Echo Literary Magazine, Volume II, Issue 1

MAGAZINE Volume II, Issue 1, Winter 2016

Contents

Poems Art Dream … M ­ argo Danahy 1 Nightmare … Sam Marquis 2

Dolly … Anne Fletcher 3 The Last Thing at Night … Dalia Dainora Cohen ­4 When Stars Die … Gabriel McCreath ­5

Yin Yang … Anji Friedbauer 6 Behind the Clouds … Rayne McNerney 7 Pieces … Robin Huntington ­8 Thinking … Madison Liesching ­9

Bumblebee … Sara Bauman 10 The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of … Dalia Dainora Cohen ­11 Daydreaming … Charlotte Brandt ­12 Dreaming, Dreaming … Naomi Stephenson ­13 Song of the Condemned Sailor … Elisabeth Pitts ­14

The Sky’s the Limit … Madison Liesching 15 Dreamcatcher … Dalia Dainora Cohen ­16 Just a Few More Minutes of Quiet … Jane Wenzel ­18 The Never-Ending Dream … Shi Shi Jacobs ­18

The Dreamer … Gabriel McCreath 19 Beyond the Clouds … Dalia Dainora Cohen 20 The Idea … Gabriel McCreath 21 Sleeplessness … Shi Shi Jacobs 22 quiet poem … Elisabeth Pitts 23 Dream Song … Gabriel McCreath 24 Almost Perfect … Emma Bauman 25

Sorrow … Elena Dainora Cohen 26

Water Splash … Sara Bauman 27

Flowers … Sara Bauman 27 Prose Nightmare … Nina Bunn 28

Kat … Anne Fletcher 29 Eir Dream … Gabriel McCreath 30 Nightly Terrors … Dalia Dainora Cohen 32 Tornado Dream … Alex Taylor 34

Falling … Shi Shi Jacobs 35 True Story … Alex Tobias 36 Lost in Souls … Christina Monroe & Mina Cho 37

Nightmare Guard … Gabriel McCreath 40 In the Ring … Everett Lewis 41 Wait For Me … Elisabeth Pitts 42

White Blossom … Sara Bauman 45 Contributors 47

Dream Margo Danahy

Dream.

Dream of peace.

Dream of peace surrounding the earth as walls are broken and the world comes together like the stars in the sky, each different, but all part of the vast universe that surrounds us.

Dream of a world where there is no war. Peace is laid upon the earth like a blanket.

A world where everyone drops their weapons and shakes hands.

Dream of a world in which everyone lives in harmony. Everyone has their part to play, like an orchestra, and when they come together, beautiful music is played.

Dream of everyone getting an education, a world in which every boy and every girl can pick up a book and read it.

Where girls and boys have the same rights and nobody can stop them from learning.

Dream of a world where, no matter who you are, you can be treated equally and loved no matter what.

Dream of everyone living peacefully, happily and not suffering.

Dream about the people who have helped you through times of difficulty; now is your chance to help others.

Dream about the children in the world just like you, but not as fortunate.

Dream about being in their shoes, What would it be like to have one meal a day, or no clean water, or having to run ten miles to school.

Dream about giving them a life like yours, letting them strive, because many of them can’t.

Dream the impossible Dream until you can’t dream any more.

Dream things you don’t understand Dream of a world of wonders, Dream to learn a new thing everyday, discover something new, and teach the world about it.

Dream to be a hero and help the world Dream of your past, your future, but most importantly now.

Dream of what you can do now.

Dream of helping those in need.

Dream of starting a movement, and standing up for what you believe in.

Dream of helping the earth, stopping pollution.

And when you are done dreaming, make a change.

Nightmare Sam Marquis

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Ding Dong Ding Dong Who did ring the bell Was it the dead Did the sound come straight from hell or was it just my head Blood stains everywhere The dead bodies rot Are they really there or are they just in my thoughts The rats all crawl chewing on a brain Are they even there at all or have I gone insane I know my death is coming near believe this story I tell The last noise I hear is the ringing of the bells Ding Dong Ding Dong

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Dolly Anne Fletcher

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The Last Thing At Night Dalia Dainora Cohen

All day long the sun shines bright Birds will eat and then take flight Cats will prowl, never shy Clouds will blot the endless sky But then comes night Sky will darken, slow then quick The doors all shut, the locks all click Dinner’s eaten, safe in bed Sleepy thoughts run through your head But then the curtains flick You sit up, scared out of wits On the sill a thing just sits You freeze, hushed, shaking with fright Waiting in the dark of night Then the window’s smashed to bits You scream, glass spattering the air Beyond the curtains, the moon shines fair Person, animal, monster, which?

Once again the curtains twitch And then you see what’s there

Ready to defend yourself You grab a book from nearby shelf They have jumped upon your bed You raise the book above your head And smack the little elf The elf lets out a piercing cry “I will kill you, and you will die!”

It shouts, about to cast a spell But suddenly, the creature fell Then came a whooshing sigh The light then fades; the room is black There’s creepie-crawlies on your back No sound, but then a distant light You follow though you have no sight Run, like a maniac!

