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Dear Whoever Took the Last Fortune Cookie at Panda Express by Alexis Mitchell / page 27
Dear Whoever Took the Last Fortune Cookie at Panda Express by Alexis Mitchell / page 27
i hate my roommate. by Ashlyn Arnold / page 30
i hate my roommate. by Ashlyn Arnold / page 30
Ode to a God-Fearing Granny by Alexis Mitchell / page 33
Ode to a God-Fearing Granny by Alexis Mitchell / page 33
I Wonder by Terrion Brown / page 42
I Wonder by Terrion Brown / page 42
Between Two Worlds by Tia Rizvi / page 44
Between Two Worlds by Tia Rizvi / page 44
Theme For English 401-A by Alexis Mitchell / page 46
Theme For English 401-A by Alexis Mitchell / page 46
Missing Pieces by Baridakara Meneh / page 51
Missing Pieces by Baridakara Meneh / page 51
You Are Anonymous by Parth Tiwari / page 49
You Are Anonymous by Parth Tiwari / page 49
Butterflies in the Hallway by Alexis Mitchell / page 55
Butterflies in the Hallway by Alexis Mitchell / page 55
POETRY
Saudade by AnnaMarie Rusch / page 11
Saudade by AnnaMarie Rusch / page 11
Self Care by Genevieve Baddorf / page 15
Self Care by Genevieve Baddorf / page 15
Disconnected by Baridakara Meneh / page 20
Disconnected by Baridakara Meneh / page 20
The Lips by Baridakara Meneh / page 23
The Lips by Baridakara Meneh / page 23
Excerpt from “Vellwin” by Hannah Rohde / page 35
Excerpt from “Vellwin” by Hannah Rohde / page 35
My heart is the b-side to my tongue by Jesse Flycatcher / page 52
My heart is the b-side to my tongue by Jesse Flycatcher / page 52
Excerpt from Regalton Academy by Ashlyn Arnold / page 57
Excerpt from Regalton Academy by Ashlyn Arnold / page 57
The Three Predators by AnnaMarie Rusch / page 75
The Three Predators by AnnaMarie Rusch / page 75
Are There Still Beautiful Things? by Rachel Noelle Johnson / page 85
Are There Still Beautiful Things? by Rachel Noelle Johnson / page 85
pack the car; dry your eyes by Rachel Noelle Johnson / page 9
True Colors by Laylah Bass / page 14
A Beautiful Demise by Darlyn Vicente / page 10
Babe, You Hate Pink. by Rachel Noelle Johnson / page 28
Waiting for a Child by Paulina Vidal / page 34
He’s Not Very Candy Aesthetic’d by Amber Landry / page 29 by 0w0_sleepy / page 22
The Cross of a Home
Viva La Patria by Ana Enriquez / page 32
Venice by Cammie Jernigan / page 43
Breathe by Terrion Brown / page 45
Viva La Patria by 0w0_sleepy / page 73
“Betsy” by Jessica Moore / page 83
The Skies Don’t Look the Same Anymore. by Rachel Noelle Johnson / page 87
The Tree in My Front Yard by Santiago Haro / page 48
Water Lillies by Paulina Vidal / page 74
The Real Story by Laylah Bass / page 19
Somebody’s Watching You by Ashlyn Arnold / page 31
Kyoto by America Alaniz / page 41
Transformation by Paulina Vidal / page 54
Do You Ever Look at Birds and Wish You Could Fly Too? by Amber Landry / page 56
Buttermilk Pancakes by Amber Landry / page 84
Castings is the award-winning, student-edited literary and arts journal at Christian Brothers University. We publish the best poetry, prose, fine art, graphic design, and photography our campus community has to offer. It’s an opportunity for students to showcase their talent and represent the creativity at CBU. We invite creative submissions from all students, regardless of major. The journal is printed, bound, and distributed at the end of each spring semester at the Vincent O’Neill Reading Series and Castings release party. It is also available online.
2025 Editors
Ashlyn Arnold
Baridakara Meneh
Israel Rusch
Faculty Advisors
Dan Bernitt, MFA
Melinda Posey, MFA
Cover Art
Angela Montoya
Layout
America Alaniz
Angela Montoya
Justin Olige
Contest Judges
Prose
Dr. Maureen Johnson
Dr. Juliette Paul Poetry
Dr. James B. Harr, III
Dr. Karen Golightly
Fine Art, Graphic Design and Photography
Nick Peña, MFA
Melinda Posey, MFA
Scott Carter, MFA
POETRY
1st Place
2nd Place
1st Place
2nd Place
Dear Whoever Took the Last Fortune Cookie at Panda Express You Are Anonymous The Lips
3rd Place
3rd Place
FINE ART
1st Place
2nd Place
3rd Place
1st Place
2nd Place
3rd Place
PHOTOGRAPHY
GRAPHIC DESIGN
1st Place
2nd Place
3rd Place
Viva La Patria
pack the car; dry your eyes
Rachel Noelle Johnson
A Beautiful Demise
Darlyn Vicente
Saudade
AnnaMarie Rusch
A house without a child is a stranger. The shadows percolate under the shoe rack in dusty shades of saudade, and the bannisters become grave monuments to youth. Mrs. Calon, however, was determined to drown her uninhibited loneliness in gardening. Dusty with misuse, her sun hat greyed her hair even further.
Mr. Calon sat in the old sitting room bent over yellowing piano books. “Thought you already cleared out the azaleas in the back.”
“Yes, but I’ve neglected the shed.”
A pause, a downcast look, a grunt. “Careful. There’re wasps out there.”
The shed door swung open easily enough. Only the top two hinges clung onto the skeleton of the door Mr. Calon constructed in his youth, for their son. Beyond the cracks created by the missing planks were the dark memories of sleepovers in the loft, pinecone missiles hurled towards imaginary enemies, and the everpresent quackgrass curling over shoes. Only the latter remained.
Mrs. Calon spent the next hourhunched over the floor ripping out weed after weed. After a while, she approached a corner overrun by a nest of thistles. She tore away at the prickling menaces, ripping out holes in her gloves. One particularly long thorn tore through her glove and into a layer of skin. She cried out and
dropped her bucket, cradling her bleeding thumb for a few shaking breaths. Gritting her teeth, she crawled back to the pile of weeds and continued separating the stalks to reveal more floor.
Instead, she uncovered a pool of blood, a vibrant stain amidst the colorless weeds. But when she touched it, she found that it wasn’t liquid at all, but a red rosebud, nestled within curling sepals. She was standing in the graveyard of the rose bush, and this baby flower was the only survivor.
Carefully, she plucked the rosebud and walked back to the house, the limp flower lying across her palms like a fallen soldier. Mr. Calon’s office window faced the front porch. She knocked on the reflection of his face, and he startled to attention. She pressed the rosebud against the window.
“The last one!” she shouted. “The last one!”
“Lenny’s rosebush?” his lips shaped haltingly.
“Dead! The last one!”
Mr. Calon worked in landscaping before he retired. After his wife cried out to him to save the rosebud, he went to thesmall nursery at Lynnfield Agriculture Center and selected a rootstock –measuring healthiness, hardiness, and compatibility.
As he prepared the scion, the brittle stalk
disintegrated under every forceful swipe of the knife. Mr. Calon sat back on his heels and sighed, looking up at his wife, but she waved him away.
“Just do your best.”
At the end of the day, Mr. Calon managed to secure the graft, though he frowned at his work. There the bud stood as the sun rose and fell, trembling uncertain, the victim of a desperate resurrection. But on the last day of spring, a gorgeous scarlet rose opened, the picture of fiery life. Mr. and Mrs. Calon named her Miracle and sang to her all day. The joy of youth had bloomed in the house once more.
They threw a celebration the next day, rejoicing in the life that they created. They hired a portraitist to capture the majesty of the rose. As their guests gathered round and stared, he worked in the heat of the sun surrounded by red paint. Many times, he straightened up to show the couple his work. But every time, Mrs. Calon shook her head.
“The color isn’t bright enough,” she said.
“She isn’t detailed enough,” she said.
Finally, after many hours, the portraitist created a work that was satisfactory. Even he marveled at the complex layering, the subtle folds of her petals, the hundreds of shades of red that all curved together as she basked in the sun, her young eyes wild with life. Nothing could compare with sitting in the rose’s presence, but the still portrait had a beauty of its own.
The guests whispered amongst themselves.
“All this fuss over an ordinary old flower,” whispered Mrs. Hickory to her neighbor. “I told you they went cuckoo.”
“Volunteer at the humane society, knit blankets for the homeless shelter, cook for the soup kitchen, something! But no, they lock themselves in this here
lonely house and wax over flowers. They’re desperate, that’s what I say.”
“Then why’d you come, Ralph?”
Ralph patted his voluptuous middle and grinned. “The apple tarts.”
***
“Oh, my darling, My beautiful darling. You reflect the sunset The heaven’s music harping.
Oh, my darling, My precious, precious darling. Stay with me forever My very own starling.”
Mrs. Calon coughed as moisture entered her throat. Rain intermixed with the gentle tears falling down her face. Through blurry vision, she saw water droplets land on the spirals of the rose, their weight forcing her petals to close.
“Goodnight, my sweet.” She kissed the tip of a petal, then walked back into the house.
As they slept, Mrs. Calon’s face softened into a smile and the lines etched between Mr. Calon’s eyebrows smoothed. Their snores smothered them like a blanket. Even as they traveled in dreams of ecstasy, the rain outside quickened, then expanded. The weatherman on the television repeated his warning.
“Danger. . . hurricane. . . cover up. . . destruction on the coast. . . end. . .”
A house in mourning is a stern guest. Every laugh is swallowed by ever-pressing heaviness. The remains of the rose lay on the dining room table like a broken soldier. Death resided in her face. The world held its breath as Mrs. Calon wailed.
“I should’ve just thrown it out! What were we thinking?”
“Honey. . .”
“We failed it!”
Mr. Calon rubbed her back. “No, honey, shhh.”
“We failed Lenny. . .” She broke off into violent sobs.
Mr. Calon was silent. ***
Weeks passed. Ralph’s retirement party came and went. He sat by the door for hours after the guests left, a frown souring his face.
“Betsy!” he called. “What do you make of the Calons grieving the loss of an old rose more than the loss of their son?”
Betsy set down a cup of coffee beside him. “Oh, I don’t know. Just sad?”
“Delusional is what I call it.” He sipped some coffee.
“Don’t be nasty.”
“Well, if they cared about it so much,” he persisted, “then why didn’t they cover it before Lynnfield’s record hurricane? I knew about it. Everyone knew about it. We covered those tomato plants in the back.”
“That we did,” Betsy conceded.
Ralph shook his head. “I just don’t understand it. We even went to their damn flower party.”
“You complained.”
“Well, I went, didn’t I?” ***
After a few more weeks, Mrs. Calon’s tears were finally spent. She got up, washed her face, put on clothes, and walked to the kitchen to get some food. The rose petals, now brown and revolting, still lay scattered on the table. She gathered them up in her hands and threw them in the trash bin.
Once Mr. Calon returned from the drugstore, they cut off the remaining stalk in the yard but left the roots. Mrs. Calon took a deep breath and closed her eyes, the sun washing over her face.
Mr. Calon studied her. “We could get another rosebud. A healthier one. We still have time.”
“No.” She paused. “One day, but not yet.”
Mr. Calon draped an arm over his wife’s shoulders as they stood, staring at the empty lawn collecting the melting sunset. Their hopes were empty once more, but they were prepared to be full again.
Before they went to sleep that night, Mrs. Calon hung the portrait of the rose in bloom over their bed. As she stepped back to admire the flower, she was struck dumb by the reminder of her beauty that morning. There she lay on the canvas, her immortalized glory seeming all the brighter despite its briefness. For she was given the chance to touch the sun, if only for a day.
True Colors
Laylah Bass
Self Care
Genevieve Baddorf
I had only been working at Dollar Stop a few weeks and had the flu for about a day. The area was nice - no bars on the windows, and there’d be people out and about walking their dogs or stopping in for snacks late, but not late enough for me to hold my pepper spray on the way out to the car. We never got shoplifters outside of the occasional bored teen or unfulfilled wine mom. That job was the extra little part-time boost of income I needed to brush that notification from my roommate right off my phone screen, content in knowing I’d cover however much extra rent I needed to. Her ex-boyfriend bashed in her headlights, rearview mirrors, and windshield, so most of her cash was going towards that.
I didn’t pick the closing shift, but I told myself it’d be my pick anyways. It would be quiet, mostly stocking and cleaning with just me, the dull buzz of the light panels in the drop ceiling overhead, and whatever eighties to nineties pop couldn’t hack it on the regular radio. There were a couple of daytime shifts in the beginning to get me acquainted - working the register, clocking in and out, and mind-numbing preppy training videos to show where they keep the specific cleaning spray for when someone pukes on the floor.
I pulled my car into the parking lot the next night with casual confidence - jeans, a warm hoodie because
the air conditioning was a little too effective - when I first saw her. There was a girl sitting on the curb, hood up, playing with something on her phone. I didn’t pay too much mind but still squinted to check - and sure enough, she was wearing the same uniform shirt as I was. I asked about it when I came inside to greet the last shift worker as he was grabbing his jacket to leave.
“David?”
“Hm? Yeah, that’s me. You’re - oh, Lynn, right?”
“Right. Um, I’m on this shift by myself, right? There’s someone in the parking lot.”
“That’s - maybe Amy, but she left already.” He leaned to the side, peering past me. “Nope, no idea. Eh, they’re probably just hanging out.”
“She’s trespassing?”
