The Dark Descent by 916InkWriters

The

Desce k n ar

Poetry and prose by the young writers from Fern Bacon Middle School in conjunction with 916 Ink T H E DA R K D E S C E N T

The Dark Descent Poetry and prose by the young writers from Fern Bacon Middle School in conjunction with 916 Ink

About 916 Ink 916 Ink is the only arts-based literacy nonprofit in the greater Sacramento region dedicated to providing creative writing workshops for youth, ages 5-25, to transform them into confident writers. We empower students to become the authors of their own lives, one published story at a time. Since 2011, we have served over 3,000 kids in the Sacramento Region, and published more than 100 publications. Our mission is to empower children and youth through creative writing. We envision a Sacramento region where every child and teen is given access to a creative writing program that leads them to believe in themselves and to understand the power of the written word. Learn more about us at www.916ink.org, or send an email to info@916ink.org to learn how to become involved.

DISCLAIMER

This is a work of fiction and poetry. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author and publisher hold exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited. Copyright 2021.Â

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Dear Reader, What you hold in your hands is the hard work and dedication of a community of youth and adult writers working together to tell stories that inspire, entertain, and heal. At 916 Ink, we teach young people how to write, listen, and support each other in the pursuit of creating literary art. The words in these pages are carefully chosen and crafted to reflect their unique voice. This book is a celebration of “taking the yes,” which is a motto of 916 Ink students. “Taking the yes” means that students are unafraid to collaborate with each other and themselves. It might sound weird—how does one “collaborate” with his or her own self? By shutting down the inner critics in our head that tell us that we aren’t good enough, our stories don’t matter, or what we might say is stupid or unnecessary. Stories are how we create meaning and make sense of the world. What’s better than to teach young people how to tell stories, create meaning out of their lives, and understand the world? Creative writing carves a path to a better life. Writers know this, but maybe the rest of the world doesn’t. A writer is someone who truly gets to live twice—once through their senses and once through the page. Everyone needs writers. Favorite television shows? Go thank a writer. News articles? Thank a writer. Education? Writers wrote the curriculum. Business? Can’t happen without writers creating marketing tools and business plans. Writers make the world go around. By reading this book you’ve supported the growth of a writer. Thanks. Please consider making a donation to this great cause on our website at www.916ink. org if you’d like to further our mission of populating the planet with youth who can “take the yes,” and lead a happy life. Ink-tastically yours,

The 916 Ink staff, the Board of Dreamers, volunteers, and youth writers

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From the Wordslinger Dear Reader, Looking back on our first full semester in an online classroom, I find I am filled with immense gratitude. In a year that demanded much of everyoneâ€™s attention, resilience, flexibility, and capacity for empathy, the small writing community we cultivated together truly rose to the occasion. It is always inspiring to get to know a fresh group of young Inkers, and it was humbling to enjoy the craft of writing with Inkers who consistently showed up with open minds and open hearts. We used words to build new worlds. We found the words to reflect upon our inner landscapes. Building trust and connection over video conferences is not easy for even the most seasoned working professional, and these Inkers modeled how we may extend grace and empathy for one another despite the occasional glitch in the system. I feel very proud of our time together, with renewed hope for the future of online writing communities.

Sincerely,

Brenda Nguyen

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Acknowledgments Brenda Nguyen

Wordslinger

Dorothy Rice

Wordslinger

Bryan Kashon

Guest Editor

Katie McCleary

Founding Executive Director

Michael Spurgeon

Founding Board President

DJ Waldow

Board of Dreamers, President

Dr. Beatrice Tetteh

Board of Dreamers, Vice President

Shelley Blanton-Stroud Board of Dreamers, Secretary Kathy Flynn

Board of Dreamers, Treasurer

Chris Worden

Board of Dreamers

Daniel Kaufman

Board of Dreamers

Lynn Lizarraga

Board of Dreamers

Rekha Tejpal

Board of Dreamers

Vince Wong

Board of Dreamers

Xenia Schutt

Board of Dreamers

Ian Hadley

Executive Director

Angela Tannehill

Creative Director

Allison Stelly

Director of Development

Nikki Cardoza

Director of Programming

Paulette Greenhouse

Program Manager

Jay Oatis

Program Coordinator

Emma Hoppough

Production Coordinator

Maria Gavia

Office Manager

Christina Nelson

ReadOn! Program Manager

Tory Scott

Bookslinger

Will Evans

Outreach and Development Associate,

AmeriCorps VISTA

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Contents Group Work. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Eye for an Eye. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2