It’s morning now, you see the light You get up, though, just out of spite For darkness that took over you Though normally you’re not up ‘till two You really hate the night

Fairy or beast, whichever you wish Head of human, scales of fish Butterfly wings, long, soft, and pale Impish grin and monkey tail And then you hear a swish

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When Stars Die Gabriel McCreath

people tend to look up to the stars as if we were almost there but it’s all false hope because the stars don’t care stars are supposed to be perfect supposed to be admired when the sun has cast it’s final ray the stars climb even higher but when stars die and we can only ask why is this the end of stars for good or have they just left the sky does the whole world think that stars are the only thing that matters when we see how great stars are our own dreams tend to shatter it has to be perfect or else it doesn’t exist at all we drive the stars to their own deaths if it seems they’ve hit a wall but when stars die and we can only ask why is this the end of stars for good or have they just left the sky but only in our wildest dreams could we fly among the stars it’s a thought, for sure, a fantasy but we’d just never get that far the night used to be speckled with stars and then they disappeared the stars are in the heavens and we are stuck down here but when stars die and we can only ask why is this the end of stars for good or have they just left the sky

Behind the Clouds Rayne McNerney

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Yin Yang Anji Friedbauer

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Run so far To behind the clouds Distant place Can’t touch me There is no pain here All so pure I must go Only live so long But dream on No one else Knows of this heaven, Of this bliss All is calm You know others are Safe, at peace Come so far Now behind the clouds I’m at home

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Pieces Robin Huntington

1 Dreams were never there, Never seen, Never known, Never real, Never there, Still they shape our lives, Keep us going, Beautiful, wonderful, dreams, And they kill us, 2 Dreams are a virtue, Sometimes they overlap, Sometimes they never meet, Sometimes they cross, Sometimes they wither and die, Sometimes they thrive, But always remember, Dreams are just a virtue, 3 Dreams are a balloon, They expand, They get bigger, They get better, Then they pop.

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Thinking Madison Liesching

When you do a lot of thinking you may become insane.

You may begin to wonder why it’s not called “thought of train.”

The side effects are wacky as you’ll soon find out I hope.

You’ll wish for rather odd things like “when can I meet the pope?”

I’m sorry this is happening I really truly am.

Yet I know what you are thinking of “Why do fireworks go BAM?” I would help you find a doctor with a high enough IQ. But there’s no one who would understand what you’re thinking of is stew.

I know that you have crazy dreams but you still must bear in mind none of it is happening.

Even the unkind.

The one thing you cannot forget is the fact you’re not insane.

It’s all up in your head and mind.

Even your thought of train.

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Bumblebees Sara Bauman

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The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of Dalia Dainora Cohen

They said it was the stuff that dreams are made of What are dreams made of?

Dreams are nothing, foolish apparitions that flee our consciousness like frightened children Everything and nothing; the solution to the equation that is the universe Who am I to judge what dreams are; they are whatever you wish them to be You have no control over dreams, they are never what you wish them to be and never will be Like an egg, bright and delicious if you are willing to risk cracking the shell Previously unknown thoughts lashing out at random times, ideas flying from secret corners of the world Dreams are made of nothing; nothing is made of dreams Misleading fantasies, like silk slipping through your fingers only to be replaced by burlap Excess thoughts ruminating about what they could be while you slumber Inner unnoticed beauty ignored for outer ones, virtue shunned to pay attention to unimportant imperfections Silent truths, mute and slyly mysterious verities The very center of existence, growing and changing and dying like us

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Daydreaming Charlotte Brandt

Chaos organization otherworlds and unexpected whims epiphanies and all the ideas worries doubts memories a maze that never ends the door slams you pull your head out of the clouds and you’re the only one left in the classroom

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Dreaming, Dreaming Naomi Stephenson

I fell asleep I didn’t make a peep Suddenly I’m in a Jeep With lots of sheep One of them said, “Hello, my name is Fred.”

Another was called Ted The next was named Ned They cried out to a bus, “Oh, please help us!”

“I’ll help you!”

I said. “Thank you! Thank you!

We are in trouble Because of that bubble He wants to eat us And his cause is not just!

Look, he’s chasing us!”

I turned around And just above the ground Floated the bubble And boy he was trouble!

His name was Joe And he swallowed a hoe The sheep named Moe Said to me, “You see, you see?”

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I saw it, all right It wouldn’t be an easy fight I watched a beetle A sheep said, “Take this needle!

And stab the beast And we will feast!”

“On what?” I asked “The glory in which we shall bask!”

Cried another.

“Oh, brother,” I said, for yxou see The sheep were counting on me didn’t want to do it But a spark was lit As we turned around a bend.

“I’ll be your best friend!”

I took a deep breath “I’ll do it,” I said “Good luck! Good luck!”

I gathered my courage And then I woke up.

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Song of the Condemned Sailor Elisabeth Pitts - Inspired by a Poem by M. Y. Lermontov If I was born an ocean wave To crash aloud upon the shore, Oh, how fervently I’d cherish Liberty I needn’t look for.

I would not fear the gates of Hell Nor be called by oath of Heaven; Merely listlessness and coldThey would be my only brethren.

I wouldn’t seek a different life In another, unknown land.

I would be my own lone captain; Living, dying- my command.

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The Sky’s the Limit Madison Liesching

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Dreamcatcher Dalia Dainora Cohen

There is a dreamcatcher hanging Somewhere above my bed And every night it catches dreams Which whirl around my head It catches all the horrible thoughts That just refuse to leave Though sometimes one or two slip through And then I’m forced to grieve And though I love this web of mine That works without a halt Its patient beads and feathers have An irritating fault For while it catches most nightmares (I’m sure that this is true) I don’t have wondrous fantasies The good dreams get caught too But if I just did not use my True dreamcatcher each night I’d be forever tortured in The dreamworld, filled with fright And so I live a dreamless life Endure it every day I sadly stand and watch as all Of my dreams fly away

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Just a Few More Minutes of Quiet Jane Wenzel

Just a few more minutes of quiet A soft knock on a partly shut door “Wake up, it’s Monday” A single sit-up A single lay-back-down The soft “pluf” of a pierzyna Just a few more minutes of quiet…

An alarm A button or two sloppily clicked snooze…

That sounds nice Just a few more minutes of quiet A less polite “GET UP!” an indignant murmur A look at the clock A face buried in a pillow A comforter pulled up to an ear Just a few more minutes of quiet A long day A drive home A “Thanks for the ride” A key in a lock Another “pluf” Just a few more minutes of quiet...

