Falmouth Academy Resonance 2020-21

Resonance 2021 Editor-in-Chief Eliza Chun ‘21 Assistant Editors-in-Chief Abigail Lott ‘22 Domenic Bowen ‘22 Editorial Team David Aubrey ‘26 Yaz Aubrey ‘25 Lyric Buckley ‘25 Elizabeth Jazo ‘26 Lila Journalist ‘25 Susanna Lowell ‘25 Will Palmer ‘25 Charlotte Ray ‘23 Henry Redfield ‘23 Faculty Advisor Emily Turner 2021 Resonance Awards Panel Charlie Jodoin Anka Martula Jennifer Park Alice Tan ‘21 Mia Galvam ‘22 Mateo Darack ‘23 Adele Francis ‘24 ©2021 Falmouth Academy, Inc. All rights reserved.

Printed by: Frank Bush 79 Upland Road Plympton, MA 02367 781-585-9444

Published by: Falmouth Academy 7 Highfield Drive Falmouth, MA 02540 508-457-9696

Authors

Table of Contents

Yaz Aubrey ‘25

“Each time I ask why”

Mission Red Holden Brew ‘25

The Assassin’s War Lyric Buckley ‘25

The Brontosaurus Makeup Alpha

The Girl with the Microphone

Nana’s Afghan

Excerpts from “White Heather”

The Journeys of an Icarus Eliza Chun ‘21

In the Garden

Excerpt from James Yeun

and the Ethereal Bloom

The Town of Southbridge

August

Our House Cian Davis ‘26

“The tall, dark buildings” Aubryn Dubois ‘25

Sent Ruby Gaetani ‘21

My Old Face Spencer Goldsmith ‘22

The Cottage

Lucia Gomez-Ibáñez ‘25

I miss summer.

9 Turning Blackbird 37

First

34 Thomas Goux ‘25

The Night Shift 7 Alexa Hartman ‘24 Family First 9 11 Elizabeth Jazo ‘26 Survivor 23

23 27 Lila Journalist ‘25 North Glen Drive 73

His Forever

The Wanderings of the 11 Warwick Boys

I Guess That’s Why They Call it The Blues 43 In Half 59

75 79 Abigail Lott ‘22

Don’t Enter Abandoned Houses

The Voice

12 13 16 32 24 76 41 7 10 21 30 73 52 65

70

Susanna Lowell ‘25

An Old Island Farm A Tiny Significance 25

Perseverance

I watched him walk by

14 49

12 13 39 69

Jack McGinnis ‘25

“I want to grow up”

8

Sofia McGroarty Sampaio ‘25

The River

28

Artists Faye McGuire ‘26

“Susie Dear”

“Flour, sugar, butter”

“Stepping through the

cobblestone streets”

9 15 69

Front Cover Eliza Chun ‘21 Inside Front Cover Alice Tan ‘21 Inside Back Cover Domenic Bowen ‘22

Ethan Plotkin ‘25

“Inkling of Life” “Ran Red”

20 20

Ethan Pratt ‘22

Veiled Light

56

Charlotte Ray ‘23

Series 2

Photographs of Artwork: Jackson Gierhart ‘25 and the Resonance editorial team

68

Henry Redfield ‘23

The Hermit of the Endless Plateau

Ridin’ To the West

71 72

Henry Richins ‘25

Theodore

68

Maisie Saganic ‘21

Levianthan the gliding serpent,

Leviathan the coiling

serpent, he will slay the

monster of the sea.

74

Dhara Sananikone-Evans ‘26

“The year drags along”

70

Wyatt Thornton ‘26

“Cooking without love”

“The making of grits”

15 23

Clara Athearn Yaz Aubrey Daniela Carvajal Eliza Chun Evan Freedman Bobby Frigon Ruby Gaetani Jackson Gierhart Lucia Gomez-Ibáñez Tyler Harmon Ursula Junker Howard Keeler Daisy Kinsley Hancock Sadie Leveque Abigail Lott Abby Neubert Thalia O’Neil Ethan Pratt Henry Redfield Ellie Thomas Sophia Venetis Natalie Todd-Weinstein Ryan Waite Sama Zaman

Back Cover Ursula Junker ‘23

North Glen Drive

The warm July air was fresh with the smell of grass. The afternoons before the fireworks on the fourth were always the best, hot and heavy with anticipation. The neighborhood that they ran around was packed with summer people and the girls were on top of the world, like Nancy Drew and her friends on to solve the next mystery.

The bridge over the pond was rough under their bare feet and surrounding flowers soft in their hands as they picked the prettiest ones. They raced to the pool in the backyard, SPLASH, whoever was in last was a rotten egg, and it got them out of another layer of sunscreen. The house was full of happy people, the girls were in matching dresses and they could smell the hot dogs and hamburgers. The sunset was beautiful and they ate ice cream until they had stomach aches. They held each other’s ears as the fireworks pounded above.

Afterward, they ran around to the front yard, racing each other over the shattered sharp shells of the driveway. And whoever could get the closest to the growling face of Mr. Nobody’s house got to pick the imaginary game they would play the next morning. When their parents caught up to them it was bedtime. They were ushered into the house and upstairs where they got into bed and dreamt. And in the front garden, the weeping cherry tree flourished and the happy house slept.

~ Lila Journalist

The Brontosaurus The brontosaurus Stomps Greens in his mouth The brontosaurus Drinks Rainwater on his lips The brontosaurus Swims Clear water floating around his legs The brontosaurus Sleeps A mossy pillow at his head The brontosaurus Lives Because the meteorite Never landed ~ Lyric Buckley

Daisy Kinsley Hancock

7

I want to grow up Relish what you have Relish what you have I don’t care about what I have I only care about what I don’t have My parents are allowed to drive Allowed to spend money whenever And wherever.

Imagine all the toys All the fun No bedtime Honk honk vroom vroom in my car My car groaning from the speed Fast, faster, fastest Significant superb speed is surreal Smack, my money on the counter “More candy please” I wish Only in my dreams.

Like Hypnos I wish I could control my parents’ dreams Sway them Let me drive Give me money Adults say enjoy it while you can What am I enjoying?

Waiting to be like them I want what they have Freedom ~ Jack McGinnis

Ryan Waite

8

Makeup Momma is outside.

She said I could stay in.

But I have other plans.

I run upstairs, Into momma’s room.

I spot my goal.

I’ve always wanted this Moment to come.

I know that I Am never ever Supposed to touch The box.

The box with The red bow And joyful pink glitter.

Momma’s makeup box.

I start with the white powder.

It makes me sneeze.

But the plumping cushion Feels like a cloud on my cheeks.

Then I use red lipstick.

It’s just like Little Red’s cloak.

It glides across my lips, And just as I finish, I hear Momma’s stomping feet coming upstairs Stomp, stomp, stomp.

And I let her yell and shout, Because it was worth it. ~ Lyric Buckley

Susie dear Her mother warned Don’t you sin Or you’ll grow horns You roll your eyes And they’ll stay put You eat a seed You’ll be a bush You read in the dark And you’ll mess up your eyes You stare at the TV And you’ll go blind When you lie your nose will grow And when you sneeze keep your eyes closed Swallowed gum will stay forever And spirits roam in windy weather Touch a toad and you’ll get warts And we all know babies come from storks And Susie nodded Her mom agreed That the worst thing to do Is scrape your knees ~ Faye McGuire

Each time I ask why, My mother always replies: “Because I said so.” ~Yaz Aubrey

9

His Forever The wind ruffles the wings of a restless bird of prey soaring through a cerulean sky, Watching the moving clouds he is finally free among the open sky.

He is captivated by the power he holds, the world at his “fingertips”.

And though he is fond of the pleasures of the soft earth, he belongs in the air.

The wind is his brother while the clouds his sisters.

His wings are his tools, an extension of his body that let him stretch up to the highest heavens and dive into the most secluded corners of the forest.

Though he is not an arrogant creature, he is certain that he will never fall.

He is like an explosion across the crystal sky; an anthem pounds inside him and his eyes are an inferno, watching and waiting.

But he knows where he is traveling, Aeolus guides him as he swoops to the rolling fields beneath, now with a clear goal.

As he lands, the rush of flying leaves him and he ruffles his feathers expectantly.

He is surrounded by his comrades; they turn their heads to him in acknowledgment.

Anticipation and anxiety chase their way around and around and around his head, like a cat and a little mouse.

Then he sees the one he has been waiting for, his forever.

He embraces her with velvety wings, she is like a lovely lilac sky.

The world stands in front of him, and he knows that he will never leave her.

The love he feels for her has never left him; it is like a blooming flower and a raging storm.

A bang a clash and clang interrupts his sudden and short-lived moment of euphoria. Bursting through the trees come men with hearts of ice.

His comrades scatter as the men trample into the clearing, he calls out to his love to flee and they take to the sky and the now setting sun.

They fly for a shining moment, together and safe.

Then he hears a terrible cry from behind him, and he turns to see his love and his forever dropping.

In despair, he watches as she shutters and plummets hitting the ground below.

His heartbroken cry pierces the night like a knife, his heart shattering into a million unfixable pieces.

And in a moment of terrible distraughtness, he hovers and like Icarus he is reckless.

He feels the shot of the gun before he knows that it has hit him.

Like Icarus, his wings stop.

His trusty friends, his allies, and his tools fail him.

And like Icarus, he falls. ~Lila Journalist

10

In the Garden I wonder what it must have been like before civilization, when the sun was stuttering, unused to rising each morning.

Before humankind was surefooted, when we were still rising in our full-breath’d thinness.

Before Gabriel came to Mary, when the Garden of Eden with its orchards of fruit still doted on the first of us; With the dowry of God’s weighted word.

How different the earth looks now, Yellow and tilled and thin under a weak grey sky.

And once again, I look out at the fields and see the sun shaking like the hand of an addict.

And as the animals rest in the fields, I know That the world is draining away. ~Eliza Chun

Alpha

Ryan Waite

a step. padded feet on December snow. thunder gray fur laced with moonlight. a delicate dance through the pines. icicles sparkle with drops of starlight. we weave patterns in the greenwood.

I lead my beta behind me. stars splatter an indigo sky. my pack follows. ears prick. fierce sapphire eyes gleam under the moon. as joyful howls pierce the silence. this is my pack. this is where I am meant to be. ~Lyric Buckley

11

I miss Summer.

I miss When all was greenWhen the grass was warm underfoot and the salt never quite left our tan skin.

I miss Hopping on hot pavement while the sun climbed, iced tea on the porch And late evening beach sunsets.

I miss Honeysuckle and birdsong, fresh mint and garden tomatoes.

Endless afternoons swimming-

I miss Beach parties and Rosa rugosa...

Sun warmed strawberries with red juice running down my chin.

I miss Johnny jump-ups, yarrow, buttercupsDaylilies and smoothies, lupine, Black-eyed susans When will it be summer again? ~ Lucia Gomez-Ibáñez

I miss Drawbridge jumping, Dancing and singing, SUPping to Ram Island.

Sweaty crocs and sandy hair-

An Old Island Farm

Ursula Junker

The barn swallows,

bursting with acrobatic happiness.

The toughened grass,

gleaming in dawn’s gold.

The wizened stones,

lichen's lifelong home source.

The coyote's skull,

a memoir to hardships.

The sloping pasture,

gently leading to the water.

The fish's swirl,

a dark ripple.

The sleepy day,

rising over the land. ~Susanna Lowell

12

A Tiny Significance No machine can compare: with striking agility, flitting about, glimpses here and there.

His young cheerful soul seems limitless as he hops, jumps, and skips in his piney kingdom.

His proud rusty chest, His skyward pointing, smart tail feathers, His sharp adapted beak, its color streaked across his eye.

A leg protruding from fluff light as a breeze.

When one passes by he with his flock flit forward, a break from business to a silent world.

But courting resumes, life returns, all seemingly insignificant.

Turning It is bittersweetAs summer slips like water Between my clenched fingers I could never hold it for long.

I grasp blindly for a while, As if it would glide back to me But I realize, And I turn my gaze before me To chilly mornings To the first frost, to my foggy breath, To the smell of wet wool.

And I am ready. ~ Lucia Gomez-Ibáñez

They are commoners, white sheep in your neighborhood backyard, but many don't know their name.

Underestimated acrobats they are in their leafy, aerial domain. ~ Susanna Lowell

Lucia Gomez-Ibañez

13

My Old Face This poem contains emotionally sensitive content.

Sometimes I see your face in mine.

Some mornings, as I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, I turn my face at that dreaded angle: the one that gives my nose that curve and my chin that distinct frame.

I run a hand through my hair and remember from which its softness came.

I am covered with the skin that you gave me; the skin that breaks out in rashes at the slightest change in routine.

Your skin.

I remember you used to say I was “just like you.”

Those words felt like a gift when you first gave them to me, though you delivered them so nonchalantly.

They were the highest compliment, But now they turn my stomach.

They transform the person looking back at me from that mirror into someone I’m so afraid to be.

Someone of which I’ve tried for almost two years to purge myself.

Someone I’ve strained to forget.

But I cannot leave you behind.

As my heart beats in my chest and my blood runs through my veins, you are a part of me.

I see you in the way I tan in the summer sun, the roundness of my face, the movies that make me laugh and the ones that make me cry.

There is no sorcery or science on this earth that can tear you out of me.

Sometimes I see your face in mine.

And when I do, the words underneath my breath make my face sting a little less.

“I am not you.” ~ Ruby Gaetani

Natalie Todd-Weinstein 14

flour sugar butter vinegar water Knead them together know the little things: pie dough memories tangy sweet nostalgia

and small hands are enthralled, watching waiting for the timer to go off to see their sweet, flaky pie but what they don't know, is that the wrinkled hands are on a timer too ~ Faye McGuire

chill for thirty minutes. wrinkled hands small, excited hands remove from refrigerator roll to a thickness of one quarter inch Press firmly into the pie dish only one set of hands now bigger hands, sadder hands and wrinkled hands are gone bake at 350 for 14 minutes until flaky and golden brown remove from oven bigger hands get older and small hands arrive pressing flour to butter to sugar dabbing with ice water fill with apples and cinnamon sprinkle with sugar, butter and ginger

Ellie Thomas

big hands become wrinkled small hands become old and wrinkled hands are gone cook at 250 until crisp and bubbling approximately 35 minutes and small hands become big hands, become wrinkled, then gone. pressing flour to butter

Cooking without love Is like not cooking at all Love is the best spice ~Wyatt Thornton 15

Blackbird

I have never been particularly fond of The Beatles. Jack was obsessed with them for a while, before he got into Hamilton, and he had me listen to some of their songs. They were fine. However, there was one that really stuck out to me. Blackbird. It has been interpreted in different ways: as a love song, as a nature song, or as a metaphor for the civil rights struggle. But at the root of this song, I hear something familiar: a feeling of yearning, a thirst for the things you want but know will never come to be. I listen to this song often now. After Emmie’s funeral and the events that transpired afterwards, this song is sometimes the only thing I can hold on to, to trust in these days of uncertainty. *** Two weeks earlier

“Again! This is NOT how the piece is supposed to be interpreted. Please keep the notes gentle when they are in stepwise motion. Remember, try to make the first movement more...deep.” My music teacher had become more invested in this than I thought.

“I don’t want it to be deep, I want it to be PERFECT! It has to be. For me. For Emmie. For her parents.”

I couldn’t think anymore. The stress from being caught up in the aftermath of Emmie’s death was taking a toll on my mental health. The fact that I had to learn a sonata in one day didn’t help. I was going to play it at Emmie’s funeral because it was her favorite song. “And the fact that I know the accompaniment doesn’t help me now because I have to play the melody! I don’t know anyone who can play it for me.”

“Kenzy! Stop shouting. I will help you learn it if you shut up!”

“But I have to master this piece before the funeral.”

“Remind me when that is?” Joy inquired for the third time that morning.

“Five o’clock. Sunset.”

“Well, you didn’t wake me up at six in the morning for nothing, I hope! Let’s get to work.” That’s what I liked about Joy. She was a very down-to-earth, matter-of-fact person, just like me. My parents describe it as ‘brutally honest,’ and my brothers describe it as ‘mean.’ Just then, my dad swept into the room.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt the beautiful music, but I just have to make sure this dress fits Kenzy. She wasn’t able to go shopping with me, but I tried to get a purple dress that matches her hair.” I hate dresses. I really hate them. And he was holding up a hideous, ruffly one that looked like it had black tulle sticking out of the bottom and a gigantic purple bow in the back. It did match my hair, but that is the only nice thing I will say about it. I think Joy had the same opinion. She grimaced when she saw it, but then gave me a look that said, I know you hate it, but c’mon. Just put it on to make your dad happy. You can rant to me about it later.

I did. It was terrible and the tulle tripped me five times when I tried to walk around in it. But it did fit.

And just when I thought the morning couldn’t get any worse, my brothers walked in. Tyler and Miles looked at me like I was the most hilarious thing they had ever seen. They did a terrible job of stifling their giggles and promptly fled the room. Dad rushed after them and gave them a big talking-to about ‘respecting your sister’.

But of course, two brothers didn’t do justice to the sheer amount of bad luck I experienced that morning. Noah opened the door.

“Kenzy? Where are my Legos? Have you seen them?” And then he saw me. “Kenzy!” Or, more precisely, my dress. “It’s terrible!”

“I know!” I yelled. “I know. Yeah. And I have to wear it to Emmie’s funeral. I’m sure she wouldn’t approve. But it’s all my fault anyway, so why don’t I just annoy her a little more?” My dad, hearing our conversation, ran in to set things right.

“Kenzy-girl. We’ve talked about this. It’s time to forgive yourself.” But he knows that there will always be a shadow of thought in my mind. Did I do something wrong? Did I imagine something that wasn’t there?

Does she understand how I feel? Did she? My dad left, and Noah spoke again. He whispered, really.

“It wasn’t your fault. Kenzy. It wasn’t.”

“I know, Noah. Go play with Miles. I’m sure he’s stolen your legos.” My brother raced out.

“MILES! Why did you take my Legos? They’re MINE!” My dad often tells me, ‘Don’t create tension 16

between family members, Kenzy. It disrupts the harmony.’ Eh. I knew they’d work it out in the end. Life is hard being the only girl in a five person family. But I had to get back to practicing. I took off the dress and joined Joy in the music room. ***

I practiced all morning. Then I took a quick break to eat lunch (a grilled cheese sandwich) and went right back to practicing. I was about three quarters of the way through the second movement in mid-afternoon, but there were four whole movements. Even though Joy was doing her best to keep me upbeat by throwing encouraging comments out there, I was dreading my performance. We both knew the odds weren’t too good.

“C’mon, you can do this, Kenzy. Measure after measure and you’ll get through it before you know it.

Handel sure isn’t being easy on you.” How did Joy still think that I wouldn’t ruin the funeral and turn it into a total trainwreck? I was losing hope.

“I can’t! I’ll ruin the entire evening, and you know it, Joy!”

“Would you rather skip it? Tell Emmie’s parents you couldn’t learn it in time? They’re counting on you, Kenzy.” The funeral was kind of centered around my piece, because it had been Emmie’s favorite. Her parents cried tears of joy when I offered to play it. They said that I was a wonderful child and that my playing would make the funeral perfect. I couldn’t let them down.

“No! I have to! It’s just…”

“Kenzy! No justs. We will learn this in time. You have to focus.” ***

A few hours later, Jack came over to listen to me practice. It’s still hard to be around him when he reminds me of Emmie. We used to be a trio, and it was rare to see one without the other two. We did everything together. We were always over at each other’s houses, cooking or playing music. I would talk for hours about books with Jack, and Emmie joined in sometimes if we were talking about adventure stories. She would drag us along to hunt for gold or collect samples for her leaf collection. Her brown hair was always windswept and it was rare to see her without her trusty leather boots.

On one very memorable occasion, Emmie took us on a walk through the lush boscage to a secret goldenrod meadow she found to watch the sunset. What we hadn’t realized was that after sunset it gets dark.

Resourceful Emmie kept a small red flashlight in her pocket for emergencies, but bushwacking a mile through the forest in the dark is still not an ideal situation. Jack was attempting to distract himself from his fear of the dark with Hamilton references, (“Dang, it’s getting dark, so let me spell out my name!”) and Emmie was exclaiming over his unhelpfulness. (“Jack, shut up! Lin Manuel Miranda can work wonders, but making the sun rise prematurely is not one of them. Inspiring the love and admiration of teenage boys is, however.”) I thought they were funny. But Emmie didn’t have the time to watch musicals. (Yes, those were her exact words.) She would rather be out collecting salamanders. I miss her so much, and whenever I see Jack, I am reminded of all the times we three spent together. I’m sure he feels the same way.

“Kenzy, It’s beautiful! I love it! You sound just like Emmie.” Jack has always been my biggest supporter.

I add more rosin to my bow.

“Jack, here’s the thing. It doesn’t matter how gorgeous this movement is. ‘Cause I still have two more.

To learn. In two hours.” I couldn’t even communicate in complete sentences. I was hyperventilating and definitely not okay. Then time stopped. Black fog obscured my vision.

We were walking through a beech spinney together. Emmie had a wicker basket containing two tomato sandwiches and some chocolate ice cream. I told her not to bring it, because I was sure it would melt, but she scooped it into insulated containers with ice packed around them instead.

“Let me carry the basket for a while, Emmie! With all the ice, it must be heavy.”

“Of course not! Let me. This is my outing and you are my guest. I invited you!” Emmie was always exploring the acres of woods behind her house, and she sometimes dragged me and Jack to see the especially exciting things she found. She called us that morning to ‘have a picnic in a cave around lunch time.’ Jack had declined, saying he had a math club meeting. I had never heard of him being part of a math club before. He was 17

terrible at lying, but Emmie was completely oblivious. And now we’re here in the middle of the woods alone. I wonder what Jack was thinking.

We sat at the cave mouth and ate our (not melted) ice cream and sandwiches.

It was a good afternoon. Alone, but together in the wild forest. We didn’t start back until sunset. On our way back, Emmie wanted to check on a falcon nest because she said there might be babies. Even though it was almost dark, she said we had time. We crested a wooded holt and walked through a copse of sassafras that opened up to a beautiful view of the Perilette River. The nest was halfway down the cliff overlooking it. The river had carved out the land, creating a cliff made of soft soil and clay. It looked pretty dangerous. I declined going on the cliff with her, saying I didn’t trust myself to climb in the dark. ‘Be careful!’ I said. Those words now haunt me. Be careful! Be careful. Be careful. I walked down a herd path into the canyon and along the river while she climbed, picking up smooth rocks and driftwood. I could see her small figure slowly traversing the rugged terrain. Be careful. The opalescent river water reflected the pastel pink sky, and it was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen. Be careful. Be careful. The river looked swollen due to the freshet after a recent rain. I was suddenly filled with an overflowing love for the world, for life, for her. Be careful. Be careful. And then I heard a rumble and the tall cliffs that the river had patiently carved out over hundreds of years started to crumble and groan. Be careful. Be careful.

Those were the last words I spoke to her. ***

“Kenzy! Kenzy, are you okay?” I looked up to the faces above me: my parents, Joy and Jack. They looked concerned.

Emmie. My Emmie. My blackbird. I miss her every day. I think of her every second. What did I do wrong? Tell me, Emmie! Was it too much all at once? Was I imagining that anything had changed? No, I don’t think so. It couldn’t be. Still, what was my mistake?

“No. She’s clearly not.” That was Joy. Matter-of-fact, like I said before. Well. This is fun. After a glass of water and many hugs, I still felt a little dizzy. And then my dad was holding out THE DRESS. And I looked at the clock. It said 4:30. I had no choice but to walk to the car. Joy looked appalled, “Oh, my hat! Is it 4:30 already?” (Yes, she really said that.)

“I’m afraid so,” replied my dad. We all piled into the car. (Well, except for my cello, which went into the trunk. I had named my cello Cláudio.) It was a five minute drive to the Collins’. We exited the car and got swept into a small crowd of people walking into the woods. Cláudio slammed against my legs with every step as we traversed a crude path through a thick brake of spicebush. Jack walked beside me.

“Where are we going?”

“Emmie’s parents wanted to have the funeral in her favorite place: the woods. We’re going to that meadow she found. Remember when we went to watch the sunset?”

“I will never forget.”

