The Reynolds Young Writers Workshop at Denison University - Anthology 2025

THETIGER SMOKEDTHEPIPE

14 - JUNE 21,

INTHEDAYSWHENTHE

POETRY

NinaApple

AllmyBest

Ihopeyou’rehappiernowthanever

Ihopethebreezehumsajovialmelodybehindyouasyouwalkpastmyhouse

Ihopethechoppedterrainproceedingitremindsyouofallyoucutdown

Ihopeititchesandirritatesyourskin

Thesameskinthatrubbedagainstminebeneathmoundsofblanketsonyourpull-outcouch

ThesameskinwithwhichIdevelopedsuchplatonicfamiliarity

ThesameskinIyearntoclawatandgougeandgash

Ihopemyferocitytowardsyouscarsyoulikethepermanenceofourdecayscarsme

IhopeyouburninyourlamentthesamewayIburninindignation

IhopeitstingsanditcracksuntilIhopeitbettersandyourwoundsmendlikemine eventuallywill

IhopetheblackfringedjacketIonceborrowedfromyouremainsmethodicallyhungin thebackofyourclosetbecauseit'sbettertoperpetuallyputsomethingawaythanletit loungeinitsdamageandIcertainlyhopeyoulearnedthatthehardway. Ihopeyouthinkofmeinthedeadofnightasyouswiftlypullthecoversoveryourhead andwaitfortheruetostopconsumingyou

Orwillyouthinkofmewhenyoupassbymymotherandsheashesyouthetoothygrin youonlyeverknewonmyface

OramIjustarecollectionofwhatoncewasgood,nowwornoutanddesolate Ihopeyoundnewandbetterfriends

Ihopetheyhateyou

Ihopemyboomingvoicebouncesbetweeneachbarrierofyourbrain

AndIhopeyouacclimatetoitbecausethedestructionisirreversible ButintheendIhopeyoulearn

AndIhopeyourpastdoesnotspecifythenarrownessofyourfuture

AndIhopeyou’renevervoidofmyeverlastingdevotion

Ihopeyou’rehappiernow

Ihopeyou’rehappiernowthanever

NidhiBathla

mamasaid

mamatoldmeshecreatedus oneeggsplitintotwo atwentyveyearoldgirl agedbysomethingbesidestime mamasaidthatiwasdierent brightwasmyfavoritecompliment toheargrowingup readingwasmyfavoritethingtodo angelinaballerinaonthetv juniebjonesinmylefthand carridesandkatyperryeverymondaymorning alifetimesupplyofhappyhours apbskidsradioshowthatneverended mamatoldmeiwouldprobablybeokay theonlywordipaidattentiontowas probably becauseiprobablywouldn’tbe iwasscaredoflivingbut terriedofanythingelse iwasscaredofmyself andmaybeit’llstaylikethat forever meagainstme untilneithersidecanghtanymore

mamaputherdreamsinmyheart andheranxietyinmyhead createdawholethatiam perpetuallypiecingback together andeverythingitrytox everytimeitrytoxmyself iendupinthesameplace wonderingwhat’sreallymeanttobe heroneeggsplitintotwo

becameayolkandaneggwhitethat couldn’tgetawayfromeachother nomatterhowhardwetried iwasjustagirl withoutgiantstostandon sisterstoholdhandswith ihaveeverythingineed buti’mcollapsinginside whoamianyways butsomeonewho thinkstoomuch andactstoolittle whofearsthatshewillneverbe agedbyanythingbesidestime.

OliviaCarey

MyFleetingHome

Dinosaursviciouslychompedonfairies astheFloridasunwassayingfarewell Mysweatyhandsandthighs. Jeanshortsthatweretootight.

Thepolka-dotswimsuittopthatIhadwornallday. Thosegoggleswitheyelashessatbesideme

AntscrawledinbetweenmytoesasIsatontheporch, slappingmyskinashardasIcouldtogetthemo. Dirtunderneathmyngernails asIplacedthedollsdownonthechippedwood. Ilookedupattheseagullsastheyclimbedacrossthesky Icouldhearthewindmakingthepalmleavesbrushtogether. Wavespunchedthesandlikethesoundofaknife goingintoacoconutshellacrossthestreet. Thesmellofseaweedscorchesmynostrils, intertwiningwiththeplantainsandRopaViejacomingfromthecrampedhouse ThesoundofmusiconDuvalStreetmakesthegroundquiver. Themanwholivedinthebackyardsmelledlikecigarettes.

Theiguanas,eachhadnames,scurryingpastwiththemangoIhadleftout Iwonderwheretheyare IwonderiftheyknowwhereIam.

Iaminthecar,lookingoutthewindowasthesignsaysitsgoodbye. TearsthreatentoleaveasIwatchtheislandfadefromview.

Givemebackmyocean,theantsonmyfeet,andthesweatonmybrow Iwonderifthedinosaursmissmeandifthefairiesforgiveme.

GretaHaroldson

Bjerget(TheMountain)

Chest-deepinthesilentwater oftheØresund,musclesshuddering asmyngernailsrakeheatintomyforearms, Iscreamintotheboundlessskyaboveme andIamlimitless.

InmyhometowninTennessee, inthehumid,heavyheat andinthedrySoutherndrawls, therearenowordsforthis. Nowordsformyeyesburning inthenightair,formyhair, turnedfrigidbythewind, plasteredwetacrossmyspine. Nowordsforthesynthesis ofaweandinsignicance asModerJörðstandstallbehindme, swollenanklesforgedfrommudandmagma, bellowingasilentgaldroutintothedistance

But,inthesummerswithmymormor, whenIlayareverenthand onthewornrockofthelocaldysse andthinkofthepeople5,000yearsago whostackedtheseverystones whenIshakethesourbitsofsun-warmedrhubarb intothelittlegreenbinlledwithfruitandfruit-ies whenIsaveglassbottlesofelderowerjuice inthebagbesidethedoorforafewøre whentheineabilityofnaturebecomes particularlyunbearable, Isay,“Jegbliverbjergtagetafbjerget” . Iamboundandfreedbythemountain

Translations(DanishtoEnglish): Øresund-theSound,abodyofwaterbetweenSwedenandDenmark.

ModerJörð-MotherEarth.TypicallywrittenasModerJord,butspelledinOldNorsetoreectthe nameoftheNordicearthgoddessJörð.

Galdr-ritualisticsongsofNorsemythology,similartoahymnorpsalm

Mormor-grandmother.

Dysse-stoneburialmoundsfromtheNeolithicperiod

Øre-theequivalentofcentsinDanishcurrency.

Jegbliverbjergtagetafbjerget-Literallymeans‘Iammountain-takenbythemountain’ Usedtoconvey feelings of rapture for the natural world, regardless of if the subject is a mountain. The use of a mountainasasymbolofawederivesfromtheveryatlandofDenmarkandimpliesanappreciation forEarth’sfeaturesthatisnotlimitedtoone’shomeland.

AmericaFirst

Manhasfoundroadkill, shotitthroughthehead,hungit onhistrophywall.

HelenHe

妹妹 (youngersister)

onceIkneltbefore thethousand-armed 观音, myforeheadbrushing againstthesaronprayermat, itswoventhreadsunravelling whereathousandpeople musttoohaverestedtheirheads, heartsalwayshungry,eachbeat echoing,thoughBuddhawarned attachmentsarethesource ofsuering.Butthebittertaste ofthemomordicacharantia isthereasonIseekit, soIlightincenseathergoldenfeet andtellhermyonlyrequest.

mymother’sbodyswells withlife,asoftheartbeat, growing,untilachildwasborn, jade-greenbirthmarkscircling heranklesandwrists Iheldyourtinybodyagainstme, brushedfeatheryinkhair fromyoursquintedeyes, andsuddenly mylife,divided; thedaysbeforeyouandnow. onceImusthavenotknownyou, thoughsuchmemoriesnowevademe. Iwouldratherdefy 孟婆 herself thanforgetthesoundofyoursweet

laughterandcrescentmooneyes. forIsweartoyou,even 迷魂汤 couldnotforcemysoultoforgetyours your 姐姐 (sister)wouldchoose toberebornintoathousandlifetimes ifonlyatthedistantpossibility ofmeetingyouoncemore

AsherHill

I’llstopbotheringyou,theseareTherapyProblems

Let’sstartwiththerst.

Italktoomuch,and Myvoicepierces

Theair,asIwringitoutand FlinchasIhearitecho

Backtome,myback Stretchespastmylimitso Ibenditlowandoneday Iknowfor surethatitwillbreak,

Listen,Next, Myteethgrindand Yellow,nocopperpatinajust Flakesofskindicedotheapplecore, Third,orisitstillthesecond, IdiscussifIshouldveilto Usmyaches,orifyoucouldjust TellmewhyIhatemybody,whyIget nohipsnobreasts,no Curves,nosymmetry,nor Restfromallthewantingof ThatspacethatIneedshaped Andifitbreaksohwell,it’sthefourth Now,butdon’ttheyallblend Together,Istartwonderingifsimple CaringispermittednowI’m WorryingIdon’tloveyouenough,Ilove youmuch,toomuch, andmyeyestoo

Shadedinmyskullto Seethegood,I Seethegood

Aswrong AndifIdon’tit’s Fartoomuch, Iseemyselfas

Fartoomuch, Andifitallshouldfallas Appleskin,teeth-achingrust Iovershare.

Sorry; I’llworkitouteventually.

MiahKnight

sisterhood

it’soctoberandtherainis

droppingmarblesonthetraintracks

we ’re(fourteenseventeeneighteen)likeitmatters, likewearen’tjustpiecesplayingatbeingwhole. thesunissetting.

we ’redancingwithoutmusic:acliché butit’sjoyandi’monyourshoulders beneathwaterfallinglikeprovidenceorpromise. it’syouandmeandhim threebirdsonawire, mycheeksushedwarmandpressedtoyourhair. iwonderifi’lleverstopcallingyoufamily thecold’ssoakedpastmymusclesintomineral whereicanhardlyfeelit(isaidthatinthelastone, iguessi’manythingbutnumb) andthere’snothinglikedancing tokeepupyourbreathing,y’know?

ourfeetdisturbpuddlesandourvoicescrackthesky intoiceandlightandisupposeionlyeverwantedyou tobeproudofme

theraindropsmarblesonthetraintracks andihopeyouneverputmedown.

