Inscape 2022

INSCAPE Central Methodist University Magazine of the Arts

2022

INSCAPE Celebrating the Arts at Central Methodist University

Inscape © 2022 by Inscape, Central Methodist University’s Magazine of the Arts.

Inscape is one of the creative endeavors of the students, faculty, and staff at CMU. This unique publishing opportunity is one of the many educational experiences that CMU’s Department of English, along with Sigma Tau Delta, provides. They have a distinguished record of placing students in graduate and professional studies as well as in education and other professional fields. The Mu Lambda Chapter of Sigma Tau Delta is an opportunity for students to share their love of English with one another while participating in campus activities, conferences, and publishing of Inscape. If you would like more information about Sigma Tau Delta, please contact: Dr. Travis Johnson Associate Professor of English 411 Central Methodist Square Fayette, Missouri 65248-1192 tjohnson@centralmethodist.edu 660-248-6308 Or visit www.centralmethodist.edu/academics/english for more information about the Department of English.

The Inscape staff and Sigma Tau Delta wish to thank the staff at Modern Litho, Jefferson City, Missouri, for their assistance in producing and printing this issue.

All CMU students, faculty, and staff are invited to submit their creative work for possible publication in Inscape. Please, contact the editors at inscape@centralmethodist.edu if you have any questions or are interested in submitting for the next issue, which will be released in the spring of 2023.

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INSCAPE Central Methodist University’s Magazine of the Arts A project of CMU’s Mu Lambda chapter of Sigma Tau Delta.

Issue 47/2022

Editors Sarah King Sara Ratliff

Faculty Advisor Dr. Kavita Hatwalkar

Inscape was founded in 1975 by Central’s Tau Tau Tau honorary fraternity Mu Lamba chapter of Sigma Tau Delta (the International English Honor Society), and the legendary Scribblers and Scrawlers.

Inscape is funded by CMU’s Student Government Association

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Table of Contents A Moment of Peace Emily Millstead Editor’s Note Inscape Definition

Cover 6 7

Poetry 9 1st Place: The Dance William DeLaughter 10 2nd Place: Mindfulness Sydney Jones 12 3rd Place: A Thousand Greetings Anna Valencia 14 They Forgot Again Peyton Warren 16 Childhood Allison Procter 17 Pit of Regret Peyton Warren 18 Mr. Butterfly Toni Randle 20 Little Firecracker Peyton Warren 22 The Crafter Anna Valencia 23 Cursor Addison Massey 24 Lost in Familiarity Alissa Simmons 25 Brain Battle Sydney Jones 26 The Biggest Race Alexia Sprick 27 A Cloud William DeLaughter 28 Resume Madison Marks 29 The Dare Allison Procter 30 Drunken Thoughts Addison Massey 31 My Life, My Struggles, My Blackness Zy’Shonne Cowans 32 The Piano Man Sydney Jones 34 I Wish I Could Paint a Picture Sarah King 36 Creative Nonfiction 1st Place: Letting Go Alissa Simmons 2nd Place: Snowfall Emily Milstead 3rd Place: The Chair Ana Flores Sarmiento To Grandmother’s House Addison Massey

39 40 43 45 49

Drama Death and Toddlers Michelle Miley We’ve Got You Now! Peyton Warren

53 54 61

Art and Photography 1st Place: Here’s Looking at You Sara Ratliff 2nd Place: The Faces We Wear Jessica Justice 3rd Place: When in Need Tate Hanners The Evolution of Life Jessica Justice

69 69 70 71 72

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T. Berry Smith Hall Sara Ratliff Ecstatic Tate Hanners Fire in the Night Tate Hanners Tranquility Peyton Warren Serenity Peyton Warren Mandalas for Days Emily Collins Rose Tinted Glass, Shattered Jessica Justice The Crossing Tate Hanners Sentry Sara Ratliff Genesis 2:17 Danielle McQueen The Little Soldier Peyton Warren Playing With Fire Peyton Warren The Hunter Peyton Warren A Study in Blue Jessica Justice A Moment of Peace Emily Millstead Living Alone Sarah King A Pit Stop From Tyranny Peyton Warren Among the Stars Tate Hanners Valor Sara Ratliff Sunshine Peyton Warren Treasure Hunter Peyton Warren Encasing the Moon’s Beauty Peyton Warren A Child’s Nightmare Reimagined Jessica Justice Beauty Unveiled Peyton Warren

73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96

Short Fiction 1st Place: The Last Morningstar Keagan O’Riley 2nd Place: You Sara Ratliff 3rd Place: A Bottle of Love Michelle Miley Homecoming Alexia Sprick Let’s Go Home Peyton Warren Battle of the Violet Eyes Tabitha Ott The Restart Sara Ratliff To Hunt and Be Hunted Alissa Simmons The Secret Amanda Lozano

97 98 110 113 119 122 129 132 141 144

Editor Biographies Team Member Biographies Contributor Biographies Acknowledgments

150 151 153 159

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Note from the Editors For the first time in two years, the Inscape team was able to meet in person for an entire semester. We only had one team member who was here two years ago, so it was very refreshing for the rest of us to finally experience the collaborative experience in person, without the difficulties of online meetings.

This year, we received over one hundred fifteen submissions from CMU students—the most we have had in at least two years. It was a lot to go through, but it was a good problem to have. Because of the abundancy of submissions, we were able to pick the very best of CMU students’ work. We feel that the work in this volume represents what we should be proud of in CMU students, and we are honored to have the opportunity to celebrate the talent, hard work, and creativity of our peers.

The authors and artists selected to be published here have really brought to light the beauty in emotion. They have covered a vast scope of emotions, including the betrayal felt when one has been stood up by friends, the joy of romantic love, the anxiety of explaining death to a toddler, the peace of nature, and even explored the point of view of the eight deadly sins.

We would like to thank everyone who submitted, and we applaud you all for your creativity. Thank you for celebrating the arts with us.

Sara & Sarah

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in·scape / in-skeip / n.

Word coined by British poet Gerard Manley Hopkins for the individual or essential quality of a thing; the uniqueness of an observed object, scene, event, etc.

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Poetry

First Place

The Dance William DeLaughter You never looked so beautiful.

You’d never win an award for it.

You’d never get a shoutout.

You’d probably never expect a second glance from anyone.

But in that moment, In that kitchen doorway, There I was, Watching, Completely mesmerized As you told your story merely through The movement of your body.

As you spun, So then did the curls in your hair,

Spinning the same as the day they spun When you turned your head upon hearing me speak your name.

Your bare feet pressed into the hardwood of our floor The same way they pressed into the sand Of that Topsail Island beach so many summers ago.

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And your hand, when it reached into the sky It took the shape of a swan’s head, in all its elegance The same swan we saw on that pond, dressed in its best white feathers, The very same color of the dress you wore that day when you said “I do.”

But what my memory grasps and will forever grasp, Is your eyes.

Your eyes the moment they made contact with mine, and you fell down laughing in my arms.

They shined as brightly as the sun, and like the sun You were my greatest star.

That’s why I see those eyes every time I look into the night sky, The sky, that mysterious place you went on to, That place I'll join soon. But, For now I’ll see your eyes always above me, I’ll see your dance among the other stars and I’ll remember

You were my greatest star.

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Second Place

Mindfulness Sydney Jones There are moments where even the trees seem to whisper your name

In the rustling of their leaves In the shade of their canopy In the way that a ray of sunshine Changes their color from deep green to neon translucent; now able to see the veins within a leaf

The holes created by the gnawing mouths of pests The brown rings forming where they’re just now beginning to heal Oh, how the tree has indeed suffered Oh, how the tree has indeed continued to grow

I want to scream “come to life!”

“Come tell me your stories, your secrets!”

But I suppose It is living I suppose 14

Not all stories are meant to be told Maybe knowing it's alive is enough That each day roots as large as the circumference of my waist stretch out in search for water Oh, the twisting and groaning sound they must make under

the dirt Earthquakes to earthworms; but silence to me In between silt and rock; mud and wood You somehow make way for all the space they need

I connect to the tree not because of Its height, its growth, Its green I suppose I connect because of its suffering

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Third Place

A Thousand Greetings Anna Valencia The sun will come again, the same greeting, her breathless light will meet me at the bay.

Her gaze the same, her hair unchanged just as yesterday, does she wonder if I changed?

Does she think I'm just the same, the same who saw her yesterday?

My hair the same, my face unchanged, I look no different since yesterday.

But a storm has come, one that rains solely above me.

The kind that no one else can see, I wonder, can she see this change in me, the grief that I carry inside of me?

A thousand suns will pass by, a thousand greetings we will meet.

Each day I find a change in me, something that maybe just I can see.

I will change as years go by, each day she sees me, her light will stay the same, each day I will wonder if she noticed my change.

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A thousand greetings, the sun that makes her journey in the sky.

Each change around her will catch her eye, she notices the stranger on the bay, the girl who greets her the same, just as yesterday.

She will watch her change, the grief she carries heavier each day. Her face will begin to wither, but her light will never fade.

A thousand suns later, their greetings will end.

Her stranger will finally be home again.

I watch her rise for the final time, our last greeting, with my sun.

I thank her for her reminder, that the light will always come.

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They Forgot Again Peyton Warren I step outside, backpack on my back, The sharp winter air prodding at my skin.

It is cold, so very cold.

My hazel eyes look around for you, Scanning across the nearly empty parking lot, But you are nowhere to be found.

I stand waiting for a few more moments, The snow falling harder and harder.

My nose feels cold, almost numb.

Strangers ask me if I want a ride home, Seeing the pink tinge on my pale skin, But I refuse because you taught me better.

Maybe I should head back inside,

But maybe you’re almost here.

My bare hands feel cold, tingling.

But I know you’re not coming.

My first step crunches under the snow, And into the freezing cold I go.

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Childhood Allison Procter Purple.

Her favorite color.

The color of her jacket.

Purple.

What signified royalty In Ancient times.

She had a special attachment to the color As it was the color of her childhood room.

It’s been almost 20 years Since that was her room.

It most likely now belonged To another little girl that had repainted the walls.

She hoped that just maybe It was that little girl’s favorite color too.

And the walls that she grew up in Could do the same for someone else.

Purple.

The color that held some of her Most enjoyable memories.

Memories that bring her back to The days in her old room.

Playing with her dolls and Singing at the top of her lungs.

She could easily remember all of the Wonderful moments of her life that Happened in her old room.

Purple.

A color that will forever remind her of Childhood and bring her joy.

Even as she gets older, Purple And will always be her favorite.

No matter what.

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Pit of Regret Peyton Warren I feel swallowed. Trapped.

I did something I wasn’t supposed to, And no one else knows but me.

Each time I hear someone talking about it, My heart lurches.

I absolutely hate this feeling.

I know I shouldn’t have done it, But no one else can find out.

It wasn’t exactly my fault,

But I know I would get in trouble.

Even when I am at home, My family talks about it, Contemplating who had done such wrong.

“It was me!” I want to cry out,

but I hold back the guilt until I am all alone to let it all out.

Hot, stinging tears roll down my face as I sit alone on my bed, My body shaking in fear.

Why can’t I tell anyone?

I want to tell someone,

But I am scared of the consequences I will face.

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Would my mother still be able to look at me the same?

Would she understand what had happened?

I can feel the guilt rising out of the darkness that surrounds me, Arms reaching out and trying to pull me in, But for my safety, I have to stay quiet.

My guilt holds me hostage, But at least I am safe for now.

No one else knows what happened but me.

If word gets out about my secret, they’ll come after me.

That isn’t what I want.

I want to keep myself and everyone around me safe.

I hope no one ever finds out what happened Because that will put everyone in danger.

But for now, I’ll just let the guilt consume me.

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Mr. Butterfly Toni Randle “nomadisty” vs abandonment

The Rhopalocera is a member of the Lepidoptera order. Also known as the butterfly. Such a beautiful creature. Always floating in the wind. Graciously drifting from one place to another.

Some cultures believe the butterfly is a symbol of “change, transformation, comfort, hope, and positivity.” While others see them as communication from ancestors.

Seeing one always brings warmth into my heart because it is normally just one. Just a lone creature floating around. “Mr. butterfly are you lonely?” they always seem so free. They say it’s lonely at the top but no one ever mentions the loneliness in freedom. Being able to float having no one to float with. Then finally finding someone who can, just to watch them float

away…

“Mr. butterfly, are you lonely?” maybe you prefer it. I mean who doesn’t like floating? If I could I would.

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Floating around so beautifully. Only to stop to eat. Only to stop to play. Never stopping to stop. Never stopping to stay. You're only here for a brief second. You change so much. Your life consists of waiting for something to end. From egg to larva, larva to pupa, and finally pupa to adult. Is that why you never stay? Are you used to change or afraid of it? Are you lonely Mr. Butterfly?

Stability is a privilege most take for granted and don't realize they have. A safety net. Home. I'm always changing too Mr. butterfly. Just floating from one place to another. Making it home till home is somewhere else. Never stopping to stay. Just passing by.

Are you lonely Mr. butterfly? I am sometimes

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Little Firecracker Peyton Warren I hear your voice blazing with fury Ringing out from across the room.

You move swiftly on your feet towards your prey Like a lioness stalks after a gazelle.

Your cool grey eyes like daggers Piercing into your victim’s heart.

They instantly regret what they have done To set you off like a firecracker.

You will not let them get away For your wrath has been unleashed.

Even if they try to run away from you There is no way to stop the hunt.

You are determined to get your prize To rip and shred them apart.

And when you are satisfied You will leave them fearful Never wanting to step in your path again.

But I know not to be too scared of you Little firecracker, my little sister.

For you will do whatever you can to protect me Until like a lioness you decide to turn on me.

And try as I must, I hope to never set that spark aflame.

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The Crafter Anna Valencia The shape of my world was molded by you, You took your hands and crafted something new.

A daughter, to grow from you. shaping my heart, rounding my edges, Crafting my brain, To withstand the pain.

Leading me forward, no hurry to walk alone, Only a forever sense, that you are my home.

When you set me free, free to the world to be alone, I found my thoughts would stray to you I wonder, what would my mother do?

I found, within myself the feeling of you.

when my home is far the feeling of your strength shall never wander.

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Cursor Addison Massey Blink. Blink. Blink.

A sea of white spread out in front of you as you feel the dread creeping up on you It starts in your chest.

Moving through your bloodstream like a snake, twisting up around your brain Making its way down through the floor.

Rooting you, trapping you, and all you can see is Blink. Blink. Blink.

In the sea of white.

There are so many ideas that need to be put out

All pushing and shoving around in your head Fighting to be the ones that make it out onto the white sea.

There’s just too much that needs to be written down Too much area that needs to be covered It’s a constant tug of war between too much and too little And all you can do is watch Blink. Blink. Blink.

In the endless expanse of white sea.

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Lost in Familiarity Alissa Simmons Deja Vu, feeling like you’ve lived this moment before Deja Vu, you can’t quite place when or where this happened Deja Vu, trying to decide if you make the same stupid decision Deja Vu, no one else remembers Jamais Vu, is the opposite of Deja Vu Jamais Vu, is being somewhere that should be familiar, but finding yourself lost Jamais Vu, not feeling the ground beneath your feet, even when you know it’s there Jamais Vu, everyone remembers but you I’d rather feel Deja Vu, than Jamais Vu If I could choose I’d live a hundred moments over, than be blinded in the light I’d rather be a copied and pasted memory, than a deleted one If I could choose I’d remember for everyone, than to be the demented

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Brain Battle Sydney Jones Nightly rides a knightly rider Through the rough terrain Thinking of a ghostly thing A face without a name Tall grasses softly bending Meadows swaying in his mind Where anxious thoughts will stop to lurk To menacingly hide But just like staring at a painting With beauty all-consuming When you look too long you find

The eyes have started moving You shouldn’t seek out things You wish would go away If you let a lion out to feast Don’t ask it to behave He needs to be a warrior He can’t let it win this battle Its voice like broken stones It bellows out a graveled cackle Away! Begone! He screams into calm He knows he has to shear it The first step to casting out a fear Is admitting that you bear it

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The Biggest Race Alexia Sprick Take your time but quickly As you waste more time than you think Don’t wish for time to pass you by Because a wish is granted with a blink But don’t skip a couple chapters As for you may not understand Although if you take too long to flip the page Your story may taste bland Don’t sulk in long lost memories Or things you have yet to achieve A trophy is never the end of the world And lost is for the naive For time is the biggest race One will ever complete Where some will sprint the inside lane And others more heavy on their feet

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A Cloud William DeLaughter We Fell asleep in a field of grass.

With full tummies Thanks to the picnic Sprawled before us.

No care for safety Nor worry weighing on Our hearts.

Just you and me Me and you And a cloud Shaped like nothing more than a cloud.

Every now and then A breeze would blow by.

You wouldn’t feel it, your eyes shut As you lay in deep slumber Though I could look to the sky And see the windows of your soul.

I would get lost in those eyes Now I was lost in that sky Dreaming a million possibilities Of whether a romance was complete in one afternoon.

We were going in no particular direction That day Or any of those days.

But on that patch of grass, That sprawling picnic, That soft breeze, There was me and you You and me And a cloud, Shaped like nothing more than a cloud.

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Resume Madison Marks Insecurity wraps around me like a bubble, I blew this myself.