He waved his hand dismissively, already out the door and leaving me, baffled, behind him to sign in on the register.
After a couple hours, I had almost forgotten about it. I brought out my headphones (I wasn’t supposed to, but come on), and was mopping my way backwards through one of the aisles when the faint ring of the entry bell sounded on the other side of the store. I made my way over, and at full volume called out our greeting.
“Hello, welcome to-” Nothing. No one outside, no one at the door. Maybe the bell went off on accident?
“-Dollar Stop. Hello?”
No answer, but there was someone in the next aisle over. I grabbed the end of one of the shelves, half-spinning around the end of the aisle to catch whoever was, on purpose by accident, freaking me out in the middle of my shift.
The first thing I saw was my own face, and a pair of arms clutching two to three pairs of sweatpants. I froze, staring in confusion as she smiled and waved with her unencumbered hand back at me. ”What’s up?”
“What the hell do you mean, what’s up, you’re -”
“Me, yup! I’ve been looking for you all over! I thought you needed a night in later, so I thought I’d get some things-”
I tried to take a deep breath, and process whatever this was.
“You’re me. And you’re buying sweatpants.”
“Well, you wished on a penny, when you were ten, that you’d had a twin that was just like you because your best friend invited everyone to their birthday party but you, right in front of you. Kind of a bitch move, I totally get it.”
“That wasn’t even a real wishing well, that was just -some sinkhole in my backyard.”
“Yeah, it was. It just took a decade for the fairy in it to wake up.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No-”
“You’re the one that’s arguing with yourself.” She stuck out her tongue, and looked up at one of the security cameras. “So, what do you wanna do?”
Still following some bizarre customer service script, I decided on the one thing I had to do first, and took the sweatpants from her.
“I’ll... ring these up, I guess.”
The other me gave me two big thumbs-ups, smiling like an idiot. I really hoped I didn’t act like that back then. One of the sweatpants was bright pink with a unicorn decal on the end of one leg. Cheap, but cute if you were going for a Y2K sort of thing.
“Anything else?”
“Oh, um – so this, and there were some fuzzy socks and candles – oh and maybe some candy! I’ll get it, hold on!”
She handed me the last pair of sweatpants, dashing over to the next aisle. I craned my neck to get a better look – she was rummaging through the shelves like a weird little raccoon, picking up a bunch of unrelated stuff, looking it over, and putting it back. I took a moment to try and rationalize whatever this was. Fairies weren’t real – wasn’t there a chance of people in different places being born and looking the same? I read somewhere once that that’s part of why they use fingerprints and DNA in police investigations. If she happened to look like me, and had amnesia like in the movies, or some delusional psychotic break – but how did she know about the sinkhole? People never really came over growing up, so she had to be telling the truth. Or she interviewed my parents. I wasn’t sure which was a more unnerving idea.
“What… snacks are you getting?” This would be a long shot, but if she was actually me, she’d know the type of things I liked, too. Even at age ten.
She peeked back out from around the aisle, looking at me like I was somehow the crazy one here.
“Spicy nacho Doritos, salt and vinegar Lay’s, and…” she poked at the shelf, before grabbing a box and holding it up like a kid showing off a cool rock
they’d found. “Sweettarts! Is there root beer here? We should get that too.”
Dead on the money. “Hey, isn’t it weird how-“
“-they’re putting out so many ads for them now? Like, they were never on the radio before, right? And now there’s ads for them, but like, didn’t everyone know they were around as a candy from Halloween and stuff, right?”
“Right.”
“Are you ready?”
I sighed, making my way over to the checkout counter and starting to scan the items. Another problem came to mind.
“How are you gonna pay for this stuff?”
“Oh, I have money!”
“What – how? You don’t have a job.”
She glanced up at me, and looked back away, holding the snacks out. “I have a job.”
This was ridiculous. “You magically poofed into existence with a job.”
“Okay. I don’t have a job. But it’s my own money! It’s just magic.”
I wanted to argue, but my coffee hadn’t kicked in yet. “I… guess so. I’ve still got the rest of my shift to work, you know. I can’t just skip out for a girls’ night with… myself.”
Her smile faded, and she lowered her voice, leaning in. I sidestepped to bag the last of the items, taking her cash as she handed it over. She sounded like a disappointed parent more than anything else.
“You’re sick. You’ve been sick for twenty-seven hours, and you haven’t told anyone because you didn’t want to cause problems. You need to rest.”
“…oh.”
How are you supposed to respond to that? I handed her the change, uncertain and a bit alarmed.
“I can’t just walk out, though. I need to clock out and call someone in. But I also can’t leave with you, because they won’t believe me, so you’ll need to wait outside. Did… you walk all the way here?”
“Well, yeah, duh. I’ve got legs for a reason!” I felt awful for her – it was freezing out, and she didn’t seem bothered by walking in the cold for what should’ve been twenty miles. I imagined her trudging through the cold with frostbite on her fingers and that stupid smile still on her face.
“Actually, wait by the back door. You can stand inside, there’s no cameras there. I’ll drive you… back to my place, I guess. Emmett and Jess are gonna be so mad.”
Her face lit up. She propped her elbows on the counter and hopped a little in place. “Oooh, you have a boyfriend! Lynn’s got a boyfriend!”
“No, no! Just my roommates. I’ll – well, I guess I’ll just tell them you’re my sister-“
“Because I am, silly! Now go call those – boss people!” She grabbed her bag and walked off as I retreated to the bathroom.
Punching in the number, I hesitated. I could tell them the truth, stay at work – or call my parents instead, and try to explain while they assumed I’d had weed or something and yelled at me about it that I was making the same stupid decisions my dad did, or my uncle’s girlfriend, and that they were terrified for my safety enough as was. I held the door open to reduce the telltale bathroom echo as David picked up.
“Dude, I am so sorry, I need to go home, I got sick. Uh – stomach issues.” I made my voice as shaky as I could – which wasn’t that hard to do at the momentand gave a kind of breathless exclamation of gratitude as he told me he’d call someone in to relieve me of my duties for the night. Yes, I’d be able to come back
in next week. No, that wouldn’t become a pattern, I promised. Don’t worry, I’d stay by the register for security until Hayden/Aidan/Brayden showed up. I’d go straight home, drink water, all that good stuff.
I greeted Payton, not Brayden, with an awkward little smile and a sniffle, covering my face as I signed out of the register because there was no way I wasn’t getting what extra pay I could, and gave my best disheartened shuffle as I headed to the back to grab my purse. The other me nearly gave us up when she saw me.
“He-” I clamped my hand over her mouth just in time, shaking my head. “Shh!” “You okay back there?”
“Just – on my way out! See you Tuesday!”
She continued to chat, muffled, as I pushed both of us out the back door and towards my beat up Chevy, peeking to double check if there were cameras (there weren’t), and praying to not get caught. Other Me was enthralled.
“A car! What’s driving like? I know people do it to relax, but also traffic is stressful-“
“It’s alright? C’mon, before I have to explain you to anyone.”
She knew how to buckle up, at least, though she kept flipping through the radio stations while I started the car. The crappy heating system took a few minutes to fire up and beat back the chill from outside. I looked over to tell her to cut it out, and she was swinging her legs in place sitting there, just how I used to.
“I can’t wait to see home!”
I put the car in drive.
“I can’t either.”
Laylah Bass
The Real Story
Disconnected
Baridakara Meneh
My left hand was gray. Well, more gray than it was yesterday. Now it looked fuzzy, like old-timey TV static. I had been trying to just ignore it, but I didn’t think I could anymore, and I wasn’t feeling any real connection at work, so I went to Instagram.
I was just gonna do an aesthetic breakfast post, get myself connected, and then log into work, but I got more likes and comments than I expected and Ken posted for the first time in ages. I got dragged in.
Next thing I knew, it was 1:00 in the afternoon and my boss texted me not to bother logging in tomorrow. Which sucked, but at least I wasn’t grayed out anymore. I told myself everything would be better tomorrow.
I woke up to the gray all the way up to my elbow, the farthest I’d ever seen it. Even the left side of my face looked a bit grayed out- if you knew what to look for. My skin was pale, in an electric looking way, and my features looked pixelated, like a picture someone had zoomed in on. I was about to reach for my phone again and try to patch things up via some more Instagram, when there was a knock on my door.
I startled so badly I dropped my phone; I don’t get many visitors. I considered just ignoring it, but, glancing at my arm again, decided that some good ol’ human interaction could only do me good.
I opened the door to a plain looking delivery guy. He was a bit pasty, but the normal kind, not grayed out.
“Hi!” I looked at his shirt, no longer as confident about actually talking to a PERSON now that he was in front of me.
“Hi! Are you Jamie?”
I nodded, remembering that I had ordered something earlier this week, still looking quite firmly at his shirt. Actually looking at him or, heaven forbid, speaking felt like too much now. He reached to hand me my package, then stopped abruptly.
I looked at him, about to ask what was wrong when I caught sight of my gray hand. I snatched the package away, hiding it and my hand behind my back, blushing and hanging my head.
For a moment we stood in silence, then he asked, “You busy tomorrow?” I almost choked in my shock. “What?”
“I’m off tomorrow and you look like you could use a pick me up.” He smiles, whole face lighting up, “You down?”
After my best fish out of water impression, I nodded, “Y-y-yeah I’ll be there, err here, wh-wherever, yeah.”
I could feel my face burning as I shut my mouth, thoroughly embarrassed. “Great! Does around 2 work for you?”
I nodded, trying not to embarass myself again.
“See you then!” he pulled away from the door frame, getting ready to leave.
“Name?!” I blurted, desperate for a few more seconds with him, “and maybe your number?” I tacked on under my breath, throwing my dignity out the window and into the traffic below.
“I’m James,” He smiled again; this one was a bit softer.
I simply nodded and stared for a moment, before a raised eyebrow had me swearing to myself as I dashed off into my apartment to get my phone. His laughter echoed behind me.
Returning to the door, I handed my unlocked phone over to him, eyes once again affixed to his work shirt. He typed for a few tense moments before handing my phone back to me, a message already sent to the new contact saying, “Hi!”
We said our goodbyes and he returned to work. I watched him leave till he rounded the corner and left my sight. Then, once I’m inside, I settled by my window to watch him leave. It took a few minutes, but eventually I saw him walk towards a van. Just as he opened the door to get in, he spotted me. I waved and he waved back, before driving away.
Putting my hand back on the windowsill, I jumped. My hand was a healthy looking peach, brighter than it had been in a long time.
Viva La Patria
The Lips
Baridakara Meneh
Soft and plush they sat, awaiting another admiring stare. People had always admired their elegant arch, smooth gloss, and inviting softness.
A reporter came to see what all the fuss was about, but the lips melted even their stony heart. “Lips are normally meant to be kissed, but who could do anything but stare at lips as fine as these,” he said.
“If these had been on Helen, the Trojan War would have never happened, for who could cause cries of despair to fall from those heavenly bows.” said a historian, only half in jest. Things changed when one particular visitor came to the exhibit. Kiara had come to admire the famed lips; they twitched, moving into a form somehow even more alluring.
“Kiss me.” mouthed the lips.
Shocked, she stepped away from the display, disturbed.
“What on earth?” she whispered. She looked at the lips in confusion. The lips pouted and continued to mouth wordless pleas, but to no avail. Soon enough, the rest of the museum noticed the lips moving.
“Look! They’re trying to talk!” The man walked up to the glass in wonder. Soon the lips were surrounded by a dense crowd of admirers. In the confusion, Kiara slipped out of the room. The moment she was out of sight of the exhibit, she ran. As she fled the museum, she dropped into a nearby cafe. It was a little hole in
the wall, just off the main thoroughfare, where the museum sat. Kiara eased herself into a booth, gazing at nothing.
“What are you planning on having?” A waitress looked at Kiara, pen poised to write her order.
“Oh! I – uh - haven’t decided.” Kiara winced as she snatched up the menu, hoping to find something quick so she could get out of the area.
“I’d recommend the pancakes. They’re my personal favorite.” The waitress winked, giving Kiara a smile.
Returning it with a far more hesitant smile of her own, Kiara nodded. “I guess I’ll have those and a latte.”
“Coming right up!”
A few minutes later, Kiara received the pancakes and latte, and she jumped in her seat, shocked at their appearance.
“Are they lip-shaped?” She gave the waitress an incredulous look.
“Yep, we get a lot of our business from the museum, so we’ve got a fair few themed items on the menu, though the ‘sweetcakes’ are one of the most popular. Enjoy!” Frowning, Kiara stared down at her unusual plate.
“I guess I’ve already ordered it.”
Kiara carved out a piece of the odd pancake and popped it in her mouth, and her eyes sprung open. Looking down at her plate, wide-eyed, Kiara set to work, clearing out the pancakes in just a few minutes.
“Looks like the ‘sweetcakes’ have enchanted another customer.” The waitress returned with a cheeky smile as she slid over the bill.
“Thanks for the recommendation; I would have never ordered them on my own.” Kiara tipped her head in thanks as she grabbed her wallet to pay.
“No worries! Finding love is always a risky endeavor.”
Nodding, Kiara thanked her again before heading back onto the street.
As she passed the museum, the words she’d just heard rang in her head.
“Finding love is always a risky endeavor,” Kiara whispered to herself.
Steeling herself, Kiara walked back towards the museum; she showed her day pass at the entrance security kiosk and walked into the museum proper. Looking past the other displays, she headed straight for the museum’s most popular exhibit, The Lips.
She slipped into the exhibit, looking left and right as she attempted to sneak into the large, open room. While it was far from empty, the throng of admirers had lessened, and Kiara could see the lips without entering the searing light that surrounded the glass case the lips were seated in.
