still find their way towards the cash register. She struggles to open the bottom tray to reveal the bills hidden underneath. He watches over in anticipation as she picks up the bills. Her hand trembles as she tries not to acknowledge the obvious stares she’s getting from him. She hands him the money she’s collected.

As he reaches over to retrieve the money, she feels a rush of relief, even though he is still with her. He takes the money and stuffs it into his pockets and heads for the door. She watches as he frantically scans around him while leaving her all alone again.

She spends the rest of her shift without a single thought, but still looking over at the now empty cash register.

Unbroken Silence Emiliano Esparza Hernández

Rigorous scraping and engines roaring, mud in the ground trembles before thick steel. Gritting teeth and fists clenched, soldiers level their iron sights to fire. Deeply entrenched, unaware of what terror lurks above, nothing but the sounds of whistles and horns, the landships approach ever so slowly.

Artillery strikes everywhere. Deployments of gas canisters whiz through the air and sizzle when they land, engulfing the area in a diluted yellow-green mist. The shivering cold is so redundant it pierces the fiery souls of those brave enough to endure it. The harsh subzero temperature is unforgiving. Here, you are not expected to survive.

Joseph Lang, a private in the army, returns fire, not aware of who or what he’s shooting at. To him, everyone is so insignificant, so small, so much like little ants running here and there. The only difference is that these ants could be carrying 30 kilos worth of gear and ammunition. They can die off in the abyss of mud quicker than quicksand, and their sting leaves holes so gruesome their pain remains indefinite.

He sprints through the shallows of mud mixed with gravel, keeping his head on a swivel like a radar scanning for abnormalities. A group of men approach an exit. They are beginning to take the offensive.

Joseph joins the platoon. A squad leader makes sure everyone is well-supplied. Joseph waits for the final green light to start the ambush. The squad leader holds a map of the current position of both front lines. They go through the plan, making sure that every soldier knows how to discreetly and swiftly finish their mission.

Ariahna is a seventeen-year-old, first-generation American trying to make her family proud.

21

The plan? Infiltration through a series of forests and jagged rocks.

They name their mission “The Silent Reprimand.” Two groups of infantry reposition to opposite sides of the hill, waiting for the flares 22

and bombardments to be unleashed. Nightmarish hell awaits them.

They separate, divided into two. Joseph follows.

Boots press carefully into the soil as they tread between the trees, keeping low, rifles steady. Every step is calculated, every breath controlled. The plan is unfolding exactly as intended. For a moment, it almost feels certain.

His breath ceases midway. A man. Standing just beyond the break in the trees.

Joseph’s rifle comes up without thought, the motion sharp, instinctive. The stock presses into his shoulder, heavy and grounding. Across from him, the other soldier does the same.

For a moment, neither of them move.

A distant blast rolls through the ground, subtle but deep, like something turning beneath them. Birds scatter from the treetops, and the formation falters. For a moment, the world shifts. Not all at once, but enough.

Joseph narrows his eyes, trying to see clearly now. The uniform is different. The shape of the helmet. The way he stands. German.

The word settles in his mind, heavy but distant. His finger rests near the trigger. Not on it.

A branch catches his sleeve, tearing free, and he stumbles half a step off course. When he looks up, the man in front of him is gone.

And just like that, the path forward is no longer clear.

Not yet.

Shadows thicken and swell around the masses of trees, shifting faintly with the angle of moonlight. Trunks half-frozen from the roots on up, snow layering, footstep-by-footstep.

“Form up,” he calls, low, barely above a whisper. Stay with the line.

That’s what he tells himself. That’s what they were told.

He turns, expecting to see a singular soul behind him. Nothing.

Nothing answers him. Only the distant rumble remains, low and constant, like something far away continuing on without him.

“Alright, ” he breathes, barely audible. “Alright, just… keep moving.”

His voice steadies him, if only with a little bit of courage through the suffering cold. A helmet lays half-buried near the roots of a tree. He slows, staring at it. He glances slowly, carefully, attentively.

Someone was here.

There is a shape. At first, it doesn’t move. Joseph’s eyes strain, trying to make sense of it through the thinning dark. The gray of early morning stretches slowly across the sky, pulling detail out of the shadows piece-by-piece. Not a tree. It’s too narrow, too still.

23

The distance between them isn’t far. Close enough to see the rise and fall of the other man’s chest. Close enough to notice the slight tremor in his arms. He’s shaking. So is Joseph. The cold bites into his fingers, stiffening them around the rifle. His breath comes slowly, unevenly, fogging the space between them.

“Don’t…” Joseph mutters under his breath, though he isn’t sure who he is saying it to. The other soldier doesn’t advance. Doesn’t lower his weapon either. They stand locked in place, two figures caught between instinct and something else neither of them can name.

The world beyond them still exists. Distant engines groan, artillery rumbles far off. But here, nothing moves. Their bodies snowed and muddied beyond recognition, but still enough to notice, enough to matter.

Just a man.

Just a father.

Just a soldier.

They hesitate. Not enough to lower their rifles, but enough that they continue to stand held in place by something neither of them had been taught. Time stretches. The moment refuses to move 24

forward, stuck in place. And so neither do they. Two soldiers, facing each other in the quiet of a war that has forgotten them.

Frozen.

For a moment, it almost happens. Then it doesn’t. Still. Watching.

Waiting. The German only glares closely, then turns. One step.

Then another. The rifle stays in his hands, but it no longer leads the way. No shot comes, no command is followed. No one calls him back. Only distance. Growing.

The war still moves somewhere beyond them. Unchanged.

Unaware. Joseph keeps walking. He doesn’t look back. And somewhere behind him, neither does the other man.

The Pink Polka-Dot Couch Dianne Droughton

Allison looks over at a furniture storefront display and absolutely falls in love with a comfy-looking, pink, puffy chair with white polka dots. However, she knows she has many pieces of furniture at home. Her apartment isn’t infinite, so with a heavy heart she walks off to the store she had originally come here for.

Allison is walking by a furniture store during her lunch break and notices a pink couch in the store window. She is drawn to the couch, so she walks into the store and sits down on it. She cannot believe how comfortable it is and believes it would be a great fit for her house.

Allison is conflicted. Does she buy it or not? She can’t decide on what she wants to do because she has been trying to save up her money for the past several months. She really wants to go to Florida to visit her family. She has been working overtime at her job as a cashier at the mall in order to go during her vacation.

She has a bad habit of wanting items instantaneously. She starts mentally asking herself questions about the pink couch. “Do I really need it? Why do I need it? Does the color go with the rest of my furniture? Is it in my preferred style? And do I have the room for it?” She also notes that it would not make her life easier due to the fact she has too much furniture already. If she gets it, she would have to get rid of another piece of furniture. Allison does not want to do this, she is happy with her current setup.

Emiliano is a student who is somewhat proficient in Mandarin Chinese. He is also a tech repair entrepreneur and helps families with fixing their computers (mainly specializing in gaming PC hardware/software). He will definitely be following Mr. Benjamin’s 101 guide to be financially stable in life.

25

In her collection of current furniture she has multiple items. She has three foldable chairs, one she got as a gift from a friend for her birthday, another she saw at a flea market when she was shopping with her aunt, and the last chair was a gift for her roommate and best friend, Andi, that she decided to keep for herself. She has two lamps, one she thinks is ugly but refuses to 26

give away since it was a gift from her grandma last Christmas. The other she proudly shows off as a showpiece and would go perfectly with the couch.

Allison is struggling. In her mind she is asking herself should she buy the couch or not? Allison really wants to buy the couch. It matches perfectly with one of her chairs, the lamp she loves, and is a complement color to her wallpaper. But then again it is a lot of money and she is running out of walking space in the apartment.

Her roommate is already mad that she has so much furniture. She reminds herself she is going on vacation next month and wants to be able to spend her money on sightseeing.

The answer to all these questions in her head is honestly, no. She prefers being able to walk in her house and recently she feels like there is just too much within her apartment and doesn’t want her roommate to move out because of her shopping obsession. So Allison decides to turn her head and walk the other way without buying the pink couch.

Steam-Singed Wings Daniel N. Ferrell

“Oh sentinel of song—” These are the first words that echo through your mind.

“Oh sentinel of song, of steel, and steam–” These are the words that define what you are.

“Oathsworn guardian, bound everlong to the edge of our kingdom, to sands evershifting—” These are the words that define what your duty is.

“Oh sentinel of song, live eternal as our kingdom and as your duty is—” These are the words that give you life eternal and everlasting.

Your eyes snap open with a mechanical click, dim white lights shining within your copper skull adorned with gilded skin, as shivering hands grip a silver-lined sword.

“For as long as these walls of our kingdom stand, here I shall sit awaiting my command—” These are the words that echo through the copper pipe you call a throat. Words not of choice but of duty. Of forceful and sharp duty, cleaving through your mind, slicing thoughts new to your body.

With a whirring hum, your automaton knees buckle and bend before kneeling, the shallow thud echoing through the gilded halls. Your eyelids shut, white light fading away into the copper skull.

Dianne is a junior at Helen Bernstein High School in the Magnet Program. She is an avid digital artist, animator, and writer. She creates character art and designs for future projects for her scripts.

Dianne has a grey tortoiseshell cat named Mio. In her free time, Dianne enjoys sewing and reading.

27

“We will have time for you… no matter the cost… we will survive…”

These are the last words that echo through your copper ears before the world goes dark, your eyes shut, and a darkening void envelopes your mind. And yet in that void your mind floats adrift 28

with new life and fickle illusions of the world around you, a world you have yet to bear the majesty of, churning and changing with curious light before the blissful silence is shattered like glass against stone.

Your automaton grip on the hilt of the sword falters for but a moment as information floods your giant, brutish ears. The hooded figures wave their hands dismissively before a duo of soldiers arise and walk by his sides.

“Sentinel of song, we ask that you rise once again, for your services are of need,” the glided priest chants.

“Are there more of my kind, my Lord?”

Once again, a faint mechanical click can be heard whirring and metal churning like the imitation of flesh.

“Lord of Life, how long has it been? Since my sleep?”

Hooded figures surround you, smelling faintly of ash.

“Eight days,” says the priest with the gilded robes. “You see, there are… challenges… in keeping a body as massive and powerful and uncontrollable as yours awake and active. When you are not needed, it is simply… easier… to keep you asleep. But you will be awoken as needed.”

“Then… as you have blessed me with life once more into my husk of a body, I will bless you with song to use at your command. So there lies the question my lords: What are my orders?”

“You are to be a symbol today, our dear sentinel. The people’s faith in our power has been crumbling slowly, but surely. And as that faith grows weaker, what replaces it is ambition. A vile sickness leading only to chaos and disarray. So, we need to cleanse their feeble minds once more. Bathe them in just a mere fraction of our power.

“And this will be an ample opportunity to acquaint yourself with the beauty of the world you are bound to protect. Therefore, you will be attending a ceremony. Your objective is simple. You are to march with your siblings through the kingdom and look proud, for you are to show the subjects of his majesty a glimpse of what hides under the robes of the palace’s walls. Along with being a symbol, you are to maintain order. Should any defiant subjects get in your way, you are welcome to handle the problem as necessary.”

29

The hooded figures halt, a slight annoyance picks up in his already pompous voice. “That’s right, I have yet to tell you much. You are the twelfth sentinel, also known as the Sentinel of Song. A sentinel is made to mark the beginning of a new era. As the Sentinel of Song, you are to mark the beginning of everlasting peace. Now don’t you have somewhere to be, my dear sentinel?”

As churning gears and pipes shift, you rise once more. Heavy footsteps wander the steam-filled halls. Hooded figures travel like ants through their colony, guiding you until you stop in a line of your own kind. Each one varies in appearance. Whilst some are adorned with jagged spires at the edge of their bodies, others are gleaming with gilded armor with jewels lining the middle of the armor. Others are blank slates, as if awaiting to be forged as something beyond just a simple, mindless brute.

“Welcome Child of Song. You stand here as sentinel of everlasting peace, and as our kinship everlasting.”

“Old One of the Crown, for what have they marked you sentinel of?”

“Sentinel of Ash, the promise of progress is what I stand for. For I am the first to don the title of sentinel, young one.”

Yet long before you finish your conversation with the towering titan, your limbs contort and tighten into a forced movement. You fall into a strict formation with the hum of a gentle song, one reminiscent of the melody that once awoke you. This time the notes are sharper, more jagged. Not the notes of gentle awaking but instead a melodic tune, a cadence entrancing you and the other titans.

While some forgo resistance by simply moving with the will of those who play the cadence, others tremble with movements rough with resistance.

30

“What are these chains? Who dares hold us here? Who dares move my body despite my wishes?” Your voice blares, echoing through the halls.

“Calm yourself, sentinel. It is merely the wish of our kingdom put into song. Fight not against her melody, but move along with its cadence. It will end when we are instructed to halt.”

The defiance halts. The group of gilded knights fall in line with the melody as golden gates open in an almost dramatic manner.

Towering gears shift as the light of day snaps through the gleaming halls, piercing through the white bulbs of your eyes, before a careful yet powerful march begins. Twelve golden knights, towering and booming in stature, begin their charge, joining behind a legion of smaller automatons. A few amongst the ranks are lined with gold, a few wasted and decayed, as if clinging onto the imitation of life with no thoughts.

Perhaps that is the reason they keep them around, with their will and mind shattered. All that is left is undying servitude. That makes you wonder, though you are the youngest of the sentinels ranks, when will your mind begin to bend? When will it be your time to have your will shattered, as the weaker automatons that serve this kingdom have? What about the sentinels? You are supposed to be everlasting sigils of an era. Why has the crowned one’s mind yet to break? Or who is to say it hasn’t already broken? What special treatment do your kingdom’s finest warriors receive to keep their minds intact? Perhaps you will learn as time goes on.

Despite the sentinels’ movements being restricted, your eyes wander, glancing over stone spires filled with others’ eyes, piercing your solid plates, staring straight into the core of your colossal being. Your eyes follow streets drenched in filth and people petrified with fear. As you approach, they scurry along like nervous rats, creating a clear path for you and the other knights to continue your march until you reach a towering gate, jagged and weathered, its age of servitude matching those of the people.

As your march continues to the base of the gate, peasants soaked 31

with ambition and drenched with the will to bring a brighter future move in a manner as to halt the march. At first the lines crumble as people scurry beyond harm’s way like the rats before them. As the peasants grow bolder, they hurl small stones and rotten produce.

This culminates in man getting directly in the way of a sentinel.

“Heed my words, Sentinel of War. You claim to be a sigil of the kingdom’s power, yet her light reaches nowhere close to where we live. Encased in filth, I have lost faith in you, and all that you may stand for.”

The man maintains an open-winged stance, pleading to the wall with eyes that stand before him, his movements nervous and his voice faltering with fear.

“Brave little rodent, allow me to educate you on why you deserve to live in this pathetic abyss you call a home. You see, the king has held the wheels of fate in stasis with everlasting chains so that his reign and his kingdom may be eternal. As it is his kingdom, and under his rule, you are damned into an abyss in which no light can reach. You have craved to determine your own fate in this abyss, which has led you to this very moment. Though your bravery should be applauded, still you have committed high treason against our kingdom and her people and for that you will be punished.”

The sentinel reaches to the base of its hip, grasping onto a cleaver adorned with gold. As the colossus readies its swing, the man shrivels in fear, shrinking into a small husk of the bravado that he once stood in mere seconds ago.

“Such pathetic beings. Beings so weak. Beings that need our protection. Beings not worth our protection. Beings that need the peace we stand for. Beings that I will protect for that is my duty.”

As the cleaver falls onto the shriveled husk, you swiftly attempt to catch the cleaver.

“BROTHER WAI—” Before the words finish leaving your copper skull, the cleaver falls 32

onto your arm. Your armor crumbles, gears bend, the pipe that keeps the arm together gashes open for a moment. Steam trickles out of the gapping wound in your arm before a valve shuts off the arm entirely.

“You dare get in the way of my lesson? In the name of what, this dissenter? This filthy traitor? It pains me to call a being as treacherous as you ‘brother.’”

You shiver as your body scrambles to adjust to the imbalance of the gaping wound.

“I refuse to let the first dawn of the era of peace be marked by the death of one of our own people, even if he is a dissenter. His life is not like our own. His is one of beauty and yearning for a brighter future. It is that faith in the future that will keep this kingdom truly everlasting, and I refuse to let your arrogance deprive this man of his life simply because of your blood lust.”

As you stand wounded, yet clearly proud, you grab the dissenter by the chest. Your colossal hands encasing him in a firm, yet gentle grip.

“Hear me, people of this land. Take not my compassion as mercy.

Today I have suffered the weight of the price of peace. Divided, we shall be crushed by the light of our kingdom. Together, as the mighty kingdom we are, the power becomes not a weight but a shield that will protect you as much as it protects myself,” you urge, before releasing the man and causing him to scurry into the crowd of people.

The jagged sentinel digs his spiral-curved fingers into your chest.

“Young one, you would be wise to do no such thing ever again. I swear it on our king’s life that should you get in the way of my prey once more, I will take more than just your arm. I promise you that much.”

Before you can say anything in return, an overpowering melody echoes through the crowd, one twisted into a maddening and delirious melody filled with screams that shower your ears, forcing you to buckle under the weight of the song.

33

As darkness envelopes your eyes, you see shifting spirals of color.

What do they mean? Do they represent those you protect? Are you dead? Is your soul finally free? Even though you have been alive for only two full days, this embrace… feels so comforting. It feels liberating. Perhaps this is the king and his touch freeing you of your shackles and allowing you to explore his world as he dreamed it… … And then you awake, surrounded by masked vermin, slicing you open.

“Get away from me… ” are the final thoughts that exit your mind as you awaken fully.

“Where am I!?”

“The slab. You are broken. You need fixing. That is why they cut and slice. To repair. Make you stronger. That kind of thing,” says the sootstained masked man dismissively. He shows no fear nor obedience to your towering figure splayed on the table before him while smaller masked men tear into your armor, exposing vital machinery.

“Ah, you awaken sentinel. I was afraid he had hit something vital.

Can’t have my peace-bringing soldier shattered already.”

Its voice echoing through the soot-stained walls, the priest who once brought you to life talks about your said life with little regard.

“Lifebringer? What am I doing here? My body. It is limp, refusing to move. Why do you still hold me still, great lifegiver?”

The priest chuckles through its glided mask. “Relax, young one.