A smile here, a smile there. Who am I kidding?

Perception of my perspective is contorted unknowingly for a reason.

Idealism weaves its way into the foundation of all of my thoughts and motives.

It creates strings which attach to my hands, feet and head.

I tiptoe around as if I were jumping on rocks trying to cross a river.

I fall in.

I get up, move to the shore, and cry to myself in unhappy wonder.

My face is puffed with salt water.

Questions arise about the integrity of my perspective.

This point is purposeful. Perspectives are changing.

I need this sometimes. Perfection is not the norm.

I ask to be humbled--why am I surprised when I am?

I am not living this life for myself.

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The Dare Allison Procter Cold water. Her only thought as she Plunged into the almost icy pond in the beginning of October. The splash made all her friends scream as the Drops hit them on the shore. She felt her lips begin to Tremble. The cold was more than she had bargained for.

Several splashes were heard from all around as her Friends took the plunge after her.

The imposing trouble they would get into if they got Caught clouded from their minds as the icy water covered them.

A dare had brought them here.

One single sentence that brought them All there that cold night. No turning back now.

Lights became visible in the distance.

Everyone froze, afraid of what would happen next.

They knew they weren’t allowed to be here, but the

Headlights of a car appeared and they knew they were Running out of time. They ran out of the water into the Cold night’s air. Their water-soaked clothes adding Weight to their tired sprint to the woods and back to the Main road. The feeling of the icy cold water would Never leave them. They never dared doing something like that again.

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Drunken Thoughts Addison Massey Flashing lights, Loud music, Wednesday nights with drinks in hand.

It’s getting warm, Feeling fuzzy, A buzz on the phone.

A giggle bursts as you see the name, It’s one that would confuse anyone else but warms your heart to see.

You think ‘wow he’s thinking of me’, ‘Wow he texted’, ‘Wow I miss him’.

You think of how much fun he would have here, How he would soak up the situation, How you two would sit back and spectate Everything around you and laugh.

He’s your best friend, You love and miss him so much, He’s sitting at home by himself, And you’re out having fun without him.

The world gets blurry as tears stream down rosy cheeks, You love him so much, You don’t tell him enough.

The drunken thoughts.

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My Life, My Struggles, My Blackness Zy’Shonne Cowans Why do you hate me so much?

What causes you to dislike someone so much because of their skin color?

Why does the color of my skin make you violent?

Why do you scream hateful words towards me When you're scaring the eleven year old black girl standing right beside me?

Your hatred causes me to be scared, depressed, and hurt Your actions and hurtful words have caused so much pain

to me and millions of other black people since the beginning of slavery I shouldn’t have to wake up everyday living in a world where I should be afraid of what might happen to me I’m only nineteen and I feel like I’ve gone through so much compared to other people around me So the next time you yell hateful slurs at me, imagine how it feels like for me Try standing in my shoes for once Imagine being shot in your own home and not getting justice for it like Breonna Taylor 34

Imagine running trying to get some exercise and three white men kill you like Ahmaud Arbery Imagine someone telling you that your hair looks “unprofessional” when non-black men and women do it all the time and people say it’s “trendy” Imagine being ten years old

and someone views you as a threat Imagine someone constantly calling you racist slurs or fetishizing you It gets old, it’s tiring, and people like me deserve to live in a world where we are treated fairly Shit, even I know that nothing will ever change People are too ignorant to change So my advice to you is the next time you think it’s okay to target a little black girl or a middle-aged black man Imagine how it would feel like to be in their shoes Imagine how they feel every second of every day for the rest of their lives

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The Piano Man Sydney Jones The song, it began slowly We were both afraid of the tune Our songs had been interrupted before Your heart called it too soon Memories of your music swarm my mind “What if’s” seem to haunt But I refused to change my arrangement Just to make it what you want The music was a magic trick to me The track disappeared all too soon It went from healthy right to sick I thought we were immune We tried to conduct our own symphony We couldn't read the music, but decided to go on But we couldn’t manage to make something beautiful

By waving a broken baton Soon the music tempo was off The keys were out of tune The adventure started in the morning But was gone by afternoon

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Although I’m plagued with sadness I hear your laugh like a string quartet We bought out the entire opera And now we sit in debt Sometimes I sit and smile

I think of how it would feel To sit on a piano bench next to you To let the music heal The loss of the piano man To his playing, I said “encore” And though his notes caused pain and tears

I’d let him play his song once more

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I wish I could paint a picture Sarah King I wish I could paint a picture Of the way I see you Photographs never catch it all.

Your face in a picture never Looks quite right to me You’re so full of life, Full of movement My words are all I have To attempt a portrayal

Of how I see you But from the words that I write no one could truly picture The smile that I see The big eager smile that brings joy deep out of my heart

No one else finds The heartbreaking beauty That emerges when you cry The true heartfelt plea For someone to hear.

I see it, and I find The love in vulnerability

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The idea I have of you, That I bring out when you’re not here Consists of these moving moments, But also the content moments The moments that show a glimpse Of what life with you would be like Like a chemical reaction, You are burned into my memory Not with the pain of fire But the gentle scarring of stretch marks.

I do not tell you that you are beautiful, And others may not see it But your soul, Or whatever you may believe Sets a person apart, Is what I see And what I love.

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Creative Nonfiction

First Place

Letting Go Alissa Simmons I’ve never heard silence so loud—silence so incredibly deafening, that I question the sound’s origins. That was until you came and turned my world inside out. Sure, the correct saying is upside down, but you did much more than that. My sadness was more than just having a bad day. It was having a terrible day that turned into weeks, then months, and eventually into two years. It took so much energy to be happy, but you didn’t have to face that in the same way that I did. You had a daughter, college, a steady job, and a steady life. You know what I had? Therapy. Endless tears on seemingly endless nights. How did you get to be happy? I was so miserable, jealous even, of the person who broke me. All my friends took your side. Isn’t that something? They told me to just forget about it, that they’d be happy if they were me. Couldn’t they see that you ruined me? I panicked every time someone held my hand, wrist, or shoulder. That was your doing. “Others have been through much worse than you,” I’d tell myself. I just didn’t want to hurt anymore. I didn’t want to feel. We don’t know it, but we crave happiness. It’s not until your world is filled with sadness, hurt, and anger that you realize how desperately you want to be happy. It’s not until you’ve been up all night, nearing five in the morning, that you realize you’re all alone.

That’s what hurt the most. No one understood, no one even tried to. Nowhere was safe anymore. Not school, games, restaurants, or shopping centers. You could be anywhere; you were everywhere. I was nowhere.

Pain can be felt in so many ways. I learned that pain is not on a scale of 1-10; it is emotional, physical, psychological, and so much more. It’s the scar on my calf from when I pressed it against my tail pipe. It’s the tea, too hot to drink. It’s the memory of you stained in my mind. It’s the time you fall off your bike for the first time. It’s being asked what happened by people who shouldn’t know, hearing them pick you and blame me. It’s the rumors you spread about that day. Pain is pleasure for some, but not me. Pain was the overwhelming feeling of my 42

days. It was easier to hurt than cry. At least pain can be invisible.

I wanted to be invisible; I practically was. I kept my head down and did my work. No one can hurt you if you refuse to let them in. If they don’t know you’re there, there’s no one to let in.

I had never been so in tune with my feelings before you. Even when there wasn’t one word for what I was feeling, I could explain exactly how and where I felt it. I can now explain that the thought of you lives in the pit of my stomach like a stone that should never be uncovered. You are the feeling I get before I throw up—a terrible ick I wish to avoid. You are a heaviness in my lungs, like I’m being buried alive, pebble by pebble. It is unnoticeable at first, then hits very suddenly. You are a single tear streaming down the right side of my face. You are the way kids feel when they learn Santa isn’t real. You are the reason I am who I am. I resent you for that. I am more in tune with my feelings, state of mind, and self than I have ever been. I am an amazing person, kind and loving. I am a positive spirit. None of who I am should be accredited to you. You taught me that the hero is someone’s villain, and the villain, a hero. You were the hero in everyone’s eyes, just not mine.

I have never wished harm on anyone. No matter how badly I wanted to, I couldn’t. I want to hate you so badly that it makes me want to scream. That’s the one thing I still don’t understand—why can’t I hate you? Even when I have every right to.

How do you feel when you think of me? Am I distant memory?

Am I nothing to you? Or am I the reason you couldn’t watch your brother’s games? The reason you couldn’t play? Do you even remember me? What would you do if a boy did to your daughter what you did to me? I don’t even want your answers. I want you to think and to have a constant cloud in your mind, making you doubt every decision you make.

I hope you never feel the way you make me feel. I’ve learned so much from your actions; from my decisions. I’m choosing to let go now. You still make me sad. Almost four years later, I still cry when I think about you—I probably always will. I even cried writing this, knowing you’ll never get the opportunity to read it and to know the impact you’ve had on my life. But I refuse to 43

live in fear—to see you in every man my eyes meet. I used to care watching your life unfold, causing me to feel that pit in my stomach. Now I’m choosing to say goodbye, and I hope no one in your life has to feel the way you’ve made me feel. I can only hope you have grown as I have.

Farewell.

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Second Place

Snowfall Emily Millstead As I stand at the door, I can’t help but feel a sense of dread. I am tired and stressed all the time now it seems. I quietly mutter to myself, something about how work never ends. It’s 11 PM and I’m just now done for the day. I take a deep breath and push open the door.

I immediately get hit with a rush of cold winter air. I curse to myself about the cold and start to go down the stairs towards home. Grumpy and ready to go to bed, I fail to notice what is happening outside until I notice a small snowflake land on the tip of my nose. I jump at the coldness of its touch.

Soon I see another, and another, and then another. I finally notice that the nighttime sky is full of tiny white flurries. I am so enchanted by their miniature pirouettes that for a moment I forget all about my grumbles and my stresses. It is only me and the falling snow. Flawless and pristine, it decorates the concrete of the quad like little, tiny diamonds. Before long the campus, is covered in a beautiful white fluff. The moonlight makes these miniature crystals radiate with blinding beauty. I just stand there in the snow, gazing at the magical nighttime sky.

I realize this is what I needed. This is the moment of peace that I was looking for, even if it is such a tiny feat. These beautiful little crystals remind me of my childhood. I think that is what I miss more and more each day. I miss the memories, I miss the childish fun, but most of all I think I miss the joy I felt seeing the snow fall from the heavens.

It seems like every day I get overwhelmed by all the responsibilities, the stress, and the deadlines. I guess that’s what growing up is: learning to take on the responsibilities, to overcome the day-to-day stresses of life, and hold yourself accountable to meet those deadlines. It can be hard sometimes.

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In those times of struggle, all we need is a small moment of peace—a lonely solace. We all need a much needed break from the pressures of society and of becoming an adult. We need to invest time in the little things. Whether that is standing out by a lake as the sun is setting or just standing out in the snow, watching it glitter and shine.

We will never get our precious childhood back, and those good times will now forever be memories. But for now, don’t worry about what you could’ve done, or what you’ve missed out on. The past is history, and we will never know what tomorrow is, but today is the only day that matters. So, when you’re stressed all you need to do is find your moment of peace—find your falling snow.

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Third Place

The Chair Ana Flores Sarmiento Friendship is one of the very first things we learn about. I remember one Valentine’s Day that I spent in a cinema’s lobby, sitting on a comfortable padded chair. On my lap were five gifts that I had made after spending the previous few days watching YouTube videos on how to make gifts for the people that I considered to be friends. I looked at the handmade gifts lying on my lap, noticing that I had even taken the time to put them in plastic bags. Even though it didn’t look aesthetically nice, I reminded myself that what mattered was on the inside and my friends would appreciate it no matter what. My mom was standing beside me with her eyes off in the distance, trying to find the girls that had said they would come. I copied her and never turned my eyes away from the crowd, except to make sure the gifts were in a safe position. I remember how optimistic I was feeling that day. Apart from the normal anxiety, I felt as if a ray of positivity was shining down on me.

I waited as the minutes passed by, but there was still no trace of my friends. Now, I realize how convenient it would’ve been back then to have a phone. Maybe they would’ve come if I had given them a call to remind them of our meeting. Or maybe I would’ve gotten an explanation on why I was left sitting alone on a chair in the lobby, watching people come in and come out with smiles on their faces. I can’t remember how many times my mom asked me if I was sure I told the girls the correct date and time, if I was sure they were coming, and if I was sure I had even told them the right place. The problem was that I was absolutely sure I had communicated all of the correct information to them. I repeated to my mom that they were coming, but not nearly as many times as I told myself that.

I remember my mom hugged me tight, brushing my hair with her hand in quick, reassuring strokes, seemingly trying to comfort herself just as much as she was trying to comfort me.

She then began to rub my back, maybe in attempt to console my whole body, or maybe just to take the sadness from my 47

soul. There were probably some tears shed on my part as she held me in such a strong hug, but I can’t be sure of that because of how numb the memory feels now. We left that afternoon feeling something new for both of us. My mom, for the first time, experienced what it was like seeing her child stood up by friends and watching as she transitioned from an excited and nervous kid to a heartbroken girl. I, for the first time, felt what it was like to be betrayed.

To cheer me up, my mother said she wanted to treat me. As ridiculous as it sounds, my mother’s way of trying to comfort me was by taking me to get some pizza. There are pieces of what she said while she was furiously driving to the nearest restaurant that I still remember today. She exclaimed inside the car how rude the girls were for doing this after saying yes in the first place. She was just as confused as I was, maybe even more, but she didn’t yell, not even once, even as a dark cloud full of questions formed above her head.

In the restaurant, my mom told me many times to enjoy myself and not let this experience ruin my day. Unfortunately, I couldn’t help but let that experience ruin a lot of things, not just about that day, but also well into my future. It didn’t help at all that the service at the restaurant was terrible. It was Valentine’s Day, after all, and the place was full of people.

There were some families on one side, couples on the other, and waiters running in between them all in order to get to their next table. On top of it all, my mom and I didn’t even like the food. It just seemed as if the day kept getting worse. My mother’s plan to cheer me up had failed, and we returned home defeated, like wounded soldiers coming home from battle.

Going back in time, that wasn’t the first-time friends had parted ways with me. Years before, a different group of girls told me to my face how bossy and annoying I was and how they decided that they didn’t want to keep hanging out with me. It was like a bad scene from a teen movie. The two girls standing in front of me sounded like members of a council which had previously met and discussed the status of my future with them. Both of them proceeded to list the reasons for their final decision as to why they didn’t want to be my friend anymore.

Their words felt like small, pointed stakes penetrating my heart. I stood and listened to them, holding my hands to find 48

comfort. Both girls held a serious face and didn’t laugh. It was then that I noticed some kind of superior air around them, which finally revealed itself after their true nature was shown. I couldn’t help but ask myself how long they had felt this way.

How long had they pretended to like me? Did they ever like me at all? I felt more embarrassed than anything at that moment. It was only when I went back home and started replaying those scenes over and over again in my heart that the pain finally sank in. At least they were honest. As bad as it hurt back then, standing in the park were we normally played and listening as those girls gave me the reasons for their actions, it was a reason why—why they left me sitting alone in a cinema’s lobby— that I deserved to hear on that Valentine’s Day. It’s the reason why that I’m still a stranger to this day.

That padded chair in the cinema’s lobby, probably a dark navy blue in color, felt comfortable when I was still under the illusions I had created. As the disappointment and fear started to grow in me—as the humiliation came like a monster and took a bite of my heart, leaving me breathless—the chair grew to be uncomfortable. I didn’t dare move, however, for once I had enjoyed the comfort and excitement I had found there. Who says that I couldn’t feel that way again? Even if I had stood up to look around for the familiar faces I hoped to find, I would've felt drawn back to the chair like a magnet because I had convinced myself that as soon as I looked up, they would be there, walking in from afar and ready to hug me. This ridiculous chair saw me at my worst and at my best, all in just a short amount of time. It wasn’t even the best chair. It was clearly worn, with marks all over it, and it sat only a few inches from the floor, but at least it had some armrests that made my waiting less miserable.

I’ve sat in many chairs in my life, some more comfortable than others. I’ve sat in chairs waiting for real friendships to appear and embrace me, while I watched as others more capable than me found meaning in their relationships. It could be that my mistake was, and still is, to sit on that chair and wait. I shouldn’t have waited so long for those girls, sitting in that worn-out padded chair in the lobby of the cinema. I shouldn’t have waited under the kiosk for those girls to change their minds about me. I shouldn’t have waited for so many people to come, because those that did come around stood beside me only to run away sooner than later. They never chose to sit with me.

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That chair is as awful as my friendship history because friendship has never been something I’ve known how to begin.

It is like a stranger that I’ve always wanted to know, waiting for it to approach me because I’ve never been good at approaching it first.

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To Grandmother’s House Addison Massey Up until I was about eight years old, my brothers and I would every once in a while spend the weekend at my grandparent’s house in Alton, Illinois. I have such vivid memories of their house and exploring the area with my brothers. The earliest of these would be of my older brother, Ethan, and I. There was a towering walnut tree that would drop bright green walnuts when the air was crisp. We would run around the yard, small visible puffs leaving our lips, gathering as many walnuts as our little hands could hold, before dropping them into a pile next to the shed. We would never go inside it, however, because it had spiders that would most definitely, absolutely eat us according to Ethan. Stacked next to the shed was a pile of bricks and a laid brick patio. First, we would set walnuts in just the right spot. Then we would each take a brick and pick it up— which I remember being a strain because the brick felt about the same size and weight as a cinder block would feel to me now—and drop it right on the patio, splattering the walnut. It was a perfect big bang to create a brick and walnut sandwich.