(threebirdsonawire,thentwo,thenoneandoneand)

HarryMoss

TheGreatAmericanPatchworkQuilt

Brown

Youwillneverseesomanyshadesasfromanairplane

AboveColorado,approachingDenver,andbelowtheclouds

It’ssquares

Squaresandrectanglesandtheoddlittlesquiggle

Androads,lacerationsblackandbeige

Carvedwithgreateortintotheeshthatisdirt

Teemingwithants,redyellowsilver

Andbeetleswithgreatboxyabdomens

Somuchofit

Somanysubdivisions

Inthemiddleofaeld,alonetree

Itisofanolderworld

Arelic

AvalancheGhosts

Summer

ColoradoSummer

Thetreesstandtallandproudinoverlappinglines

Notaforestbutamob

Living

Butnotbreathing

Butgivingbreath

Andbetweenthesegatheredcrowds,thesegreatswathesofgreen

Whicharenarrowuptop

Andwideatthebottomwherethemountainsmeetatgroundandriversow

Thereareclearings,variedinsizeandnature

Somearenurseries,wherethelittlechildrengrowouttheirfuzzygreenhair

Raisingtheirarmstotheskyfortheveryrsttime

Andsomearegraveyards

Fillednotwithheadstonesbutcorpses

Brownandweathered

Echoesofapocalypse

Ofsnowrushingdown,awesomeandterrifying

Tearingthefeetofthecrowdfromtheirnativedirt

Andinsummer

Coloradosummer

Whenthesnowiswater,thetreesgrow

Sidebysidewiththeyoungandthedead

Sidebysidewithavalancheghosts

Starfall

AColoradosky

Andtheuniverseisdying

Starsblinkingoutonebyone

Byone

Byone

It’sourfault

Itisthenoxiousbreathofthesteelmouths

Coughinguptheshitwestutheirstomachsfullof

Thefumesreachupwithsmokyhandstowardsalltheprettylights

Clenchingwithforcetobruise

Andchokethem

Andtheygasp

Andsputter

Anddie

Andfalltoearth

Wherewepickthemup

Andlightthemup

Andputthenightskybacktogether

Piecebypiece

Citybycity

Civilization

Fromtheirdreamlesssleep,fromthevelvetyembraceofdarkblankets

Doweripthestars

Andthestars,oncedead,willbemountedonboxes

Concreteandsteel

Endowedwithlifenewandfalse

Theywillbedeled

AlexanderMuñoz

ThePoeticProposal

T’engarlandyouoncewiththislaurelis

Thehonortopromiseyoumylife'stime

Iwishtocrown,andringyoumydearmiss

It'sthissacredeld,withnowordorrhyme

Itrust,andacclaimyoutheonlysoul

Whomknowsthevalueinthisgemwonder Soletmeproposethis,ourcommongoal

Forourspiritsfullloneanother

Toengraveourdreamsofoursocial

Let'spresentthisveinofloveinterweaved Partforthapromisetotheheartssymbol

Astimelessemblemsformthiscircledwreath

Withthis,anythingofmine,willyoursbe Letchurchbellssing;todeclareIlovethee

MyScurvyinducedlife

Thisbrittlevesselsailsuntilbedrest

Withheartbrokenscopesextendingamiss

Therestivescoutforthetidalempress Ileadrulesearchtothesapphireabyss

Iwishforherbeacontoenlighten

Mybatteredbrain,mysilentbeatingheart

I'llpourmylife,toforecastsomeSiren

Thereigningmusetostartmysailingthought

She'sthepromisedpassionIhavesensewished

Thewilltoowwithlife'sintimacy

Thepressuredscentofswiftairinthemidst

Thedesiretodrivethroughintricacy

Timelywhitestrandsgiveintowistfulness

I’mcabinedtopureparanoia

Canmyironwillholdwaterpouredstress?

ShouldIsinkdespairwitheuphoria?

I'mleftponderingmyfrozenestate

UntilIsightthesporadicblackswan

Stirringmysenseasthetidesundulate

Andresolvemywateredwilltomoveon

Atlast,Istepontofamiliarland

Andresolvemywateredwilltomoveon

MichelleNguyen

MorningAlarmsthatIHate

Myphonealarmmakesashort, sharpsoundinthemorning, jarringmysoulfrommybody, compellingmyhearttojump Yetsomehow, it’sthesameheatinmycheeks duringourhourlesscalls

AndasItelljokesthatareabsolutelyneverfunny, relativesilencellingtheroom, youletoutadisgruntledgroan tolightenthemood. Ceaselessly,myheartutters. Andattheendofmylifetime, onceyouhavelongpassed, theywilltethermetoanEKG. Asteady,rhythmicbeeping. UntilthenurseasksmeifIrememberyou, yourvoice, thewayyoustep

AndIwillsayno, butthewaveswilljumpandsputterexactlyhowyoulaugh

Senses

Whydowehavefivesenses?

Becausethereismorethanoces, cubiclesconningourconcerns. Morethanmundanepatterns, thaniterationininnitecycles. Becausehumansaremadeformorethansimplethought. Andmedicine,law,business,engineering, theyarenecessarypursuits. Buttohear, smell, see, touch, taste.

Toaccuratelyencapsulateourfeelings ofbeauty,love, isthesustentationofthesoul

TranslationsofLove

Idon’tknowtheVietnamesewordforlove. Itisnotoftenused.

Withmypoor,awfullybrokenVietnamese, Icannotrecallthewordaseasilyasriceandgoodbye. “Yêu.”

Ah,yes,thatistheword. It’ssupposedtobepassionate, sointensethatthefeelingescapestheconnesoftheletters. Itovertakestheuandbubblesoverthee.

Toostrong, neverspoken.

Ourcultureistoouncomfortablewithaection.

Toexpresslove,Vietnameseturntotheknife. Insteadoftheheart,weaimforthestomach. Cuttingapples,slicingbread,cookingdishes, actsofserviceiskey

Buttherearerareoccasionswhenanotherwordisspoken. “Thương. ”1

InEnglish, itissupposedlysynonymoustolove. ButEnglishisoneofscience, whileVietnameseisoneofsentiment, sototranslateitmeanswarpingit, disorientingit forforeign,unintendedeyes. Itisnotmeanttomeanlove.

Themeaningdoesn’ttwistovertheletters. Itradiates.

Themeaningdoesn’thityouintheface. Itisnotaslap.

It’sasortofsacriciallove, thekindthatissubtle, slipsbywithoutknowingit. It’sthelovethatwedon’trealizewefeel untilit’sentirelytoolateand wearesoutterlyscrewed

1Thương(v.):awordforlovethatimpliesadeeper,morecompassionate,andlonglastingformofaection.Subtleandseless,itisonlyusedforabond thatsurpassesanythingworldly Itrequiresresponsibilities,becausethedemandedsacricesmeantheloveisendless

AdrianaSarraf

JustSampletheFlavors

Acrystalcontainer, etchedwithpetals, withholdsthelapisjelly. Thelidpopscrisply,and expansiveblueberryelds areconjuredbyitsaroma Withallherallure, sheremainsrestrained, andindesireofhercomplement

Agreedyboyspreadseagerly Frankensteinandhisbutterknife, underuorescentkitchenlights.

Toast,burningngersslightly, stackedonaplate, andjelly, blushinginbluehues.

Toastcoatedinblueberry, theirrebirthfromplaintoextraordinary, belittled.

Simplyaninsolentboy’sbreakfast.

Byweek’send, hegrumblesthat “It’sinadequateandinsipid.” Hisattentionrenders onanewcraving, anewlove

Adierentjellyadornstheshelf Afruitglisteningredonthevine.

Theexhilaratingandsweetstrawberry awaitstheravenousboy,

butthemonotonyreturns.

Thejarlefthalffull, leavingthestrawberryspoiled

So,theboy relishesinpeach, Then,raspberry,lemon,andg Justavorstosample, butnevertoembrace.

Adulthoodbeginswhen…

Anapartment’slockclicksopen (AsharedbeginningofAmerica’sunexpectedfuture) Filledbycookbooksfromhousewarmings andabluebabycarriage,inhabited byaboyinthebedroom’scorner.

Tippytoesandwidewindowsassistthetoddler’sglimpseof 4oorsbelow,a“MarchforOurLives”protestinDC Roomtempcarrotmushandrefrigeratorgalleries of“mommy,daddy,andme”asbakedpotatoes.

Therstdayofkindergartenwith ababyboyweeping,graspingmother’sarm Crisscrossedonrainbowcarpet,hesits, frozenwithagun’sclickbehindhishead.

IrisTanner

Homecoming

It’sfunnyhowfourhours

Feelslikealifetimesliding Oyourshoulders. Andthesecondthecardoor

Opensandthecoolairofthemountainsspills

Intoyournose,lungs,soul, Youarefouryearsoldagain, HomeinthearmsofAppalachia, Motherandmuseandancientseabed.

Backinthemeltysweetnessofswirlsoft-serve Smearedacrossyourface, Ontherestaurant’swoodendeck BeforedivingintotheGreenbrier,thosesinging Headwaterssoclearyoucanseeyourfeet Tiptoeingacrossthepebblesbelow

Backtonightsspentinyourmama’slap Asgirlsthatmightbeyouoneday Sitaroundareandnd twowomen’sdreamsmadereal Upatopahillinthewoods.

Backonwalksthroughthewoodsinsearch

Ofsecretwaterfallsandwildblackberries

Thatpoponyourtongue,tartandwarmfrom Daysspentunderthesamesunasyou

Backtothescreechoftricycletiresthat Echothroughtheoperahouse,pedals

Driveninendlesscirclesbytinylegsandgleamingeyes,thesame Blueasyourdadstackingchairsalongthewall.