Your body is merely in stasis. You see, that brute of a sentinel has done a mighty fine number on you. Do not hold it against him though. He was born in an era of war. It is only natural that his first instinct is to kill whatever gets in his way.”

“And you do not fear it? What happens when you or even our mighty emperor is seen as ‘in the way’ of his legions’ march?”

“My child, such words are heresy. We have leashes to keep your kind in order. If not, this kingdom would have collapsed eras ago.

34

Now brace yourself. Your new arm is complete. Now comes the painful part… welding.”

Hunch-backed smiths drag a gleaming arm toward your prone body.

They force the two pipes into one another as searing flames strike melodies of metal into one another. Steam-filled screams echo through the forge.

“Good heavens, my child, clench your teeth or something.”

As flames die down so do your screams. Stasis leaves your body just as quickly as it came.

“Why… why did you keep me awake lifegiver? I want not to endure more.”

“You see, young sentinel, you are a being of peace, born to unify us in our darkest hour, to destroy all those who would forgo our teachings of obedience in the name of vile ambition. Today, you have done the opposite. You have rallied the people not to unify with us but instead to unify against us. It was a mistake, I know, but your youth does not mean you get to avoid punishment,” the priest says with an empty laugh echoing through the halls.

“Pain is that which binds you to our lord. It is a reminder of your failure, and a reminder of what will happen again should you fail again. Now report to your chambers. You are to be put back asleep until further notice.”

You rise once more, limping weakly. Thoughts travel through your mind. Your legs weakly lead you to your station. Finally, you yield into a kneeling position, collapsing into a deep slumber.

Echoes of fate wander your mind in its slumber. Echoes of fire, echos of night yet to come. Perhaps a blissful night that your gleaming eyes will never get to see, a night that will never come, despite the waves of fate churning her course. One thing is certain: Within your mind is a gleaming vow, and not one born out of loyalty to a gilded throne.

“Such pain… inflicted on who knows how many? In the name of 35

what? A throne? A person? The man who has given shape to me? I do not owe him my obedience. I was made to bring an era of peace, constructed not out of pain, but through compassion.”

“I vow as Sentinel of Song, as Sentinel of Peace, that I will guard this kingdom, I will guard her people, not her principal. What is a kingdom without her people? What do principals serve without people to follow it? With my blade, with my body, I will guard those who I see fit, not those I am oath-bound to serve. For those who I am bound to in oath, burn those I am created to protect. With this new vow, I will let the stars and their message of fate glide against the night once more.”

With the name of peace singed into your wings, the shackles unseen by the eyes of man bend and buckle, rusting rapidly through your steam-filled soul.

“I will not let my soul be bound to a throne, etched in the gold of those damned under her gleaming might.”

And with that, silence once more. You slumber ever deeper, with your mind made up to forsake what you once stood for. In exchange for your duty is this new peace of mind. Warmth envelopes your icy copper, a warmth like never before seeping into your bones, a fiery warmth…

“AWAKEN CHILD! YOU ARE NEEDED!” Your eyes snap open with fluid grace. Your towering, behemoth form stands tall in the ashen chambers. A red hue envelopes your eyes.

“Lord of Life, what is the cause of your hysteria?”

“Can you not see, you gilded fool? Traitors! They sully the name of these graceful halls. Legions of our own soldiers turned against us, led by one of your very own. Take your sword and smite down the bastards who dare lead the legions against our own p—” The babbling stops as the body of the priest is thrown to the side.

“I will not let anymore blood be spilt under a gilded throne,” you murmur, as your wings unclasp from the chains of an old oath.

36

Powerful steps can be felt through the ashen gold halls. Fire seeps through the pipes, replacing the steam that once coursed through the castle like blood. You reach the center. One thousand gleaming steps, just one thousand steps to the throne room is all that held back the wheels of fate, all that held back the night, all that held back the fire ever encroaching.

“Brother, you have arrived to join us in our final stand to our oath,” the crowned sentinel says.

“You mistake me brother. I stand with you not in oath, but to save more blood from being spilt. Now tell me what is going on.”

“The Jagged One… consumed by hysteria under the flames of ambition, he claims that he will usher in a new age. We will protect the age in which we live. The rebellion began in the underworks and moved its way up the outer halls of the sanctum. This is the only line we hold. We have one more position at the halfway point.

Five of you will defend the outer sanctum. Sentinels of Song, Steel, Story, Shade, and Storm, you will join me at the plateau of the five hundredth step as a last line of defense.”

You nod in agreement along with the other sentinels before trekking up the steps, gliding two-to-four steps at a time under your massive feet, until at last you reach the golden plateau.

“Whether the sentinels below fail or succeed in eliminating the threat, it will be some time before we hear any news. Gather yourselves in the meantime to make peace with the fact that this could be the final time you bear witness to these halls.”

You ready your weapons and stand tall, yet in your mind a song of doubt settles. Perhaps that is how the minds of those who are older than you are still intact. Perhaps in their blind faith and devotion they find peace in death, knowing that they served their cause to the bitter end.

“Crowned One. What age would the Jagged One usher should he sit on the throne?”

37

“You question our ability to defend the throne? I refuse to humor such doubts. Quell your thoughts brother. Give no thought to new ages of blood or fire, but to the defense of the one that has given shape to this world.”

“An era of peace,” are the words that follow a figure with thick ropes attached to small jagged spires on his back who is dragging the bodies of sentinels as trophies from a battle shortly passed.

“Long have the people been tormented by the halt of the stars in the sky. Long have they been tormented by the halt of fate,” shouts the Sentinel of War. “And you dare believe by smiting a god that gives you and I shape, that the stars will bend to your will?” asks the Crowned One as he takes a gleaming glaive from its back. “By damning the rest of the people of this world into discord, you believe the wheels of fate will churn at your will?”

“And you are damned to believe that your king will protect you ever more. You are damned to believe that the obedient dogs of blind faith deserve to live in the new world that I will create. I will show all of you a glimpse of the world that I will shape the old one into,” he says as he unhooks serrated cleavers from his hip. The colossal blades require strength and dexterity beyond measure.

“I will reason with you no more,” are the final words heeded before a charge is made, the Jagged One crashing into a towering shield held by the Sentinel of Shade. Golden cleavers crash down blow after blow in a mighty frenzy, chipping away at the blackened iron.

Then a torrential gust of wind blows the Jagged One off, followed by a steadfast assault by the Sentinel of Storms, its spear lodging itself deep within the shoulder of the beast that stands before them.

“You are brave, brother. I applaud your bloodlust. It is certainly a shame that you are still blinded by the false light shown before you in these halls. Allow me to open your eyes!” The Jagged One grips the spear in its shoulder, pulls it out, and hurls it clean between the flickering optics of the Sentinel of Storm.

38

Eyes flicker as the spear lands. A muffled groan of metal is heard before an echoing thud. Yet through the death of one of your own kind, you show little sorrow, knowing it only knew to serve a being that inflicted great pain. Once more that warmth envelopes you.

Only this time, it is more intense. It is a searing flame stretching far beyond what marks your body. Your oath-shattering hands cling onto a sliver-lined sword. You raise your blade high above your head yet. Targets blur as your optics tune in and out of a worldshattering light and echoing dark.

weakly now, replaced with the wails of the young new age to come.

With each step up the five hundred steps, each beat is weaker and the wails grow ever stronger. Until at long last, the ashen filter seems to dissipate at the golden gate.

Before long, a beast is within your sight. With trembling hands, you stand here regardless of oath. You are to take the life of the being that stands before you and at long last the sword dives into the crowned head, lodging itself deep. Before long, a towering geyser of steam erupts. Melodies long since past echo before falling silent.

“Here we stand before the King of the Old Realm. Not in the name of worship, but in the name of turning the wheels of fate and the stars in the sky to move everlong.”

Ash falls, fires burn, wood turns to jet black soot. Steel churns and bends, ready to collapse, and yet in the final hall all is quiet for a moment.

“How oh so very interesting. It appears there is more than just one traitor within our former ranks. I am truly jealous. I wanted to carve the body of the pious one into my new throne. But alas, the kill is yours, child,” claims the Jagged Sentinel.

“I… I only did what I thought would usher in a new era of peace. It is all I have been told to do… and if I need to overthrow an entire kingdom to achieve that, then that and that alone is my duty.”

Optics tighten once more with blazing focus on only one directive: to destroy all those who oppose the peace signed into your blazing mind. Weapons are drawn, both sides holding to the gleaming ideology of peace. One in the name of protecting what has been established. The other as harbingers of a new age to end the suffering of the oppressed and to allow the blood of the oppressor to feed a nature that will take root in the world around them in ages to come and beyond their lives.

Once more the gilded halls stand silent. The kingdom’s heart beats 39

“This… this is the moment you and I were made for… to destroy the old. On my name as Sentinel of War, Jagged Prince of the New Night.”

“And I, Sentinel of Song, Copper Prince of the Melody the New Sun.”

As they enter the golden chamber, the facade shatters. Their expectations are disappointed. There are no towering statues, nor any imposing figure that they had hoped to slay. No gleaming lights in a radiance beyond their comprehension to swell and collapse their optics. All that sits before them is a husk, barely alive. The wheezing of the old husk and the faint hum of life-supporting machinery fill the dimly lit hall.

“Hm… So my very children are the ones causing such a ruckus.

Tell me, children, have you achieved your desires?” He asks as he points his withered finger at the Jagged Prince.

“Have you quenched that thirst for blood unmatched? It was always my regret not to allow you to see the world for what it is. The only thing you see is the fire of battle. Perhaps that is why you crave it so much? After all, it is the only world you have ever known.”

“And have you finally heard the melody of peace? In your bloodshed?

It was my biggest regret to bring such a naive being into this world. I must admit, I expected you to unify us in our most dire time of need, and yet ironically you are the catalyst by which over one thousand years of hard work has gone crashing into flames.”

“Lecture me not father. You speak of unification, yet it is you who has divided us. An endless army of servants with fractured minds.

40

Forsaking anyone who worships you as anything but a god. You have halted the wheels of fate too long and as Prince of the New Sun, I vow that I will bring the wheels of fate to the people’s decision once more. Even should my peace bring an age of chaos, I will rest easy knowing that at least it was humanity’s decision and not one of yours.”

Your voice booms like an orchestra. United with the people’s wishes, you make your final vow as sentinel, raising your sword solemnly, before it is matched by a cleaver of night.

“Father, oh Father… long has the sun sat in the sky halting the seasons, halting the night, halting our fate. Now for my vow as Prince of the Night. I here will unchain the stars and their message of fate shall glide once more. Should my yearning for an endless war birth life anew, I will take solace knowing that it all started with the collapse of a kingdom, especially yours.”

With their vows of a new era born, you and your brother lower your swords, aiming them right through the chest of the feeble man sitting in front of you. You plunge your blade deep within the husk. Strands of an ear-shattering scream follow. Metal around you decays, steam fades away into the night, before finally, silence.

“I apologize brother,” the Prince of Night says solemnly.

“Your blood thirst… it fascinates me beyond measure, but I know what you stand for. Allow me to educate you once more. You see, I seek to wage a never-ending war. A war without a victor, only a never-ending battle to one day eradicate all those weak vermin of humanity, leaving only those who are fit and able-bodied to rule.

A war to construct a kingdom not out of blind faith but out of challenge and bloodshed. But I know you crave peace everlasting.

A war would shatter all you stand for. So allow us one more battle.

One to decide the era that will take hold of humanity.”

Your optics widen, white beams of light flickering in the now dark chamber, before narrowing. You grip your sword once more.

“We are both harbingers of a new age. I take pride in that fact, 41

brother, that we and we alone have brought a new dawn to the kingdom. However, you seek to lock the kingdom into an everlasting night. Tell me, how is that different from the wishes of our dear father? It matters not. I will be the catalyst of a balanced sky.”

You circle each other, waiting. Prey and predator, hands held firmly against each weapon. Then a frenzy envelopes the Jagged Prince, a fury of blows striking against your silver-lined sword, sparks illuminating the darkened throne room. A blow to the chest knocks him off you. Just as swiftly your sword smashes against the cleavers, fluidly like notes of a song, a rhythmic assault chipping away at gilded cleavers, weathering them away until all that is left are the steel centers of each blade.

As the dusk-born princes clash, the kingdom lies without a heart.

Yet all those in her hollow husk beat in unison, waiting with baited breath as the flames enveloping the inside of her glorious palace roar into the night sky, painting the base of the black canvas.

At long last, your sliver-lined sword pierces deeply through the Jagged One, lodging itself into its steam-filled core. Steam trickles out as a jagged hand plunges your sword deeper, yanking you closer until, in a final plea of defiance, a cleaver gashes your crumbling armor. The cleaver digs itself deep into your chest before the Jagged Prince grips onto its other cleaver, then smashes into your shoulder. Like the pincers of a mighty beetle, the Jagged Prince locks them both into place. Your optics widen and shut in a rapid succession as steam flows freely out of you and your titan adversary. Locked in the throne room, finally both of you close your eyes, accepting the draw of two young princes denied their place on the throne.

As the night comes to close, the sun rises once more. The chains of fate shatter, the stars flow unhindered. Against the soot-stained palace lie thousands charred and burnt, but the kingdom’s struggle for survival continues. Vendors sell their wares, smiths hammer their metal, scholars rot away in libraries. After all, what do the common folk have to do with the affairs of the holy palace? And yet, as day turns to night and night turns back into day, only the brave 42

wander the forgotten halls of the palace of the Kingdom of Old, snatching golden trophies unscathed by the fires or the occasional weapon still gripped by the metallic hands of a foot soldier.

Over the years, life goes on. Leaders arise and fall. The kingdom grows and shrinks at a moment’s notice. Structures of old harbor new life within them. Verdant vegetation spreads through the husks of a now empty palace stripped of any and all gold, long since burnt or stolen. Now the palace harbors the poor seeking shelter. Moss and plant life leach into the stone of the kingdom and at the tallest spires lie the resting grounds of birds.

No one ever truly knows the battle that unfolded here generations ago. Wanderers study the towering knights under a pillar of hollow light. They tap and scratch at them like little cats. Yet here, so long ago, a battle of clashing fates once took place.

Though you may be forever locked from movement, you take solace knowing that it was your sacrifice that has given the world a shape evermore and evershifting.

Why Can’t We Give Love That One More Chance?

Elvia S-G Love The longing, lingering pause of a second Where two souls meet, past the curtains of our windows Eyes translating the words our lips pause to say When we’re faced with hardships, emotions, and separate ways The deep emotions that transcend across the cosmos Making one believe in eternal fate, causing one to feel blissfully infinite Pressure A box filled with my train of thoughts, touring around every inch and corner Threatening to implode over itself by simply wanting—those slivers of an electric spark Wanting, wanting, and wanting The feeling of missing out, on the one thing people yearn to experience Beauty, pain, laughter, and fury Waiting, wanting, wanting, waiting, and withdrawing Pressure Feeling like a broken wheel in the back of the trunk On a trip in a car, within the city of love

Daniel is a student at Helen Bernstein High School. He is editor-inchief of the Dragon, the school’s newspaper. Through his writings, he seeks to create a world of fantasy in which his characters face trials and tribulations. These typically represent manifestations of struggles that both he and others face in the real world. In this story we see the challenges of moving past a duty that you’ve long since outlived.

43

Feeling frozen with the overflowing traffic of silence and chaos Waiting for the freeway exit between cars of disappointing models Scared to explore and sightsee, simultaneously locked in my own trunk But only I have the key 44

Love Avoidant thoughts preventing me from fulfilling that want

Our Time Will Come

Wanting, never needing, that display of love around me

John Doe

Slowly unlocking the way to that beautiful life Dreaming of the unknown, excited to see my future unfold Why can’t I give love one more chance?

An answer to be discovered, never looking back to the past

I sat there in the cold mud, my uniform soaked, trying my best not to shake from the temperature. How did I end up here? I turned to my left, and my fellow comrade sat there, gun in hand, staring at the ground. His eyes looked empty, like all hope had left him. He didn’t seem scared; he looked like he had already accepted that the next ten minutes would be his last.

I might have fallen into the same belief if it weren’t for our captain.

I used to think there was no reason to live, like life was hopeless.

That was the reason why I enrolled in the military. That is where I met him. He introduced himself as “Captain Kyle,” but later on, we ended up just calling him Kyle. He wasn’t just a Captain to me, though, he was like a father. I wouldn’t have found much meaning in living anymore through this unforgiving war if it weren’t for him. He taught me that there were still things worth fighting for. Because of him, I was able to push on long enough to meet my beloved wife and will soon have a baby boy as well.

Kyle stood up and announced, “Alright men, though the orders we have been given are basically a death sentence, we still need to do what needs to be done to ensure the safety of our loved ones and all that is good in this world. If we give up now, who knows what they’ll do to our wives, our children, our families? Even if this is the most dangerous thing you ever experience, I can promise you that we will make it back home as long as you follow my lead.”

Five minutes. That’s how long it took for every single person in my whole squad to die. Thirty-five men. Their entire futures gone in a matter of minutes. I’m the only one who lived.

Elvia is a senior who completed four years in the Paramount Pictures Writers Workshop. She is a cinematographer, poet, and artist who enjoys everything within the arts, and is excited to see how her adulthood turns out.

45

I sat there, in the exact same place I was sitting 10 minutes ago, still shaking, but somehow I didn’t feel cold anymore. The breeze rushed against my skin, blood and ash covering all that I saw. It all happened so fast, I couldn’t even process what had happened.

46

I saw the lifeless eyes of dozens of men, men who attended my wedding, men who I imagined as lifelong friends, and I couldn’t even cry. The enemies were still close. If I made the slightest sound, I would have joined my fellow comrades with the exact same fate.

The same soldiers who had taken my friends’ lives hadn’t lingered for long. After another 10 minutes, they were long gone.

Even though there wasn’t an enemy in sight, I sat there among the corpses of the ones I had held dear, still not making a sound, as if the enemies were right next to me. I finally got up and began to walk over the battlefield riddled with death. I looked at the motionless vessels that once contained life, hoping they’d at least blink at me, to show they were still alive, but in the end I received no such sign. I finally began to understand that they were not coming back, that the only reason why I had survived was because I had cowardly pulled out of the push.