They were still, peaceful, if distant. However, Kiara had only been there for a few minutes before the lips twitched again. She fled before she could see the words they’d tried to make.
This time, Kiara fled straight home to her small flat in the city. Hurrying straight past the elevator,
she hiked all eight flights of stairs to her unit. Chest heaving, she marched over to the sleek, black door, flinging it open and making a beeline for the living room. Flopping face-first onto the couch, she let out a deep sigh, just as her phone rang. Without looking up, she pulled her purse off the arm of the couch and rummaged around in it, sightless, until she hauled her phone out. Pulling her face out of the cushions, she answered.
“Hello?”
“Ki-Ki!” a young voice giggled.
“Hi, Isabel!” Kiara laughed. “Are you causing chaos for mama?”
“Aye, plenty,” an older voice responded with a chuckle.
“Hi Mom. How’s everything?”
“We’re doing just fine, darling,” her mom chuckled, “How’s the city treating you?”
“I’m ok, mom.”
“That sounds like something else to me,” her mom replied, letting out another dry chuckle.
Sighing, Kiara confided in her mother about her strange encounters with the lips. “It’s just so strange! Why would they want to talk to me of all people?” Kiara whined.
“Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder!”
“They’re lips, mom; they don’t have eyes.”
“You know what I meant. I couldn’t tell you why they chose you, but the only way to find out is to discover why for yourself.”
“Thanks, ma, love you.”
With a sigh, Kiara hung up, resolving to think more on the lips tomorrow.
Soon enough, Kiara found herself standing in front of the museum again. She walked into the queue for all-day passes and soon found herself in the exhibit room. This time, she let herself look at the lips. She let her eyes trace over every beautiful curve and accept the warm flush it brought to her cheeks. Soon, the lips began to move, and she turned away, but she managed to resist the urge to run.
“Kiss me. Kiss me. Please, kiss me.” the lips mouthed.
A crowd surrounded the lips the moment they began to move, but Kiara managed to read them, even though the throng of people. A few security guards began to push the crowd back, exposing the lips and their pleas. Meanwhile, Kiara, taking a deep breath, straightened and dove into the crowd.
She muscled through the crowd, over to the display where the lips were kept, her blue eyes flashing left and right as she slid across the room. Once she slipped past the wall of security, she scooped the lips out with her hands, like one would do with a fish. Before security could do more than make noises of alarm, she kissed the lips before lowering them down, returning them to the display.
Onlookers gasped and shrieked in outrage. How dare she, they thought, how dare she do that? She was nobody special. Security moved to detain her, but before they moved far the lips began to move. The outrage slowed, then slammed to a screeching halt as the lips smiled. There was silence as people took in the beauty of the expression. They stared in awe at the lips. Soon after, the lips returned to their usual expressionless state, but the change was evident. The kiss infused the lips with a new beauty, an eyecatching, awe-inspiring draw that the world had never seen before.
“I want to kiss them too!” someone yelled.
Kiara took advantage of the lull to race out of the museum, her heart beating like a hummingbird. Never again, she thought. But as she walked home, she found herself touching her own lips, remembering the sensation of the others, and wondering if she could keep that promise. ***
It took little convincing for the curators of the strange exhibit to give people a chance to kiss the beautiful lips, for a price. People stood in line for hours on end to kiss the lips, and for a while, their radiance was unmatched. Every kiss infused more of that vivacious joy, as people kissed the lips like one would kiss the hand of Mother Teresa.
Kiara went about her life as usual; she just got the promotion that she’d moved for and things were looking up, but it felt like something was missing. The little cafe she’d stumbled upon was on her commute, and she found herself walking in after work a couple weeks later. She took a deep breath and settled into a booth.
“Sweetcakes?”
Kiara looked up to see the same waitress from her first visit.
She nodded at the suggestion. “Yeah, thanks again for recommending them the first time.”
“No problem. Make sure to enjoy them; they’ll be coming off the menu soon.” The waitress wrote out Kiara’s order.
“Why? I thought it was your best seller?”
“They aren’t as popular as they used to be. People were paying to kiss them for a while and it was a hit, but it looks like the intimacy of the kisses
kinda stole some of the magic out of it all. Now they’re replacing them with an exhibit of hair made of real gold, and that’ll be the new special, too. ‘Lucious Linguini’ or something.”
“Can I get my order doubled then and to go?” Kiara asked.
“Planning on getting one last look?” The waitress smiled.
“Something like that.”
As soon as Kiara had her food, she raced off to the museum, takeout boxes in hand. Paying to enter the museum (just a single-entry ticket this time), she made a beeline for the exhibit she’d been avoiding. As she entered the room, it felt even bigger than its already immense expanse; not a single soul was in the room except for her and the lips.
She inched her way towards the dais the lips were displayed on; they were already moving, pleading with her.
“Kiss me. Kiss me?”
Reaching for them, she was stopped by a curator.
“This exhibit is officially closed, madam.” They looked her up and down, taking in the messy bun, casual outfit, and takeout boxes. “Besides, kissing the lips is only for paying customers.”
As they said this, they snatched the lips up to dump them in a plain cardboard box. “How much to keep them?” Kiara blurted out.
“How much to keep them?” With a sigh, the curator fixed the would-be buyer with a cold stare. “One million.”
“Done.”
The curator raised an eyebrow. “One million for these? They’re chapped and flaking and-”
“Is that a no to the one million?” Kiara raised an
eyebrow and the curator flushed before shaking their head.
“We’ll have to speak to the museum director.” Picking up the box with the lips inside, the curator waved their hand, motioning for Kiara to accompany them to the museum director’s office, before giving the mysterious buyer the lips. She obliged.
“You really want this?” the museum director gestured to the lips, “Wire over the million and it’s yours.”
“Gladly.” Kiara pulled out her phone, sending the money over. Soon enough, the money was in the museum’s account and the lips were dumped into the hands of their new owner, who cradled them.
As they walked into the sunlight, Kiara sat at the entrance and pulled out a water bottle from the bag of takeout and lip balm from her purse, tending to the lips right there on the street. After the lips were wet, and the lip balm had chased away the worst of the dryness, she kissed them, smiling.
“I think I finally got it.”
As she pulled the lips away, familiar blue eyes flashed in the window of the museum. Meanwhile, in their shock, the lips did something entirely new. They parted in awe.
Dear Whoever Took the Last Fortune Cookie at Panda Express
Alexis Mitchell
How dare you take away what little faith I had. You cocky, conniving, cookie snatchin’ son (Or daughter) of a bitch. My meal is incomplete. My Lunar New Year is doomed. Destroyed.
Disassembled. Damned by that thirty calorie treat. I pray your partner cheats and your favorite sour things turn sweet.
You probably don’t even care for cookies! Was it because the pretty, overly peppy cashier Placed it on top of your to-go box Before bagging it? Will it crush and crumble
Inside your uncleaned pocket? Doesn’t it seem like a waste?
To have my future rotting and surrounded by lint, dirty pennies, and dried up toothpaste.
“An old love will come back to you.” I’ll never know. “You will soon witness a miracle.” A cure for cancer or Trump’s impeachment? “A small discovery will lead to big things.” Give me winning lottery numbers! “You will touch the hearts of many.” I will touch no one who dares steal my fame and fortune.
I hope you fall on your face. Get slingshot into outer space. And your family calls you an utter disgrace. May your wounds never heal. Maggots in every meal. Slip on multiple banana peels. Fuck you, and you stupid panda, for that God-forsaken cookie.
Babe, You Hate Pink.
Rachel Noelle Johnson
i hate my roommate.
Ashlyn Arnold
My roommate’s a whirlwind, a mess all around, With hair in the drain and crumbs on the ground. She’s got a boyfriend who’s always in sight, Oh, they leave boxes, clothes, and things scattered, alright.
He never picks up, just lounges and lays, While she talks on the phone for hours and days They watch movies late with the volume turned high, I’m left in the dark, just wondering “Why???”
She never does dishes, her shoes are a pile, And don’t get me started, their love’s gone wild.
But when they’re both gone, the dorm’s quiet and still. ‘Til they show at four, giving me a chill, Knocking and pleading, “Let us in, please!” All because she forgot her keys.
Somebody’s Watching You
Ashlyn Arnold
The Cross Of a Home
Ana Enriquez
Ode to a God-Fearing Granny
Alexis Mitchell
I wish to live inside a world like yours. Where ashes turn to dust turn to soil And finally turn into your orchids,
Until the winter blooms. Death creeps In, and I fear for the dying months. But you Don’t. You pray. On your knees. Hands
Fully clasped together until the arthritis Kicks in. You draped hand knitted scarves Over my shoulder, when I fought against
The wind. Dragged generations of quilts Over my body in the unGodly hour. And Ironed your favorite polka dot blouse to
Match my so-called snazzy Sunday school Dress. Because we had to look presentable In the eyes of our Lord and Savior. After Service, we had spaghetti. For two. Three. Sometimes four days straight. With heavily Sugared Kool-Aid and the toasted butts of Bread. Because you always used what God gave you. And inside a world like Yours, all we have is God.
Waiting for a Child
Paulina Vidal
Vellwin Hannah Rohde
All I could hear was the screaming.
The screams of my sister and the begging of my mother split through the trees in the late morning chill of fall. That’s all I could hear as a man dragged me—a scrawny, struggling ten-year-old boy—from the run-down house I still call home in my heart. My father held my mother back as she begged them to let me and my sister go. My other sister—a tiny, sickly five-year-old girl with the biggest blue eyes and hair as black as a raven’s wings—clung to my father’s leg. Louder than my sister’s screams and my mother’s begging was the terror I saw in those big blue eyes. I would have given anything to take away that terror.
After a long horse ride through the forest of black trees, we arrived at a mansion—or at least, it looked like a mansion in my eyes which had never seen anything like it before. As soon as they put us on the ground, Akantha clung to me. Her desperate, frightened eight-year-old eyes darted around finding little awe in the house before us or the unfamiliar black trees around us. We were pushed up the steps as the men behind us growled for us to move. Once inside, we were put in front of a tall, thin man with a scar running from the middle of his chin to his left ear. He analyzed us with eyes so calculating, so cold, that I’m not sure if I’ll ever get the chill they left out of my soul.
“Culther Vellwin and Akantha Vellwin, as requested sir,” one of the men behind us said gruffly.
“They’ll do,” the cold man said, his voice not quite as cold as his eyes.
Akantha and I were led away to a bedroom we would share for the first four years of our stay at Black Tree Hall. The men sat us down on one of the beds—little more than the thinnest sliver of a mattress sitting atop a metal frame—and told us the rules.
No crying. Ever.
No back-talk.
No questions.
Do as you’re told.
Be ruthless.
That last rule and the man’s smile as he said it scared us.
All we could do was nod. He didn’t have to tell us that breaking these rules would result in punishment, but he did anyway. I could feel Akantha trembling beside me as the man spoke, and I willed her to hold in her tears until they left. Then I could hold her, muffle her cries in my chest while I stroked her ravenblack hair and told her it would all be okay. And that’s how it went. The men left the room, and I felt a twinge of pride when Akantha held onto her tears for two more minutes, fear of the men hearing keeping her from letting the tears fall. After those two minutes,
she buried her face in my chest and sobbed as quietly as she could while I stroked her hair… but I didn’t tell her it would be okay. Because it wouldn’t. I knew, and so did she, that nothing about our lives would ever be okay again. Those men hadn’t broken anything yet except the hearts of our parents, but it wouldn’t be long before they started shattering every single part of us and rearranging it into what they wanted to see. They fed us a meal of wild boar, bread, and water. Akantha slept tightly pressed against me. I was used to my sisters curling up against me, but it had always been for warmth before. In this house, we weren’t cold, and despite the thinness of the mattress, we were given the luxury of blankets. No, the cold wasn’t our enemy that night. Fear was. While Akantha managed to fall asleep in the shelter of my arms, I stayed awake through the night, eyes roaming from the window that let in a bit of moonlight through the black trees to the door that separated us from the men who had kidnapped us. Every noise set me on edge. Every little sound made me tense and tighten my arms around my sister. But that wasn’t the only thing that kept me awake.
Thoughts of my parents ran through my mind. Was my mother still begging them to let us go? Was my father still holding her? And Riona. Were her big blue eyes still filled with terror? She would likely sleep with our parents tonight in order to stay warm and for comfort.
Dawn finally came, and a loud pounding on our door came with it. “Up. Downstairs,” a voice called. Akantha awoke in an instant, and I sighed in relief, grateful that no tears filled her eyes. We hurried down the stairs, her hand gripped tightly in mine. Stopping in the doorway of the dining room where the smell of coffee and bacon came from, I kept Akantha slightly
behind me as I took in the men sitting around the table. The same cold man who had put a chill in my soul sat there, a snarl on his lips. One of the men who brought us there sat at the table beside the snarling man, while the other man who had brought us stood by the door. At the head of the table sat a young man with a bright smile and warm eyes. He had a faint scar on his right cheek and it looked like his nose had been broken at least once. His brown eyes studied me, scanning me from head to toe. Then, his attention shifted to Akantha who gripped my hand as hard as I gripped hers.
“Good morning, little one,” he said to Akantha. Stretching out a hand to her, he picked up a piece of bacon with the other. “You must have had a hard night. Why don’t you eat something? I find that it always helps me.”