Backtosummerandsweetnessandapieceofyourself

Thatwillalwaysbefouryearsold

EmmersonTodd

OnLettingGo

Intimemercuryows

Throughhandsthatso

Desperatelycup

Coolliquidtoparchedlips

Tonguejutsout

Lapsuplessthanislost

Tothecruelfatethatbecomes Anythingclutchedtootight Increvicedandcallousedngers

Oncepure,nowgrownandsticky

Withknowledgethathealingisa Farcethatintendstodisguise

Cloakandkeepwhatshouldslipaway

Likewhenchildrencrack Temperaturegaugesonceramic Todrinkfromthefaucetof Medicineitselfand Silverjumps,swirlsandclings Tothefoldsofyoungthroats Graspingatthemuntilthey Dashtotheirmothersthe Songsofhealthslippingo Metallictongues

Andthechildrenof MydreamsaredeadandI Amtheonetoblamefor Iwastheoneto

Holdtheiryouthinmy Aginghandsandtryto Keepthempure

Buttheyslipped

Throughmyngersand Drownedinthepuddleat

Myfeetofeverythingelse Timehastakenfromme

Jelly

Blueberryjamonababy’s Face

Shewillthumbitoand Run

Toyou,thebrother,withraspberry Caughtonyourknees,your Scream

Soundingo,crackingcanningjars

Hidden Belowwoodindentedbyfoot Falls

Fromshelvesscaledtoreachberry Goodness

Me,won'tyoubeagoodboyand Fetch

Themulberrycompoteyouweremeantto Retrieve

Foryourmother,whoasksofyou

Justthis

Onething

JessieWang

WhentheWindCame

Iseeher, leavesdancingdownfromthetrees, cloudsdriftingabovethemountaintrail.

Ihearher, birdsongtinglinginmyears, themurmurofastreambytherocks

Ifeelher, thesoftpatsheleavesonmyskin, acoolnesstricklingthroughmybody

Shewasthere, guidingeachstep, asIhikedthroughstoneandsky

Whenthewindcame, timeunraveled, myeyesblurredwiththelight

Itwastheendoftheschoolyear, Iwatchedmyfriendsintheirgraduationgowns, eyestwinkledastheywavedgoodbye.

Thewindsweptacrossthelawn, liftingpetals,scatteringthesky, partingpeople,carryingthetime.

Thoughshetakestimeinherarms, shealwaysbringsnewlife, backinbloom.

Perhapswhenshekissesmycheeksagain, andIfeelthewindoncemore, Iwillhavequietlygrown.

Yet,Iwouldstillbeme,

feelingthatwind, fullandfree.

Isteppedothatmountainpath, thehikehadended.

Ipattedthedustfrommypants.

Lookingup, aheadwasthevast, bluesky.

Agustofwindpassedby Itguidedme outoftheshadows,intothelight.

NatalieWeis

Icarus

Stretchedlikestrandsofsilk

Statueturnedtoeshwarmedbysun

Lightluminousmoltenraysof

Heatspurintomotionofdizzying

Heightstotumbleintothesea

Wingsunsealedfallingfromight

Stillnessgatheredintoelectricityas

Firedancesbrightentheshadow

Asiceundulatesuncoilslikethetangle

Ofheadphonesasthespincontinuoushopeful

Lifeburstintoenergygreeneverlasting

Staygold

7thGradeEnglishTeacher

“Shownottell”

Intenselyirritatingsometimesyoucan’tsee

Likegrayeyesthehintsstillpresentin

Abrown-graycombinationandyoudon’tknowabout

Thatphotoshoppedpictureofyouoatingaroundtheclass

ThatcaptionreadingDevilTeacherwithyouryearbook

Photomanipulatedtogiveyouhorns,atail,apitchfork, Andamesaroundyou

Youwouldn’tlikeitifItoldyouthough

Wouldyou,fortunethat“shownottell”isyour

Mottothoughyoudon’thaveapenchantforthe

Dramaticnoairbutyouwouldn’tlikeitifItold

Youthough

Wouldyou

Youdevilfacedteacher

Youunkindsoul

Soulreminiscentofadevil

Devilteacher

Youwouldn’tlikeitifItoldyouthatthough

Wouldyou

EllieWomack

ALMAMATER

theskyisbluebutthisboydespisesskyblue aregalroyalbluesingstohim likeahymn,asortofsong hisacnepronefacepuckersandfallswhendarkerdigniedbluesfail becausehowcouldhollow-huedskyprevail

soonthatdeterminedbluewillbehis andhewillwearthechiseledhornsatophiscrown alongsidetheerycapeofsky notyettouchedbydawn

astimetrudgeson hewillrememberthis hissofpridehefeltwhenchosen whilecrouchingunderatoughtentinanticipation underrainandsnowforthat electricmomentwhentruevalor willchallengeaporcelain-facedenemy, skywithasugar-lacedsneer

thatrivalrywhichtranscendsallreason orhopeofreconciliation sowecallittreason thedeepagainsttheshallow thetwowaterswhonevermix andyettheyaremadeofthesamestu therainoftheagesandofallourtears theirtearsarethesaltyandtrue butIcrydarkblue

becausebluecuredthisboy widenedhisairways hecan’timaginehowtheblue’ssuccor willlivelongandhisdaughterwillpucker herfaceatthatsamesablefailure

yearspasttheroyalblue

pastthelessimportanthues hisdaughterwillyearn shewillburnitall forthatsameshade

herfatherwouldgladlyripthebluefromhispast andpaintitonhisdaughter’shandssoshecouldlive butitisnothistogive thecolorchoosesitscanvas

JosephineWong

Amushoneysuckle

Thedropsofsweatrollingdownmyskinalmostmakemewanttolaugh.I’vebeenvisitingSingapore mywholelife–alittleOhioprecipitationwillnotbethethingthatdoesmein.Nevertheless,Ifeellike I’mveagain,backbeforeIwasusedtotheprickly,icky,stickyfeelingofhumidity.LikeI’mve, beggingmywayintoadressandwhining“Mama,dowehavetoeatoutside?”,butthenwegetoutof thetaxi.

Ifeeltheheavyairmeltaway.

Thegrassisgreengreengreenand“Oh,thattreeisso.Tall!”andI’mturningtomymotherbecause

“Look!Thatbenchisjustmysize Likethefairiesputitthere,

justforme.”

Ieyetheredbundlesonthebranchaboveme,lteringthelightthatslipspastthecanopy.Yes,littleme wouldhavepluckedahandful ortwo,andmaybelledherpocketstoo assoonasshesawthem Fairy-blessed,shewouldhavecalledthem.Shewouldhavethoughtthemmagiclanternsorfairyapples orprotectionsagainstthemonsters,justlikeinherLunarNewYearstorybook

Ican’thelpbutglancearoundforsignsoffairies–asuspiciouslyplacedleaf,astructureoftwigs,acircle

ofmushrooms Maybethatmoss-coveredlogisthetownhall,andthosefungiarethebalconies

AndmaybeIshouldgrowupalready,andmaybefairiesaren’treal,andmaybe itdoesn’treallymatter at ` all.

IrisXiong

WhentheFutureIsReal

Inthemomentofanormalday,Iamsitting intheclassroomstaring outsidethewindow.Afaint reectionofmyfacewispsintheglass, ripplinglikewater,silentandcold.Suddenly theteacher’svoicedronesintoafoghorn, louderininection,meaningallthesame, andwhenIbegintolistenagainitdies quietly,naturally,woodrottingbythesecond, anintrusivecargoshipaginginto anoldark StillinitsmovementslikeIam stillatmydesk.ButthewaterIreston doesnotwaitformetosail.Still becauseIamtrapped–no,nottrapped, moreheavy,weigheddown,prey twitchinginaspider’swebofchance,notcaught, justwantingtofeeleachstrandofsilk,bloodred, toodelicateandholdingthesoftnessoflife, tooheavywhentherearetoomanylives,manifesting inamillionunusedkeys,surrounding, hangingoofredstring,taunting intheirringing,atabreeze,and themetalisrustingwaftsofpossibility, untoldlivesandunreadstories,theweight ofeachfalling,onebyone,nality incoldnesshittingpliantwater, rippling.

ZoyaZamir

MyLifeasaBullet

Iamhardmetalpackedtightlyinthecoolslotofaguntoproliferateman’spurpose

Iamthecatalystforredriversandviciousdestruction

AndIwasmadefordeathandscorchingmetalinhumanhearts.

Crumblingbonesandlivesintodull,silverpowder.

Gunpowder

Gunpowderthatwillfuelmeandinduceanevengreatermassacre.

Ihavebecomethetoytossedaroundbymen

Playedwithwhentheydon'tgettheirway

Andwherepeople’stonguesarepulledandheldsilent.

Mysolepurposeistoconsecratethekill.

SoIneverarguedwhenchildrencryandhidewhentheyhearmyscrappedandscreamingwings

IknowthehorrorI’veensuedwithmysharpslaughterandpoisonedpenetrationoflifeitself.

Iknowmyharshsteelwillalwaysspikefearininnocenthearts,

AndImayhaveweepedforthemifI,too,hadone.

IknowIwillalwaystakeandtake,neveroeringanykindnessorsolace.

Andmostofall,IknowIwillneverbeabletodoanythingabouttheplagueIspread

Butletmeaskyouaquestion,dearhuman.

IfIambutatoolfordeath,whyshouldIbeguilty?

Iasktheman,whatuseisthereinblamingthematchfortheame’sfury?

Isitthatthemanwouldrathershifttheblamethanadmitthebloodonhishands?

Ibegananswer.

Imustknow,amIworththisdegradationwhenIbecomeonewiththatpoursoulbeforetheysiftinto death?

IknowIwastheonetopiercetheskinandcommittheslaughter

ButwhenIsoaredthroughtheirbodyandintotheirheart,Iresignedintodeathwiththem

AndIwillstayhere,foreverfoldedandpresentwiththem, Strangely,maybeevenmorbidly…yetdevotedly

Andthatismorethananyheartlesskillercouldsay

NONFICTION

AsaArdayo

Waterlilies

My olderbrothers,withmischiefdancingintheirvoices,woulddaremetowalkdownthe slopedgrassandpeeroverjustwherethegrasskissedthepondandtouchalilypad Ineverunderstood thebeautyunderthesurface untilIsawtheundersideofmyrstlilypad.Thesaturatedgreenlily padscatchbeamsofsunlight,asiftheyweremeanttobeadmiredwhileperchingblotchypastelpink owers, delicate, like crowns Theyhuddledingroupsliningthepond,oatingtowardeachother, swayingbackandforthbutneverstraying.