Why me? Why was I gifted the chance to live when I hadn’t done a single admirable thing? These men were more than ready to sacrifice their lives for the greater good, and I hadn’t even moved an inch. These men had done so much for their country, their families, their friends, and all I had done was be a coward. I was given such an easier time than these men. These men, who had practically gone through hell the majority of their lives, who had experienced nothing but pain, and yet still chose to do good. These men deserved the world and not the early ending they were given, and yet I’m the one who God chose to live?

I was bratty, I was spoiled, I had it good, yet I still found ways to make my own life worse. I was the cause of all of my problems.

I was the one who got the world, that got to live after all this conflict, and yet I can’t even be happy with that?

Stumbling over the lumpy field of carnage, I finally stood right in front of him. His eyes looked into the distance, almost like he was looking at something in the sky. His skin was pale, whiter than any man should ever be. His body was still covered in small streams of flowing blood from the countless bullet wounds in his chest. His mouth was wide open, letting every fly and bug crawl in. All of this 47

and yet I still dropped to my knees, searching for a pulse. “Kyle?” I pressed harder to see if I was missing an artery. “KYLE?” I began to shake him, anything to wake him up. “KYLE, PLEASE WAKE UP!” I finally let him go, his body still as motionless as before.

I’m pathetic. All I did was cry while in front of him, screaming and cursing at the world. What was I supposed to do? It was out of my control. I couldn’t just stop them from dying. The only choice I had was to run in and join them or stay put and survive. But why? Why were those the only two options? Die a hero or live as a coward?

I dropped down to the floor, laying next to Kyle’s body. I closed my eyes, the mix of smoke and fog in the air creating an uncomfortable gray. I felt my body sinking into the untamed, blood-soaked mud.

I closed my eyes and imagined Kyle, the way he always cared for his men. He would sacrifice the world for us and his family. All he wanted was for us to live long, happy lives. I slowly sat up, looking to my left at Kyle’s body. If I were to give up now, then there was no hope for at least one of us to make that happen. Even if almost all his men had died due to his orders, the fact that at least one of us made it out would be better than no one making it. If I died now, my wife would have no husband, my parents would have no son, and my kid would have no father.

John Doe is a junior in high school and is participating in the Paramount Pictures Writers Workshop for the first time this year.

John is a youngest child, with siblings ten years older or more. He has struggled with depression and anxiety for a few years, but still tries to find joy in life. He’s interested in many types of art, from creative writing to music and film. He’s a big nerd and plans to pursue computer science or film in the future.

48

Reminiscing Simulation Anthony R. Garcia We all have fears. Something I fear is talking to people, or at least I think it used to. The thought of people wanting to listen to what I had to say was never something I took into consideration. There are other things in this world that people would consider far more frightening, but to me there was nothing more nerve-racking than the heavy glare of another human and the thoughts that they could be having about me while I talked. The heavy judgment of the people I saw everyday would cloud my mind with wonder and possibilities of what their interpretation of me could be. I think I worried too much about what other people thought. Does that make me a person who just cares too much or a mess of emotions damned to forever be stuck in a loop of indecisiveness? What is it I want?

I want you to picture something with me. You are a spectator in a room along with three people. To the left is the Fighter, not necessarily a brawler nor the wielder of a sword and shield, but someone who fights for what they think is right. It’s hard to persuade them and they are kind of stupid in that sense. Reckless, not always right, but a lasting flame powering the train of what others thought was lost.

The one in the middle is Flight. Without wings, of course, but they are the one making unsure moves and creating growing distance with each decision. Perhaps with uncertainty, they are slowly constructing the last puzzle piece to the solution, but are willing to do what’s right.

The final being on the right is Freeze. No ice, no gust, but an emotion-filled puppet with its strings cut off, who has an imaginary puppeteer with no audience. They are timid and stuck in place like glue when overwhelmed and frightened. It’s hard to get a peep out of them, but they usually have the most to contribute, even if it is just in thought.

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These will be our subjects.

Now I want you to picture two doors: a red door and a blue door.

You are told before going into either one of these doors that you will be given a goal and these doors will help you fulfill the goal, but they will also come with what some may call a negative trait or downside. These doors could either be in your favor or contradict what you want to get done in the first place.

Now imagine the red and blue doors are presented to the three subjects and they take a peek at what is behind both of the doors and what they have to offer before going in. Behind the red door is a theater stage with infinite eyes in the crowd. Everlasting gazes and overlapping chatter all waiting for you to read a story the audience wants to hear. There is a podium with a story a seemingly infinite amount of people came to hear at the center of it all. The red door closes but remains unlocked.

Now they take a peek behind the blue door. They see the same stage but no audience. In fact, it’s completely silent. There isn’t a person or a cricket to be seen or heard. It’s just the kind of quiet that feels painfully long with no sense of time, a blank void, and the piercing echo of your own voice.

Speculating that the Fighter is a prideful individual, lifted by their ego, they would most likely want to go through the red door, where they would seek the validation of others. The power to read in front of a stadium of people with the boldness of an eagle is definitely suited for them.

For Flight and Freeze, they might choose the blue door. The empty stage brings a lot less stress, and they would rather stay in a place that seems more familiar than risk embarrassment. Although you can see that in Freeze, their body gestures towards their yearning for something more. Secretly, they want someone to see them, but are caged behind the barriers of their own mind.

Keeping watch on all of them, you feel for them. You understand what they feel because you’re human. Everybody wants to feel 50

proud of themselves or feel recognized. Same with having comfort and security that ensure no judgment.

What would you do? Who do you see yourself as? The little boy version of myself, still scared of the world, would probably prefer the peaceful silence of reading by myself. But then I’d be alone, and I don’t want that.

The thought of speaking in front of others scares me. Or maybe it’s being alone? Perhaps I’m being immature or want too much.

It could also be that I’m being greedy by wanting every drop of attention I can squeeze out of a person before they eventually leave. My selfishness sickens me in that regard.

I catch myself tending to reminisce about the past a lot, usually about moments and people that made me feel a happiness that I can’t say I’ve felt elsewhere. The soft sensation of wind brushing its invisible brush against my face whilst riding shotgun in my mom’s car with the sun’s rays beaming their warmth on us. Kicking it with friends, watching movies whilst stealing each other’s snacks, and laughing ‘til our stomachs ached and faces were sore. Going out with the one I admire and looking beyond their flaws and finding something worth loving, from their innocent glance to their contagious smile, that leaves me with a stupid smile from just the memory.

In that sense, I want to think of myself as the Fighter. I want to experience these things forever, life isn’t long enough to be sitting down thinking about what could have been, yet I find myself in a state of mental recollection for every good memory.

Deep inside, I know what I am, or what I was for a long time. It’s hard to escape your roots, what you came from and who you have become. I was someone who kept to himself a lot, who really could not express himself. I was Frozen. The realization of what I want to live for pushed me into reality. I want to relive beautiful moments.

This requires a version of me that needs to be more confident with my speech. A version of me with my head held high and not plummeting in my own false reality. Daily life requires me to be confident with my words.

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As I have continued to progress through my life, I have realized I am a timid person. It’s just part of my nature. My tongue gets trapped behind my throat and the words feel like dumbbells. I continuously attempt to hold conversations, but the words never come out how I want. Though I tried, I was in Flight. I struggled with this while the world around me felt like it was moving forward without me. My peers would be growing while the little boy part of me was holding me back and trying to keep reliving the good times.

Head up and forward. Say it with my chest: “Fight, Flight, Freeze.” No wonder it’s so cold. The mist obstructs how much I can really see. I thought it would be that way until I rotted in a delusional mindset. “Fight, Flight, Freeze.” We are people, human with emotion and importance, not just a title with a correlation that suits us best. Not just a category. “Fight, Flight, Freeze” oversimplifies what a person can do, what I am able to do.

Fight for what’s right, recklessly? Beyond that I see a version of myself where to fight is to have confidence, and be mentally reassured that I know I am right. It is to know what I have to say matters. It is to be able to create a world for myself where what I say comes true, what I desire comes true, with the power to reminisce again in the future. It is to create a life for myself where I can relive it as if it were a binder of polaroid photos.

People often associate “Fight, Flight, Freeze” with a deer in the headlights of a speeding car with only seconds to spare. What do you do? Do you fight it, escape in flight, or do you freeze? I realize maybe I was never any of those. What I thought I was, was being stuck. I now see myself. I feel acceptance for myself. I know I’m not like standard reaction. In that moment, I’d be in a true state of ambedo, the silent absorption of the moment. I am the embodiment of someone who fixates, reflects upon, reminisces.

In this scenario, I may lose my life to the speeding car, but in the little moments I do have, I would fill my mind with the joys I had in my life. I’d be sorry to my friends and family and the people that I have made connections with without my fear of talking. I’d be sorry that I would be leaving them too soon.

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It’s just… the world feels so good right now. It’s so beautiful.

Beaming head lights like the stage I would perform on for the last time. You can almost hear the roar of the crowd’s last cheer as the tires rumble on the ground. I inhale the cold oxygen through my nostrils for the last time with its fresh sting of a crisp early morning. This feels different now. Perhaps the feeling of rasping against the pavement is as warm as the person I admire and their embrace. One last hug for the road.

Desiderium

The reason I believe I have gotten over my fear of talking to people now is because I’m able to realize how much I’ve changed as a person. As a growing young adult I get to see the younger me more vividly. I say hi to him every once in a while.

like having your skin

Valeria X. Gamboa

I always imagined love would be kinder, softer, gentler.

But, being in love is more torn off.

I realize how much I love thinking about what I’ve been lucky enough to experience with those who mean the most to me. Sometimes I worry that I’ll be so poor that all I will have left is money.

Measuring life in experiences is what I believe makes a person rich, not the number in their bank account. I’m not gonna dream about numbers the day I’m taking my last breaths.

Forcing you to expose your most vulnerable self.

Life as a young man is brutal enough, but realizing I was suppressing my emotions came with an eye-opening. Now, I don’t think I want to measure my life in years, but instead with how many times I cried laughing or went out to experience something new. Because you never know when the next speeding car of your time given on this earth will come crashing towards you. What will you do?

it scars,

Repeatedly.

It hurts, it heals, it feels.

Not all at once, just enough to stay.

I need you, still you discard me.

I need you…

Anthony is not only an amazing writer, he is also an even better artist.

As part of 826LA’s Paramount Pictures Writers Workshop, he has been published in three anthologies, for which he has also designed the cover art. Anthony loves music so he wears his headphones for most of his day, using art and music as a form of relaxation. His friends often say that if he were a color, he’d be pale orange.

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Though I’m skittish like prey, you come close and I flee.

Then you leave and I wish that you’d stay and praise me.

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I want you.

I need you and it hurts.

I don’t know a life without you.

I hate you.

I don’t know who I am when you’re near.

God it hurts.

But you’re the only home I know. If you care, why can’t you let me go?

Why keep me tethered here?

Your skin soft, delicate like snow, still lingers, still draws me near.

I want you to see me, I want to permeate your thoughts.

To consume and be consumed.

I want to run away, to escape this quiet, aching doom.

You don’t want me, but you won’t cast me out.

So I stay, caught in between need and doubt.

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Valeria is a senior at Helen Bernstein. She is basically Mozart, and the first movie she cried for was Jurassic Park when they left the long neck behind. She loves to write and family will always be most important to her.

56

Film Making

KJ Harmon-Peoples The walk through the woods was always the same. Luellyn Reed, known to his friend as Luey, was always in the front with no particular thought in his mind. His rolled-up red flannel stuck to his back. Muscle memory led each step, every branch was smoothly swatted past his head. Jonah Banks followed close behind him.

Each of his long, lanky legs smartly marched past the debris.

Sweat poured from his short black hair like a light rain. Behind him stepped Katrina Ames. Katrina always hated the walk there every single day. Even still, she too moved smoothly through the brush, careful to keep her much-too-fancy dress clean. The woods were never too deep, a fifteen-minute walk, eight if you were in a hurry.

The underbrush was not too crowded to make it uncomfortable, but with the subtle incline and trees and rocks littering the path, they had to pay just enough attention to their steps that there was rarily enough brain power for conversation.

The grass was long and wild, weaving and dancing through the cool summer breeze. It tickled the kids’ ankles through their socks, teasing a stray bug or spider crawling on their thighs. The wildlife in the woods hid in a mystical contempt, only making its presence known through the quick chirping of birds, grunting of frogs, and the swears of the insects. They moved up through the land until they came upon a steeper incline. The smell of wet grass floated through the air. The small trees beside them seemed to reach up diagonally, hinting they might fall over. They climbed up their hill, each step a little more purposeful then the last, until finally they came upon a tiny old park that sat half-swallowed by nature.

Red rust painted the slides and monkey bars. Farther right was a little cemetery, overgrown and forgotten. To their left was a park bench that faced the woods where they had come from. Past the woods sat their city, laying in bare isolation. On either side of the city were more woods, and down a mile or so to the right of the 57

woods hurried a white river.

Looking at the city, you could see all the way through to Main Street.

It seemed as if every building and business stood to the side to give you a perfect view of what lay beyond it. It was a dirty place. The people too. But from up here all the smog and litter seemed to hide, to put on a good presentation for the onlookers above.

Past the city was a mighty mountain range that swallowed the rest of the earth. Behind the mountains was a sleepy purple and orange glow that let out the occasional star through the blanketed sky. The sun lay golden and cozy between the mountains, lazily approaching the horizon. Beautiful.

This beauty was not wasted on the group. They all took in the scenery and Katrina remembered why they went through the trouble, just as she had every time before. In a beaten, brown backpack, Luey grabbed the camera he had just gotten as a gift from his grandmother. He was not excited. He knew it was too cheap to capture the elegant scene before him. However, he still tested it to see if maybe it would work for what he needed. But sure enough…

“This isn’t going to cut it.” Luey said, looking through the lens. “It’s too bright and not wide enough to do it justice.”

Jonah grabbed the camera from him. “It looks fine to me.”

He squinted through the camera and swiveled the lens back and forth. “Whoa! You can zoom so far that you can almost make out people’s faces!”

“Hey, give that back!” said Luey. “You don’t know what you’re doing with it.”

“What kind of movie are you making that needs such a fancy camera anyway?” Katrina said. “That thing looks pretty expensive to me.”

“Well, it’s not.” Luey huffed, taking the camera. “And I told you, it’s 58

easier to explain it to you if I just show you the script.”

“Well, when are we going to finish the script, huh?” Katrina sat down on the bench. “You’ve been saying that since elementary school.”

“I’ll finish when I finish! Besides, I don’t want to shoot it on this trashy camera!” Luey angrily put the camera back in his bag.

“There’s gotta be a way to get a good camera somehow.”

“There’s a very easy way to get a camera,” said Jonah. “It’s the same way you get everything else: money.”

“Where am I going to get enough of that to get a camera as a freshman?”

“You can work at Eddie’s. That’s what everyone else at school does.”

“Eddie is not going to pay enough to buy a camera until I’m 40. I need the money soon.”

“Soon? How soon?” Katrina asked. “And why now?”

Luey frowned. “I told you the Youth Film Festival is at the end of the summer. I gotta have it made by then.”

Jonah laughed. “Dude. You expect to make $500 and make your full movie in what? Two months? Did you even think about how you are going to edit it?”

Luey bit his lip and said nothing.

Jonah rubbed his face. “Look man, I know you love your films and stuff, but you gotta be realistic. Maybe save up for next year? I’m sure the Film Festival isn’t going anywhere.”

the woods. They made their way to their respective bus stops, echoing their goodbyes. As Luey rode the bus home, the exhaustion of the day’s events hit him harder than usual. As the bus bumped along the paved roads, Luey was lulled into a sudden, dreamless sleep. He awoke to the bus driver shaking his shoulder.

“End of the line,” the driver breathed out.

Luey groggily and slowly rolled out his seat and made his way off the bus without looking at the driver. To his left was what appeared to be an abandoned brown house. The windows were boarded up and the ancient wooden shingles laid dead on the floor. On the front porch was a rocking chair that stared at Luey. The eeriness of the house made his entire body tighten. He turned his back on the house, images of horror movie villains jumping past his mind. He hurried past the house, and walked down Main Street. It was late.

The warm summer air hit his skin like a thick blanket. He looked down the ever-stretching road that lay before him. The sky showed a deep and woeful purple. He took a deep breath. It was going to be a long walk.

Luey got home at almost midnight. They lived in an apartment at the lower end of the city. It was shoved in between two blocky hotels that were much nicer than his home. It was not the worst place to live, but it sure wasn’t the best. He creeped quietly into the dark living room, trying hard not to wake his parents. His mom was awake however, smoking a cigarette on the couch. She was staring blankly at the TV, almost unaware if it was even on.

She spoke into the air, “Where have you been?”

Luey again stayed quiet.

Luey paused in the darkness. He squinted, trying to meet his mother’s eyes.

Jonah sighed. “Well come on man, it’s getting late and I don’t want to walk through the woods in the dark.”

“I fell asleep on the bus,” he said. “I had to walk here from Palm Station.”

The group hurried down the hill, careful not to slip. They made it back to the edge of the city, just as it became too dark to see in

She grunted. “Well, be more careful next time.”

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“Ok.” 60

“Go to sleep.”

Hill, always finding one excuse or another to stay home. In truth, the woods and the high altitude scared him.

“Ok.” He walked to his room, deeper into the cavernous hallway. He turned again to look at his mother, the ghostly white TV shining on her face. Even though he couldn’t see her eyes, he knew they hadn’t moved from the TV. *****

The next day, he went to the park that his friends always met up at. The sun shone down an unrelenting white, like walking out of a movie theater. It was the worst kind of heat. It was dry, with no life, a giant spotlight shining on their backs. The group sat in the shade, too hot to do anything but judge the children that ran around the play equipment. They jumped and ran and sang in the heat, as if to taunt the sun.

One of the kids, a little bigger than the rest, was winning. He raced around, bobbing and weaving through the play equipment. All the other kids had been tagged and were grouping up to surround him.

The survivor looked at the older kids huddled in the shade. He ran through the group yet again, laughing and taunting them as he passed. As he turned the corner back towards the center of the park, he again looked at the bigger kids in the shade. As he looked, he tripped on a stick and face planted into the sand. The other kids laughed hysterically, and tagged him on his back. He jumped up quickly, brushing sand from his face. He walked over to the shady spot where Luey and his friends sat. He plopped down beside Katrina, and took in a deep breath.

“Nice moves Petey!” Jonah chuckled.