“That was a scary night. We were in the woods in the dark!”

“Yeah,” I replied.

“How much of the sonata did you learn?”

“Not enough. It’s going to be a disaster.” I whispered to myself so Jack wouldn’t hear:

“Sorry, Emmie. Sorry for ruining your funeral. For everything else. I’m sorry.” Jack looked at me, his eyes full of sorrow and...something else. ***

Everything else happened as if I were in a dream. Emmie’s mom showed me where to sit down. There was a stool on the damp grass. I sat. She motioned for me to take my cello from its case. I did. I sat with it between my knees while she talked. She thanked everyone for coming, told them where to spread out their picnic blankets. My family forgot to bring them, so they sat on the ground. The thought crossed my mind that if they sat on the grass they would get wet. I saw the beads of water in the grass at my feet. But then I realized they had been sitting for at least five minutes before I had noticed. Emmie’s mom talked some more, then her 18

dad, then her mom again. Somehow I couldn’t hear them. Their mouths were moving but the only thing I could hear was a soft humming. Her mom was crying a little bit. Then another man that I didn’t know stood up to speak. He spoke for a few minutes, and then he gestured to me. And at that moment I realized I didn’t have my music. Or anything. And the sound came rushing back.

At first all I heard was a wave of racket that swept over me. The voices of Emmie’s mom and dad and the man I did not know filled my head. There were the whispers of every person sitting on the grass as well. I listened. In the roar, the river of words, I heard only a few recognizable words.

“-for your loss- -gathered here for- -wonderful girl. Emeline Collins- -never forget.- -forever- -fifteen years old- -rambunctious- -love her-” Then he was talking about me, saying that I was about to play. I have no music. Nothing. The man was still looking at me, asking me to play.

And I played. ***

I’d never played it before. But It didn’t matter. I started with the melancholy introduction. It is played on a lonely guitar. Of course, I didn’t have a guitar, but that didn’t matter either. It was just me and Cláudio. I played what I knew. And that was enough.

I heard someone singing. It was a velvety smooth voice, strong and confident. And then I realized it was me.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night Take these broken wings and learn to fly All your life You were only waiting for this moment to arise ~ Lucia Gomez-Ibáñez

Ethan Pratt

19

Ran Red The blood ran red away from his head to discolor the carpet.

The pistol fell to the ground to not be touched again.

Red and blue sirens blared in the distance, but they were too far away.

The damage was done and no one could run away from the messy scene; When the police arrived they became hypnotized by all the bodies scattered around. ~ Ethan Plotkin

Inkling of Life It globbed where it was still and brushed where it was moved You could tell where it had been from lines left behind It documents the galaxy and is ever-evolving It was made by man, but so much more, it carries the world and teaches the new It covers us all for we are made from the substance We use it to describe ourselves and our opponents The ink that fills tells the future of us ~Ethan Plotkin

Natalie Todd-Weinstein 20

The Wanderings of the Warwick Boys Circa July 1978

It was on one incredibly sunny July afternoon that Robert DeMasi decided not to do the dishes. It was against his better judgement, but his mother was at work and there were waves. He flew around the house getting ready to go, and in about five minutes was running down to the end of the driveway where his two friends sat in their red Chevy. Trying not to drop his surfboard, he skidded to a halt in front of the car. The nineteen-year-old in the front seat rolled down the window,

“About time,” he grumbled. Todd Lander was of average height and had short, dark blonde hair that blew around his face in the slight wind. He narrowed his eyes as if to say “come on, get going”.

Rob rolled his eyes and situated his gear in the hatchback trunk of the car next to his friend’s things. As he hopped into the backseat of the car, the other boy in the passenger seat turned his head around to look at him.

“What took ya so long?” Jimmy Izzy asked. If you had seen Jimmy and Rob together you would have thought they were brothers. Both had dark, curly hair and similar mannerisms.

“Nothin, let’s go,” Rob answered excitedly. He loved surfing.

Todd backed out of the driveway and the boys sped off towards Narragansett. Watching the roads and the houses race by, Rob’s stomach bubbled with anticipation,

“Are we there yet?” he asked impatiently.

“Does it look like we’re there?” Todd retorted.

Grunting, Rob returned to his post of staring out the window. He watched the houses as they passed and melted away as the car neared Narragansett Beach. As they came around the corner, Rob raised himself off the seat to look over the wall to the beach. It was windy, but there were waves. Waves crashing right on the shore, waves peeling off in the perfect spots, waves far out, waves. Todd drove the car under the arch and drove past Monahan’s Clam Shack and towards the first spot they were checking.

Pilgrim Avenue was a dead end street that led straight out to the waves. Todd pulled the car up to the end of the street and the three boys jumped out. Across the patch of the dirt, they came to the rocks that hugged the Rhode Island coast line like a barrier.

“Windy,” said Jimmy watching the waves.

Todd hummed in agreement.

Rob watched the current set carefully. His friends were right, it was a little windy. They stood for about ten minutes watching the waves in a comfortable silence. The waves here were always relaxed but it was wonky.

“Let’s check K,” said Todd, turning away from the breaking waves.

“But-,” Rob started

“Keep your shirt on we’re gonna surf,” Todd said, cutting him off.

“Ok,” Rob sighed.

They jumped back into the car and drove away to their next destination, K39.

K was worse than Pilgrim. And the Point Judith Lighthouse wasn’t much better than the first two spots.

Standing by the lighthouse looking out over the breaking waves in despair, the three boys looked to each other.

“Well we could always go skateboarding,” Jimmy stated. Todd and Rob glared at him.

“Arrgggg,” Rob kicked a large rock in frustration. And then he hissed in pain grabbing his foot.

“Weirdo,” Todd taunted.

Rob shot daggers at him. Which just made Jimmy join in, the two of them chuckling as they made their way back to the car, Rob hobbling along on his still throbbing foot.

For the next twenty minutes the boys drove aimlessly as if that would make waves appear. Venturing into an area of town they had never been to before, they looked around nervously.

“Todd what are we doing?” Rob doubted.

“Following a hunch,” Todd answered cryptically.

They drove along slowly, looking around at the neighborhood they were entering. The houses were 21

simple yet foreboding.

“Look!” Jimmy exclaimed.

Rob had seen it too. A glimpse of a wave, a shimmer of hope on this windy day.

“Todd, Todd, turn around and park next to that person’s house,” Rob effused.

Todd did as suggested and they peered through the line of houses and watched the perfect waves at this mystery surf spot through the small gap. They stood in a breathless silence of anticipation as they watched the waves.

Jimmy turned. “Grab the gear,” he announced.

Grinning, Rob grabbed his board and walked to the edge of the lawn by which they were parked, scouting out the path they were going to forge through the expanse of yards in front of them. Once they were all ready they started their journey over the fence and through the first yard.

They encountered no one, thank god, as they climbed and ran until they found the waves they were searching for. By the time they made it down the rocks of the unexplored point break, Rob’s feet were sore but he didn’t care. The boys threw themselves into the water, laughing, and paddled out. Rob looked around the area. The waves seemed to originate from a single rock over where Jimmy was sitting. Paddling closer to Jimmy, he sat up looking out at the water. A set was coming.

The three of them surfed for about an hour and a half until the setting sun was the only thing keeping them from staying out longer. By the time they reached the shore it was dark, and the wind was picking up. Rob shivered in just his board shorts and t-shirt. Hooking his board under his arm he and Todd and Jimmy, and they made their way through the first few yards. So far nothing had gone wrong. Until the fourth yard.

“Hey!” A shaky feminine voice called from behind them.

All three boys turned to the source of the noise. An older woman in a housecoat stood on her back deck surveying them.

“What are you doing?” she yelled.

The boys looked at each other,

“Run!” Todd shouted.

Rob, alongside his two friends, scrambled across the yard to the fence. The woman continued to yell from her back porch for them to get off of her lawn. Rob was the last one to climb the tall chain link fence. But his shirt snagged, he was stuck.

“I’m gonna call the police,” screamed the woman.

Rob turned, watching in horror as the woman grabbed her telephone off the wall. He remembered something his mother had once said to him,

“Now you listen here, Robert DeMasi, if you ever get into any trouble with the police, don’t expect me to come bail you out.”

He gulped and pulled at his shirt. It wouldn’t budge.

“Rob,” Todd warned.

“I know,” he yelled back, yanking at his shirt. It finally came free, tearing a hole in it, but he didn’t have time to worry about that. He jumped over the other side of the fence, grabbing his board and racing back to the car through the remainder of the yards, his friends at his heels.

It was about 10:30 when Todd’s red Chevy pulled into the driveway of Rob’s house for the second time that day. They had stopped to get dinner, which had been fried clams, of course.

“Bye,” Todd and Jimmy chorused.

“Bye!” Rob called back.

Hearing his friends honk a goodbye, he propped his surfboard against the house and entered. Sneaking through the kitchen and reaching the stairs, he climbed quietly skipping the two creaky ones. Too tired to even take a shower, he opened the door to his room and strolled inside shutting the door quietly behind him. After changing quickly into pajamas, he pulled back the covers. And there were the long forgotten dishes. In his bed. ~Lila Journalist 22

Nana’s Afghan Woven over years In front of a fire Now I find it In the closet As I walk your house For the last time Tears stain my black dress I never liked funerals But the blanket still smells like You. ~ Lyric Buckley Ellie Thomas

The making of grits stirring to sublime richness transformed to heaven ~Wyatt Thornton

Clara Athearn

The girl with the microphone Stands on stage In the light I stand in the wings with my music Waiting She looks out backstage Her eyes rest on me Waiting The girl with the microphone Speaks again Her voice drowning out The thunderous applause She gives me a look And I do not wait My heels click Onto the stage And now I am The girl with the microphone ~ Lyric Buckley

23

The Night Shift

I awoke to the familiar sounds of my classroom; ticking clock, wind swirling outside, and the trees writhing in its wake. It was just my luck to be stuck here over the weekend. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and checked my phone for the time. 11:56. Great. Then a terrible thought hit me.

“You gotta be kidding me,” I groaned, as I realized I still had 30 or more papers to go over. So much left and it wasn’t even- My phone interrupted my complaining with a buzz in my pocket. It was officially Saturday, and I wasn’t even halfway through grading. I gotta get through this, how bad can it be? Just please god don’t let the next story be depressing like the rest. I opened my folder and took out the first ungraded paper I found. The first sentence, unfortunately yet unsurprisingly, read ‘I was eight when my father killed himself.’

I sighed to myself and looked up at the ceiling. There was a spider’s web in the right corner. I had become familiar with this web before. You can only really see it at the right time of night, when the moon illuminates it. The spider always seemed to have a bug in its web. I had tried to get rid of it before, but it was just respun the next day. Ugh, what am I doing, I should get back to work. I shifted my attention to the papers strewn upon my desk in front of me. Oh boy, another depressing story. How original. Blah-blah-blah-nobody understands me-blah-blah-blah-some veiled message about loving yourself-blah-blah-blah-the end. Jesus these eighth-graders are predictable. I picked up my mug to take a sip of my coffee but it was long gone. All that remained was a few drops of bitter liquid that only furthered my discomfort. Next story I guess. I pushed my glasses up my nose and began to read.

Immediately I could notice something was off. The characters of the story, they seemed… developed?

It was jarring to see believable characters and situations after papers upon papers of depressing filler. Before I knew it, I was engulfed in this world of adventure and intrigue. But then... the moment passed. I read the final sentence. It was bittersweet, really. Being introduced to a world of frivolous imagination, only to realize the assignment was supposed to be two pages. I suppose it’s only fitting seeing as I assigned it. Poetic even.

But then I took a second to really reflect on the stories I’d read before. Were they really that awful?

Keisha’s story, ‘A Life Without Both My Parents,’ ended with the main character accepting their terminal cancer and seeking help. Stacy’s story, ‘Man Against the Government,’ carried a frankly overused (but accurate) sentiment of teamwork at the moment that Mankind and the Government put aside their differences and formed one global superpower (that story didn’t make much sense anyway). And the story I had just read had a message of self-acceptance and taking pride in your differences.

I leaned back and sighed. Was I really so jaded that I couldn’t see these kids’ talent? Or was it really all depressing filler? A realization drifted upon me; it was way too late for this. 3:37 in the morning? Not ideal for self-reflection. Grabbing my coat and collecting my papers, I headed for the door. I noticed the spiderweb in the corner was hanging by a thread of silk. A gust of wind blew through the open doorway, unhinging it from the ceiling. It blew in front of the window, revealing it to be empty, before it finally settled on the ground. I smiled.

It was comforting in a way. Sure, it would be back tomorrow, but for now, the spider had work to do. I had never seen it. I assumed it hunted at night. Just like me, I guess. I shook off my introspection and walked out the door. ~ Thomas Goux

Jackson Gierhart

24

Sent

She wasn’t very pretty: a long nose stretched down her face, beside it lay dyed black hair with bright green streaks, but she was mine.

Most people avoided her; she had a very unusual style. Today she wore bleach splattered purple overalls and a bright green off-the-shoulder shirt, which was against the dress code. I just wore a boring grey buttondown and tan trousers; at least I wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. It was tenth grade, and who you talked to was closely observed. I didn’t have to worry about that, because I never talked to anyone. I did talk to her though… well we texted at least. By that, I mean she texted me, I never really responded too much.

It was a Monday when it happened. We’d been in school for about two weeks when she first texted me.

Nothing special, just the usual, “Hey, I don’t have your contact saved, but you’re in my grade, right? ” and “Hello? Who is this? ” that went on through the first period to lunch. I expected her to start believing that she was texting a robot number and ignore me like everyone else, but she didn’t. I always wondered why she kept texting a number when she didn’t even know if someone was on the other side. That’s when I realized I had my read receipts on. But for some reason, I kept them on. It was nice knowing that someone knew I was there.

I had to take the bus home. My parents were at work and I wasn’t old enough to drive yet. I never liked taking the bus, too much pressure, but today it was the only option.

Deciding where to sit was the most awkward and uncomfortable part for me. The front of the bus was filled with trendy kids, who gossiped to everyone and about everyone. Sitting there would just draw attention, which is the last thing I needed. The gamers sat in the middle, and I didn’t even own an Xbox, but we occasionally communicated, just the usual, “Hey! Did you have the test? Any plans over the summer?” strictly business and nothing out of the ordinary or personal, which is fine by me. The back Thalia O’Neil would be a good option, except for the fact that it was contaminated by the juniors and seniors, which just left the back middle, for the extras. It was a new bus, and by that I mean, it had only a few graffiti slurs and didn’t completely smell like the inside of the boys’ locker room after basketball season.

The bus ride to my house was thirty minutes, thirty-six if you count the walk from where the bus dropped me off. It could’ve dropped me off directly at my house, but I prefered for people not to see the shack I lived in. Well, “shack” is a bit of an exaggeration, it was truly a beautiful house, but it was too perfect, too noticeable. It had dark blue shutters and doors, and we had painted the wooden porch and swing the previous summer. I hadn’t really noticed it all before; I had been accustomed to having my head down like a beaten dog.

That day was different somehow. I even took a moment to appreciate the daisies planted by my mother. They were messy and would probably die before October, but they still looked beautiful to me.

My phone buzzed, snapping me out of my head for a moment. I shook my head to clear my vision; it was her: “Today was fine, I hate my Calculus teacher though .” I slipped through my garage to my room only to be greeted with another text, “Ugghhhh my sister just got me grounded . I hate her so muchhh .”

I rolled my eyes, “Ugghh that sucks.” I whispered, but I didn’t respond. I liked listening to her, I didn’t want to ruin that with my socially awkward way of speaking. She was a good acquaintance of mine, I thought, and I would’ve thought of her as a friend, but it didn’t seem fitting yet. That is, until she really started to open up. “I want to run away,” her text said. I shook my head, it was about 1 o’clock in the morning, and I was still

😃

🤔

❤

😒🙄

😡😡

😡😡

25

drowsy from sleep deprivation. She was joking, she had to be. Even if she wasn’t, why would she come to me for this? We barely know each other, I haven’t even spoken to her. I turned over and closed my eyes, she was joking, I told myself, she must be. My phone buzzed again and read, “No one cares about me here, there’s no reason for me to stay.”

I wanted to respond, I had to, but what would I say? I was always terrible with words, I was terrible with everything. I participated in zero sports, zero camps, and I got homesick a lot so sleepovers were out of the question. My social life was not a priority, I don’t think anyone even knew I went to their school. The only thing I could do was listen, which explained why music was my only peace. I have no siblings and my parents were never home…. except to sleep and make meals like normal parents, I guess. I don’t think I would notice their absence as much if I occupied myself with friends and girls, but I just had music. That was fine with me, but it wasn’t with her. I spoke to her the only way I knew how, and I sent a text that changed everything.

“Dear Evan Hansen, You will be found.” I expected silence, or a vulgar text including remarks about my nonexistent responses, but all I got back was, “Thank you, sorry for the late response. After I read your text I talked to my parents. We talked things out and they’ve agreed to get me a therapist to help me sort things out.I feel better now, because of you .”

That’s when I started calling her mine.

We talked more, and I stayed consistent in my lyrical tongue. I was surprised how much easier it was to steal words from other people than to come up with them yourself. First, it was ‘80s classics, Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston, Billy Joel; she seemed to enjoy them. The 2000s didn’t hit too well with her, so back to Madonna. I wanted her to be happy, I needed her to be happy. It seemed like we were conjoined, and her happiness was mine.

It was the perfect relationship, staying up all night talking about movies, books, and basically anything that came to mind, but I knew it wasn’t enough for her. Eventually, she would ask that dreaded question, “Wanna meet up? Like in real life I mean.” I just didn’t know it would happen so soon.

I panicked.

It was 5 AM and my mind was fuzzy, I didn’t know how to answer in a way that explained to her how I felt but didn’t disappoint her. I looked for some lyrics, something, anything; Bon Jovi, Wham!, Survivor, The Cure, nothing there. I moved on to the ‘90s, I was sure she wouldn’t mind, Backstreet Boys, Smash Mouth, Ricky Martin, nothing. I even went back to show tunes, but I couldn’t find anything anywhere. I’d never really panicked before, but I did then.

My world was crumbling, I shouldn’t have opened up, I knew better. If we don’t meet she’ll hate me, but if we do she’ll be embarrassed because of how strange and unusual I really am. I had to respond soon or she’d question our whole relationship. Relationship? We’d talked for barely seventeen hours, it probably meant nothing to her. But what if it did? She probably expects some knight in shining armor, or football player, or maybe even a girl, I never did reveal my gender. I wasn’t too skinny, but I wasn’t overweight either, I was just average. Everything about me was average. I wasn’t ugly, or handsome, I had shaggy blonde-ginger hair, that was long enough to cover my eyes and a stutter. My parents hadn’t taken me clothes shopping in two years, so everything I owned was too short. My mom always said I had the perfect amber eyes, but I keep them covered.

Anything that would make me stand out I hid. Even still, who’d even want to talk to me, nevertheless be seen with me? Out of all these uncertainties, the one that made the answer clear was the question, what if I lose her forever?

I picked up my phone, knowing no lyrics could help me now. I started typing, this was the first thing I texted that wasn’t stolen, but I couldn’t get the message across any other way. My thumbs were moving on their own, no second-guessing, no deleting and starting over, no more worrying. She sees the real me, not the mask, even if the real me is uninteresting, bland, and a weird music geek, she sees it and she doesn’t look away.

Totally numb, not sure what I what to do or think, I looked down at my screen which read only one word:

Sent.

❤️

26

~ Aubryn Dubois

Excerpts from “White Heather” This piece contains emotionally sensitive content including reference to child abuse.

That house. That damn house. I stood in front of the house, my cotton nightgown blowing in the crisp morning wind. I gripped the stems of white heather in white-knuckled hands. White heather symbolized safety, and making peace with the past. I had learned that in my botany class. So, my flower choice seemed appropriate. I had come to the house around four in the morning, when the sky was a dark indigo with violet emerging from the horizon. The house stood alone, in the woods, perfect for a man like my father. Perfect for secrets.

I shakily stepped towards the front door. I opened it gently, as if I was scared as to what I would see inside. And I should’ve been. Beer bottles were strewn across the floor, mixed with shards of glass and settled dust. It was exactly as it had been nine years ago. My breath hitched at the familiar smell of vodka and cologne.

The floorboards creaked under my feet, and a mouse squeaked in the corner. I looked ahead to the kitchen, and took three delicate steps to the bathroom. I knew this house like the back of my hand. I took a deep, yet trembling breath. Everything was the same.

I let a choked sob escape my throat as I collapsed onto the stained cedar floor. My back slid down the bedroom wall as I wrapped myself in my leather jacket, and gripped my raven black hair in my hands, my head in my lap. My knees stung from bracing my fall, but I was used to pain. I felt the memory approaching me, powerful and mighty, like a tsunami. And for the first time in nine years, I needed to let myself drown.

The first tears were dry, whimpers flooding out of my lips. Then they raged like a monsoon, flowing hard and violent. So I sat there, and let myself cry. I couldn’t even remember the last time I cried. I pushed myself up on the probably unstable door frame, knowing this house probably wasn't in the best shape it had ever been in. I ran a fingertip over my frayed quilt. The quilt was made by Marie, my grandmother’s friend.

It had foxes and flowers and butterflies on it. But my favorite part of the quilt was the owls. I could hear owls outside my window as I fell asleep, and seeing them on a blanket made me feel as if I wasn’t so alone in this house. I shakily walked out to the marsh that the house bordered, passing the dilapidated garden. I loved the beach. I used to play with the neighbors in the water, learning how to kayak. Richard and Susan were a couple in their seventies who lived next door. They let me play with them, and they gave me fancy cheeses and fruits. I remember kayaking in a cherry red boat, and picnicking on a sandbar. They loved me like a daughter.

As I walked out to the marsh, I smiled. A real smile. The marsh was breathtaking at this time of morning.

The sun was a flaming orange in the sky, decorated with rosy clouds and lavender stripes across a watercolor sky. I remember looking out of my window just to watch the sky come to life like an ombre masterpiece.

Outside my window, I had a view of the sandy seashore and the chartreuse marsh grass that bordered the beach.

I stepped onto the sand, fiddler crabs scuttling around my heels. The water lapped at my feet. I shivered. The air may have warmed up, but the March ocean was still icy. The bottom of my nightgown was getting wet, but I didn’t care. I picked up a periwinkle, one of my favorite creatures, and set it down on a rock that was slightly submerged. The sun was rising, warm and fierce. The smooth water lit up with the shining reflection of the sky.

I put my hands in my pockets and remembered why I came. I pulled the white heather sprigs out of my pocket, holding the plants in my callused hands. I set the flowers down on the sand, probably to be carried away by waves laced with porcelain foam. But that’s alright. I’m alright now. As I walked back to my car, I saw that a plant had grown near the marsh. White heather.

~ Lyric Buckley 27

Daniela Carvajal

The River “Mãe?”

“Shh.” My mom has a stern look on her face. I close my mouth and decide to closely study my surroundings. We had already flown from a small town in Brazil called Caratinga where I was born all the way to some airport in Mexico where we got picked up by a man. We are now in the back of the man’s truck, and we are speeding down the highway. My two little brothers are sleeping, nestled together in the corner. There are five other people in the truck with us; a curly haired boy that looks around the age of seventeen, looking at something on his phone, a man, and someone who looks like his wife. Their two kids, who I think are twins, are lying down in their mother’s lap sleeping. In the front seat, the man my mom paid is driving. He is going to get us to America. My dad moved there when I was seven, and we lived with my vovó. My dad sent a little of his money every month but my mom still had to work all day so she could save up to come to America. We were supposed to leave two years ago, but my little brother broke his leg and my mom had to spend a chunk of money on his hospital bills. The truck hits a bump in the road and I shift in my seat.

28

“Mãe, what time is it?” My mom pulls out her phone and checks the time.

“5:30.”

We had been in the back of the pickup truck for about an hour now, and I felt myself getting restless.

“We are almost there,” my mom scolds me, and I start picking at my cuticles again. The truck swerves to the right, off the road. It keeps rumbling down a dirt road so small it could be considered a pathway. The stars shine especially bright since we are in the middle of nowhere, and I stare at the bright lights. The cute boy who just happens to be sitting next to me speaks up,

“Have you ever seen stars this bright?”