AsachildIwouldventureouttothelargepondoverlookingmybackyard,strollingacrossits freshlypaintedwhitebridgewhiletossingbitsofwhitebreadattheminnowsthatwouldsurelybe overtakenbythelarger,dominantcatsh.Iwouldpointoutthewaterliliesoatingabovethemurky greenwaters.Inoticedthelongwirystemtetheringthepadtothepondoor.Isawthesystemofcells in rows circling the underside of the pad The ways that theirstemswouldsupportthemasthey navigatedthewatersallowedthemtorestwithoutfearofbeingledastraybytheunpredictableclimate orthedomineeringcatsh Isawmicroscopicworldsinthesepads

Andthatnight,Ididn’thavethewordsforit,butIunderstoodwhyIneverstrayedfar.My mothers silent hands that would knowingly hold minetherstdayofschool,brothers'nudgesor sharedlooksatthedinnertable,myfathers’kindwords,anchoredjustthesame

TallulahConolly-Smith

ForJuan

YouarewhyIcan’twrite.Ihaven’twrittenanythingfordays.AndIknowit’sbecauseofyou, withasmuchcertaintyasIknownothingIcanwritewillmakeyoustay IrememberforyourfteenthbirthdaywetooktheFallthewaydowntoConeyIsland.It’s diculttowriteabout.Wasitamarvelousday?Yes.Butmarvelousdayswereeveryday,andwhenIgot home,Ifellasleeponthecouchwithoutwashingthesandoutofmyhair Writingwasnotonthe brain,becauseIonlywritewhenI’mfallingapart,whenIneedlettersandwords,andinthosebrilliant summer months, I felt as though I’d never need anything else ever again. We gave you our best summers,andnowyou’retakingthemwithyou

Weburiedyou!Weburiedyousoonlyyourfacewaspeekingout.Andthenwerefusedtohelp youup,pretendedthatyouweresuddenlygone,goneanddisappearedandsixfeetunderanddead. Whentheotherguysstartedsprinklingsandontoyourface,creatingalittleplatformofitonyour sunglasses,yourgirlfriendcalledothejokeand,laughing,helpedyouupandout.

Yourgirlfriend Sheknewbeforetherestofusdid Shewassogoodthatsheletyoutellus yourself. She wassogoodthatshepretendedthatnothingwaswrong.Nowshetellsmethatshe’s angry,thatshehatesyouforleaving.Shekeepsthatnoteinherphonecase,youknow;thatbluepost-it inwhichyoutoldheryoulovedherforthersttime Sheissogood

YoutoldmethatitallstartedinruralMexico,withacolorTV.Yourgrandfatherbroughtit home.Itwastheironlyvaluablepossession,anditwasabigdeal.Lessthanayearlater,yourfatherfell illanddroppedoutofschool Helaybedriddenformonths Therewasnomoneyfordoctors;the colorTVhadsentthemintodebt.Bythetimeherecovered,hewasfartoobehindinschooltoevergo back,andsohestartedworkingintheelds.Hehadarst-gradeleveleducation,outthereinthesun. Andthere,yousay,begantruegenerationalpoverty Inmyluckylittlemind,Ipictureyourfatherasa youngboy,runningthroughtheeldsonrainydays.Hetiltshisheadbackandextendshisskinnyarms tothesides,welcomingthecoolwateronhissunburntskin.

YoucanreallytraceitallthewaybacktoacolorTV?I’dask That’stragicallycinematic I

couldwriteaboutit.Youtoldmenotto.Youdidn’tthinkitwasinteresting.Yourfatherhadarstgradeleveleducation,andthatwasalright.SavetragedyforShakespeare,yousaid,andsavecinema for,Idon’tknow,theJurassicParkguy.

Youtoldusstoriesofyourfamily.Theirmisfortunesoundedalmostctional,somiserableand unlucky,andyou’dmakejokesoutofit.Ilaughed,becausedeepdown,Ididn’tbelieveyou.HowwasI to believe that so much calamitycouldbringaboutsuchaperfectspirit?AndIwas,am,awriter, thoughImaynotbeonetomorrow.SoIsaweverythingintechnicolorction.

I should have remembered that precious stones are pulled from the ground, should’ve rememberedthatbeforeSpring’sarrival,Winteralwaysclawsatthecityrst.Flowerscomefrom ice.Beautycomesfromthedirtbeneathourfeet.

Our groupoffriendswasalwayscinematic,becausewewereyoungandbrilliantandsawa Heaven waiting for us above the clouds. And now it’s tragic too, because we are still young and brilliantbutthereisnoHeaven,notanymore;becauseifwecan’tallgotogether,thenwe’llallfall. We’dbeenseekingHeavenallthistimebutwehadn’trealizedwewerealreadythereuntilyoufell

Thereisdeepgriefwherethereoncewasgreatlove.IkeepmyheaddownnowbecauseIfeel likepeoplelookatmeandknowI’mheartbroken.Thegriefranthroughme,all-encompassing,my veinsrisinglikesnakesinwater,varicose Iamtooyoungforthesetypesoftics Wearetooyoung You Arefartooyoung.Orareyou?Arewe?Whathashappenedtous?Arewenolongeryoung?

Thiswillkillusall.Soyouhavetoremember,please.Don’trememberhowwedied,buthow we lived RemembersittingintheparkacrossfromLAMSontheconcreteinthehandballcourts, laughingandsippingArizona.Remembercrowdedsubwayrides.Rememberlate-nightphonecalls. Rememberwalkshome.Weweresurroundedbylove.Rememberusplease,Iknowyouwill.

Goodbye,Juan Thankyouforeverything YouarewhyIcanwrite

CatherineCullen

ThePerfectPotion

I am sitting in Emily’sdriveway,waitingformymomtoforcemetogetoutofherwhite, slightlytatteredFordpick-uptruck Everyonealwaysasksmewhyshehasatruckbecauseshouldn’tmy dadhaveoneinstead?Theydon’tknowshe’salandscaperthough,someonewhoputsherheartand soulintocaringforeverything,notjustnature.Shehastaughtmewell.I’musuallyexcitedtotrynew things,butaplaydatewithsomeoneIbarelyknowmakesthepitinmystomachdeepen Emilyisanew studentatmyschool.Mysecondgradeclasshadrecentlywelcomedher,arrivingwithahugeboxof booksinherarmswithfrizzyyettamedhair,splitintotwoneatlybraidedpigtails.

IjumpoutofthetruckandopenthecharcoalcoloredgateintoEmily’sbackyard She’ssitting ontheground,inapositionweliketocallcrisscrossapplesauce,likeshe’sbeenwaitingforme.

“Hi,” I whisper withmyfeetturninginwardlikeI’mpigeon-toed,asIfeelmycheeksturn redderthantomatoes

“Hey,”shesays,givingmeaninsightintothemillionsofstarsandadventuresdeeplyembedded inherhazelbrowneyes.

Isitdownnexttoher,andthesameideasomehowsimultaneouslypopsintoourminds “Wanttomakepotion?”

Wepracticallysprintintohershedandgrabanythingwecanndthatisliquid.Igathersparkly nailpolishandsunscreeninmyarms,whileEmilygoesintotheminirefrigeratortondabottleof water.Wemeetinthesamesecludedspotonthegroundsurroundedbybushes.Ifeellikemyself,likea realkidwhenI’mwithher.

Wemeticulouslymeasureouteach“ingredient”withourhearts Theneonpinkandgalaxy themed nail polishes that sparkle when hit withjusttherightamountofsunlightandtheslightly orangesunscreenthathasn’tbeenusedinagesarestirredwithsmallstickswefoundintherepit.The sparkleofthenailpolishtransferstotheglimmerinoureyes AsEmilymixesthepotion,Itakethe aluminiumcanofsunscreenandstartsprayingthefence.

“Look,it’slikespraypaint,”Itellhergiggling.

Shejoinsme,aswerunaroundthebackyardsprayinglinesofsunscreen,likewearedecorating achristmastreewithgarlandsandstringsofwarmyellowlights Wefalltotheground,outofbreath, butoursmallbodiesarelledwithlaughterandlove.

“Whatintheworld,”Emily’smothershoutsasshestepsoutside. Herfacelooksanythingbuthappy;thewrinklesaroundherfrownareprominent.Sheruns overtowherewearelyingandtugsEmilybyhershirtsosheissittingup.Islowlycrawltowardsthe corneroftheyard,butitisnouse Icanhearhermother’sharshwords,thescorning,theanger,and the disappointment inherforruiningthemanicured,perfectblackfencebecauseitisstainedwith whitestreaks,butinoureyes,itisbeautiful.SheleavesEmilyinthemiddleoftheyard.Islowlycrawl closertoher

Herbodyisturnedawayfromme,butitisrisingandfallingeversoquickly.Igentlyturnher towardsme.Theraindropsoftearsfalldownhercheeks,andherhiccupinginbetweensobssomehow accentuatesherfurrowedbrow Sheneedsme Ipracticallyjumpasmyarmshesitantlywraparound her,butinsecondstheybecomeunbreakablechains,aninvisiblestringpullingustogether,mending somethingdeepinsideourhearts.

KateDiller

Leaking

Thatceilingisnevergoingtobexed.Dayandnight,trashcans,scatteredaroundthestudio, attempttocatchthecontinuousdripping Istandamongmyclassmatesattheballet Myeyesreect thelightinthemirror.Theyaremirrorsthemselves,pavinganever-endingpathintomydreams.The strong,rushingriveroferypassioninsideofmerefusestoslow.Butsomethingelsehasalreadyleaked intome Ithasagriponmyleftkneeandneverletsgo

“Okay, let’s do my standard for warm-up jumps,” my teacher says to the class. “Two-inrst-then-two-in-second-then-fth-then-three-changement-than-eight-entrechat.” He peers through thecrowd Itrytohide,butheseesme “Besmart,”hesays “Youreallydon’twanttohurtthatknee anymore.”Myheadbobsofitsownaccord,asIgivehimathumbs-up–buthiswordscannotleak throughthewallIhavebuiltaroundme,cannotdripthroughmyself-createdroof.However,thepain can,everynowandthen,ndacracktoslipthrough

Ourteacherwantsustodothecombinationtwice,tobuildstamina,hesays.ButevenasIleap intotherstjumpofthesecondround,heholdsuphishand,andsaystome, “Ithinkthat’senough fortoday”Istop,inthemiddleofthestudio,fullofdancerswhoareactuallydancing,mythoughts jumbledlikeapuzzlewithmissingpieces,mycheeksredderthantomatoes.Heputshishandonmy shoulderandguidesmetothesideofthestudio,wherethereisnothinglefttodoexceptwatchthe battered,brokenceilingleak,withadrip,drip,drip

WhyWeDance

Wedanceforourselves.Whodoesn’twanttoythroughtheair,orturnasifyouwouldnever stop?Whodoesn’twanttobeapopularpeasantgirl,aswaninthemoonlight,orabeautifulprincess inhercastle?Andwhenashockofpainaresthroughus,weignoreit.Afterall,ourdancemeansmore tousthananything.