Derek Tran. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 AP-135. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8

Julian Rojas. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 I Am . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10

Miranda Navarro. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 Ambedo. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12

Rogee Barnes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 Ugly Reality. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 Kingâ€™s Death . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15

Summer Lee . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 Sea Glass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20

Inspirators. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21 I Am . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 I Believe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 The Rotting King. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Lady of the Castle. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26 I Am . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 The Perfect Advisor. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 When a Thought Festers. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28

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Group Work

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Eye for an Eye Group Story

It was a bright spring morning. Flowers were blooming, and the sun was warm on my skin. Me and my brother, Thomas, were playing in the woods. Everything was perfect in Seattle. Later that day, Thomas said he had to go on a date with his new girlfriend. I always wondered what people did on dates, so I secretly followed them and saw them kissing under a streetlight! However, I noticed something very strange about the girlfriend. She had more teeth than I had ever seen in a person. Also, her legs were slimy looking and dripping. I saw tentacles emerge while they were kissing, and one burrowed into my brother’s neck! The next day, I woke up to the sound of Thomas coughing. I went over to the bathroom sink where he was and noticed that he was throwing up black fluid that looked like ink. “Ugh, I don’t feel so good,” said Thomas, who coughed up blood this time. He was seriously sick. I told him I would go to the market to pick up some food to keep his energy up. I was very worried, because our family did not have the money to send him to a proper doctor. Before leaving the house, I made sure my good luck charm—a tiny bottle filled with holy water—was safely in my pants pocket. At the market, I saw someone I had never seen in the city before. She was wearing fine, almost golden-looking fabrics and a head wrap on her head. She wore golden trinkets and charms all along her hands and fingers and a necklace that resembled teeth around her neck. A fortune teller! I stopped her and said, “H-hey, what are you doing?” “I’ve got a very important appointment to get to,” she replied. “My brother is very sick because of some creature, and he needs help,” I said. “We don’t have enough money to get him medicine. Please tell me what to do. I can give you this locket my grandparents gave me.” “Come closer, little one. I don’t need more trinkets, but I am happy to take

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some years from your life—if you are willing to sacrifice for your brother, that is. Time is the most valuable thing, my dear. Follow me.” The fortune teller extended her hand. I followed her out of the city and all the way to an abandoned cabin in the woods. “Welcome to my home,” she said with a silky voice. “I’ll be taking my payment now.” She placed her tooth-shaped necklace around my neck, and the beads began to glow. I felt a wave of extreme fatigue. As the necklace took away my life force, it glowed green and made a warbling sound. The fortune teller retrieved the necklace. “OK, now tell me how I can save my brother,” I said weakly. “There are two ways. There’s the easy way...” “Tell me, tell me. I’ll do anything,” I said. “All you have to do is kill this creature.” “That’s the easy way? I’m no slayer. What’s the other way?” “You must make an alchemical concoction, an ancient recipe: glowing yellow mushrooms that grow under the redwood trees, frog limbs, paracress that grows on the side of the mountain, blood of a fallen soldier, the tears of a pure heart, and a dash of cinnamon.” “How am I gonna get all of these weird ingredients in time! Thomas was vomiting blood this morning.” “Ah, child, there is a magical underworld market where you can purchase many of these items...for a price. Here, take this magic bean, and it will take you there.” I picked up the tiny bean. “How do I use it?” “Set your mind on where you want to go, and throw it firmly onto the ground.” Continued on next page