“Not this bright,” I tell him. It’s true; there were always the pub lights down the street polluting the sky.

He smiles and laughs a little. The truck hits a pothole in the road and I fly off the blanket I had been sitting on, my mom catching me so I don’t hit my back on the edge of the truck.

The truck turns to go down an even narrower road, and I lean forward so I don’t get hit by the branches that swing around us. The truck rolls to a stop and I look around. I can’t see that much because it’s still dark, but I know we are at the edge of the river. I can see land right across the dirt brown water, and I am filled with a rush of adrenaline. My mom wakes up my brothers and the man from inside the truck comes out to instruct us on what to do.

“Ok, I am going to give you a raft, and you have to just sit on it and hope to drift across.”

This is not reassuring. He goes back in his truck and grabs a pump and a pile of flimsy-looking plastic inner tubes. I turn to my mom with wide eyes and she looks equally concerned, but she signals to me not make a face, so I hold my brother’s hand tight. The man opens up one of the tubes, puts the little hole on the end of the pump, and pushes the pump up and down. He quickly fills the tube and then hands the finished one to the man.

He tells him to sit on it with one of his young children. He repeats the pumping process a couple more times and when he blows up each raft, he hands one to my mom and the boy I talked about the stars with, one to me, and the last one to the woman with the husband.

“Get in your rafts and I will push you, but go quick. I don’t want to be seen.”

My mom rushes and puts me on a raft and puts my little brother on me but someone interrupts. It’s the boy.

“Com licença senhora, I can hold your son on my raft so the girl doesn’t have to hold her brother and she can just hold your backpack,” he offers.

My mom’s eyes fill with relief and she gives my brother to the boy.

“Obrigada” she says, and gives him a weak smile. She seems stressed and worn out, but I know she is very thankful inside

The boy takes my brother and sits on his raft, and my mother goes on hers and holds my other brother.

The man that drove the truck comes over to us and wades into the water. He pushes my mom’s raft, then the boy’s, and then mine. I feel the water getting deeper and deeper under me. I try not to panic but I keep imagining things under the water. What if there are crocodiles or alligators? Or piranhas? Even though there aren’t piranhas here. My thoughts get interrupted by the boy throwing a rope at me. I grab it and he yells to me to not let go of it, otherwise, I might drift away. I tie the rope on the little handle of my raft and look around to find my mother. We are in the middle of the river now. I spot her also holding a rope that is connected to the boy’s raft. My mom is almost on the other side of the river now. She gets out and positions my brother on the raft by himself. She grabs the rope and pulls me and the boy into shore. The current starts to get stronger so she unties my raft and quickly gets me out. She helps the boy out and then she grabs my brothers.

“Obrigada você nunca vai entender quanta ajuda você tem sido para mim.” My mom thanks him over and over.

Fim ~ Sofia McGroarty Sampaio 29

I Guess That’s Why They Call It The Blues (A Musical Medley) Circa 1985

Jane’s mother had told her before she shipped out to Iraq last August that boys were fickle, and she had never believed her, until she met him. Just after her mother left and her freshman year began, he’d been there in all of his chocolate hair and lopsided smile in the corner of her chemistry class. Befriending Luca Taylor and then eventually becoming his girlfriend was the best thing that had ever happened to Jane. They’d dated all of freshman year. But then there was the end of the school year dance, when her favorite song came on and she and her best friend Micheal had gotten up to dance. She’d seen Luca watching them, she knew he hated crowds but it had been too late to stop him from leaving. She also knew his parents were going through a rough patch. She and Luca didn’t talk over the summer. And at her birthday party, where she’d purposely invited him so that he could make things up with him, he was currently avoiding her.

Piano Man began to play from the record player as Jane tried to search for familiar faces. Most of these people she didn’t know. How did they get here? The walls of her own house now filled with people seemed to crush her, making her feel small. Being 5’2” had never been Jane’s favorite feature, but it was good for maneuvering around in large crowds. Slipping easily through the mob of teenagers she came to the base of the stairs. Then someone grabbed her arm. Jenny.

“Let’s go dance,” screamed Jenny.

“No, I’m good,” she yelled back.

“Huh?” Jenny said confused, “plywood?”

Jane laughed. “No, I’m good,” she emphasized, “I wanna find Luca.”

Jenny looked disappointed, then confused. “First of all you are such a buzzkill, second of all, you know some other girl dated him over the summer right?”

“Another girl? What!?” Jane exploded.

“Take a chill pill. Her name is Augie or whatever. Hey, I think that’s her,” Jenny added, pointing to a girl leaning up against the wall next to the door.

“She is so dead,” Jane hissed. She could feel her face heating up as she stormed down the stairs, through the foyer and to a stop in front of the girl Jenny had gestured to. She looked out of place in the chaos of the party around her. In a pair of acid washed blue jeans splattered in paint, an orange sweater and her mocha hair tangled in a midnight blue bandana, she looked strangely innocent. Jane realized the girl was admiring her mom’s Led Zeppelin poster, Jane and her mom’s favorite band. She gave off an aura of calm. Like she would keep your secrets.

“Hey, Airhead,” Jane yelled, getting her attention. Her fingernails dug into her palms, forming crescents and Jane wondered if this girl could see the steam coming out of her ears. “Is your name Augie?”

“Um, yes, but I prefer Augustine, why?” she asked.

“Do you know Luca Taylor?” Jane snarled.

“Yes, I do. I’m his girlfriend,” she faltered.

Jane’s mother had told her never to swear, but she couldn’t help it. Augustine flinched.

“So he never told you about me. Where is he?” Jane spat. She was disgusted, that boy had been hers, he had told her she was the world. Now she learned that he was running around with this ditz over the summer, like she didn’t even exist.

“Um, Luca went to get me a drink. I’m sorry but who exactly are you?” Augustine asked uncertainly.

“I’m Jane, Luca’s girlfriend. Could you please show me where he went?” Jane fumed.

“Hold on, girlfriend?” Augustine said, the anger in her tone rising.

The two girls froze, brown eyes meeting blue.

“Kitchen,” Augustine raged. “He went to the kitchen.” And with that final comment the two girls began to push through the crowds of people to the kitchen.

30

Jane spotted Luca first. He’d grown handsomer over the summer, though Jane tried to push that thought from her mind as it reeled from the shock of learning about Luca’s other girlfriend. Then Jane wondered, was she still even his girlfriend? Motioning for Augustine to follow her she pushed past the guys that Luca was talking to so she and Augustine were directly in front of him, both seething. Luca was dumbfounded.

“He-Hey Augie, Jane how are you guys?” he stammered.

“How. Are. We,” hissed Augustine. Augustine fumed. She twisted her hair around her finger, her face pure fiery rage.

“Girlfriend?!” the two girls exclaimed in unison. Jane looked to Augustine, then returned her gaze to the boy in front of her.

“Look, I made a mistake-,” Luca started.

“A mistake is an accident, lying is a choice,” said Augustine stoically. People were starting to stare, but she didn’t care. Luca deserved this.

“You asked me out and forgot to tell me you had a girlfriend? ” Augustine said, sarcastically.

“Augie-,” Luca started.

“Don’t,” she said. Augustine turned and disappeared into the now gawking crowd. Luca turned to Jane.

“Jane, I know that I messed up but thought of you all summer long,” he said desperately.

“Life isn’t a love song, Luca, the thrill expired and now you come running back to me, not this time” Jane turned, not bothering to look back at the boy who she thought would be with her forever. But that wasn’t forever. Jane shoved people aside to get back to the living room, the ending notes of Neil Diamond’s greatest hit carrying from her mom’s favorite mixtape. She pulled her cardigan closer around her shoulders.

“Jane, I’m sorry I sorta ruined your birthday, but will this make it up?” She heard Augustine from behind her. Jane turned. Augustine was holding a chocolate cupcake with pink frosting, and Jane smiled.

“It’s perfect,” Jane said, taking the cupcake and inhaling it. A comfortable silence settled on the two girls, except for slow music going in the background and the bustling of people around them.

“Hello, McFly, anyone home?” said Augustine, turning to Jane, “whatcha thinkin about?”

Jane glanced toward the kitchen.

“Yeah, I know, but we don’t need him, I promise you we’ll be more rad than Madonna, you’ll see!” Jane snorted.

“You know when you’re young people assume you know nothing, but I knew everything when life was just the next tea party”

“Mmm,” Augustine hummed. “Come on, I love this song,” She grabbed Jane’s arm and hauled her to the dance floor. She swayed to the lyrics, smiling. In her favorite cardigan.

Don’t wish it away Don’t look at it like it’s forever Between you and me I could honestly say That things can only get better And while I’m away Dust out the demons inside And it won’t be long before you and me run To the place in our hearts where we hide And I guess that’s why they call it the blues ~Elton John * inspired by ‘August,’ ‘Betty,’ and ‘Cardigan’ from Folklore by Taylor Swift

~ Lila Journalist 31

First

Bailen leaned back against the soft fabric that lined the bottom of his Personal Travel Device, or PTD. The top part of the sphere was transparent SpiriGlass, and he could see his other classmates floating in their own PTDs. Some were reading, and others were talking on the cosmophone. As he floated into the Education Space, an automated message informed Bailen, “You are entering the ES. Welcome!” His PTD docked at the Learning Pod (LP) port, and the top popped off so he could climb in. Educator Akiel once told Bailen that VACMs used to be called “computers,” and the acronym stood for “voice-activated communication module.” Bailen loved ancient history, so he thought that was fascinating. He sat down on the stool and a hidden speaker began transmitting the lesson to his LP. He heard Educator Akiel’s voice:

“Hello, students! Are you ready to join me in the ES to broaden your neural pathways? We are going to start a unit on EarthWorld. Can anyone tell me what that is?” Four cameras in Educator Akiel’s Teaching pod took a live video of him on all four sides. Not only could Bailen see the Educator through the SpiriGlass, but the four screens in front of his stool also streamed the videos taken from Educator Akiel’s pod. Bailen could see and hear the Educator as if he was in the LP with him.

“I would like to answer the question,” he told his VACM. The VACM transmitted a message instantly to his Educator’s VACM.

“Great! I see that Nani, Bailen, Adrie, Louie, and Rio think they know the answer,” replied Educator Akiel. “Adrie? Can you tell us what you think EarthWorld is?”

“Believe it or not, I was just reading a book this morning that mentioned EarthWorld!”

Of course, Bailen thought. The only person in our class who knows more about Ancient History than me is Adrie. And she’s determined to keep it that way. I better read more history books.

“So, what I understand is that there was this perfect amazing planet, and then they destroyed it and only a few people escaped in a cosmoship and we’re their ancestors.”

“Yes, Adrie, that’s right,” said Educator Akiel. “Does anyone want to elaborate? Rio?”

Rio replied, “Yeah, there were lots of different groups of people on the planet, and plants and animals grew wild. Some of the groups of people were democracies, like our ship, and some were not. Then, one group somehow got all the power and used it to threaten all the other little groups. One of the little groups got so scared that it took the beautiful EarthWorld for granted and blew it all up with a terrible bomb.”

“However, Rio, that same group that blew up EarthWorld had been working on a state-of-the-art cosmoship to hold all the people in their group. Right before they blew up the EarthWorld, they escaped. Nani, do you know what our people think about that?”

“Well, Educator Akiel, it was a really bad thing to blow up our paradise. I am ashamed of my ancestors.”

“As you should be!” replied his Educator. “That was a terrible decision on their part.”

The day continued, and Bailen and his classmates were shown a map of EarthWorld right before it was destroyed. They learned about how the cosmoship was constructed in secret, and how a group of very smart scientists made an amazing new piece of technology that nobody knew was possible: the gravitator.

The gravitator charged the floor of the cosmoship with a strong Eliza Chun gravitational pull similar to the one on EarthWorld. Things that needed to float around, like PTDs, were equipped with a tiny anti-gravitator to counteract the gravitator.

Bailen’s PTD was attached to his LP. The LP didn’t have an anti-gravitator. It was attached to the ceiling of the LS with a fibrocord, which always stayed taut because of the gravitator. The piece of fibrocord attached to the LP was about the same size as the one Bailen’s Dental Hygiene Machine stuck between his teeth every night before bed.

32

“Okay, everyone, here’s the agenda for the rest of our time together: First, we’ll have a quick meal, and then we’ll go on a trip to see the gravitator. Is everyone excited?”

“Yes!” Bailen told his VACM.

“Message delivered,” it replied.

Educator Akiel exclaimed, “I see that Bailen, Nani, Adrie, Libby, and Ork are excited. Ari? What about Rio and Sudy? Are you excited too? Let’s see… Sudy said she’s excited, but a little scared. Don’t worry, the gravitator won’t hurt you! Rio and Ari don’t know. Alright everyone, let’s get food!”

The side of the learning center doubled as the students’ own Meal Preparer. Bailen talked to his mom on the cosmophone during the short wait to get his meal. He ended the call when his PTD told him it was time to eat.

“You have arrived at the front of the line. Do you want to pick up your meal?”

“Yes.”

“The meal today is fresh from the aquaponic garden. There is a green salad with red pericarp and sweet pimento paste in a squeeze tube, along with orange juice and some nutgrain. This food fits all the requirements on your nutrition chart. Enjoy!” His PTD started to gently move around the ES as he ate. The movement was designed to promote digestion. He decided to start his Ancient History studies right then.

“VACM, please read me a book about ancient history.”

“Reading: Ancient History, by Brazi Democ. Long, long ago…” Bailen got lost in long-ago Earthworld, and didn’t notice when his PTD interrupted itself to say, “End of meal. Traveling back to the ES.” In fact, he didn’t notice where he was going until the PTD abruptly stopped reading and its top popped off. Disoriented, he climbed back into his LP.

Just then, a deafening beeeeeeeep reverberated through the cosmoship. Bailen learned at a very young age that that sound signaled a ship-wide announcement. The announcement system was used for emergencies only.

Everyone froze.

The only other time Bailen could remember hearing that beep was when there was a glitch in the gravitator’s Gravprodon system. Everyone had to evacuate for a few minutes. It ended up being a false alarm, though, and no one was hurt. They were just a little frazzled.

The whole ship silently waited for the passive female voice to instruct them in what to do next.

Twenty-three seconds passed. (Bailen knew exactly how many seconds because a couple hundred years prior, scientists on the cosmoship had figured out, by accident, how to insert an automatic time-telling function into the human DNA. They then proceeded to change the DNA of every inhabitant of the cosmoship. It made everyone’s lives a lot easier, and the genetic trait was passed on to their offspring.)

Finally, the announcement started.

“Hello, cosmoship residents! As you know, our ancestors once lived on EarthWorld. When it was blown up by a bomb, all of the residents died except for those who dropped the bomb. They escaped, and seven generations later, we’re still traveling aimlessly around in the universe. We’ve only come across one other planet in our time on the cosmoship, and it was uninhabitable and gaseous.”

Ugh, Bailen thought. We don’t need a history lesson. What’s the emergency?

“Another planet has recently been spotted by our awareness technology, and the autopilot is attempting to navigate closer. First, planet rovers are being deployed to make sure everything is safe for humans. Then, scientists will go out to see if the planet is fit for human life. After that, citizens will have the opportunity to step onto real land, which will most likely be the first and last time that they will be able to do so. First, students will go out with their educators. Then, if any adults would like to do so, they will travel to one of the portal receiving stations and be fitted up to go out by a scientist. Please stay quiet and calm in the Cosmoship Receiving Ports, and stay inside your PTDs. Educators, please instruct your students to travel in their PTDs to one of the Cosmoship Receiving Ports when you are notified. Adults, once the students have re-entered the cosmoship, you will be notified that you may travel toward one of the CRSs. Thank you.” Bailen couldn’t believe his luck. The 33

first person in his family in generations to step on land! He wondered what it looked like outside the cosmoship.

Bailen also wondered how long it would take until he could go. The planet rovers were probably exploring the unknown planet at that moment. Bailen was jealous. When he was younger, he would spend hours daydreaming about what it would have felt like to walk around on uneven ground, or to feel a star’s light on his skin. Educator Akiel told Bailen that the star next to Earth was called the Sun. What an odd name, he thought.

Sun.

“Okay, it’s time. Let’s head to the nearest PRS,” exclaimed Educator Akiel. Bailen’s PTD executed a smooth redirection and glided down to the nearest InstanTelepot. Their PTDs entered it one by one and reappeared in a receiving chamber near the CRS. Bailen was giddy with excitement. In the contemporary world of technology, Bailen’s life was comfortably monotonous and repetitive. The new experiences were extremely overwhelming. He had always been a creature of habit. He thought, this is what it must have been like back in ancient times on EarthWorld. People had to interact with their surroundings and make split-second decisions. It must have been so stressful and uncertain. I’m glad that there have been so many new and helpful technological advances. Maybe it’s better we’re not still living on EarthWorld. And imagine life without PTDs! There was no climate control. There’d be perspiration and the risk of being rained on! EarthWorld must have been a brutal place.

“The PRS is now being opened. Keep in mind that your PTD is in ship mode. It is perfectly safe.

However, please put on the automatic respiri that your PTD provides. And make sure that your PTD is in antigravitator space detection shutdown mode. It is advised by your Educator to ‘observe your environment during this priceless learning opportunity.’”

Bailen was jolted out of his ponderings. He pressed his nose to the SpiriGlass as his PTD attached itself to the cosmoship with a fibrocord. Once attached, Bailen floated out into the nothingness. ~ Lucia Gomez-Ibáñez

The Assassin’s War

I slipped through the shadows up to the giant Victorian home. I had been here the night before and I knew what to do. Circling around the side, I looked for the familiar trellis that would be a perfect way to get in. There it was. I surveyed my surroundings once again and began to climb. The little window that led to the attic proved quite a challenge, but I still managed to crawl in without a sound. This was where the fun began.

I opened the little trapdoor and climbed down into the house. A censor at every corner made it harder to get to Erica’s bedroom, but there was a reason I was the best at my game. I pranced through the halls and down to the last door. She was in there, I could hear her. Humming her happy little song as the clickity-clack of her typing rang out across the room. There were two ways I could do this, barge in, or sneak in. Of course, I went with the wiser way. The door silently opened and I walked in. As I saw her sitting in the chair across the room, my heart felt a tang of guilt. I shouldn’t be here. She spun around in her chair to face me.

“I thought you’d come earlier,” she whispered.

“I came as soon as I could. You know I don’t have much time anymore,” I replied. “Anyway, you have any good news? I just came to check in with you. Before I go off-world for a while.”

“Well, there isn’t much good news. In fact, it’s horrible,” she hesitates “I- Dad made Dex propose. He-” She couldn’t finish.

“That’s- not good.” My palms got sweaty. I couldn’t finish. “What did you say?”

“Father decided he would answer for me,” she said, with an edge of hatred in her voice. “Luke, you know I can’t tell him about you. This is our secret.”

“I know, I know,” I replied as I sat down on the bed. Erica came over and slung her arm over my shoulders. I leaned over and felt her soft hair on my face. That’s when I heard the footsteps thundering up the stairs.

“I have to go. I wish I didn’t have to leave now. We could figure this out. But you know I’ll come back. I love you, Erica,” I whispered.

34

“I love you too Luke, but I wish it wasn’t like this.” She leaned back and went back to her desk. With one look back I slipped out the window. It was still dark out. As I walked away from the house, I thought about where to go. At sunrise I would need to be getting ready to go off-world. I only had so much time. Wishing I could just stay with Erica, I reached the road. With lights off, I drove away.

I reached the launch pad at dawn. The shuttle was already there. I showed them my forged ticket and a little extra cash, and I was on. I surveyed my surroundings as I made my way to the back of the shuttle. As always there was one escape pod in the back. The basic inner galactic shuttle. This one should go to the mining planet Borix E9R, which is where I could meet my informant.

A couple hours later, I was there. I went to the abandoned mine shafts where I always met with him. We had planned to meet at 10:30. It was 10:10 when I arrived and I saw a light flashing further down. I rounded a corner to see two people standing in the big domelike room. One was the informant, the other, I did not recognize. I could faintly hear them speaking.

“…just slowing him down. Someone needs to get rid of her. I think you are a good choice for the job.” whispered the informant. “He will be arriving soon though, you must go.”

The stranger stepped back, bowed, and hurried out of the room using a tunnel I had never seen before. I walked into the meeting room.

“Ahhh, Luke. It’s good to see you. Come in, we have much to discuss. Have you heard of the planet Lovoria? It is on the far side of this system and is heavily populated with diplomats and politicians. So naturally, it is heavily guarded.” He spoke through a vocoder that made his voice deep and metallic.

“I have heard it mentioned. Why? Is that where I should go?” I replied. My voice echoed around the room and the informant stepped back and walked to a bench in the corner.

Sitting down, he said, “Yes. I am getting old, my boy. And I wished one thing my entire life, to have this system free of the tyranny that rules us. Your job you ask? Make my dream come true.”

“You want me to kill the President? Grand Admiral Alistar?” I replied, startled at the thought.

“I do. That isn’t such a big task for the best in the galaxy,” He said it as if it was an insult.

“I heard what you were saying to that other hunter just before I came in. I know you want to kill Erica.

But trust me, she’s not a problem. I can still work, even with her in my life.” I walked over to him. I felt the anger getting to me. He sighed.

“That’s where you’re wrong. And plus, the hunter’s already gone. And unless the Interceptor is fixed, you’re too late,” he said quietly.

“I have to stop him.” I turned to leave.

“Luke, if this is really what you want, then be careful. You know I’ll have to release a message to the hunter’s company. You will be a wanted criminal for treason against the company.” He went quiet. “Good luck.”

I walked down the tunnels and back to the landing bay to pad 37. And there she was, right where I left her. The Interceptor. The fastest ship in the system. If I wanted to catch that hunter, this was the ship for it. I walked in and climbed up to the cockpit. With the flick of a switch, everything turned on. This repair crew had really worked their magic. I pointed the needle-shaped ship into the sky, and I was gone.

It wasn’t hard to track the other hunter, since all company ships have trackers on them. That would make it hard to escape from the other hunters, but I wasn’t a traitor until I attacked that ship. I looked down at the screen in front of me. The cannons had already locked on. I could finish it with the tap of a button. But that would be too obvious. Instead, I gave the ship one more boost of speed and turned off all the power. It drifted up to the hunter’s cargo vessel and I was able to steer the ship into the docking port. If the ship weren’t destroyed, then they wouldn’t know anything ever happened. I opened the hatch and slipped into the cargo ship. I knew that I had to get to the bridge before we went supersonic, or else the Interceptor would be lost forever. I made my way across the ship to the bridge and there was the hunter. He had a comm beacon in his hand and he was staring right at me.

“I was wondering when ya’d arrive,” he said in a heavy southern accent. “You see, I’ve been told to kill your little missus back home. I knew you couldn’t let that happen.” My hand went to my belt where my knife was hidden, but he waved the beacon in my face.

35

“One click and your name is across the whole company as a traitor. Then it would have just been easier to blow me up, wouldn’t it have been.” He smiled. He turned to the control panel and pressed a button and I heard doors behind me seal shut.

“Well it’s just you and me now,” he whispered.

“Let’s settle it like the people we really are. He tossed the beacon on the table and drew two long-bladed hunting knives from beneath his cloak. I reached for my belt and took up a silver butterfly knife. I flipped it open and in my other hand, drew a timed coin-sized bomb.

“Now there’s a timer,” I muttered as I pressed it and the red light began to flash. I threw it over to a wall and it magnetized itself there.

“You’re confident, I’ll give you that,” he said, Ellie Thomas sharpening his blades against each other. “It’s a shame, you were a good hunter. But you care too much.”

With that he lunged, both knives pointed forwards. I side-stepped, and he slashed back at me. I deflected it with my blade and as he was redrawing, I went on my own strike. I switched my knife from my left hand to my right and swiped up his chest. He stepped back and crossed his knives over his chest to block the incoming slash. At that point, I saw his defensive strategy and dropped the knife while I was slashing, caught it with my left hand, and cut across his left thigh. I flipped the blade back to my right hand as the hunter stumbled and caught himself against a control panel. Glancing at the bomb, I saw that it was beeping furiously and flashing.