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The Never-Ending Dream Shi Shi Jacobs

Hot tea and biscuits The fireplace aglow warmth bursting at its seams The absence of snow and cold air Families gathering celebrating giving

and then

I realize

I am alone Cold Deserted

The frosted streets are my home Wandering through endless poverty Someday maybe

freedom will prevail I will rid my life of bare feet Reality is degrading My reality is a nightmare

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The Dreamer Gabriel McCreath

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Beyond the Clouds Dalia Dainora Cohen

Somewhere there, beyond the clouds There is a world of dreams This world is wide and slow and strange And bursting at the seams However large a universe This place of dreams may be I do not think it could ever fit All of the dreams I see The dreams of me and you and us And them and everyone There’s dreams of life and love and laughter, Future, fame, and fun It would be impossible to Make all these dreams come true And different ones would take their place Dreams would spring up anew I know that in this world of dream Fantasies glow like lights And days are long and bright and blue With dark and foggy nights

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The Idea Gabriel McCreath

Dreams sprinkled in the sky like stars Thousands, no, many more Although it seems impossible No one should think it lore For who could make up such a place?

So wonderful, strange, and sad Where anytime you see a face You know it, just a tad Maybe it is because you have Seen their dream somewhere here You might recognize them someday Yes, that face may be near Dreams live inside our minds as well They’re not just in the sky And you will see a little dream Inside a firefly You know our world’s not powered by Oil or gas or steam Of course it is instead powered By everybody’s dreams I didn’t stop to think what would happen to me the idea, it came it arrived in a dream I wasn’t worried when it all began

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when it all began I didn’t stop to think I wasn’t worried about what would happen to me it arrived in a dream the idea, it came the idea, it came when it all began it arrived in a dream I didn’t stop to think what would happen to me?

I wasn’t worried I wasn’t worried when the idea came would it happen to me when it all began?

I won’t stop to think arriving in a dream arriving in a dream I’m not worried I don’t stop to think the idea will come when it all begins what will happen to me? what happens to me? when it arrives in a dream when it all begins I won’t be worried the idea, it will come I won’t stop to think

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Sleeplessness Shi Shi Jacobs

I cannot sleep.

Nighttime never came.

My mattress is cement.

The light in my room did not extinguish.

My father’s snoring is too loud.

I’m trapped in a world of liveliness.

I don’t remember her kissing me goodnight.

There’s a pile of worries outside the door to my mind.

The feeling of sleepiness is forbidden from my brain.

My dreams gave up on me.

Calmness never came over me.

The ceiling is a boring view.

The thoughts didn’t stop coming.

I could not manage to keep my eyes closed.

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quiet poem Elisabeth Pitts

summersweet ache quiet

bittersweet sunset quiet

mist on skin and grass quiet sunlit library quietthe sound of pages and dust silent tears quiet all alone empty feeling quiet snowfall quiet crackling fire and blanket quiet whisper quiet

secret keeping quietthe sound of golden emptiness moment-before-you-fall quiet

heartbreak quiet leaves falling quiet buds blooming quiet and summer morning quiet blue sky and sunlight quiet

purple twilight quiet

and steel gray mist quiet night on the ocean quiet and sunrise on the horizon quiet blue shell and molten gold and crimson quiet windchime quiet and cat purr quiet

hot tea and biscuits quiet

dreaming quiet so much quiet but so much more beautiful that human noise

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Dream Song Gabriel McCreath

another day I’ll pray for peace another night I will not sleep another life I’ll try to live another time I’ll not forgive another poison I will drink another, and I cannot think another hour I’ll sit and wait another game I’ll play with fate why do I do this? why do I try?

I know that the dreams will pass me by singing a song until I’m awake makes another chance I’ll have forgotten to take the dreams, the visions the snippets of life they come only in darkness sharp as a knife it goes on, it goes on I still sing my song I still sing my song a song, a song dreaming in melody a lovely dream song it turned into mourning and now it’s all gone another thought will come tonight another dream I will not fight another sleep I’ll try to defend another night and all of it ends

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Almost Perfect Emma Bauman

Every night after I fall asleep I start to dream about a wish I keep The place I dream is lovely It really makes me smile I really really wish I could stay there for awhile The people there are kind the buildings there are clean And all the trees that are there are quite a pretty green This place I dream is perfect except for just one thing there is this two headed monster That really likes to sing This monster is named Bob and Joe and also likes to cook he eats sweet little girls and has a green cookbook

I don’t want to be served and get eaten as their meal for I promise I am innocent and I do not like this deal!

This is the part of my dreams where I wake up out of fear I do not want to die I still want my legs and arms and ears!

As I wake up from my dream I jump out of bed and run to my parents who are watching the movie “Ted” They are lying in their bed when they hear me scream “Mommy and Daddy!

I just had a horrible dream!”

They turn the TV off And walk me back to my room They then kiss me goodnight And send me back to my doom.

The two heads together sing a haunting song that is quite gruesome I find it very wrong This song scares me really quite a lot for I am just a little girl not meant to be boiled hot

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Sorrow Elena Dainora Cohen

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Photography Sara Bauman

Water Splash

Flowers

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Nightmare Nina Audrey Bunn

The wizened old man opened the door. He led me inside.