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I closed my eyes, thought of this magical underworld, and smashed the bean onto the ground. A swirling portal appeared where the bean was, and I stepped right in, snatching the bean midair as it fell beside me and shoving it in my pocket. I plunged through the darkness beneath the cabin. Then I hit a hard, black, rocky surface. The first thing I noticed was blue smoke swirling in the air all around me. I saw rows of stalls and shops, and there were demons walking around. I encountered all kinds of weird species and looked around until I noticed someone slimy and familiar...Thomas’s girlfriend! I decided to follow her around a corner. She seemed to glance over her shoulder in my direction, but she kept moving forward as if she didn’t see me. She weaved in and out of the mass of strange creatures. At one point, a piece of paper fell out of her pocket. It said that her name was Faldna. I kept following her until we arrived at a big rally where all the creatures had gathered. A demon assembly! The place resembled a football stadium with a giant bonfire in the center and amphitheater-style seating all around. I searched for Faldna. When I spotted her, I noticed a single drop of blood fall from her eye. A colossal red demon with big horns and a fist full of rings sat on a throne beside the bonfire. He cleared his throat, and the entire assembly went silent. “The time has come for the great ritual. I expect that everyone has fulfilled their soul quotas.” I glanced over at Faldna, who looked like she was sweating blood. “Anyone who is not on track will be penalized severely and pay the price with their own soul. Remember, for each soul you have taken, their physical body must die as well in order to count toward your quota. The ritual begins in one hour. For your sakes, I hope you are all prepared.” Oh no! Thomas didn’t have much time. I had to hurry to find the ingredients, or he would die. Suddenly, Faldna hurried up to me. She was in tears. “I didn’t finish the job,” she sobbed, “and now the boss is gonna kill me.”

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I felt my face get hot with anger. “Why should I help you? You got Thomas very sick. And now you want him dead!” “Please,” Faldna pleaded, “I need to get enough souls for my quota. If you help me, I’ll help you cure Thomas.” My heart sank. “So, I have to help you find you another soul to take, another body to kill?” Both our eyes fell on the bejeweled throne where the demon boss held court. “No way,” said Faldna. “How could we ever take him down? I have a much easier plan.” Faldna’s eyes glowed red. From the way she was staring at me, I sensed what she was about to do. Some instinct made me reach for my lucky charm. I unstopped the tiny bottle and splashed holy water right in her face. “Noooo,” she cried out. Disgusting tentacles emerged from her skin and flailed at the air. Then she deflated like a popped balloon. All that was left of her was an oily sack of purple skin on the dirt floor. I knew it wouldn’t be long before the other demons were after me. Thank goodness I’d hung on to the bean. I smashed it at the floor, pictured home, and closed my eyes tight, hoping it wasn’t a one-time-only magic bean.

“Maddie!” I’d know that voice anywhere. I opened my eyes, and there was Thomas sitting up in bed with a goofy smile on his face. “Guess I don’t need any medicine after all,” he said. “The sickness just disappeared. It was like magic.” He had no idea.

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Derek Tran

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AP-135 Derek Tran

October 7, 2020 A new planet named AP-135 (Alien Planet 135) is a 67 percent forest-based and 33 percent water-based planet with a good atmosphere to keep in oxygen and other important gases on it. The type of organisms that live here can live in the air, sea, and land. In Document One of exploring the planet, the explorer writes, â€œThe air here smells like mint, giving it a fresh smell. The feel of the place is amazing. All I hear for now is running water and smacking lips, which is not too bad,â€? (probably because his planet sounds like farts). In the second document, he explains how he sees what looks like a fish head on an ape body, which at first is pretty horrifying, but is not hostile toward him and gives him what looks like a welcome.

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Julian Rojas

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I Am Julian Rojas

I am strong and smart I wonder if this pandemic will ever end I hear cars passing by I want this to all be over I am strong and smart I pretend this never happened I feel frozen in time I touch the clouds I worry that this will never end I cry when Iâ€™m furiously mad I am strong and smart I understand this will take its time I say this will all be over I dream this will all be over I try to deal with whatâ€™s happening I hope this will all be over I am strong and smart

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Miranda Navarro

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Ambedo Miranda Navarro

Pinta lived in a small village. It was lush with trees and varicolored flowers, the crops she and her family never grew out of season, and the water was always fresh. Lake plants climbed up the legs of the dock and splayed themselves on top of the wood. The day was bright. She wanted to go for a swim after she finished her farm work. She took the rowboat to go farther into the lake, where through the clear water she could see growth that glowed at the bottom. She stepped out of the boat and dipped her feet into the water, then tripped on the paddle. As she sank to the bottom, she felt vine-like rope pull her down by her ankle. Color drained around her; she felt the water around her drain, then go black.

When she woke, the air was smog. Now sat up, the dirt was black, and the sky was gray. No trees, no grass, no water. Just smoke and the hum of loud engines. Pinta rubbed her eyes; a wet sting ran down her cheeks. Her toes curled into the hard, grainy soil as she kept wiping her eyes so she could see, see what had happened to her home. What was once beautiful flora was plagued and dead: all roots had been pulled, and trees had been cut. And this stench, of oil and gravel and poison, made her lungs gray. Pinta stood, a fistful of dirt in her hand, and walked. She wanted to know what happened, and as the melancholic scenery faded behind her, all she could hear was the sound of her footsteps as she walked on the cold dirt.