Petey Innocent Jr. was the son of the mayor. Although he had all the narcissistic traits that came from growing up filthy rich, all-inall he was a good kid. A few years younger than the group, he held them in great regard. Especially Jonah. He rarely ever went to the 61

“Don’t even start Jonah,” said Petey. “When it comes down to it, we all know who’s faster.”

Jonah laughed harder. “Oh we do now?”

“Well, we can find out. I’ll race you to the end of the park.”

Jonah groaned. “It’s way too hot to be running around.”

Petey stood up and walked over to Jonah.

“That’s a strange way to say you’re chicken.”

Katrina and Luey laughed. Jonah looked at his friends.

“I’m never scared to embarrass a kid,” Jonah said as he stood up and stretched. “I just don’t want to get all sweaty is all.”

“Yeah, yeah. Save all the chat and let’s race!”

The two boys lined up in the last bit of shade, one foot in front of the other. Jonah started to count, “3… ” “2! 1! GO!” Petey yelled and sprinted away.

Jonah laughed and took off after him. They bounded through the park, forcing the other kids to move out the way. Jonah caught up to him quickly. He taunted as he ran.

“How do you cheat and still lose?” Jonah laughed, running further and further ahead.

Petey gritted his teeth and ran harder. They got to the end of the park. In the end it wasn’t even close. Jonah won with ease. Katrina and Luey caught up with them at the end of the park.

“You two are crazy for running around in this heat,” Katrina said as she wiped sweat from her brow.

“Man that was just luck!” Petey said, hands on his knees. “Let’s 62

race again. I won’t lose.”

Luey smiled. “Fine.”

“Hell no!” Jonah plopped down onto the grass, his holey jeans flattened out like a small blanket. “It’s so hot. I need some water or something.”

Katrina was shocked at his response. “Really?”

Luey perked up. “Why don’t we get some ice cream?”

“You’re going to go up to her?”

“Oh lord… ” Jonah said, laid out fully onto the grass.

“Yes.”

Katrina snarled.

“And say you like her?”

“What’s the problem?” said Luey. “All I said was let’s get some ice cream.”

“Yes.”

“You know damn well you don’t want any ice cream,” Katrina hissed.

“You just want to go there so you can gawk at Laurel Foster.”

“Yes!”

Laurel Foster was the daughter of Henric Foster, the owner of the ice cream parlor a couple blocks down from the park. Luey had what could only be described as an almost religious crush on her. She was a short, stocky girl with red hair. She was very quiet and polite. If she wasn’t at the library, she was eating ice cream at Foster’s.

“Really.”

“You?”

“Well then, let’s go already!” Petey whined, pulling at his sweaty collar. “It feels like it got even hotter.”

*****

“That’s not true!” said Luey. “I just wanted some ice cream.”

“ ...you go talk to Laurel Foster. And tell her you like her.” Katrina’s smirk turned into a sadistic grin.

The walk took no longer than ten minutes, but with the sun screaming on their backs, they might as well have walked through a desert. Foster’s wasn’t the prettiest building. It sat as a short, wooden building surrounded by an empty parking lot. The building looked like it had survived a war. The sign hung a few feet lower than it was supposed to, with a missing “S” so that it read out “FOTER’S.” The blue and white paint was peeling and left little shavings that looked like little piles of gunpowder inside and out of the parlor. To the kids, the sight of the little building could only be described as ethereal.

Under normal circumstances, Luey would’ve been terrified to speak to Laurel alone, let alone admit his crush to her. However, he knew something his friends didn’t. Today was Wednesday, and Laurel always went to the library on Wednesdays.

The kids ran into the parlor cotton-mouthed, money in hand, and yelling out the four different orders they had been vividly imagining on the walk there. Old Man Foster, as the kids called him, yelled for them to calm down and order one at a time. Old Man Foster was

“Ice cream does sound pretty good right now,” Jonah said.

“Yeah! Yeah!” said Petey, his eyes widening. “Let’s get some ice cream!”

Katrina smirked. “We can go to Foster’s,” she said with an evil gleam in her eyes. “If… ” Luey took a slight step back.

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a giant man. The ice cream scooper looked comically small in his massive paws. He had a long, groomed beard that was so gray it almost looked white. His face always looked as if he smelled something foul, even though he was surrounded by delicious frozen treats.

“Hello.”

As the kids calmed down and ordered like normal people, Luey noticed something that made his stomach drop down into the paint shavings. On the other side of Old Man Foster, head down scooping ice cream, was Laurel. Unbeknownst to Luey, the heat had caused an influx of customers and Old Man Foster had asked Laurel to help him tend the parlor. Luey swallowed deeply. He ran to the side of the parlor and sat at the one empty table in the corner before Laurel could notice his presence.

“Hi, welcome to Foster’s. I’m Laurel. What can I get for you?” She said it so monotone that it sounded like an answering machine.

His friends walked towards Luey, greedily destroying their ice creams before they even sat down. Katrina paused for just a moment to say to Luey, “Go speak!”

The fear in his chest punched through to his head. He felt like he was back outside in the spotlight of the heat. New sweat pooled on his brow, washing away the crusted salt on his face. He started to think.

“It’s not weird,” he told himself. ”All I’m doing is saying hello and ordering ice cream. People come in here all the time.”

With ungraceful steps Luey approached the front of the parlor like a newborn gazelle.

“Just say hello,” he repeated in his mind. “Just say hello.”

At last, he stood at the front of the line and locked eyes with Laurel. She showed no change of expression, both hands mindlessly putting money into the cash register after finishing up with another customer.

“Thank you,” she said, half-bored.

With all of his courage, his love, and his pride—everything he had ever done until that moment—he spoke the words he hoped would be the first he’d say to his one day wife.

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It was perfect. Not too strong nor too weak. At perfect volume to seem polite and interested without sounding fake. It was exactly as he practiced in his mind.

Silence. Luey had used all of his courage for that single hello. He stood there expressionless for an entire 36 seconds. Eventually he gave up on Laurel. In his own mind, he had determined that Laurel thought he was a spineless coward and would never want to talk with him again. He ordered his banana split and sat with his friends.

“Thanks!” she said to Luey as he did his gazelle walk back to his friends.

“How’d it go?” Jonah asked as he spooned his last bite of Rocky Road.

“I couldn’t really talk to her,” Luey lied. “She was busy.”

Luey started on his ice cream. Despite his pain of humiliation, the ice cream was still an oasis inside of the desert heat. He took big greedy bites as his friends licked the last of their money’s worth. Once Luey finished his ice cream, they left the parlor. As Luey walked out the heavy door, he felt the warm heat of eyes on the back of his head. He turned to lock eyes with Laurel. He felt his entire heart twang like the string on a guitar. He turned back quickly and walked out the door, thinking about every step he ever took. He smiled loudly. Maybe he did have a chance.

*****

The gang walked aimlessly through the nasty streets, laughing and joking, the trash and litter chuckling along with them. By now, the sun had fully awoken, its arms outstretched on the city, boiling the kids alive. The different trash juices and aromas swirled together, 66

making the world smell in such a way that could only be described as burnt.

However, the heat was now losing its effect on the group. The summer air felt alive with pure orange life energy. Nothing felt impossible. The streets seemed to shrink below the giant kids.

They marched through their golden world whooping and hollering.

The little adults came out to their balconies to tell them off. They wagged their fingers and cursed their curses at them, the summer madness in full effect. They walked through the streets, their eyes aimed everywhere.

Eventually, they flew into Eddie’s Liquor Store, their madness fading subtly. Eddie was a nice man that broke a lot of laws. He poorly hid his baldness with a dirty baseball cap that appeared to have not been taken off since the 1930s. A stained undershirt struggled to contain the hill that was his beer belly. The neighborhood kids treated his store as a safe haven to smoke and drink. He stood behind the counter, bottle in hand, the happy buzz red and apparent on his chubby face.

rack of decade-old magazines. He regained his balance, only to lose it again in an instant, stumbling the other way. The kids laughed.

Finally he leaned against the doorway, square bottle in his fingers.

The man’s clothes were dirt-covered and riddled with holes. A disheveled brown leather jacket hung from his back. He was an old man. Wrinkles wrapped his ancient face. His cheeks were red like Eddie’s, only redder and meaner. The smell of liquor patrolled him like a team of bodyguards. However, his eyes were so unwaveringly sober and so different from the rest of his face that it looked almost like a mask.

“Hey Eddie!” the stranger spoke. He smiled high and toothy. His front tooth was cracked like a sharp fang. Silence filled the room like the exhale of a cigarette.

They all yelled their greetings, the remnants of the summer madness peaking through.

“You mind letting me in?” The kids moved out of the man’s way as if a bullet was coming through. The man took large steps past the kids, whistling a foreign tune. He slowly stepped past each aisle, heading straight to the back where the alcohol was. His whistling bounced off each rack, filling the air. He clumsily grabbed a big square bottle like the one he had before, only bigger. He held onto it with both hands, almost dropping it a couple of times. He did his high march back to the counter, slamming the bottle down. Eddie jumped from his chair.

“What can I get you for?” He smiled into the bottle.

“That’ll be seven dollars,” Eddie said.

“Oh, nothing right now, thanks,” said Jonah. “We just happened to be nearby and thought we’d pop in.”

The man pulled out a five-dollar bill.

“Hey kids!” Old Eddie said too loudly.

“Well you had better go ahead and pop out!” He laughed for way too long. “I gotta get going! Game’s on in a few.”

“Oh come on, Eddie,” said Luey, “it’s hot out and there’s no place for us to go.”

“Not my problem!” Eddie said, searching for his keys.

The kids groaned as they prepared to once again be at the sun’s mercy. Just then a man stumbled through the door, knocking over a 67

“Oh man!” the stranger said. “I’m a little short. Could you let me slide just this once?”

Eddie sighed. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you sir!” the old man smiled. “Thank you so much!” The man grabbed his booze and stumbled out the door, whistling into the darkened sky.

“That old bastard,” Eddie said, shaking his head.

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“He’s in here everyday and everyday he says the same thing.” He turned to the group. “Well, it’s getting awfully late. You kids should get going.”

Luey and Katrina laughed. Jonah turned to look at them.

“Whatever.” Jonah got up and brushed the dew of the grass off his jeans. “I’m going to the Hill. Come with me if you want.”

“Yeah,” Jonah said, looking at the man as he walked down the street.

Luey and Katrina got up to follow him.

The group went their separate ways, back into the heat. Luey walked back up the hill towards his home. He paused for a second and turned to see the man down the hill, a little black dot against the pavement. If he tried hard enough, he could just make out the sound of his whistle.

“Hey man, you know I was kidding!” Petey chuckled nervously. “I’ll pay for it! For all of you!”

*****

The next day the kids were greeted by the sweet smell of rain. It was a pleasant rain, as if the sky were apologizing for the outburst the day before. Thousands of tiny clouds painted the sky like an army tasked with the job of cooling the kids. They gathered beneath the trees at the park, contemplating how to spend the rest of the day. It was too cold for ice cream and Eddie’s wasn’t open. Luey didn’t mind though. He laid his jacket on the grass, letting the sound of his arguing friends wash over him as he closed his eyes.

He wished he could be there forever.

“I say we go see a movie,” said Petey. “I don’t care what’s on, at least it’ll be inside.”

“I don’t have the money for a movie,” Jonah said. “I say we just go chill at the Hill.”

“Come on,” Petey whined, “a movie is not that expensive if you don’t get snacks.”

“What weirdo goes to see a movie without buying snacks.”

Petey smirked. “A broke weirdo.”

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Jonah shooed his hand. “I don’t need your daddy’s money.”

Petey snarled. “Whatever. What’s so special about a stupid hill anyway.”

Jonah laughed. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Petey ran towards the play structures. Jonah didn’t look back.

Katrina, Luey, and Jonah went on the familiar trek through the woods. Luey turned back to look at Petey one last time. He wondered what Jonah meant by that.

*****

Even though it was well into the afternoon by now, the combination of the clouds and the cover of the trees made the hike up to the spot feel like a tunnel. The smell of wet grass filled the dark air as they walked the path that they had hundreds of times before. The group brought their knees high as they walked to try to reduce the mud sticking to their shoes, but it was futile. The soil squelched with each step. They continued their climb when Luey suddenly felt a strange vibration on his right ankle. He froze. He looked down and saw a dying hummingbird flapping its wings erratically. His body went into high alert at the sight of death; his heart raced and his eyes widened.

“Why’d you stop?” Jonah asked, walking up beside Luey. Katrina stood on Luey’s other side. He stopped too when he noticed the 70

dying bird. He paused for a moment with sadness in his eyes. Then he went to find a stone.

Katrina gasped in shock and ran back away from the bird. Luey looked at the bird flap its wings and buzz against his legs. A tiny bright ruby of blood leaked from the bird’s back. It slid down a blade of grass almost like a marble. He watched its little head turn around frantically and looked into it’s little black eyes. They had no light, like a little stuffed toy.

Jonah came back and quickly smashed the little hummingbird’s head in. He dug a little hole in the mud with his hands and gracefully tucked the little bird into the soil. He patted more mud down and placed the stone he had used like a tombstone. He clasped his hands into a quick prayer over the bird. Finally, he stood back up and went to the path back up the hill, Katrina following.

After a while, Luey walked after them. He turned back and looked at the hummingbird’s tombstone, a little pebble of blood dripping from the rock.

*****

They sat on their bench and let out a sigh after the trek. The sun was gone from the sky, the clouds victorious in their conquest.

They floated proud in their herds of thousands, grazing across the world. The clouds paraded through the gray with great beams of light punching through the sky, lighting up the mighty white of the mountains that stood stoic beneath them. The trees blew in the cool wind, refreshed by the love of the rain, clean and crisp. The river too seemed to slow down at the calmness of the air, if only a little. A flock of geese flew in perfect formation through the light, headed home again. It was a beautiful day.

Katrina broke the silence. “What did you mean when you told Petey that there is nothing special about this hill?” she asked, still 71

sleepily looking at the clouds.

“Huh? Oh,” said Jonah, lost in thought, “there isn’t. This spot is just like any other.”

“But come on, look at that view!” Said Luey. “You gotta admit that it’s really beautiful.”

“I never said it wasn’t,” Jonah said. “It’s extremely beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful thing I ever seen. Just not special.”

Luey frowned. “Well if that’s not special, then what is?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing is.”

Just then, a little rabbit ran past the bench. The kids all sat up and looked at it. It looked back at the kids and sniffed its nose before scurrying off into the woods.

“You are an idiot Jonah,” Luey said, looking back to the mountains.

Katrina laughed. Luey looked at Jonah. “This place is special because it’s so beautiful. Beauty like this will last forever.”

Jonah looked back at Luey and shrugged. “Maybe.”

The group sat for a while, basking in the sight of nature until their legs ached from sitting on the metal. They practically slid down the hill, holding trees and branches to stop from fully doing so. They got down relatively quickly.

By now, the partying clouds threatened to rain, so the kids all ran toward home before it came down. The group, however, wasn’t worried for some strange reason. They pranced their way back to Eddie’s. On the way, Petey noticed them and ran up to join them.

“Hey kids!” Eddie boomed as they walked in.

“Hey Eddie!” they all replied as they squashed into the store. They sat down on the counter and near it. Petey rambled on with Luey about the movie he had watched. The two of them loved movies. Petey had seen a good one about a detective who was trying to solve a case 72

about missing children while also dealing with sleep paralysis, but then he starts to dream about the missing kids and…

“Oh! Oh! I almost got it this time! Hic! Goddamn it!” He faked slipping and falling onto his back. Katrina roared in laughter.

Just then they heard a familiar crash at the door. The strange man stumbled in the door again in almost the exact same fashion he had done the day before, and the day before that as well. He mossied his way to the back and grabbed his liquor. The rattling of glass the only sound in the store. He got to the counter and pulled out a surprisingly crisp five-dollar bill from his raggedy coat pocket.

As he did, it slipped from his grasp and slid onto the dust-painted floor. He bent down to pick it up and missed it. He did this again and nearly fell onto his back.

The strange man turned and looked at Petey. “You damn brat!”

“I think you’re supposed to put the money on the counter!” Petey yelled, covering his mouth.

The group all laughed, except Jonah. Even Eddie had to stifle a chuckle. The stranger tensed for a second, but didn’t turn around.

He steadied himself and reached for the bill again, only to miss it for a second time. In total, it took him three more tries to finally get the bill. At long last, he smacked the money onto the counter.

“My back ain’t what it used to be!” he said, flashing a toothy grin, his dirty yellow fang on full display. He wasn’t looking at Eddie when he said this however. His temperate eyes stared unwaveringly at the bottle. He didn’t even wait for Eddie to ring it up. He grabbed his booze and hit the road. He opened the door, whistling out his strange tune to the street.

Petey ran out the door after him. He walked behind the man, mimicking his strange, uncoordinated steps. The kids went out after him. Petey bent down and exaggerated picking up something and missing it, just like the stranger had. He talked in a slurred and goofy voice, making fake hiccup noises.

“Oops! Hic! I guess I’m getting old. Hic!” Luey and Katrina laughed at the sight from the store’s stoop.

Jonah just stood, hands crossed with the same expression as when he saw the hummingbird. Petey kept going.

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His face went red in anger. He swung his massive bottle around at nothing, too drunk to hit anything but the pavement. Petey dodged the drunk attack easily. The stranger fell and dropped the glass bottle onto the street. He quickly and drunkenly got up and grabbed the bottle off the ground and made sure it wasn’t broken. He shouted curses at Petey, alcohol-flavored spit dripping from his mouth.

This frightened Petey, but the high of the attention he was getting from his friends emboldened him to continue his act. Petey shouted and cursed back until finally the strange man turned and walked down the road. After walking down a few blocks, he started his whistle again, the joy of the booze returning.

Petey ran back to the store grinning as Luey and Katrina’s laughter finally started to die. Jonah looked down the street at the man as he walked away.

Petey looked at Jonah. “Oh come on Jonah,” Petey sighed, “it’s not that serious. He’s just a homeless drunk.”

Jonah’s eyes stayed on the man. “He’s not homeless.”

“What?” said Katrina. “Where does he live?”

“He lives in a rundown house by Palm Station. It’s not much, but he’s not homeless.”

Luey perked up. “The brown house with the rocking chair?”

Jonah looked at Luey and nodded. “My grandma brings him food sometimes. He’s a World War II vet. He gets paid disability from the army every month. He hurt his back or something.”

Petey frowned at Jonah. “I’ve never seen the guy without one or two drinks on him. Homeless or not, he’s still nothing but a bum.”