His words were kind, comforting, and his eyes held a gentleness that we would soon find rare compared to the mercilessness they normally held. More than that, I found that he often reserved it for Akantha. Despite that, he did all he needed to do for Akantha. He offered her a comfort that we both knew I couldn’t. A father-figure. He won her over with a kind smile and arms extended. It took a moment of gentle, patient coaxing, but soon enough, Akantha had loosened her grip on my hand. Then she pulled away entirely and walked hesitantly towards the man. He picked her up, set her on his knee, and piled a plate high with food just for her. I should have held her hand tighter. I should have grabbed her, shouted at her. Anything to keep her away from him. I learned later that he was only twenty-nine years old when he ordered his men to bring us to him. He wanted new additions to his assassin guild. He chose me because I was small and agile but still strong. He chose Akantha
because he, Laurent Santoro, wanted to have the first female assassin in any of the guilds.
So, he trained us. And he was ruthless. Our first day, he got angry when I couldn’t throw a dagger and hit the middle of the target. As punishment, he sliced my right arm open, made me stitch it up, and then made me learn how to throw with my left hand. On the same day, Akantha cried when the snarling man, Orlo, yelled at her for also not hitting the center of the target. When he raised his hand to hit her, Laurent grabbed his wrist, twisted his arm, and threatened to kill him if he laid a hand on her. Then Laurent knelt down, wiped away her tears, and showed her how to throw the knife and make it hit the center. In the days and years that came after, Orlo found ways to hurt Akantha and make it look unintentional, or at least as if it happened naturally in a fight. Over time, Akantha gave back as good as she got, returning a slice on her arm for one on Orlo’s thigh.
Laurent favored Akantha as much as a man who forces you to train all day with daggers, swords, bows, and your bare hands possibly could. While I managed to get the basics down, I lacked the details in technique and execution that Laurent spent so much time teaching Akantha. I became an afterthought, and while in normal situations that might have been desirable, this was anything but a normal situation. Lacking improvement meant that I got extra chores along with my usual training. Failing to meet standards meant getting yelled at and no dinner. Orlo proved to be less than helpful when it came to making me better.
Akantha saw my struggle, but I told her not to worry about me. I told her to focus on herself, to focus on surviving. After all, what could she, an eight-yearold girl, really do for me? So, she focused on herself.
At night, she slept in the safety of my arms for the first year that we lived at Black Tree Hall. During the day, though, she excelled in her training due to Laurent personally making sure that she improved. After about three months of training, we were ordered to fight each other. Fear filled Akantha’s eyes, and I felt my own hesitation make my body go rigid. Fighting meant that I would have to hit her, and that wasn’t something I ever wanted to do. Sure, we had fought for fun before, but that was little more than childish rough-housing. This… this was nothing like that, and we both knew it. When neither of us managed to throw a halfway decent punch let alone land a hit, we were yelled at and went without dinner that night. Your blood doesn’t matter anymore. That’s what they said. You aren’t siblings anymore. You’re guild members, and guild members don’t hold back.
The next time we were ordered to fight each other, it went the same way as the first time. The pattern repeated, neither of us willing to throw the first punch. Until one day, Laurent grabbed Akantha and drug her away from me. I didn’t hear what he said, but I saw Akantha stare at him in horror before turning that stare on me. She told me later that Laurent had threatened to whip me if she didn’t fight me like she meant it. So, that’s what she did. Akantha threw the first punch. Despite the fact that she was about four inches shorter than me and not as strong, she managed to get in several punches, utilizing the techniques that Laurent had taught her. I didn’t hit her during that fight even though I could have at least once, but I made sure to throw at least five punches every time we fought just so that I could say I had fought back. Neither of us wanted to risk Laurent making good on the threat to whip me. As we fought, I started to improve, but Akantha had a head-start.
She quickly became adept in hand-to-hand combat, and I wasn’t the only one she could beat. Laurent soon brought in more boys who were about my age, but they had been learning how to fight since the day they were born. Even with their advantage, though, Akantha made up for her lack of muscle and size with agility and strategy. The day she brought the biggest boy in the group to the ground and held him in a chokehold, Laurent laughed in delight.
His little black dove.
That’s what he started calling her.
Soon enough, she did anything to earn his praise. I found out that she didn’t actually like the praise itself; she just wanted Laurent to be pleased with her. And he very often was. For the first year, he oversaw our training along with Orlo. After that first year, he left us with Orlo and went off for days. Out of the blue, Akantha once asked where he went when he left. The other boys and I held our breath, waiting for him to rebuke her as he normally would have done to one of us. The rebuke never came, though. Instead, he simply smiled at her and said that he had to take care of important business. We would soon have first-hand experience of that business.
By the time I turned fifteen, we were all ruthless. Just as we had been trained to be. We didn’t hesitate to hit each other, to cut each other. We had all received various punishments for various reasons, and we all had scars littering our bodies as permanent reminders of so many things. None of us were friends, we were barely comrades. Only Akantha and I held any real warmth towards each other, but even that warmth occasionally grew cold when Laurent was brought up. Akantha idolized him. She had come to the conclusion that he had saved us and given us a better life than what we would have had otherwise.
“A better life?” I would ask, my eyebrow raised ever so slightly in skepticism. “A life where we grow up learning how to murder someone? A life where we grow up learning how to throw knives rather than playing hide and seek in the woods. A life where we grow up getting whipped for making a mistake rather than a firm talking to from someone who loves you. Is that the better life you’re talking about?”
Snarling—a trait she had picked up from Orlo— Akantha snapped back, “At least we aren’t hungry like we would have been, and we have a purpose now.”
I laughed humorlessly at that. “A purpose? What purpose? To survive?” I started to circle her as I spoke, knowing that we’d end up fighting physically.
“To anticipate the next whipping? To wait for the day we’re finally sent out to murder someone? To please Laurent?”
I had barely spat out his name before she lunged at me, daggers pulled from their sheaths on her hips and a snarl leaving her lips. I had the knives out of her hands and at her own throat within thirty seconds. Akantha got sloppy when she got angry, but even so, I had started to beat her consistently two years ago. I became the only one who could beat her, and she hated it. No matter how hard she practiced, I would continue to beat her. Laurent didn’t like it very much either at first, but eventually, he started to look at me with curiosity, then grudging respect, and then the worst thing of all: approval. I dominated over Akantha and the other boys in all forms of single combat— daggers, swords, fists. My only downfall was archery. No matter how much I practiced, I could never hit the center of the target every time like Akantha and most of the other boys. Laurent ignored that, though, when I became the first one he gave an assignment to. Akantha, the boys, and I all sat at dinner. One of
the boys who hadn’t quite lost his naturally sunny personality was trying to coax a smile out of Akantha who had a rough day and sat at the table scowling severely. I kept my head down and stared at my plate, knowing that if I looked at Akantha, who was probably rolling her eyes, I would start laughing my head off. The room went silent so suddenly that I looked up instantly. Laurent stood in the doorway, a smile on his face that I couldn’t quite categorize, and his eyes fixed on me.
“You’ve got your first assignment, Culther,” he said, his warm voice not quite fitting the cold, heartless act I knew he’d command me to commit. “Come to my office once you’re finished, and we’ll discuss it.”
“Wait,” I called, springing from my chair so quickly that it almost fell over. Laurent turned back to me, an eyebrow raised in silent question. “When… when do I leave?”
Laurent’s smile widened, and I got a sick feeling in my stomach. “Tomorrow at dawn,” he answered, casting one last look around the room before turning and walking down the hall to his office.
I sat back down in the chair, knowing I wouldn’t eat another bite, knowing I wouldn’t sleep that night. The other boys were muttering in annoyance that I had once again come out on top, but I looked at Akantha before anyone else. Her eyes were focused on me. There wasn’t fear in them—that emotion hadn’t crossed her face in almost four years. No, her eyes held sympathy and compassion. That night, for the first time in four years, Akantha slid into my bed and I held her tight as my eyes stayed open. It was a comfort to have her there, though. It was a silent confirmation that no matter what, no matter how we
argued, no matter how different our beliefs were, we would always love each other.
I got up an hour before dawn, and as rain started to fall in place of the sun’s rising, I set off towards Abelliss, the capital of Straicha. It took most of the day to make the horse ride there, and I quickly found a stable for my horse and walked through the city to my destination. I watched the house, observing the comings and goings of two laughing housemaids and the middle-aged butler. Then my target arrived: a young man who had been causing problems for various guilds with his reform ideas. No one in power cared about reforming the guilds, not when those people prospered right along with the guilds. I waited for two hours after the lights had all gone out in the house before I crept inside and made my way to the second floor. The door of his bedroom eased open soundlessly, and my dagger slid from its sheath just as smoothly. I made my way over to his bedside and stared down at the sleeping young man. I wished that Laurent hadn’t told me why I had to kill him, but he knew I would do it anyway. Because if I didn’t, he would send Akantha to do it. And I wasn’t about to let Laurent turn my baby sister into a murderer until it became impossible to avoid.
I bent over, holding the blade of my knife above his throat. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I had to do.
And then his eyes opened.
His blue eyes focused on me before going to the knife I held at his throat. My body had gone rigid, and neither of us moved. Now that I could see his eyes… it became ten times harder than it already had been.
“You don’t have to do this, kid,” the young man said softly, a slight quiver in his voice that matched the shaking of my hand holding the dagger.
“Yes, I do,” I said, but I still didn’t move. Then he did the worst thing he possibly could have. He went to grab my wrist. And in a moment of instinct, I swiped the blade across his throat. Red blood went everywhere, and I stumbled back in horror, unable to move my eyes from what I had done. I didn’t feel myself let go of the dagger. I didn’t register my flight from the house, down winding streets, to the stable where I had put my horse, out of the city where I had become a murderer—an assassin. I emptied the contents of my stomach and then dry heaved twice. Riding through the night, I stumbled into Black Tree Hall about two hours before dawn.
I didn’t bother being quiet when I entered the house. The shock had just started to wear off and anger began to take its place. So, I slammed the front door closed, and I stormed to the kitchen to stand in front of the sink. Ice water hit my hands, but I barely felt it as I scrubbed the blood off my hand. Grabbing a shaving mirror that someone had discarded in the kitchen, I splashed water onto my face, desperate to get the blood off. But it was on my clothes, too. The mirror barely missed the counter, crashing to the ground and shattering as I tossed it aside, pulled off my jacket, and tore my shirt over my head. I gripped the edge of the counter with white knuckles and stared into the sink. Then a scream tore out of my throat and my arm swept a stack of plates off the counter. I barely heard the shattering of ceramic or the footsteps thundering down the stairs and down the hall. All I could hear were the words “You don’t have to do this kid.” All I saw when people started entering the kitchen was that young man and the bloody dagger in my hand.
They all had weapons raised, poised to strike until they saw me standing there. Akantha pushed to the
front and her eyes took me in. I didn’t realize I had started crying until she looked at me. The first sob broke through, and when she moved towards me, I shook my head.
“Don’t touch me,” I snarled, my voice breaking. Akantha froze as Laurent appeared beside her. A smile spread across his face as he saw me standing there with tears streaking my face and sobs making my chest heave.
“It’s done, then,” Laurent said, and we both knew it wasn’t a question.
You did this to me.
I screamed those words in my head as a fresh wave of anger hit me—no not anger, loathing. Drawing a deep breath into my lungs, I forced my sobs and my tears to stop. I wiped my face of the tears and bent down to pick up my shirt and jacket before looking Laurent dead in the eyes.
“It’s done,” I said, my voice harder than steel, and something in Laurent’s eyes seemed to waver for a split second.
Without another word, I turned and strode down the hall and up the stairs to my room. I closed the door softly. All I could think was, let them wonder just how much they broke me. Let them wonder if it’s just a crack that can be fixed or ignored. Let them wonder if it’s more than that. Let them wonder if I’ve been shattered all the way down to my soul.
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I Wonder
Terrion Brown
I wonder
In the hoods of Memphis
The blood of a melanin king runs through my veins
Since I was a boy I was told of how great I’d become
Only if I didn’t cry and worked hard
You see I grew up in a home that became a house
My parents worked hard for that house…..
But how hard did they work for each other
To me it seemed like over in an instant
Like when your light bill past due
But to them it must’ve been an eternity of heartbreak
I can remember helping my dad move into my grandmother’s house
The fear and dread that I wouldn’t see him again
The anxiety of what would happen to our perfect home
The darkness that engulfed me as he hugged me
I wonder if he cried……
Maybe I’ll find the answer at the bottom of the pile of Budlight cans
Maybe he’s hid them away
Where the chains of hypocrisy can’t reach
But maybe they need to……
Just to break the record that’s already scratched
I’m tired of listening to the same deafening tone
I wonder once again if he’ll be okay
I wonder if I’m really a good son
I wonder if he saw me crying right now
Would he be upset or would the chains finally get to him?
I guess i’ll have to find out when his second home
Finishes becoming a house….
Venice
Cammie Jernigan
Between Two Worlds
Tia Rizvi
Black don’t crack. Brown don’t frown.
Bleeding red and leading by a thread I feel the weight of a triple crown.
A straight-A Asian and mannered mirror of color.
Sun kissed skin –blended of spices and soulful hues. Henna traces stories upon my hand while waist beads guide me through womanhood.
With hijabs and bandanas, shaping my curls. Here I am dancing through colors that shape my life. Between two worlds
From curries and naans to soul foods and sweets. As I navigate the blend each flavor a heartbeat, where cultures meet.
Theme For English 401-A
Alexis Mitchell
The instructor said, Use your favorite poem as a model. Borrow its structure. Its sound. Its images. Its emotion. Then, you will inspire “a life-cherishing force.” It sounds so divine and simple.