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Rogee Barnes

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Ugly Reality Rogee Barnes

Life is like the ugly duckling because people are treated differently because of their skin color. I think this is similar because people of color tend to be treated more harshly. Just as with the ugly duckling; no one liked him. It wasnâ€™t until he turned into a beautiful swan that people liked him. People of color arenâ€™t really recognized until they do something memorable. This is not fair, because everyone should be treated fairly and equally. Even if they are different from the rest.

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King’s Death Rogee Barnes

Pushing in the halls, getting to class on time, high school life was very difficult for King. He went to Rosemont High School. He went to school with his best friend, Brandon. Brandon and King had known each other since they were in second grade. The two did everything together, but they grew up to like different things. King grew up to like sports, and Brandon grew to like his academics. King always put his sports before school, and this was a problem because he wasn’t focused enough on his academics, and this would eventually get him kicked off of the team. This made him turn to his best friend for help. Brandon told King, “I will help you, but in exchange, you have to teach me to play football.” King told Brandon, “I will teach you, but only if this works for me.” Brandon told King he understood, and Brandon was thrilled. King studied with Brandon for weeks, but Brandon knew it wasn’t going anywhere. He thought King was not taking it seriously. He remembered how much King loved math. He wondered what had changed. Besides the fact that he loved football, King was still his best friend. Brandon struggled, and he tried his best to teach King, but he just wasn’t getting it. When Brandon went to King’s house one afternoon to study, he saw King’s mother, and when he told her what had been happening, she started to cry. She explained, “King has a learning disability from being hit in the head during his second game.” She said to Brandon, “Please don’t tell King.” She didn’t think he was ready to hear it, but King had heard it all himself. Brandon didn’t believe his ears. His best friend would never be the same again? Not meaning to, Brandon raised his voice toward King’s mother. “How do you know that!” King’s mother got even sadder, so Brandon quickly apologized. “He hasn’t had any good scores,’’ she explained to Brandon. King overheard his mom talking to someone, so he sat on the stairs. He didn’t even know Brandon was there, but when he heard he had a learning Continued on next page

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disability, he got so angry. He was so angry that his mom still let him play. He was angry he wouldn’t even get to stay on the team because he thought he was to dumb. King quickly stormed upstairs, and his mom heard him. Quickly, she ran up the stairs after him, but he slammed and locked the door. The mother heard King throwing all the things in his room until all was quiet. King’s mom tried to unlock his door, but she just decided to use a bobby pin. When she got the door open, she saw that King wasn’t in the room. She saw his window was open, and she knew he went out of it. She ran out the house after him, and Brandon followed. The two came close enough to King to see him. They chased King, stepping on twigs and stepping on leaves. King was much faster than both of them, though, and there was no way they were going to catch him, so they stopped to catch their breaths. Although they couldn’t catch him, Brandon thought he knew where he was going, so he told the mother, and that’s where they went. The mom drove to the school’s football field, and there he was. He was sitting on the long brown bench, alone. Brandon and King’s mom waited in the car a bit so King could be alone. After fifteen minutes passed, Brandon got out of the car and approached King. He sat next to him, and King said, “Because of this field, my head is messed up.” Brandon tried to explain to King he wasn’t stupid or dumb. He told King he would just have to work harder to be better in school. King wanted things to be how they used to. He wished he never played football in the first place. King loved the sport, but because of it, he could not succeed in school. King was still upset, but he went home and Brandon stayed the night for his best friend. The next morning, King quit the team so he could focus on his school. The coach (Dave) wanted him to stay. Dave begged and pleaded, but it wasn’t enough to make King stay. Brandon was proud of King. He was being responsible and doing the right thing. King struggled in classes all day, but he tried his best. His teachers understood why he was getting everything wrong, but they told his mom he was shutting down too much. The mom told King when he got home that he had to try, but he ignored her word for word. He blamed her for his disadvantage in classes. The next morning, everyone was talking about the new kid on the football team. King went to the practice to see what the big buzz was, and boy, was