Wedanceforeachother.Wearelikesisters,sharingtoetapeandlamb’swoolandgelsquares, comparing pointe shoe brands, complimenting each other’s leotards andhairstyles.Wedance,and applaudeachother Wedance,andaimtoimitateeachother Andwhenoneofusstrugglestokeep up-when her body holds her back-when there is re consuming her toes, her legs, her torso-she remembersthereofloveforherartthatconsumedhersoulalongtimeago.

Wedanceforlove.Whatislove?Painandpassioncombined,successandfailure.Loveistheice onouranklesafteralongdayinclassesandrehearsals.Loveistherolewewinorlose.Loveisour friends,ourteachers,andourmentors Wedesiresuccess;wecraveit Partofuswoulddoanythingto feelthehotspotlight,tofeelitsendashowerofglorythattricklesthroughoureyelashesanddownour face,highlightingourhard-working,sometimesbreaking,bodies.

We danceforlife Weneedourdance Itisthefoodandsustenancethatkeepsusalive,the ambrosiaofouryouth-youth.Youthiswhatwefeartolose…youthiswhatwestrivetokeep…youthis whatwedesperatelyholdonto.Weseesomanylosetheiryouth,sooften.Wethink,thatcouldnever happentome,andyetitdoes Still,wekeepdancing Weseesomanygetinjured,sooften Wethink, thatcouldneverhappentome,andyet…itdoes.Whatdowedo?Well,wedanceuntiltheend.

KennediLindsey

Corkscrews

Iamsittinginfrontofthesalonmirrorinasmallbeautyshopinthebackofthemall.Mycoily hair swaddledunderablackmicrobertowel,dropletsofwaterstilltrickledowntothesaloncape aroundmyneck.Ihadn’tseenmynaturalhairsincethelastappointmentaboutamonthago.Before thepricklyroundbrushandscorchinghairdryerblowoutmykinkyhair,Iseemyhairrawandrealfor awholethreeminutes

Inanothermirror,I’mscrapingapaddlebrushovermycurlyhair,prayingthehairwill straighten.Butonlyfrizzyknotsweredisplayed,andmytearspaintedtheyoungdisheveledmosaic reectedinthemirror Mycurlsreachedthetopsofmyshoulders,butthenIneverworemyhair down.Ingradeschool,Iworemyhairinafewdierentstyles.Aroughslickedbackbun,twistedplaits withbubbleponytailholders,ortwothickFrenchbraidstiedwiththickelastics.But,Icherishedmost gettingmyhairdoneatthesalon

Mymother’sfriendownedtheshop,andIfeltspecialsittinginhischair;theotherwomenwho sattherebeforelookedsimilartome,asdidthehairdresser.Weallusedtreatmentstoconcealourhair, cutting,coloring,andstraightening,tilltherewasnothinglefttocoverup.Thehairdresserwould spendanhourandahalfcombingoutthetanglesinmyhair,andwouldnevercommentaboutthe stateofiteither.Afterthetreatment,hewouldalwayscomplimentthelengthofmyhair.“Inever knewyourhaircouldgrowthislong,”inasickly-sweettone.Ivisualizedthecondescensioncurlingo histongue ButInevercaredbecauseIwasnallybeautifulagain,whippingmyhairbackfromthe doubtsthatcreptintothecornersofmymind.

However,mymotheronlyallowedmetostraightenmyhairtwiceayearforChristmasand Easter. Brushingthetanglesfrommyhair,sheexplainedhowshewantedmetoembraceeveryringlet sinceshehadn’tappreciatedhers.Iwasyoung,soIjustrolledmyeyes,butbeneathallthatwasagirl whowastoonaivetounderstand

SonowI’mstillhere,infrontoftheoor-lengthmirror,hairstilldrippingfromthetowel, besidemeareanassortmentofhottools,atirons,curlingwands,andthinandsharphairscissors, swimmingintherefreshingbluedisinfectantsolution.Inaswiftlift,myhairisrestingonmy shoulders,stillsoakingwithwater.Butthetightcorkscrewcurlswerenowdepleted,stilocksofstraw intheirplace,andmymother’swordsdissolvinginthedistance.

RubyMiguel

Lolo’sFruits

“Doyoulikefruit?”

“Yes,Ido,”Itellhim,restingtheDodgerbluemugonthegranitecounterofmygrandparents’ kitchen,therightcornerofmymouthtwistinghigherintomyunevensmile.Heshuesovertome, cutieinhand.Iwatchashistannedngers,wrinkledandspeckledbyage,pullbackthethickskinof thefruit Heplacestwohalvesofthesmallorangeontoapapertowel,hishandsslightlytremble I’d nevernoticedhistremblebefore.“Thankyou,Lolo.”

Lolo Notpronouncedthetraditional‘low-low’but‘lu-lu’,aremnantofmyoldersister’s mispronunciation.Shewastherstgrandchild.Iwasthelast.

Mychildhoodmemoriesliveinatechnicolorhaze.WestCovinaorLomaLinda,mytimewas spentpickingfruitswithLolointhebackyard

I’mhalfadecadeyounger.Thesoftpadsofmyfeet,notyettarnishedbyhoursofpassionand pain,scratchagainstthefakeplasticgrass.Istandinawe,lickingthedrippingsofmyavocadopopsicle asmydadandbrotherharvestguavasfromatoweringtree Iobservetheinstrumentinuse,alongstick withabasket-likeattachment.Myngerswerestickywithmilkygreenresidue.Thedryheatof SouthernCalifornia’ssunbeatsmyback;itswarmthisdierentfromKentucky’s,butIdon’tmindthe brittleairjustyet

MytimewithGrandmaandLolosmelledofpungent,freshlyfriedbeeflumpia,theirsmall, crispyshellscrunchinginmymouth.Thesweetjuiceofamangodribbleddownmyarmswhilemy teethsankintoitsbutteryesh,pulpandstringsweavingbetweencrookedtoothgaps Iinhaledplates ofSoupBonewithsteamyjasminericefordinner,savoringthesourcabbageandthetendermeat.I greedilyateavocadopopsiclesforbreakfast.Andintheafternoon,itwasalwaystimetopickfruitwith Lolo Vibrantcitrusesandtexturedskins,selectingtheplumIdesiredorthelemonofmychoice Ripe mangoes,persimmonsandpomelos,achandelierofgrapevinesinthegardenshed,bananaclusters hangingoveragazebo.

I’mthebabyofthefamily,numbernine,myyouthextendedbythewordsandattitudesof auntiesandunclesandoldercousins.Iwasspoiledandspokentothroughthick,adoringFilipino accents,andtheirvoicesweremusic Theirlaughsareamelody,Lolo’slaughgentleandGrandma’s infectious.Theydidnotsoundforeignorunnatural,tome,theywerehome.

Timedoesn’tfeelsolinearwhenyou’reyoung.It’sexponentialbutnotfast.Timeissubjected tothesidelines,notyetdictatingyourbodyormind.Lifewastartandcandied,myyouthprotected andpreservedinacrystalcoating.

I’mhalfadecadeoldernow Ifeeltheweightofageandthepassageofseasons Deadlinesand agendas,pressuresandapprehension.Daysdon’tfeeljellyandneverending.YouandIdon’tfeel undying.Wedon’tpickfruitslikeweusedto.

Ipullapartthecutieslices,poppingitscrescentsweetnessintomymouth Itsthinlmbursts, saporousacidityoodingmytastebuds.Yousmile,onecornerrisinghigherthantheother.You’re bringingmearedapple,thenaclusterofwinecoloredgrapes.Morecuties,alemonsliceandadashof honeyinmyhotgreentea Youslicemeabanana,freckledbrown Iprefermybananasgreener,but thatdoesn’tcrossmymind.YouaskmeifIlikeavocadoswithsugarandlemonjuice.Ofcourse,Lolo.

Ibiteintomyspoonfulofavocado,itsrichsmoothnessmeltingagainstthecrystalgrains,its nuttinessblendingwiththelemon’scitrus Mango

“Lolo,whenwillthemangoesbereadytopick?”

ViviMyers Brothers

ThePriusissecond-handandaordable,likeeverythingmybrotherandsister-in-lawown It’s stickyandfamiliarandhasStarWarsparaphernaliahangingfromtherear-viewmirror.Ilookdownat theauxmyyoungerbrotherandIsooftenfoughtover.Myolderbrotherwouldsmile,withasmallbit ofpanic,andtellustotaketurns Mysister-in-lawwouldraisehereyebrows,andaskwhenshewould getherturn.

It’sonlymeandmyolderbrotherinthecartoday.Drew,ishisname.Whenitisonlythetwo ofus,thereisalwaysamoreseriousatmosphereinthePrius Wetalkofwhatwasminethenwithour dad,whatwashisthenwithourdad,andwhatisournowinourrespectivelives.Wearethemost similarofoursiblings,andthereisacertainheavinessinthat.Webothaimhigh,webothhaveanxiety, andbothofourbrainsturnandturnandturnuntilwecanndasolutionthatworks

But,somedays,therearenosolutionsthatwork.

He’ssittinginthedriver’sseatwhileIsitonthepassengerside,shotgun,myyoungerbrother wouldcallit Theradioisn’tonandIwatchtheroadasintentlyashedoes Thesilenceisstrongand questioning.Wasitnecessaryforittobelled?Orshouldwecontinuetostewinthelonelinessofour heads?

“Howareyoudoing,youknow,withit?”Iask,glancingupattherear-viewmirrorwherehis blue,blueeyesarefocusedontheroad.They’reasblueasourdad’s,bothoursisters’,andouryounger brother’s.Minearen’tblue,they’rehazel.Hiseyesickatme,inthemirror.

“It’shard,Imean,obviouslyyouknowthataswellasIdo I’vebeenseeingatherapistand trying to sort it out. You’ve been seeing one too, right?” His voice is smooth and I can hearthe undercurrentofhesitationandcarefulnessthathealwayscarriesinit.

Ihadbeenseeingatherapist,oneatschool Shewasn’tbad,perse,butshewasn’thelping She askedmequestions,andIanswered.Shedidn’tshowpityvisiblybutIlookedintohereyesandthose can’tlie.ShediagnosedmewithPTSDandItriedtodenyit.I’mnotaveteran,Ihadn’tgrownupina

broken home withbrokenglassandpillbottles.ButthenIcouldn’tstopseeing.Seeingtheblood, seeinghowhiseyesweren’tquitethatsamebluethatdayinthemorgue.Seeingabikewithawheel spinningandacar,acarofanykindbecauseIhadneverseenit MaybeitwasaPrius APriuscovered withthebloodofmyown,thebloodofmybr–

ThePriuscametoagentlehaltataredlight.Drewturnedhisheadtofaceme.Itwasn’tjusthis eyesanymore.Itwasn’tjusttheblueofmybrothersanymore.ItwasDrew.