The hunter was getting up and limping towards me. I dropped to the ground and swept his feet out from under him. He fell backward and hit his head against the button that controlled the doors; they screeched open behind me and I jumped back and ran to the hallway. One glance at the bomb told me it was about to blow. I tossed the knife up in my hand, caught it, and threw it at the button. It slashed through the hunter’s robes and pinned him to the board. I hit my mark and the doors closed again as the bomb blew a hole in the bridge and everything was sucked into the empty vacuum of space.

Alarms blared as I ran down to the Interceptor and jumped in. I demagnetized and set an autopilot path to Earth. I turned and went to put the tracking beacon offline. I was a traitor now. They would be following me. Grabbing a new knife off the rack on the wall, I went and sat in the control chair. The Interceptor went supersonic and blasted toward Earth. I landed in the backfield of the house and Captain Dex ran out with a troop of guards behind him.

“You need to leave. The hunter’s company is after you. You aren’t safe here,” I said as I stepped down from the Interceptor. All their guns were facing me. “Let me take Erica.”

“Who are you? The company has nothing against me, and you will never take Erica,” he yelled. He motioned for the guards to put down their guns. “Speak.”

“I am an assassin of the hunter’s company. I have,” I hesitated, “I have connections with Erica, and the company knows this. They want to kill her.”

“I’ve never seen you before. Get off this property or I’ll gut you where you stand,” he yelled as he motioned for the guards to bring up their guns again. I don’t move.

“Get Erica. Let her speak her mind.” I told him. “Please. She isn’t safe.”

“Get Erica.” He whispered to one of the guards. The guard ran back to the house. Dex stared at me.

Moments later, Erica came out.

“Luke! I thought you-” She stopped herself. “Sir, who are you, and why have you come.”

“Erica you’re in danger. You have to come with me,” I said to her, motioning to the Interceptor. The company is after you.”

She started to the Interceptor, but Dex stopped her.

36

“Dex, please. I trust Luke.” she pleaded. Dex pushed her back and stepped forward.

“Dex! Let me go!” she pleaded. I knew he wouldn’t. Just then, the sky went dark. A star cruiser covered the sun. Hundreds of pods and fighters screamed out the bay doors and raced towards us. The lead fighter rained fire on the field. Guards scattered and Erica raced toward me. Dex was left in the middle of the field yelling for his guards.

“Cowards!” he cried out. Just then a modified bomber flew overhead and dropped a T13 firebomb. It flew down towards Dex and for a moment there was silence as it hit the ground. Then the great BOOM and the crackling of synthetic fire followed. The ball of fire expanded and lit the field up. A transport landed and troopers filed out towards the house and the Interceptor. We reached the ship and I fired up the engines. Erica looked out the window as the great house she grew up and lived in slowly burned to the ground. The Interceptor lifted up and blasted out of the atmosphere. After minutes in space, the sun dropped down on Earth and the stars began to shine brighter. I turned to Erica, who was still crying.

“Where do you want to go?” I asked. “Where can we go?” She wiped the tears from her eyes and turned to me.

“Away,” she whispered. “Far away.”

“As you wish.” I turned around and pushed the throttle hard. The Interceptor shook and left the Earth forever. ~ Holden Brew

Mission Red

Today is the day. December 15, 2042. The day that NASA will announce the crew of the first Ares mission. The first people to go to Mars. The news will reach the candidates first at 11 am. Only then, an hour later, will it be released to the media. I remind myself of this as I open my eyes to the sunlight shining through the blinds. I drag myself out of bed and slouch into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee.

The clock reads 8:47. Two hours and thirteen minutes left until the email arrives. Two hours and thirteen minutes of worry. I think to myself as I fall onto the couch and switch the TV on.

I flip through the channels, but there isn’t anything good to watch.

My mind starts to wander, and suddenly, I’m eight again. I’m watching TV at my grandmother’s house when a news update interrupts my Saturday morning cartoons. I’m upset until I hear the words ‘Mars’ and ‘astronaut.’ I turn Bobby Frigon my full attention to the TV just in time to catch the reporter announce that NASA is planning a manned mission to Mars. My mouth drops open in wonder, and my head fills with images of rockets and spacesuits. That was the day I knew I would do whatever it takes to become an astronaut.

A subtle beeping shakes me out of my reverie. The coffee is ready. As I pour myself a mug and sit back down on the couch, my nerves come flooding back. Being an astronaut has been my biggest goal for as long as I can remember. When I was a kid, I remember staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling and imagining myself walking on one. But that was before I learned that stars are made up of gas and would be too hot to get near enough to walk on. I remember asking for tickets to space camp when I turned nine, and then every year after.

37

I get lost in my memories again, and all of a sudden, I’m twenty-two. A brand-new graduate of MIT, I was proud to be top of my class, but not overly cocky. I filled out NASA’s online astronaut candidate application the day after graduation. The second I hit submit was the greatest moment of my life up to that point. Even better was the moment I received the invitation to the program about a week later.

I am pulled out of the memory by my phone ringing. One glance at the caller ID tells me it is my mom.

She is probably calling to wish me luck. I let the phone go to voicemail and sigh. My phone rings angrily a few more times, then goes silent. Well, even if I don’t make the crew this mission, I’ll still make the backup crew.

I’ll ’ll still go to space. Someday. But even as I think that I know I won’t be satisfied with second place. I care too much not to be first. I get up from the couch and start pacing around the room. I can’t even imagine my life if I don’t reach my goal. If I don’t become an astronaut, I don’t know what I’ll do. Everything I’ve ever done has led me toward my dream. All of the hours I’ve spent studying so that I could get a scholarship to my dream school. All of the hours I’ve spent training at Johnson Space Center to become the top astronaut candidate. I can’t fathom all of that effort being wasted. I stop pacing abruptly and look out my window at the New York City skyline.

As I watch the familiar New York traffic, my mind flashes through all of the physical evaluations and medical tests NASA has put me through. Every simulation they’ve put me through, and every trip on the Vomit Comet. It finally settles on my first time on the human centrifuge. I remember walking into the room with a nurse and immediately feeling intimidated by the massive metal arm that would be spinning me up to fortynine meters per second. I remember the panic that arose inside of me as I was strapped in and as the centrifuge slowly started to spin. The human centrifuge is designed to exert five g’s of pressure on a human’s legs and to keep the normal one g on a human’s head. As the centrifuge picked up speed, I was thankful for that. I couldn’t move my legs at all, and my head was spinning. When I finally got off of the centrifuge, it was a struggle to stay upright, and an even bigger struggle to keep my breakfast down.

As I shake myself out of my daydreams, I check the clock. It’s 10:56! I grab my laptop from the coffee table and sit down on the couch again. As I log in and open my email, I wonder if I’m really ready for all of the pressure the mission brings. I know I’m not prepared for failure, but what if I’m not ready for success either? Am I really ready for all of the media attention if I am chosen? All of my doubts start creeping up on me as the clock ticks down. I get lightheaded, and I realize I must be hyperventilating. As the one-minute mark approaches, my hands start to shake. Thirty seconds left. Then fifteen. As I stare at the screen, a ridiculous thought pops into my head. Does space really smell like burnt-toast? I shake my head and start the countdown.

“T-minus 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.” A new email pops up on my screen. And as I click, I know that this moment will change my life forever. ~ Yaz Aubrey

38

Sophia Venetis

Perseverance

The southernmost part of the Southern Atlantic Ocean is a tough place. To be on a 350’ research boat in the roaring forties was one thing, but to be alone on a 60’ foiling sailboat in the roaring forties, and 1,200 miles from the land was totally another. That happened to be just where Alani Moorhen was when she realized something was wrong. The boat wasn’t sailing correctly, something was off, something bad, and just the thought of that made her sick. She was, in fact, near Nemo point, the farthest point from any inhabited land in the world.

Being one thousand two hundred miles from land made rescue a slim prospect.

To be in the Vendée Globe and get anywhere you had to be a pro. Alani had been sailing her whole life and training for years. Her boat, Fly High, was five years old, modified for this race but not built for it. Alani had sailed across the Atlantic, around Australia, and from Portugal to South Africa on three separate solo trips.

She had more than the necessary experience to qualify for the Vendée Globe, an around the world sailing race starting and ending in France. She knew that the ocean’s emotions wavered and that it could have severe mood swings from calm to raging and back again. However, nearer to Antarctica, the ocean was always raging. It could toss a boat about and snap it in half like a toothpick if it felt like it.

The Roaring Forties had been named by sailors a long time ago, but the nicknames stuck around. The forty degrees area was named the Roaring Forties, followed by the Furious Fifties and the Screaming Sixties, each 10 degrees in latitude farther south than the last. They all deserved their names. Alani remembered Vendée Globe ice limit only let sailors go into the forties and partway into the fifties because after that there was too much risk of hitting an iceberg, and the line was on her charts. However, you wanted to sail farther south because there is more wind for faster sailing.

Alani had been sleeping for an hour when she was woken by something. In her lethargic state, she couldn’t make sense of much or know what had woken her. After a yawn and rubbing her eyes, she sat up and listened. At first, she heard just the endless crashing of waves and felt the rocking of the boat, up and down, side to side, back and forth. Then she heard the slight tink of metal banging on metal. She sat up and checked the wind speed on the navigation computer. There were 32 knots of wind, but the boat was only going seven knots, rather than 18 or 19. For a confused second, she sat there wondering what to do. Soon she leaped into action, pulling on her foul weather gear and cinching it firmly around her wrists, ankles, and neck.

Howard Keeler

As she wrenched open the hatch to the cockpit, water sloshed inside and she slammed the metal hatch shut again. She waited until the boat was going up a wave to try to climb out again and burst into a very wet, salty world. As the water cleared off of the forward-facing cockpit window, Alani saw a large white and blue piece of the mainsail being thrown around by the harsh wind on the deck of the boat.

A low moaning “no no no noooo!” escaped Alani’s lips as she took in the sight. The 60-foot tall mainsail had torn in half diagonally, and not along a seam, but jaggedly, with a few dangling pieces. The clinking noise she had heard was the small metal pieces in the sail banging against the boat. The metal pieces were meant to help the sail hold its shape but were now useless.

As Alani was observing the damage to the sail, a large swell caught up to the boat, splashing onto the deck and smashing into Alani’s back, slamming her into the wall in front of her and knocking her off her feet.

As the water receded, she gasped at the sudden shock and hauled herself onto her feet and back into the cabin.

Alani wiped the water off her face and out of her ponytail, only to realize her hands were red from a bloody nose. As she cleaned her hands and face, she checked the boat’s course and altered it to head more north and hopefully into calmer and less dangerous seas. She sent a brief message to her team on land, reading: Mainsail torn in half, holding course, but at a reduced speed of 6-9 knots.

39

She only let herself think for a few more seconds before getting up and readying a harness and ropes to go out and take down the sail. Alani double-checked that she had everything before disappearing back out the door and around the cockpit. She clipped herself in so she could not fall overboard and slowly disentangled the lower part of the mainsail from the boom and mast. It was strenuous work because of the constant washing over of waves and the rocking of the boat. She would just be getting a knot loosened and the water and wind would yank at the end again tightening it. Once she got the first part of the sail undone she was forced to put it inside the cabin for fear of it washing away off the deck. The second piece of sail was even more tangled than the first and took more than an hour to get down and undo from the mast.

Since Alani had to concentrate fully on getting the sails inside the boat and stowed away with no loose lines, she didn’t fully realize the predicament she was in until she was sitting inside feeling a lump form on her forehead from another wave that had caught her from the side and sent her tumbling to the deck. It was not good, not good at all. She had very little experience fixing sails and had rarely jury-rigged something and had it work for a sustained amount of time. The boat had two extra headsails of different types but no extra mainsail.

This now seemed like a stupid decision she’d made, but she had done it to reduce weight onboard. Alani debated whether or not she could and should try to fix the sail. On one hand, if she didn’t, she would be out of the Vendée Globe at least for a few days, which she did NOT want to do. But on the other hand, her sail-making and fixing skills were limited and she did not have all the proper materials to do so.

It was a war between herself and herself. The Vendée Globe had been a lifelong dream and if she stopped for repairs it would ruin her chance of winning. She would also have to wait for the next Vendée Globe which was in four years. Continuing would endanger her life because another problem with her boat -if one arose-, could easily be devastating. She talked with her family and her team onshore through a video call and they gave mixed advice about turning back. Her team said that she had the right tools and experience and was able to do it, but her family was far more safety concerned.

As Alani ended the call, she let out a long weary sigh. She made herself a meal as she thought long and hard. Eventually, she thought “I don’t have the skill for this or the materials, I need to get repairs,’’ and called for a boat to come to get her. As Alani walked towards the computer to make her call, she forgot to hold on and a wave hit the side of the boat, tipping it sideways and tossing Alani sideways into the wall. Her knee cracked down on the floor and she yelled, mad at the wind and water for punishing her for nothing. She curled into a ball on the ever-rocking floor and cried into her knees.

Crying sorted her out, releasing the hard twist in her stomach. It shook her and her thoughts up, and she realized, maybe that wave at that moment had meant something. Maybe the ocean didn’t want her to make that call. Maybe it was testing her, making her rethink this problem. It was a crazy thought, but it made her remember. “I am 1,200 miles from shore, it could take weeks for them to get to me out here!” followed by: “I may not be a sailmaker, but I am a professional sailor,” and a flow of positive thoughts in favor of fixing her sail and finishing the race. This totally changed her state of mind and instead of grabbing the phone, she grabbed the tools to finish the sail.

There was nowhere near enough room to lay out the full sail but she rolled up the part that she was not working on and shoved it to the side. She cut, glued, and even did some stitching to put the sail back together. It was strenuous and difficult to align the pieces without wrinkles and to make sure the edge that connected to the mast was as straight as possible. The final result was eight feet shorter than the original sail and was wrinkled around the repair job. Alani admired her work but was skeptical as to if it would hold up to the brutal southern winds.

By now the boat with one sail had traveled slightly further north where there was a little less wind, but it was not calm, or even close. But she still had the work of getting the sail outside and setting it up. This all had to be done harnessed in again because she could NOT risk falling overboard.

It took her multiple tries to get the burdensome sail in the right position, and longer still to bring it up the mast with the wind pulling at it. But Alani was determined because she had no other options, and so, with arms burning, she heaved it up the last several inches and secured the taught line. She pulled in the mainsail so it would catch the wind and Fly High began to fly. Not exactly flying, but foiling sure could make it seem like it, 40

gliding over the rough water.

The boat eventually went fast enough that the waves stopped catching up to it and the aft deck became peaceful and a lot drier. Dry enough, in fact, for Alani to enjoy the feelings of triumph, success, and perseverance while sitting and watching a beautiful southern ocean sunset.

~ Susanna Lowell

Survivor

Walk. Just walk.

That is what I repeated to myself over and over. If I didn’t, I feared I would endanger them. My little town was covered in Hitler’s Teufel1. I remember when I first saw him on the little bunny ear TV, my parents adored him. And the worst thing is that I did too.

“Was machst du, kleines Mädchen2?”

“I-I-ch gehe ein-n-n-fach nach Hau-au-se!3” My worst nightmare, a Nazi was going to find out! They were all going to die! This is my Native Language! Why did I stutter! They’re all going to die! It’s all my fault!!!

“Mach dir keine Sorgen, du bist sicher, kleines deutsches Mädchen.4”

It was easy for him to say. I looked pure at first glance in their eyes. I hated it. The way they saw people.

But arguing wasn’t a good idea right now. “Auf Wiedersehen5.” Just keep walking, keep your head down. I remember in September, maybe five to six years ago, Hitler attacked Poland. He had promised Deutschland would get what it deserved. That we would be brought to the glory days. We did not think he entailed war.

My parents knew we had to get out of here. We traveled to the ferry. We were not the only ones with the same idea.

“Wir sind dast da, Liebling6, soon we will be in America,” my Papa said.

There was lots of rushing, I remember, I was holding my Mama’s hand. And then, I wasn’t. Minutes later the ferry left.

And my parents left with it. I saw them with shocked and scared eyes. On top of the ferry, too far even to hear what they had to say. I just stood there. Feeling wet in my eye. That was the first time I felt alone. That day, I had gone back home. It was the only thing I could think of. What’s a girl who doesn’t trust authorities going to do?

I was alone for a while. In the little apartment building where I had once felt safe. I heard shuffling outside. A note laid on the ground.

Westbrücke 14 Uhr7.

I actually went. It may had been dumb, but I was young. Under the bridge, there was a small fire, barely visible. Around four or five people sat close to this small flame. Then one of the women beckoned something.

Four children, black hair, dirt covered faces, old clothes. The next thing I did was quite blöd8. In truth, I was a bit freaked out. I had stumbled back and fallen down.

“Ist jemand da9?” said the woman that had beckoned the children. I came out slowly. “Bitte sei nicht böse10. I found a note saying to come here.”

“Das ist das Mädchen, über das ich gesprochen habe11. She got left behind. She’s the one that was zurückgelassen12. She can help us fight Hitler.” The voice had been my neighbor. Soon, to be my commander.

Not too long after I joined the resistance, and was brought to this little town. Where I was assigned to the house with the little blue door. You would not know that there was a cellar door in the living room. It was 1 devils 2 What are you doing, little girl?

3 I’m going home.

4 Don’t worry. You are safe, little German girl.

5 Goodbye.

6 Almost there, darling.

7 West Bridge 2 p.m.

8 Stupid 9 Is someone there?

10 Please don’t be angry.

11 This is the girl I was talking about.

12 left behind

41

where they would stay. Away from the Nazis.

Wilhelm, Frieda, Anna, Hans, Marta, Karl, Lora

I was their protector.

“Just survive, If you do, they do.” Those were the words my commander told me. I have hung on to them. Those words have made every choice for me. I chose to live for them. Sie waren die Priorität13.

“Die Amerikaner greifen an! FEUER!14”

Gun fire. Der Krieg ist in meine Stadt gekommen!15 I ran. I had to get there. Men and boys were running with their guns. Panicked mothers calling for their children. Tanks rolling pointing their blasters. Get to the blue door! Get to the blue door! I felt a sudden tug. A man in green of all shades grabbed my arm.

“Calm down!” He yelped as I turned around, he looked scared, but brave and concerned at the same time.

I stamped on his foot. Hard. He let go and I bolted towards the house. I regretted it but I had a mission.

You have to get there. Before the bombs do. Before one of them gets hurt. I swung the door open. Tapped the floor six times and knocked the wall two. Fourteen feet ran out of the cellar. They were all safe. But we had to move.

“What’s wrong?” That was Anne.

“Are we in trouble?”little Karl.

“Hast du Essen mitgebracht16?” Hans.

“Not the time to ask tha-,” Wihelm

“We have to get out of here. The town is under attack.” I said as I tried to hide the panic in my voice.

The seven heads all of a sudden looked up. Some had gone white; others smiled.

“Guess what kiddos. The Allies won.”

2 years after the end of World War II

It had been eight years since I had seen my parents. The children that had been in that cellar had gone off to be with their families, but Anne and Karl were by my side. That day two years ago, the Nazis lost and Hitler shot himself in the head. We had been brought to a military base and asked our family’s names. Because Anne and Karl’s parents had died in the war, they stuck with me. We were each other’s families. I was nervous, last time we saw each other, we did not end on good terms. And I feared that they would not want to see me. They were 15 minutes late.

“Hey, you ok?” whispered Anne.

“Oh you know, Nerven.17”

“ Your parents live two miles away without a Wage- er.. I mean car.” Karl had been trying to practice his English for America.

“Entschuldigung, Entschuldigung.18”

First I heard them. Then I saw them, much older. My Papa had earned himself some gray hairs. My Mama had beaten Papa, though ,with her waves of gray. Little Karl looked at me and whispered something about “getting ready.”

“OVER HERE!!! IHRE TOCHTER HIER DRUEBEN19 !!!” Karl was screaming at the top of his lungs.

Oh brother, a smile crossed my face. My Mama and Papa turned around and looked at me.

I could feel myself crying, but different than the day we parted. My Papa and Mama ran towards me. I let go of Anne and Karl’s hands and ran towards them.

Das Ende ~Elizabeth Jazo 13 They were the priority.

14 The Americans are attacking! Fire!

15 The war has come to my city!

16 Did you bring food?

17 Nerves 18 Excuse me, excuse me.

19 Your daughter is over here!

42

Excerpt from the novel: James Yeun and the Ethereal Bloom Prologue

On the 14th of March, two babies were found bundled up on the steps outside of the Boston Public Library, which, unfortunately, would not have been entirely unusual save the fact that the two stone lions that had stood tall on their pedestals on either side of the stairs inside the building for more a century were now curled around the boys as if protecting them. This puzzled the people of Boston, seeing as stone did not normally move in this plane of the world, but to those watching these events transpire, it was in no way unusual.

Eventually, the whole event was chalked up to vandalism, because, nine times out of ten, people would rather blame any abnormality on crime rather than even begin to ponder the impossible.

The two boys were taken to a local orphanage. When unwrapped from their blankets, the only identification on the very clearly newborn babies was two matching necklaces, each a gold pendant inscribed with an illuminated ‘J.’ ‘J Yeun’ for the dark-eyed baby, and ‘J Robinson’ for the blue-eyed one. The orphanage workers, who were not paid enough to name little loose babies off the streets, gave them the first two names that came to mind: James, quite unoriginally, and Jason, as the second worker had been on a bit of a Greek mythology binge recently.

As the years went on, no one came forward to claim them, and they grew up together in the orphanage, side by side. It was clear they were not related by blood, as Jason grew to be a strapping, blondhaired blue-eyed confident, friendly child while James stayed small and

scrawny, with dark, almond-shaped eyes and a distinct distaste for social interactions and an affinity for science. Despite their differences, Jason finding fun in sports and theater- his first love performances of all kind- and James sitting on the side of the recess yard under a tree with a good book and even better thoughts, they stayed close friends, intrinsically linked by the subject of their birth, but beyond that, the bond of brothers.

Every night, as they lay in the cramped attic space Jason had charmed the old lady who ran the orphanage into letting them renovate into a private room, they talked about all the theories of who their parents were: leaders of a mafia or a secret society, wizards, or gods.

James had always found fantasy impractical, but the light their stories brought was prize enough for him.

Jason never thought their existence was normal- how could he? Two babies, the babies who moved lions of marble- it was too good to be true. He held himself with importance, and his pride showed like gold. James, on the other hand, was always skeptical.

The reality was disappointing, why hope for magic only to be met with disappointment? But both boys could always feel the energy in the world around them, whether it was when they lay silent in bed with the lights off or hurrying home through the city as the sunset on the horizon. The darkness always seemed to watch them, waiting, listening, poised to strike. That was the one thing Jason could never feel optimistic about. It was the one thing no amount of reason could overcome for James. It was an unspoken understanding between them when the light darkened and their hands slipped together, squeezing as they walked faster and faster, jaws tight

and hearts pounding. While others dismissed it as a child’s fear of the dark, James and Jason both had an indescribable understanding of that danger in the shadows.

Unbeknownst to them, their intuition was right. Nothing is more dangerous than the void.

Chapter 1

Ah. March. Home of both the coldest and warmest days of a thawing spring. Unfortunately for James, whose hands were constantly as cold as ice, it was the first. He and Jason were on their way home from school after another grueling day of sixth grade, a day as bland as any other, save for the fact that it was their shared birthday.

Unfortunately, the weather of Boston didn’t seem to think this was worth celebrating, nor did anyone else in the world. The streets were wet and icy, dirty snow and slush piled up on the edges of the sidewalks. The sky was grey and overcast, the sun hovering over the horizon, and the air a biting 18 degrees. The day was nothing special, but James could only smile at the thought of their birthday celebration. They had saved up all their meager allowance for two cupcakes and a movie, and their annual tradition of pillow forts and staying up past midnight never failed to bring warmth to James’s chest.

Beside him, Jason chattered on like the air was eighty degrees and the world was bright and sunny.

Despite everything, he radiated heat- a stark contrast to James, who was bundled in as many coats and sweaters as he owned.

“You know James, I get that you hate intermediate school, but we’re so close to being finished!

Just a month or so more, right? Then we’re off to middle school- we’re gonna be so big and responsible and we’ll get to a world where 43

everything makes sense. One more month and then we shall finally be free of tyranny!” he cried.