It was a dark, dark, room. Shadows in every corner. I reached out my hand. The darkness smothered it like a thick fog. The room smelled musty. I walked a few steps, feeling the floor with my well-worn leather sandals. The ground was smooth concrete. “I don’t like the dark,” children’s voices from every corner whispered. My brain whizzed, but all I could think of was the dark. “The dark, dark, dark…”

I sat down, tucking my knees into my chest. I rocked back and forth, thinking of blackness and things unseen. Why had the old man put me here? What was he going to do to me?

Suddenly, my ears pricked. I heard a sort of low snuffling in a shadowed corner. I tensed, every sense alert. Two malicious eyes glowed out of the dark at me. I whimpered and took a few steps back.

As the beast advanced toward me, its prey, I saw more and more frightening detail. It was a dark scarlet bull, heaving and grunting, complete with large, flame-colored horns. Its muscles rippled along its side, and the beast lowered its horns menacingly.

I shrieked and ran, feet slapping the pavement, loose strands of hair flapping at my face. The bull’s grunting followed close behind. I could feel its stinky breath on my neck. One of my sandals fell off, and now I was tripping, stumbling, anything to get away.

I heard bellowing and glanced back. The bull was mere inches behind me. Its jaws were wide open, the teeth gleaming with spittle. I stopped, paralyzed with fear.

Those few seconds were all the beast needed. The jaws snapped down, and my screams filled my ears.

I bolted upright, my clothes drenched in sweat. Soft morning light filtered in through my window curtains. “I’m out of the old man’s grasp,” I thought. The next night, he would pull me back towards darkness and shadow. For now I got out of bed and walked towards the day. Finally, I was back in the light again.

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Kat Anne Fletcher

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Eir Dream Gabriel McCreath

E walked onto the platform. They gave the signal, and the world began to buzz all around em. E grew dizzy, and the room vanished from sight. It was replaced with a beautiful, ancient library. E looked around, and took in the tall towers of books, the caves, and the rooms hanging from the roof. E moved a few steps outward, and started exploring. The musty smell of old wood and stone combined with the books and the damp air. Blue-green sunlight shone in from the glass domed ceiling, and glass candles burned in the caves and shadows.

E walked over to a ladder and began to climb. E clambered onto the stone floor, giving emself a minor scratch on the hand in the process. E observed the new sight that greeted em. A long tunnel, stretching far into the rock, appeared as if it were going to eat em. It was lit by more glass candles. Their flames, though still, burned brighter than those of flame-powered candles. E walked a little ways down the tunnel.

This is what They had sent em for. To find this tunnel. Now e had to find the other thing. E walked and walked until e found a door. Peeking in the window, e knew e had found the right place. After months of running around from planet to planet, it was about time that eir work had paid off. Hopefully They would let em take a few of the magical-looking books with em.

Turning the knob on the door, e shuffled inside and lit eir portable light. Sweeping it back and forth across the small, dark, room, e searched in the black for what e was looking for. Then e saw it. E ran over and grabbed it from the workbench, discarding all caution for the sake of the goal.

The wall fell to the force of a giant object, moving too fast for em to see. Eir instincts forced em to scramble out of the way, eir re-enforced reflexes saving em at the last second. Hugging the goal to eir chest, e sprinted down back down the hallway as fast as eir legs could carry em. The metal bull that had scared em so much was now chasing em down the endless corridor of rock, gaining on em with every passing moment. E remembered the mental tricks that They had taught em. The goal was eirs. The goal was eirs! No one could take it away from em, only e deserved it.

The metal bull crashed into eir back, sending em flying. E soared out of the tunnel and out into the open air of the library. E fell, fell, fell. E landed with a thud on the platform, and the world buzzed once more.

Before e knew it, e was back in the room with the platform, where They were waiting for em. They picked em up by the shirt, and grabbed the goal out of eir arms. They commanded em to go to the sick room, and e did so. After all, it wasn’t eir first trip, and e knew that the sick room would help em.

In the sick room, the doctor approached em. Fae glanced at em as e came in, thinking silently to faerself what They had done to em now. Fae motioned for em to sit on a stool to wait until the doctor was ready.

Fae knew to make em wait until fae had permission to treat em, but had never told em that. Now fae had to wait for Them to send the permission, even though fae wanted to help em.

Fae looked again at em. Fae was amazed at how no matter how badly e was hurt, e always sat and waited patiently for eir treatment. Most would cry, or worse, argue until they got their treatment. Fae sighed. It was not allowed by Them to ask for permission, but that did not stop fae from wanting to.

Some time later, the doctor received the long-awaited permission from Them. E had begun swinging eir legs with impatience, and fae did not blame em. Faer sick room was often a place of this boredom, and even though e had waited in here before, it still bored em.

When fae got up, e followed faer to the treatment room. Fae picked up a few tools, and got to work. First, fae undid the metal plate on eir back. Fae unclipped the wires keeping em awake. E collapsed as e was put into sleep, the wires spilling out of eir back. Fae cursed under faer breath, shoving em backwards into 30

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a chair. Fae stuffed the wires into eir back in a messy way, hoping fae didn’t cause any harm to em. Fae picked em up, and dropped em on a cot. Beginning work on eir head, fae gingerly removed the primary panels from eir neck base. Fae looked around inside eir head for a while, but found nothing to fault.

Closing the panels back up, fae moved on to the next set of machinery to look for more malfunctions.

Fae worked like this for an hour or so, fixing tiny things here and there in eir gears and wiring, but finding nothing that could explain the level of discomfort fae had seen on eir face when e came in the sick room.

On the last panel though, the Central Back, fae found a small crack in the First Power Function, and a bit of the Power leaking out. This was bad. This was very bad. The Power Functions were the one thing that fae had zero skills on. Plus, if fae couldn’t fix it, e would die, and They would make faer pay the price.