I am twenty-five, forty days away from being twenty-six, And I contemplate what all I’ll cherish forty years from now. Will I still be living in Orange Mound? Near the intersection Where Lamar clashes with Airways. Should I be knitting Under a shady tree, glancing up from my glass of sweet tea
To find my husband, or wife, playing in the backyard with Our grandchildren. Or will I walk from the living room to The kitchen to the bedroom to the front porch, then back to The kitchen as the voices of characters in my head fight Back and forth over who’s the villain in my next novel.
It’s difficult to project what the future holds at my age. But is it not the unknown that makes my—our—future
The most cherishing (and nerve wrecking) moment of all?
I feel and hear and see, Memphis. I dream of seeing New York, too. Me, picturing myself there? Who am I?
Will I still like to eat, sleep, read, and write Until I no longer have strength in my fingers to lift A pencil or turn a page? Will I truly love someone by then? Would I have learned how to love myself too?
I’d like to be in the history books as a poetic pioneer. Who read the works of Hughes and Angelou, While rapping the slick verses of Kendrick, Cole, and Kanye.
Being me, I can only hope to be this great force That drives generations after me to be creatively Powerful in how they choose to fulfill their purpose. I can feel the Mississippi River washing away Every doubtful speck of dirty insecurity Between my ears and toes.
I can hear silenced voices finally speaking out Beyond the graves of former dreamers, like me.
I can see a greater Memphis not plagued with prejudice.
But rather engulfed in the light of that cherishing force.
A force like you, dear instructor.
If I cherished nothing more in my almost twenty-six-year-old life today, I’d grow stronger knowing that I was born to create and learn this way.
This is my poem for English 401-A.
The Tree in My Front Yard
Santiago Haro
Parth Tiwari
You are the ghazal tied in my words, The solution to my tangled thoughts. You are the moon in the dark clouds, The shore to the evening ocean. Like the light in my eyes, you are the brightness, The pillow that lets me sleep at night. You are the secret I never speak, And the words I sing as I wander. You are the melody when I practice, The evening that calms my soul. The comfort to my body, And the peace that soothes me. You are the command that can’t be ignored, The desire I long to fulfill. Even surprise would shy away from your grace, If I smiled and drank, you would be the poison. You are my body, you are my soul, And even after my end, you are the infinite. You are the breeze that blows every day, The breeze that moves each day, yet remains unseen—where are you? Are you in my thoughts or just a doubt in my heart?
Or are you the anonymous one in the rising sun?
the ghazal tied in my words, solution to my tangled thoughts. the moon in the dark clouds, shore
I wander.
the words I
melody when I practice, evening that calms my soul. The comfort to my body, the peace that soothes me. command that can’t be ignored, The desire I long to fulfill. surprise would shy away from your grace, and drank, you would be the poison. are my body, you are my soul, after my end, you are the infinite. the breeze that blows every day, each day, yet remains unseen—where are you? thoughts or just a doubt in my heart? anonymous one in the rising sun?
Missing Pieces
Baridakara Meneh
I opened the front door to see him, splayed over the couch, chest rising and falling with each breath.
I eased the door shut behind me, letting him rest.
Tiptoeing past him, I slipped into the kitchen.
Deciding to start dinner I got down on my knees, reaching for a pan.
Then I heard a soft chuckle, I turned to see a smile, and I reached for the countertop, standing up.
He stood next to the couch now, leaning on it.
Prosthetic on the floor.
“I love you!” I say. Then, I see him grab his ears. Blushing, I reach for my hearing aids.
Grabbing his crutches, he comes towards me
Smiling, he signs, “I love you, too.”
My heart is the b-side to my tongue
Jesse Flycatcher
I never let them flip my records over anymore. They’re too fragile. Letting somebody else handle my heart and mind leads to disastrous consequences. Even if he would be different, it doesn’t make a difference as to how. My b-side will forever be covered in blood and tears, screech and cry when put on display and left to be misinterpreted as aggression and hate. Not exactly an underrated gem, but a dirty chunk of bronze instead.
There’s more to it, I swear. I promise it’s better than what you see on the front cover.
I want to spin and sing for somebody forever, but eventually I get hastily tossed back into my folder and stuffed away with all the other bodies on the bottom shelf.
I’m not special, and it makes me wonder how my sides aren’t as unique as the rest. Is it because I’m not pretty in blue, sparkling under the light of your lamp? Or is it because I’m not crystal clear and you have to read the lyrics sheet to listen to what I’m trying to say?
What’s wrong with me, then?
Everybody loves what I do. Maybe even what I say, but they don’t love me. If it was love, I wouldn’t be left to collect dust as I spin on the stand.
It’s what always happens. It’s too easy to catch now, so I stop early and take the needle off before I get scratched up or sing for too long.
Maybe this one’s different? He does listen, but it’s because he enjoys my presence. We’re good friends, this isn’t love! What the hell am I even thinking?
I’m glad it’s not, because I don’t want to lose him. But am I in love with him, or is it because he tells me the things I’ve never been told before?
I’m scared it could be both.
Even if he has a nice shine to him, we match in tune and genre whilst published from completely different places. We both speak our minds, and sometimes there’s that moment on the other side of the record with that one slow guitar song that speaks to your soul. But otherwise, we’re extremely different but not too far off to not get along.
Maybe I’ll figure it out one day. Is this love and admiration for something I can never have?
I don’t think I’ll ever know.
My record’s too torn apart to even be played, so what’s the use in playing me when I never sound or look as pleasant anymore? I’ll be alright collecting dust on the shelf for now, maybe it’s better that way.
And if somebody really wants me to sing? Well, I hope they like something niche and long forgotten, because that’s how my heart resides.
Saying things that some people just don’t want to hear.
I oughta go back on the shelf, I think I’ve been talking too much.
Transformation
Paulina Vidal
Butterflies In the Hallway
Alexis Mitchell
She butters my butterflies like pencil shavings. Spreading across unproductive paper. Tiktoks. Counting down ‘til the next block. She’s a rock, taking a catwalk. Edgy. Or empty? Smooth, yet still. From class to class. With no hall pass, I might add. She wanders, wondering. While I wonder, too, what spell has she placed me under. It feels like magic. But isn’t that tragic? To feel and fumble with feelings so conflicting and catastrophic... Can she commit to making me melt? Two hours already. In two minutes. Tiktoks. No more blocks. Two fifteen. Finally, freedom hits like dopamine. The hallway is buzzing and bustling. A whimsical weekend of Froot Loops and Fairy Odd Parents. Just within my reach. Running over the threshold. Behold... I fold. With hair like silk and the skin of milk. Maybe a hint of honey. She glows wherever the wind blows. Drawing out all senses. And my God-fearing common sense. Tiktoks. Seconds escape by, in the blink of an eye, and she is gone. Carried away by a Hyundai decked out in black and gray. Among
Excerpt from Regalton Academy
Ashlyn Arnold
EXT. REEBA’S HOUSE -- NIGHT
Late night.
An establishing shot of the outside of REEBA’S house, a fairly nice, common home. Two-storied, with a garage taking up most of the bottom floor, and stairs leading up into the house. REEBA’S room has a curved window on the front of the house on the second story. Like the dumpsters, a bit of slush on the grass, along with snow. A few snow angels and snowmen in various forms loiter in the yard as well, with the occasional cup or food wrapper.
Colored lights-- pink, orange, red, and others flash from the windows, with silhouettes of bodies in all the visible windows. MUSIC BLARES from the house; Ayesha Erotica, Kesha and other types of classic, trashy 2000’s pop.
A party sign-like banner and balloons are on the railing of the stairs, mailbox and across the front of the house. The banner reads: “CASSIE’S SEXYASS WAKE!! RIP!!!” with a drawing with a dove,prayer hands, and the Star of David.
The camera takes the role of a party goer, walking up to the house, opening the door and then disappearing in the sea of bodies. Once it does, we get an over the head shot of the living room-couples kissing, others dancing and drinking.
REEBA sits on the couch’s armrest, wearing pants, socks with no shoes, and a sweatshirt with the same writing “REGALTON ACADEMY CROSS COUNTRY” and “I’M SUPPORTING SLATER” in smaller print.
A few other partygoers-- including AMBER, SASHA, BROCK, FISHER, and CHLOE wear a t-shirt with NOAH’S face, and the text ‘An Angel gone too soon.’ CHLOE has cropped hers and added fringe to the bottom, she wears a jacket as well. FISHER has cut the sleeves off of his.
From a medium-full shot, FISHER walks up to REEBA and offers her a red solo cup. AMBER is seen in the distance, though blurred out.
The music seems to lower as we hear their conversation.
FISHER
Missed ya at practice. Not the same without you.
REEBA shrugs and leans against the couch.
FISHER (CONT’D)
Just water. Here.
REEBA takes the cup. Then, she stares into it. Finally, takes a sip from it. Realizing it is just water, she sighs and relaxes, before glancing up at him.
REEBA (softly)
Thanks.
FISHER SIGHS playfully and flops against her, eventually rolling over to sit on the couch, leaning against REEBA. She smiles.
The camera sits on a coffee table in front of them, still in the same medium full shot.
REEBA (while grinning) Stop--
She pushes at him gently, and he LAUGHS.
FISHER
There we go-- there’s that Reeba smile.
FISHER scrunches his nose up as he smiles too.
REEBA scoffs and rolls her eyes playfully.
REEBA
You’re dumb, ya’know that?
FISHER
I know you are but what am I?
REEBA smiles more. She takes another sip of her water.
FISHER finally sits up and looks around. He grabs a random cup off the table, sniffs it, and downs the rest.
FISHER (CONT’D)
Cool that your parents let’cha have a party here.
REEBA
‘s a get-together.
A beat. With a teasing smile,
FISHER
‘S cool that your parents let’cha have a ‘get together’ here.
The blur of AMBER lingers closer.
FISHER (CONT’D)
Where’s Sash?
REEBA shrugs and glances around before taking another sip. REEBA
Off somewhere with Chloe, probably. Says she doesn’t get to see her much. She and Amber kinda got into it in the bathroom earlier--
The blur thought to be AMBER is revealed as CHLOE, and BROCK walking into frame, holding hands.
REEBA looks back at them.
REEBA (CONT’D)
Oh, you two are soooo not doing it in my room.
BROCK just grins and raises his brows at FISHER, which makes him snort as he drinks another random cup. He puts the cup down, covering his mouth and nose as he COUGHS and LAUGHS.
CHLOE
I didn’t say anything!
REEBA
You didn’t have to!
CHLOE SCOFFS and starts to walk off.
REEBA (CONT’D) (calling after her)
Ya’know-- ‘s really messed up what you did to Amber.
CHLOE stops and turns to look at her.
CHLOE
Ex-cah-use me? REEBA
You heard me.
CHLOE glares at REEBA.
CHLOE (harshly)
No, actually, I didn’t. Run it by me again.
BROCK tugs her hand, and leans down with a light whine. CHLOE relents, SCOFFS and begins her walk again.
The MUSIC CHANGES, CHLOE (CONT’D)
YOU CAN’T GET CRUNK TO NICKELBACK. IT DOESN’T WORK, STOP PLAYING NICKELBACK!
The MUSIC flips back to the same pop from before.
The camera moves to follow her from the side as she starts to going up the stairs, then as pushes past AMBER to go up, it flips to behind her.
AMBER’S eye twitches again. BROCK turns and smiles at her, and AMBER offers a strained one, before rolling her eyes once the pair were out of sight.
She joins REEBA and FISHER on the couch, and REEBA’S and FISHER’S conversation continues.
REEBA
I’m happy you came. It’s been.. hard since.. you know. But..
REEBA smiles and shrugs, before slowly scooting off the armrest and plopping against FISHER.
A soft blush appears on his cheeks and he wraps his arms around her shoulders lightly. He clinks their plastic wear together,
FISHER To Noah.
REEBA To Noah.
They both take a sip.
REEBA turns her head as she does, and becomes aware of AMBER’S presence. She perks and smiles a little at her.
REEBA (CONT’D)
Hey-- you made it!
AMBER leans over and smiles lightly.
AMBER
Hey.
FISHER’S smile steadily drops, and he presses his tongue against his cheek.
AMBER notices his unease. Suddenly,
FISHER
Hey-- uh, Ambs. You wanna join me in the kitchen?
AMBER blinks and raises her brows.
FISHER
Just a sec. Help get Reeba ta... forget her troubles, yeah? C’mon.
FISHER stands. AMBER hesitates, then glances towards REEBA, who offers a soft, sad, yet semi-optimistic smile and shrugs.
AMBER stands, and FISHER and AMBER walk to the kitchen.
INT. REEBA’S HOUSE -- KITCHEN
Not as crowded as the living room or stairs, though several people stand in and sit on counters-- drinking, eating, singing, and talking to one another.
FISHER walks to a little section of the counter, the camera in front of him on the wall.
He stuffs his hands in his pockets, and put down his cigarette pack and lighter on the counter. After, he grabs a cup. He fills it half with water and ice, then begins pouring a few random liquors and mixers into the cup. AMBER stands beside him, watching.
AMBER
So... what?
FISHER
What, what?
AMBER
Why-- did you want me to come in here without Reeba, weirdo?
You’re not my type, by the way.
FISHER SNORTS, and smirks a bit. He and the camera turn, and FISHER leans against the counter. FISHER faces the medium shot camera, and AMBER faces away, until she finally turns to the side to talk.
You’re fun.
FISHER
He sighs, holding REEBA’S cup.
FISHER (CONT’D)
Brock told me what you did. Don’t act all innocent.
AMBER’S HEARTBEAT begins the same harsh, on-edge beating.
VOICES (V.O.)
He.. WHAT?