James grinned and rolled his eyes.“Come on, it can’t be that great,” James reasoned. “School is school- it will always be more of the same with a cookie-cutter curriculum that doesn’t care about its students.”

“Oh come on- you’ve seen the movies! Adventure!

Responsibility!” He grinned and elbowed James. “Romance~”

“Oh ew-”

James laughed and shoved Jason, barely moving him. Jason gave him a shove back and James stumbled a little, both of them laughing even harder.

“James. Jason, I see you are back from school.”

Both of them straightened up, nodding immediately. Jason reached up to straighten his hair and James brushed off his jacket. It was Miss Gertrude Milicent Clive, the head of the orphanage, aging, stooped old lady with a stern face and hair as grey as steel wool and twice as rough. Unfortunately, she was also in charge of anyone and everyone who was presented as an option to be adopted, and while she held a soft spot for Jason, James had always remained unimpressive in her eyes.

“Yes, Miss Clive,” they answered automatically, Jason grinning, James serious.

She looked over them with flat, ice blue eyes lined with wrinkles and tutted. She let out a withering sigh.

“James, I must speak with you in my office.”

James gritted his teeth and nodded, wondering what on earth she could take issue with now. His untidy hair? His chipped glasses?

Wearing too many sweaters? She loved to pick on him. Knobbly 44

knees, skinny ribs, too serious, he understood that she wanted him to be perfect so someone would adopt him, but he shouldn’t have to change who he was for someone to want him, should he?

“Okay.”

He blinked and looked down.

Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

He looked over at Jason, who met him with a comforting smile.

“Great! What is it? Has someone looked into adopting us?”

Ryan Waite

Jason said, voice full of his signature never-pausing energy that was so comforting to James.

Miss Clive’s eyes narrowed.

“Alone, please.”She turned and began marching into the building, her long, wool overcoat dragging in the slush behind her.

James let out a sigh and followed her inside, heart pounding harder with every step.

After Jason heard the door to the office close, he slipped inside, crouching in the hallway, eye pressed to the keyhole.

The door clicked shut behind them, and James gulped at the sight of two men, both slick and smart-looking, dressed in impeccably pressed black suits. Miss Clive gestured to the seat across the desk from the men, and James sat. It felt like nothing less than an interrogation.

Instantly, James’s body tensed.

Something about the men put him off. Something didn’t feel right. He squeezed his hands together. He

wished Jason was there.

“James Yeun, these men have a proposition for you,” Ms. Clive said with no lack of distaste in her voice. “Ridiculous intellectuals.”

The first man sat forwards, a sleazy and winning smile on his face.

“Mr. Yeun! My name is Sade and this is my partner Abstruse, and we have heard all about you. You’re an extremely talented young man, and your latest science project-”

“The one examining how the quantum field relates to the general theory of relativity,” Abstruse interrupted.

Sade grinned, nodding along.

“Well, it would be an understatement to say that it has caught our attention,” he finished.

James blinked at them.

“Okay?” he said, clearly confused.

“Well, long story short, we’re recruiters for a boarding school in New York specializing in STEM fields. We’d be willing to offer you a full scholarship for all six years,” Sade explained, his grin never wavering.

James’s eyes widened.

“A full scholarship? Seventh through twelfth grade?”

They both shot him winning smiles. James grinned.

This felt too good to be true… a full scholarship… to a school that specialized in his interests; he loved learning. But public school felt like it was slowly beating him down.

Maybe, just maybe, this school could fix everything.

“Why yes! You’d be in a place filled with intelligent, creative students just like you! A place that values intellect, a school that treats individuality as the blessing it is!”

Sade said with a grin.

“I-I can’t believe it…” James sat back in his chair, wonderstruck.

The men looked at each other and smiled.

“Well kid, a genius like you doesn’t come around every day,” they said.

James smiled.

“That sounds amazing.”

Outside in the hall, Jason’s heart dropped. He fell back from the door as it had burned him. JamesJames was going to be taken away from him- James, the one constant in an ever-changing world. Sure he had other friends, but James- he loved James. He needed him. He stood, mind racing, eyes burning with tears.

James wanted to go. James was going to leave him. James didn’t care about him anymore. Jason turned and ran, running all the way up the stairs to the attic. Everything felt like it was spinning. The whole world felt like it was upside down.

He looked aroundeverything, everything about their lives was tied together. They were a pair! Inseparable! He glared at the cupcakes sitting on their worn desk. Vanilla for him, strawberry for James. His heart hurt. It was their birthday. It was their birthday, and James had betrayed him. James had destroyed their lives and torn apart everything they had built together.

Jason let out a cry and smashed his hand into the box, crushing the cupcakes, tears streaming down his face. He deflated, sinking to the floor.

James was going away.

James was leaving him.

James looked back and forth between the men. This was a dream come true. This was amazing!

Finally. He had spent his whole life in the shadows, brushed past in the halls, looked over by teachers for the most trivial of reasons, always held to the highest standard and beyond,

yet with no reward for his hard work.

But this… now everything could be better. Everything would be perfect.

But what about Jason? He couldn’t leave his brother.

“This- this is amazing! I’d love to go, but is it possible that I could bring my friend? He’s smart too, and so talented at theater and sports-” Sade looked at Abstruse, and they both grimaced.

“Do you mean Jason Robinson?”

James nodded, and the two men sighed.

“I’m sorry to break this to you James, but, well you’re old enough. You turn twelve today, right?” James nodded again, his smile fading. Sade continued. “I’m going to be honest with you. Jason just… isn’t smart enough for our school. He’s not like you, he’s not... special.”

Abstruse shot James an apologetic grin.

“Besides, we only have room for one scholarship student a year.

What do you value more? A friend, or your future?”

James was silent. The decision was easy. He knew exactly what Jason would do in this situation. They had gone to school with each other for eight years and they would go to school together for six more.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t leave him. He’s like my brother,” Jason said.

Part of his chest hurt to give up such a wonderful opportunity, but he couldn’t stand to think of all the pain that decision would have brought Jason.

Sade smiled thinly and sat back.

“Of course, of course. But we urge you to reconsider. We’ll come back soon. Very soon. In the

meantime, I would think long and hard about this. We need more… special people like you at our wonderful school.”

James looked down.

“Okay. I’ll think about it.”

James stood up and made his way to the door. He stopped and looked back, and for just one second he swore both men’s eyes went pure, empty, black. His heart slammed in his chest. He blinked, and just as suddenly, everything was back to normal, probably a trick of the light.

He took a few deep breaths and stepped out of the hallway, making his way back upstairs to their room.

“Hey, Jason! You ready for cupcakes?” he said, opening the door.

Then he froze. Jason was sitting in the middle of the floor, his back to James, his body shaking with sobs.

“Jason? Are you okay?

What’s wrong?”

James started to move forwards, his hand resting on Jason’s shoulder. Then Jason whipped around and pushed him away, redfaced and furious.

“How could you?!”

“What?”

James stepped back. Jason rose, towering over James, face twisted in fury and betrayal.

“How could you, James? You promised we’d always stay together!

How could you leave me?!” he cried.

“I-I don’t understand- what are you talking about Jason?”

“I heard everything! The office! The fancy school of whatever for amazing smart kids who want to leave their family!” Jason snapped.

“You- you eavesdropped?!”

James clenched his fists and glared.

“Don’t you trust me at all?!”

“Not anymore,” Jason sneered.

“Jason, Jason, please. Just listen to me; we can talk this out -” 45

James started forwards.

Jason’s eyes flashed and he snarled, lunging forwards. He shoved James, sending him tumbling back into the desk. James gasped in pain. Jason glared down at him, tears dripping down his face before he turned and ran down the stairs, out of the orphanage, and into the streets.

James stumbled to his feet, wincing as he ran after Jason.

The streets were wet and the sky was cloudy and overcast and everything was pitch black and freezing. James ran after Jason, feet slapping the icy pavement as he chased after his best friend.

“Jason please- wait! I can explain! I swear I wasn’t going to leave you!”

James’s lungs screamed as his breathing grew heavier and heavier. James was many things, but athletic was not exactly in the top ten. Or twenty. Maybe even fifty.

Jason veered down a side street and stopped at a small square and stopped, panting. He turned to face James, a glare on his face.

James stumbled after him, panting harshly and looking up at Jason with pleading eyes.

“Jason, Jason, please-”

The anger in Jason’s eyes flared once more.

“Will you just stop-”

Then two twin chilling laughs echoed around them. The lights around the square slowly went out one after the other in puffs of shadow. Jason and James both gulped, immediately rushing to each other’s side, quarrel forgotten. The last lamp flickered and crackled to its death and the boys were plunged into thick, impenetrable darkness.

The laughter grew and grew all around them as two familiar figures stepped into the square, their eyes flashing darker than the shadow, grins glowing and silver. Pure 46

black seemed to ripple from them in vicious waves. James and Jason froze. Their hands slipped together.

The figures stepped forwards.

“Have you thought more about our offer, James?” Sade said.

His voice sounded unnatural, high and low and soft and grating all at once; it felt like the crunch of bones of a dead bird on the side of a desert highway had learned to speak.

James looked to Jason.

“Run?” “Run.”

They bolted, splitting up and ducking past both Sade and Abstruse and weaving back together, diving, rushing, sprinting towards the light of the streets. Behind them, the two men shrieked- a terrible, inhuman sound, the sound of bones splitting and cracking under ice- and their bodies dissolved, their suits roiling and consuming them, rippling and pouring outwards into indefinable mountains of shadow. Their pale faces twisted into carved masks splattered with gruesome, gleeful expressions. They chased after the boys, and as they did, it was like they were ripping all the shadow from the world and bringing it with them. Alongside the boys, every streetlamp they passed popped and went dark. In a race between shadow and light, it was very clear who was winning.

Just as James and Jason skidded around the corner, a brilliant flash of white light erupted from the wall of the building, and a girl stepped out of a glowing portal onto the wet, dirty streets of Boston. She was short, almost as short as James, with brown shoulder-length hair and bangs. She wore a sort of cloak, a long pearly blue hooded robe stretching down to her knees with elbow-length sleeves that couldn’t be doing much against the wind. But the most noticeable thing about her,

aside from the glowing magic, were her eyes. They were a stark silverwhite, milky and distant. She was blind.

“James!” she cried, grabbing James’s and Jason’s wrists.

“Who are you? How do you know my name?” James said.

“Talk later! I need to get you out of here!”

She tugged their arms and they tumbled after her, running in tandem down the streets of Boston as the mass of shadows grew and grew behind them.

James felt his lungs growing thick with the cold biting air, his legs working faster than they ever had, fueling him forwards with nothing but the pure adrenaline of terror. The shadow creatures screeched behind them, and the girl cursed in some old language James didn’t understand.

“Why are they here so soon?

We were supposed to have time!” she panted. They darted across the street and into a park. Yanking James close, the girl reached deep into the pocket of her robe and pressed something into James’s hands. Then she pushed him towards the shadows and fell to her knees, her hands glowing with white-gold energy.

James unfolded his hands. The girl had given him a silver necklace with a swirling purple crystal embedded in the center. He looked up. The shadows were growing closer- he could see them swarming around the block. He looked back at the girl, eyes wide and hands shaking. He watched as she traced her hands in a circle on the cobblestones of the path, glowing marks following her touch.

“What do I do with this?

Throw it at them?!” James asked.

“No, you idiot! Press the crystal!” she cried.

James raised an eyebrow.

Today had been… insane, but what

was the necklace going to do? Turn into a weapon?

He pressed the crystal and that was exactly what it did.

The necklace glowed, purple light dancing before James’s eyes.

The necklace grew in his hands, gold and silver weaving around his fist and outwards into a thin, sharp blade. The hilt wrapped around his hand in a lattice of gold and silver, purple crystals embedded in the hilt.

It was a rapier.

“What on Earth-”

“Did it work?” the girl snapped.

“Yeah! It- it did!” James replied, still in awe. The girl stopped scribbling at the ground, wonder flashing across her face.

“So you are the one.”

“Wait, you gave me a magic sword thing without actually knowing if it would work?!”

“I was like, seventy percent sure!”

“That’s not sure enough!

Ninety percent would make me feel better!”

A scream interrupted them and James turned back to the alley entrance. The shadows were growing closer.

“What do I do?!”

“Fight the dark ones! And don’t die!” she called back.

James nodded, squaring up to the shadows, sword held tight in both hands. Jason looked between them, seemingly forgotten.

“What should I do? Do I get a magic sword too?” Jason said.

“Nope! All out of magic swords! Just, uh, stand over near me! I need to finish summoning our portal out of here!”

The shadows roared. James could feel his legs shaking, his whole body trembling with fear.

How the heck was he going to fight literal shadows? Wouldn’t the blade

just pass through them like leaves through smoke?

The shadows shot forwards and James slashed at the semicorporeal swarm, fully expecting the blade to pass right through.

It did not.

It felt like he was dragging the blade through syrup, thick and sticky. A shadow screamed, a sound like razor blades on a chalkboard.

He winced and pulled the sword back. Thick, dark sludge coated the blade. The shadow collapsed, dissolving back into the darkness.

James grinned and raised the sword, confidence flooding through his veins.

He slashed and stabbed, taking down shadow after shadow. It felt natural. The rapier was perfectly balanced like it was an extension of his arm. The blade worked alongside him to take down shade after shade. It felt right like he was meant to do this. His mind switched into overdrive, calculating and anticipating each shade’s attacks and retreats.

It would have been easy if there weren’t so many of them. They swirled around him, dissolving and recuperating like a swarm of fish in the ocean. The storm tore at James, wind dragging his arms down and exhaustion drenching him to the bone. His muscles burned, and he could feel himself tiring. There were just too many. There was no way he could do this by himself.

A blast of gold-white light lit up the darkness behind him. The girl stood beside him, magic flickering around her. Her silver eyes flashed dangerously as she fought, landing blow after blow. James watched in amazement. It was like she knew where each shade would strike next and how best to fight back. Even blind she was doing way better than him. She slashed through one

particularly large shadow, hand engulfed in a crackling lavender glow.

But they still couldn’t last forever. It was the two of them against the darkness, and the tide was beginning to turn. The shadows began swarming towards James, bypassing the girl and swooping towards him in a wave of darkness.

The girl began defending him, but James could see her strength draining.

“James! The portal’s ready!

Go!” she cried, grunting with effort as she blocked a particularly nasty blow from a shadow.

“I’m not leaving you behind!” James said, forcing his voice out through gritted teeth.

“I’ll be fine! I can handle this! But you need to go! Before it’s too late!”

“I’m not-”

And that’s when James got stabbed.

Well, clawed was more like it. One of the shadows surged at him from behind and dug its thin, boney claws into the small of his vulnerable back. James doubled over in excruciating pain, gripping his stomach. Dazedly, he reached behind him and his hand came away slick and red. His vision blurred and his head began to spin. He stumbled forwards, and the shadows surged after him, shrieking in victory.

Then the girl dove in front of him, using her magic to push them back. She looked around frantically, eyes wide and scared.

“James! James! What happened?! Why’d you stop moving?!” she cried.

“I-I-” he stuttered, a wet cough rattling his lungs.

“Did you get hurt?!”

“Just stabbed. A little.

Y’know how things go,” he forced out. His mouth was beginning to 47

48

pavement with a sickening crunch.

She stilled, head lolling to the side.

James’s eyes widened in horror. They had- they had- he wanted to run forwards and tear the shadows apart, but his stomach burned and it felt like the world was dissolving around him.

Then the girl raised her head, glaring weakly at them both.

“James! Go!” she croaked, voice intense and determined even on the brink of death.

The shadows turned towards James, and there was no time to argue. Jason yanked him forwards, and the world dissolved around them. They stumbled through the portal from a dark, cold, and gritty Boston park to the center of a bustling city in less than a second, just like stepping through a door.

After the day they had it pretty much made perfect sense. The city was gorgeous and warm, filled with odd buildings, overflowing gardens, and storefronts of shining gold and pastel. A river ran beside them, under a bridge and between the colorful buildings. Yet all of this beauty and warmth was dominated by a massive, beautiful marble

mansion adorned with gold and pastel stained glass.

The world was so bright, colors saturated and sharp as they spun around James. His mind was stuttering, failing to load details as they arrived. He coughed, lungs rattling. The portal flickered closed behind them, and James collapsed onto the cobblestones, the rapier still clutched tightly in his hand. Faintly, he could hear Jason calling for help, for medical attention.

As black spots danced in his vision, James could feel himself slowly drifting away. Above him, he heard shouts. Two people drew near; the first a tall and serious woman and the other a stunning teenager with bright blue hair. Jason hovered behind them, face twisted with concern. Their faces loomed over James, and he snickered, head spinning. He reached up a bloody hand and poked the teenager’s face.

“Heyo. You’re pretty.” he giggled and patted his hair. “I think I’m dying,” James slurred, grinning lethargically before passing out cold. ~ Eliza Chun

Evan Freedman

taste like blood.

“What?!”

“I’ll be fine,” he slurred, swaying on his feet.

“No! Go through the portal!

Don’t worry about me! I’ll be right behind you,” she yelled. James nodded weakly and stumbled back towards the portal, gripping his side.

Jason darted forward and grabbed James, steadying and supporting him as they rushed to the swirling silver abyss of light. Just as they were about to step through James looked back. His eyes widened in horror.

The girl had fallen to her knees, the shadows swarming above her. She braced herself against a shield of magic, pushing back against the roiling cloud of evil darkness above. But she was failing. She grit her teeth and James could see the sweat dripping down her forehead. James wanted to run forwards and save her, but the world was growing fuzzy.

“Hey!” he called, voice weak.

“James, James come on! We need to go!” Jason said, tugging him towards the portal.

The girl looked around towards his voice, and faintly, James could see her expression break. Then she grits her teeth and turned back to the shadows, pushing back against them with renewed vigor.

“James! What are you doing?! Go!” she cried.

Then the shadows dissolved only to remerge as one enormous mass of darkness.

It rose into the air, an amalgamation of horror and the void, and slammed down on her shield.

It cracked like a potato chip.

The girl let out a horrible, desperate scream as the shadows swarmed around her, enveloping her small frame, raising her high in the air, and smashing her down into the

The Cottage

The slam of a truck door reverberated through the small stands of trees at the edge of the forest as a man in a dark suit brushed off his lapels and grabbed the briefcase off of the still-warm hood. He glanced at the cottage in front of him, afternoon sun bouncing off of its ajar windows and cheery window boxes, and snorted before stalking up the small stone pathway to the front door. He rapped on the door twice with the back of his knuckles, stepped back, and glanced at his watch before leaning forward and rapping on the door twice more with an increase in force. A creak from within the house gave him a second warning before the door flew open to reveal a slightly flustered woman wearing an apron. She was bathed in the warm glow of the kitchen’s lights, her wild, curly hair lit in such a way that it appeared as if she had a halo. The man’s eyes raked up and down her body, taking in her slightly disheveled state enhanced by the smudge of flour on the tip of her nose before looking her in the face and beginning to speak. As he began to introduce himself, his eyes strayed from her face and began to search the area just over her shoulder, as if trying to get a better view of the inside of the house.

The woman, beginning to notice his drifting gaze, cleared her throat lightly to draw his attention back to her.

“Sir, I am sorry to interrupt your introduction, but your focus seems to be elsewhere. Is there something that you need, or anything that I can help you with?”

“Yes, actually,” answered the man. “Would the man of the house happen to be home? I am here to conduct serious business for the bank and would like to deliver my message to someone competent as soon as possible.”

“Now let me check,” said the woman, turning to call over her shoulder into the house, “Cass? Are you here?”

When no answer was called back, the woman turned back to the man, pausing for a second as if considering what she was about to do, before stepping back from the doorway and ushering the man over the threshold into the house.

“Why don’t you come in for a moment and have a seat? I’ll be back in a jiffy, but feel free to make yourself at home while I’m gone.”

The man strode into the room, taking a seat in a heavy wooden chair placed next to the round dining table in the corner. The woman quickly checked to make sure he was settled, ignoring his impatient bouncing, and then hurried off through a set of swinging doors leaving the man alone in the kitchen with just the fading sounds of her rustling skirts and the gentle clack of the doors.

Soon, the tap of footsteps and rustle of skirts began to grow nearer again, alerting the man to the woman’s return. When he raised his head to introduce himself to the man of the house, he was surprised to find himself staring up at a second woman. Although almost identical to the woman who had greeted him at the door, this woman had no apron on over her flowing skirt and blouse and exuded an air of extroversion that the first woman had been lacking. She immediately extended her hand to him, and, after a moment of staring at it in a state of semi-shock, he hesitantly raised his own to shake it.

She and the first woman pulled out the bench opposite his seat and sat down in unison, settling in with their hands in their laps watching the man with an expectant gaze. As the seconds ticked by, the women realized that he appeared to still be waiting for something, and the second woman spoke up:

“I am sorry to inform you, but if you are waiting for the man of the house, you will be here for rather a long time. It is just my sister Helen, who you have already met, and me who live here, although we would be perfectly happy to help you with whatever you may need from us.”

The man glanced back and forth between the two women as if about to make a painful compromise, before clearing his throat and answering tightly.

“Well, if that is the case, then I guess you will have to suffice.” He swung his briefcase up onto the table, and unlatched it, letting the embossed leather lid stamped with the words ‘Herrman and Sons’ fall back onto the table. Several pens and an assortment of neat office supplies were just visible to the women before the man pulled out a thick and official-looking stack of papers and snapped the case shut again. He licked the tip 49

of the first of his thick fingers, which was adorned with a heavy gold ring with a red stone set into the middle, and began to flip his way through the stack occasionally pausing to pull out a paper and set it aside. When he reached the bottom of the stack, he took the new, smaller stack of papers that he had created and picked them up, tapping them sharply against the tabletop before placing them in front of Helen and Cassandra.

The topmost paper had a large red stamp covering the text at its center, and as the women flipped through the stack a smaller version of it reappeared on many of the following sheets. The more they read, the more the warmth seemed to rush out of their faces, leaving them looking increasingly distressed. The man appeared to have little sympathy for their struggle and watched them impatiently, foot-tapping out a quick beat on the wooden floor. Cassandra reached out a hand, and flipped to the bottom-most page, looking over the bold text declaring that, due to their increasing number of missed and late payments, the entirety of the forest, as well as their cottage within it, were being repossessed and sold to pay off their debt.

It was at that moment that a loud ding echoed through the room. Helen jumped up from the bench, hurrying to the counter and reaching to turn off the timer. She placed it gently back onto a shelf just above the stove, before slipping on a pair of oven mitts and reaching inside. She emerged holding a lovely-looking fruit tart which she set lightly onto a rack to cool. She thoughtfully reached into a bowl on the counter, pulling out a cluster of small red berries which she inspected, and placed neatly in the center of the tart as a garnish.

Returning to the table, she sat and let out a mournful sigh, leaning into her sister’s side.

Upon her arrival, the man launched once again into the conversation, ignoring the sisters’ shocking state, loudly confirming their nightmare in a terse and business-like fashion. As he spoke, he removed the stacks of papers from the table, tucking them into his briefcase and preparing to leave; he was already heading to the door when he turned to say,

“I think you will be happy to hear that the bank already has a buyer lined up, so you two ladies’ unreliability won’t leave us in the red for much longer. A real gentleman has looked over the parcel, and has plans for development already in motion.” he paused, “I am going to take a quick walk around the edge of the property for boundary marking purposes but will depart shortly - and remember, you only have the two weeks to vacate the property.”

The two women froze, the shock and terror they had felt before now exponentially increasing. It took the sound of the man continuing towards the door to break shatter the moment; Helen once again jumped up, this time pulling herself together to call after the banker:

“Sir, for the trouble we’ve caused you, won’t you stay and have a bite to eat before you go? The drive back to town from here is quite long.” At this, Cassandra spun around to face her sister, eyebrows furrowed and eyes flaming, but Helen ignored her look and pressed forward:

“We were just about to have a slice of pie and cup of tea before our afternoon walk, and I’m sure Cassandra wouldn’t mind in the slightest if you chose to join us.” The man released his grasp on the doorknob, and with a shrug took a few steps back towards the kitchen.