To a seven-year-old boy like Ethan, this was peak entertainment. To a four-year-old little sister like me, Ethan seemed like he was loving it, so I loved it too.

As we grew older, I remember we would chase each other for miles around that house. It was set up in a circle where the kitchen led to the dining room, the dining room led to the living room, the living room led to the music room (where you can imagine the fun and horrid noises that came from there), and the music room led to the kitchen. Then there was a hallway that cut straight through the middle of the loop, and we would race down it to catch the others going around the circle. We would run full speed through the house, dodging furniture, people, and the dog. We were never allowed to run like this at home, but that is the glory of going to grandparents’ house. They’re older and they’ve already done the parenting thing, so they get to spoil you and let you run like a banshee 51

because they can just send you home when they’re sick of you.

It really was glorious.

My fondest memory I have from my grandparents’ house occurred upstairs in the office—my first introduction to the mechanical pencil. It’s such a mundane object at this point in my life. Today I basically refuse to use wooden pencils, and I have become an excellent mechanical pencil mechanic, but the sense of wonder I remember from first finding this pencil will never fade. Like the loop that made up the downstairs, there was an upstairs to my grandparent’s house that was just a long hallway with extra bedrooms. The first door led to an office with two armchairs, a desk, a computer, and a small library. My older brother and I would go and play games on the computer, and on this particular day when he called me up, I figured he would want to show me something on his game. Instead, he held up a pencil, but it wasn’t a pencil. It had the right shape and color, but it was too smooth to be a pencil.

My brother then started to push on the eraser, and the pencil lead grew and grew and grew. I was absolutely amazed— flabbergasted if you will. But when he told me to stick out my arm, the alarm that any younger sibling has started to ring. I remember refusing to give him and his strange pencil access to my arm.

Now, I would like to explain that my brother was mean, tough, and undefeatable; but even with all that, there is no reason he should’ve plunged his weird pencil into his arm and not even flinched. The lead plugged up the hole that should be spurting blood, and I couldn’t understand how he wasn’t crying in pain.

When he lifted the pencil from his arm, I saw that he was perfectly fine. I couldn’t wrap my head around this. Why would someone make a strange pencil you can stab yourself with?

Why did my grandparents have it? With wonderment in my eyes, I held out my arm for my brother, eager to see the magic again. He brought the pencil down on my arm, giddy as can be, and stabbed me with it. White-hot pain shot into my arm, and I just stared even more confused than before. Why hadn’t it worked for me? Afterwards, he explained the incredible invention that is the mechanical pencil and how the eraser works to move or stop the lead. After a moment of anger, I was able to realize this object’s true potential and together we went to go find our little brother.

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All these stories hold a special place in my heart as we all are growing older. My Grandmother passed away about eleven years ago now, and we haven’t been to their house many times since, so these memories are really all I’ll have from the house and all I’ll gain moving forward. Along with that, my brothers and I are all starting to become adults and can’t spend much time together like we did when we were kids, so it’s nice to be able to reminisce and laugh over those memories we made when all of us kids were together with our grandparents.

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Drama

Death and Toddlers Michelle Miley Characters A husband and wife, both in their mid 30's or early 40's.

The lights come up on a small pet shop. A couple comes into the shop together, looking a bit tired. It's a Saturday so they're dressed casually but somewhat upscale – you can tell they're a middle-class suburban couple. A wide variety of pets should align the walls of the shop, but an area of fish tanks is a must.

The couple approach the fish upon entering the store.

(Note: I think this play could double as an adoption event.

Caged animals may appear on stage and those animals could be rescues who are adoptable after the show.)

HUSBAND: So much for a romantic weekend.

WIFE: At least her fish waited to die until after we sent her to Grandma's house.

HUSBAND: Yeah. That's a fit we didn't need this morning for sure. You sure you know exactly what this damn fish looked like?

WIFE: Nope. I mean, I have an idea but... I wish you'd thought to snap a picture before you flushed it.

HUSBAND: Do you really think she'll notice that it's a different fish?

WIFE: (Slightly exasperated) Honey, our child is three, not stupid. Besides, she just had to have the goldfish with all the white in it.

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HUSBAND: (Looking in a fish tank) Well all these guys are yellow.

WIFE: (Optimistically pointing) That one looks pretty white!

HUSBAND: No go. Check out the sign. They're feeder fish – no choice offered.

WIFE: Maybe they'll make an exception?

HUSBAND: (Obviously reading the sign) No choice – no exceptions.

WIFE: Oh. HUSBAND: You know, we're going to have to have a talk with her about death sooner or later.

WIFE: I know. I just don't think she's ready yet.

HUSBAND: She's not ready or you're not ready?

WIFE: Valid. I just want to protect her as long as I can.

[The wife starts to wander away and look around the shop.]

WIFE: You know... She's always wanted a puppy. I bet she'd forget all about the fish if we got a dog.

HUSBAND: And who's gonna walk it?? (Slightly indignant) I work 50 hours a week. It's sure as hell not gonna be me! I don't have time to add dog walker to my resume.

WIFE: (Equally indignant) Wanna trade? I would love to go back to work and have an adult conversation for a change!

HUSBAND: I'm sorry, babe. I know how much you wanted to go back. I know you were disappointed when I found work first.

WIFE: I'm sorry, too. I know you work hard for us, and I know I'm lucky I can stay home with her, but it has it's days.

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HUSBAND: Sometimes I envy you, though. I feel like I miss so much of her life working. But then I spend a weekend at home and I don't know how you do it. I'm ready to eat a bullet halfway through the third viewing of Frozen. How do you deal with that all week?

WIFE: Wine.

HUSBAND: (Chuckling.) So you've taken up day drinking?

WIFE: Of course not! What kind of person do you think I am? I put the wine in her sippy cup. Puts her right down for a nap.

Honestly, tuning out Frozen isn't half as difficult as prying her princess dress away from her so I can wash it.

HUSBAND: You should just tell her that she has to— WIFE: (Interrupting and placing her finger on his lips. ) If you say let it go, I will kill you where you stand.

[The two walk the store in silence briefly, looking at all the options.]

WIFE: What about a kitten?

HUSBAND: Well, it does shit in a box. That's easier than a dog.

My mom's allergic though—she may not want to come over as much.

WIFE: You say that like it's a bad thing.

(Both chuckle) HUSBAND: Well, we gotta go soon or I'll miss my appointment.

WIFE: I can't believe you scheduled an oil change this weekend. I asked Mom to babysit so we could finally get some alone time—not so we could run errands.

HUSBAND: It's the only time I could fit it in! Besides, I was going to make it a romantic oil change. I figured I'd buy you chocolate covered strawberries. You would've been the happiest person in the mechanic's waiting room.

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WIFE: You're insane. (Brief pause.) Hey, isn't there a pet shop up the street from the garage? Maybe we can check it out while we wait.

HUSBAND: OK. WIFE: Get your wallet ready—you're gonna make good on those strawberries.

[They exit the store. A banner drops down that reads “Some time later...” After a brief pause the banner is lifted and the couple reenters the stage.]

HUSBAND: OK. I think we've been to every damn pet shop in the tri-state area. This is definitely the one with the most fish.

We have to find something here.

WIFE: I hate to break it to you, but they're all still yellow. Except for that one in the feeder tank.

HUSBAND: Do you think we could convince her that the fish changed color somehow?

WIFE: Maybe before your brother got her that subscription to National Geographic Kids. She's like a mini zoologist now. The other day she was telling me all about how if a penguin likes you and wants you to be his girlfriend, he will bring you a pebble.

HUSBAND: Really?

WIFE: I have no idea.

HUSBAND: Speaking of rocks, did you call the landscape guy about replacing the gravel walkway?

WIFE: Shoot! I completely forgot. I was gonna call Tuesday but then the preschool called and convinced me I wanted to make cookies for the bake sale.

HUSBAND: (Incredulous) When are you going to squeeze that in??

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WIFE: That's an excellent question. But it reminds me—we have to stop at the store and get the stuff to make cookies.

HUSBAND: (Looking mock stunned.) You want to go to the store on our special weekend?

WIFE: I'll get you some strawberries and make it romantic.

You'll be the happiest guy in the grocery store.

[The two wander apart, the husband gravitating back toward the feeder fish tank.]

HUSBAND: What if we buy a bunch of feeder fish? We'll make up some shit about her fish having his own sleepover while she had a slumber party with Grandma. We'll tell her the fish had so much fun they all decided to stay. Maybe she won't notice one missing if there's a bunch of them.

WIFE: You do realize that child will remember that logic the first time she has a sleepover, right? Suddenly she'll be in tears not understanding why her friends can't all move in with us like the fish did.

HUSBAND: Shit. Ferret?

WIFE: They smell awful.

HUSBAND: Parakeet?

WIFE: Too loud. And messy.

HUSBAND: Hamster?

WIFE: Eww. Too... rodent.

HUSBAND: Snake?

WIFE: Sweet Jesus no!

HUSBAND: Then I guess the search for the perfect white goldfish continues?

WIFE: (Sighing deeply) We've been to three stores already. Do you think we're going to find what we need?

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HUSBAND: Screw it. We're getting the cat—but on one condition.

WIFE: What?

HUSBAND: The little son of a bitch has to be all black in case we need to replace him later. I'm not going through this again!

WIFE: Deal! I saw a little black kitten over there. He's perfect.

[A cell phone rings.]

HUSBAND: You deal with that. I'm off to buy a cat.

[The husband exits stage left, presumably to go pay for the cat.

The wife pulls a cell phone from her pocket or purse and answers it.]

WIFE: Hello? Oh, hi Mom. Is everything OK?

Why? Are you serious?!

It's a long story. I'll tell you later. Are you sure you can keep her until tomorrow?

OK. We'll pick her up around noon. Thanks Mom. I love you, too. Bye.

[As the wife finishes her call, the husband approaches her. He is carrying a pet carrier along with a shopping bag full of cat toys, litter, and other cat supplies.]

WIFE: You're not gonna believe this.

HUSBAND: What?

WIFE: (Taking some of the cat supplies to help her husband carry them.) My Mom just called. Our darling daughter insisted that she had to call us right now.

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HUSBAND: Is everything OK? WIFE: Yup. She's fine. She just wanted Grandma to tell us because she forgot.

HUSBAND: Forgot what?

WIFE: Our daughter forgot to tell us that her fish died last night.

End scene. Lights go down.

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We’ve Got You Now! Peyton Warren Characters Garnek: Orc barbarian Axel: Elven druid and Garnek’s fellow adventurer The Bustling Brutes: A criminal group Leader of The Bustling Brutes: A big buff criminal Captain Chubby Cheeks: Criminal squirrel who is part of The Bustling Brutes Setting Lightly traveled forest outside of a small port town

[Untraveled forest outside of a small port town. GARNEK and AXEL are walking together down a path through the forest.

AXEL is excited and cheerful as usual, and GARNEK is intently listening to his much smaller friend.]

AXEL: That last battle of ours was epic! Did you see how I entangled those guys?!

GARNEK: (Grunts and nods) AXEL: And then you! You were epic! You swung up your battle axe and just slaughtered them!

[GARNEK hears a snapping sound in the distance.]

AXEL: I wond— GARNEK: (Bluntly) Quiet. Someone following us.

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[AXEL hesitates for a moment, wanting to continue their conversation but stays quiet. The two continue walking, carefully listening to everything around them. Soon a squirrel comes running past them.]

AXEL: (Rolls eyes) Garnek, it’s just a cute little squirrel! What are you so—

[AXEL instantly quiets as he feels a dagger pressed against his neck from behind, causing him to curse under his breath.]

LEADER OF THE BUSTLING BRUTES: We’ve got you now!

[GARNEK stops in his tracks to see what is going on, and the LEADER OF THE BUSTLING BRUTES moves in front of them from behind them. Soon his crew does the same. The squirrel from before runs to the LEADER and scurries up to his shoulder, using a furry paw to place a pirate hat on his head.]

GARNEK: (Looks confused) What stupid little squirrel doing?

CAPTAIN CHUBBY CHEEKS: (Aggressive squirrel chattering

towards Garnek)

GARNEK: (Angrily growls back) STUPID SQUIRREL!

[CAPTAIN CHUBBY CHEEKS barks out in rage and leaps towards Garnek with his claws out, only to be caught in midair by the LEADER.] LEADER OF THE BUSTLING BRUTES: Now now, Captain Chubby Cheeks. We have some business to take care of first.

AXEL: (With knife still pressed against his neck from someone behind him) Captain Chubby Cheeks? That’s so cute!

LEADER OF THE BUSTLING BRUTES: (Yells) QUIET!

[Axel immediately quiets in fear.]

LEADER OF THE BUSTLING BRUTES: (Pulls out knife) Now. Which one of you killed Brian?

AXEL: Who’s Brian?

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LEADER OF THE BUSTLING BRUTES: (Points knife at Axel) You know exactly who Brian is!

GARNEK: (Growls) Mad man no threaten tiny and weak friend!

AXEL: Garnek, I’ve told you before that I’m not weak!

GARNEK: Tiny creatures weak.

CAPTAIN CHUBBY CHEEKS: (Aggressive chattering towards

Garnek)

AXEL: See! Now you offended him, too!

LEADER: (Yells) That’s enough! Boys, tie them up and get them to the base!

[THE BUSTLING BRUTES move to tie up AXEL and GARNEK. GARNEK immediately tries to move to try and stop them.]

LEADER: Ah-ah-ah. You wouldn’t want to get your friend hurt, would you?

GARNEK: (Grumbles but leaves willingly)

[THE BUSTLING BRUTES, the LEADER, CAPTAIN CHUBBY CHEEKS, AXEL, AND GARNEK enter a fort hidden within the depths of the forest. They are then escorted into the LEADER’S private quarters and tied up.]

LEADER: I’ll ask you one more time. WHO KILLED BRIAN?!

AXEL: (Panicked) Sure, we killed some people earlier, but I don’t think we killed a Brian!

LEADER: I KNOW ONE OF YOU KILLED BRIAN! I SAW HIS BODY MASSACRED AFTER YOU TWO LEFT TOWN! AXEL: We don’t even know what Brian looks like!

[AXEL notices CAPTAIN CHUBBY CHEEKS snickering in the corner of the room. He then uses a spell that allows him to communicate with animals]

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CAPTAIN CHUBBY CHEEKS: (Laughing maniacally) Those stupid giants! Little do they know, I’M the one that killed Brian!

I never liked that idiot anyway! I’LL TAKE YOU ALL DOWN NEXT! AXEL: (Panically whispers) Garnek…

GARNEK: (Grunts) AXEL: (Whispers) We need to get out of here.

GARNEK: Why? Big yelling man do nothing.

AXEL: (Whispers) It’s not the leader we need to be scared of…

GARNEK: Who then?

AXEL: (Whisper) It’s Captain Chubby Ch— GARNEK: STUPID SQUIRREL!?

LEADER: (Aggressively) What are you two yammering about?!

AXEL: (Nervously) Well you see Sir… LEADER: (Aggressively) If you two think that you can escape from The Bustling Brutes, you have another thing comin’!

AXEL: No, No, No, Sir! You are sadly mistaken. I’m a druid.

LEADER: So what?

AXEL: Well as a druid, I can use a spell to understand animals.

LEADER: Why does that matter?

CAPTAIN CHUBBY CHEEKS: (Aggressively chatters) AXEL: (Gulps) Well… have you ever wondered why Captain Chubby Cheeks is with you in the first place?

LEADER: He’s my loyal companion that’s why!

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AXEL: Sir, I don’t think you understand the situation we are in!

He wants to kill— LEADER: HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE CAPTAIN CHUBBY CHE—

[Suddenly the LEADER falls to the ground in front of THE BUSTLING BRUTES, GARNEK and AXEL, a knife stabbed into his back. CAPTAIN CHUBBY CHEEKS is standing close by with another large knife.]

CAPTAIN CHUBBY CHEEKS: (Aggressively in squirrel) I absolutely hated that name! Captain Chubby cheeks this, and Captain Chubby cheeks that! You giants need to pay for all the humiliation you have caused me, and then I will be the one in complete and total control!

[CAPTAIN CHUBBY CHEEKS turns his attention to GARNEK as THE BUSTLING BRUTES are busy worrying about their leader.]

CAPTAIN CHUBBY CHEEKS: (Aggressively in squirrel) And you’re the next one on my list.

AXEL: (Panics) Garnek! We need to get out of here!

GARNEK: Why? Stupid squirrel help us.

AXEL: HE WANTS TO KILL YOU! GARNEK: …Oh. We fight?

AXEL: (whispers) No, it’s too risky. Some of The Bustling Brutes may be on his side.

[GARNEK uses his strength to break through the ropes around his wrists before moving to free AXEL.] AXEL: Why didn’t you just do that earlier?

GARNEK: Didn’t want friend hurt. Stupid group busy now.

[AXEL looks over to see CAPTAIN CHUBBY CHEEKS running towards them.]