AMBER adjusts, and shakes her head.
AMBER
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
FISHER
Sure ya do.
AMBER takes in a breath, and takes a step closer.
AMBER
(lower, as if threatening him) Look, I don’t know what that dimwit told you, but it’s not true. I left before the race even started.
AMBER (CONT’D)
She only wanted me there to piss for her; I would never drown h--
REEBA (O.S.)
Guys?
Both AMBER and FISHER turn to look in front of them. The camera turns and reveals REEBA standing there.
AMBER eases off. Her HEARTBEAT fades out.
FISHER hesitates, gives AMBER a look, and then leans forward to give REEBA her cup.
FISHER
We’re fine.
AMBER nods.
REEBA adjusts, before taking a sip of her drink. She scrunches her nose up, before nodding.
REEBA
Not bad.
FISHER (playful)
That’s why they call me the master mixologist.
He pushes himself off the counter and walks closer to REEBA.
don’t cross the border.
FISHER (CONT’D)
How bout ‘cha go upstairs, kick Brock and Chlo’ out of your room, and relax, okay? We can smoke n’ whatever. (pause)
This whole thing ‘s for Sasha, huh?
REEBA shrugs a bit, before nodding.
REEBA
Yeah-- I guess. Just... not up for the whole.. party.
FISHER I know.
FISHER squeezes her closer and rubs her arm. He stops just before they reach the living room. AMBER’S presence looms in the background.
FISHER (CONT’D)
Being with friends just.. helps. Go on-- hell, get the Ouija board out. We’ll summon that ghost.
The camera follows him. He throws an arm around her shoulders and starts walking her back to the living room, but they
FISHER CHUCKLES and this makes REEBA crack a smile. She nods, and leaves to go upstairs. From over FISHER’S shoulder, we focus on AMBER.
She stares angrily towards FISHER, her HEARTBEAT is louder, and her eye twitches worse. Her jaw is clenched.
AMBER turns her head, and spots a kitchen knife. Then, FISHER’S lighter.
Back with the focus on FISHER, the camera stays in a close-up on his face as he walks back to AMBER, then morphs into a full shot when he reaches the counter.
His back is to us once AMBER offers him a red solo cup.
AMBER smiles.
AMBER Here. Just the rest of the vodka.
AMBER offers it again.
AMBER (CONT’D)
Just here. We can continue our talk in the garage okay? I’ll leave.. let you and Reebs have your.. time together.
FISHER stares at her, and looks at the cup.
AMBER (CONT’D)
I know what you’re up to, Fish-er.
FISHER leans away from her and the cup.
FISHER
You’re crazy if you think I’d take that. Especially after that.
AMBER stares at him.
AMBER
I would never hurt you, Fishie.
Then, she downs the alcohol and puts the cup down. She doesn’t swallow, FISHER doesn’t notice.
FISHER furrows his brows.
FISHER (throwing it away) Rrrightt..
FISHER looks over his shoulder and sighs.
Blindly, he pats around for his cigs and pockets them, not noticing his lighter was missing.
FISHER (CONT’D)
Quickly. 5 minutes-- tops.
AMBER (smiling, sweetly; yet muffled) 5 minutes.
A beat.
INT. REEBA’S HOUSE -- GARAGE -CONTINUOUS
They walk down the stairs in darkness, until FISHER pulls a string hanging from the ceiling, flicking them into light.
AMBER SIGHS, and after adds a QUICK hum. FISHER walks in front of her, with AMBER’S hands behind her back.
The rest of the garage is relatively normal--clutter, a bike, tools, random household things with a sense of creepiness as the light doesn’t reach the corners of the garage.
AMBER and FISHER stand in the middle of the room.
FISHER 5 minutes.
AMBER nods again.
FISHER SIGHS and begins to pace.
FISHER (CONT’D)
Look-- Reeba doesn’t need this right now.
FISHER turns to look back at AMBER.
FISHER (CONT’D)
She’s grieving. Because of something I know you did.
FISHER (CONT’D)
Tell your little mule to watch it if you’re trying to hide this from people, cause one little word and you’re on death row.
AMBER’S eye twitches. Her HEARTBEAT steadily gets LOUDER as he talks.
FISHER (CONT’D)
She needs me and Sasha. You just.. bring chaos in her life; but for some reason, she’s locked on you.
He GROANS and walks away from her.
FISHER (CONT’D)
...You’re not talking. (he sighs)
Look-- I’m willing to put it aside for--
AMBER is behind him, and suddenly, spits the vodka from the previous cup onto his back.
FISHER flinches and spins to turn around and face her.
FISHER (CONT’D)
Y-- cun-- what?-
Before he can finish his thought, AMBER pulls out the kitchen knife from before.
FISHER (CONT’D) (in shock)
You’re fuckin’-- PSYCHO.
FISHER hesitates, before rushing for the stairs, and AMBER starts after him.
Her HEARTBEAT THROBS and BOOMS, with the colors starting to flicker like her encounter with NOAH.
AMBER
Fisher-- FISHER! YOU DON’T-- You don’t want to do that- get your ass back here!
Halfway up, FISHER COUGHS, hitting his chest with his fist.
From over his shoulder, we see AMBER fumble with the knife before dropping it.
AMBER (CONT’D) Shit--
Then, she picks the lighter out of her pocket, fumbling as she flicks it with no start.
Then, suddenly, a flame WHOOSHES out, scalding the side of her thumb. AMBER WINCES, fumbles again and finally, throws it against FISHER’S back.
Almost instantly, his shirt erupts in flames-- causing him to SCREAM and COUGH as he tries to pat out the fire.
AMBER (CONT’D)
You should’ve drunk my drink. It’s rude to deny it. VOICES (V.O.)
Sick burn.. (pause)
Heh. Heheh.
AMBER breaks into a little grin in response to the voice.
FISHER continues to SCREAM before stumbling and rushing up the rest of the stairs.
AMBER
No you don’t--!
AMBER scrambles up the stairs, her wounded hand close to her chest as she goes. She pushes FISHER back down, causing him the fall down the steps, and lighting her shirt. She GASPS,and quickly pats out her flames.
AMBER stares down at FISHER as he still tries to put out his flames. The camera takes her point of view, and focuses in on him squirming and rolling around.
We are brought out of this and her HEARTBEAT stops at the sound of VOICES outside the door,
VOICE (O.S.)
You hear that?
VOICE 2 (O.S) What?
FISHER YELLS and CRIES.
VOICE (O.S.) That.
VOICE 2 (O.S.)
Oh-- yeah.
AMBER takes in a breath, and quickly pushes open the door. Copying AMBER’S rush, we fly next to her,
AMBER (panicked)
HELP-- OH, HELP! SOMEONE CALL 911, NOW!
As she rushes through the crowd, she grabs random party goers, encouraging them to get help and call someone.
REEBA rushes down, and almost runs into AMBER, who grabs her by her shoulders.
The camera spins to the kitchen, where party goers are filling used red cups with water and running to the garage to splash FISHER, who SCREAMS in pain still. Some partiers are filming or talking, and some are on the phone.
REEBA fights against AMBER, who relatively easily keeps her in place.
AMBER
Stop-- stop. He’s gonna be okay, he’ll be fine.
REEBA has started to cry and SCREAM, still fighting her grip, even as AMBER hugs her,
REEBA (through tears)
FISHER-!! FISHER, NO!
MUSIC CUE: “LYING IS THE MOST FUN A GIRL CAN HAVE WITHOUT TAKING HER CLOTHES OFF” by Panic! At The Disco steadily fades in.
BROCK and CHLOE rush down, BROCK with lipstick kiss marks all over his face and his shirt off.
BROCK (dazed)
REEBA
What-- what’s happening??
What’-- wha’ goin’ on?
SIRENS are heard in the background.
CUT TO:
EXT. REEBA’S HOUSE -- YARD -MOMENTS LATER
Only the light from the red flashing siren lights and the street lamps illuminate the silhouettes of the crowd from behind. The POP HOUSE MUSIC is off, and the only other sounds other than CHATTERING are the SIRENS of the firetrucks, ambulances, police, and REEBA’S CRYING.
From this same shot, we see the paramedics take a burned FISHER on a stretcher into the ambulance.
From in front of REEBA and AMBER, we see AMBER holding REEBA again, giving her LIGHT MURMURS to soothe her as REEBA fights to get to the ambulance.
BROCK and CHLOE are behind them.
REEBA
No-- Amber! I NEED to get to him! (sobbing, screaming) FISHER! FI-- F-F-ISHER!!
REEBA SCREAMS and CRIES, to the point of dry-heaving.
shoulder, and stifles a HISS of pain; the burn having blistered already.
AMBER (softly, reassuringly)
He’s gonna be okay.. he’ll be okay..
AMBER glances up towards BROCK and he steps forward.
BROCK (gently, also tearing up)
I’ll go, okay? Chlo’ n’ I will call when we get there, okay?
He gently rubs at her shoulder, and REEBA COUGHS, CRIES and takes in DESPERATE,SHAKY BREATHS-- she trembles now.
VOICES (V.O.)
Reeba...
AMBER nods at them, and offers a little smile towards BROCK, who smiles back. CHLOE glares at AMBER before the couple walk off towards the ambulance. AMBER looks down at her wounded hand, before dropping it and focusing on REEBA.
She collapses against the ground, and AMBER kneels next to her, only hugging her tighter. AMBER thumbs at her
The previous shot from behind repeats. However, now, behind a SNIFFLING, SOBBING REEBA and a sympathetic AMBER consoling her. Finally, the emergency vehicles drive off, taking their SIRENS
and red flashing lights with them. A few police cars and officers linger.
Left in the darkness, it begins to snow.
Then, we... FADE OUT. MUSIC CUE FADES OUT.
INT. REEBA’S HOUSE -- LIVING ROOM -MUCH LATER
Pitch black darkness out in the windows, with the only light being faint moonlight and the soft colored snowflakes floating down. The house is empty.
AMBER holds a black trash bag, picking up and throwing away the last of the cups and empty bottles.
After, she brushes her hands off together, and the camera follows behind her as she goes up stairs.
INT. REEBA’S HOUSE -- REEBA’S BEDROOM
REEBA sits on her bed with her sister, SASHA sitting next to her and rubbing at her shoulders.REEBA stares off, her face blank and tears stained on her cheeks.
SASHA (softly, reassuringly)
He’s gonna be okay, Reebs. Freak accident I guess.
SASHA squeezes her sister closer. She looks up, and the camera turns to
acknowledge AMBER’S presence in the doorway, staring at the two sisters.
AMBER (soft)
You guys really... look alike.
AMBER shakes her head slightly to clear her thoughts and enters, sitting on the other side of REEBA.
AMBER (CONT’D)
Uhm.. the downstairs is all clean.
SASHA smiles a bit and nods towards AMBER.
SASHA
‘kay. Thanks. You didn’t have to.
AMBER gives a soft smile and shrugs. She looks at REEBA and rubs at her arm gently. AMBER
Well... I guess I should get going.
REEBA sits up quickly, and holds AMBER’S wrist to keep her there.
REEBA (soft, shakily, with slight desperation)
No-- no. You. You gotta stay here. Please- you, your parents, ya
know? And I don’t.. I want you here Amber.
AMBER blushes, and her HEARTBEAT begins to throb again.
She shifts and eases back into her spot and nods, sticking even closer to REEBA.
in and out, and flashing lights.
INT. HOSPITAL -- FISHER’S HOSPITAL ROOM
AMBER (gently)
Yeah-- yeah, of course. Course I will, Reeba.
SASHA smiles lightly and continues to rub at REEBA’S back.
SASHA
I’ll let you take over.. I’ll go call the hospital and see what’s going on, okay? We’ll see him in the morning.
REEBA SNIFFLES and nods, mouthing an ‘okay.’
SASHA
So weird how this keeps happening..
She SIGHS, before getting up and leaving, giving the two a gentle smile.
EXT. HOSPITAL -- LATER
Late night, an establishing shot of a hospital building, with people walking
FISHER lays in the hospital bed, unconscious and badly burnt all over. BROCK and CHLOE sit in the chairs in the room, with BROCK sadly looking over at his friend. CHLOE has her hand on his thigh. BROCK (lightly)
I hope he’s gonna be okay... ‘s by best friend.
CHLOE (sympathetically)
I know he is, baby. He’ll be fine.
A DOCTOR walks in, and offers the two a gentle smile. They walks towards FISHER in the bed with a clipboard.
DOCTOR
Late night, huh?
They crack a little smile, BROCK smiles in return. CHLOE smacks his thigh and he drops it.
DOCTOR (CONT’D) (looking at the clipboard)
Vitals seem fine.. not much internal damage, but a lot of burns. We’ll get him into surgery in the morning.
They tap the clipboard against FISHER’S knee, which causes the sleeping teen to WINCE.
DOCTOR (CONT’D)
Oop- sorry.
The DOCTOR heads back to the door.
DOCTOR (CONT’D)
Best thing for him is just rest for tonight. I’ll send in our nurse a little later to make sure he’s on the fast track to recovery. Good night you two.
The DOCTOR leaves.
CHLOE
See? He’s gonna be okay.
She kisses BROCK’S cheek, and stands up.
CHLOE (CONT’D)
I’m gonna go see if I can score us a couple of blankets, mkay?
BROCK nods, looking up at his girlfriend. BROCK (gently)
I love you.
CHLOE pats his cheek gently, affectionately.
I know. (beat)
CHLOE
I love you too. Keep an eye on him. She nudges her head towards FISHER playfully, before leaving as well.
INT.