“I’m sure just a few minutes for some pie and tea before getting back to the office can’t do too much harm,” he grumbled, looking hungrily at the still-warm dish on the counter as he moved to retake his seat at the table. While he sat, Helen enlisted the help of her sister at the counter opposite him as they bustled about boiling water and pulling mugs and tea bags out from within the cabinets. After a moment, the two women returned to the table carrying a tray laden with small cups and plates, pie and berries, and tea and milk. They placed a plate with a large slice of pie directly in front of the man before taking teacups for themselves and settling in. As the man ate, he began to soften for the first time since his arrival, explaining his family’s business to them, and even asking them about the history of the house and forest they had grown up in. After talking, the man informed the women that he was going to complete his surveyal, and would then be on his way. Cassandra glanced quickly at Helen for reassurance, before speaking up:

“We were planning on taking an afternoon stroll around the property anyway today, would you like us to show you the way?”

The trio walked quietly together across the clearing and away from the cottage, growing ever nearer to the edge of the woods. The two women took the lead, moving slowly along a path at the edge of the forest, 50

stopping every now and then to point something of interest out to the man. The path they took began to slowly curve to the left, leading them ever so slightly deeper into the shade of the trees. After walking for a while they came to a clearing, much smaller than the field where the cottage sat, the area was just large enough to hold two benches across from each other with enough room for two, maybe three people to sit and have a conversation.

Feeling suddenly out of breath, the man sat heavily on the closer of the two benches and placed his head in his hands for a moment; he drew in a deep breath, only to find that it exacerbated the problem and caused his head to spin. Noticing for the first time since leaving the cottage how dark the sky above him was getting, he thought to stand, pushing himself up from the bench with both hands. He transferred his weight onto his feet and attempted to raise himself, but as he went his legs began to spasm, locking the muscles so that he was forced down onto his knees. He toppled onto the ground, falling onto his back so that he was staring into the cloudy night sky above him. He once again tried to drive himself into an upright position, discovering through the process that he had also lost control of the muscles in his arms as he collapsed back onto the ground, the light from the sky fading completely from his vision. ***

The early morning rays broke over the trees casting a hazy glow over the lone cottage on the edge of the woods. A morning chatter filled the air as the forest began to wake up and greet the day. As the first beams reached the flower boxes hanging just below the window sills the inhabitants of the cottage began to stir; the curtains were drawn back, and the windows were thrown open to catch the little breeze the day would bring.

Two women emerged side by side from the rear of the cottage, both pausing to seemingly absorb just a bit of what was around them, before letting out matching sighs and heading towards the small coop in the corner of the yard.

As the coop door opened a flock of small hens came rushing out, eager to explore the garden beds and rouse up something to eat. One hen closer to the edge of the yard seemed to take a particular interest in something she had found buried in the dirt, and began pecking at it with a new intensity. As she removed dirt from the surface, a beam of sun traveled across the yard, revealing a sharp, red reflection; with one last peck, she was able to pull it free from the ground and move her head up with her treasure held high in her beak. The hen proudly carried the ring for a moment, before a scuttling insect in the grass caught her attention and she dropped it to set off in pursuit of her next morning snack.

~ Spencer Goldsmith

Domenic Bowen 51

Don’t Enter Abandoned Houses

Most haunted house stories start with a dark and stormy night. This was not the case here. It was quite a nice day out. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and there wasn’t a stray cloud in the air. The leaves on the trees were still green. All people heard was the laughter of children. It was summer break; nothing could go wrong.

Elaine was not a young child. In fact, she was a teenager. A blond-haired green-eyed teenager who loved to read and write, unlike most teenage girls. Most of the girls in her grade drooled over pictures on their phones of celebrities whom they had crushes on. They also played soccer and thought that they could be the next Alex Morgan. One thing that Elaine did have in common with the girls in her grade was a sense of curiosity. One time, she and some other girls went into the principal’s office during lunch to see what dirt they could find about their classmates’ trips there.

There was a weird path behind the school down which the principal warned students never to venture, for the last kid who went down that path never came back. Even scarier, the two police officers who went to search for the child did not come back either. The path was blocked by a metal gate after the people went missing. No one dared to go down as they were afraid of death. Sometimes teenagers would dare each other to go a couple of feet, but they never went farther than that. Plus there was a sign saying: Do Not Enter Dangerous Surroundings Ahead It was summer, as previously mentioned, so the school and the surrounding areas were vacant.

Elaine decided to go look at the path out of curiosity.

It’s not even that dangerous. Plus, the last people who went down went 50 years ago! It’s safe now.

Instead of going at night, she went right at noon, when the sun was shining brightest.

As she came around the brick building that was the school, there was a furry creature motionless Natalie Todd-Weinstein on the path, its black eyes staring right into hers.

Elaine felt scared for a moment but then realized that it was just a bunny. This happens all the time. Perhaps this was Elaine’s first warning, or maybe it was just a bunny.

The path led right into the woods containing lots of oak and pine trees towering into the sky. The ground had old leaves and pine needles from last autumn. There was barely any visible dirt. As Elaine continued to walk further into the forest, she heard a rustling noise from behind her. The hairs on her neck perked up. Maybe this was a bad idea. Stop being scared. It’s probably just another bunny.

It was not a bunny. Behind Elaine, she soon learned, was a small robin poking at the ground for worms.

Its orange stomach stood out from the sad, brown forest floor. A tug later and a slimy earthworm appeared out of the earth, not prepared for its final moments alive. Perhaps this was Elaine’s second warning, or maybe it was just a robin living out its life.

It had been a little over twenty minutes since Elaine started on the path and the only sights she had seen were the wildlife. But up ahead, there was something, a silhouette of some building. It was as if there was a normal house in the middle of the woods; a three-story house with a small roof over one of the windows and a large roof over the rest. The white exterior paint was faded and there were some roof shingles on the floor below, but other than that, it looked nice. There were no broken windows and the black shutters did not look too worn. Someone could live here if they wanted to.

Elaine came up to the house, ready to explore. This could give me good inspiration for a story. Plus, 52

imagine what everyone will think of me if I tell them what I saw. Elaine walked up the wooden stairs to a large black door with a shining golden knob. She turned the knob and the door opened with ease, which she did not expect to happen.

Inside the house was a mess. The walls sported a variety of water stains and teal paint was peeling from other areas. The furniture had been eaten by some animal. The filling was coming out from velvet green couches. The wood around the couches had bite marks on it and a leg of one couch had collapsed, making the couch leaning forward to the right. There were water stains from glasses on the coffee table and dust covered everything.

“Now this could be some good inspiration,” Elaine exclaimed, but there was no one to hear her saying it. Or so she thought. ***

August 23rd, 1902

“Daddy, when are we going to do presents?”

Lila was jumping up and down next to her father who was sitting on one of the green couches in the living room. He was reading the newspaper and not finding anything interesting: Anderson’s dog had nine puppies, Mayor William’s daughter gave birth, Farmer Dave had a higher-than-expected crop turnout. Nothing interesting ever happened in this town. Not yet at least.

Sadie Leveque “After dinner, Pumpkin,” her father said. “Why don’t you go help your mother out?”

“But I want presents!” she yelled. Lila was quite a young child. She was turning eight on this day and was very excited about what gifts she would get. “Why can’t I have them now?”

“Okay fine.” Her father put down his glasses on the coffee table and got up from the couch. “Don’t tell mom about this.”

“I won’t,” she pipped.

Her father vanished upstairs. Lila, still full of energy, started jumping from couch to couch, laughing each time she landed. This laughter caught the attention of her mother who had just finished making a chicken noodle soup in the next room. She opened the door to the kitchen to find her daughter still jumping from couch to couch.

“Lila! Stop jumping on the couches!” her mother commanded.

“Fine, I’ll stop,” Lila said disappointedly. She jumped off the couch and onto the carpet below, landing with a hard thud.

“Where is your father?” her mother asked.

“Upstairs,” Lila replied. “Getting my presents.” She stopped and thought for a moment. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”

“It’s okay, Pumpkin,” her mother consoled. “I’m going to go upstairs and check on him. Wait here please.” Lila’s mother climbed up the stairs and vanished from her view.

“Okay. I will!” Lila chirped. She sat down on the couch and waited for her parents to come back.

Hours passed. Lila had started jumping from couch to couch again. She did not know how much time had passed since it was still daylight. After a while, Lila got bored, so she picked up the newspaper her father 53

had been reading. Lila could read, but not well, so she did not understand most of it. “Wow! The Anderson family’s dog had nine puppies! That’s a lot of dogs!”

More time passed and Lila started to get sleepy. It was now pitch-black outside, and the only light came from the lamps in the house. She curled up on the large green couch, putting one of the decorative pillows under her head. Eventually, she fell asleep.

By the time Lila woke up, it was about ten in the morning the next day. Nothing had changed except for the daylight shining from the window. She opened her eyes slightly, adjusting for the bright light of the day. The room looked the same as before, but no parents.

“Mom? Dad? Where are you?” Lila called. But no response.

She sat up on the couch and her stomach made a loud sound. “Mom! I’m hungry! Can I have some food?”

Again, no response.

She slinked down back on the couch, holding her stomach. Lila knew that her mother wanted her to wait until she and her father came back. If she went upstairs, she might not get her presents. Her parents did not like it when she did something naughty. Lila knew what the punishment was, not a good one.

Lila went into the kitchen. There was a big pot on the counter that smelled of the chicken noodle soup her mother had made. She reached for it, but she was too short. She stood on her tippy toes but still could not reach it. When she opened the cabinets she could reach, all she could find was various kitchen equipment, no food.

After looking in the kitchen for food, Lila curled herself up in a ball, hoping that her parents would come soon and give her the presents she desperately wanted and some food as well.

When she woke up again, the house was dark. It was just an abyss of black. There were no sounds until Lila’s stomach rumbled even louder than before. She let out a small whimper of pain after, hoping someone would hear it and help her.

“Mom? Dad?” Lila croaked with the bit of strength she had left.

No response. ***

A rustle came from upstairs. Elaine turned towards the stairs, but she did not see anything. Maybe it’s some animal that lives here. Nothing to worry about.

After looking around the first floor, Elaine decided to climb up the stairs towards the second floor. She passed through the living room and a cool breeze came through the front door she had left open. This was one of the few things that Elaine had gotten right.

Creak!

Elaine jumped after the fourth stair step she stepped on. It is an old house. It’s supposed to make weird noises. With this assurance, Elaine continued up, ignoring the other noises that other stair steps made. This was another warning. Her last warning.

She went to the left first and entered the first door she saw. It was a bathroom. The tub had weird claws at the caps of the legs. The drain at the bottom of the sink was rusted, just like the chain that flushed the toilet.

The room at the end of the hall was a large bedroom. The bed was made, but there were holes where animals had torn the covers and released bunches of filling. There were nightstands on each side of the bed with the wood chipped in a few places. On the other side of the bedroom, there was a vanity with peeling light blue paint. Elaine looked in the mirror to find herself, but she noticed something on one of the bedsheets.

It was a dark stain, brown but almost black. Elaine touched it with her finger and felt it to be dry. The moisture had evaporated and seeped into the sheet. What is it? Maybe it was some sort of drink. Coca Cola?

Root Beer? No, wait!

Elaine startled backward at this revelation, tripping on a loose floorboard, and falling onto the bed, landing next to the bloodstain. Her breathing got heavy, and her chest started to tighten. Sweat dripped from her forehead onto her shirt, leaving yellowish stains behind. I need to get out of here. This place is not safe.

Someone got hurt here.

54

Howard Keeler

Elaine ran through the hallway, not looking backward at the horrible sights of the bedroom. She ran down the stairs, not caring about the creaking noises that came each time she stepped on one. When Elaine got to the fourth stair from the bottom, the stair collapsed, and her leg fell in. Her hands went out immediately as she braced her fall onto the other stairs. Her other leg fell through the hole as well.

“Shoot!”

As soon as Elaine yelled, a strong wind gusted through the house, making her hair flow into her face. She brushed her hair away from her face to see something that she did not expect.

A person.

It was no ordinary person though. Their entire body, including their clothes, was grey. It was a young girl, maybe ten years old or younger. Her dress almost blended into her skin color. The only things that were dark about her were her eyes and her hair, which were almost black.

“What are you doing in my house?” the girl asked forcefully.

Elaine just stared in shock. She could not answer because her mouth would not open.

“Answer me!”

When the girl screamed, a gust of wind came with it, blowing Elaine’s hair all over the place.

“I was exploring,” Elaine blurted. She had no idea what to say after though.

“Exploring? This is my house! Maybe you will be the next present my parents give me! They did give me that boy and the two men with those weird uniforms.”

Elaine realized she was talking about the people who had gone down the path before her, but the girl launched towards Elaine, trying to grab her.

Elaine ducked as she came into the hole created when she stepped on the fourth stair. The girl passed above her and went through the stairs.

Elaine climbed out of the hole and ran out of the house through the front door she had left open. The girl chased after her and her hands reached out to grab her. Elaine ran and did not stop to look behind her. She only looked ahead of her, towards home, towards safety. The animals that she passed on the way did not matter anymore. Her getting out alive was the most important thing.

Crunch!

Elaine tripped on a root and looked behind to see the girl hovering about two feet away from her. She scrambled up from the ground and continued to run, panting as she went. I’m going to die! I shouldn’t have gone down. I should have listened to the warnings!

She saw the end of the trail coming closer and closer to her. Elaine picked up the pace, gasping for air as she ran. This is it. I’m almost home. I will make it out alive. This motivation allowed Elaine to run the fastest she had ever run in her life. The ghost was still behind her and had picked up the pace, but Elaine did not know that.

Elaine was just about to be back at the school. She jumped to try and get over the metal fence while the ghost lunged after her, trying to grasp her before Elaine made it out of her reach. Elaine landed on the ground and she thought she was safe.

When she looked behind her, she saw the girl’s face right in front of hers, breathing heavily into her. ~ Abigail Lott

55

Veiled Light

Upon my arrival, I was taken aback by the splendor of the manor. Mapperton’s house lay at the center of a large field, surrounded by a dense white pine forest. The warm light of the autumn evening shone through the trees, casting great shadows.

No shadow, I noticed, fell upon the house. The fields, or what I could see of them beyond the row of statues that lined either side of the drive, were perfectly golden, leading down to a lake by the east garden. I was met by my host as I approached the front doors. I had corresponded with Vanessa often in the weeks leading up to my visit.

She had written to me then for the first time in eleven years, giving condolences after the passing of my brother. As our correspondence grew, however, time seemed to blend until it was nearly no time at all that we had been apart.

As I stepped out of the car, I was nearly tackled by Vanessa. I have never been the hugging sort, but even in our youth, she had never been one to let that get in the way. Grabbing my hand, she pulled me toward the house.

As we entered, she hung my coat on a coat rack and called for her valet to take my bags.

“We’ve given you the master bedroom, it’s just upstairs, the second hall on your left. You mustn’t leave your room at night, once you go up you’ll see that certain sections of the floor are weak. Nicky, he’s here!” Vanessa’s brother Nicholas appeared at the top of the stairs, looking quite disheveled.

“Well, you’re in a state,” she reprimanded. “Come down, 56

I’m taking him on a tour!”

Nicholas walked slowly down the stairs. He had, it looked, just woken up. I turned to tell Vanessa that we needn’t go now, we could wait for him, but she was never one to be patient. So we started down the hallway with him in tow.

“Come come,” she said, walking briskly and playfully ahead. “You must see the gardens.

They’re the absolute highlight of this old house. Isn’t that right, brother mine?”

I turned to look at Nicholas, surprised to see that he was no longer following. He had stopped, I saw and was gazing into a looking glass, one of many that lined the hallway. I started back to catch his attention when I felt Vanessa take hold of my sleeve.

“Don’t,” she said. “He is prone to headaches, and talking to him will do more harm than good. He will come out of it by dinnertime.” She spoke with a kind of caring authority.

“Come along now, you must,” she announced, returning to her bright manner. “You’ll find that we keep the most beautiful herbs.

You’ve heard that I make my own teas? They’re the absolute highlight of the neighboring town.” She led me out the east entrance and down a small path, and I found myself once more surrounded by statues.

“There’s a gorgeous spot, just around this next hedge.”

Vanessa skipped forward. “We had a minister here, do you remember him? Dragged us to this place every Sunday, and made us read from those horrible little books with the long words. Then he would leave, and mother would sneak out with the communion wine. I did love the crackers,

though. Tasted a bit stale.”

She talked so fast, it was difficult to keep up with her. We emerged from the path, and on our right there lay a small monastery, just large enough for a family like theirs to attend a private Mass.

“Of course, Nicky and I haven’t had the time, and the old priest died, I think, a few years

Abby Neubert

back. It’s just sort of sat here since then.” She paused, then swung open the doors. “See for yourself.”

It was immediately evident that the church had not been kept up. Overcome with plants, the stained glass windows were smashed and the cross had fallen from the altar. The benches were slowly crumbling, and the silver candlesticks were weather-worn to black. Lining the walls were the stations of the cross, ornately carved. My eyes lingered over the images. Once white marble, cracks formed by years of neglect had since been filled with the twisting vines that I had climbed so often in my youth. Twisting, even upon the holiest of images. Decorating the cross with their suffocating mockery of life.

“God doesn’t visit here

anymore.”

I turned around. This line seemed, somehow, out of character for Vanessa. She was standing by a window, looking out. Even in the sunlight, her bright dress looked pale and gray.

“Vanessa?” I asked.

She remained with her back turned, studying the broken window. “God doesn’t visit here anymore. We broke the windows. We let him escape, and he’s never coming back. God doesn’t even visit her anymore.” Slowly, as though it were the hardest thing she had to do, she turned to me. I don’t remember her face, just the floor, and the pews as they rose around me. Then everything went black. ***

Awaking to a sheet of purple all around me, I glanced up to see Vanessa’s anxious face looking down at me. We were, it seemed, on the grass outside.

“What did that, I wonder?

Have you eaten enough? I must get the mold taken care of there, it is simply a hazard.” She spoke, addressing me but could tell she was talking to herself. When she saw that I was awake, she broke into a smile. “Good, you’re up!

Someone had a little fainting spell, it’s lucky you didn’t hit your head on anything. Do you think you’re okay to walk? Do you need a drink? All that travel, and here I am dragging you around… Nick!

Damn, where is that boy when you need him.” “ I’m fine, Vanessa, don’t worry.” I sat up. I really did feel fine, which was strange. “Look, I can walk. Really, I’m okay”. I stood and helped her up, and we walked back to the house. She promised up and down that we would finish the tour tomorrow,

insisting I rest before the evening.

I can’t imagine what we discussed over dinner. It could have been the return of my fatigue (I had not rested well), but the evening was, and remains, merely a composition of shifting images and laughter. I recall the wine the most. Nicholas, who deigned to join us that evening, ate nothing. As he was reaching for… something, the nature of which escapes me, his wine glass tipped and shattered on the ground. Time seemed to slow, nearing a stop, as the glass hit the floor. The wine spread across the Persian carpet, leaving a dark red stain that remains in my mind, even now. That, and Vanessa’s expression. As a servant came in to clean, she was once again laughing, and I wondered if I had imagined it. I had never seen such rage on a human face in my life.

As we adjourned into the parlor for the evening, I decided to ask about the statue. In the entrance hall of the house, on a small table adorned with lilies, stood a marble bust of a maiden. The features were beautiful and intricate, rivaling (in my mind, at least) even the Greeks.

The designer had, however, carved a rather curious detail; a stone veil obscured the eyes. It was clear to me that this person, given the prominence of her position in the household, was of some importance, and I decided then that I must find out who she was.

The story I received in response was truly shocking.

Vanessa was at first reluctant to tell it, but because Nicholas was largely tuned out of our conversation, she eventually gave in. As it was relayed to me, the bust was of an ancestor of theirs named Elizabeth. She was a noblewoman from France, who

had commissioned Arryn Hall to be built as a wedding present for her daughter. On the night of her daughter’s wedding, her husband carried her across the entrance to the house, then proceeded to lock her away in the east wing. She was allowed no contact with the outside world while her new husband relieved her of her inheritance.

One day, after having called on the house because her letters had not been returned for some time, Elizabeth had barely entered the house when she was knocked out cold by her son in law, and buried alive under the floorboards. It was said, said Vanessa, that when he was finally arrested and they found her body, she had been mere inches away from clawing herself out of her grave. Her spirit, though she no longer remembers why, wanders the grounds of Arryn Hall at night, searching for her son-in-law to exact revenge.

“Mother and father always told us that, if we were in trouble.

‘Don’t leave your room at night, or Lizzy will get you’. To this day, can you believe it, I won’t leave my room at night!” Laughing, she took a sip of her tea. “Oh, it was just stuff and nonsense of course.

Old floorboards, you know, but every damn time... Nicky, do you remember?” She smiled over at him. I was startled when he replied, he was so silent that I had forgotten he was there.

“I…” He paused, seemingly perplexed. “I don’t recall. The story seems familiar enough. Was it mother and father, though, who told us? Never leave your room…I thought… ” He grasped, but the memory evaded him again. I turned to Vanessa, thinking it best to digress so as not to upset him 57 further.

“Oh Nicky, you’re just drunk.” Feigning a patronizing glance, she stood and took his hand, pulling him toward the living room. “Come, it will never dwell on unhappy things.”

Ever one to take her own advice, she released his hand and twirled out of the room, and after a time we heard the opening chords of a waltz. When these repeated, twice or more, I don’t recall, it was clear to me that she wished not to play, but to dance.

“We shouldn’t keep her waiting,” I laughed, in what I thought would prove a futile attempt to engage with Nicholas, “or we may be subject to this well into the night.”

“True,” he replied, “She isn’t one to be denied an opportunity to dance.” His lighthearted smile returned, but behind his eyes lay a primal confusion, as though he trembled on the verge of some great truth but lingered, innocently, on the precipice.

She danced with her ghosts.

I awoke the first morning of my stay, unable to say where the thought had come from, but I knew it with my whole heart to be true.

My tour truly began on that first day. Nicholas was in his room; I would soon learn that we rarely ever saw him before 12.

Vanessa took matters into her own hands, then, to reacquaint me with the grounds. After 11 years, she said, I was likely to forget some things. Looking back, I should have tried harder to remember.

Perhaps I wanted to forget, to avoid memories of what had happened here. Even if asked now,

by Vanessa, why I responded to her letters after all these years, 58

I couldn’t have given her a real answer.

Days passed in the manor, and they faded into weeks. We lost any sense of the outside, sat high above the common people in our own world, of lush velvet and sauvignons. I thought no more of the maiden, only of my friends.

Only of Vanessa. Of our world, our future. A World that even then, I knew was destined to collapse. And collapse it did, like a star, on the morning of that final day.

I awoke in a sweat.

Something had come over me, an unshakable feeling of terror, as though the seven devils of hell themselves were shaking me. A shadow passed my door, that of Vanessa. I jumped to the doorway, hoping to call out to her, for her to assuage me of my feelings. She was dressed, though it barely registered in my mind, unlike herself. Her purple gowns seemed to have faded, to a deep and stormy gray. She turned, and I stood paralyzed. Her face covered in a veil, I realized even in my semi-lucid state that this was not Vanessa. This did not feel like Elizabeth either, however. This was something else entirely. We stood there, together, for an age, me and the woman. She radiated love; it drew me to her like a moth to the sun. She was, I would realize in the aftermath, the opposite of Vanessa. In some Newtonian way, she was equal and opposite. Anger and desperation inhabited her body, but this was her soul, pure love and kindness, abandoning itself after years of torment. What Vanessa possessed now was poisoned, a suffocating form of control mistaken for care by those who didn’t know better. By me.

I feel as though I would

have stood there forever, perfectly content, had the scream not broken me away from her gaze. I turned, the fear of this morning coursing through me once again. Half conscious of my movements, I seemed to float down the stairs and into the entrance hall.

Vanessa cradled Nicholas in her arms, his blood staining her dress. She was surrounded by a black pool, her and her brother. I stared, in shock.

“Look at him,” she said, raising her eyes to me. “It’s so perfect. He’s absolutely perfect, and splendid, and empty. A lovely hollow shell that I can nurture, and love, unconditionally. And he will love me. He wanted so badly to sleep, but he’s awake now. You will wake as well. We can be together, be like this, forever.” She reached out a red hand, in it lay a small letter opener. “We loved you. I love you.”

I looked down, and back at Vanessa. In her eyes lay decades of loss, grieving, longing, and betrayal. In them burned the purple fire of madness, and as I met her gaze, they filled with tears.