“Yeah,um,I’mseeingatherapisttoo,”Isay,tryingtolookaway.

“Imisshimtoo,”hesaysback,asurenessinhisvoice “Itisn’tfair”

“Lifeisn’tfair.”

“Thatdoesn’tmakeitokay.”Helooksatmewithsuchatenderintensity.It’sasimilarintensity tothatofmyyoungerbrother,buttherehadneverbeenanytendernessinRoss’eyes No,therehadn’t everbeenanythingtenderabouthim.

“Hismemorygrowswithus,that’showIliketothinkofit.”

I’mtiredofwordslikethat,nomattertheirtruth Iwanttosaysomethingsnarky,something thatRosswouldsay.ButIlookbackintherear-view,backinmyolderbrother’sblueblueeyesandI realizeIdon’thavetimeforthat.NotwhenI’mstaringatthemanwhowasmoreofafathertousthan ourown,andsharedalossasgreatasmyown Ismileathim,alittlesad,alittlebroken “I’mglad you ’remyolderbrother.”

TéaVu

ThePaperListens

Towriteistounderstand.Tounderstandistolove.

Imaginethemhurlingtheirwordsofreatyou Yourparents,yourfriends,yourrivals,allthe peoplewhominimizeyourwords.Quickaslightning,theyswallowyouintheirearthquake,drown outyourvoice,wrapyouupintheirtornadoofcontrol.Andme,Icanonlysitwithmymouthdryand throatclenched ItdoesnotmatterwhethertheysilencedmeorIsilencedmyself Theglaringissueis thatIwillneverbeheard.

Thepaperwilllisten.Itwillsoakupmywords.Uninterrupted,unjudged,unfazed.Itwillwait formysluggishlykeenbrain Welcomeeverybackspacesmash Appreciatethetimeandattention It willstayrightthereuntilIamunderstood.Untilmylovehasbeenconveyed.WhatmorecouldIask?

Butit’snotjustaboutme.It’saboutart.Yousee,whatIlove,Itearinto.

Myfavoritestories,theydon’tjustwithstandthisscrutiny,theythriveunderit Theyreveal jaw-droppinglayersandheart-wrenchingcomplexitiesandmouth-wateringdepths.Thisismyfood.

After I partake, the only natural course of action is to write Only through writingcanI exploretheseoceans:divedeep,challengemyunderstanding,testmylove.Viamystories,Ifamiliarize myselfwiththecharacters;Iinhabittheirmindsandbodiesandlearnalloftheirfacets.ThenIusemy imaginationtollthegaps Thecycleofconsumptionandcreation;nothingbringsmemorejoy

BecauseIlovetounderstandandunderstandingisalovelanguagewhoseonlymediumisthe writtenword.SoIwillwriteforaslongaslovebeatsinmyheart.Andsomeday,Iwillbeunderstood.

FICTION

HarperBaillie

ExcerptfromDrawnQuietly

Thebarcrawledwithinbredsandelves.Thesmellofoldbeerwafted,andbootsstucktothe oor Underthedimlight,Asteralmostcouldn’tseethemansittinginthecorner,exceptforwherehis long,muscledlegprotrudedfromunderthetable,leatherbootswithburnedetchings.Shepassedthe otherdrinkers,headheldhighwithconvictionanddestination,eyessweepingeachneighboringbeing. Waxcoatedthewroughtironchandeliers,andageneralairofclutterlledthesmallspace Stonewas bleachedwithage,anddirtseemedtoradiateoeachpersonsheslidgracefullypast.

Aster was draped in a long blackdragonhidecoat,andalthoughcoveredbyalooseleather wrap,herbraidedhairpokedoutalongthebottomofherspine Sheknockedapintoverwithherright hand, smirking as the round, oashmanturnedtoyellather.Thereddeningirritationinhiseyes dissolvedintointerestashetookinherface.

Aster’seyeshadalwaysplaguedtheattentionofothers Deepgoldenmahogany Theircuriosity was typically unreciprocated, although she often found the inherent hostility and predictable temperamentofmenentertaining Theoafgotupfromhisbarstool,stumblingwithintoxication,bits offoodlodgedinhisbeardandfrothcoatinghischin.

“Whereabouts you from, m’lady?” he said, struggling to keep his eyes xed upright with decency

“Nowherenearhere.Gobacktoyourbeer.”Sherepliedcalmlybutcertainly.Shelookedhim upanddown,anyinterestfadingbacktochilledindierence.His,however,didnot.Hedrewhimself upslightly,assurancegrowing

“Perhapsyou’dbeneedingbearingsforthenight.”Itwasnotaquestion.

“Iapologizeformylackofinterest.I’vealwaysbeencapableofndingthemifIdesired.”She lookedathim,theinsultinhervoiceunmistakable Theentitlementinhisstanceared,butshedidn’t shyawayfromthechancetocementhisinferiority.

“Back to your alcoholism and worthless conversation.” She turned away towards the corner-dwellingman,smilingslightly,ngerstwitchinginherpockets

His hand rose just in time to grab her hip, when she struck. A silver dagger sheathed somewherehehadn’tnoticedwasthrustintothesideofhistemple.Bloodpoureddownslowlyasshe pulled it out, wiping it on his dirt coveredclothes Sheproppedhimupwherehehadsatbefore, guardedbythenoiseandstuness.Winkingatthebarmanandorderingadrink,shemadeherwayto thebackoftheroom,towardshergrinningleather-cladtryst.

BlytheBalock

ICanPlayThePiano

Ireallycan.

Icanplayachordchart,ifyou’dmoveyourhands.

Icanndanoteafterakeychange–yes,evenwithsharps.

AndIknowyoudon’tthinkthatIhave,butI’vefoundmiddleC

Iknowaboutmylefthand;Iknowhowtoarpeggiate

Andnomatterhowmanytimesyouaskme,yes,Idousemypedals

CouldIplayonWednesday,thistime?Justthesongyoudon’twant

Theeasyone,withouttheaugmentations;I’llsavethebetteroneforyou AndsticktomymiconFriday

Butinallhonesty–andIknowyoulovehonesty–Idon’tlikehow‘please’tastesanymore; I’vebittenoenoughtinybitesofthatfruit,rottedsincelastAugust.

Anditwas,infact,inAugust,whenIsworeolearningthepiano; I’llshamefullyadmititwasbecauseitremindedmeofyouandyourinsuerability

ButnowI’mbitterinadierentway,

InthewaythatIallowmyselftodothethingsthatIusedtodointhe‘before’inthe‘after’.

OrshouldIcallitthe‘newbefore’?

Itdoesn’tmatter–thisisalljustoverapiano,isn’tit?Acouplechords?

Andthoughweuctuatebetweenlaughing,hating,andanunspokenmiddle, This,Itellyou,remainsstagnant:

Icanplaythepiano. Andevenafteryoucomebackfrommusiccampandarethersttoplayinchapel, AndpersistentlyinsisthowI’mwrongandtellmehowyoucanteachme… Iwillnotaskbeforetakingmyseatattheleatherbench,becauseIcan. IwishIcouldtellyouthatwedon’tneedtoprovetobelieve.

ClaytonCox

TheFallenDunes

In a world that had been ravaged and ruined, long returned to dust, a bleak and hostile wasteland encompassed most of the globe The once pristine ocean waters evaporated into the ever-heating atmosphere. The creatures that hadlivedinthesevastwaterswereforcedtoevolveor perish.Anyintelligentlifehadmigratedtothemuchmorepassiveclimatesinthenorthernregions. Thelastremnantsofcivilizationthatchosetostaywatchedonastheirgreatcitiesfellandbecameone with the sand. These survivors became like the environment, merciless and cruel, thieves and warmongersrosetopowerinthechaos.Noonerememberedwhattheduneshadbeenlikebefore.No onecaredtoremember Ifitwasn’tnecessaryforsurvival,itwasuseless AndthenEthanWyrm,the Yu’Taka,fellfromthesky.

AloudthudechoesthroughthecavesasEthan’ssilverbootstouchdownatthebottomofthe cave Hefastensarockontheropetwicetoconrmthepulleyisfasteneddownbeforeheunhooks himself.Asheremovesthemaskfromhisface,helooksaroundthelargecaverns,onlyilluminatedby thesunlightpeekingthroughthesmallgashEthanpreviouslydugout Removinghissungogglesas well,Ethandetachesatorchfromhisbelt.QuicklyunclippingabottleofDuyr,orsunbugs,Ethan steppedoutofthecircleofsunlightandintothedarkness.AsEthanstepsoutofthecircleoflight from the small hole in the cave ’ s ceiling, the darkness completely engulfs his gure Thetorchin Ethan’shandwashisonlymeansofseeinghissurroundings.Hishardbootscrunchedinthecoldsand beneathhim.

Largeshapesofconcreteandbrick,misshapenfromdecadesoferosion,supportandstabilize thecaveshiddenunderthedesert.Ethan’seyesroamoverthecementandbrick,butheseesnothingof interest.Thesmallhopetondsomething,anythingtotradewithlocalswasfading,leavingnothing butanemptyfeelinginhisstomach Butthenheseesapieceshininginthearticiallight,hopefully somethingvaluable.Asheripstheshiningobjectfromthewall,theentirecavernshifts,andsmallrocks fallonEthan’sblacksunsteelshoulderpads.RarendslikethiskeptEthanalive,despitethedangersof cave-ins Forthenexthour,Ethanfoundmultipletrinkets,jewels,andgemstones

AsEthanpullsanothersilverpendantfromthesandstone,thewallsshiftslightly,andsandfalls from the now-shaking roof. He shoves the pendant into the bag on his waist and hears alouder rumblingbegin,androcksstartfallingfromtheroof Ethansighs,lookingdownthedarkcavernthat henowknowshewon'teverbeabletoexplore.Largechunksofconcrete,sand,andbrickbeginfalling aroundEthanasheturnsaroundandbeginsbackupthetunnel.BythetimeEthanmakesittothe pulley,theentirecavernisfallingapart.Hequicklytieshimselftothehookand,withadeepbreath, removestheheavyrockfromtherope.Ethanshootsup,thelinezippinglikethesoundofbugsinan oasis Heseesthelargerockheusedtoweighdownthemechanismypasthim,disappearingintothe darkcave.