REEBA’S HOUSE -- REEBA’S BEDROOM
REEBA, still in her sweatshirt is asleep in her bed now, with AMBER in the bed beside her. AMBER sits up, scrolling on her Phone.
From AMBER’S view we watch her and BROCK text..
AMBER: how it goin??
BROCK: dr says hes gonna b ok
AMBER furrows her brows lightly. She glances around while biting at her thumb anxiously.
AMBER then gets a text from an unsaved number,
UNKNOWN: I’ve got an idea.
AMBER shifts and leans closer to her phone. Another next from BROCK,
BROCK: hold on nurse cumin in
INT. HOSPITAL -- FISHER’S HOSPITAL ROOM
The camera focuses on BROCK who lifts his head once the nurse, who oddly looks like NURSE CHARLIE enters. She is played by the actress who plays NURSE CHARLIE.
CHLOE sleeps on the couch, covered by a blanket.
NURSE
Hi. You’re up late, aren’t you?
BROCK
Just.. worried about my friend.
NURSE
Any good man would.
She begins to hook up some medicine to FISHER’S IV, and BROCK watches curiously.
BROCK
You.. look really familiar. Do i.. know you?
NURSE
No, I don’t believe so. I get that a lot.
She CHUCKLES. BROCK nods slowly and continues to watch.
A beat.
BROCK What are you doing?
The NURSE looks at BROCK. NURSE
Just medicine to help him feel better extra fast.
Beat.
NURSE (CONT’D)
You wanna help?
In a split screen,
INT. REEBA’S HOUSE -- REEBA’S BEDROOM AMBER texts the number curiously with ‘???’ and other varieties.
INT. HOSPITAL -- FISHER’S HOSPITAL ROOM
The NURSE gets a few DINGS on her phone.
VOICE (O.S.)
Amber.
BROCK stands and walks over to the NURSE, nodding his head.
BROCK
Of course-- I’d.. I’d do anything to help him get better.
The NURSE smiles gently, and guides BROCK’S hands to the medicine and the IV drips, adding the ‘medicine.’
AMBER looks up and the camera makes room for her and, NOAH’S GHOST. She is
played by NOAH’S actress, but her face is flushed, and her hair and clothes are wet. AMBER looks surprised for a moment, before she groans.
AMBER
Ugh. Not you again. Just– leave me alone.
NOAH’S GHOST
Ah, good to see you’re still the same ol’ callous bitch you were when you killed me.
AMBER
Hush! You’re gonna wake her up.
NOAH’S GHOST
You hush. You’re the only one who sees me. You know that.
AMBER
What do you want?
NOAH’S GHOST
Oh you know, just haunting you for eternity due to your guilt of killing Reeba’s girlfriend. She’s not gonna date you, you know that, right?
AMBER
You don’t know that!
While AMBER and NOAH talk, BROCK helps the NURSE implement the medicine in
FISHER’S IV.
INT. FISHER’S HOSPITAL ROOM
NURSE
There. That should help him get a lot better by morning, thank you for your help Brock.
Viva La Patria 0w0_sleepy
Water Lillies
Paulina Vidal
The Three Predators
AnnaMarie Rusch
PART 1
Once upon a time, a little girl put on her mother’s dress. She braided her hair like she was ten years older, tightened a belt around her thin waist to lengthen her legs, stole her father’s hatchet from the hook in the shed, and set out into the dark forest where the predators dwell. Where the predators dwell. When she was twelve years old, she had begun sneaking into the courthouse and hiding under a seat on the balcony where no one could find her. She had seen the victims, hair torn, eyes dead, the dirt under their fingernails, the scarlet necklace carved in jagged lines around their neck. The people screamed for blood and the judge sent huntsmen into the forest to kill the predators.
The next day in school, her friends would surround the victims like blow flies circling a carcass. But she would sit at the lunch table, alone with her envy. She wanted to stand at the center, mute but strong. She wanted to bear the scarlet necklace of pride. She wanted to impress the boys with a harrowing tale without having to say a word.
So, she put on her shoes and her braids and her hatchet and set out past the white picket fence into the dark forest where the predators dwell. Where the predators dwell. At night, she made a fire and roasted
wild carrots just like her mother taught her. She laid herself on top of her cloak with her bare dress facing the sky. Then, she went to sleep with the lullaby of the owl soothing her ear.
The next morning, she met a cat. At first, she thought that her own shadow had risen from the ground and come to say good morning. But then, she looked closer and found that it was a cat with soft orange fur, delicate spots, and huge yellow almond eyes fixed upon her. He bowed his head in shy submission and began rubbing up against her legs with a purr, just like a friendly house tabby. Laughing, she petted the cat, running her fingers through his soft fur, and said, “Is this the animal that everyone is afraid of? Why, it’s just a cat! Would you like to be my pet, little cat?” The cat purred in response and licked her hand with his sandpaper tongue. As she collected firewood and hunted for wild carrots and bathed in the lake, the cat stalked her shadow, bowing and purring, his eyes wide in delight to be in her presence.
At night, she made a fire and roasted wild carrots just like her mother taught her. The cat sat just outside the ring of firelight, shrouded by shadow. He cried into the night with his raspy, throaty voice and grew until he transformed into a huge leopard with yellow eyes that bore through her dress. The menace
and cruelty revealed in the whispery rasp sent shivers down her back and revealed her vulnerability. She drew her cloak close around her body and hid from the leopard behind the fire. Then, she went to sleep with the lullaby of the owl soothing her ear.
But the leopard hunted her into her dreams. She was cheering on a parade and candy was raining down from the sky. Suddenly, she felt hot breath enter her open mouth and there he was, the leopard with a leery smile and teeth gleaming. She felt teeth sinking into her shoulder and she ran as the parade slowly disappeared around her and the leopard loomed over her and surrounded her and a larger leopard, his father, stared down at her inches from her face with those same yellow eyes, gleaming, glaring, leering, bloodthirsty, about to be satisfied. She died but managed to crawl away with dirt under her fingernails. She woke up, alone in the dark forest where the predators dwell. Where the predators dwell.
So she packed up her things and snuck away while the leopard remained curled up in the shade, chuffing, eyelids flickering open and closed. The sun reached its peak and still, the leopard did not find her. Pride grew in her heart, and she knew she was strong as she collected firewood and hunted for wild carrots and bathed in the lake alone. But the now horrifyingly real danger taunted her around every corner and grinned within every shadow. She wondered why she ever romanticized the dark forest where the predators dwell. Where the predators dwell. At night, she made a fire and roasted wild carrots just like her mother taught her. She laid herself down on the grass and curled around her cloak to protect herself. Then, she went to sleep with the lullaby of the owl sounding in her ear.
The next morning, she met a koala. When she was staring at the sun to tell time, she spotted him looking down on her, gripping a sunny branch with lazy blue eyes. He grinned a gentle wide grin among the glowing eucalyptus leaves that slowed her nervous heart. She did not fear leaf-eaters, the harmless creatures who hated the taste of flesh. He slowly crawled along the bright tops of trees as she walked, looking after her. As she collected firewood and hunted for wild carrots and bathed in the lake, he remained in the trees far away, alighted by the sun, waiting patiently.
At night, she made a fire and roasted wild carrots like her mother taught her. The koala climbed down from his sunny tree and crept up to the ring of firelight. He sat down and gazed up at her with those big, gentle eyes, almost as if he was waiting for something. The sweetest scent she had ever smelled rose from his fur and calmed her remaining fear. “Eucalyptus leaves”, she said. He nodded, smiling in encouragement, and the sweet smell grew stronger. She began telling him her tale, about the judges and the scarlet necklaces, about the braids and the dress, about the leopard and the dream. Once she was done, he went up to her, touched her leg, and gave her a big hug, warm and soft. She wanted to cry because it felt so nice and protective. The eucalyptus leaves soothed her tired eyes and she fell into a deep sleep, safe in the koala’s arms. Her cloak lay forgotten on the grass. The owls were quiet that night.
The next morning, he stayed next to her, helping her collect firewood and find wild carrots and lakes to bathe in. Even when she dropped a piece of firewood or cut her finger, he still smiled a wide, gentle smile, and it made her forget her mistakes. Sometimes, as she walked, he climbed up her back and latched
around her shoulders with a death grip. But the eucalyptus scent always calmed her. He nuzzled her hair and grew closer to her neck, and she let him, bit by bit.
At night, she made a fire and roasted wild carrots like her mother taught her. She laid down on the grass and rested her head on top of her cloak. But then, she saw him. He thought she was sleeping, but she was awake. He was watching an innocent kitten scurry past, her tiny whiskers gleaming in the moonlight. She had heard stories in the village of kittens running from their mothers into the dark forest where the predators dwell. Where the predators dwell.
Suddenly, the koala’s soft fur straightened. His wide smile grew diabolical, and his shoulders widened. She looked at him and she saw the epitome of lurking evil, cunning and lurid. He crawled over to the kitten, blocking her path. The kitten scurried to the side, but the koala crept closer, his plan complete and vicious. With a speed she had never seen before, he lunged forward and surrounded the kitten in his tight embrace, crushing her tiny bones with a crack. But he kept squeezing and smiling his disgusting, wide smile. The kitten choked and pleaded, but he kept squeezing that deadly embrace. Finally, the kitten grew limp and dropped to the ground, lifeless. The koala chuckled low in his throat and smiled wider, stretching his face like a monster. His cruel white teeth gleamed in the dark, brighter than his eyes. Then, without warning, he turned to her, and she quickly closed her eyes, hiding from paralyzing fear. She wondered if she was dreaming, but her heart still beat. It was real. But the betrayal had killed something else. After much tossing and turning, she went to sleep with the lullaby of the owl sounding in her ear.
The next morning, she woke up and smiled innocently at the evil koala and he smiled back, and the eucalyptus scent rose up stronger than ever, coyly hiding the stench of death behind him. She kept on smiling until she reached a wide field with no trees in sight. Now, she no longer waited for the koala while she collected firewood and hunted for wild carrots and bathed in the lake. Sometimes, she saw him as she walked, smiling down at her from his tree and crooning after her with his low voice. But she smiled back and walked faster. She vowed that the koala would never hug her again. Now, she scanned the trees above her as well like a helpless rabbit lost in the dark forest where the predators dwell. Where the predators dwell. At night, she made a fire and roasted wild carrots just like her mother taught her. She laid herself down on the grass and wrapped her cloak close around her body. She wished she had stolen her father’s overalls rather than her mother’s dress. Then, she went to sleep with the lullaby of the owl sounding in her ear.
The next morning, she met a man. His broad shoulders swelled confidently, and pearly-white teeth glistened within his suave smile. He spotted her bathing in a lake one day and introduced himself to her with a voice as spicy as tequila. She thought that he must be one of the hunters, searching for a convicted predator. She thought that he would protect her, so she let him follow her while she hunted for wild carrots.
But, when she made a fire and roasted wild carrots like her mother taught her, she saw him study a puppy, stumbling over his small legs. She had heard stories in the village of puppies running from their mothers into the dark forest where the predators dwell. Where the predators dwell.
Suddenly, his features began changing horrifically. His face and body elongated as he dropped to his hands and claws grew out of them and a tail sprouted and his ears stood up and teeth, perfect and pearlywhite, peeked out of his jowls. He was now a bobcat with yellow eyes. She saw him rake his eyes over the puppy’s head, shoulders, haunches, and tail. She saw him study the way the puppy nibbled on leaves and lick his chops with hunger and desire. The lurid look in his eyes filled her heart with a dark, burning anger. But she said not a word. She wrapped her cloak tight around her body and purposefully messed up her hair. She went to sleep with the lullaby of the owl sounding in her ear.
The next morning, he said good morning with carrots in his hands, as if nothing had changed. But now she knew the predator hidden behind his brown eyes. She knew what he really wanted from her. And he enjoyed the hunt, the act of stalking her as she collected firewood and hunted for wild carrots and bathed in the lake. Her growing collection of fears waited around every bend, and she could not avoid the world. She wished she had never entered the dark forest where the predators dwell. Where the predators dwell.
So, she became a ghost. After a careful search, she found an old wolf’s den, hidden in the crevice of the earth. She hid there with her cloak wrapped tight around her body. She shrank as the days grew longer and longer. Finally, when her skin was as pale as the moonlight, she ran. She ran down the path for hours and hours until she finally reached the white picket fence and she had exited the forest.
There, she lay shivering until her parents ran into the yard and began scolding her for staying out in the
rain. They told her that they had been expecting her to remain in the forest for at least another month. Every village child has traveled into the forest and returned as an adult. So, she was not uncommonly brave after all. They asked her what she had learned about survival. She remained silent, letting the rain hide her tears and the cloak hide her body and thought about the leopard, the koala, and the bobcat. Finally, she turned away, cowering from the dark forest where the predators dwell. Where the predators dwell.
PART 2
Once upon a time, a girl put on a black dress like she was in mourning. She put on her new gray woolen cloak, curled her hair to hide the new bunny ears growing from her scalp, and stepped out into the dusty morning street. She followed the path to the courthouse to tell the judge about the new-found threats to the community in the dark forest where the predators dwell. Where the predators dwell.
As she walked, she stayed near the edge of the street, her eyes quickly darting back and forth to study the townspeople. Their faces were human, they walked upright, and their eyes were every shade but yellow. But she imagined the shadows that spread behind them taking the ghastly shape of long fangs, erect fur, and a whipping tail. She could not meet their eyes.
Along the way, she met her friend Una who was also walking to the courtyard. She cried, “Oh, Una, I missed you so much. I have had the most awful time.”