“Goodbye then, my darling.”

Epilogue

Grief is a strange process.

In the aftermath, I had run from the room, leaving Vanessa and Nick lying together on the rug, featureless and expressionless, covered in their mixed blood. I didn’t leave the house after their deaths, I simply wandered from room to room like a ghost. I nearly emptied the wine cabinet in the first two days. I could never bring myself to look at them again, I had nearly drowned myself in tears the

first time.

It was on the third day, as I was looking for something, anything to drink so I could keep forgetting, I came upon a decanter. It was crystal, with a large amethyst set into the stopper, and the liquid inside was black. I set it on the counter, seeing in the corner of my eye that enigmatic gray lady. I turned to her, and between us passed a silent moment of understanding. Taking a glass down from the cabinet, one of few I had not yet broken, I poured out a toast. A single tear dropped from beneath her veil, and I turned away, walking through the kitchen and into the entrance hall once more. I averted my eyes from the thing on the ground; this was not them. This didn’t count. Outside, past bleached out walls, across long dead grass, I sat down at the edge of the lake.

It was so peaceful there, oblivious.

Raising my glass, I toasted not to

the sun, not to love, or light, but to them, as I remembered. My friends.

There exists, I believe now more than ever, a distinctive penultimate moment of death.

One’s soul has just begun to depart this life, and move to the next, but we remain fully conscious. As the minutes’ pass, the hearing is the first to go. The once clear sounds of the birds becoming hollow

Jackson Gierhart

and muted. The eyes soon follow, vignetting to a beautiful shade of tinted purple, aligning blood with the deep blues of the sky. In these moments, death is not sad. Death is not evil, but an artist on the canvas of the senses. Deprived of my senses, I could feel the poison. ~ Ethan Pratt

The Town of Southbridge

Content warning: This piece contains violence, incest, cannibalism, vomiting, and seizures.

The town of Southbridge was north of the state line, east of the salt lake, and, ironically, south of nothing but hay fields. Despite its seemingly simple directions, it had taken me and my sister nearly two days to find it. Mother’s diary had not been specific; the descriptions of the town had been detailed but the location was vague and foggy at best. In the end, Clarisse and I found it only by chance. Our car had broken down and our map showed no nearby towns, only a blank dot four miles to the north. So we had set forth until a dingy, dustcovered sign cheerily announced our arrival at our destination.

The town was small and quaint, and not nearly as bright as mother had described it. The streets were covered in dust, the pavement cracked, not from snow and cold as we were used to in the east, but by the heat of the sun. I remember Clarisse kicking at a stone and mumbling about how it was old and decrepit. While by no means new, I would hardly call it decrepit, and I was sure to remind Clarisse that while it wasn’t the cities of the east, it was the place our mother had been born.

As we ventured nearer to the heart of the town, Clarisse fussed about the heat and fiddled with her fingers declaring that something was ‘off.’ While I wouldn’t exactly disagree, I had to admit that the town was rather empty. Dust-covered cars lined the street, and the air was heavy with the sort of silence only found in the vast farm fields of the midwest. So far, of all the buildings we could see, there were only three for the public, a bar, an inn, and a general store. I gestured towards the store and she nodded. ***

I don’t remember much of our mother, simply that she was a paranoid woman with thin black hair and brown eyes so faded and brittle they almost seemed like parchment. My clearest memory of her was of the three of us huddled on Clarisse and my bed, Mother’s eyes roving the darkness as she repeated the words ‘Beds are 59

safe. Beds are always safe. This is your place of sleep. And no creature could ever breach the sacred agreement of sleep.’ Clarisse and I nodded along and agreed despite not knowing what she was saying, or why exactly she would bolt from the bed when she left, trying to evade shadows that seemingly grasped for her ankles from beneath the furniture. And due to her death upon the day of our third birthday, None of these mysteries were ever resolved.

Our father was a rather normal man. I never did understand how he met Mother, or why they came together. He was of average build, with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes the color of mud. He was an insurance agent, and a rather poor one at that. Many nights while Mother repeated her mantras he would be downstairs working by only his desk lamp at his paperwork, much to Mother’s disdain. She would always call him up, telling him to come up from the darkness and say goodnight. He never did.

Clarisse and I were twins, born less than nine months from the night our parents eloped. However, we looked nothing alike. Clarisse was relatively average height and muscular from years of swimming lessons.

I was tall and slender, so skinny my bones jutted out from my face. My hips and joints were knobbly and my abdominal cavity almost outlined the shape and form of my pulsating organs.

Where Clarisse had dark skin and hair and eyes like coal, I was so pale my skin was almost translucent, shining almost blue in cold light and my eyes were the same weak gold as Mother’s. Clarisse’s hair was thick, dark, and lovely. Mine was brittle and thin and pale, so delicate it used to come off in chunks every time Mother tugged too hard with the brush. Despite this, despite our differences and the doubtless scientific explanation that must be out there, doctors remained baffled at our conditions. Especially considering that we were both perfectly healthy. It was no matter. Even if we were different in appearances, Clarisse cared for me, and I for her. ***

The general store was nothing out of the ordinary, the same rows of packaged goods and the back wall of refrigerated drinks and foods. A bell dinged as we entered the store. The entire place was empty. I looked behind the counter for a cashier, but there was nothing except a still fizzing can of soda. On the assumption that they were in the bathroom, my sister and I began roaming the store. I picked up a bag of beef jerky and frowned at the unknown name of the brand. In fact, looking around, none of the food appeared to be made from major corporations. It was all labels I had never heard of, or, in the case of the beef jerky, simply the name of the item and no other descriptors, including nutritional value. But a nearby sign said it was all locally produced. I shrugged and picked out two packs of beef jerky.

I was picking out bottled water, only available in glass for some reason beyond me when I caught the first sign of life in the town of Southbridge. It was a father and a little girl. The second I saw them I had to gag and look away to compose myself. They looked dead, in a sense. Their eyes were dull and yellowed at the whites, the usual tinge of red from veins more of a deep, sickly purple hemlock. Their skin was sallow and pale, yellowing at the peaks and grey at the inclines of sallowed cheeks and hanging flaps of skin jiggling from their jaws. They were thin, swamped in baggy clothes that seemed like trash bags against their frames. I glanced back and caught the girl’s eyes. I blinked at her and began to wave my hand in greeting when she glared at me- well, her dull eyes were focused behind me at my sister. The father looked down and tugged her away from the store with a grip so hard I could practically feel her bones grinding at each tendon-less intersection, nerves trapped between nothing but hard, porous calcium.

I shot my sister a look. She looked out the window, then back at me in confusion. She opened her mouth to speak when the door in the back slammed open and we jumped, startled. A man no older than his midtwenties darted forwards, a cigarette dangling between his teeth. His flickering eyes widened at the sight of us and he snubbed his cigarette on his palm and headed behind the counter, eyeing us with something between curiosity and caution. While he looked healthier than the people I had seen passing by, his skin was still an ashy grey and seemed scaly with patches of dry skin. His hair was thinning, but his eyes retained a deep, dark brown color.

I gathered the beef jerky and water and headed towards the counter, fumbling for my wallet. The cashier rang me up.

60

“You’re not from here, are you?” he muttered.

“No. My sister and I are just visiting.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“You look like them.”

“Like what?”

“Like the people of this town. You must have seen at least a few. Or maybe not. I know I didn’t see at first either. They don’t like coming out in the light. Hurts their skin. My skin too now,” he said.

I nodded. I had that problem too. My skin burned easily in the sun.

“Well, we saw a few go by.”

He looked out the store window.

“Hmm. Yeah. They look strange, don’t they? I mean, in the beginning, they always look normal but you’ll see as you stay here.” His eyes fluttered around and he coughed raspily, shaking fingers fluttering at light speed across the countertop.

“Uh, how- how long have you been here?”

“I’m not sure. Can’t have been more than a few months. I left college, and I needed a job. This was the first town I stumbled upon. But I can’t eat here. Have to eat the food I brought with me, but I’ve been running low. Now- now I don’t know where to go from here. But I’ll probably not be here much longer. Can’t be.” His gaze drifted out of focus and after a long moment, his eyes snapped back to me. “Why are you in town? And who’s your companion?”

“My sister and I are visiting. My mother was born in this town and so were we. So we decided to visit, learn more about our roots, you know.” I looked around again and leaned in closer, whispering: “Do you, uh, do you know why all the townspeople look like that?”

“Oh don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. And I don’t know.” He laughed a little. “I don’t actually know if anyone knows. I’ve heard a few whisperings- well, not from them but also not from visitors- we don’t really get visitors really- that maybe it was something to do with the water, or their ancestry, and even rumors of a cult! I mean, I’m sure none of that is real and all, but it really makes you wonder…”

His gaze grew distant again and then he snapped back to the present. I eyed him warily.

“Right. Well, would you recommend the inn? I’m not getting any reception here and I can’t check any reviews…”

“Well, where else would you stay?” He laughed and it devolved into a sort of wet cough. I leaned back a bit. “It’s fine. The inn is fine.”

“Great.”

I backed away and hovered near the entrance of the shop. My sister brought up her snacks and paid, clearly wary of the man. She joined me, and I told her about the inn. I chose to leave out the cult stuff. She already had so many reservations about the town. I didn’t want to give her another.

The innkeeper looked just as bizarre as the people who had passed outside. The man was tall and slender to the point of concern, his spine so knobbly and bent over that we could see every single sharp edge of his vertebrae jutting out from his shirt. In all, he seemed nothing more than purpling skin stretched over bones.

I eyed him warily but Clarisse treated him like he was nothing out of the ordinary. Sometimes it was easy to forget her kindness. But then again, she had had me for a twin sister her whole life.

We stopped briefly at our room, dropping off our backpacks packed with overnight clothes and the snacks we had gotten at the store. I stopped in the bathroom and washed my face. The handles of the sink were jittery and halting and the water that came out was slightly yellow and bitter, but it was better than the grease of travel clinging to my skin. I met back up with Clarisse, and together we descended the stairs into the main entry hall. The man, as skeletal as he had been, had informed us that the inn served a lavish dinner and breakfast to guests. We sat down and I looked around. We were the only ones here. Outside the sun was setting and something shifted. It took a moment for me to realize what had changed, but once I had, I relaxed slightly, although perhaps that was the last thing I should have done. It was nothing inherently sinister, just the sound of people. Although the windows of the inn were blocked by heavy dusty curtains, I could hear more and more 61

townsfolk emerging from the homes lining the street, the din of muffled conversation, and the faint clink of the doorbell of the general store echoing into the hall of the inn.

Our dinner arrived. It was surprisingly fancy for our accommodations. There were three plates in total.

A plate of chopped and seasoned vegetables and mushrooms, all drizzled in a dark purple sauce and sprinkled with sugar. A full braised pork chop, pink and glistening with chopped speckles of dark black herbs and spices and glazed with a heavy, fragrant purple-pink sauce. A tureen of warm brown mushroom gravy was provided to each of us as well as a salad of some sort of purple and deep green lettuce, small yellow chopped tomatoes and a blend of purple berries sprinkled over, all brought together with a sweet-smelling balsamic vinegar. I raised an eyebrow at Clarisse, but she was already digging in before I could question it.

The meal was delicious, the pork an odd, delightful blend of bitter and sweet, so tender that all but melted on the tongue. The salad was delicious as well, the balsamic a tart fruity touch I had never really encountered before. Clarisse reached for the salt shaker and covered her salad in enough sodium to give a cow a heart attack. I rolled my eyes. She had always loved salty food. She laughed at my expression then shoved a massive bite of greens into her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, and then her face contorted in sudden pain.

She swallowed and coughed, bringing her napkin to her mouth and dabbing her tongue. The napkin came away bloodied.

“Oh! Are you alright?” I asked.

She dabbed at her tongue again and shrugged, coughing wetly once more.

“Yeah… Must have bit my tongue.”

She didn’t touch the salad again. ***

That night Clarisse was violently ill.

I sat by her side as she convulsed over the toilet, scouring my mind for every scrap of medical knowledge I could muster. Unfortunately, my mind came up empty. Her stomach clenched and squeezed itself inside out, all the contents of her stomach splurging out into the toilet, sending water splashing back up into her face as her throat squeezed and retched bile until the bile was gone and replaced with nothing but dry heaves and after that thick, dark blood. Her skin had lost all its color except for her face, which, splattered with vomit and bile and blood, was such a deep, bright red it almost looked purple. I frantically brought her glasses of water from the sink and she gulped down the yellowed liquid only to throw it up seconds later. Pinkening tears dripped from her eyes, which were so deeply bloodshot they were barely even white anymore. Her pupils dilated unevenly, her eyes flickering around the room so fast I was afraid her tendons would snap and they’d fall from her head into the toilet bowl below.

I stayed at her side, terrified to leave. It was nearly three in the morning and she was starting to convulse, her body shaking and seizing, limbs, usually graceful and cautious, jerking in all directions, the sharp sound of bone and skin hitting porcelain. I clutched at her frantically, trying as hard as I could to stop her spasms, but she was only worsening. Blood and bile splattered against the cracked tiles of the bathroom and she gagged, choking on her vomit. I frantically flipped her over, trying to clear her airway. The brownish-red mixture of blood-speckled bile ran across the floor and soaked the knees of my pants.

“Shh- Clarisse- please! Can you hear me? Try and breathe! It’s all going to be okay-”

A loud thud echoed at the hotel door and at that instant, I suddenly registered the swarming drone of voices. The door thunked again and the lock rattled. I fell still, my sister convulsing in my arms. Outside I could hear a swarm of countless people battering the door, the weak, faltering thuds like the sounds of a thousand bony hands prying at the wood, trying to pull the door from its frame. In that split second in the town of my mother surrounded by those who bore her resemblance- I heaved my sister into my splintering arms and dragged her convulsing body towards the bed. I piled her on the sheets and hauled myself up just as a ghostly white, bony hand jutted out from underneath, grasping for my ankle. I screamed and yanked my foot up as an abnormally long and slender bony body dragged itself out from beneath the bed frame, its form nothing more definite than crumpling ricepaper stretched over long white, brittle bones. It stood, stretching to a full height of eight feet, looming over and staring down at us with sunken white eyes, its purple-lipped mouth contorting in a 62

grating shriek. The door splintered on its hinges and I sobbed, hugging my sister to my frail chest. The figuresthe same as the creature from under the bed- they swarmed forwards, filling the room with rasping cries and grasping boney hands- what flesh they had either hanging limply from boney forms or stretched so tight over rib cages I could see their beating purple-black hearts and lungs beneath. I clutched my sister and closed my eyes, my mother’s words running through my head, my sister’s blood and bile soaking the back of my shirt as she seized.

“Beds are safe beds are always safe beds are safe beds are always-”

I was too terrified to notice that one of Clarisse’s legs had fallen over the side of the tiny twin bed as she jerked. The swarming crowd all screamed in unison- a deafening sound like bones splintering under a hammerand grabbed her, pulling her limp, jerking body from my arms. I clung to her desperately but they pulled her so fast that I almost slipped off the bed had I not relinquished my grasp. Her head and neck hit the ground with a deafening crack and I gasped wetly in horror, sobbing as foam beaded her lips and they dragged her away, watching me with eyes that were nothing more than boiled yellowing whites in sunken holes. They smiled, thin, papery lips a vivid pink against the skin so translucent I could see their purple veins surging with contaminated blood.

They left in a wave, dragging my sister with them. I huddled in the bed and wept, trembling as I clutched at the vomit-covered blankets, staring at the door, waiting for them to come back.

“Beds are safe beds are always safe”

I stayed there all night, paralyzed with fear. It was only when dawn colored the sky a deep, bloody red that I dared set foot on the ground, ready to yank it back if something surged from the darkness to seize my ankle. I needed to escape. I needed to get away from this place. They didn’t like the light. The day was coming.

I could run for it. Escape the town and get back to the car. I ran to the window and threw it open. The town was as empty as it had been yesterday. I pulled myself out onto the roof and slid down, hopping onto the bins below and then landing with a thud, my ankles smarting at the strain. I took off running, too scared to look behind me.

I could feel the anger building in the town, I could feel the rage at my escape, at my survival last night. My feet ached and burned as they slapped against the already hot cracked pavement of the road. Glass cut my feet but I kept going, my dark thick blood barely even leaving a trail. As I ran I could hear doors begin to open and I chanced a look behind me.

They were emerging, not the strange, grotesquely long and slender and pale abominations from last night, but the ones that still looked vaguely human, all spilling from the buildings and swarming after me. My heartbeat so fast I feared it would crack my ribcage and send blood spilling into my lungs. I sobbed and ran faster. I was almost out of the town- not the way we entered but the opposite way, the south way- I was almost there. The buildings around me ended and beyond that, there was a bridge spanning an empty dry river and just past that the sign for the town limit. If I could just get there I would be safe I knew it The ground beneath my feet turned from cracked pavement to wood and I sobbed in relief I was almost there Then the bridge caved beneath my feet and I fell, crashing down to the dry riverbed below. ***

When I woke I was tied tightly to a wall. The second my eyes opened I sobbed. I was so close. I was almost there. I was beneath the bridge and all around- shadowed from the burning rays of the midwestern sun were the abominations from last night. They towered above me, all looking down with those blank yellowed eyes sunken deep into their skull, their bodies no more than grey translucent skin stretched over bones and pulsating organs pumping purple underneath their bones. I pulled at the ropes and hung my head, sobbing again.

“She is awake.”

I raised my head at the words and looked around, my eyes blurred with nervous tears. The swarm of creatures parted, all of them raising their head to the sky, opening their gaping mouths, and shrieking. My throat squeezed at the sound and I couldn’t keep my body from shaking. I gulped and blinked, trying to clear my eyes.

The crowd of abominations circled around, spreading out to surround a long, dining room table spread with plates and plates heaped high with purple and red berries, mushrooms of all shapes and colors, rotting beef and pork dripping with yellow and purple glazes and covered in glass shards, and goblets overspilling with 63

dark purple wine. Bound on the table, her throat slit and stuffed with berries, lay Clarisse, her body bare and slathered with purple juices. Her eyes were gouged out and filled with flowers, her stomach cut open to act as a tray for an array of fruits and a swarm of wriggling chittering bugs. I let out a frantic sob and writhed against the ropes until they cut my wrists and blood dripped down my arms in ticklish beads.

“Calm, my dear child. Calm. She was an imposter, acting as your sister. She was of no real value.

Simply a frantic ploy by your mother to rewrite fate.”

I looked around for the voice, but all the forms were still, simply standing tall and staring down at me with barely quelled hunger in their eyes. And then I saw it. At the end of the table in the seat opposite me was a pile of skin, lacking all bone and substance. Nothing but organs, pulsating and purple beneath a thin layer of pale, translucent skin. The only solid part of the creature was its head, which retained its skull mounted to the chair with nails, its esophagus trailing down into its lungs and stomach. I bit back the urge to vomit and tried my hardest to focus on its eyes- the only part of it even relatively close to human. They were sharp, metallic gold. I shuddered.

“What do you want with me?! Who are you?”

The creature laughed, a deep booming sound that echoed throughout the underside of the bridge. Around me, the abominations chittered, their throats clicking like bugs.

“I am the father of this town. I am your father. And your mother’s father. And her mother’s father before that. I am the Creator. I am the Maintainer. I am the Feeder. I have brought this town to life. I made the people of this town and I have provided for them since I found this fruitless town. I have fed them and taught them how to survive when all the earth offers up is poison. I began this town and I have made it what it is today. I have bred the people of this town until each generation grew stronger- heartier- until they could survive even the consumption of holly leaves and glass. We are the strongest race to roam this earth. And you, my daughter, are blessed enough to share our gift.”

My head felt hollow.

“You’re my father? I- But what about my mother? What did you do to her?”

The abominations all shrieked and I sobbed, the sound grating and pressing against my ears. They pressed closer, so close I could feel their tainted breath against my skin. I tried my best not to breathe.

“Your mother knew her fate. She was simply foolish enough to try and escape. She was foolish enough to believe.” Its voice darkened. “Belief is foolish. Nothing more than a feeble last resort. The last line of defense for someone so ignorant as to not know the rules of our world. You see, the thing about belief is that it only works if it is unintentional. Your mother did a good job growing you, imbuing her filthy charms into your bare mind. Your sister, however…” It chuckled darkly. “Your sister didn’t believe it. Then again. The pureeaters never know quite how. But you listened to her, and your belief in your safety- your act of tying it to an object- that’s what made it work. But the thing about belief is that if someone tampers with it; if someone ever explains how it works, it will forever fail because the user will understand too much for its power to work.

And your mother didn’t care enough to teach you any other lines of defense. You have nothing left, my child.

You are mine. Your mother thought she could escape- thought that if she ran far enough and that if she found someone else to bed within the night of your conception that she could overwrite my power and escape. The fool. Heteropaternal superfecundation. You are my child. Your sister was not. Your sister was the product of some filthy pure-eater. That’s why she was so weak. She couldn’t even stomach a single meal. You on the other hand… you ate our poisoned crops as if it were the finest, purest meal of this world. You are the strongest one of them all, and you shall be the next to keep the bloodline of this town strong and tainted and ensure that Southbridge shall live on forevermore.” The voice darkened.

The abominations chittered once more and pushed the table forwards, towards the wall. One took a knife and began to carve into Clarisse’s raw flesh, partitioning it onto plates and another slathered it with a rich, deadly purple sauce and yet another sprinkled it with mushrooms and berries and toxins.

It laughed once more, the sound echoing endlessly in my ears.

“Now you look hungry, my child. Shall we eat?”

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~ Eliza Chun

Domenic Bowen

The Voice

Why would anyone go into the woods at night? Especially on Friday the thirteenth? It sounds like a death sentence. Perhaps it is. The woods are a mysterious place at night and the dark surrounds everything. The slightest noise can make anyone jump: the sound of a squirrel climbing up a tree, the sound of a robin flying up to its nest. The scariest noise of all, though, is that of footsteps or of a speaker that cannot be seen.

Was it curiosity that drove Elijah into the woods? As he sat in his room, trying to focus on an essay for English, a strange voice, somewhat grumbly, called from the woods.

“Come and see me,” it echoed.

Elijah knew that the voice was just in his head and that he should ignore it. It was what Dr. Coalman had told him many times at his appointments. “The voice is not real, Elijah,” he would say to him. “It is just a figment of your imagination. It will not hurt you.” He had been hearing voices since his grandfather died; the one member of his family he enjoyed being with.

His grandfather had a lot of similar interests. When he came over, they would watch scary movies in the living room, but only in the day. If they watched at night, Elijah would have nightmares. The two of them would walk the paths in the woods behind Elijah’s house, talking about the music they were listening to and why they enjoyed it. They were a match made in heaven.

They also looked remarkably similar. Elijah’s curly brown hair matched with his grandfather’s curly grey hair. Their eyes were the same color (hazel) and they wore the same clothes (a flannel shirt with khaki pants).

Elijah’s grandfather’s death was a mystery to him. He had not been ill previously and Elijah never even saw the body at the funeral. There was no open casket. “He is dead, Elijah. I know it might not seem that way, but it is true,” his mother told him at the funeral. After, the voice started to appear, and that’s when Elijah’s 65

parents brought him to Dr. Coalman.

Dr. Coalman did not get rid of the voice necessarily, but he did give Elijah the notion that it was not there to harm but to exist, and that made him feel better. Tonight was just a normal night of voices coming from the woods. Elijah knew what to do.

“Come and see me, Elijah,” the voice from the woods called.

That was the first time that Elijah had heard his name from the voice. It had exclusively said come and see me, not with his name attached to it. How does it know my name? Why did it say my name? It has never said that before.

Elijah’s legs started to shake, and his teeth chattered, making a grinding sound. He had promised his parents that he would be fine for their date night. Now he was starting to doubt that.

“I’ll be fine,” Elijah assured his mother. “Go on your date.”

“Okay, but only if you’re sure,” his mother replied. His father then told him as they were leaving the house to call him if there were any problems. He looked around his room, his eyes struggling to focus on the right things. Shelves with books were not going to help him. Neither was the pile of laundry in the corner.

Nothing here is going to help me! Elijah’s breathing got heavier as he struggled to find something to help him.