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Jonah looked down at Petey and sighed. “Maybe.”

An uncomfortable silence landed on the kids as a silent judgement passed between them. After a while, Jonah broke the silence. “I’m going home,” he said as he turned his back to his friends. “I’ll see y’all tomorrow.”

“Guess I’ll go home too then. Don’t want to be alone with you two idiots.” Katrina smirked.

Luey rolled his eyes, and smiled as he started on his way to the bus stop. “Whatever. See ya tomorrow.”

Petey stood frozen. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something but he didn’t. He shook his head and stormed off towards his house without saying goodbye.

Luey arrived at his bus stop and awaited for the bus’s arrival. He didn’t have to wait long for the bus and he took his normal seat in the back. He leaned his head against the window, the events of that day replaying in his mind. He thought about the hummingbird and wondered how it got injured. He thought about Laurel and wondered what she did that day. He thought about the strange drunk man that was supposedly a war veteran. Jonah’s words popped into his mind: “He gets paid disability from the army every month. He hurt his back or something.”

He realized the bus was approaching his stop. He put his hand up to ring the bell but hesitated. The driver looked at his hand through the mirror, preparing to stop. Luey looked out the window again, thinking hard and dumb. “It’s the first of the month today,” he thought. “I can at least go check.” With a deep breath, Luey put his hand down away from the bell as the bus drove past his stop. The driver looked back at him from the window. Luey didn’t meet his eyes.

*****

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By the time the bus arrived at Palm Station, the dark sky had opened and was pouring rain down on his head. He left the bus quickly and made his way to the drunkard’s house. He looked in the front for a mailbox, but to his horror he realized the jaded door had a mail slot. He thought about walking home but decided that he had to at least check to see if the mail was simply on the inside of the door. He slowly crept onto the ancient steps as the wood groaned beneath his weight. He approached the door as the rocking chair on the patio seemed to look into him. It was like it was questioning what he was doing. He slowly approached the door, his heart pounding louder in his ear than the sound of the rain. He carefully lifted the flap of the mail slot, and stuck his hand into the darkness inside.

He felt around for a second. Just when he was about to pull his hand out, the tip of his middle finger felt the texture of paper. He tried to reach down and grab the envelope, pressing his shoulder into the door, when suddenly it gave way and swung fully open into the inside of the living room. The door creaked loudly as if setting off an alarm. It was pitch black. Luey nearly screamed with terror. He was trying to pull his hand free when he heard footsteps approaching from an unseen hallway to the right inside the unknown house. He scrambled desperately to get free as they grew louder.

Finally Luey got his arm unstuck and quickly ducked out of the way of the door, hiding behind the coach just as the man entered. He looked at the door and grunted. He slammed the door shut, which nearly made Luey jump. He held his breath, and stood crouched below the coach, his body tensed like a wild animal, all his senses on high alert. The man slowly stepped through the darkness of his home, the creaky floor announcing his position. Luey was so overcome with fear, it formed into a brand new feeling that he had never felt before. He felt the feeling of survival, of life and death.

The man stepped closer towards the coach and to Luey. He plopped down loudly in front of Luey, bottle in hand. He set the bottle down and lit a candle that filled the room with an orange glow. Luey was now able to see more of the room around him 76

and noticed taxidermied animals all around the room. A fireplace full of junk sat at the center of the dark room, inside the circle of assorted deer and raccoon heads. A bear met Luey’s eyes and the animal in him flinched. The man sat for a long time, staring at the candle and taking swigs from the glass bottle every once in a while.

The only sounds were the swishing of the bottle and the unrelenting blast of the rain hitting the soggy wooden house. Luey didn’t dare move. The shouts of pain from his knees and thighs from standing in such an awkward position were muted by the inner yell of terror from the animal of fear that he had become. Ice cold sweat dripped from his brow, leaving a little damp spot on the bear rug he crouched over.

The man put down the now nearly empty bottle. He smacked his lips and started to sing. The break in the silence nearly made Luey jump five feet into the air. Luey recognized the song to be the tune he was always whistling.

He was just a rookie trooper and he surely shook with fright He checked off his equipment and made sure his pack was tight He had to sit and listen to those awful engines roar You ain’t gonna jump no more The man’s voice was coarse and low, as if he were singing to Luey and only Luey. The herd of slaughtered animals’ eyes danced in the light of the candle, staring deep into Luey’s spirit with judgement and spite.

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die He ain’t gonna jump no more The sound of the rain died down and Luey was left with only the haunting sound of the voice of the old man. The sound seemed to transcend being only vibrations and became pointed nails that stabbed deep into Luey’s mind. Each word, each syllable, inflamed Luey with fear.

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“Is everybody happy?” cried the Sergeant looking up Our hero feebly answered, “Yes,” and then they stood him up He jumped into the icy blast, his static line unhooked And he ain’t gonna jump no more Luey almost started to cry. The question of how he was going to escape the house had just entered his mind. He couldn’t stand to be in this house, on this rug, with this man, listening to this song for one more second.

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die He ain’t gonna jump no more Tears mixed in with the sweat from his face and soaked the fur of the bear. The situation seemed almost surreal. There was no way a simple song could be this terrifying. No way he could have gotten into this situation. But there he was, hunched over a dead bear, being serenaded by the sound of pure dread.

He counted long, he counted loud, he waited for the shock He felt the wind, he felt the cold, he felt the awful drop The silk from his reserves spilled out and wrapped around his legs And he ain’t gonna jump no more He ended the song with a broken and crackly flourish, holding the final note as if he were a professional singer before a fanatical crowd. The flock of petrified animals applauded with silent stares at the intruder. The man gulped down the last of his booze and gave a refreshed sigh. He laid back onto the creaking couch and closed his eyes and began to snore.

Luey waited an entire ten minutes to make sure he was asleep. Ten long, cold, dark minutes. He stood entirely still listening to the rain and the deep, raspy breaths of the old man. He stood hunched like 78

a starving wolf. Eventually, he gathered his nerve and crept his way towards the door. Scared, he pulled the door open. It let out its slow groan. He held his breath and anticipated the old man awakening in a fury and chasing after him, but the man slept soundly.

Luey took a slow step and was halfway out the door when he noticed a small, thick, yellow envelope on the floor. He picked it up and opened it. Inside was more twenty-dollar bills than he had ever seen in his life. He looked back to make sure the man was still asleep. Luey held the envelope close to his chest. He looked back at where he had been in the room on the bear rug that held his sweat, his tears, his fear. The light of the moon from the opened door gleamed on the rug’s eyes. Luey turned his back on the bear and made his way out of the house, slowly closing the door behind him. He crept quietly off the steps, passing the rocking chair. Once his feet hit the pavement he ran, the rain masking the sound of his pounding feet. He ran harder and faster than he ever thought possible. The rain hit his face with little smacks that hit his eyes, and still he ran. He held on tight to the wet money as he pushed all the way home. His head was empty. He had no pride, no regret. He thought of nothing. Not of the money, or of the camera he would buy with it. Not what he would tell his friends. Not anything.

He ran through the door of his home, past his mother passed out on the couch, with no regard to waking her. He ran past the clock in the hallway that read 2:28 AM. This went unnoticed by Luey. He slammed the door and locked it and ran straight into his bed. His mom didn’t even stir.

He laid wet in his bed for a long time, the day’s events washing over his mind like waves. The song the man sang echoed in his ears, sending a chill down his spine. No thoughts of what he had done claimed him. He didn’t think about regret. Eventually, as his mind hummed the man’s creepy song, he fell asleep, the words bouncing through his consciousness like a memory.

The silk from his reserves spilled out and wrapped around his legs

*****

Luey did not sleep well in the slightest. He awoke stiff and sore, his knees screeching and his mind pounding from the aftereffects of the adrenaline. The rain was back and meaner than ever, coming down in great cold spheres. All Luey wanted to do was go back to sleep, but there were important things he had to do today. He smiled. He was finally getting his camera.

Because of the rain, the group had called each other and decided to meet straight at Eddie’s. Even after taking a long hot shower and putting on his biggest winter coat, Luey’s sleepiness and the wetness persisted and he was shivering. The group got to Eddie’s at about the same time, with Luey getting there last. He walked in the door with a big, goofy grin and his hands in his pockets. His friends couldn’t hear him over the sound of the rain as he walked behind them. He put his arms on Katrina and Jonah’s shoulders.

Katrina jumped in surprise. “Jesus, Luey!” She said, smiling as she pushed his arm off her. “You scared the crap out of me.”

Petey laughed.

“Sorry,” Luey said, his smile brighter than ever. “I’m just a little bit excited about what I’m gonna show you.”

“What is it?” asked Petey.

Luey slowly reached his arm into his pocket. The group all looked at him with anticipation.

“Aw, come on man, you’re killing me!” Jonah smiled.

Finally, with a theatrical flourish, Luey pulled out the envelope with the wad of money. The kids all “oohed” in unison.

“Wow! That’s a lot of money!” Katrina said, reaching for the bills.

“Where’d you get it from?” Jonah asked, his eyes wide.

And he ain’t gonna jump no more 79

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“I found it,” Luey lied.

“That’s an awful lot of money to just find,” Jonah said with his wide eyes looking at Luey.

“It was probably from the mob,” Petey said excitedly, “or a drug deal gone wrong!”

man slowly reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a bright silver gun. The weight of the presence of a weapon hung in the air, causing everyone in the store to freeze.

“Woah! Woah!” Eddie stood and put his hands in the air. “There’s no need for that! Go on ahead! Take it! Just leave!” Eddie’s hands shook.

He looked up at his friends, but their eyes passed his, looking at the door.

The drunkard snarled and made his way out the door, gun still in hand. Everyone in the store began to feel relieved as the man walked away. Then a police officer swung open the door and stood in the doorway in front of the man’s path. He froze at the sight of the booze in one hand, and gasped at the sight of the gun in the other.

Luey turned to the entrance to see the old man standing in the doorway. He was drenched in water. The warmth from his face was empty and showed the same unchanging, unearthly soberness that his eyes did. Luey quickly shoved the envelope into his pocket. The man walked down the aisle without a word. Eddie noticed him and eyed him as he made his way to the booze. He walked unnaturally fast for an old drunk as he reached in and grabbed his usual square bottle.

The police officer was hardly new to the job, having been a cop for fifteen years. He was a portly man, being shaped like Eddie with an additional fifteen pounds. His dark blue uniform sagged darker from the wetness of the rain. His unkempt black moustache frowned from being soaked. However, he was entirely new to the concept of being in danger, having worked behind a desk for all of his career.

He still carried a gun, a dull, black pistol which he now drew high at the face of the drunkard.

The entire store was silent save for the steady war drumming of the rain. Luey’s heart pounded just as hard as it had the night before. The man made his way to the register with his bottle, walking nearby the kids who stared at him. He got to the right of the counter, near where he would normally pay Eddie. He paused before turning his back and heading towards the door, making it clear he wasn’t going to pay.

“F-F-FREEZE!” he boomed.

“Well, wherever it came from,” Luey said, looking down at the money, “it’s mine now.”

“Y-You gotta pay for that.” Eddie cleared his throat. “It’s seven dollars.”

The old man recovered from his shock and took a couple steps back. He said nothing and gave a half-hearted chuckle. He dropped the bottle and reached back and grabbed the nearest kid’s wrist, which happened to be Petey. The bottle shattered, its pieces flying away like shrapnel. The sweet treasure liquid pooled and flowed through the cracks of the dusty floor. This woke Petey from his paralysis from fear and he pulled and scratched at the man’s hand.

“You’re not gonna do that,” said the man’s voice.

As Petey screamed and fought, Jonah ran and pried at the man’s hand, attempting to pull Petey free. The sound of the rain banged on as the man fought in silence. Katrina, Luey, Petey, and Eddie all stood completely still, as if they were watching a movie. The drunkard hit at Jonah, gun still in his hand, but Jonah didn’t budge.

He pulled and pried as he gritted his teeth.

“Why shouldn’t I? You’re clearly stealing from me!” said Eddie. The

“Let him go!” Jonah’s voice was strained from effort.

“And if’n I don’t?” The man’s voice was entirely different. It was coarse like how it was when he sang, but it was deeper and true.

“Then I’ll call the sheriff,” Eddie said, sweat dripping from his cap.

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The police officer didn’t move, his gun was shaking now, but it was still up to the man’s head.

Eventually the man let go of Petey’s hand. Petey went flying to the ground. But as soon as he did, the man grabbed Jonah’s hand instead and pressed the barrel of the pistol to his temple.

Jonah screamed.

The police officer trembled harder, the barrel of his gun shaking every which way. Jonah fought and struggled, but he was no match for the drunk’s strength. The man slowly limped to the exit, pulling Jonah with him.

“Listen to me, boy,” the old man gasped as he struggled with Jonah, “you’re going to move out the way of this here door and we all go home happy okay?” The man’s rancid breath ran down Jonah’s back. The policeman didn’t move.

“You understand?” The old man and Jonah were close to the door now.

“HEY!” There were two bangs. They happened so fast and close together it almost sounded like one. Luey clenched his hands against his ears and bent over. His ears rang as if he had gotten rain water in them. As his hearing came back, he was greeted by the sound of Katrina screaming.

On the floor lay two men. The old drunk had a little dribble of blood directly on the center of his forehead like an exotic jewel. His mouth hung open, his yellow fang smiling still. More blood pooled from the back of his head. Even in death, his eyes still had that indescribable look of soberness. They now stared away at nothing and everything.

To the drunk’s right lay Jonah. A gush of black blood flew from his neck like a geyser. His mouth opened and closed like he was trying to speak, but no words escaped him. Only more blood spewed from his lips. His shaking hands slowly touched his neck and his eyes 83

looked down at them in horror. For ten entire seconds, nobody moved. For ten seconds, Jonah watched his friends watch him die. Eventually, Eddie regained his senses and called 911. The officer didn’t move from the door, his hands still on the trigger of the black gun.

Thousands of things bounced in Luey’s mind. His first thought was that death doesn’t look like it does in the movies. His second was self disgust at this thought. His friend had been shot, and that’s what he was thinking about? Movies? He thought about what he should do to help Jonah. He thought of what he should say to comfort him as he bled. He thought about the hummingbird Jonah had killed with such sadness in his eyes. He wondered what his own eyes looked like, watching his dying friend. None of these thoughts became actions. None of them moved as Eddie spoke to the 911 operator. Luey thought about how the light in the hummingbird’s eyes looked.

Jonah’s eyes darted to everything in the store with tangible fear.

Giant tears swelled and rolled off his cheeks. A pool of urine swelled in his jeans and mixed with the unholy amalgamation of his and the drunkard’s blood, his tears, and the spilled alcohol. His eyes finally stopped on Luey’s. His eyes frozen in utter terror with the pool of tears on his face. There is no comfort in the eyes of a dying child.

It took the ambulance and back-up officers four minutes and thirteen seconds to arrive on the scene. In those four minutes, not a single person moved from where they stood. The pounding rain beat on as emergency services pushed past the officer into the store. The medics quickly rushed Jonah onto a stretcher and whisked him away. Just like that, Luey never saw Jonah again.

Although the EMT’s felt a pulse and were rushing him to a hospital, Luey knew. Jonah was dead. He could just feel it. In that moment Luey realized that neither he nor Jonah had any last words. Luey started to cry.

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*****

Luey didn’t sleep a wink that night. He didn’t even try to. How could he simply go to sleep and dream while his friend was dead? He sat at his desk and stared at the dark wall. He put the blame on every person he had ever met, including himself. Hate and tears spewed from his mind all night. Nothing would ever be the same. The world had changed forever.

Luey’s mom knocked on his door in the morning to inform him that Jonah’s funeral was being held that day. Luey didn’t move.

“Do you want to… ” She paused. “Do you want to talk? Luey?”

Luey shook his head.

“These kinds of things… ” She almost whispered, “ …are better to be spoken about than to be held within.”

Luey said nothing.

“Well, okay then.” She sighed, stepping halfway out of the room.

“Be ready. It’s being held at 1:30 at Sawyer Hill.”

Luey turned. “The Hill?” Luey’s voice cracked. “They’re going to bury him… at the Hill?”

“Yes.” Luey turned back to his wall, trying to keep himself from bawling.

“Okay,” he said.

His mom left and he immediately began to cry. He pressed his head into his wall. Luey didn’t think about anything after that. He just cried and cried and cried. When it was time to go, Luey threw on his church clothes and made his way to the Hill, this time with his mother. It felt strange to have his mother accompany him. She towed behind in a plain black dress, tired wrinkles painted on her pale skin.

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Even still, the walk was the usual trek. His feet ached in his shiny black church shoes. It was a nice sunny day as if the world remembered that it was summertime. Luey looked at the ground and noticed the little tombstone of the hummingbird. He felt nothing at this. The clouds were gone, and the forest was alive.

Luey and his mother made good time getting to the top.

Luey turned to the bench where he and Jonah sat just days ago.

This stirred no feelings in him. The tiny cemetery to the right of the bench was crowded with people, a full service had been erected in only a couple of hours. Jonah’s casket sat in the middle of the event on a raised platform. To the right of that was a short grave with a flat tombstone already carved. Luey looked at it with no remorse.

Luey hurriedly went and sat towards the front next to Katrina without a word to his mother, who quietly shrunk to a pew in the back.

The friends greeted each other meekly and sat quietly while the adults around them rushed and set things up and welcomed those who were arriving. Much of the town attended the funeral as they were shocked to hear how tragic and gruesome the situation was.

News crews set up their cameras in the back near the woods. Luey thought it was strange to see all these people at their special spot.

Finally Luey spoke. “Where’s Petey?” Luey asked quietly as he eyed the cameras of the reporters.

“Oh,” said Katrina as she looked in Luey’s eyes. He’s in the front with the mayor.”

Luey turned and saw him in the row second to the front, surrounded by important looking people. Luey didn’t know which one was the mayor. Petey was staring at the floor with an expression that Luey couldn’t quite place. It angered Luey for some reason, but he didn’t know why.

Luey looked back into the forest and noticed who else but Laurel Foster and her father coming out of the brush, looking a little tired from the journey. Luey’s heart skipped a beat. Laurel wore a dark blue dress with a modest silver necklace. Her red hair was down, 86

flowing gracefully over her shoulders. She was beautiful. Luey stared.

He started to fantasize about her when he got a hold of himself.