They had done it before, to the doctor before faer. That was a fate that fae did not desire.

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Nightly Terrors Dalia Dainora Cohen

I’m scared of the dark.

For I know that darkness is little more than the yawning jaw of a monster, baring teeth the size of swords, larger, even.

I lie awake, apprehensive, struggling to keep my eyes open. But now I am overcome by that cruel visitor, Sleep, and I let the darkness swallow me whole.

Hurry, hurry, quick and flurry.

Something rushes by me.

Quick, quick, there’s no time.

A voice pounds in my head. Another dark blur charges, missing me only by inches, and yet it is too fast for me to see what it is.

It’s coming!

The monster runs at me from nowhere, deadly accurate. I fall into its mouth and am swallowed whole before I can feel the teeth piercing my skin. I am grateful for this alone.

Silly child.

The voice hisses at me, nastily.

How could you -- how could anyone! -- think that you, of all people, could defeat your worst fears. Give up now, give up, give up, give up.

I make no effort to reply as I tumble into the darkness. I’m sure I couldn’t see a thing if my eyes were open, which they are not. I’m terrified. I can’t remember: when you’re falling are you supposed to curl up or spread out your body? It doesn’t matter -- I feel disconnected, like floating through space, and I need to be able to feel the warmth of my limbs, to stop the shaking. I scrunch up into a ball and let myself keep falling, falling, until -SPLASH. Water explodes around me. Or maybe it’s me who’s exploding on the surface of the water after stumbling into the pit of the monster’s innards. I realize I’m sinking again, through liquid this time instead of air.

I hurriedly untangle myself and even underwater I can hear my joints crackling like autumn leaves. I manage, somehow, to push myself to the surface and open my eyes. I think I’m stranded in the middle of the ocean, with sky, blood and ash above me, but I’m so disoriented it’s hard to tell. I struggle to keep above the frothing, slippery waves -- the water that doesn’t feel like water -- when I feel an explosion above my head and I’m almost pulled under.

I see people hovering above me, basking in the light of the explosion. It is everyone I know, and a few I’m quite sure I don’t. They step lightly upon the water, or lie on it, not seeming to be bothered by the seething, spitting waves. There are even some simply sitting in midair, not touching the water at all. I manage to smile when I see them and call to them for help. They stare coldly at me, indifferent. A few sneer at my pitiful state. Here, a few of them yell, smirking, Catch. They throw something to me. It is a pebble, no, a boulder, a boulder of what I’m supposed to be and am not. It gets larger every second it 32

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hurtles towards me. My mind is so muddled that I reach out my arms to receive it, instead of swimming away like any sensible person would. It hits me full force, forcing me deeper into the ocean. I want to let it go, but I have an ominous feeling that if I do, something terrible will happen. Another one slams into me and propels me back. I think I am underwater now -- I am sinking, drowning in a sea of high expectations.

I slip down under, knowing calmly that I will not swim up to the surface again. Neither will I wake up from this particular nightly terror. I will be quietly safe now, never feeling fright again. The darkness, and my own fears, have overcome me.

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Tornado Dream Alex Taylor

THIS DREAM ACTUALLY HAPPENED TO ME. I was waiting for the bus in the middle of the night. My friends, Annie and Grace, and my grandmother and two sisters were as well. The bus was taking forever, so my sister Emme and I went to play on our playground. The bus came, picked up my other sister, and left. Emme and I missed it, because we were on the playground. The next time, it picked up my friends, because Emme and I had put our backpacks down. The last time, the bus appeared in the form of a run-down ambulance, with a dingy stool in the front. (At this point, the day had come.) My grandmother had gotten on as well.

We started heading the wrong way to go to school, and Emme got off at her friend’s house instead of school. Suddenly, my grandmother got a tornado warning on her phone, and the sky darkened. We were heading past the local farm, and asked the driver if we could get off.

When we got to the farm, we asked the owners if we could take shelter in their basement. They said sure, tons of people were already down there.

Their basement had an interesting arrangement. There was a big fireplace and oven in the middle, and benches all around in a square. We sat down, and my grandmother received another tornado warning.

The sky rumbled. For some reason, there was a window, and I looked out, prepared for the worst.

There was a ten-inch tall “tornado” spiraling around the house over and over again.

Everybody celebrated, but then the oven door started to open. A cake came out of the oven, saying “Happy Birthday!” in bright colors. We all knew it was the farmer’s wife. But then the cake dissipated and a chicken took its place, and that chicken slowly turned into the farmer’s wife.

Then we all rejoiced for real.

For some odd reason, the dream suddenly jumped to my basement, and I was watching my grandfather play mini-golf in a colorful sombrero. Then he headed upstairs and started watching “The Emperor’s New Groove,” and then the dream vanished in a giant rainbow swirl.

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Falling Shi Shi Jacobs

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True Story Alex Tobias

One time on a dark and stormy night I was sitting in my bed. I was sweating bullets and throwing up and my parents were nowhere to be found. That’s when it happened. I heard my closet door creak. My heart was racing and I pulled the covers up over my eyes. I was PETRIFIED. I heard footsteps coming toward my bed: they were getting closer and closer and closer until all of a sudden my throat closed up. I was gasping for air and yet every time I took a breath the grip on my throat seemed to get tighter. I tried to scream but no sound came out. I thought it was all over…but then it stopped. After it stopped I felt a piercing pain in my head. I didn’t know what was going on. I thought it was really over this time. And that’s when I woke up!

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Lost in Souls Christina Monroe and Mina Cho

THUMP. The mean old S.N.A.P.A. agents dropped the cage on a rock. There was some whispering, some footsteps, then the footsteps disappeared. Then Clink heard some other creature tap her on the back.