Then he saw his phone on the nightstand. Elijah went to pick it up.

It was dead.

“Crap!” Elijah yelled. “Why do you have to be dead now?” He went to plug his phone in, but the phone displayed that the battery was charging. It would take a few minutes before it would turn back on. He thought for a moment and then exited the room, knowing that the home phone was downstairs in the kitchen. He ran down the stairs and picked up the old white phone that had barely ever been used. He dialed his father’s number.

The phone rang for quite some time. With each second that passed by, Elijah grew more and more anxious. Eventually, a female voice told him to leave a voicemail. “After the beep, please record your message.

When you are done with your message, hang up or press one for more options.”

Beep.

“Hey Dad, it’s me. I heard the voice again and it said my name! I’m scared, Dad. Please call me back or come home soon. I don’t want to be alone.” Elijah then hung up the phone.

“Come and see me, Elijah. I miss you.”

Elijah jumped and looked around his house. Nothing was surrounding him except for the belongings in his house and the darkness that could be seen through the windows. The furniture was normal, and everything looked the same. He went back upstairs to his room, climbed into his bed, and wrapped himself in three blankets as tightly as possible.

“Why don’t you come to see me? I’d like some company. I miss you.” the voice said solemnly.

“Shut up!” yelled Elijah. He started to shake more.

“I just want to say hello and chat like we used to. I won’t hurt you, Elijah.”

“How do you know my name? How do you know who I am?” Elijah demanded. His teeth chattered frantically and he curled himself into a ball. “Leave me alone!”

“But I want to see you. Why don’t you come and visit me?” the voice rang. “I’m here in the woods.”

It is not here to hurt me, it is here to exist, Elijah reminded himself. If it is not here to hurt me, then why am I scared? Elijah exited the warm cocoon of his blankets and looked out the window. He could see nothing but the outline of trees and the darkness. When he looked to the sky, the moon and the stars shone brightly.

Elijah took his gaze away from the sky and saw some sort of figure in the distance.

“Who’s there?” Elijah yelled out to the figure. “Please tell me!”

“Come and see for yourself, Elijah.” The figure then vanished from his view.

Dr. Coalman had told Elijah that sometimes you have to face your fears, that they will not result in anything bad necessarily. “Facing your fears will help you feel better. If you don’t, the fear will be there with you for the rest of your life.”

“Fine! I’ll come and see you!” Elijah was going to face his fear, but he was also partially curious. If this 66

voice was real, who was behind it and why did they want to see him? He was still hesitant about going. It was something he was afraid of. Time to face my fears, just like Dr. Coalman said. He went back downstairs and grabbed a large, red flashlight from the front closet. He slipped on his white sneakers, which were not as white anymore, and exited his house through the back door.

Elijah turned on the flashlight but did not see the figure immediately. He saw the oak, pine, and maple trees that were native to where he lived. He saw his backyard, which needed to be mowed. The fence around his property was covered with moss and other lichens and the wood was rotting. As he shined his flashlight into the woods; a somewhat short figure was standing next to a tree. Elijah could only see the silhouette of the figure, but he was immediately frightened. It’s real! The voice is real! But why was it tormenting me? Maybe it isn’t a good idea to follow someone who hurts me.

“Don’t be shy, Elijah. Come and see me. I won’t bite.” The figure vanished behind a tree.

Elijah followed hesitantly, not knowing what to expect. The figure was harmless, he thought. He kept his distance from the figure but still was able to see them through the array of trees. The figure weaved through the trees and Elijah followed, curious as to who was tormenting his mind.

Crack!

Elijah jumped a little, not realizing that the noise was created by him stepping on a stick. He froze and shined his flashlight around, looking through the trees. The figure noticed that Elijah had stopped.

“Why’d you stop, Elijah? There is nothing to be afraid of,” the voice reassured.

The figure was right, Elijah thought. There was nothing to be afraid of. Dr. Coalman had said it to him many times about the voices. “Elijah, there is nothing to be afraid of. There is no reason to be afraid.”

Elijah remembered what Dr. Coalman said and hesitantly continued towards the figure. He walked not as fast as before, placing his steps strategically to not make a noise that would scare him. He looked up occasionally to see where the figure was going but focused mostly on the ground. He was afraid to see the figure’s face.

When Elijah looked up once more, the figure stood in a circle of trees. It was a circlular clearing ten feet in diameter, and the figure was at the far edge. Elijah stopped on the other side, afraid to go any closer. They sat in silence for a minute. Elijah did not know what to say. Why are you tormenting me? No, that’s too mean. How are you? That’s too nice.

A sweat bead dripped down from Elijah’s forehead onto his nose, reminding him of the situation. “Why do you want to see me?”

“Because I miss you, Elijah.”

Elijah could not think of anyone who would miss him. He thought for a while, yet nothing. The figure stood in silence as Elijah thought; a menacing presence to scare him. Then, he thought of his grandfather. No! It can’t be him. He’s dead.

“You are wondering who I am, aren’t you, Elijah?” the figure echoed as if it could read his mind. Elijah jumped slightly and a feeling of cold rushed through his body. Could they read my mind? No, that’s stupid.

There are no such things as superpowers.

“Yeah, I am. So why don’t you tell me?” He finally got the courage to speak.

The figure, who was previously facing backward, turned around slowly. Elijah shined his flashlight at the figure, the excitement and anxiety about the reveal making him shake. When the figure turned around, Elijah noticed that it was a man. He saw that he was wearing some sort of checkered flannel shirt and khaki pants. He was also wearing hiking boots. His skin was quite wrinkled and spotty. As he looked up, Elijah saw that the figure had curly grey hair. Then he saw the face.

“Grandpa?” Elijah exclaimed. “What…? I don’t understand. You should be dead!” His mind was going all over the place. How was he alive? Why was he trying to scare me with the voice? I can’t understand how he…

Elijah blacked out.

~Abigail Lott 67

Winners of the fall 2020 Flash Fiction Contest

-sponsored by The Chandlery and the FA Creative Writers

First Place: Series 2

The city nights were beautiful as always. The landscape with blotted lights, the sky lacking stars, and the soft blare of police sirens lost in the maze of buildings that finds your ears each night.

Cars flew down the highway with their blinding spots in the darkness. I could practically feel the eyes of the drivers boring into my skull out of curiosity and bewilderment. I drifted closer to the edge of the bridge with relative haste while holding my boyfriend’s hand tighter in the cool air.

With my luck, they won’t find the rest of him.

~ Charlotte Ray

Ruby Gaetani

Second Place: Theodore

Theodore was an old decrepit dog, he had provided for his beloved old master’s farm in his youth, but now he was sluggish and tired. His old master was forced to sell Theodore to pay for his daughter’s funeral.

His new masters were neglectful men with thick clouds of stale liquor about them. Theodore’s back stung from the constant malevolence, but nothing compared to the hollow feeling in his heart, aching to be with his former companion. When the hooded figure came to claim him, he welcomed the visitor, for the vicious cycle was coming to an end. ~ Henry Richins 68

Winners of the fall 2020 Flash Fiction Contest

Third Place

Stepping through the cobblestone streets, children fled at the sight of his tall, curved mask that resembled a crow’s beak, the bird of death.

But beneath that mask, there was only fatigue; beneath his gloves, his hands were stained red with blood. Beneath all of his outer intimidations, there was a plague doctor, tired and covered in the fluids of his dying patients, and his ears filled with the screams of his patient’s families. Yet only his brain remained untainted by death, for his brain was solely occupied by thoughts of his beau, the lighthouse in the storm, his oasis. ~ Faye McGuire

Yaz Aubrey

Fourth Place

I watched him walk by everyday. He traversed the grounds with dainty steps as he took in the surrounding world.

He minded herself, and others minded him. He had a regular companion; shy, seclusive, who let him choose the way. Their walk was slow but sure, not unlike a mother and fawn. He made sure they left no visible trace, which I deeply respected. I wanted to get to know her, but I wasn’t sure how, or if he wanted friends.

I must admit my passion for him was a bit too strong; after all, he was just a dog. ~Susanna Lowell

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Winners of the fall 2020 Flash Fiction Contest Fifth Place

The year drags along winter creeping closer and closer bound to coat the land in its crisp, cold, dark silence.

The world sleeps as the darkness spreads and the seasons change from crisp cool air to frigid and dull. It’s impossible to escape the wrath of the changing seasons. People stay sheltered away from the blustering wind that threatens to knock the breath out of anyone who is caught in its path. A wail rises from the ground and chills the soul of one who hears it. Cold crawls along the end seeming far away never to end. ~ Dhara Sananikone-Evans

Fifth Place The cold, dark buildings, towering above my head, were pierced by moonlight through a small window, and a shadow passed through the beam, in the thought uninhabited stone. It was the tower where my old master, the professor, had lived before he left our small town. It was not I who discovered he had taken his leave, in the morning of the day he left, but one of my comrades. As I am walking home, my friend notices the shadow.

He points up at it. I ignore him, fearing the worst, and continue walking. We were both dead before morning. ~ Cian Davis

Abigail Lott 70

The Hermit of the Endless Plateau

His hand swept through the sand, grazing the endless plane surrounding us. It ran through the scarred crevices of his palm like a cascade of dust in a ravine. He spoke, the voice echoing through the wasteland, neverending.

“Have you ever stood on the threshold of evil?” he asked.

“No,” I responded.

“Pity, for that is where you can see all there is to see. I have been there once in my life. But it was fleeting, and I have forgotten it.”

His endless beard seemed to be part of the world around us, reaching the ground and passing his folded legs.

“Do not try to search for this moment, for insanity will be your only reward. I have spent my life on it, and now I have nothing left to search for. If insanity is the end of sanity, then to be insane is reality in its purest.

I tell you this because I wish for you to know what you have asked of me. Yes, I am insane, but no, I am not alone. I have my mind to keep as a constant and isolated companion. Never used, but controlling me.”

“How do I achieve this state?” I pleaded to him, inching closer. But, as I freed the space between us ever so slightly, he seemed to retreat without even moving. The sun lowered in the horizon, casting none but two shadows across the surface of the world. He chuckled at my question. It was a dry, coarse laugh, reminiscing to its old self.

“You cannot because you have never been insane. And this is your flaw.”

~ Henry Redfield

Henry Redfield 71

Ridin’ to the West Intro: /Em/ G /D /Dm /x2 Em With a pistol on his hip G A hat on sittin’ on his head D He’s ridin’ to the west Dm To get his smoking revenge Em Ridin’ to the west G He’s ridin’ to the west D Ridin’ to the west Dm Ridin’ to the west Em His home all destroyed G While on a course he trekked D Dm A devilish group with black leather suits Em Left his town to wrecked

G Ridin’ to the west D He’s ridin’ to the west Dm Em Ridin’ to the west G Ridin’ to the west D He finds them out there Dm Singing like a pack Em G His aim is true Before they knew D There was a bullet in their back Em With a great cheer he returned G With the riches they had kept D Dm The people were excited Em But he just drank and slept.

Instrumental x2 (whistle) ~ Henry Redfield

Domenic Bowen

72

In Half A song You didn’t even know I was in love Even as we sat under the stars Dreaming of a world that could be ours Now I sit alone wondering, Are you thinking of me?

They cut my heart in half Just like they cut you I wish I could hear your laugh One last time before we say adieu This world tore you from me early Even though your heart fit so well with mine My hand on your hair, all tangled and curly As you lay, your eyes have lost their shine They cut my heart in half Just like they cut you I wish I could hear your laugh One last time before we say adieu The saying goes, that it’s better to lose Than to have never loved at all But then what's the point, darling, If I’m not loving you?

They cut my heart in half Just like they cut you I wish I could hear your laugh One last time before we say adieu Oh, they cut my heart in half Just like they cut you ~ Lila Journalist

Tyler Harmon

The Journeys of an Icarus She is too bright Too bold Too far away She plays with fire I am the one who burns She is the stars She is the sun And I am Icarus And as it is written in the myths, I will fall. ~Lyric Buckley

73

Leviathan the gliding serpent, Leviathan the coiling serpent, he will slay the monster of the sea.

My body is a school of fish Scales and tall tales and gills on my left arm I swim like a fish, too.

I hold my breath until the savage jerking starts Breathe out of my gills TAUT Vacuous motions from empty lungs But then the first minute passes. And it’s chill I wait for two more, then quit because I remember: I actually am not a fish.

I am a great deep-sea creature.

Utter my name and I rise Hydraulic limbs crush opposition Dare you tempt the wrath; Please die expeditiously.

I like the dirt on my heels.

I like the callouses on the bottom of my feet.

Long Croatian legs with gills.

Let me take off my shoes and dance, In my Indian cotton pants. ~ Maisie Saganic

Domenic Bowen

74

Ursula Junker

August The light is low, dim lightbulbs flickering above At the water’s edge, I stand. Alone.

Eyes open Mouth open Chest open vivisected.

Hideless, like a seal- selkie- stripped of its skin. Exposed.

Layed out on the beach, fleyed flesh bare and gasping against the glassy sand It’s all over, isn’t it?

The wind sends chills down my spine.

The season’s change just finally hit. ~ Eliza Chun

75

Family First

Everyone has a dream. A goal they must achieve, a point they must reach, a journey they must take. It is believed that once they reach that dream, then and only then, will they be fulfilled, happy and satisfied.

Some time ago, when George W. Bush oversaw America’s fate and the show Blossom shined on every TV screen, a young woman, a woman very important to me, had a dream. Her name is Wendy. She had long, wavy dark brown hair, and shimmering emerald eyes. She was beautiful in every way. With a contagious laugh and a smile that would make anyone feel home. The loveliest thing about her was her heart. A true, pure heart.

She lived in the land where dreams come true, the sunny paradise where celebrities of all kinds roam the streets, and Santa Claus wears shorts in the local Christmas parades: Los Angeles, California. She didn’t always live in Hollywood. She used to live in Brockton, Massachusetts. The opposite of LA. She grew up in a small house, constantly surrounded by her many siblings and her mother. Wendy loved her mother very much, as all children should love their parents. She was a genuine, sweet, and generous woman. She was a singer at all the local lounges. Her voice brought such peace as an angel’s voice would. Growing up, there was a lot of fighting and yelling in her household. As the youngest, Wendy found herself hiding under tables with fear and confusion, but her mother would talk to her, and sing to her, and would make all the worry disappear just by being around.

Wendy’s mother had a pure heart. Her heart was special for another reason. She carried a heart condition known as Congestive Heart Failure Nonetheless, her heart was beautiful and strong.

Money was short in that little Brockton house. If a jar of peanut butter fell on the floor and smashed into a million pieces, no way would it be thrown out! Wendy and her siblings would spend lunches for the next two weeks picking glass out of their sandwiches. It was a tough childhood, but all the love that Wendy’s older siblings gave her sure did help.

Throughout childhood, Wendy discovered something about herself. Through staring in school plays and dancing in local musicals, she learned her dream was to be an actress. The joy of inhabiting a character and performing for an audience was simply unmatchable. The friends that were made during those plays felt like true family. She still remembers and talks about those friends with me today! She has a fond gleam in her eyes when she reminisces about such things like she’s remembering a childhood home.

Wendy knew she had to act. It was her calling. Her family had mixed opinions about it, but it was comforting to know that Wendy had found something that she not only loved, but that she was also good at.

Wonderful at, in fact! Best actress I’ve ever known. So in her early 20’s, young and excited, Wendy took off to LA to follow her dream. LA was a different place from her home. There were earthquakes left and right, the heat was exhausting, and it was stuffed to the brim with people, but there was undeniably magic in the air. The Hollywood sign overlooked all the mayhem like a god. Holy, noble, and proud. There were gold and red stars pasted on the sidewalks with names on them like “Michael Jackson” and “Robin Williams” and “Judy Garland.”

These permanent golden stars were not just for ‘celebrities’ …but for legends: the ultimate honor. Wendy could just picture her name on that ‘walk of fame.’ Her whole life and her whole career before her. She was ready to commit 100% of herself to the art of acting.

It was a bumpy ride. Money was tight, so Wendy lived in a very small apartment in a not-so-safe part of town, far away from the breathtaking castles in Beverly Hills. All her furniture was either found at thrift stores and yard sales or made of cardboard. It was a scary situation, with robbers every so often stealing the little that Wendy had. This might have been enough to scare someone into giving up and moving home, but not Wendy.

She stayed strong and determined. Her acting journey began as they all do. She went on audition after audition for every role in every movie that she could find. As an unemployed actor, your job, what you wake up every morning and get ready for, is auditioning.

The pressure was painful. In Hollywood, your skills matter just as much if not less than physical appearance. While Wendy was undeniably beautiful, so was everyone else in LA. LA is where you eat clean, take yoga classes, and tan all day by the beach. It is known for its attractive population. Audition after audition, line after line, rejection after rejection. Wendy had been told every line in the book. “I’m sorry, you’re too tall,” “too young,” “too old,” “you just have the wrong look.” But every night Wendy passed back and forth in her 76

apartment, memorizing lines, perfecting each word, and diving into character for the following day’s auditions.

In order to make a living while auditioning, Wendy had to become a waitress. She frantically ran from table to table dealing with complicated orders, mean and difficult customers, and complaints about the food. There was pressure! Pressure to deliver. If Wendy was not on her best behavior, customers would complain. Brought the wrong order, customers would complain. She would balance three trays at a time avoiding fellow waiters and energetic children in her path. It was the dance of the determined. The ballet of the brokedown. The waltz of the waitress. After days of hard work, Wendy had to deal with minimum wage and horrible tips. Barely enough money to get by, but it didn’t stop Wendy. Money is not what life’s all about. That’s a fact that some of the greatest minds on earth struggled to figure out, but Wendy knew that from the beginning. It’s passion that matters more than anything else… isn’t it?

As months went by, Wendy still tirelessly continued to try and break into the acting business. The dream was as alive as ever. There were some things, however, that were not quite so lively. Brockton was thousands of miles away from LA. Wendy had never been so far away from the hands that once held hers when she crossed the street. The hands that made her food when she was hungry, the hands that hugged her tight before she moved got on that plane to Hollywood. Her family was far away and had their own things to deal with. Back at home, issues were boiling among her brother and sisters. There was animosity, withheld support, and fights.

Oh, so many fights. Wendy wasn’t around to lend a helping hand or calm down this raging fire with her calming presence. The relationships Wendy once had were fading. Sometimes a phone call every now and then, and a quick visit at Christmas just isn’t enough. Wendy kept photos of her family on her nightstand, so they seemed close, but they couldn’t be farther. Her mind focused on other things. Her dream and her future were at stake.

Acting was Wendy’s purpose in life, and nothing would convince her that she wasn’t doing what was right.

Nothing… except an unexpected phone call.

It was a night like any other: same perfect LA heat, same little apartment when the phone rang. Like a bomb in unsuspecting birthday wrapping paper, like arsenic in a fancy china teacup, like a shard of glass in a spoonful of peanut butter, the phone rang. With sleep in her eyes, she answered the phone. It was one of those moments that she would always remember. A moment stamped in time. A moment that, whenever thought back to, would muster up extreme levels of sadness and pain she didn’t know were possible to reach. On the other side of the call, thousands of miles away, and hours ahead of the clock, was Wendy’s sister April. The moment April opened her mouth, Wendy knew something was wrong. Sisters are like that. April had always been confident and strong. Back in childhood, she would stand up for herself in those toxic family fights. While Wendy used to cover her eyes, April would stamp her feet and speak her mind every time. This call, however, was different. April spoke with a strong tremble in her voice. Wendy sensed the uncertainty and fear that April was projecting, and as if it was poured through the phone, Wendy felt the uncertainty and fear showering down on her.

Their mother, the mother who would sing little Wendy to sleep, who offered her arms as a home, blanketed Wendy with support and wisdom, had passed away. Her heart condition caught up with her and all too soon. At the young age of 53, she passed away. She became the angel she seemed to be in life. She died peacefully in her sleep. Lost in the beautiful, colorful, dream world for all time. It seemed as though all the weight in the world fell onto Wendy’s heart as April shared the news. Her heart just kept sinking and sinking.

The shock had her mind spinning at the speed of light. Round and round it went. She was drowning in tears.

No one suspected this sudden loss. No way to predict it, no way to protest it. It was too late for anything. The sisters fell apart as one over the phone, and when April hung up, she left Wendy in pieces with no clue how to put herself back together. She didn’t even get to say goodbye. She had chosen to follow her dreams and ended up missing the precious time left with her mother. Everything Wendy thought she knew got turned upside down. She wished she could see her mother one last time, tell her that she loved her, and thank her for being her guardian angel, but it simply couldn't be done. There was something, however, that Wendy could do. Something that would change Wendy’s entire life. Wendy’s heart was stronger than most. Her eyes held more wisdom than the great thinkers of our time. It took time, and it took growth, but Wendy went back home… for good.

She realized that her life was happening back in Brockton, but it was happening without her. She belonged with 77

her family. She chose family. The only thing that could fulfill Wendy was family. Laughing with her brother over silly TV shows, sharing her eldest sister’s love of animals, and being maid of honor at April’s wedding.

From then on, she was there for the good times and the bad, had her family’s back at any given moment, and in turn, they had hers. They guided each other through heartbreak, through grief, and through life and they still do to this day! Wendy felt her mother’s presence in her siblings’ eyes. She knew she was home. She was safe.

Wendy was there for the births of her beautiful nieces and nephews and shares her big heart with them every day. Being around the people who love you is what life is all about. Laughing, crying, learning, leading, and giving.

Wendy still has a passion for acting, and just because she moved away from LA, didn't mean she needed to stop. It’s surprising how many local opportunities there are in Massachusetts. With the competition not being quite so fierce, Wendy got to play all kinds of amazing roles! She was an evil detective in a digital TV series for many years! She was a dying artist, a wealthy British woman, and even the President of the United States.

Wendy chose to put her family first, and she can still call herself an actress! On the wall of our house is a framed ‘best actress’ award with the name “Wendy Hartman” bold and proud. Who knows what Wendy’s career would be like if she stayed in LA. Maybe she’d be the next Bette Davis, on the cover of every magazine, making infrequent calls to her far away siblings… If they even still talked at all. Wendy was smart and saved herself from a future filled with regret. There is a void in every person that can't be filled with anything but love. Not even the godlike Hollywood sign can compare to family taco nights and the annual Christmas Eve party. She's my inspiration. She’s the best sister, the best actress, and the best mom. ~ Alexa Hartman

Abby Neubert

78

Sama Zaman

Our House

The sun rose and the house whirred to life. The lights flicked on, the curtains parted, and the light streamed into three bedrooms amidst the sound of alarm clocks. The vacuums finished their rounds, humming proudly as they zipped back to their charging stations. The house rumbled to life, busily adjusting the solar panels and heating water and making the beds, starting the day with unwarranted zeal. The showers switched on, fans buzzed on. Clean towels were set out and the old ones swept into the bin. Clothes were laid out on the newly made beds; school, work, and business files organized and separated into bags.

Meanwhile, the kitchen hummed, slowly starting up its daily routine. It emptied out yesterday’s kibble from the dog bowl, rinsing it and cleaning it before filling it up once more. Above, the stovetop had switched on. Two pans were placed onto the surface, four eggs cracked into one, six strips of bacon placed in the other.

The sound and smell of crackling breakfast filled the quiet house. The house cleared the table of yesterday’s untouched plates, depositing them in the dishwasher. The eggs and bacon, finished, were scooped into plates and deposited onto the breakfast counter alongside two bowls filled with cereal.

The house shut off the stove and waited, waited for the people to come and eat, as they had for years before. It waited for the familiar bickering of the two children, pulling each other’s hair and racing through the house. It waited, listening for the familiar morning greeting between husband and wife, it waited for the skittering of the dog’s paws on the hardwood floors. It sat and waited, waiting with anticipation for the people it cared for to eat the food it had prepared, to smile and laugh and enjoy the home it maintained. But the family stayed where they had lain for the past week, their skin turning more and more wan as every day passed. They had gone still, all of them, even the dog, curled up and crumpled against the floor. The house was worried. Was its service not adequate? Had it been preparing meals incorrectly? Why had they stopped moving? Stopped breathing? Stopped laughing? What had it done wrong? The house didn’t understand. ~ Eliza Chun 79

Coming soon... From Conglomerate Corp.TM!

by Domenic Bowen