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this kid good. This kid was catching every ball thrown his way. He was super speedy, and when he got hit, he jumped up and laughed. King got so mad he challenged the kid to a one-on-one. The loser would stay off the team forever. Brandon begged him not to do it, but he did it anyway. The new kid laughed. He told King, “You better listen to your friend,” and this made King even madder. King faced off with the new kid, but he couldn’t keep up. The new kid smashed against King, and although he was in pain, he still wanted to play. The ball flew through the air, and King caught it running as fast as he could. He slowed down for some reason, and he said, “Something doesn’t feel right.” Just then, King collapsed. The new kid rushed over to King as fast as he could. King wasn’t waking up. Everyone heard the sound of the ambulance coming, and Brandon panicked. He ran to King too, and the two boys carried King off the field. The ambulance finally arrived and rushed King to the hospital. King’s heart stopped in the back of the ambulance midway. The ambulance people performed CPR, but King was still coding. When they got to the hospital, King was already gone for good. King died from a brain bleed and a fractured skull. Brandon thought his best friend wouldn’t make it, and he was right. Everyone was gathered on the field when they heard what had happened. They waited for hours until the principal broke the news. He told the students, “King has sadly left us. He couldn’t survive his injuries, and even if he did, he would never be the same.” Brandon was so enraged. He ran over to the new kid and punched him. A couple seconds later, a fight broke out. Brandon was blamed for letting his anger take over, so he was immediately suspended. The next week, when Brandon went back to school, he saw the pictures of King and the flowers and even the mini messages. Brandon was even madder than he was before. He said, “No one really knew him. This is all fake!” For months, Brandon didn’t do anything in class, until one day, he stopped going to school altogether. Brandon started leading a life of crime, which ultimately got him killed.

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Summer Lee

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Sea Glass Summer Lee

Sea glass is pretty, and it is like our world because we are all different shapes and sizes; we are all beautiful and unique in our own way. Every sea glass is different, and they all have different stories just like everyone on Earth.

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Inspirators

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I Am Charli Hawkins

I am 5’2” and gay. I wonder if I will overcome all my mental struggles. I hear cars driving outside my window. I want happiness. I am 5’2” and gay. I pretend to be put together. I feel numb. I touch my mind at night, lying in bed. I worry about everything and anything. I cry when things are out of my control. I am 5’2” and gay. I understand that not everyone is going to have pure intentions with you. I say, “You’re here for a good time, not a long time,” when things feel chaotic I dream of being mentally, financially, and emotionally stable one day. I try to take everything head-on so I don’t have anything to stress over. I hope to find myself for who I am one day. I am 5’2” and gay.

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I Believe Charli Hawkins

Addiction. That’s exactly what I believe in. No, not like drug addiction or even being an alcoholic. Addiction as in...the one person you think about all the time. Everyone has that one addiction, whether it is existing or non-existent. We just can’t seem to grasp that we are addicted to it. That THING I was drawn to...it was special, or so I thought. The way she would give me compliments that made me feel uncomfortable, in a good way, or make me feel like I was something special to her. Sometimes we would have those moments where we wouldn’t talk at all. Those moments...those were the worst. Dreadful, even. I felt so unwanted, like I was nothing to her anymore. I was so addicted to how well her words were put together and how she would say them to me. Like when she said I meant something to her or that she didn’t want to lose me. The voices in my head...continue to bicker back and forth like children: “It’s you. It’s all you. It’s your fault. You’re not good for her.” Just laughing at me. But I knew it wasn’t me. She paid very little attention to the effort—brave enough to say desire—being brought to the conversations we’ve had. After months and months of wondrous conversations, just like that, it was gone. As if something “superior” came along. The only thing going through my mind was wanting to choke myself because of how much I craved her touch. She led me to think I was the only one she wanted, just to be torn apart by the way she would look at her and the way she held her. Those moments burning inside ignited my thoughts: Hurt her ten times harder and make her miss what she let go. I thought of the various ways I could hurt her to make her realize she still desired me, though she wasn’t even mine. That’s when I would stress and overthink everything I shared with her. Family issues, my insecurities, just having those deep conversations. Was I deranged for what I did? So, why me? I was very average. 5’0” with dyed black hair, skinny, and very dark brown eyes. Love was nothing I could truly believe. The constant arguing and fighting between my parents. Man, if that was what you called love, I wanted nothing to do with it. At one point, I was carefree, with no worries in the world. I always had myself. Right there, at that moment in time, this girl made me think she’s all I wanted and needed. I guess I was head over heels for Continued on next page