AXEL: (Curses loudly before yelling) RUN! 67

[GARNEK and AXEL run out of the LEADER’S quarters, out of the fort, and into the forest towards town. CAPTAIN CHUBBY CHEEKS is chasing them, hot on their heels. CAPTAIN CHUBBY CHEEKS throws a knife, and it zooms past AXEL’S head and hits a tree.]

AXEL: GAH!!! GARNEK, WHAT DID WE DO TO GET INTO THIS MESS? GARNEK: STUPID SQUIRREL! GARNEK DID NOTHING TO!

[A knife zooms past GARNEK’S head.]

AXEL: ARE YOU SO SURE ABOUT THAT? GARNEK: YES! AXEL: YOU DID CALL HIM STUPID AND WEAK! GARNEK: SQUIRREL IS!

[Another knife zooms past GARNEK’S head.]

AXEL: WHERE DOES SUCH A SMALL CREATURE CARRY SO MANY KNIVES! GARNEK: DON’T KNOW!

[AXEL uses a spell to entangle CAPTAIN CHUBBY CHEEKS in a mass of vines. AXEL guides GARNEK out of earshot before stopping. Both of them are panting and out of breath.]

AXEL: My magic won’t hold for long. We need a plan to escape.

GARNEK: Okay. What?

AXEL: (Thinks for a moment) I think we can make it to that house we stayed in a few nights ago. It isn’t too far from here.

GARNEK: (Affirmatively grunts)

[CAPTAIN CHUBBY CHEEKS can be heard manically laughing in the distance.]

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AXEL: (whispers) He’s free. Run.

[AXEL and GARNEK begin to run through the forest once more towards the small port town. CAPTAIN CHUBBY CHEEKS soon finds them once more and continues his chase. A knife zooms past them.]

AXEL: (mutters under breath) Just keep running, Axel.

Everything will be okay.

GARNEK: YOU SURE WE NO FIGHT?!

AXEL: IT’S NOT WORTH THE RISK! HE’S TOO SMALL AND FAST!

[Another knife is thrown.]

GARNEK: (Aggressively) WHY NOT! MAY HURT FRIEND! AXEL: JUST TRUST ME!

[Knife after knife is continually throw at GARNEK and AXEL. After a while of running, the house on the outskirts of the port town comes into view.]

AXEL: (Pants) WE’RE ALMOST THERE! AS SOON AS WE GET IN, SLAM AND LOCK THE DOOR! GARNEK: (Affirmatively grunts)

[AXEL and GARNEK get closer and closer to the door, and as soon as they are close enough, AXEL tries to open the door as CAPTAIN CHUBBY CHEEKS nears.]

AXEL: (Panicked) It’s locked!

GARNEK: Where key?

AXEL: (Fumbles around in pockets for some time before pulling out a key) Ahah!

GARNEK: (Checks over shoulder) Hurry!

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[AXEL uses the key to open the door, running inside. GARNEK moves to run inside as well, but CAPTAIN CHUBBY CHEEKS is close behind. CAPTAIN CHUBBY CHEEKS uses the knife to slash into GARNEK’S leg. GARNEK roars in pain but slams the door behind him, locking it. Thuds, scrapes, and other sounds can be heard against the door.]

GARNEK: (Hisses in pain) STUPID SQUIRREL! AXEL: Garnek, you’re hurt! Let’s get you to the bedroom!

GARNEK: NO! Take care of squirrel!

AXEL: As much as I know you want to do that, that can wait until later. We need to take care of you first!

[AXEL and GARNEK make their way into the bedroom.

GARNEK reluctantly moves to lay down as AXEL works on healing him. AXEL stops as soon as the bleeding stops.]

AXEL: Looks like you’re all fixed up now, but be careful. So, what did we learn today?

GARNEK: Squirrels big stupid!

AXEL: (Laughs) No… GARNEK: What then?

AXEL: We learned not to underestimate our opponents.

GARNEK: (Gives weird looks) We should kill stupid squirrel at beginning?

AXEL: (Laughs) You never learn, do you?

70

First Place

Here’s Looking at You...

Sara Ratliff 71

Second Place

The Faces We Wear

Jessica Justice

72

73

Tate Hanners

When in Need

Third Place

The Evolution of Life

Jessica Justice 74

T. Berry Smith Hall

Sara Ratliff 75

Ecstatic

Tate Hanners

76

77

Tate Hanners

Fire in the Night

Tranquility

Peyton Warren 78

Serenity

Peyton Warren 79

Mandalas for Days

Emily Collins

80

81

Jessica Justice

Rose Tinted Glass, Shattered

The Crossing

Tate Hanners

82

83

Sara Ratliff

Sentry

Genesis 2:17

Danielle McQueen 84

The Little Soldier

Peyton Warren 85

Playing With Fire

Peyton Warren

86

87

Peyton Warren

The Hunter

A Study in Blue

Jessica Justice 88

A Moment of Peace

Emily Millstead 89

Living Alone

Sarah King 90

A Pit Stop From Tyranny

Jessica Justice 91

Among the Stars

Tate Hanners

92

93

Sara Ratliff

Valor

Sunshine

Peyton Warren

94

95

Peyton Warren

Treasure Hunter

Encasing the Moon’s Beauty

Peyton Warren 96

A Child’s Nightmare Reimagined

Jessica Justice

97

Beauty Unveiled

Peyton Warren

98

Short Fiction

First Place

The Last Morningstar Keagan O’Riley Acedia (Uh-see-dee-uh): The lack of feeling for the self or for another; Existential boredom

His eyes shine the deepest shade of twilight.

Come here little one, he calls to me. Come into the light.

I have something for you.

The ground is cold and damp beneath my hands. I fold myself deeper into the shadows, heart thundering loudly in my ears.

Somewhere in the distance his footsteps clip slowly against the pavement, unbothered by the chase—unbothered by the challenge I’d presented him. He steps deeper into the alley I’d trapped myself in, promising food. Promising shelter from the cold.

And I am both hungry and cold.

But I know his tricks.

I remember listening to those same promises as I fell asleep that night, huddled among the warmth of my cardboard shelter. I remember waking to find my sister’s place empty and cold beside me. I remember finding her face plastered on the news along with dozens of others as I walked by a convenience store.

I remember what monsters like him had taken from me.

This time when he beckons, I answer with promises of my own.

100

I step free of the shadows, hands trembling at my side. His eyes shine the deepest shade of twilight in the moonless night—gleaming with anticipation as he closes in. Gleaming until he realizes his mistake.

Shining—until they shine no more.

It had been years since they’d gathered in the same city, let alone the same room, and yet, Acedia scans his surroundings with the same expression of boredom he had worn to all the gatherings before. Out of the eight chairs stationed around the table, six are occupied. Acedia counts the present Sins silently in his head.

To his immediate right sit Lust and Envy. The twins had been the first to arrive after Acedia—unsurprisingly inseparable since their tandem ascension two thousand years prior. Then came Gluttony with her flashing gold-adorned wrists and diamondencrusted goblet that never ran dry. Wrath had stormed in minutes later, eyes blazing and fangs flashing as she raged about insignificant things. The last of the six to show had been Sloth who’d wandered in, settled down, and fallen asleep in her seat without a word.

Pride and Greed, it seems, are late once again.

“Where the hell are they?” Wrath growls, her red eyes flashing as she paces the room. “Pride can go piss himself, but Greed better not have gotten sidetracked again.”

“I’m afraid Greed won’t be joining us.”

Acedia turns slowly from Wrath’s amusing display of impatience as Pride strides through the doorway. Unlike the other Sins, he still wears his human skin and doesn’t bother shifting even as he settles into his seat. Acedia finds it a ridiculous display. First the other demons looked down on him 101

for his true form being too human-like, and now Pride wears his glamour as if it were a badge of honor?

Acedia’s face turns sour, but he says nothing. Only sits back and listens as the others settle into their seats.

“What do you mean he won’t be joining us?” Sloth yawns, stretching her clawed hands high as she blinks herself awake.

Envy snorts, “Did he find something better to do after all?”

Pride’s icy gaze goes dark as it lands on Greed’s empty seat.

“Greed is dead.”

A beat of silence fills the room. And then chaos erupts.

“Dead?!”

“How the hell—”

“Who could have—” “Impossible!”

Wrath lunges across the room, grabbing Pride by the collar of his tailored suit, “How did this happen?”

Acedia’s lips twitch ever so slightly as Pride’s face twists.

Seconds later an audible crack echoes through the room. The young archdemon screams and retreats cradling her now shattered arm. Pride straightens his suit and turns back towards the other Sins, unfazed.

“Greed was found in an alley two days ago. His body mutilated nearly beyond recognition.” He says, “As you are all aware, he was not the first high-ranking demon to meet such a premature end. Something or someone is killing our kind by the hundreds. It seems we have a very serious problem on our hands.”

102

“Could it be an archangel?” The wine in Gluttony’s glass shivers as she sets it down, her gold adorned hands trembling at the mere thought.

Acedia rolls his eyes. Archangels haven’t bothered to grace the lower realms for several millennia. Even if one had descended and gone on a killing spree, the Sins would have known the moment they did so. Archangels aren’t something one just overlooks.

Pride says as much, but Gluttony doesn’t seem convinced.

“How do you know it isn’t just another demon trying to climb ranks?” Lust points out while leaning back in his seat. “Things like this have happened before.”

A murmur of agreement spreads through the room. Acedia taps a bored finger against the arm of his chair as Pride scans the room slowly.

“If it was a demon climbing ranks, they would have taken credit for it. Besides, I saw Greed’s body. Whatever killed him—it was no angel.”

Acedia hums low in his chest, a strange calmness washing over his entire being as he opens his mouth for the first time that evening, “Then it’s finally come.”

A strange sort of silence falls upon the room at the oldest archdemon’s words. Even Pride, the strongest of the Deadly Sins, eyes Acedia carefully across the table.

“What do you know?”

Acedia smiles softly, the first smile he’s allowed anyone to see in nearly two thousand years. The other Sins shudder at the sight, unnerved by the dark amusement shining in Acedia’s unnaturally human-like eyes.

“Why should I tell you?” Acedia asks, still smirking at their unease, “It would be much more entertaining to watch you fret like lost little children while the world burns down around you.”

103

“Why you old—” Wrath’s seething outburst dies in her throat at Acedia’s icy stare. She blinks away her surprise, suddenly twice as furious. “If you know something you should say it! You useless piece of—“ Suddenly, Acedia is overcome with laughter. His body shakes with it to the point where the entire room seems to tremble with him. The others instinctively move away from him as if physically repulsed by his outburst.

As suddenly as it came, the laughter stops.

Acedia’s face is once again expressionless. He stands slowly, barely giving the others a second glance as a single thought breathes from his mind into theirs.

Rejoice, brothers and sisters, for the one who fell has risen once more.

At this point it was only a guess, but he’d never let them know that.

The demon dies quicker than most.

It’s almost disappointing, really, how easy killing them has become. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve truly gotten that much stronger or if it’s they who’ve gotten weaker.

I toss the demon’s head aside with a sigh, watching it disappear into the shadows at my feet. His death had been pointless—the information he’d given useless. If I wanted to know about low level scum like him, I’d have plucked any human from the streets and scanned their memories.

But I’m not interested in weak prey.

“What the hell are you?”

It’s no more than a whisper in the dark, but I hear it all the same.

104

I turn slowly, feeling that familiar burn of power building in my chest. But then I see the human who’d spoken and immediately the feeling dissipates. My bloodied fists clench, but not before they see. Not before they realize…

The monster they knew to fear had been slayed by something even more hideous.

Acedia doesn’t care if they all die.

Humans. Demons. Angels. What difference do their deaths make to him? To the world?

Screw God’s precious balance. Acedia would welcome the end of the world with open arms. His only wish before the world ended was to know who was behind these demon attacks. And if it’s truly who he thinks it is, he wonders why they started killing demons off only now.

It’s strange really—he’s never been curious about anything before.

Now he can’t seem to sit still.

Acedia strides slowly along the sidewalk, hat tipped forward to shield his eyes from the deluge as he trails his prey from a distance. He’d been following the detective for about an hour now, having spotted him leaving the crime scene where Greed was supposedly found. He’d followed the man on a whim, but he didn’t really know what he hoped to gain from it.

Information Acedia guessed. Anything that would lead him closer to satisfying this overwhelming curiosity which plagues him day in and day out.

It’s been months since Pride broke the news of Greed’s demise and the Lower realm continues to devolve into chaos. Demons are still turning up in the same horrific state all over the world with no pattern behind their deaths. Many are almost as ancient as Acedia himself and nearly as powerful. It’s still unclear who’s responsible for the killings.

105

Despite the number of demons turning up dead, Earth has continued its rapid decline and shows no signs of slowing. No sign of the balance returning to normal. It’s obvious to Acedia that whoever is behind the murders, they don’t give a damn about saving the world. Not that Acedia cares.

He just wants to know what it is they’re really after.

Two years.

I’ve been searching for them—any of them—for two years, jumping from city to city, killing demon after demon, sifting through one disgusting mind after another until finally I’d found one. An archdemon.

But it turns out he isn’t the right demon either.

Rage fills my mind, fueling the unnatural fire in my heart until my whole being is encased in flame. The archdemon cowers before me, his bloodied face twisted with horror at my display.

Sometime while I was sifting through his mind, his human façade had crumbled and fallen away, leaving behind a monstrous creature twice my size with twice the number of limbs. Despite the razor-sharp claws, fangs, and diamondscaled skin at the demon’s disposal, it no longer tries to fight back.

I stare into its black slitted eyes, watching them dance in the light of my soul-fire. Lust had been enchanting in his human form, but his demon form—though terrifying to the human eye— is somehow even more alluring.

It enrages me.

They all do.

But I don’t understand this rage. This all-consuming hate I feel festering in my heart. I thought killing Greed would quench the fire. I was wrong. If anything, the fire has grown hotter. Fiercer.

Wilder. A part of me is scared. What if one day it consumes me?

106

What if it doesn’t stop with just me?

Acedia is flying over North America when he feels it.

The rage flares in his chest without warning, knocking him from the sky. It burns hot—almost unbearably so—spreading throughout every nerve ending in his body until he’s certain he’ll catch fire right then and there on the forest floor.

It’s strange. Acedia knows the rage isn’t his own. It’s a foreign emotion, but at the same time familiar. He focuses on the feeling, giving in to the all-consuming rage coursing through his entire being, and something clicks in his mind.

Despite the pain, Acedia finds himself laughing.

He pushes himself up and—still wracked with waves of fury— takes flight once more muttering under his breath to no one in particular, “Finally.”

I had a mother once… I think.

I had a sister too.

God stole them both from me before I had the strength to protect them. He said something about necessary suffering.

Something about repentance. Rebirth. And that was the last he spoke to me.

I wonder if my sister would recognize me now.

Or if all she would see is the monster I’ve become.

Acedia had never seen Envy in tears before.

Then again, he had never seen a demon in such a state as Lust either.

107

Acedia lands outside of the burning club, stopping to wonder for a brief second how the stone was the part on fire before turning to Envy who clutches Lust’s mutilated body to her chest. Severe burns encase the entire length of his silver-scaled body. Some patches of scales seem to be melted together from the heat. Others were merely patches of charred ash clinging to the remnants of blistering skin. By some sick twist of fate, Lust is still alive.

Acedia is almost speechless. He’d never seen a demon with burns this severe before. Not even hellfire is hot enough to burn a demon to this degree—especially one of Lust’s caliber.

Only one thing could have done this. Something stirs in Acedia’s chest. He struggles to name the feeling as Envy sobs on the sidewalk, stroking her twin’s head with a gentle hand.

“So,” Acedia says softly, “this confirms it.”

Envy glares up at Acedia, “This is all your fault.”

“My fault?” Acedia glances around at the decimated club. “I believe we are all to blame for this, dear Envy. Or rather your lot is. Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten that little plan you seven cooked up. It’s only been two thousand years after all.”

Acedia dodges Envy’s barbed tail as it swings for his head, debating whether or not he should relieve her of it once and for all. No, it would be a waste of his time. He has somewhere else to be. Something more important to do. Envy watches silently as Acedia unfurls his wings and begins to walk away.

“We should have killed you back then too.” She spits out suddenly, yellow eyes glowing through the billowing smoke.

“We should have ripped that cold dead heart from your chest like the rest of them.”

“Yes,” Acedia breathes, stretching his wings high, “We’ve all done things we regret. And now we must live with the consequences.”

108

After setting fire to the club, I walk without a destination in mind. Somehow, I find what I’ve been searching for without even trying. My legs carry me straight to him.

He stands at the edge of the forest just outside the city’s limits— almost as if he’d been waiting for me. Like he expected me to show.

A sigh slips from my lips. Finally, I’ve found him.

For the first time since this unnatural fiery rage had bloomed in my chest, I smile. His name comes to me as I walk slowly forward, as if it had been waiting for me to remember all this time. I stop before him, letting his name breathe into existence as our eyes meet through the darkness.

“Acedia.”

Two thousand years ago, Acedia had been a different demon.

Like the other original Sins, he’d given in completely to his source of being—adopting all the power and characteristics that came with it. The less he allowed himself to feel, the more powerful he became and the stronger his influence on the mortal plane grew.

Humans and demons alike feared him, but unlike the other Sins, Acedia didn’t care.