“JONAH DIDN’T DIE A HERO!” He spoke in between gaps of great sobs. “HE DIED BRUTALLY! IN HIS OWN PISS!”

“What am I thinking?” He shook his head. “My friend is dead and I’m thinking about a crush?” Even still, he did. Date ideas and a future life danced in Luey’s mind.

The audience went silent from shock. The cameras all turned to Luey, zoomed in on the back of his wailing face.

Eventually the funeral commenced and a priest Luey had never seen began to preach. Luey stared hard at the priest, not listening to a word. His mind was entirely blank as different people went up to speak about Jonah. Luey recognized one of those people as Jonah’s grandmother who he lived with. Her tears dried as she took the stage. Even still Luey paid her no attention. Finally a police officer came to the center to speak. He was a tall man with a crooked nose and honest eyes. His uniform was clean and there was a shiny badge stamped over his heart. He took off his hat before he spoke.

His voice had a southern twang.

“There are few things in this world that are more tragic than a deceased child. These circumstances can only be described as disgusting. No parent should ever have to climb this hill. Jonah Richard Banks. I read his name in the paper. I never had the pleasure of meeting this young man while he was alive. But this community tells me he was a great student, an honest grandchild, and a spectacular friend. We all know what action he took yesterday night to try to help out one of his younger friends. What this young man did yesterday showed such courage that is rare in men, let alone a child. He ran at a man with a loaded gun without an ounce of hesitation to save his friend. I may not have met Jonah Richard Banks but I can tell you this fact about him. Jonah is a hero.”

The audience of the funeral erupted in applause. The cameras all zoomed on the face of the officer. Jonah’s grandmother sat with a deep, sorrowful expression that looked similar to Jonah’s. This was it. After all that he had seen that day—the hummingbird’s tombstone, all the people at the Hill, their group’s bench empty— this is what made Luey lose it. His eyes dispersed a flood of tears.

“A HERO!?!” Luey stood, his fists clenched.

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“YOU WANNA KNOW ABOUT A HERO!?” Luey pointed a crinkled finger at the officer. “THE HERO WAS THE FAT COP THAT DIDN’T EVEN HAVE THE STONES TO COME TO HIS FUNERAL! THE HERO WAS THE GROWN MAN THAT COULDN’T MOVE A MUSCLE! JONAH DIDN’T TAKE NO OATH! JONAH DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR NOTHING!” Two police officers got up and went to grab Luey. “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? DON’T YOU GET IT? A CHILD IS DEAD!” The men grabbed Luey and dragged him into the forest. He fought and kicked and yelled as tears and snot poured out of his face. The cameras clicked and flashed.

“A CHILD IS DEAD!” After the funeral, Luey went back and sat in silence with Katrina on their bench. Luey wiped the now-dried snot from his face.

He thought back to what the policeman had said. “What was so good about what Jonah had done?” he thought. “It should have been Petey. Is it a good thing that his life was saved because he was younger than Jonah? It’s only three years. Only three years separated him from being a hero or being a coward.”

“It’s getting late now,” said Katrina. “My mom and dad want me to go back soon.”

Luey said nothing.

“They went home right after the funeral.”

Luey stayed quiet.

“You want to come to my house?” Katrina asked, looking deep into Luey’s eyes.

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Luey shook his head.

Katrina paused for a moment, fear slowing entering her voice.

“Please just come with me, Luey. I don’t want to go into the woods by myself.”

Luey looked down at the grass and said nothing.

Katrina started to cry. “Don’t make me go alone! Please?”

Luey bit his lip and again shook his head.

Katrina shot up and grabbed Luey’s collar and shook him slightly.

“Luey, please just come with me!” Katrina cried. “I’ve never been in the woods on my own! I’m scared!”

Luey looked up at her with an expression unknown to even himself.

He wondered what she saw. Katrina threw his collar down and ran down into the woods crying. Her tears fell like rain onto the wild grass. Luey sank down onto the bench, an extreme exhaustion bulldozing him. But he wasn’t going to sleep. How could he just take a nap with his friend gone? It just wasn’t fair. Not now.

Luey turned to the view. The sun was cresting high in the empty blue sky. The army of clouds had fled. The snow top of the mountains were gone now too, leaving their mighty brown tops exposed. The trees blew in the refreshing breeze that flipped their branches like wild hair. To the right of the mountains was a vibrant rainbow that fell from the sky, its end stopped on top of the river, a calm blue as it raced. A flock of vultures circled an unseen kill with frenzied excitement over a potential feast etched in their movements. This was a beautiful day. A day Luey did not want to be beautiful. He wanted to pull the sun from the sky and rip the mountains from the ground. He wanted to kill and dress the hunting vultures. To break the layers of the stunning rainbow one-by-one and burn down the dancing trees. He wanted to stop the river’s speeding showboating and force the world to look at his pain. At his loss. But it didn’t happen. The sun shone, and the trees 89

danced, and the wind blew. There was nothing Luey could ever do to change that.

The warm rays of the beautiful day kissed his exhausted face.

He could feel his eyelids falling into a tepid slumber. He snapped himself awake. “I. Will. Not. Sleep.” he told himself. A battle ensued. Luey fought for an entire 27 minutes to stay awake. “I can’t sleep,” he told himself. “Jonah will never get to sleep again.”

But the warm summer sun and the cool breeze and the last two days of exhaustion was too much. He fell into graceful slumber alone on the special bench as the breeze blew through his hair. As he slept, a little rabbit ran beneath the bench and raced between trees. It flew through the bushes and down almost out of the woods.

On the outskirts of town, a detective and his partner smoked while leaning on their car.

“Did you see what happened at the funeral?” his partner said to him.

“Yeah. The whole thing is horrible.” The detective took a long drag. “I heard that it was one of our guys who shot the kid, not even the robber.”

“Nah, that’s not what happened. A deputy, I think his name is Collins, stumbled in on the whole thing and shot the guy while he had his gun pointed at the boy. The robber’s gun went off after he got shot and the boy was shot in the neck.”

“What?” the detective looked up. “I didn’t hear that part.”

“Yeah. The report said that he bled out for roughly five minutes.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah.”

The men stood silent for a minute as their cigarette smoke mixed in the air.

“Well,” said the partner as he stood up and stretched. “I best be 90

going home now. The wife was already upset that I went to this funeral on my day off.”

An Affirmation

The detective stood as well. “Yeah, I got a few papers I gotta sort down at the station myself. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Allison Gongora

“See you Monday.”

No one ever tells you about the envy you will feel seeing your peers accomplishing things in life. They only talk about the person who’s succeeding.

The detective put out his cigarette and got into his car. He looked out his window back to the hill and thought about what his partner had said. He shook his head and sighed before pulling off onto the main road. The drive back to the station was always the same.

I say this as someone on the outside looking in at my friends who are succeeding. They’re getting into UCs and prestigious four-year schools, going to college/university out of state, or even getting jobs. They all have an idea of what they want to do in life. I feel like that’s the main thing, everyone seems like they have it all figured out, but I feel lost.

I feel like I’m running out of time and being pushed to make a decision. But I’m worried that if I’m pushed to make a decision I’ll feel rushed. I’ll make a bad decision because I’m not thinking straight, and hate the path I’m going down. This makes me feel like I’m frozen.

I freeze because it’s my way of thinking. I don’t know what I want to do and I’m trying to figure it out, but I’m worried I’ll make the wrong decision.

Throughout high school I always thought, “I have four years, I have more time,” but when people say that high school goes by fast, it really does. Now I find myself running out of time. I felt frozen then, and I continue to now. I still feel stuck, I still feel frozen and graduation is closer than it seems. I’m faced with my future right in front of me.

KJ is an eighteen-year-old aspiring show/film maker from Los Angeles, California. He has loved stories for as long as he can remember. His current inspirations are Jujustu Kaisen, Mind Game, and many more. His dream is to be able to pitch his show idea that he has been writing since he was in the fourth grade to a real executive. For some unknown reason, he truly thinks he has a chance in the industry. He currently attends Helen Bernstein High School.

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Even though I may compare myself to my peers and see their accomplishments, this won’t hold me back because I still have time.

Seeing what they’re accomplishing shouldn’t make me feel lesser, because I know everything has its own time and I shouldn’t rush what’s for me just because I see others with what I want.

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I know that I missed out on certain opportunities and experiences but there will be more in college that are waiting for me that will get me out of my comfort zone. I’d hate to miss out on what I already missed out on. I know how I would feel if I were to do this again.

Leaving for Healing

I hope that at some point in the first couple years of college I find clarity and know what I want to do. I won’t second guess, I won’t have doubts. I’ll say yes to more things and create new memories, have new experiences, and meet new people, and LOVE what I do.

I needed a break from the chaos in this city

Those are the standards I’ve set for myself so I don’t feel the same way in college like I did in high school. Even though I feel stuck now, I know that there is a future waiting for me. Although I’m frozen right now like a deer in headlights, instinct will kick in and I’ll move forward eventually. Hopefully, sooner rather than later.

I needed space to clear my mind, to leave the stress I had behind

Jimena Sanchez

LA was too crowded, too loud, too much stress, It left me with no room to think The city lights were always bright, I was never left with time to think right I hated the loud noises The way everyone was always there to see and judge your mistakes I tried avoiding the crowds but I always ended up getting caught in the traffic I wished for quiet days and nights I looked for the open skies Soon, I realized I wouldn’t find any of that in this city Mexico helped me see a part of life I had forgotten about It gave me time to think and process everything The way I was able to see and count the stars at night, I was healing my scars LA had been causing me too much stress, I couldn’t express Mexico had many different ways of showing its pride and culture I wasn’t running away from my problems

Allison is a senior in high school at Helen Bernstein. She enjoys listening to music and watching movies. She is unsure about her future, but she hopes she will find herself through it and do what she loves.

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I just needed to understand how I felt and let myself heal in peace LA is still the place I call home and will always be part of me 94

But the bright colors of Mexico have kept a place in my heart Sometimes leaving helps you see things you hadn’t let yourself see Taking a step back from things isn’t always being “scared,” it’s trying to carry on When I left, I was able to figure myself out, who I really wanted to be It made me realize there’s so much more to life that’s worth living for Being in Mexico didn’t fix me or solve all my problems It helped me understand that I can fix myself and life isn’t meant to be perfect, but it’s still mine to live and I’m going to make the most out of it

Caught Up Hazel

I knew the smack-talking would get to me. I kept talking reckless about this dude, and he kept giving me warnings. Well, here I am, walking to the corner store, obviously hoping I don’t get confronted.

After getting my Coca Cola and something spicy, I walk down the street, turning the corner, and I see them. The big dude and his homies. I freeze, almost dropping my damn soda in the process.

“Hey, bro. Heard some things about you,” says the big one, Alex.

“Uhh… what are you talking about?” my stupid self says back. I sound like some scaredy cat.

“You know what I’m talking about. What are we gonna do about it? You said I look like a cross between a hippo and Barney or something. I don’t even know, but I know that you said some very disrespectful stuff.”

Oh god… I really want to laugh at that. Just the way he said it in such a serious tone.

“Yeah! You think you were safe to say that, dude? Hecks no!” chimes in one of his friends.

“So, we’re either fighting or… fighting. I’m not letting your ass keep running your mouth.”

“Yea fool… you really thought that huh? Hell nah… ” Man… why couldn’t he have confronted me alone. Or how about NOT AT ALL!? I’m just all bark! Honestly… why am I so problematic?

I try hiding my gulp before attempting to respond in a not-soscaredy-cat way.

Jimena is a sixteen-year-old high school student who enjoys playing softball and hanging out with her friends and family.

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“Nah… I’m not fighting all three of you. I’ll fight you Barney-—Alex.”

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He scoffs and gets all up in my face. He starts pushing me and saying a whole bunch of BS. Honestly, I am so scared I’m not even thinking. Goddamn! I decide to act.

“Yo… all you’re gonna do is shove me back?” I say to him, trying to sound cocky.

“Man, shut up. Hit me first then. Go ahead… little twig stick… come on. Let’s see if you’re really about it,” he says back. He taps his cheek with his fat finger.

I huff, before deciding this is my time. “Yea bro… watch this,” I say before shoving him back and punching him in the face before running off.

Oh man. I really just did that.

He quickly starts running after me, his homies following behind.

All I am thinking is, “Why the hell did I do that? I don’t fight.” Yet I love talking.

I keep running, not even looking back. I run through some random yard, through an alley way, and end up on a busy street. They keep up. Well, not Alex. He could never keep up. I run for what feels like forever, when really I only run for a good 30 minutes, before finally I lose them.

Or that’s what I think. I’m hiding behind some fence. I’m waiting and waiting, until I decide that I am safe. I let out a deep breath before stepping out onto the sidewalk. Alex is RIGHT THERE. All I remember him telling me is, “Told you you can’t get away with this.”

The Night Fall Mehboob Bhatijiwala

Chapter One: The Crash Mark, a thirty-year-old store manager, just got promoted. He went to the bar with some colleagues to celebrate.

Mark had celebrated a little too much and decided to drive home while under the influence. On his way home, Mark was driving erratically, speeding and zigzagging all over the road. Mark ended up driving on the wrong side of the highway and collided with another car. BOOM! Instead of staying at the scene of the crash, Mark ran away for fear of the consequences.

Chapter Two: The Morning After The next day, the police, having known about the accident from security cameras in the area and the registration of the car, made a visit to Mark’s house.

Mark woke up with cuts and scratches on his face and with a huge headache. He started to remember the night before. Then Mark looked outside the window and saw his car was not parked in its usual spot. Mark started to remember the accident and who was in the car that Mark hit. Mark had been thrown from his car and was bleeding profusely. Mark asked himself, “Did I kill that person?”

He was feeling scared. Then Mark got an alert on his phone. He was wanted for a hit and run.

Mark started to pack his bags, but when he tried to get out of his room, the door was jammed and he couldn’t get out. He got a sledgehammer from his closet, broke the door down, and then went downstairs. However, before Mark could leave his house, four police officers were right outside his home.

Hazel is a senior and excited to graduate.

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Chapter Three: The Flight Mark got his bag and ran out of the door. Then he hopped the fence into the alley. Mark thought he could get away from the police by going to the airport but the police were one step ahead of him.

He went to a gift shop and bought a hat to disguise himself so the police couldn’t spot him. He ran to the terminal for his flight to San Francisco but the camera caught him and the police spotted him. Then the police started chasing Mark. Mark bumped into an old passenger, knocking them down. Mark got the old passenger’s suitcase and threw it at a police officer. The police officer fell down and got injured, then he called for backup.

Mark ran onto the plane and got an elderly mask out of his bag and put it on so the police couldn’t spot him. The police went onto the plane and to Mark’s seat. They found an old man sitting in his seat. The police asked for his ticket and saw Mark’s name on it.

He was caught.

Mark pushed the officer and jumped out of the plane by pulling the lever of the emergency door. He got out of the plane and grabbed the driver of a luggage cart. Mark pulled him out of his cart and started driving the cart until he got outside the airport.

Four police cars cornered him and an officer yelled, “You don’t have nowhere to go! Get out of the cart with your hands up!”

Mark realized it was over for him and he went to jail for two years.

Two Wheels, Three Reactions Dayra M.

In late January of eighth grade, my family and I decided to visit my grandpa’s grave at the cemetery. We drove over there on a cloudy Sunday around 12 PM. We did our usual routine which was to clean and decorate the gravestone, and spend quality time with each other. By the time we finished, my grandpa’s gravestone was sparkling, smooth, and spotless with a fragrant smell of coffee and sunflowers. We relaxed for a bit as usual with me laying down on a blanket and my family on chairs eating. After a while, we left and tried to take our usual route home, but the freeway we always took was closed due to construction, so we went on a different one that took longer to get home. It was peaceful. The sun was setting, Spanish music was playing, the windows were down, and we were feeling the windy breeze.

As the sun started to set, the freeway got chilly, so we put the windows up and turned the heater on for a little bit. An old Spanish song was playing in the background as my mom was talking with my grandma about chisme. Me and my aunt were on Tiktok. We were having a good time. A few minutes passed when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I lifted my head from my phone and as I turned slightly to my right, I saw in the side mirror a blurry shadow approaching fast. Suddenly, we were hit. Hard.

The blurry shadow was a car. The car hit us on the passenger side where I was. The impact was between the right doors, but more into my door. The impact was so fast and so big that it caused our car to swerve and lean onto two wheels.

Mehboob is seventeen years old. Born in Los Angeles, California, he loves to write stories and be creative. Mehboob loves to travel around the world and explore new places. He loves to spend time with his friends and family.

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My mom’s instincts kicked in, a fight response. She was trying to get control of the car and make us go back on all four wheels. As she was doing that, she immediately put her hand on my chest to keep me in place from flying out. She was yelling at us to calm 100

down and making sure our seatbelts were on. She was scared but she was also the only one of us to take action in this mess.

As for me, I froze when the chaos started. I was too shocked to react. I didn’t know what to do. There wasn’t anything I could do.

At that moment all I thought was that this might be the end if we didn’t get back on four wheels. I didn’t want to think that any longer.

I momentarily snapped out of shock to turn around and check on my grandma and aunt.

My aunt was frozen as well. Her face was drained of color and her eyes wide with terror. She was stuck like that, as if moving might make it worse. She had clutched her phone in her hands, not wanting to lose it. She didn’t even have her seatbelt on either. My mom was yelling at her to put on her seatbelt but it was as if she was deaf. She wouldn’t budge at all. Since I couldn’t do anything besides look, my grandma tried to do something.

My grandma was scared for her life. When fear hit her, her body took off. She literally flew to my aunt’s side and tried to distract herself by helping her. She kept talking in short, frantic bursts, trying to steady herself and also urging my aunt to come to her senses. Her instincts were screaming for her to get away to safety, to escape. Her rushed movements and tense posture made her fumble to put my aunt’s seatbelt on. Helping her was the only way she could keep moving and not freeze.

When my mom finally got control of the car and got us back on four wheels, it felt like a few minutes had passed by then, but it was really only a few seconds. We were huffing and puffing for air.

In the moment we forgot we were on the freeway. My mom quickly drove us to the side of the freeway with the car that hit us. When my mom parked the car, we saw that there was more than one car already there, which made me feel uneasy. My mom stepped out of the car to talk with the other driver.

While she was away, my mind was racing, thinking of everything that could have happened and what I should do now. We weren’t injured in any way, but I was about to cry just from the feeling of 101

almost getting injured or dying. My aunt finally woke up from her frozen state and my grandma was calming down. Each of us were making sure we were okay. After a while, my mom came back with important information.