“Get up, Clinkle,” she heard a hoarse voice whisper. She sat up and scratched her eyes.

“It’s Clink,” she corrected the creature. She opened her eyes and saw that the creature was another griffin. Clink’s eyes grew wide, but then she squinted. “What am I doing here?” she demanded.

“You need — I mean you were asked to come here. By the agents,” he told her.

Clink grumbled. “I don’t care about them,” she hissed.

“I’m Scrape,” said the griffin. “And I am here to...what is that on your wrist?” he pointed to Clink’s most prized possession, Logan Wilde’s mother’s old bracelet.

Clink narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you DARE touch it,” she warned, “or I will personally scratch your eyes out, as I did my sister. Well, almost did to my sister.” She stepped back.

“I’m afraid, dear, that it is my duty to take that away from you.” And with that, he grabbed the bracelet and flew with it, high above the ravine.

Clink screamed. “You come back here with that! Come on!!! Give it back!!!” She shrieked.

“Why should I? You obviously can come get it, can’t you? Or should I say, you can’t fly?’’ Clink looked down at her talons fuming with anger. The subject of flight had always been a bother to her. “No? Well, I can give you an easier task,” said Scrape as he swooped down and hung the bracelet on a branch, high above Clink’s head. ”Ohhh, you just asked for it mister-what’s-your-name, you know what? I don’t care. I can live without my bracelet for a…a little bit.” What am I saying? Clink thought. I can’t go without my bracelet, not ever!

“I don’t think so, chicken, I bet you’ll be trying to get it by tonight,” he taunted her, resting down on the tree. “I mean it is very important to you.”

“You bet it is,” said Clink, pacing under him. “It was a very special gift.”

“Oh yeah?” Scrape shot back. “Who gave it to you?”

“Giver-boy did,” Clink stated, proud to have an answer.

Scrape snorted, his beak filling up with laughter. “Giver-boy? Really? Of course that’s what a cub would come up with.”

“Well let me tell you that I am the oldest of my brothers and sisters and they respect me highly, thank you very much,” Clink said haughtily.

Scrape, looking bored, replied, “Oh great, there are more griffins like you out there. Just what the world needs.”

Clink was about to burst. “You’ve only met me for like…half an hour, and you’re saying the world doesn’t need me?”

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“Pretty much, are you getting hard of hearing?”

“Arrrrgh why… why… why… why…” Clink stomped off, as far away from Scrape as possible, and fell into a dream about her bracelet.

A few months later…

“Wake up, you lazy feather brain!” Scrape said, poking Clink in the side.

“Umm…OW! Personal respect, please.”

“You can’t tell me what to do, remember? I have the bracelet!”

And after all those months, Clink finally lost it. “AHHHHHH!” Clink screamed as she ran up to the branch where her bracelet hung, and she flapped her wings as hard as she could and grasped the bracelet in her talons triumphantly. “Got it! There. Are you happy now? I can prove I am just as good as you. Although you are…you…you are…a filthy old potato!” she cried and ran over to the dirt to dig a hole for her bracelet.

Scrape arched his eyebrows, “Alright, I admit, you are kind of good...but NO ONE! and you listen to me, young lady, NO ONE, is as good as me. Understand?” He spoke very sternly.

Clink grinned, “Of course I understand, o mighty Scrape. But you didn’t say I couldn’t be BETTER than you.” And with that, she flew off into the disappearing sunlight.

Clink was tired. She had spent all day snatching and charging at Scrape. It was tiresome work, you know.

So when Scrape was asleep on the tallest oak tree, as he always was, she could get some nice, free, full of dreams sleep. She lay her head on the spot where she had buried her bracelet, and she fell asleep faster than you could say, “Clink!”

She woke up, although she was dreaming, not awake. She stood up and looked around. The first thing she noticed was that this was not like her usual dream. It didn’t look like something Clink would ever dream of, having flowers and lots of pretty happy things. The second thing she noticed was that Sage, her sister, was there. Clink’s eyes grew wide with excitement and she ran over to Sage. “What the...what are you doing in my dream?” she asked.

Sage looked so mature, “You see, I am here to tell you a few things, Clink,” she told Clink.

“Wait a moment…how do I know that you are real?”

“Well, you don’t, but if you think about it… hold on, touch me,” she said, putting out her wing. Clink tentatively ran her talons over Sage’s wing. Sage said, “See? You felt me, right? That means that I am real.”

“Umm… ok. But can you explain how you are in my dream, and…and where I am?”

“Of course, Clink. While you were gone I developed these special…gifts, I suppose. Giving me the power to walk into another’s dreams, simply if we dream about each other. Tonight, for the first time in months, we both dreamed about each other. That’s really special, Clink. But you have to be sure that you know that in Dreamland, everything is different. There are good parts and bad parts of this land. Just be careful,” she said.

“First of all,” began Clink, “You are not my elder, and second of all, just because I have never been here before, doesn’t mean I am so DUMB!” 38

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Sage shrugged. “People make BAD choices here, Clink. Some even die here, wandering around for too long. So let me warn you about...” but before she could finish, Sage started fading.

“Wait! Sage, come back!” Clink yelled. Then she heard a new voice. A very familiar one…

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Nightmare Guard Gabriel McCreath

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In The Ring Everett Lewis

They both stared each other down. Man vs. man, in the ring, there to kill the other by any means necessary.

One sudden movement from one man and the other would be on him like a cougar pouncing on its prey.