He found no pleasure in bringing fear and despair to the humans. He didn’t exactly hate it either. If anything, Acedia was apathetic to the world. To demons. Humans. Angels. Heaven and Hell. Life and Death. He cared for nothing and no one. Not even himself.

As time went on, the other Sins were overthrown by lesser demons. Only Acedia remained, his power unmatched by any who rose and fell before him. He paid no mind to the Sins who fell, nor did he care who took their place.

Acedia felt nothing.

109

So when the other Sins decided to stage a coupe and overthrow Lucifer two thousand years ago, he did nothing. He chose no side because he simply didn’t care. The Sins who resisted Pride’s revolt were slaughtered. Replaced. Only Acedia remained.

Apathetic as always.

But… As Acedia watched the other Deadly Sins rip Lucifer’s heart from her chest, something shifted in his very being.

For the first time in his existence, Acedia knew true horror.

The memories come in waves, shifting across my vision like snippets of a movie.

I remember things that aren’t mine to remember. Things that happened to another person in another life. I remember Heaven. I remember Hell. I remember falling and fighting and dying. But I wasn’t completely dead.

No. The Sins tried to kill me, but God wouldn’t allow it.

I was reborn several times, lived several insignificant lives, but I had always been a stubborn child. I refused to come out.

Refused to revert back to my true form. I no longer wanted to remember. I no longer wanted to rule. This displeased God, so he decided to force me out.

Suddenly it all became clear.

“Lucifer.”

Acedia is on his knees now, his head bowed low towards the ground. Behind him, his featherless wings lie limply on the damp grass. They shiver slightly, trembling as if caught in an unsteady breeze. It takes me a long moment to realize...

Acedia is crying.

110

“You’ve changed,” I say softly, remembering the cold, emotionless Acedia from two thousand years ago. The only time I ever saw him show emotion was the day I died.

He’d looked almost horrified.

I sink to my knees, reaching forward to tip his chin up. Acedia’s violet eyes shimmer with untamed emotion, a river of silent tears streaming down his face. I don’t need to look into his mind to know the depths of his remorse. Still, I want to hear it from him.

“Tell me, Acedia,” I wipe a stray tear from his cheek with a gentle hand, still staring into those sad, unusual eyes of his, “do you regret it?”

“Yes,” he breathes without hesitation, tears falling faster than before.

“Do you wish to repent?”

“Yes.” “Would you die for me?”

“If that is what you wish.”

A satisfied smile washes across my face. “I’m going to rebuild this world, Acedia.”

Acedia’s back straightens, his eyes suddenly full of a new determination that I’d yet to see from any demon before.

“Allow me to pave the way.”

I laugh, rising from the ground with him in tow, “That will come soon enough. But for now, I think it’s time for a family reunion. I haven’t seen Pride in ages. I miss him dearly, don’t you?”

111

Second Place

You Sara Ratliff Time...

It’s simultaneously life’s greatest blessing and its most devastating heartache. It is always too much or never enough.

It is one of life’s greatest certainties that every second those hands on the clock move, something is lost, and something is gained. Someone out there is hoping that Time will just speed by, and another is hoping for Time to slow to a crawl, even if only to give them a few more precious seconds. Me? I have never wanted anything more than for Time to just leave me alone.

I know that will never happen though. The red framed clock on the diner wall keeps ticking, Time’s own haunting reminder to me that its hold on my life is never-ending. I can feel it in every bone of my body that with you, Time is coming to a close. It will only be thirty minutes now. I reach out across the table and take your hand as you talk carelessly away. I guess I cannot complain. This time around I have three years with you.

Sometimes I only have weeks. Other times I have days. I can’t help but smile as you tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, those gold flakes dancing in your eyes as you talk about the future.

Our future.

The future that I won’t get to see. I have been graced with a thousand lifetimes with you but never one that is complete.

Pieces here. Pieces there. Every stage of life. Every age. It’s all the same. You always come into my life only to leave it. Time and I are locked in an endless waltz that I can’t seem to end. I open my eyes and you are there, only to close them again and you are gone.

You tell me about all your hopes and dreams, stopping when you see that I am staring. You ask me what is the matter, grinning slightly because you already know what my answer 112

will be. It has always been like that with us. A thousand words travel between us without either of us having to speak a word. I simply smile and tell you that I love you.

I. Love. You. Those three little words are not a lie. At times I think it is the only thing in my life that is certain. Yet in between those three words, forever linked together, there is an unspoken truth. A truth you will never know. A truth I can never tell you. A truth I don’t know if you can ever understand. I do love you. I have fallen for you over and over again, a thousand times. Last time I got to meet you for the first time once more. The time before that we both wore gold bands on our fingers. You are my only constant in this wild dance with Time.

The clock on the wall continues to mock me while singing its same monotone serenade. Ten minutes. As you pay for our meal, I can almost see the thoughts of our future still dancing through your mind. I want to tell you everything, but I can’t. It’s never worked like that. I have tried, but the words just won’t come out. You see, Time and I share a secret, one it will never allow me to disclose. I wish that I could tell you that for me Time just won’t stand still. It won’t slow down. All I have ever wanted has been to stay with you, right here, and live a complete life. Start to finish. You ask me if I am ready to leave— the diner, of course—but I wish you only knew the truth to your words. I nod and I grab your hand as we walk out the door.

Five minutes.

It was only a lunch, I know, but when that door closes behind us, I feel Time slipping away like sand through my fingers. Even outside, in the warm summer air, the clock tower down the street taunts me. You and I are supposed to go back to work now. We walk together down the sidewalk for a block until it comes time for us to part ways. Three minutes. We stop walking, you turn to me, and I look hard at you like it’s the last time that I will get. I guess, in some ways, it is—at least in this life. I have never known what happens to you when I leave.

Maybe for you, life goes on—just without me. Maybe I am just an imposter in this life, jumping into an existing story that was never mine to live. Or maybe Time has created this life just for me as part of one of its cruel games, and once I am gone, so are you.

113

When you take me in your arms, I can’t help but wish for a moment that Time will quit its never-ending sprint and just freeze. I want to stay in this moment forever with you, but I know this is our goodbye. For you, it’s just until the workday is done. For me, it is more permanent and when you kiss me, I feel like the ground beneath me is crumbling away. I know that nothing lasts forever, but I wish it would at least last just a little longer. You start walking away, and I stop to watch. Before long you turn around and look back at me and shout that you will see me tonight. One minute. I reply and tell you those three words yet again. My only truth. You shout the same. It is only a matter of seconds now. I turn around and begin walking away. I close my eyes as a single tear runs down my cheek.

And Time and I waltz.

When I open my eyes, I feel the slice of the brisk, early-winter air around me and shiver, pulling my coat farther up around my around neck. It is always a little disorientating when it happens—when Time and I continue with our vicious dance. I take it all in. The screeching of metal. The whistle of departing trains. The steady flow of people as they disembark from their journeys. I start walking forward slowly and glance into the ticket booth to the calendar hanging on the wall. November 1933. I continue walking without knowing where I am heading.

I hear the laughter of a couple of children and watch as they run by me on the train platform. The distraction was enough that I guess I wasn’t watching where I was going, and I run straight into a surprised passerby. Straight into you. I knew it was you as soon as I looked up into those gold-dusted eyes. I regain my footing, and you ask shyly if I am alright. I answer that I am and apologize, blaming my own lack of attention. The truth is, though, that I knew it was Time. Time had brought me back to you.

It has always been you.

114

Third Place

A Bottle of Love Michelle Miley Carter had sold so many memories he no longer remembered how it started. But he knew how it would end if he didn't come up with a plan in a hurry.

Technically, the problem had started in the year 2025. At the time, the world was reeling after a long pandemic that kept many people isolated in their homes. Things were starting to look up, but people were still mired in unhappiness and loneliness. This all changed quite unexpectedly, however, thanks to a happy accident in a medical lab.

While researching a new way to store and bottle the medications that fought the virus, an intrepid lab worker accidentally bottled his emotions along with the pills. When the mistake was discovered, the lab instantly shifted focus and began studying the phenomenon and learning how to reproduce the effect. A few short months later, Feel For You, Inc. was launched.

Feel For You started mass-producing bottled emotions and selling them to the public. Any and every emotion you can think of was available for purchase, and business was booming. The happy emotions sold best, of course, and as such, they were the most expensive emotions to purchase. People bought bottles of elation, contentment, and merriment by the armload.

But people bought negative emotions too. The meek sometimes bought anger to help them storm into their boss' offices and quit their jobs. Poets often purchased melancholy to help them write better, and people even bought sadness to help them shed a few crocodile tears every now and then when the situation warranted it.

You could purchase whatever emotion you wanted or needed at the time – except for homicidal rage, of course. The government banned that particular emotion after an unfortunate incident in Florida.

115

Carter had been buying bottled love, but it wasn't for him. He secretly spiked his wife's coffee with a dose of it every morning, but he had sold the memories that told him exactly why.

He did remember that it had been love at first sight. He knew his wife was the one the minute he locked eyes with her, and the two married after a whirlwind courtship. Everyone had cautioned them against the marriage, claiming they were far too young. These naysayers insisted that eventually the two lovebirds would change and drift apart, their passionate feelings ultimately fading away.

Carter proved them all wrong. He fell more and more helplessly and hopelessly in love with his bride every day of their life together. They had been right about his wife, though.

As time passed, she grew restless and unsatisfied with their life together. They started fighting often, and it became apparent that she would likely leave him. When it did, Carter panicked.

He couldn't imagine life without her and, in a desperate attempt to keep her at home, had started feeding her bottled love. Some days he felt guilty, wondering if he was essentially holding his wife hostage against her will. He felt as if he was keeping her prisoner. Other days he was able to rationalize his guilt away. After all, he was feeding her love occasionally supplemented with a bottle of happiness or contentment. Was she really a prisoner if he could make her happy to stay?

Unfortunately, moral dilemmas aside, keeping his wife on her love diet was getting expensive. Over time, the Feel For You company had learned to make synthetic emotions for a fraction of the cost of harvesting genuine feelings. Love, unfortunately, was one the company couldn't produce synthetically. Love didn't work unless it was pure and true. This kind of love was hard to find and impossible to manufacture.

When Carter found love too expensive in the stores, he was forced to turn to the black market. They had pure love in plentiful supply, but the cost was quite different. Unlike traditional bottlers, the sellers in the black market demanded something more precious and valuable than money. If you wanted to buy love from them, you had to pay them with a few precious minutes of your life or with a powerful memory.

116

Carter had worked around the system by paying with bad memories at first. There were plenty of things from his past that he didn't like remembering anyway. These memories were the ones he had buried but that still ambushed him from time to time, creeping out of the dark corners of his mind and consuming him for hours or days at a time: the memory of the accident that killed his mother or of his father's drunken rages after that.

Every tear he shed, test he failed, or friend he lost during his childhood were the first memories he sold. When the childhood memory well began to run dry, he simply sold more recent bad memories, including his memories of the fights he and his wife had.

Now he was stuck with no more sadness to sell. He still had happy memories, of course. He had never intended to part with those. He remembered his childhood dog, college graduation, wedding day, and other meaningful events of his life. He didn't want to sell those.

He also hesitated to sell any of his lifetime. A bottle of love could be purchased for as little as ten minutes of life, but he was already acutely aware of how quickly he ran out of memories. It made him hesitant to give up his time, especially since the point of his entire deception had been to spend as much time as he could with his wife.

Still, she would need another dose of love in just a few days, and he needed a plan to get more. He could try to make more memories to sell, but that would take time he didn't have. After all, you couldn't buy love with shallow memories like where you parked your car or your childhood phone number. Only meaningful memories could serve as currency.

He could try visiting nursing homes and talking to war veterans and pandemic survivors with more meaningful stories. The memories they imparted wouldn't be Carter's own, of course, but perhaps some of their stories would prove powerful enough? Of course, he could visit the elderly who were nearing death and quietly dispatch them. The act of sending another person to the afterlife would certainly create a powerful memory, and if he chose only those who were nearing death anyway...

117

No! He shook his head violently and dismissed the thought before it was even done forming. Given that he had essentially been holding his wife hostage, Carter acknowledged that he probably wasn't up for the Good Guy of the Year award, but he certainly wasn't a murderer for Christ's sake.

What began as anger at himself for even thinking about snuffing the elderly quickly turned to anger at his wife. If she had simply loved him back like she was supposed to, he wouldn't even be in this mess. He ought to go and sell every last memory he had to buy as much love as he could and overdose her with it. He would be a vegetable, but she would be so hopped up on love for him that she would never be able to leave. She would spend her life trapped with a man who could never love her back. That would teach her.

Of course, Carter knew it didn't work that way. Every emotion, no matter how strong, ultimately fades or gives way to other feelings in time. Feelings are fleeting, no matter how strong they are or how much of them you bottle and drink.

He was now frantically pacing the kitchen, conjuring and dismissing bad idea after bad idea. And that's when he saw it.

Peeking out from behind his favorite tea cup on the pantry shelf, barely visible, was a familiar bottle. Although he recognized the bottle shape and packaging as love, he did not recognize this particular bottle or its hiding spot on the pantry shelf. This bottle of love wasn't his.

The implications came to him in an overwhelming flood as he reached for the bottle. He hadn't purchased this bottle, which meant his wife must have. Was his plan failing? Was she so unhappy and disenchanted with him that the love he secretly fed her wasn't enough? Was she unhappy and trying to compensate? His stomach turned at the thought. He had always justified his actions to himself with assurances that as long as she was happy, it wasn't wrong to keep holding her with him. To learn that he was failing her changed everything.

He placed the bottle on the kitchen table and slumped in a chair, his head in his hands as he tried to process his new understanding. It was, of course, at this particular moment that his wife returned home.

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Upon seeing Carter slumped in the chair, she immediately ran to him to see what was wrong. When she saw the bottle of love on the table, her bottom lip began to quiver and her eyes brimmed with instant tears. She braced herself on the table and immediately began to confess to misdeeds much different than the ones Carter expected to hear.

He had been certain that she was consuming the love that she felt she was lacking. Instead, he heard her saying, “Suddenly we were fighting all the time, and I got scared.” The words were coming out in a rush. “I was afraid you would leave and I just… I don’t know. I panicked. I thought it would be okay to add a little love to your tea. Just a little. Just until things got better.”

As she spoke, Carter found himself straightening in the chair as anger and shame took turns rising within him. He was furious to hear that his wife had opted to drug him rather than try talking things through, and he was equally aware of his glaring hypocrisy.

He had only one question. For both of them really. But he was too frazzled to find his voice. He opened his mouth several times but then closed it again when nothing came out. His wife, meanwhile, taking his silence for rage, had dropped into the chair opposite him and was softly crying.

When he finally managed to speak, Carter heard himself ask, “Why?” His tone was more demanding than he intended, betraying some of the anger he knew he had no claim to. His wife stared crying harder now.

“Carter, I’m so sorry, but that’s the worst part. I don’t know why.

I can’t remember. Love started getting expensive, so I did a terrible thing. I… I… “ “Started selling memories on the black market,” he finished for her.

“Yes,” she said, relieved he had spared her from saying it out loud. “But only the bad ones. I never want to lose our happy memories. Wait… How did you know that?”

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Unable to meet her gaze, Carter stared at a spot on the kitchen floor while he confessed to his own sins. His wife turned several shades of white as she learned that every morning the two of them had been drugging each other, each unknowingly enjoying a spiked mug of coffee or cup of tea. Both turned to the black market when the supply of love became too costly, but neither remembered exactly what went wrong or why they began fighting in the first place. Both, however, had selfishly refused to sacrifice their happy memories to the cause and were running out of black market currency.

When Carter’s confession was finished, he and his wife sat together quietly for a minute that felt like an hour. Finally, in a quiet tone barely above a whisper, Carter's wife voiced the unthinkable. “Do we really still love each other? Or have we just tricked each other into thinking that we do?” It took everything she had to form the terrifying words and say them out loud.

Carter was equally horrified when he realized that he honestly didn't know.

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Homecoming Alexia Sprick John Davis It’s been forty-five minutes since my cover was broken. I’m on fifth and Morgan. They think they’ve got me. I see him standing under the light pole next to Walgreens. He isn’t slick. How’d they find me? The clock on the townhouse reads ten forty-nine.

Ten until the traffic lights turn red for the night and the junkies start calling dibs on sidewalk benches and street corners.

Stupid fucking junkies. At least I don’t have to pretend to be one now. They’re onto me. That tramp in the alley next to Ray’s sold me out, snitch. How’d that bitch know my name? Ray didn’t turn on me, did he? No, we’re friends, so he couldn’t have. Oh, but he did. He probably put something in my drink and let the hooker in the alley sell me off for an ounce. Bet he knew I was coming. Doesn’t matter. There’s another on the steps of the chapel. The clock reads ten fifty-three now. Can’t tell if it’s my breath or my Marlboro anymore. Maybe both? It’s so damn cold out here. A payphone sits across the street.

Where’d that come from? I’ve been here for thirty minutes, and I didn’t see it sitting in plain sight. Reckless. My hands pick a dollar ten out of my pockets. Are you kidding me? That’s it?

That’s enough to make a quick call. They’re watching me though, all of them. They haven’t moved much. I’ve got time, ten fifty-four: six minutes. Think dumb ass, think. Shannon, she’s a block away on Clark Street. I’ll call Shannon.