She found out that the other car we saw was the cause of this mess. Apparently in the other car was an old man who was driving it. He was wearing glasses and couldn’t see clearly because the sun reflected in his glasses and blinded him. That caused him to swerve and hit a car, which ended up being the car that hit us.

The guy that got hit said that it was such a shock to him that he swerved and ended up hitting us. Hitting us caused his car to stop.

Afterwards, he looked over and saw us on two wheels. He said he was scared for us. When we got back on four wheels, the other two drivers were waiting for us.

After piecing together the cause, we called the police to report the incident. While we waited for the police to arrive, my mom also called a lawyer. The lawyer said that based on the incident we could get some compensation and we would have to go to physical therapy. Even though we weren’t injured, we took the most damage and our bodies would ache if we didn’t go.

When the police finally arrived, they got each of our statements about the crash and escorted us off the freeway. They escorted us into a parking lot nearby and asked if someone could come get us since our car would be towed. My mom said she would call her mother-in-law since her van could take all of us. Until then they wouldn’t tow our car.

While we waited, my mom, aunt, and grandma told our closest family about what happened to us. I was feeling a bit hungry and stressed. Luckily there was a WaBa Grill nearby and I asked my mom if I could get some in the meantime. She said yes and I ended up getting a spicy teriyaki bowl with vegetables.

As I was quickly stressed-eating the spicy teriyaki bowl, the sun was starting to fully go down. No music was playing, and my grandma and aunt were resting. My mom’s mother-in-law finally 102

came and talked to us while we got our stuff. As we settled into the car, I finally rested properly.

Frozen at the Front

The ride was soothing and quiet which was what I needed. It let me reflect on what had happened throughout the day. The day had turned from a peaceful outing into a whirlwind experience. I was glad no one got hurt and that we could continue living life. But what if it had ended differently? What if we got injured badly? What if we couldn’t get back on four wheels? What if we never got on the freeway? A lot of what ifs. At the end of the day none of that happened, and I’m glad that we survived.

Raquel C. My legs are moving faster than a motorcycle on the freeway My hands are sweaty and clammy All my eyes could do was look down, praying not to get called on I hear the popsicles moving in the cup, anxious, not knowing if I’m next Mr. Rodger calls on someone else The tension in my body disappears Everything feels like jello Until THAT feeling comes back I hear the popsicle sound again My stomach sinks all the way to my feet Mr. Rodger says my name I just want to morph into the desk I walk like a turtle, working my way up to the class Feels like my neck has thorns around it and I can’t speak Mr. Rodger opens my slides I take the biggest breath I start fidgeting with my hands Mr. Rodger says I can start as soon as I’m ready On a loop I keep thinking if I should go fast to get it over with or try to get a decent grade My voice sounds more squeaky than a twelve-year-old boy I start to speed run I freeze

Dayra is a creative person who loves reading and watching hockey. She also loves cats a lot more than herself.

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I can’t speak I lose my train of thought 104

Talking about the most random facts My hands are swinging back and fourth

The Tale of Willow & Mr. Rodger

My eyes looking everywhere

Raven Solis

My heart racing and I am frozen at the front

Opening Letter: Hello friend! Save the date. On April 15 of 1806 Sir Apollo Stone and Lady Polly Wood will be sharing their celebration and promise of a life filled with one another.

INT. BALL ROOM - NIGHT - APRIL 15, 1806 MR. RODGER Why Apollo? You never seemed the type.

APOLLO Rodger, just have a good time. Have a drink.

Apollo hands Rodger a glass of carrot juice.

MR. RODGER I don’t want a drink Apollo. Why would you turn on your own species? You were never like this.

APOLLO Rodger, are you criticizing me on my wedding day?

MR. RODGER Yes! Apollo holds a disappointing look at Rodger, understanding that his close friend is lost. No longer someone he knows.

MR. RODGER Apollo, please. Explain. Why? Raquel is in a band that performed in the Rose Parade. Raquel loves doing drawing, painting, and crafting. She loves listening to any type of musical genre, but has her preferences.

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APOLLO Rodger, have you ever been in love?

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MR. RODGER Don’t begin with this, friend.

APOLLO Have you?

MR. RODGER Of course I haven’t. Love is by definition nonsense.

APOLLO Then this topic is of something you will not understand.

MR. RODGER Please just tell me.

APOLLO You truly want to hear my answer that is filled with the definition of nonsense?

MR. RODGER Just share.

APOLLO I love her. And you will maybe have the blessing to one day understand why love is the language of the universe.

A silence fills the small but widening gap between the two lost friends.

APOLLO Try to enjoy the party. I must accompany my missus tonight.

Apollo walks away, hiding his discovery behind a sad smile. Knowing he has lost a friend to the prejudice which consumes him.

A few minutes later Rodger is standing by the carrot juice a once old friend offered him, remembering the field of fruity white lithiums, which reminds him of the earth’s roots always returning to each other.

WILLOW (in a voice lower than the peace Mr. Rodger holds) 107

Oop! Willow catches the attention of Mr. Rodger, who is lost in his solemnity. Her unfitting fabric choices drown the spinning center of shadows caused by all the other gowns and tails.

MR. RODGER (under his breath, which he believes cannot be heard) First I lose my friend to his peculiar ideas, and now this girl of the disgusting future appears.

WILLOW Well, hello to you too, Mr. Hatred of New. The white fur surrounding the cheeks of Mr. Rodger turns a radish pink, like the ones he had at Apollo’s previous celebration of birth.

WILLOW Silence is the second step to madness. Well done, you are going far.

A playful smirk whisks the short whiskers of Willow upward.

MR. RODGER I am not mad.

WILLOW Oh? Reversing are we? Denial is another step.

MR. RODGER How much sand have you eaten? `WILLOW Thank you for believing I am as happy as those sniffers.

Mr. Rodger’s eyes fight an undefeatable squint.

WILLOW Have a great evening, sir.

MR. RODGER No. I am walking away from you, woman. You are on 108

something and whatever it is, understand that it will soon be illegal.

Willow stops again, facing Mr. Rodger.

WILLOW Have a great evening, sir.

EXT. PAVED WALKWAY IN FLOWER GARDEN - MORNING - TWO DAYS LATER MR. RODGER I just can’t stand her Apollo. She is so filled with the new that is bound to never happen.

APOLLO I am bound to what I believed would never happen.

Mr. Rodger brings a moment of silence.

APOLLO New is good.

MR. RODGER New is different.

APOLLO And different is often good.

EXT. PAVED WALKWAY IN FLOWER GARDEN - NOON - ONE WEEK LATER

POLLY That is a concept that sounds filled with love. Willow, I must mention something.

Willow stops, worried, and reaches out to hold Polly’s wing in her paw.

WILLOW Anything, always.

Willow’s ears pull back in worry.

POLLY Oh Willow, all is well. Well, well enough. The fact of the matter is your name has been mentioned.

Willow lets go of Polly’s wing.

WILLOW Oh? How has my name filled the air?

POLLY Apollo has shared that the rabbit by the name of Mr. Rodger has been criticizing your absurd idealistics during their strolls.

WILLOW Mr. Rodger? How strange. I would imagine that my presence, which he found torturous, would have left his mind by now.

POLLY Apparently my Apollo has begun dreading his rambling rants about you. “Always repeating ideas,” Apollo says.

Willow is out for a stroll with Polly.

WILLOW And the thought of another species living before us excites me Polly! Imagine, a race named humans, all with five fingers, all with the exact same body! How connectful is that!

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EXT. PAVED DIRT WALKWAY SURROUNDED BY BUSHES AND OAK TREES - LATE MORNING - FOUR DAYS LATER Mr. Rodger is on his way to the market. He sees a peculiar pair of long tan ears poking above the huckleberry bushes.

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WILLOW (singing as she picks huckleberries) Saute as they grey, stirred with sugar, oh no, no boogers— Mr. Rodger sneaks his way closer to Willow.

MR. RODGER How obscure to mention boogers in a song of rhyme.

WILLOW (startled) And how rude to frighten a lady as she picks her berries!

MR. RODGER I did not mean to cause a jump.

Willow looks back at the berries and continues picking.

MR. RODGER Why do so many berries face their fate today?

WILLOW Curious are we?

MR. RODGER I am not curious of you. Only of the berries.

WILLOW Well, these berries will soon face their making into a pie.

MR. RODGER (steps closer to Willow and observes her harvest) Oh? A huckleberry pie for one?

WILLOW A huckleberry pie for the birthday of Lady Brown’s cub.

MR. RODGER How very thoughtful of you.

only torturous but also thoughtful?

MR. RODGER (blushes) Well, I mean only that… well, yes.

EXT. FLOWER GARDEN DIRT PATH - EARLY NOON - TWO DAYS LATER Willow and Mr. Rodger share a talkative walk.

WILLOW And you will not believe the color she turned when she finally looked at the bright sky!

MR. RODGER As the roses you make of my cheeks?

Willow’s whiskers show an expression of shock.

WILLOW No silly! She turned almost a translucent blue. As if becoming one with the stars was always her fate.

MR. RODGER (With a grin wider than an orange slice) You and your way of words. It never fails to open my view. Willow, thank you for accepting this walk with me, even after I frightened your picking of huckleberry.

WILLOW While I was hesitant at first, I do not regret it at this moment.

MR. RODGER If the enjoyment is mutual, may I ask when can I see you again? You seem to be a busy bunny and I would not like to disrupt any meditations you may—

WILLOW Wow! Does the Mr. Rodger find a bunny like myself not 111

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WILLOW I must share something.

Both creatures pause, as if the world’s orbit has broken.

WILLOW I am leaving.

The color of white carrot devours all of Mr. Rodger’s fur.

MR. RODGER Willow, please tell me this is a joke. Or that you will at least allow my company.

Mr. Rodger’s eyebrows reach an upward turn they have never reached before.

MR. RODGER What do you mean “leaving?”

WILLOW I am going on a trip that is far—

WILLOW I am going on a trip. One that is far.

MR. RODGER I know. And I want to come. You said this trip may be forever.

MR. RODGER Did I fail to interpret our enjoyment?

WILLOW I am going on a trip that is far, and it is a trip which you are not ready for.

WILLOW Do not start trying to explain my journey on a factor such as yourself. I am going on this journey to grow.

MR. RODGER Grow? Is that not all that we do?

WILLOW Yes, however my feelings lie with exploration. I believe that new views, new perspectives, show a side of the universe and of yourself that you would otherwise never fall aware of.

MR. RODGER Can I fall aware of these perspectives alongside you?

EXT. PARK POND - DAY - TWO DAYS LATER Willow is meeting with Mr. Rodger below the willow tree which stands alongside the river in which she has previously studied her reflection.

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WILLOW Thank you for meeting me here with such short notice.

MR. RODGER So I will pack!

Willow lets out a small chuckle.

WILLOW It is not that kind of ready, Mr. Rodger.

MR. RODGER Then what?

WILLOW You will find me in the bushes north of the beautiful star Sirius. I will be where I always am, sticking my nose in nature or new ideas. I tell you this now, and if your future self truly does still wish to spend ridiculous time with me, then you will know where to find me.

MR. RODGER Why tell me now? May I not come along now?

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WILLOW Following me on my journey is far different from finding your way somewhere. Continue nurturing yourself, then, maybe one day your soul will crave an adventure that you cannot ignore. If our souls are truly meant to experience journeys together, then the flower fields will lead us back to each other.

The somberness in Mr. Rodger’s eyes slowly lets down a raindrop of water.

MR. RODGER Respecting your futuristic ideas, I will find you in the huckleberry bushes, in a different state of grass of course.

Willow shares a loose hug with Mr. Rodger, WILLOW Thank you.

END

A Writing to Three Nathalia Ruiz Flight Now I’d be lying if I said I didn’t write these while I was at the beach, because we all know I did. Those who know me know I love the beach. I love the blazing hot sand that turns cold at night. I love the extremely cold water that gets oddly warm in certain spots. I love the rough and heavy waves all the more because sometimes they’re soft and sweet to you. I love the damn seagulls that bug you when you open a bag of chips.

Zuma County Beach all the way to Playa de Rosarito Tijuana is all I’ve ever considered truly mine. The beach has never let me down, not even when the weather isn’t perfect or when I have had no one and nothing. It has been mine since my arrival on earth and I have the pictures to prove it. I go to the beach when I’m sad, I go when I’m happy, I go when I want to enjoy this company.

When I go, I try to go early, so I can hear the sounds of an empty beach and its waves. It is like no music ever produced. The view day and night is like no form of art ever created. The smell of the salty sea is better than the scent of any flower. The feeling I get when I’m at the beach is the comfort of a hug.

Fight

Raven is a high school student who finds adventure in literature, always involving herself in advanced English courses. She always carries around a book and a journal, never allowing her self-growth to come to a stop.

She is aware—hyperaware—of the world she lives in. Through this short story she hopes to open a rabbit hole into her world.

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The closer and closer I get to graduation, the more and more I realize I’m not ready. I’m not ready to not see the familiar faces in the halls, the teachers I have known since freshman and sophomore year, and let go of the same LAUSD email that I’ve been using for the past 12 years. I’m not ready to part ways with my best friends Allison, Elvia, Mah’ky, and Katelyn. The thought of not seeing them five times a week is tearing me up inside and out. I’m not ready for them to be scheduled hangouts.

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I’m not ready for college, though I say I am. I’m not ready for the so-called life I have planned out. I know this is the next chapter of my life, but I simply cannot face it. I’ve been preparing for the past 12 years, but now that it’s here, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to feel. I don’t know how to act. I should have listened when I was told that these four years would fly by. I should’ve wanted to be in the moment more. The list can go on and on but it doesn’t change the fact that graduation is around the corner.

The majority of my friends are happy that high school is ending and think high school sucks, but I can’t bring my own thoughts around to that idea. Sure, I don’t have to wake up early any more and be assigned a bunch of assignments, but it was never about school. It has always been about the people in it. The people that make going to school easy, the ones that make me feel seen, the people I love and wouldn’t trade for the world. Knowing that they will not be with me next year is a pain in my heart.

Time has always been my biggest enemy. I wish I had more time with the people I grew up with and the people I got to know. I wish I had more time to get better grades. I just simply wish I had more time preparing, even though 12 years should’ve been enough.

Freeze The words I was dreading to hear were spoken to me bluntly the second I woke up: “Andrew passed away.” My sister, who was sitting on the living room sofa, delivered the news as I walked in fresh out of bed.

“What?”

The word that came out of my twelve-year-old mouth lingered across the room before she spoke again, “He died last night. There was too much fluid in his lungs, and he didn’t make it.”

I looked to my parents who were sitting on stools across from her.

My dad, who had a closer connection to Andrew, stared at the floor in disbelief while he fidgeted with his hands. My mother, on his right and being the strong one, tried to lift up the mood and said, 117

“He’s in a better place now.”

I stood frozen at the living room doorway, trying to comprehend all that I was hearing. My sister guided me to sit next to her so she could comfort me, but I was still too shocked. Andrew, my little nine-year-old cousin, was dead. I had just seen him a month prior to celebrate his birthday. Another year of his life. As we all sat there with pain in our hearts, my mom told us all to get ready as we were going to visit my aunt to see how she was doing.

When we arrived, my cousins had beat us to it. My oldest cousin Nicholle and her boyfriend Rhaul, with their two-year-old Lelani, brought food and placed it all across my aunt’s apartment. My family and I ran to my aunt Helen and our cousins, Stephanie and Emily, who were crying at the dinner table. We asked them how they felt, knowing this was a pain that we couldn’t understand. They managed the courage to tell us that this was God’s plan to help Andrew be at peace.

When the last of us arrived, my cousin Michelle and my oldest brother Israel, we all sat across the living room, some eating and some playing with the cats, while we reminisced about Andrew ‘s life. I sat down on the couch by his toy box. I looked at the box full with hot wheels, not understanding how the kid who was playing with them not even a whole week ago was now never going to get a chance to play with them again.

As we all sat there for a little longer, my Aunt Helen decided she wanted to watch his favorite movies. She played Spider Man: Into the Spider Verse, his favorite movie. Even as a kid I knew that it was a distraction so she could talk to my mom and dad about what she was going to do for the funeral. Money was tight and this wasn’t expected, even as much as we wanted to admit that it was.

Andrew had leukemia and had had it for a while. He had his ups then he had his downs, but we all had held on to hope.

During the month that led up to his funeral, we all visited my Aunt’s place every weekend. It was always full, every time. My mom, my grandma, and my cousin Nicholle alternated making food or 118

bringing food. We played games and watched movies, knowing the day we officially said goodbye to Andrew was coming, and that we couldn’t ignore it.

Before Andrew died, my family never felt like this. There was a family falling out for reasons I’m not even sure about because it happened before I could truly remember. But what I do remember is what it felt like after. The sense of family, the sense of home.

I wish this wasn’t the circumstance I got my family back. I wish I could say that after Andrew’s funeral, it had stayed like this. Going to my aunt’s every weekend, the whole family arriving and spending quality time together, watching movies, playing games, and bonding together, not knowing that this too would come to an end.

My aunt blatantly told us that this was too soon for her. She felt, which was completely understandable, that she wasn’t grieving her son properly. She asked us all to respect her wishes and not show up every weekend. She would call us when she felt the time was right.

It’s been five years. I wish I could go back in time to the month right before Andrew died, when we all celebrated his birthday, and freeze that moment for just a little longer. I miss them.

Getaway Car Steven Reynoso

Looking back, it seemed like they had all the time in the world. The world was theirs, slow and bendable. Now it was almost finished, although it still felt like it was just starting. Now there was only a month left, a month left of being a kid.

He sits at his desk in front of his laptop with his college application open. A simple question on his screen: “What do you want to major in?” He stares at the options in front of him. As he does, he remembers his younger years, before he was a senior. Back then it was, “What do you wanna be when you grow up?” It seemed so far, so distant, then. But now, in front of him, the future has become the present. He has grown up.

He snaps out of his daze when he feels his friend shake his shoulder. Looking over, he sees Ash Palmer, his best friend from all the way back in Pre-K. “Earth to Seth?” he says in his usual teasing tone, “Dozing off?”

“Nah, just thinking,” Seth says before closing the tab.