AsEthanpulledhimselffromthecave,hesawasandstormapproachingquickly.Thegushing ofwindmuesthesoundofthecavebelowhisfeetcollapsing Alargecreaturelooksoverathimashe beginstyinghisgearontoit.Thecreaturehassixheavilyarmoredlegs,withadenseshelltoprotectthe body.Itgroanedandstoodupslowly,becomingrestlessasthesandstormapproached.Ethanquickly mountsthecreatureandpullsonthereins Thebeastmovingslowlybeforeacceleratingintoagallop Hesawarockyformationinthedistance.Itwasn’tlarge,butbigenoughforEthantowaitoutthe storm.Hepulledthereinsandsteeredthecreaturetowardsthesandstoneoutcrop.

SophieEtherton

TheDeathofEristos

Thegoldendaylightfromthesunslowlydimmedasitsankbelowthehorizon,liquidlight pouringoverthedesolatelandscapeinonelastdesperateeorttorenewtheland Forcenturies,the landofEristoshadourished,aplaceknownforitslushlandscapeandvibrantculture.Butnow,a sicknesshadcomeovertheland,treeswithering,animalsdying,waterfadingaway,absorbedintothe crackeddirtwhereonlydeathreigned Thepeoplewhoinhabitedthelandhadedtheirdyingvillages andleftalloftheirpossessionsbehindinafutileendeavortoescapetheaiction,onlytoperishinthe endless,bone-whitesandthathadreplacedwhathadusedtobegreenandlush.Onlyafewremnants ofthethousandswhousedtopopulatethecountryhadreachedthelastsafehavenremaining,anoasis theycalled“Khanera,”meaninglight.Indeed,thissanctuarywasaameburningagainstthedarkness, onelastbeaconofhopebeforethesicknessconsumedeverything.Iwasoneoftheluckysouls or would it be unlucky? who had escaped the clutches of the desert Perhaps I was fortunate in survivingtheinitialwaveofdeath,butmaybeitwouldhavebeeneasiertohavestayedwithmymother andsisterandletthedustcoverme,ratherthanwatchingmyownendcomingfromwhatwassimply anillusionofsafety Forindeed,Khanerawascrumblingtoo,nomatterhowhardthesurvivorstriedto pretendthatitwasn’t.Theysaidthattherewasstilltime,that“wewouldndaway,”butdeepwithin our hearts, we knew that we were only prolonging the inevitable… There wasonelastpossibility, however At the beginning of everything, when the creator goddess Oaxtu had breathed out the foundationofwhatwouldbecomeEristos,HersorrowforwhatHercreationswouldsuermanifested inasingle,perfecttearleakingfromHereye,fallingtoearthandburstingintoabanyantree.Thistree, calledSebatye,wasapromisetoOaxtu’screations Shesworethataslongasthetreestood,aslongasit hadevenasinglebudonit,ShewouldnotforsakeHerworld.Butthemomentthatthetreenallyfell, She would allowEristostobelosttodestruction.Shevowedtodothisbecauseifeverythingtruly reachedthatpoint,itwouldbesolelybecausethepeoplehadfallenintodarknessandextinguished theirownlight.Andindeed,thatwaswhathadhappened.Thefoolishpeoplehadbeendivided,rent

asunder by their desires for power, and fell to ghting, self-proclaimed kings razing villages and destroyingfamiliesonlytobedefeatedthemselves,anendlesswarwhichconsumednearlyallofus.The war did eventually end, butnotbecausetheworldcametoitssenses no,itwasbecausesomany millionshaddiedthattherewasnoonelefttoght.

Eventhoughallseemslost,eventhoughthesoundofwomenweepingandthedesertwind howling permeate every last corner of Khanera, I still choose to believe that Oaxtu will oer us salvation.Idonotbelievethatitwillbeeasytoattain,orsimple,oranythingbutachallengerequiring forthewholeofhumanity(orwhatisleftofit)tochangetheirverynatures,butthatdoesnotscare me.ForwhenIliebeneaththesescatteredstars,thebranchesofSebatyeseemingtotouchthoselittle pinpricksoflight,Icanhearmusicpouringupfromtheroots,liquidbeautywindingintomyearsand seepingintomysoul Aslongasthesongoftheworldpersists,howcantherenotalsobehope?

NazlıEyigör

Azrael…Reads?

Wobblystairsleddownstairs.Itwasdisorientingtomovefromanexteriorspacetoaninterior one Therewerenotanywindowssincetheshopwasbeneaththestreet Maybeonlyfourpeoplecould standupatthesametime,theshopwasthatsmall.Thewallswerebareandsomeofthebrickswere visibleunderneaththeplaster.Theplacewasdimlylit,theonlylightsourcetheickering,uncovered, old-fashionedlightbulb

Somethingwasbuzzing,Isuppose.Itmusthavebeenthelightbulb;buthowcouldalightbulb stillfunctionwhentheglasswasbroken?AndthenIheardit,thesinisterlaughthatcouldnotpossibly belongtothesweetoldmansittingintheshop Hehadoneofthosewrinklyoldfacesyouwouldseein ‘smokingkills’ads–noteethleftandhyperpigmentationaroundtheeyes.

One step into the shop, I was hit by the sour smell of hand-rolled tobacco cigarettesand expiredlavenderincense Perhaps,themanwasburningtheincensetomaskthesmellofdeath,butmy eyeswateredasIapproachedhim.ThesmellofawaitingAzraelwassomethingIalwaysnoticedsince that night at the emergency room I guess there must have also been the smell of the oldbooks, printingink,andthatdistinctcoppersmellthathandprintsleaveonthecoversafterdecadesofuse.

With a gulp, I tasted my very own blood on my tongue. Did I bite my lip? I could not rememberbitinganything Icouldnotfeelthepain,lightheaded Witheverystep,Ifeltmore free My ngerswerenumbandmylegsfeltthesamewaytheyfeltthatThursdaynightwhenIwassixteenand overdosedonillegalvodkaandfather’swhiskey.Buttheguiltandthefeelingofsalivapoolinginmy mouthbeforethehorribleendofvomitingdidnotfollowthegut-wrenchingfeelingthistime

It was crazy hownobodynoticedthisshop,theentrancejuststandingthereonthebusiest streetofKadıköy.Peoplelaughing,eating,drinkingandsmoking;butnobodywaslookingatthetiny bookstore that seemed desperately out of place on the street that was just reserved for pubs and takeawayfastfoodshops.Orperhaps,theychosetoignoretheshop.Dideverybodyknowaboutthis shop?WhyhadmyfriendsnottoldmeaboutitwhenIrstmovedtoİstanbul?

I knew what was coming and now understood why the laugh of the sweet old grandpa scratchedmyearsthesamewaymyoldcatwouldtomyarmswhenIsqueezedittodeath.Airwas squeezingoutofmylungs Oh,buttogosurroundedbyoldbooksandthissweetscentoflavenderand tobacco…IcouldnotpanicevenifIwantedto.Mylegsweremovingontheirownaccord,walking closerandclosertotheoldman.

Theman’sgrinwidenedandwideneduntilIcouldnotonlyseetheteethandthegumbutthe tendonspullingathischeeksandthewhitebonepeekingundertornskinaswell.Blooddrippeddown totheground,evaporatinganddiusingasredsmokebeforeitcouldstaintheunpolishedhardwood oors.Iwastoobusystaringattheoorwherebloodpooledjustsecondsbefore,Icouldnotseewhat causedthenextsoundIheard:Asquelchy,raspy,hollowpop.BeforeIcouldlookup,thecausefellto theoorandrolledovertomyfeet White,webbedcirclewithtendonsfollowingcloselyby Andwhen itstopped,itippedupsidedown,thepupilblanklystaringatme.

Iopenedmymouthtoscreambutnosoundescaped,onlyonepathetic,shrillwail.Iheardthe guy laugh and once I mustered enough courage to lift my eyes o the ground, I was met by a completelydierentface.ThefaceofAzraelwinkedatme.Iknewmylifewasending,butIdidnot evencare.Onlyonethoughtcloudedmybrain:

Azrael reads?

IsabelFogel

SUMMERSVILLE,WV

Youcanlearnalotaboutaplacefromitsname Whatissummerbuttheseasonofaching?It’sthetime wheneveryhorizonlooksunreachableandeveryorangesunsetstainstheworldwithlonging.Summer hurtsthewayalastmealhurts,thewaysensationsonyourtonguearesomuchsharperknowingthat you’llsoontastenothingbutash AndSummersvillehurtslikeaconfessionwhisperedinthedark,like asecretthatwouldmakeyourmotherstoplovingyouforever,likesittingonawornwoodenpewand knowingthatChristdiedsothatyoucouldbethis–thiswretched,twisted,beautifulthing.

When Elizabeth Bowman thinks of her hometown, she thinks of fear. She thinks ofshakyhands graspingdollarbillsatanancientdineronMainStreet.Shethinksofagirl,acar,acloudlesssky,the eyesofthetownwatchingthemspeeddownanoldAppalachianhighway Shethinksofclimbingup thetrellisofanebrickhouseonahumidsummernight,slenderhandspullinghersilentlythrough thewindow.Shethinksofstickyskinagainstginghamsheetsandtworacingheartsagainsteachother, poundingsoquietlybutnotquietlyenoughtoescapeGod’snotice Inotherwords,whenshethinks ofherhometown,shethinksoflove.

Nowadays,ElizabethlikestosaythatyoucantakethegirloutofWestVirginia,butyoucan’ttakethe WestVirginiaoutofthegirl.Peoplecanseeitonher,andsmellittoo.Theyseeitinthefadedblonde haircaressedbyyearsofsoftsunlight,inthermblue-collarhandshakeandtheeasysmile.Hereyesare thesamegreenishbrownasthepondthelocalsneverdaredswimin

Fortherstfewyearsaftersheleft,Elizabethhadarecurringnightmare:sheistrappedinthatpond, theonethosekidsyearsagonevercamebackfrom Thereisnothingaroundherbutgreenleavesand greenwater.Theskyisgone,andsheiswrappedupinhazywarmsunshine,andsheisdrowning.The watertastesassweetasredearthwhenitllsherthroatandmouth.Somewheretoherright,abrilliant

dragonyoatslazilyoverthesurfaceofthewater,sparklinginthelightoftheinvisiblesun.Herarms arebeginningtotire.Hersplashingandgaspingissofarfromanyhumanearthatitmightaswellbe silent

Elizabeth has not seen her brotherJamieineighteenyears.Butwhenthesandy-hairedmancomes stumblingthroughthedoorwayofasandwichshopinManhattan,sherecognizeshiminaninstant. Thatswampinhiseyesisthesame.