Shannon Senevey Back in high school, I would have never thought having to stay up until midnight five days a week would be considered a job, but I am forty now, forty-one in December, and staying up through the night weighs on my shoulders and gets heavier with age. Not to mention the constant beeping on the radio that never includes me. I sit day and night on the same block.

The streets are full of homeless and abandoned children, but 121

they never cause enough havoc to get me off of my ass. Mainly sulking in their despair and rummaging through the empty trashcans that line the street. It’s the same old song every night. The sun goes up, and then it goes down, and then it ends just to start again at noon the next day. I pass time examining the flickering lights on the Walgreen’s sign. I wonder when they’ll get that fixed. Probably never if I am being honest; nothing ever gets fixed here. It’s just a constant cycle of do and don’t until your day comes and you burn out and no one ever comes to fix you.

“Senevey, we’ve got a 10-66 on Chasity School Drive.”

I don’t even bother answering. They know I’ll go. I always go.

Probably another student in the school’s parking lot after hours, banging a cheerleader who’s supposed to be home by now. I don’t see what the problem is. We were all those kids at one point. Hell, I was that girl. Besides that, it’s going to storm soon, I take it, so they will probably run home in about fifteen minutes. I’ll take my time. I mean, who really fucking cares.?

John Davis Finally, I go to knock on the door, but something stops me. An itch. An itch that pulsates and slithers. There is no door. Only a field. What is that? Someone is calling me from a distance.

Their voice rings through my ears, calling me, chanting my name. My ankle stings when the wind starts up again. It’s going to rain this time. Damn scar is good for something, I guess. I can’t believe I am back here. How did I get here? Funny how your best and worst nightmare inhabit the same territory. He’s here. He knew I was coming. He walks slowly, mocking me.

He’s small yet robust. I recognize hair like mine, eyes like mine, and a gun like mine. No stubble, eighteen is my guess. I pat myself down. Fuck me. He’s good. Probably been tracking me down all night. I’m frozen and out of ideas. I’m not afraid… am I? He’s confident in his stance, confident with his glare. He points the barrel to my temple, but he changes his mind, sliding it down my face and resting it under my chin.

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“Well you going to do the honors or should I?” I finally ask him.

He doesn’t answer, but I know exactly what he means. Either

way, it ends the same.

Shannon Senevey Lights are on at the high school. I better check it out, given there are no cars in the lot. A figure lays oddly on the forty, but there is no movement. I pace myself across the field. If the fucker is dead, there is no use in hurrying. I nudge him at the rib cage, roll him over, and get a better look. Gonna need a closed casket on this one. A handgun lays shy of a couple feet to his right. Likely one of the junkies from downtown looking for a more quiet place to blow their brains out. I never saw a point in it. I mean, sure, everyone around here has thoughts about it. We all want to see who really cares about our sad lives when we’re gone. People say that others care about you when you’re gone. I don’t think that’s entirely true. They don’t care.

They never care. Half the time, the people you actually think care about you don’t even show up for the free brunch after the funeral. This guy took the easy way out. Selfish prick. I reach down and finger through his pockets. A dollar ten, an empty pack of cigarettes, and a familiar picture with a date on the back. The picture reads 1998 and frames a petite cheerleader on the shoulders of a football player whose jersey is stamped with the number eleven.

“Johnson, we’ve got a 10-56 on 166 Chasity School Drive.”

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Let’s Go Home Peyton Warren Typical is a word many people use to describe themselves, but in reality, no one ever fits inside that box. But perhaps a box is not meant for fitting in. It is a box to expand out of.

In one suburban residential area, cookie-cutter houses lined the roads. Each morning, one or two shiny, dent-less cars could be seen sitting outside every driveway, and after a cup of joe, people headed out their doors and waved to the people who looked just like them. Neatly trimmed hair. Business formal attire. Leather briefcases in hand. They didn’t necessarily know everyone’s name, but they recognized each and every person in their neighborhood. This place was known as Walnut Hills. This was the place where the Rosses lived.

“It’s finally happening,” a blonde-haired woman by the name of Clare said, her husband Benjamin driving from the seat beside her. Ever since they had gotten the official notice in the mail, she couldn’t stop smiling. It wasn’t everyday that someone got a chance like this.

“I know. After everything that we have been through, the doctors appointments, the procedures, we finally have our chance.”

The car soon skidded to a stop. In front of them was a brick building with many glass windows in the front. At first glance, it didn’t look like much, but this was the place where all of their dreams were finally going to come true.

Before long, the couple was being led down a hallway by a tall woman with her dark hair pulled back into a tight bun. She was one of those types that people may categorize as a strict librarian, but she was actually a social worker. “We couldn’t be happier with your matching. After all the failed ones, we were hoping that someone like you two would come along.” She finally turned a corner and opened a door. “Just step right in.”

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Upon the first step inside of the room, Clare felt a warm dampness slide down her cheeks as her emotions overwhelmed her. The relief. The joy. The love. There was no other moment in her life that could compare to this very one.

Standing in front of the couple was a small three-year-old boy with curly, blonde locks, light brown freckles, and the most stunning baby blue eyes. “Hello Elliot. Let’s go home.”

Elliot’s first day with the Rosses went as anyone would expect it to. He was quiet the whole way home, timid blue eyes watching the adults in front of him as they tried to coax him into talking. But as soon as he was home and was taken into the playroom, the little boy ran around and played to his heart’s content, instantly drawn to little toy dinosaurs that were barely bigger than the size of his palm.

“Just give it time, Clare. He’ll open up eventually,” Benjamin said from his spot in the doorway, his brown gaze falling on his wife as she shifted from foot to foot. “Maybe he just isn’t much of a talker.”

“But he wasn’t so shy during the initial meeting, Ben. Should we maybe call the social worker?” Clare asked.

“No, he just moved in. Give him time to open up.”

Days seemed to fly by, and the Rosses still couldn’t get many words out of Elliot. He would use simple words such as yes, no, Mommy, and Daddy. Clare was sitting in a plush chair in the playroom, listening to soft giggles. Her husband had left for work just hours before. On the floor sat Elliot, overseeing the epic battle between a triceratops and a pterodactyl. Little pewpew-pew noises and happy laughs filled the room. Suddenly, she froze. Seemingly, the toy pterodactyl was levitating just centimeters above the hand that had been holding it. With a blink, it was back in the palm of Elliot’s hand, the young boy flying it around in big arm motions before swooping it down to attack the other dinosaur.

No. No. No. I’m just seeing things. There is no way that the pterodactyl just levitated on its own. I’m just too worried about Elliot. I just need to get more sleep. Ben warned me that I’ve been overdoing things. Maybe he’s right, and I’m just stressing myself out.

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With a sigh, the woman moved to stand up, her eyebrows knitted together. “Come on, Elliot. Let’s go take a nap.” The young curly blonde hesitated for a moment before setting his toys down in the middle of the floor, pressing his hands on the ground to help him stand up. Scurrying over to Clare, he raised his arms up. Clare smiled sweetly, picking the adorable little boy up and holding him securely on her hip. “I love you so much, Elliot,” she cooed as she made her way to their bedrooms to settle them both down for their nap.

One evening while waiting for Benjamin to come home from work, Clare was making her famous spaghetti for dinner. It was always something that her best friend, Marla, and her husband raved over, and she thought it was something that the newest addition to their family might like, too. The whole time she was cooking, Elliot was hugged against her leg.

On the half of the stove Clare wasn’t using sat a cooling rack filled with freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, and boy, Elliot wanted one. Even though he was nestled securely against her, his baby blue eyes stared longingly at those warm, gooey cookies. Just as his mother was about to turn the heat on the burner down, she saw a little hand reaching up for a cookie, but the hand couldn’t quite reach. Within a matter of seconds, the cookie had somehow made its way into Elliot’s hand.

It’s just been another long day. All I need is just a little bit more sleep, and then, my mind will stop imagining things.

Eyes peering down, Clare watched as the little boy happily munched on his cookie, a great big smile on his face. At least he was happy. That was all that mattered to her.

When Ben came home, Clare felt anxious, wanting to tell her husband about what had happened. She didn’t want him worrying about her lack of sleep, but she had to tell him.

It was a few days later, and Clare had left Elliot alone in the playroom while she worked on some chores in the kitchen. Her husband had left to go pick up some groceries for their dinner that night. As soon as she was done taking the dishes out of the dishwasher, she made Elliot a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch. It was even cut into triangles to make it easier for him to eat. “Elliot, come here!” she called out, 126

listening for the pitter-patter of the child’s tiny feet, but she didn’t hear anything. “Elliot?” she repeated, turning on the heel of her foot to go looking for him only to be startled by the little human before her.

When did he get in here? Was I too distracted to hear him?

“Lunch time,” Clare said with a smile, setting the plate down on the table before lifting Elliot up and setting him down in a chair. She pressed a kiss to his forehead and then went to put the neatly sorted dishes away in the cupboards. With three people now living in the house, they went through dishes a lot faster than they used to.

The curly-haired boy sat in his seat and happily munched away on the sandwich, eating everything except the crust. “Food is gone!” he chirped in that cute, high-pitched voice of his as soon as he was done. He then let out a sleepy yawn. “Mommy, nap?”

“Yes, Mommy will take you soon.” Clare was almost done with everything that she needed to do in the kitchen, so she could take him right after. All she had left to do was wipe off the counter and put away the ingredients from lunch. When she was done, she turned around to not see Elliot anywhere in sight. “Elliot?”

Where did he go? He was just right here.

Heading to Elliot’s bedroom, she saw Elliot curled up on his bed and ready to be tucked in for his nap.

How did he get here so fast?

“Ready for nap time?” Clare asked as she tucked the little boy in with his plush blankets, making sure that he had the stuffed triceratops that Ben bought him one day after work. It was hard for Elliot to sleep without it.

“Yeah!” The boy grabbed his stuffed dinosaur and hugged it close to his chest.

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The woman smiled, pressing a kiss against his forehead before heading out of the room and turning out the lights.

One weekend when Ben was home and didn’t have to work, he decided to watch Elliot so that Clare could go out and have some time for herself. He was sitting on the couch in the living room with Elliot curled up in his lap, together watching one of those cartoons that kids couldn’t get enough of. They weren’t Ben’s favorite thing to watch, but he was willing to watch it for Elliot.

After awhile, his thoughts trailed away from the show, thinking about Clare. He was worried. Very worried. She had mentioned to him a few times that these weird things had been happening, but to him, it sounded like she was stressed out and not getting enough sleep to the point she was hallucinating.

Why won’t Clare just let me help out with more stuff after work so she can get some rest? I offer to help clean and cook, but she always refuses. She’s going to drive herself completely insane at this rate.

Baby blue eyes immediately flickered up to look at Ben. “Daddy?”

The man was instantly pulled out of his thoughts at the sound of his son’s voice. Looking down, he offered the boy a pearly, white smile. “Yes, Elliot, what is it?”

“Daddy, don’t be mean to Mommy. Mommy’s not insane.”

Ben was flabbergasted, surprised that his son knew that word.

He also had no idea how Elliot would come up with such a conclusion on his own. “Elliot, I’m not mean to your Mommy.”

“Sometimes Daddy mean to Mommy.”

Ben let out a heavy sigh. “Let’s watch the show, Elliot.” He would be sure to talk to Clare as soon as she got home, annoyance now bubbling up under his skin.

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When Clare arrived home from her day out, she looked so happy and rejuvenated. She had this big bright smile on her face and a shopping bag on her arm. “I’m home!” she called, eyes instantly scanning for her boys. Expecting a warm welcome, she was surprised to be met with an irritated look on her husband’s face. “Ben, what’s wrong?”

Ben ushered Clare into the kitchen, making sure that their conversation would be out of Elliot’s earshot. “Clare, did you say something to him? We agreed to keep things private.”

“Benny,” Clare said as she set her bags down on the kitchen counter, “What are you talking about?”

“Elliot mentioned something about me calling you crazy.”

“Well I never mentioned anything like that to him.”

Slowly the door to the kitchen creaked open, a little blonde head popping into the room. “Mommy. Daddy. I wanna show you something.”

Ben raised an eyebrow, curious about what Elliot wanted to tell them.

Right before their eyes, their child disappeared and then appeared again right in front of them. Around the room, things started to adjust themselves. Dishes from that morning flew into the sink. The broom swept dust and food particles off of the floor. It was a scene like no other.

A soft voice could be heard in both Clare’s and Ben’s heads.

Please don’t send me back.

Clare and Ben looked at each other, eyes big and wide. They knew that adopting a child would come with its challenges, but they never expected anything like this.

While all this new information was terrifying, Clare knew in her heart that she couldn’t give this sweet little boy up. “Sweetie, we love you,” she said as she walked up to Elliot, crouching down and engulfing him into a hug. “Of course we won’t leave you.”

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“Promise? Everyone got scared and sent me back,” Elliot murmured, sounding so hopeful and desperate that all of this was real. After getting so attached to his new family, he couldn’t imagine being apart from them.

Hearing those words from Elliot, Clare felt her heart swell in her chest. “We promise,” she whispered, instantly earning a sweet, happy smile from her son. “They didn’t understand just how special you are. People aren’t meant to fit into boxes.

They’re meant to stand out.”

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Battle of the Violet Eyes Tabitha Ott I know its cliché to say he smiled with his eyes… But he did.

The look in those storm grey eyes, now turning a deep violet, almost black with blood lust, was a look of pride and hunger.

Saying in unspoken words as he looks me right in the eyes that he believes himself already victorious. That he was done playing with his “little toy” after all these years in the shadows. I knew he was getting bored leading me on a cat and mouse chase… All that hell he put me through just for his own sick amusement…

Here I was, standing in the middle of a field surrounded by forest, finally face to face with my worst enemy. All around me was devastation of a fight that had happened mere minutes before. Blackened spots covered the field, fallen burned trees encircled the battlefield. The vampires I fought while “He” watched were spread all over the area in bundles of ash, as vampires disintegrate when dead. I stood facing “Him”, my clutched fist still crackling with white lightning. My snow-white hair was dusted grey with ash, my body covered in bruises both new and faded. The jacket I had been wearing earlier laid on the ground, completely torn apart. I looked “Him” in his deep violet eyes, the eyes that I had hated all my life. The one who murdered my parents when I was just eight years old.

I broke the silence between us. “You know I’m not any ordinary

vampire hunter, otherwise you wouldn’t have tried so hard to kill off my bloodline. As the descendent of the original hunter and holder of her abilities,” I said as I raised my lightning covered arm, “I’m almost insulted with the weaklings you sent to attack me… Zagan.”

As he stared in my ocean blue eyes, he bared his fangs. “That was merely child’s play, my dear Scarlet Winters. One last game between us before I tear you to pieces, just like I did to your parents,” said Zagan as his violet eyes shined smirkingly.

Zagan was basically the king of all vampires. He was “that”

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powerful, and the only thing that could possibly destroy him was a descendent of the original vampire hunter. And as the only living descendent, thanks to that very same vampire, I had spent the last ten years training for this moment. This moment to avenge my parents’ deaths and finally free myself from the clutches of those violet eyes.

When he mentioned my parents, my eyes turned from blue to deep red, eyes that were now filled with anger and disgust.

The lightning sill covering my arm was being tinted with deep red, a sign that the anger and darkness I had been holding back since the day my life was torn apart was now taking over. I was done holding back. I couldn’t hold back. I had been fighting for my life for so long, gone through so much hell and pain, that I finally let myself explode. I was no longer afraid of what might happen. I wanted to see Zagan suffer… and so did my dark side.

My body burst into red lightning as I lunged at Zagan. Zagan, predicting me snapping, smirked and lunged back at me. We clashed together, moving at an inhuman speed, a blur of black and red. It was like a game of tag. I knew if Zagan got his hands on me, he could activate his power, so I tried to avoid his hands. We went at each other like wolves, no holding back, and it went like this for a while. Both of us were evenly matched. Then it happened. I went in with a blast, and he dodged and grabbed my arm, throwing me to the ground. As soon as I stopped rolling, he was on me, pinning me to the ground and activating his power. His hands were now covered in an inky black, and it started to seep into my skin. Black veins started to slowly travel up my body from where his hands were, and I screamed. It felt like fire in my veins, and I knew that if this poison got to my heart, it would be the end. Screaming in pain, I started to struggle.

His eyes lit up with joy, thinking he was winning the fight, and I had no way to fight back while in so much pain. He bared his fangs and leaned towards my neck. At this moment, my eyes snapped open with determination. I refused to lose this fight.

Not caring if I was hurt in the process, I turned my palms towards the sky and summoned a lightning strike right where I was pinned. An explosion of lightning, and we were thrown a few feet away. Not giving myself time to recover, I lunged to where Zagan was lying, dazed from the hit. Staring into his 132

violet eyes and not giving him time to fight back, I lit my hand with red and plunged it into his chest. Right where his heart was. His eyes opened wide, gaping in pain and surprise. I yanked my hand out and watched as his eyes went from surprise to anger and then to fear. I watched as his violet eyes dimmed and faded to stormy grey, then glazed over as his body started turning to ash…

I stood up slowly in pain with my body aching. I felt water drops fall on my head, and I looked up. It had started to rain. I closed my eyes as they turned back to their normal blue color and relished in the feeling of the rain on my face. I opened my eyes and mumbled to myself, “It’s finally over.” I looked around the battlefield, feeling a weight being lifted off of my shoulders as the pain and anger I had been plagued with all my life started to dissipate. I fell to my knees, body unable to stand anymore, and smiled as I cried from the release of those violet eyes.