After dinner that night, Seth retreats to his room. Standing in the middle of his room, he looks around, taking everything in. For the first time, everything he has in his room has meaning: his certificate from his elementary school graduation, the other one from middle school, the pictures of him and his family and friends, the posters, the gifts, everything. He grew up here, he and his brothers. He thought he’d be better when it came to this. He was the second oldest of four. His older brother had no struggle when it came to this… So why does he?

Natalia is a senior at Helen Bernstein High School. This is her third and last year with the Paramount Pictures Writers Workshop.

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Heading downstairs, he finds his dad asleep on the couch, his dad’s TV show still playing, a sight Seth has grown used to over the years. His mother is in the room with the cats, probably asleep as well. Quietly, he grabs his car keys, slipping into his hoodie and 120

putting on his shoes. Shutting the door behind him, he walks to his car, the cold night air hitting his face. He remembers the day he got it, how happy he was to have his own car. Climbing into the driver’s seat, his hands naturally grab the wheel, like a magnetic pull. His hands run over the wheel, feeling the stitches of the leather, the slight texture to help with grip, and the wear and tear from the previous owner.

Sighing, he turns the key, the ignition roaring to life, the low rumble of the engine. How happy he was to hear it for the first time. Even after all these months, it still gives him the same swelling in his chest, the same joy. Looking at his house, he drives off.

He doesn’t know where he is driving. Honestly, he just feels the need to… go. As he drives into the night, he texts two people, Ash and Vera, his best friend and the love of his life. “Meet me at the diner on 3rd.”

He earns an “okay” from each. Sighing, he puts his phone down. Looking out the window, he stares at the night sky. More specifically at the moon. He’s always liked staring at it. It brings him a sense of peace, a calm in the storm, a constant in the world of uncertainty.

He parks the car in a spot near the diner. He steps out, sighing as he waits. After a while, he hears his name being called, and looking up, he sees his pair of friends. Walking over, he gets a handshake from his friend, and a kiss on the cheek from his lover. Walking into the diner they sit in a corner booth. Seth and Vera next to each other, Ash sitting across from them.

“So, why are we sitting in a greasy diner in the dead of night?” Ash asks, punctuating his question with a yawn. Looking at his hands, Seth sighs, gaining a shoulder squeeze from Vera.

“I wanna leave.”

Silence engulfs their space. The fluorescent light buzzes softly as a moth flies around, their corner booth silent as the statement hangs in the air. Ash glances over to Vera, and she does the same.

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“What do you mean?” Vera asks gently.

“I’m not saying for long but I need to leave. To leave here and just… escape. I just… I need to think for a bit,” He says, fidgeting with his hands and rubbing his knuckles as he sighs. Looking up, he sees the surprised faces of his best friend and lover. Letting out a sigh, he starts to speak again. “Not for long, but I need to reflect. I’ll text my parents, but I need you two to promise me you won’t try to contact me.”

The two share a look, both obviously nervous, but they reluctantly agree.

The next day, after his parents have gone grocery shopping, Seth packs his bag and leaves a note on the table, taking a final breath before leaving. By noon he has already driven farther than he has ever before. His stomach starts to rumble. Sighing, he pulls over and searches on his maps app for a nearby diner. Finally finding one, he starts to drive to a local mom and pop diner.

Sitting inside, he stirs his coffee for the fifth time since he sat down. It is the first time he has ever sat down alone in a diner.

Usually, he would be accompanied by friends or family, but now he sits alone. Ironically, he remembers being a snot-nosed brat talking to his siblings, quietly teasing the people who sat alone. Now, he is one of them.

“Good afternoon. What can I get you?” The waitress’s voice snaps him out of his trance, her sweet voice ringing through his mind.

“Oh, uh, just sunny side up eggs, bacon, and hash browns.” The waitress nods, refills his coffee, takes his menu, and leaves him and his thoughts alone. Looking around, he notices a nearby family: two young parents, bickering siblings. It reminds him of his childhood. It was always fun when they ate out as a family.

He notices one of the kids looking at him. It makes him smile and wave. The child waves back with child-like enthusiasm.

As night falls, Seth prepares to sleep in his car, cracking the windows open an inch, pillow on the seat, a blanket covering 122

him, keeping him warm. He stares at the roof of his car thinking about nothing. Every now and again he shifts, trying to get more comfortable against the car seats. It is a far cry from his bed. Even the couch would’ve been better, but at least it is better then sleeping on the street. Sighing, he relaxes, the stress of the day practically melting off as sleep engulfs him like a blanket of inevitability.

on a cold winter night. The coffee shop is relatively empty with only a handful of customers inside. “Welcome!” Seth hears. Looking at the counter, he sees an old man who looks to be in his seventies.

His silver hair is slicked back and his bushy beard makes his mouth almost invisible. Seth gives a small nod before the man hands him a menu. “You new in town?”

He awakes before the sun is in the sky, and is already driving before it is up. His GPS says he is close to the state line. This surprises him. He hadn’t thought he’d go this far in so little time, but when you hardly take breaks, any distance feels short. He pulls into a park, sighing and pressing his forehead against his steering wheel. He glances at his phone: missed calls and texts from his parents on his screen.

“Uh, no. Just passing through,” Seth says, smiling awkwardly and fidgeting with the menu. “Can I get a latte? And breakfast bagel?” Nodding, the old man takes the menu and walks back behind the counter.

He gets out, heading for the playground. He climbs the wall to reach the plastic roof. He sits and watches as the sun peeks out over the horizon, the sky turning a wonderful shade of orange and purple. He never knew the sky could look so beautiful. Smiling, he goes to take a picture, but stops. Maybe this isn’t a memory that needs to be photographed, maybe it is a memory that should stay just that… a memory. Silently, Seth slips his phone back into his pocket, lies back against the plastic roof, and watches in peaceful silence, the chill morning breeze kissing his face.

By the next morning, he is in the neighboring town, driving through streets he has no familiarity with. As he drives, he looks around with curiosity, the same curiosity he had when he was a kid in the back seat, face pressed against the window as his dad drove. Only now, he is the one in the driver’s seat and there is no child in the back. Just him, now grown, in the driver’s seat. As he stops at a red light, the craving for caffeine creeps into his mind. Pulling his phone out and opening his maps app, he finds a local coffee shop, and follows his GPS toward it. After a few minutes, he pulls into the parking lot and parks the car. He grabs his wallet and checks how much money he has left.

Walking into the coffee shop, the scent of espresso and baked goods fill his nose, the warmth enveloping his body like a blanket 123

As he waits, Seth takes out his phone. He has a few messages from his parents asking if he is safe. He replies with one word answers, “Yes,” “Okay,” etc. It feels weird being this far away from his parents. He was never one to go far. The furthest he had gone before was a mall downtown to hang out with friends. Being in another town, not knowing anyone, is daunting.

Seth is taken out of his thoughts when his coffee and food are placed in front of him. Looking up, he sees the same silver-bearded man, his eyes crinkled as he smiles. “I know that look,” he says, smiling and taking a seat across from Seth. “What’s on your mind young man?” he asks, sipping his own mug of coffee, the coffee slightly staining his beard.

“What makes you think something’s on my mind?” Seth asks, slightly defensive.

“Cause I remember having that same look when I was your age, young man. The look that says you’re overthinking the future.

Scared of what you don’t know. Scared of what you can’t learn.” His voice is calm and soothing like a melody that can calm a raging bull.

Sighing, Seth looks at his coffee. The anxiety makes its way back into his mind. He takes a deep breath before speaking. “I’m a senior. I’m graduating this year—” “Congratualations.”

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“—Thanks. And it’s just… I don’t have a plan… I–I mean, I thought I did, but now being here… I just… I don’t know… and I hate it,” Seth says, fingers pressed to his temples. Silence engulfs the two of them, the only sounds are that of the other customers in the background. The old man sips his coffee before setting his mug down.

“You know… life is like a conjunction of roads. They all lead different places. Some lead to an end sooner than others. Some can stretch farther than our eyes can see. Some have ups, and some have downs,” The man says gently, moving the younger boy’s hands away from his temples. “You could stop, but the road continues. Just cause you stop driving doesn’t mean the world— the road—will stop. It’s up to you whether or not you want to keep driving or let others pass you by.”

Seth looks down at his coffee again, now cold. “How do I know where to go?” He asks, his voice small, his usual confidence gone, leaving only the boy who is afraid of growing up.

It isn’t just a revelation, it is a second light.

Now, it is June 9th, graduation day. The day he has dreaded and feared for so long. But now, a sense of relief and clarity fills his body. Each student is called up, gives a few words, and moves on.

Now, it is his turn, walking up those steps, the feeling of the light on him, the applause muffled by his thoughts. He takes his diploma in his hands, shaking the hands of the staff. He walks up to the microphone. He takes a deep breath before speaking.

“I was afraid a few weeks ago. Afraid of the future. Of this day.

Of growing up. I thought avoiding it was the solution to my fear.

In a way, it was.” Looking up, he focuses his gaze on the crowd, not wavering. “A man once told me, ‘The beauty of life is the uncertainty of everything.’ So to my classmates, friends, family, and all of you. Do it afraid.”

“You don’t. That’s the beauty of life: the uncertainty. The parts of life you can’t predict. In all my years on this planet, I can tell you none of my favorite memories have ever come from what I can predict.” The old man stands, giving the young man a pat on the shoulder before returning behind the counter. Staring at his coffee, Seth silently sips his now cold latte, his mind an eerie calm now. It has been so long since his thoughts were quiet.

Grabbing his drink and bagel he leaves the cafe, the warmth from the cafe is gone, but the coldness from his fear is now warm.

Holding the steering wheel, his hands run over the stitching, a smile creeping onto his lips. With a newfound determination, a newfound… hope.

The last weeks of his senior year are surreal. It feels like it goes by too slow but too fast at the same time. He spends time with friends, his partner, and his family. He does senior events he once deemed “cringy,” going to every event they hold: the senior prank, grad night, prom. He even finds himself having more school spirit.

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Steven Reynoso is a senior at Helen Bernstein High School and has been a part of 826LA’s Paramount Pictures Writers Workshop for four years.

He serves as the Editor-in-Chief of the school newspaper and is a senior representative. Steven is also an older brother, a son, and a friend. He wants to study business, marketing, and management. He loves to write horror and realist fiction, and wants to write a novel after he graduates.

His friends often say the color that represents him best is lavender gray.

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Acknowledgements

About 826LA

826LA would like to thank to following for their support in making this chapbook possible: Ashley Harrington

Lisa Goldfisher

Amara West

Liz West

Coordinator Corporate Social Responsibility - Paramount

Lisa Theler

Bailee Dolan

Melisa Torres Villafana

Christine Benitez Daniella Robinson-Asfaw Deborah Marcus

Meredith Goldberg-Morse

Diana Martinez Favela

Mike McAdam

Senior Vice President Corporate Social Responsibility - Paramount

Director Social Impact Paramount

Principal - Cinematic Arts and Creative Technologies Magnet

Naleeka Dennis

Durand Williams

Nikki Ryder

Emily Nordwind Gordon Allen Jaime Balboa

Executive Director - 826LA

Jennifer Lynch

Senior Vice President of Corporate Social Responsibility Paramount

Kerry Mulhern-Beauchamp Kevin Bryant Khoi Nguyen Truong Kyra Chau 127

Melissa Zukerman

Chief Communications Officer Paramount

Pamela Amaya

Magnet Coordinator & Computer Science Teacher - Cinematic Arts and Creative Technologies Magnet

Rachel Cadden Stacey Goldstein Stephanie Aguilar

Manager Corporate Social Responsibility - Paramount Pictures

Yvonne Chaney-Ward Zachary Gompertz

Vision 826LA envisions a Los Angeles where every child has access to quality writing education and is empowered to express themselves creatively through writing. We envision a Los Angeles where every teacher is supported in their writing-based educational objectives.

Mission 826LA is dedicated to unlocking and cultivating the creative power of writing for students ages 6 to 18, and to helping teachers inspire their students to write.

How we advance our mission: A nonprofit organization, our services are structured around our understanding that great leaps in learning can happen with one-on-one attention, and that strong writing skills are fundamental to future success.

With this in mind, we provide after-school tutoring in all subjects, evening and weekend workshops, in-school programs, field trips, college access, help for English language learners, and assistance with student publications.

All of our programs are challenging and enjoyable, and ultimately strengthen each student’s ability to express ideas effectively, creatively, confidently, and in their own voice.

Core Values 826LA values joy in the service of achieving educational goals. Our community norms value diversity, equity, inclusion, and access. We therefore prioritize partnerships with Title 1 Schools, engagement with historically marginalized populations, and training and deploying community-based volunteers in support of our mission. As a teaching approach, we value creativity, authenticity, empathy, and lively, rigorous, and student-centered writing education. As an educational enrichment organization, we value supporting teachers, principals, and other school staff in the pursuit of excellence.

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826LA PROGRAMS After-School Writing Programs Mondays through Thursdays, students attend 826LA for afterschool writing programs. Students participate in community building activities, work on homework or reading with trained tutors, and of course, write! Students submit their writing for inclusion in chapbooks, which 826LA publishes twice a year. To celebrate students’ hard work, 826LA unveils these chapbooks at book release parties, where students read their work to thunderous applause from their volunteers, families, and peers.

FIELD TRIPS During the week, 826LA invites teachers and their students to our writing labs to participate in a morning of collaboration, creativity, and writing. Whether Storytelling & Bookmaking, Well-Wishing & Poetry, Choose Your Own Adventure, or Memoir, field trips at 826LA support teacher curriculum and student learning by offering a safe space for students to be their most imaginative and to work on their writing skills. In a few short hours, students brainstorm, write, edit their work, and leave with something tangible—a bound book—as well as a renewed confidence in their ability to tell their stories.

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IN-SCHOOLS AND WRITERS’ ROOMS Because not all students can come to us, 826LA brings specially trained volunteer tutors into classrooms throughout Los Angeles.

There, volunteers provide one-on-one or small group assistance with writing projects. 826LA works with teachers to craft all projects, which are designed to engage students while targeting curricular needs. In addition to visiting twenty schools in the Los Angeles Unified School District each year, 826LA has additional sites within Manual Arts High School, Roosevelt High School, and Venice High School called The 826LA Writers’ Rooms.

WORKSHOPS 826LA’s workshops bring students together with artists, writers, and professionals for creative collaboration. Whether the subject is journalism or preparing for the zombie apocalypse, our workshops foster student creativity while strengthening writing skills. This program includes two long running partnerships with Paramount Pictures and the Hammer Museum.

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826LA Staff

Board of Directors

Jaime Balboa Executive Director

Cole Montgomery Development Manager

Karen Van Kirk Board President

Cisca Brouwer

Stacey Han Williams

Ben Au

Matt Conway

Diego Quevedo Chief of Staff

Katie Feige Institutional Giving Manager

Sarah Rosenwald Varet Board Vice President

Scott Boxenbaum

Mack Jenkins

Joe Ferencz

Liane Katzenstein Ly

Shani Foster Director of Education

Wendy Beltran Senior Writers’ Room Program Coordinator

David Ullendorff Board Treasurer

Scott A. Ginsburg

Holly Thomas, Emiritus

Jaya Hathaway

Dave Eggers, Emiritus

Christie Thomas Director of Development Mateo Acosta Associate Director of Community Engagement Pedro Estrada Programs & Operations Manager, Echo Park Mike Dunbar Programs & Operations Manager, Mar Vista Carinne Kemp Store and General Operations Manager Alma Carrillo Senior Manager of Strategic Partnerships and Communications Trevor Crown Senior Manager of Volunteer Innovation and Assessment

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Marco Beltran Writers’ Room Program Coordinator Ariadne Makridakis Arroyo Senior Community Relations Coordinator

Susan Ko

Advisory Board J.J. Abrams

Ellen Goldsmith-Vein

Jane Patterson

Arisdeysi Cruz Tutoring Program Coordinator

Judd Apatow

DeAnna Gravillis

Keri Putnam

Miguel Arteta

Sylvie Rabineau

Ariana Ponce Olivares Senior Civic Engagement Coordinator

Mac Barnett

Terri Hernandez Rosales

Wilson Swain Creative Engagement Specialist Julia Malinow In-Schools and Tutoring Program Coordinator

Steve Barr Joshuah Bearman Father Gregory Boyle, S.J.

Christine Jaroush Spike Jonze Miranda July Catherine Keener

Amy Brooks

Keith Knight

Stefan Bucher

Al Madrigal

Caz Shen Store Associate

Kathleen Caliento

R. Scott Mitchell

Monique Demery

Lani Monos

Gabriela Romero Field Trips and Operations Coordinator

Mark Flanagan

B.J. Novak

Ben Goldhirsh

Miwa Okumura

Rebecca Goldman

Amber Paasch

Sonja Rasula Will Reiser Luis Rodriguez Tara Roth Brad Simpson J. Ryan Stradal Natalie Tran Sarah Vowell Sally Willcox Julie Wiskirchen

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Sign up to make a monthly donation to 826LA and you’ll join our Future Bestsellers Club. For as little as ten dollars each month, we’ll deliver writing from our brilliant, emerging authors right to you!

Go to 826LA.org/donate and click on Future Bestsellers Club to join.

Shop the Time Travel Mart!

Visit our Time Travel Mart storefronts in Echo Park and Mar Vista where you can shop for all your time traveling gears and gadgets.

From Mammoth Chunks to Robot Milk to original student-authored books, we pride ourselves on being the only Los Angeles purveyor of quality goods from the past, present, and future. The proceeds from the store help to keep all programs free for our students.

You can also visit the stores online at timetravelmart.com.

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Echo Park

Mar Vista

1714 Sunset Blvd.

12515 Venice Blvd.

Los Angeles, CA 90026

Los Angeles, CA 90066

Do you remember what it felt like to stand on the edge of your youth, the shadow of adulthood looming over you? Can you imagine what that would feel like in this current historical moment?

In this anthology, you will find powerful stories and poems responding to the theme of “fight, flight, or freeze.” The student authors were asked to think of a moment when their character— sometimes a stand-in for themselves—is suddenly faced with a stressful or dangerous situation and asked to imagine how they would respond and what the aftereffects of their choice would be.

This anthology is a meditation on how our reactions reveal something deeper about who we are. But ultimately, these stories remind us that we are more than our reactions. That we do not need to be only the deer. We can also be the driver. Our lives are as much about the choices we make as they are about the things that happen to us. These stories ask: With headlights on, what will you make of your life? A wreck, or something more?