“Yes, I know,” Una nodded her head sagely. “I entered the forest when I was only eleven years old after my mother died. I have never been the same since. See!” she said, suddenly, taking off her black
gloves. Instead of hands, gray paws extended from her jacket sleeves. “Squirrel paws,” she explained. “Soon, I will shift completely into my inner animal. What happened to you? Surely you did not escape whole.”
The girl revealed her ears and Una nodded in respect. “Why are you going to the courthouse, Una?”
“My friend Millie shifted into a kitten a few days ago and ran into the forest. But she went missing for many days. While on patrol, a huntsman found her strangled body next to koala tracks. I want revenge for her death.”
The two girls entered the courthouse and walked to the table in the front to talk to the judge. The girl told her entire tale, about the leopard, the koala, and the bobcat. After she finished, the judge organized a hunting party to capture the leopard, the koala, and the bobcat and bring them to him to decide their fate. The girl and Una led the party along with a group of farmers and two huntsmen, Liam and Charlie. Charlie was the huntsman who had discovered the dead kitten.
The girl wished the hunting party had not included the dark huntsmen with their low brimmed hats and wide shoulders. Liam, the black-haired one, had hazel eyes with bright flecks of gold. Charlie, the blond one, had blue eyes so light that the sunlight created yellow spots around the pupil. That night, when she looked in the mirror, the rabbit ears had grown two inches. She pulled a summer cap over her head until it covered her eyebrows.
The next morning, they set out into the dark forest where the predators dwell. Where the predators dwell. First, they caught the leopard. When he saw them, he cried his raspy cry and dove underneath a group of bushes. But Liam caught his tail as he howled and screeched, and dumped him into a burlap bag.
The judge declared him guilty and the people cried in delight. The farmers wheeled him through the village on a cart and locked him into the zoo for children to look at with lollipops in their mouths. He would be set free after he shifts back into a man, but, for some, the animal’s fur has dug too deep into their skin to ever fall out again.
For the rest of the day, the girl sat beside the leopard’s cage, but she was too old for lollipops. She wanted to feel like a conqueror, but the yellow eyes peeking from underneath the straw and the raspy cough still struck fear in her heart. The rabbit ears strained against her cap. From across the road, she saw Liam striding in front of the afternoon sun, head bare, hair spilling over captivating, bright eyes and an easy smile splitting his pretty face. Suddenly, he turned to her and her breath leapt violently into her throat as she smiled shyly back. After he was out of sight, the girl scolded herself for such thoughts. “Keep yourself safe,” she told herself. “That is your first concern. Don’t be naive.” She turned back to the leopard, yellow eyes always boring through her cloak.
The next morning, they set out into the dark forest where the predators dwell. Where the predators dwell. Next, they caught the koala. His wide smile turned sour and he latched onto Una’s neck with a ferocious growl. She only stood and choked. Charlie caught his arms as he howled and screeched, and dumped him into a burlap bag. But Una did not thank the huntsman, still frozen in fear. Whiskers slowly punctured through her skin.
After many days of consideration, the judge declared the koala not guilty and the girl and her friend cried in horror. Over their sobs, the judge said that the koala was endangered and if he killed him or put him in a cage, the ecosystem of the forest would be
compromised. The koala never put the girl in danger. He would be released.
Una broke free from the girl’s arms and ran to the judge’s table, screaming, “What about my friend? What about my friend’s dead body, you coward?”
Without looking at her, the judge said also, “How do we know that that koala killed her? There are multiple koalas in the forest. This is all speculation. Remove her from my court.”
Charlie took Una out the door as she beat against his chest and cried. But the girl wiped away her tears and followed Liam out the courtroom. No one questioned the judge’s orders.
Liam and the girl walked to the edge of the forest past the village’s boundary. She stayed silent the entire way, her attraction to the man next to her overwhelmed by the powerful anger rising up from deep inside. She welcomed it. Anger felt better than fear. She turned away as Liam opened the burlap bag and the evil koala ran back into the forest with a screech.
“Hey.”
The girl looked up. Liam spoke to her, softly.
“I’m sorry for what just happened.” His pretty eyes were gentle, almost shy. “That was completely unfair.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I hope Una is alright.”
“She’ll be fine,” he said, suddenly smirking playfully. “Charlie will look after her. He’s been very considerate lately.”
She laughed. So, he was both attractive and perceptive. She fell deeper into her obsession. “Oh, I’m sure he has been.”
They sat in silence until Liam said again, “It’s so unfair what he said. All that nonsense about extinction. Who cares? They made their decision. Ugh, I can’t stand it. I should’ve. . .” He stood up and
paced back and forth.
“It’s alright. You did all you could do,” she said. “We caught the leopard. Now, we need to focus on catching the bobcat.”
“You’re right.” He sat down again.
“But thank you,” she said, smiling. Her heart pounded against her ribs. “You’ve helped so much. Thank you for everything.”
“Of course. Anything I can do.” They smiled at each other longer than necessary. She wondered how his hair stayed so perfectly draped over his forehead. He looked at her with the same gentle compassion as the koala. But she calmed the fear inside of her because he was a man. He was not an animal. He was a man. Those yellow flecks reflected the sun, not his madness. She might have been fooled again. But she wanted to take the chance. That night, the rabbit ears shrunk.
The next morning, they set out into the dark forest where the predators dwell. Where the predators dwell. Lastly, they caught the bobcat. Liam caught his tail as he howled and screeched, and dumped him into a burlap bag. But the bobcat shifted into a man and tore the bag. Instead, chains encircled his wrists and they marched him down to the courthouse.
The judge declared him guilty and the people cried in delight. But the judge could not put him in a zoo because he was not a full predator. But the townspeople whispered and gossiped and shunned him and drove him out of town with their jeers and catcalls. He was never seen again.
Once the trial finished, Liam went up to the girl and asked if she would attend a Spring Ball that he and Charlie had organized. As her hands trembled with excitement, the girl demurely accepted.
That night, the girl put on her mother’s dress. She braided her hair like she was her age, tightened a belt around her thin waist to show her long, long legs, and slipped pearly white heels on her feet. Before she set out, she put on her heavy gray cloak to hide herself until the dance. But, at the last minute, she threw it aside, telling herself that she was strong. And she was safe.
The dance hall glittered with moonlight. The girl found Una, sitting quietly near the window. A silky hood and silky gloves hid the fur that the girl knew grew from her skin. But they laughed together, trading stories from childhood. Finally, the dancing began. They twirled in each other’s arms, like they were little girls too young for partners. The girl held on tight, so Una wouldn’t slip away with the tide.
But, at the cusp of the fourth song, Liam approached, his brilliant hazel eyes glittering under falling raven locks and his strong hand extended to lead her to the floor. She wanted this. She wanted this so much she thought her heart would burst. The night passed in a glittery rush of laughter, of joy, of freedom, of glistening palms and cerulean dress. The faster she spun in his arms, the smaller the ears shrunk until they were mere tufts mistaken for hair.
After hours passed, Liam and the girl settled down on a bench in a corner and talked about everything and nothing. Charlie joined them, rubbing his hands together while staring at Una who was drinking pink punch while fixing her hair.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” asked Liam with a laugh. “Go get her.”
Charlie grimaced bashfully. “It’s not that simple.”
The girl giggled. Her hair was down. She had been smiling for hours. “It’s alright. Una is nice. You’ll be fine.”
Liam stood up and clapped Charlie on the shoulder. “You can do this. I’ll get you some punch,” he finished, smiling at the girl.
But when Charlie turned back to the punch table, Una was nowhere to be found.
Over the next few months, Liam and the girl walked together through the village past moonlit doors and purple trees. The townspeople whispered and placed bets. Slowly, the girl forgot the haunting visions that made her cower from the yellow flecks in his eyes. She cherished them now as chinks of sunlight brightening his beautiful, strong face. She felt protected and safe and free. She knew that soon, he would ask to marry her. The elegant wedding dresses in shop windows called to her.
One day, Una caught her after Liam walked back to his house with a “Goodnight!” Una scared her with her seriousness. She wore a shadowy hood and cloak, covering her whiskers and snout and beady eyes and fluffy tail. She had shrunk until the peak of her hood touched the girl’s shoulder. But Una shoved her back with a manic ferocity.
“You disgust me,” she hissed.
“Una?” the girl stumbled in surprise.“Walking with that man. Talking with him, laughing with him. Submitting to him. I thought you were loyal. I thought you cared about Millie. But now here you are, consorting with her murderer.”
“What are you talking about? Liam didn’t murder her.”
Una quivered with an animal’s mania. “Yes, he did. Him and his kind. You don’t know how quickly he could shift. I’ve watched it happen, time and time again. You’re never safe. What will you do when it happens? Will you have the strength to run away from the one you pledged your life to?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Liam is good.” The girl slipped past Una, but she blocked her again.
“How do you know? How do you really know?” Una stepped towards the girl, breathing on her neck. “They’re evil. All of them.”
“What about Charlie?” the girl pleaded, her voice thickening. “He loves you. He cares about you.”
“Does he? Does he really?” Una mocked. “Naive. I know what he really wants and I thought you did too. The scarlet necklace. The predatory urge. I thought you learned.”
The girl took a deep breath. “I understand what you’re saying–”
“No, I don’t think you do!”
“Let me finish. You’re cautious. And that’s good. But I don’t want to live like this. Constantly looking over my shoulder, thinking the worst of everyone, only out for myself. I can’t survive like that.” She straightened up with a steady stare. “And the predators in the forest don’t deserve the power we’re giving them.”
. ”“Fine,” Una screeched, “have it your way! Go off with your little wolf and ruin yourself. But I’ll always remember. What they did to Millie. . . I will never forgive that. So if staying alone for the rest of my life will protect me, then so be it!”
Suddenly, Una’s entire figure shrank, her clothes flapped free in the breeze, and a tiny gray squirrel scurried from under the folds and ran off towards the dark forest where the predators dwell. Where the predators dwell. So, the cycle continued.
The girl looked up and saw Charlie, shoulders hunched, hands trembling, eyes spilling over with tears. He saw everything. She hated the hopeless look on his face.
“Charlie–”
“Betsy”
Jessica Moore
Buttermilk Pancakes
Amber Landry
Are There Still Beautiful Things?
Rachel Noelle Johnson
What’s the difference between today and yesterday? Has the world become worse, or is it just that my frontal lobe is finally kicking into gear? They say it won’t be fully developed until I’m twenty-four, but I’m only twenty. Are there still beautiful things?
When did I become twenty? My mind flashes back. I remember brightly colored LED screens with Mickey Mouse flashing across, one Cheese-It at a time slipping into my mouth. I couldn’t help but smile, even though I tried to resist—pretending I was indifferent about going to school. It was fifteen years ago. A whole decade and a half has passed. Are there still beautiful things?
Every day feels the same. I wake up. I drive. I study. I attend classes. I spend time with friends. I go to club meetings. I drive again, shower, and then bed. Same day, different perspective.
Then someone asks me, “What do you do for fun?” And suddenly, I realize—I’m the most boring person ever. College has swallowed up my life. I’ve committed four years to studying Psychology. Is this what I really want to do? I used to feel so passionate about things, but now my motivation is slowly fading away. What happened to my interests—my special interests? The rock collection I wanted to complete, the face paint I’d wear before football games, or the nursery rhyme Saturdays at the library? Why do I
feel like I’m drowning in nostalgia when I visit that childhood library? It’s not the warm, happy nostalgia I expected—it’s tinged with sadness. Tears roll down my cheeks. But am I even youthful? I feel so old. Old enough to work at the library now. I used to think only old ladies worked there. I bite my lip, feeling overwhelmed with confusion.
Why? Why? Why?
Are there still beautiful things? Did I peak at seven? I used to never be noticed, but I also feared being seen. Why did I struggle with so much social anxiety as a child? There was nothing to fear. Now, I’m overwhelmed by the weight of the world, but it seems lighter now. Maybe I’ve learned how to carry it. Have I just learned to manage my anxiety? Who am I to complain? Maybe it was all just in my head.
I remember homemade sweet tea in the summer, the ice cold, but smooth on my tongue. It wasn’t like a piping hot drink; it had a warm freshness. My dad would pour sugar into the pitcher, calling me his sweet cake. I don’t have a nickname anymore. I brew chamomile tea now, with no sugar. Can I help you cut the grass, Dad? “No.” I just wanted to help. I miss that silly little girl, with a fatal grass allergy. I looked down at the bright green grass, like the saturation was turned up too high. I’d sit on my firetruck-red slide and go down. A blue butterfly landed on my nose. Are
there still beautiful things?
I remember the pocket change my grandfather would hide in random places around the house. I thought I was rich, sure that I could afford a Steve Madden purse. Of course, seven-year-old me could never afford one. Neither could twenty-year-old me. Three-dollar coffee makes me cringe.
Money matters now. But maybe a splurge once in a while is enough to remind me that there are beautiful things.
Has the world really gotten more dull? I went to the eye doctor just before college orientation. I thought my vision had just dulled with age. It turns out, I was blind. Glasses changed everything. Suddenly, I could see the world in sharper, brighter colors. What clicked inside me to realize that there are still beautiful things?
Life is a pinprick in the vastness of infinity. A flash of lightning in the darkness. Does it even matter? Despite all the questions I ask, I think it does. The decisions we make in this tiny moment, this brief flicker in time, matter. The small, lightbulb memories matter. They shape who we meet, the choices we make, and the impact we leave behind. It’s okay to question, because wrestling with those doubts makes us stronger and more thoughtful.
I remember swinging over a creek, too scared to jump. But I was high in the sky, with Pennsylvania stretched out below me. I took the plunge. There are still beautiful things.