This was not the end for me. I had been so focused on my revenge that I never really had a normal life. Now with Zagan gone, I could do anything I wanted and not have to worry about putting myself and others in danger. As my vision started to fade to dark from exhaustion, I thought to myself before I lost consciousness, “Maybe college isn’t sounding so

bad after all.”

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The Restart Sara Ratliff I had a dream last night—that same dream I have had every night since it happened. The black, moonless night was pierced only by the dull, amber glow of a flickering lamp post.

He and I were walking hand in hand across an old wooden bridge over a stream. The wind howled, piercing the air like a dagger. The steady, static chatter of a radio drifted by from somewhere off in the distance. He stopped halfway across the bridge and turned to me like he was speaking, but the words were just not coming out, as if someone out there had a mute button. I tried as hard as I could to get him to keep on walking, if only to reach the other side of the bridge, but he wouldn’t move. I grabbed his hand and tried to pull him forward, but something reached out of the dark and yanked him from my grasp, pulling him down into the inky depths of the rushing water below. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t run. I couldn’t do anything but stand and watch as he disappeared into the darkness. My feet were anchored to the bridge as the trees around the stream began to sway, reaching out toward me with splintering arms. Like giant monsters, they began to close in around me until they swallowed me whole.

I can’t even remember the last time I have slept through the entire night without these same scenes tormenting my dreams.

I close my eyes and they play on loop, like my own little private movie that I never asked to see. When the early light of dawn finally begins to filter in through the curtains and waltz across that old, creaky hardwood floor, I sit up on the corner of our bed and find myself staring straight into his closet at the rows of his clothes. I never would have thought that the sight of old, worn-out t-shirts would make it so hard to breathe. I stand up and take his leather jacket off the hanger and wrap it around my shoulders, taking a deep breath in. It even smells like him.

It brings old memories rushing up to the surface of the day we first met on that breezy autumn afternoon all those years ago.

I had come to the park to read, but I kept finding myself lost in my surroundings, gazing in awe at the striking palette of hues around me and the mesmerizing dance of the leaves as they 134

floated down around me like fragile butterflies. It was a sight that seemed like it should have been taken straight from a postcard. I hardly even noticed when he walked up and sat down on the bench next to me. He was wearing this very same brown leather jacket that day, with a faded green baseball cap over his sandy blond hair.

“Sure is beautiful,” he said, turning to look at me, chuckling when I looked confused. “The trees… The trees are beautiful with all that color.” He stretched out his hand, continuing, “My

name’s Sam.”

“I completely agree,” I smiled in return. “I’m Amelia. Nice to meet you, Sam.” “Mommy?” A small voice said, snapping me back into reality. I looked down and saw those little emerald eyes and sandy curls that reminded me so much of Sam looking up at me from the crack in the bedroom door.

“Yes, Rosie?” I answered, opening the door wider and dropping down to my knees in front of her.

“Why you wearing Daddy’s jacket?” Rosie whispered, reaching out a tiny hand to trace the cracking leather on the sleeve, holding a stuffed dog in her other.

“That’s because it makes me feel close to Daddy, baby,” my voice cracked as I brushed a curl out of her face, seeing all those questions that clouded those stormy green eyes of hers.

“Kinda like Mr. Waffles?” she questioned, lifting the longeared, stuffed dog up for me to see. “Daddy brought him home for me when I was sick.”

“Exactly like Mr. Waffles.” I couldn’t help but smile as I stood back up, pulling Sam’s jacket farther around me. “Let me go make you some breakfast, baby.”

I grabbed Rosie’s hand as we walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, taking in the rows of framed photos that lined the walls on both sides. Our first Christmas together. Our wedding. The day we brought Rosie home from the hospital.

Rosie’s first birthday. Our first vacation as a family. It was all 135

there in full color, snapshots which only scratched the surface of the life we lived.

It is funny how many memories a house can hold. Everything from the color of the walls to that lopsided coat rack he built for my birthday holds a story. In the doorway to the kitchen, I ran my fingers along the little tick marks and dates written in his rolling scrawl. Rosie would get so excited every time Sam would mark her height.

“Mel, honey, look at this! My little Rosebud’s going to be taller than me before long!” he would always proclaim, throwing up his arms in the air in play excitement.

“Daddy!” Rosie would giggle, beaming up at him with so much pride.

Rosie dropped my hand and walked over to the small breakfast nook, lifting herself and Mr. Waffles into a chair and looking at me expectantly. I fixed her a bowl of cereal and carried it over to her seat at the table. “Thanks, Mommy.”

I returned back to the kitchen and leaned against the sink, staring at the small radio sitting on the counter, remembering that it was playing that night. Rosie had fallen asleep in the living room while I was trying to put dishes away. That song Sam loved started playing on the radio, and he jogged into the kitchen, making a beeline over to me.

“Dance with me, Mel,” he laughed, grabbing my hands and spinning me around.

“Sam, I have got to get this done, honey.”

“We can finish that together in just a second. Just dance with me right now.” He gave me his best version of a puppy dog face. “Pretty please!”

I laughed and sighed at the same time, finally relenting to the genuine excitement that lined Sam’s face. We danced around the kitchen, laughing like we were a couple of teenagers. It was truly one of those small, seemingly inconsequential yet so perfect moments that can add up to a life full of beautiful memories. Like so many perfect things in this world, however, I 136

guess it wasn’t meant to last. The song faded away and was replaced by three long, piercing beeps followed by a static, monotone voice which began, “Your regular programming has been interrupted for a national breaking news update…”

Sam turned to me with dramatic flourish and bowed, “Alas, my lady, it seems our dance has ended.”

“The National Institute of Progress has just confirmed a new

program roll-out, beginning today and applicable to the entire commonwealth. The following statement has come out of Institute directly from its director, Dr. Eileen Casey,” In a matter of seconds, it was as if the air had been sucked out of the kitchen. I could feel the jovial energy that was alive and well just moments earlier escape the room just as quickly as it came. Next to me, Sam went rigid.

I listened apprehensively as the voice on the radio changed into that of Director Casey, as the prerecorded audio statement began to play. “Good evening. I address this nation

tonight as the director of the Institute, as a scientist, but most importantly as a mother, concerned about the world my son will grow up in. As you all know, as a nation we have made tremendous progress in the past few decades with the implementation of the National Codes. Thanks to the community standards established by the Codes and the valiant efforts of Code Enforcement, we have rebuilt a fractured and divided society, creating a new and improved world. We all know the progress that has been made. We have virtually eliminated strife, division, and public discord. As a result, crime rates have plummeted, workplaces have become more efficient, and our society has grown more unified. You might be asking, what more can this new program roll-out even do?

Well, at the Institute, we believe there is still further we can go in the evolution of human progress.”

I heard Sam scoff beside me, but we both continued to stare at the radio like it held our future between each word. I guess, in many ways, it did.

“My colleagues and I, in cooperation with the National Code Board and the Code Enforcement Agency, have been working on a project years in the making. Even with the implementation 137

of the Codes, we still struggle against seditious and dangerous thoughts embedded in the minds of our fellow citizens. They are thoughts which many try to hide within the crevasses of their mind from Code Enforcement, but they are still there. I think of it a lot like a cancer… A cancer to our society as a whole. Even with Code regulations, it is hard to change or eliminate those dangerous thoughts, opinions, and beliefs from the minds of these individuals. For centuries, we have tried to understand the human brain and how it works. And for centuries we have been looking at it in the wrong way. Until now! The human brain is a lot like a computer operating system that controls the body. And like any computer, the brain is susceptible to viruses—dangerous thoughts, conceptions, and behaviors. The list could go on and on. What do you do to solve the problem? Remove the virus… A clean restart… Plain and simple. This is the program the National Institute of Progress has been working on. To save you all from the boring scientific jargon, through the manipulation of the human brain, we can remove these flaws directly from where they originate. It has been a project years in the making, and I am excited to say that as of this tapping, Operation Restart is rolling out across the nation. With the cooperation of the Code Enforcement Agency, all serious infringements and violations of the Codes will be truly remedied. Think of it! We can cure society of all of its ills…”

Sam reached down and unplugged the radio from the wall, not even bothering to turn it off. He sat his hands on either side sink, leaning over top of it and looking out the window at the evening sky dusted with stars. “Amelia, how did we get to this

point?”

“I don’t really know, Sam…” He spun around, face full of frustration, and threw his hands up in the air. “They are talking about altering people’s minds.

Their minds, Amelia! Casey and her cronies are celebrating this like this is something we all should be overjoyed about.

They have been shoving this crap down our throats for several years in the name of progress, but this… this…. just tops it all!”

I took a step forward, whispering to avoid waking Rosie up, “I know Sam. I am just as angry as you…”

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He grabbed my hands with as much desperation as a caged animal and lowered his voice, “The worst part is that we

cannot… I cannot… do anything about it. You heard Dr. Casey—seditious thoughts—that is just another way of saying any action or thought against the Codes… against the Institute’s policies. If we talk like this out of our home, Mel, we are as good a gone.”

At the time, I didn’t realize how true Sam was. The rest of the night seemed to blink by in a blur as shortly after the broadcast Sam carried Rosie to her room and then we went to bed.

Sometime during the night, I woke to the sound of someone banging at the front door. I opened my eyes to see Sam standing at the bedroom window, looking out the curtains into the front yard and mumbling under his breath.

“What is it, honey?” I asked groggily as I stood up, honestly unsure at that point if I was awake or dreaming.

Sam looked at me desperately. “There are red compasses on the side of those cars, Mel.”

My heart sank as the banging on the door continued. I knew instantly what Sam was saying. Code Enforcement was outside our home.

“Listen to me, Mel. I am going to go talk to them…” he said, turning towards the bedroom door.

I frantically grabbed his arm and tried to stop him. “What! Have

you lost your mind? There can only be one reason they are here. Code Enforcement doesn’t just make house calls, Sam. You can’t go out there!”

“There is no other option, Amelia. We have to cooperate.” He turned to me, and I knew by the look in his eyes that he was right. He leaned down and kissed me before quickly turning around and walking out into the hallway.

I followed behind Sam as he walked towards the front door and stopped to take a deep breath, staring at the glinting sliver door knob. Without turning to look back at me, I could hear him whisper, “Mel, I love you and Rosie with all I have. Always

remember that.”

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Before I even had a chance to respond, he turned the lock on the door, opening it wide as uniformed Code Enforcement officers flooded into our home. They took Sam away from me that night. I tried to do anything I could to stop them, but I couldn’t. I fought. I begged. I pleaded. I got down on my knees and cried. I have never felt more helpless in my life than I did that night. They never told me what Sam’s charges were, where they took him, or if he would be alright. That was six months ago, and it’s not knowing that has killed the old me on the inside, a little bit each day.

Now, I turn to look at my daughter, silently eating cereal in her princess pajamas and kitty slippers and think of how hard it was to explain to her when she woke up and saw her Daddy was gone. At six years old, I still don’t know if she understands.

I honestly don’t even know if I completely understand. Hope is all I have left besides Rosie, and even that fades with each passing day.

I shove my hands into the pockets of Sam’s jacket and realize that they are not empty. Hiding deep in the right pocket of the jacket was a small scarlet container with a grey cardstock note attached to the front. With shaky hands, I open the card and see Sam’s handwriting. To Amelia. I love you today just as

much as the day I first laid eyes on you. Happy Anniversary, honey! -Sam. I cracked open the box to find a small, oval locket with a tree etched into the front. Nestled inside were two photographs—one of Rosie and one of Sam and I shortly after we met.

With shaky hands, I removed the necklace from the box and clasped it around my neck, tracing the chain down to the locket and clasping it in my hand. Before I really knew what I was doing, I reached down and plugged in the radio on the counter that I had not touched since that night. It instantly powered on, and the back and forth of a talk radio program started drifting through the kitchen.

“Fifty million people, John, have been brought into this Institute program since its rollout so many months ago. Fifty million people who will eventually be reintroduced to society as productive and sustaining individuals.”

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“No kidding, Tony. This is progress at its core, and I am excited to see what comes of it. I just want to remind our listeners, if you see or hear something in violation of the Codes, report it!

This it the most effect…”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I pulled the cord out of the wall and picked up the radio throwing it into the trash can with more force than I even knew I had.

I was just getting ready to go over to the table and set down with Rosie when the sudden piercing shrill of the doorbell made me jump.

“Who is it, Mommy?” Rosie questioned.

“I don’t know, baby,” I replied apprehensively. Ever since the night they took Sam, the simple sound of a knock or the ring of the doorbell has shot pure panic through my veins. I cautiously rounded the corner out of the kitchen and made my way toward the front door.

The tall frame in a blue t-shirt and grey drawstring sweatpants that I saw through the frosted glass window was one that I hadn’t seen in six months—the one that I was starting to believe that I would never see again. I sprinted to the door and undid the lock, half believing I was daydreaming again.

When I opened the door and he turned to look at me with those green eyes of his, I knew it was true. I practically launched myself at him, pulling him into a deep hug just to prove to myself that he was not a figment of my imagination.

“Sam! I can’t believe it is you!”

“Daddy! I missed you!” I heard Rosie squeal as she ran around the corner at full speed, hugging Sam. “God, I have so many questions,” I said breathlessly, pausing when Sam did not say anything. Standing there with my arms around him, I was suddenly aware that something just did not feel the same. When I stepped back to look up at Sam again, I saw an emptiness in his gaze. In those stormy shades of green were confusion, nervousness, and almost a little bit of fear.

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“Sam?” My concern grew with each passing second. “What is the matter, honey?”

He opened his mouth in hesitation, but eventually whispered, “Where am I?” “What do you mean Sam? You are home…” I answered, cupping his face in my hands.

“I… I… don’t remember anything,” he choked, gaze shifting between Rosie and me, who were still clinging to him. “I don’t know who you are.”

A clean restart.

The words used in the radio broadcast echoed through my head, and it felt as if the ground was no longer beneath me as I stumbled backwards. Sam remembered nothing. They took his memories. His jacket. The locket. Rosie’s stuffed dog. The height marks in the kitchen doorway.

They took it all.

That night I dreamt. It was the same nightmare that I have had every night for the past six months. Sam was taken from me. I couldn’t scream, and I couldn’t run. I couldn’t do anything but stand and watch as he disappeared, and the earth swallowed me whole.

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To Hunt & Be Hunted Alissa Simmons The heavy smog breaks as her car cruises down the gravel road. There's a pair of headlights in the rearview mirror, close enough for her to notice but too far to make out any details. As the sun surrenders to the earth, she flicks on the high beams.

The radio cuts out and becomes static as the car rattles along the rocks beneath the wheels. She glances down onto her dash, fifteen miles until empty, but the car's navigation says the next gas station is only ten miles away. The city is hours away, and the stars shine so incredibly bright that it's almost as if a light was switched on. The gas station shouldn't be far. In fact, she sees it, but the neon sign isn't lit up, the store lights are off, the windows are shattered, and just as she pulls in, she realizes the gas station is long run down.

The headlights that were behind her were suddenly right beside her. She feels her heart fall to the pit of her stomach as a man rolls down the window and says, "Hey darling, you outta gas? I gotta spare seat right here for ya, if you'd like." He taps the seat beside him, puffing out the last pull of his cigarette as the butt hits the gravel. He's covered in dirt. His hat has holes and stains. His teeth are nearly gone, and although she didn't know what, she knew something was incredibly wrong.

"No thank you. I just wanted to see if they had finally closed this raggedy place up.” She pulls off; he follows. She makes a right turn and watches as his headlights take over her rearview mirror. Right turn. She hits the gas because there's no way he will follow her. Right turn. Faster. She's going at least eighty down the gravel roads, holding on as tight as she can to the steering wheel. "I lost him," she thinks to herself. Finally, the headlights are gone and... so is her gas. The car slows to a stop, and she gets out, slamming the door. She holds her phone high above her head, looking for a signal, and then she sees her shadow. She turns to see that same old dirty pickup truck and his headlights coming towards her.

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…

"Tragedy has struck in our small town of Chester Creek. This morning a group of hunters found what appears to be the remains of a local citizen. Police reports claim the victim has been deceased since early last week. Local authorities have made no other comments; the family has put together a short montage as a reminder of how upstanding the victim was in this community." The camera cuts from the news anchor as old gospel music begins to play and the video rolls. An older woman sits in her recliner watching the 7 o'clock news; she quickly wipes her tears as someone comes in.

"It's a shame. A town this small shouldn't have to deal with such sadness," they say. Just as the montage comes to an end, the woman gets up. She can hardly recognize the person standing in the kitchen.

"You're right. You should be ashamed bringing this down on everyone." She trails down the hall into her room.

"911, what's your emergency?" Then, just as she opens her mouth, the dial tone rings. Her old hands shake as she presses the redial button, but the line doesn't ring just the dial tone comes through. She lets out a sigh of desperation, hurt, and anger. The bedroom door swings open.

"Really Norma, really? The police? You know they won't believe you, not after last time."

"Soon enough they will. Doctors got me on medications to control my hallucinations. Ain't nothing stopping me."