So neither man did anything. Only circled each other like two lions, face to face in battle. One moved and lashed out at his waiting opponent, who gently swatted him away and jumped on him. They rolled around the ring for a few seconds scratching, kicking, punching, and biting, trying to gain the upper hand but both failing to the other’s strength. They slowly crept towards the edge and kept on their brutal attack on the other. But neither man knew the threat that the other man posed. Each man wrestling. Neither one with an edge over the other. But fighting like they believed they could gain control and kill the other. . . that’s when they fell out of the ring.

He woke up suddenly, sweating. He wiped his brow and fell back to sleep. Ducking in and out of the tugging nag that was his forgotten dream.

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Wait For Me Elisabeth Pitts

“Bethie…” I whisper, reaching out and stroking her pale fleshy hand. Her nails are painted navy blue, and the unnatural color looks too grown up on her. I want the old Bethany back, the one who wore rainbow t-shirts and ripped blue jeans and didn’t care what anyone said or thought about her. Her skin is the same color as the bleached hospital sheet and the sickly white color is making my head swim. I drum my bitten down nails against the hollow metal railing of her bed and feel tears burning in my eyes. Behind me, Louis is still sitting with his butt on the puke-green, shedding carpet, his head and back pressed up against the wall. His eyes are still closed, and briefly, I turn around to look at him, only to witness a single teardrop squeeze out from underneath his eyelid and make its way slowly down his cheek.

Erik thunders into the doorway, breathing heavily, his cheeks and nose bright red from the winter frost, a light dusting of powdery snow on his down jacket and wooly red hat. He gulps the dense hospital air, finally catches his breath, then, after glimpsing Bethany’s still form, sags against the doorframe. A passing nurse pauses at the doorway, undecided, then walks over to Erik and says softly, “Hon, I think you should sit down.” She takes him by the arm gently but firmly and leads him into the room. Once Erik is seated in an unsafe looking clear plastic chair, the blue-clad nurse sighs heavily and leaves after giving the morose occupants of the room a long, meaningful glance. The door snaps shut behind her and we are all silent as we listen to her sneakers padding softly away.

When all is quiet again, I let go of Bethany’s hand and stand up. I can’t stay here in this awful silence. I have to get out. I have to get out. I grab my coat, hat and gloves, and make for the door when Louis speaks for the first time since he came.

“Where are you going?” he asks, and I turn back in surprise.

“What?”

Louis repeats steadily, “Where are you going?”

I look away from his fatigued gaze and bloodshot eyes and whisper, “I can’t be in here anymore. I’m going to go crazy. It’s too quiet. ” Louis slowly pushes himself up into a standing position, using the wall for support, then meanders over to my side. His dark green sweater is unraveling at the neck, and his hands are cold and trembling when he touches mine. “Kirsty, please don’t go,” he says quietly, and his voice eats away at the ever expanding void in my heart. I shake my head bitterly and try to pull away and head out the door, but Louis holds fast. “Please… stay,” he says again, and this time Erik stirs in the chair and looks over at us with an unfocused grimace.

I can’t take it anymore, I can’t. I re-claim my arm and say brusquely, “I have to go.”

The door shuts behind me as I practically run out of Bethany’s room, and make my way down the partially empty halls. I take the elevator down to the third floor and dodge a wailing woman clutching a photograph and a small, blanket-swathed girl in a wheelchair when I pass through the cancer ward. A nurse at the registration desk looks up briefly as I pass by, then one of the heart monitors next to her goes wild, and as I walk away, I hear pounding footsteps and the woman shouting for a stretcher.

On the second floor of the hospital, a gaggle of happily talking young and middle aged men cluster around the entrance to the maternity ward, and as I pass by, a man turns to me and, grinning broadly, says with joyful tears in his eyes, “Can you believe it?! I’m a dad now!” I flash him a quick forced smile, then move out of the way and continue down the hall. After pressing the elevator button, I feel more relaxed and 42

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begin to tell myself that this’ll all be over in a few minutes.

The elevator doors open and I step in quickly, lest Louis or Erik be pursuing me. Thankfully, I reach the ground floor undisturbed by others, and sigh deeply before leaving the elevator. In the hospital lobby, I hurry towards the revolving glass door. Just as I’m about to step through it, I remember that I should probably check that Bethany is okay before going out. I pause in contemplation at the very edge of the door, and finally an impatient man behind me says gruffly, “Look, lady, you gonna go or not? Some of us have places to be.”

Startled by the man’s rudeness, I turn around to respond indignantly, but by the time I do, the man is already walking to another exit, his shoulders stooped, his hand shooting up to wipe his eyes discreetly.

I get caught in watching him, wondering why he’s crying, and accidentally set foot in the revolving door.

My foot catches and I am thrown to the funny-smelling beige carpet. My arm twists around and I land painfully on my left wrist. I hear a small pop and little needles of white hot pain sear my hand and wrist.

I hear the sound of fast-approaching sneakers and look up blearily to see the anxious face of a plump nurse in pale pink scrubs. “Are you alright, miss?” she asks hurriedly, helping me up and brushing me off. “That was a pretty bad tumble! Are you hurt?”

My face contorted in pain, I grimace and say bleakly, pausing every few seconds to gasp for air, “Yes, my… wrist… seems to… be sprained... “ The woman sighs heavily as if to say, “Well great, another person that needs medical attention!” and then her instincts kick in and she says, “Well it’s good you’re in a hospital, then!” Cue stale, canned laughter. “You’ll want to go to the Orthopaedic Ward- it’s on the third floor, Section 218.” I nod my head distractedly and then remember the reason for my injury as the woman starts to walk back to the front desk.

“Oh, can I just ask you one more thing?” I call after her, running and beating her to the desk. She looks at me sourly, then types the password into the outdated computer on the desk and looks up expectantly. I’m a little put off by her animosity, but I quickly shake it off and ask, “Can you please phone or check up on Bethany Gibson on the fifth floor, Room 327?”