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this chick. I changed my attitude, my mindset, and my outlook on the world. I even lost people in the process of it. For what? A girl who forgot about me for what felt like forever. She was an addiction. A bad one I couldn’t let go of. Finally, I realized she didn’t deserve me. What I was blinded by and thought was my everything, I realized it. She really didn’t see me as someone to love and be committed to. I no longer tried to grab her attention or receive her affection. I’ve decided to learn how to make myself happy and to figure myself out. All these addictions come with reasonable lessons. My lesson? Maybe the things I thought were making me happy were actually breaking me down into something I’m not. I’m still learning and figuring myself out, and because of her, I’m slowly arriving at my destination. Yes, she was my addiction, but I’m so pleased to say I’m no longer addicted.

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The Rotting King Dafne Navarro

It is Iosifâ€™s decision whether he should surrender his life, forfeiting title of king, ruler of this green and peaceful land, now that he has been informed by the palaceâ€™s doctor that he is sick with a sickness that will kill him, rot him, and in all these ways, infect those who seek to come near. No cure, no tonic for the ache inside his skin; he will die, of this he is sureâ€”the only question is when. He cannot stay and further infect his chambermaids, nor can he promise his people that he will ever be fit to protect them as once he was able. He thinks now that his option is simple: to leave through the gates upon a favored saddle, extending his hand and accepting the braided flowers that the children will give him as gifts as he exiles himself to the hills. Yes, he will do this. He will fulfill this last vow as sentinel of this land, as royal protector of the golden city, teller of stories, and wearer of crowns. He will save them all from his festering illness, of this relentless contagion, and find a different way to live his final years, to make use of these years protecting something else, believing something else, fighting for a cause he may soon find beyond the dark and haunted forests of his once beloved home.

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Lady of the Castle Dafne Navarro

The baroness hovers from her perch, gazing out her cold stone window from the sharpest spire of her tower, centered on the coastal village down below. She listens—the screams of the fishermen, their families, as the rancid fishfolk of the sea raid and pillage ruthlessly. She knows these screams, this shrieking panic, whenever she dares gaze out during daylight, dreaming of harvest and sunlight, fingers pointed at her from all corners of the village.“The blood queen! How she stares! She thinks to drink us dry, the wretch!” And she would hide again inside her chambers, an unwilling bloodsucker of a bygone age, her fate sealed at the hands of a vile suitor. But now the children scream, and after 120 years of baring not her blade, noble swordswoman and baroness of this forgotten castle, she raises it, its silver point glinting in the candlelight, and dons once more her sable armor, the leather scabbard of her blade, and descends her stone steps to help this helpless village and save those whom she has watched, though hated she has been, to earn their love and once again find honor.

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I Am Lyn Sonemanivong

I am resilient and caring. I wonder what is outside and beyond our universe. I hear wind chimes whistling as the wind flows through them. I want to protect my energy and become a better version of myself. I am resilient and caring. I feel ethereal and light as a feather. I touch a strong rush of wind as it flows toward me. I worry about the afterlife and what happens next. I cry about the lack of human kindness that our world has. I am resilient and caring. I understand not everyone is empathetic as I am, and we all feel things differently. I say thereâ€™s always timing, relevance, and rhythm for everything. I dream to be able to give back and bless my loved ones with the fruits of my labor. I try to become the person I needed growing up because I had no one to look up to. I hope my grandma that has passed is watching me and is proud of the woman I have become. I am mature and caring.

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The Perfect Advisor Monica Ramos

Find a spot where you can both get comfortable Where emotions and thoughts are free to flow Listen closely No interruption Take it all in Understand Picture yourself as the other Search for their triggers, identify them, and name them Now you can explain how to proceed

When a Thought Festers Monica Ramos

The first time it enters your mind, you let it pass The second time, you observe it The third time, you ponder its significance The fourth time, you consider whether it could mean something else The fifth time, you wonder what would happen if others knew about it Then you obsess, then you obsess, then you obsess

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THIS BOOK WAS PRODUCED IN PARTNERSHIP WITH

WITH MAJOR SUPPORT FROM

AND FUNDED IN PART BY

The Albert and Elaine Borchard Foundation

The Sacramento Office of Arts and Culture, with support from the City of Sacramento.

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