"Now Miss Norma, we both know that man was preying on little kids and women all over town. They might be screaming murder now, but I can spin self defense. How's a young lady like myself meant to run from a big burly man?" she responds. ...

The headlights overwhelm her, temporarily blinding her as his figure get closer; she backs up until she hits the back of her car.

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"See baby, I knew you needed a ride.” One hand reaches above her head, gripping the roof of the vehicle; the other slowly creeps around her waist. Two shots ring off. His eyes pause in a state of shock as he pulls his right hand down to his stomach. Blood spilling out, he looks to his wounds and back at her. Stumbling backward, he loses balance as he falls off the shoulder of the road. "What... What did you do? Pl...Please, you, you have to help me." His words were trailing off as he lost consciousness. She holsters her gun.

"Looks like I'm not the one who needs helping am I, sweetheart?" She takes his truck to the next gas station and fills a canister with gasoline. The walk back isn't far, so she leaves his truck behind. As she fills her car back up, the sun begins to rise, and he lays there. She thought he looked peaceful. Death didn't scare her; she'd seen so many people die before.

What's the world with one less person? He wasn't a great man.

He was a predator. Who would have guessed her parents named her perfectly? Huntress.

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The Secret Amanda Lozano Breaking news: Another body has been found in the Portland area. A source has mentioned it is another casualty due to the Photograph Killer. However, with no lead, police have hit a roadblock in the investigation. If you have any information involving the Photograph Killer, please let authorities know right away. …

I’ve always been a quiet person. I never really had a set group of friends. I was never surrounded by family because they lived so far away, and I never had any siblings. It was always just me and my mother. Don’t get me wrong, I love my father, but he’s been absent my whole life. I always figured it was just because he really prioritized his job. He is the main doctor in our town, and although my mother has always been the one there for me while growing up, I admire him for putting all of his time and energy into what he loves. I just wish he was there for me more, and I want him to be proud of me. This is why I aspire to be a doctor someday, and I hope it will make me closer to him and give us something in common to talk about. …

At school I was always the smart girl people took advantage of.

For as long as I can remember, people only acknowledged my existence when they needed something from me. Whether it was homework answers or if someone wanted to cheat off of me on a test, nobody actually cared for me and valued my friendship. Nobody seemed to understand me well until I met him. Derek.

Derek wasn’t like the rest of them. He was quiet and kept to himself, just like me. He was also a crime show nerd who enjoyed looking into cold cases. Derek almost seemed too good to be true in all honesty. Not only was he handsome, but he made me feel seen. It was nothing like I’ve ever 146

experienced before. Although I thought he understood me at the time, I think I was just blinded by the attention I was getting that I never really received before. It almost seemed like he was molding me, trying to make me into someone I wasn’t — someone I didn’t want to be.

I would spend all my time with him. This really drove a wedge in my relationship with my mother, but I think that was his plan all along. He wanted me to feel like I had nobody, not even my family, so I would listen to everything he would say. As I got to know him, I started to realize he wasn’t the person I thought he was. He wasn’t the charming, quiet, nice guy I met that first day. He was controlling and manipulative. It was almost like he had a plan for me that I wasn’t yet aware of.

As the weeks went by, I started to realize that true crime wasn’t just something that he found interesting; it seemed like he was almost obsessed with it. I just ignored the red flags because I felt like it would drive him away. Derek was the only one who had really given me the time of day, and I wasn’t ready to lose that. One night after we hung out, he suggested that we should go on a road trip. Obviously, I was very hesitant because I honestly felt that if I said no, he would just kick me to the curb. When I went home later that night, I mentioned it to my mother, and she said no. I feel like any mother would say no. Let’s be honest, I barely knew the guy. This caused us to get into a heated argument. Right when my mother decided to go to bed, she said goodnight to me, but little did she know I had made up my mind about the trip. I didn’t care that she had said no. I cared more about upsetting him, and if I didn’t go, I knew things between us wouldn’t be the same.

We left early that morning. I knew my mom would be so upset when she realized I was missing, but I honestly didn’t care. …

I had no idea where we were going. We drove all through the early morning and made no stops that I was aware of. When I woke up, I looked out the window as we were driving through a forest. I found it so weird because he had no camping gear, and there were no cabins to be seen. I felt on edge this whole drive, but I assured myself that Derek wouldn’t put me in danger if he really cared about me as much as he said he did.

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That morning my mom had called my phone twenty times.

Naturally, I ignored the calls because I really didn’t want to be lectured. It wasn't until my father tried to call me that I got confused. He never called me. He was usually off doing who knows what and was too busy to ever check into what I was doing. I assume my mother got worried and let him know of the situation. She knew I had a soft spot for my father, so maybe she thought if he talked some sense into me, I would go home. This thought probably hurt her because she had always been the parent there for me over the years in my father’s absence. I answered my father’s call to let him know I was alright. He warned me to try and get away from my new friend. Obviously, I didn’t tell Derek what my father had said. I was afraid that would have made him angry and feel like I was trying to leave him. Before I hung up the phone, I told my father that I was okay and that I’d see him soon.

As we drove, I noticed it was like we were going deeper and deeper into the unknown. It was almost like Derek was trying to make sure nobody would find us. Derek had the bright idea to go on a hike, and I said yes because we had been sitting in the car for ages. However, throughout the hike, I slowly started to notice that maybe he was trying to get rid of me. It really hurt me to think about it because I loved Derek, and it really hurt that he would want me gone. One day in particular, I got the gut feeling that he had plans for me that I wasn’t aware of was when I caught a glimpse of his journal. His journal was completely off limits at all times. He normally never lets me read it, and as the days trickled by, I grew more curious. At this point, I hadn’t read the journal, but I knew something was off.

One day he decided to leave me behind at a campsite while he drove into the closest town so he could grab us some food.

When he left, he forgot his backpack, which coincidentally had his journal in it. I knew he wouldn’t be back for a good hour, so I decided to just see what he was writing about. Maybe I was totally wrong, and he wrote cute stories about us and our adventures.

That was probably the worst thing I could’ve done, but it was really the only reason I survived.

To sum up all the entries, he talked about how much he loved me, but he mentioned that his love for killing was so much 148

greater. There were hundreds of entries of ways he could possibly murder someone with the lowest chance of getting caught. Obviously, once I saw all these gruesome entries, I was in shock, but right when I came to again, I decided to call my mother. I figured I would tell her the situation, and she would give me advice on how to get out. To my surprise, she didn't answer. I know I hurt her, but I just wish she could've been there for me. I then decided to call my father, who didn't answer. This was the moment that it hit me that I was screwed. I knew I had to run, but I was nowhere prepared to leave because Derek was coming back soon, so I had to think of a plan B. When Derek returned, I tried to act as normal as possible. This didn’t work because the more time I spent with Derek, the more he started noticing my strange behavior. A day later, he had gone back into town just like he had done one day prior.

This time I was planning on escaping and getting away from the dangerous situation. Right when I thought the coast was clear, I decided to try and get my stuff together and finally make a break for it. This was probably the worst decision I could've made. I heard rustling in the woods and realized that Derek was watching me the whole time. Right after that, everything was a blur. He started asking questions and wondered why I was trying to leave him. I reassured him that he was wrong and that wasn't my intention. He saw right through the lie because I was obviously very distressed.

This was when everything blacked out. When I came to, I realized he had struck me on the head. I also realized Derek was passed out on the ground across from where I was lying with a man standing over him. When the man turned around, I recognized him as my father. I got up and inched closer to Derek, and I realized he wasn't breathing. Not only was he dead, but my father was responsible for his death. The craziest part of the whole thing was how unfazed my father was that he had just killed a human being. I asked my father what happened, and he said he was only protecting me, but the whole situation left a weird feeling in my stomach. Right before we left the campsite where everything went down, I was sitting in the car when I noticed my dad had pulled out a polaroid camera. When he wasn’t looking, I snuck behind the car to get a closer look at what he was doing, and that's when I saw it. He took a polaroid of Derek's body and just set it on him.

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Since I have spent so much time around Derek, I've gained some knowledge about serial killers in the past, and this site reminded me of one particular killer that Derek was especially obsessed over.

The Photograph Killer.

My stomach dropped, and my heart was beating out of my chest. I was running at full speed, dodging every tree and log in my way. I thought I had got away, but my father knocked me over and assured me that I was not in danger. How can he be saying I’m not in danger when he’s the monster? This was when I yelled at him that he was a killer, and I also kept repeating “Photograph Killer! Photograph Killer! Photograph Killer!” This was the only time I saw my father look worried. He asked me how I knew this, and then I told him that it was one of the people Derek would always talk about. He looked defeated; I think this was because he felt like his extracurricular activities contributed to me almost losing my life.

As we drove back home and after he got rid of Derek's body in the woods, he made me promise not to tell a soul. Obviously, I wanted to because I knew it was the right thing to do, but I knew that meant I would lose my father completely. He hasn’t always been there for me, so since I knew his little secret, maybe he would make an effort to be around more. He also saved my life, so I feel like I owed him my silence at least. …

Breaking News: For tonight’s top story, the Photograph Killer strikes again. This time causing yet another death of a teenager. Currently, no identification of the victim has been made. The killer is still on the loose and no leads have been detected. Investigation is still under way.

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Editorial Team Biographies

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Editor Biographies

Sarah King Sarah has been a part of the Inscape team for two years and is serving as Editor for the first time. She is currently pursuing her Bachelor’s of Arts in English, and plans to complete her Master’s degree in Library Science. She has performed in the Choir, Opera Workshop, and Musical Production at Central Methodist. She works as a Library Fellow at Smiley Library, and she is active in Student Government and Sigma Tau Delta.

Sara Ratliff Sara is a senior History and Sociology major from Higbee, Missouri. She is the President of Omicron Delta Kappa and the Vice-President of Sigma Tau Delta. She is also an member of Pi Gamma Mu, Alpha Lambda Delta, and Game Geeks. She loves to read, write, draw, watch movies, and spend time outdoors.

After graduation from CMU, she plans on attending the University of Missouri to earn a Master’s degree in Library and Information Science, with an emphasis in Archival Studies. She hopes to pursue a career where she gets to use her creativity and her love of history. This is her third year working with Inscape and her second year serving as Editor.

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Team Biographies

Alex Drmac Alex is a Business major from St. Louis, Missouri. One of Alex’s hobbies is writing and he also competes for the wrestling team here at CMU

Sydney Jones Sydney is a sophomore who has a passion for creative writing and editing. She is from Columbia, Missouri and is majoring in Professional Writing and Publication. Sydney specializes in writing poetry, but also enjoys exploring journalism and its special place in the world of news and literature. Because of her major, she spends a lot of time reading and writing, but also loves practicing calligraphy, playing guitar and piano, and a going to a good Pilates class.

Joshua Morrow Joshua is a senior communications major from Higbee, Missouri. He is the manager of the CMU men’s basketball team, and his hobbies include playing basketball, playing video games, and hanging out with friends.

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Tyler Vicars Tyler is a senior Professional Writing and Publication Major from Harrisburg, North Carolina. He plays on the baseball team and considers himself an avid writer. He spends a lot of time watching anime and fishing. His favorite Disney character is Goofy.

Peyton Warren Peyton is a senior Biology major from Lincoln, Missouri. She is the vice president of Omicron Delta Kappa and the secretary of Environmental Science Club. She is also a member of Game Geeks, and if you ask, her favorite board game would probably be Betrayal at House on the Hill. She never hesitates to try a new board game to potentially add to her growing collection.

In her free time, she also enjoys drawing, reading, writing, and photography.

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Contributor Biographies

Contributor Biographies

Emily Collins Emily is a freshman Business major from Saint Peters, Missouri.

She is on the cheer team, and in her free time, she likes to read, draw, and do artistic crafts.

Zy’Shonne Cowans Zy’Shonne is a sophomore Secondary Education English major from Glasgow, Missouri. Zy’Shonne participates in cross country and track and field. His hobbies include reading, writing, cooking, hanging out with friends, running, and working out.

William DeLaughter Will is a freshman Pre-Med student who is working towards becoming Pararescue in the U.S Air Force and afterwards, attending medical school. He is involved in Baseball at CMU and enjoys maintaining a healthy lifestyle. Among his many passions Will most enjoys discovering new music, writing, and adventuring with friends, wherever it might take them.

Tate Hanners Tate is a junior Chemistry major from Marble Hill, Missouri. He is a member of Alpha Epsilon Delta and Gamma Sigma Epsilon, and his hobbies include playing the piano and violin.

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Sydney Jones Sydney is a sophomore Professional Writing and Publication major from Columbia, Missouri. She spends a lot of time reading and writing, but also loves practicing calligraphy, playing guitar and piano, and a going to a good Pilates class.

Sydney is a member of the Inscape editorial team.

Jessica Justice

Jessica is a senior Math and Education student from Harrisburg, Missouri. Jessica is president of Game Geeks, Sigma Tau Delta, and Kappa Mu epsilon. She is a member of Kappa Delta Pi, NSLS, and Omicron Delta Kappa. Jessica enjoys playing video games, binging TV, and hanging out with friends.

Sarah King Sarah is a Junior English major from El Dorado Springs, MO. She has performed in the Choir, Opera Workshop, and Musical Production at Central Methodist. She is active in Student Government and Sigma Tau Delta. She is one of the Editors of Inscape.

Amanda Lozano Amanda is a junior Nursing student from Chino Hills, California. Amanda is an admissions ambassador on campus at CMU and is a part of Delta Pi Omega.

Madison Marks Madison is a sophomore Psychology major from Columbia, Missouri. Madison participates in Navigators, and FCA and enjoys playing soccer and singing.

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Addison Massey Addison is a freshman Biology major from Montgomery City, Missouri. Addison is involved in the environmental science club, sustainability board, and Theta Chi Upsilon.

Danielle McQueen Danielle is a senior Biology major from Mountain Grove, Missouri. She is the president of Environmental Science Club and a member of the Psychology Club. Danielle enjoys hiking.

Michelle Miley Michelle is senior Professional Writing and Publication major from Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Outside of school work, Michelle enjoys hiking and disc golf.

Emily Millstead Emily is a freshman Vocal Music Education major from Holden, Missouri. She is a member of NAME and the Color Guard. Her hobbies include reading, writing, and all things related to music.

Keagan O’Riley

Keagan is a junior Professional Writing and Publication major from Hopkins, Missouri. She is a member of Sigma Tau Delta and the softball team. Her hobbies include reading, writing, hanging out with family, and having Star Wars or Harry Potter marathons.

Tabitha Ott Tabitha is a sophomore Theater major from Arnold, Missouri.

She loves reading and playing video games.

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Allison Proctor Allison is a senior Business major. Allison runs track and field and is a member of Sigma Pi Alpha. She enjoys reading, writing, and spending time with friends and family.

Toni Randle Toni is a sophomore English major from Kenneth, Missouri.

When asked about her hobbies she said, “I am my own hobby.”

Sara Ratliff Sara is a senior History and Sociology major from Higbee, Missouri. She is President of Omicron Delta Kappa and the Vice-President of Sigma Tau Delta. She enjoys music, art, reading, and writing. This is her second year serving as Editor of Inscape.

Ana Flores Sarmiento Ana is a freshman Computer Science major from El Paso, Texas. Ana is a part of a book club enjoys writing and listening to music in her free time.

Alissa Simmons Alissa is a freshman Biology major from Columbia, Missouri.

She is a member of the golf team.

Alexia Sprick Alexia is a freshman English Education major from New Franklin, Missouri. Her hobbies include reading and spending time with her family. She enjoys graphic design and photography.

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Anna Valencia Anna is a junior English major from Fayette, Missouri. Anna enjoys reading and spending time with friends and family.

Peyton Warren Peyton is a senior Biology major from Lincoln, Missouri. She is the vice president of Omicron Delta Kappa and the secretary of Environmental Science Club. She is also a member of Game Geeks. In her free time, she enjoys drawing, reading, writing, and photography. She is a member of the Inscape Editorial Team.

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Acknowledgements The Inscape team would like to take the moment to thank all of those who played a part in making the 47th edition of Inscape possible. First of all, we would like to thank Dr. Kavita Hatwalkar, our faculty advisor, for all of her support and advice in putting Inscape together. We would also like to thank Dr. Shane Combs for the role he played in guiding the team during the Fall semester. Our deepest appreciation also extends to Dr. Travis Johnson, Dr. Madison Presley, Dr. John Porter, Dr. Ryan Woldruff, Dr. Bob Boon, and Professor Jill Barringhaus for being tireless supporters of Inscape.

Furthermore, would be remiss without thanking Sigma Tau Delta and the Student Government Association for their roles in promoting and funding our publication. Finally, thank you to all of this year’s wonderful contributors. Without you, none of this would have been possible! Thank you for allowing us to carry Inscape into its 47th year!

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Contributors Emily Collins

Emily Millstead

Zy'Shonne Cowans

Keagan O'Riley

William DeLaughter

Tabitha Ott

Tate Hanners

Allison Procter

Sydney Jones

Toni Randle

Jessica Justice

Sara Ratliff

Sarah King

Ana Flores Sarmiento

Amanda Lozano

Alissa Simmons

Madison Marks

Alexia Sprick

Addison Massey

Anna Valencia

Danielle McQueen

Peyton Warren

Michelle Miley