The nurse smiles sadly then, as if realizing that I came here for a reason other than getting my wrist sprained. She says, “Sure thing, miss, I’ll look her right up! Bethany Gibson, you said?”

“Yes,” I reply, my wrist tingling with little pinpricks of discomfort, “That’s B-e-t-h-a-n-y Gibson, fifth floor, Room 327.”

The nurse smiles sadly at me again as she dials the phone number of the section Bethany is in on a dusty, black landline phone. “Hey Brit…” the nurse starts the call cheerfully, drumming her manicured fingernails on the edge of the desk. “... yeah, I’m good… I was wondering if you could get me the current state of patient 34782, Bethany Gibson- she’s in Room 327…” There is a long pause as the woman on the other end is apparently pulling up information and replying. I notice that for a second, the nurse’s eyes glance at me pityingly, then her face goes back to normal. After a pause that’s just long enough for me to get a little worried, the nurse finally says, her tone now strangely somber and hoarse “... well, thanks for the info, Brit… yeah, I’ll try… bye… “ The woman hangs up the phone and looks at me with a contemplative sort of expression. I say breathlessly, “Is Bethie alright?!”

The nurse suddenly looks ten times older. Her face becomes haggard and gray, and her eyes grow solemn and helpless. My heart drops to the pit of my stomach and I hang onto the edge of the desk for support.

The nurse’s grave tone interrupts my racing thoughts. “Miss…” she gives up and starts again. “Miss, I’m… so very sorry… but the nurse upstairs said… said that… your friend passed away… a few minutes ago…”

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glance at the caller ID as I bring it to my ear- it’s Louis. I press the ‘answer’ button on my phone, steeling myself for a breakdown on both ends, and say as a sobbing Louis comes onto the line, “You don’t have to tell me- I know.”

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White Blossom Sara Bauman

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Contributors

Emma Bauman … This is meant to be a funny and clever poem. It was inspired by a play that I was in a couple of years ago.

Sara Bauman … I enjoy looking at things differently; these are some of the results.

Nina Bunn … My story is mostly trying to personify a nightmare. It is definitely supposed to be dark and scary.

Mina Cho and Christina Monroe … We wrote our story together in fourth grade; this is a short section of our own twist on the amazing book series The Menagerie by Tui Sutherland.

Dalia Dainora Cohen … “Beyond the Clouds” is based on the writing prompt “What do you think is behind the clouds?” “Nightly Terrors” is about insecurity and irrational fears. “The Last Thing at Night” is based on limerick form but with a different rhythm. “The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of” is a collection of thoughts about dreams based on the quote from The Maltese Falcon and/or Shakespeare. “Dreamcatcher” came from the suggestion to “write about a dreamcatcher catching dreams!”

Elena Dainora Cohen … I wrote a poem about sorrow and this is the picture I drew to accompany it.

Margo Danahy … I wrote this poem in sixth grade around the time of Freedom Night. I think of it as a tribute to Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and other heroes and activists that advocated for human rights.

Anne Fletcher … I enjoy the creepy and strange, and have been inspired by films, writing, people, other art, and music.

Anji Friedbauer … My drawing was done in fine point pen a year ago. I liked being really intricate in my drawing, and I also liked how it turned out to be so dream-like and whimsical. It took me so long to do!

Robin Huntington … There are so many things in this world, this just came out of my head.

Shi Shi Jacobs … For one of the poems I submitted, I was inspired by insomnia, a condition where someone has the inability to sleep, or stay asleep. For my second poem, I wanted to paint an image of someone’s dream in life, or something they wished they had. The art piece I created was inspired by some of the darker stories written for this issue.

Everett Lewis … It has really been a cool idea to me that a group of BDS students is giving others the chance to admire and appreciate amazing works from their peers.

Madison Liesching … My poem was meant to be a short, fun little story to hopefully brighten someone’s day.

My photo was taken over the summer in Italy. I chose it to include because I thought the clouds really spoke to the dream theme.

Sam Marquis … Sorry if I scared anyone, but nightmares are scary!

Rayne McNerney … I started writing lines with the prompt, “behind the clouds.” This is what happened.

Gabriel McCreath … “Dream Song”: This is an edited freewrite where I went for a regretful-ish, dreamy vibe.

“Eir Dream”: I wanted to practice using some unusual pronouns. “The Idea”: I experimented with a sestina.

“When Stars Die”: I started this in sixth grade and kept working on it for awhile. Interpret it however you like; it can be about a lot of stuff. “The Dreamer” is just a picture I drew after hearing a song from The Vice Quadrant: A Space Opera by Steam Powered Giraffe. “Nightmare Guard” is inspired by an artist named Sam Luke.

Elisabeth Pitts … I love writing rhyming/free-verse poetry and short stories (although they usually end up being pretty long). For some morbid reason, I write a lot of sad poems that are irrelevant to my life, but I 46

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haven’t yet written a poem about my own life. I am a hopeless romantic and therefore many of my short stories end up being really sappy, or else really depressing.

Naomi Stephenson … Rhyming, sheep, bubbles. Those don’t sound connected. But they can be in a dream.

Alex Tobias … I was thinking about what to write and this just came to me.

Jane Wenzel … First of all, a pierzyna is the Polish word for a feather-down blanket. I was going for relatable with this poem.

Editorial Staff

Nina Bunn, Dalia Dainora Cohen, Shi Shi Jacobs, Madison Liesching, Gabriel McCreath

Faculty Advisors

Koreen McQuilton, Dean Spencer

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Echo Magazine is a publication of BELMONT DAY SCHOOL Volume II, Issue 1, Winter 2016 www.belmontday.org