S.Fruscella

WeWereTrapped

Author’sNote:Thispiecedescribestherelationshipandsituationofapairofcousinslivinginasmall towninMaineforalongerworkofmine.

Wewereakidsistertoanoutofplacecousininatinytownintheendlesspineforestsof Maine.Wewerequiet,wewerecareful,wewerealert.Weturnedotheradioandracedupstairswhen thecricketyoldstationwagonpulledintothedriveway,whenthefootstepsofherfatherorrathermy uncleechoedthroughouttheoldwoodenhouse.Wehidinmyroom,lockedthedoor,andclimbed pastalltheclothesintothecloset.Weshutthedoor,keptothelights,andwaited,andwaited,and waiteduntilnallywegainedthecourageandposetowalkorderlydownthestepsandsitatthelong woodentable.Uncle,Auntie,Cat,Felix,thatwasus,inahousewithsmallwindowsandadyingre. Ourpostureswerestraightasawhip.Oureyeslockedonourplates.Ourvoicesneverwavered.

Sometimeswe’dbeanywherebuthome Weranamongstthetoweringoaksandmahogany, trunksthickenoughtoconceal,weswaminhauntedlakeswherethemudstreakedourchurchclothes, wecampedinhalfdemolishedcabinswheretherainleakedthroughtheSwisscheeseroof,anywhere buttown,buthome Wewadedintorushingstreamswithlittlegoldensliversofsh,wecaughtthem, wereleasedthem,wecookedthemoveramateurcampres.Wewerepirateswithnoocean,thieveswith nojewelrytosteal,overachieverswithnoprospects.Weweresmall.Weweredetermined.Wewerealive.

Wegraspedforthesky,forthetraintracks,forthebusstop Westrayedfar,butwerealways homebeforedark,nevertoofar,alwaysinreachofdutyandblood.

Everydaywesawthesundipdown,orangeandrubystreakingthehorizon,itpulleduswest,it pulled us backhome.Theninthemorningwe’dstrayoncemore,wewerepulledback,we’dstray, they’dpullandpull,tillthey’ddragusovertheriverrocksandthroughthewoodsandwelearnedto straycloser,wewerepalatable,wewereburdened,wewereleashed Weweretrapped.

CambriaHu

ItwasaFriday

HefoundhisEnglishteacherdeadonaMonday.

TheyturnedintheiressaysonaFriday Staringatthebodyontheooroftheclassroom,he mournedtheendofindividualautonomy.

Therewasanuproar,ofcourse.Ms.Emmawaswell-liked,sweet,andendearinglyeccentric;the studentswhostillhadthecapacitytoenjoylearningnaturallylovedher Butnotenough,hethought bitterly,notenoughtokeepheralive,notenoughtojoinhercause.Allthesesillymournerswithno understandingofthecauseshediedfor.

Noblood,nosignofbluntforcetrauma,nosignofchokingorsuocating,sotheparamedics naturallychalkedituptoanuntimelyheartattack.Heknewtheycouldn’tseethetruthandrefusedto see the facts he saw: she still worethesamepetaledblousefromFriday;thestackofpapersinthe turn-inboxremaineduntouchedeventhoughshewouldhavegradedthemontheweekend;thelights wereoasifshediedwhenthesunoutsidewasnotstillrising;anuncappedredpenandastudent’s essaywithashakylinedrawnacrosstheirnamewasonherdesk.ShediedonFriday,buttheidiotsin hisclasswhobelievetheparamedicsheartattackstory which,heissuretheymadeupbecauseof theirconfusion didnotunderstand.

Afewhourslater,hesawanocialstatementputoutbytheschoolregardingherdeathinhis emailinbox “Heartfailure”theycalledit,citingher“unknownhealthissues”astheirreasoning He scoedashesenttheemailtotrash;nobodyunderstoodthatshediedforacause,thathercauseof death was closer to an honorable suicide seppuku, his mind supplied than the failure of her glowingheart Thepaper-whitecamelliaonherwindowsillslumpedover,wilted

Duringlunchthestudentswhohavehadtheirloveofeducationdrainedoutofthemstarted maliciouslywhispering.

“Guesswegotoutofthatone,”someonewhispered,“Mywholeessaywaswrittenby ChatGPTandIdidn’thavetimetohumanizeitbeforeweturneditin.”

Giggles.“Let’sjusthopewegetthisluckynexttime.Icouldn’timaginedoingmyhomework withoutAI,”theirfriendresponded.

Hedisguredhimwithhisglare Itwastheirfaultshewasdead,andtheyhaveno remorse.Idiots,truly,hethoughtscathingly.

Ifonlytheycouldrememberthedead-serioustonesheendedclasswithonFriday.Ifonlythey couldrememberthevibrant,sincerecare,inhereyes.Ifonlytheylistenedtoherwhensherepeated, multiple times per project, that she forbade the use of Articial Intelligence. If only they could rememberherwordsasshenishedintroducingGeorgeOrwell’s1984

Shesaid gazeburning,armsyingwildly “Thisdystopiapresentsasocietydrainedoffree thought. Education is what gives you autonomy and the abilitytothinkfreely.AndthatiswhyI choosetodieonthishillghtingthelosingbattleagainstyoustudentsandyourAI Oneday,IknowI willlosethisbattle,andyouwillndmedead.”

Uncoincidentally,theyturnedinanessayonFridayandthewholeclass,exceptforhim,was aggedforAIusage Uncoincidentally,thewholeclasswrotesimilaressayswithsimilarstructuresand similarclaimsandsubclaims exceptforhim.Thewords“educationgivesvoice”werefaintlyerasedon herwhiteboard.

Hercauseofdeathwassimple:shelostherbattle Therewasnopointinprotectingindividual autonomyanymore,northeabilitytothinkforoneself.

Hedidn’twritehisnextessay.

AubreyKloepping

MyPhilodendronisGone.

Notdead,butcompletelyvanished,asifitneverexisted.Inwildconfusion,Ipourthesoil ontomydesk,hopingforaglimpseofthehair-likeroots evidencethatitexisted Ifsomeonehad comeintomyroomandstolenallofmyplants,theywouldn’thavebeenabletouprootitthiscleanly without leaving behind pieces ofneroots.Andyetthere’snothinginthepotexceptdirt.There’s nothinginanyofmypots.

Myprizedmonsterainthecornerofmyroomisanemptywhitebowlofsoil.Mypothosplant, usually cascading down the side of my bookshelf in leafy rivulets, has vanished. Even myfavorite plant myaglaonemathatmyfriendgavemebeforeleavingtobeanomadinEurope isinexplicably gone,leavingmyapartmentacemetery;eachpotisacryptmissingitscorpse.

Shaking,Icupthenearestpotwithmysmallpalms,pressingittomycheekandmurmuring. Theworldfeelsstrange Thesunlightthroughmywindowfeelscoldandharsh Itlaysonmytablein stacks.

Releasingtheceramicpotontothedesk,IcatchaglimpseofMiso’speachcatbed,aworn raggedthingwithstungspillingoutofitsssures.Itremembersherclawsagainstit.Athickcoatof greyfurlinesthesidesofthecot,butit’sallthatremainsofherpresencenow,despitehowsheusually sleepstherewhileIsleep,asifwatchingoverme Butthere’sachanceshegotupbeforeme,orsheslept somewhereelsearoundmyapartment.

Thestrangelightstainstheair,makingitfoggy;it’sdiculttonavigatenowbutIstumbleout ofmybedroom,callinghernamefranticallybecauseIhavetondherandholdhersmallbodyinmy limparms,pleasebehere,littleMiso,please!Icheckunderneaththecouch,behindthecurtainsonthe windowsill everythingbearshermark,herstormcloudfurthatdriftsinthehazyairandpressesto thecurtainsandchokesmeonmyclothesandskinandinmymouth Icheckinthecardboardboxshe likestosleepin.Icheckandcheckandcheck,butit’stonoavail;Misoiswiththerestofmyplants, wherevertheyare.

What kind of thief steals plants and cats? My plants are not valuable they’re common houseplants.Mywalletremainslyingonthekitchencounter,yettheplantsnearitareallmissing a graveyardofemptypotsanduselesscattoys IhavetondMiso

Outside my apartment, I bang on my neighbor’s door, the sound echoing down thetiled hallway,disruptingthestillness.Moreforcefullythesecondtime.Hemustnotbehome.Itrythedoor nexttomyown.Thud,thud,followedbybitter,stingingsilence.Fuck.ThethirddoorItryhastily, hardlypausingbeforetryingthenextdoor,andthenext,knowingtheresponsethatIwillbemetwith andIcanhardlybreathe Misohasneverbeenaloneoutsideofhercarrier Maybewhoeverrobbedmy plantsaccidentallyletherout,andshesomehowmadeitoutsidetheapartmentbuilding.Shemightbe runover,dead.Herbodycontorted,splinteredbone.Bloodcoloringhersmokysilkfur,darkeningit, makingitpermanentlydamp Carsswervingtoavoidthemangledbody,lamentinghowbadherdeath must’vebeen;childrengaspinginhorrorattheirrstglimpseofthegoreofdeath;someignoringit, runningoverheragainasherbodygetspoundedintothegroundanditbecomesimpossibletotell whereherbodyendsandthestreetbeginsassheisspreadsothinagainsttheasphalt Somehow,nobodyonmyentireoorishere.

BrynnLitus

Watersong

Thewatercalledtoher,asongthatdrewhertothewindowinarainstormjusttowatchthe dropletschaseeachotherdowntheglasspane Sometimesshe’dstareatapictureofthesea,longingfor thesensationofsandbetweenhertoesaseachwavecaressedthem,slowlycoveringherfeetinalayered cocoonofsilkystone.Shebeggedherparentstotakeherthere,ofcourse,buttheymetherplaintive pleadingwithexcuseafterexcuse,asthoughrehearsed It’stoocoldtoday,theytoldher Theoceanistoo strong,andyou’retoolittle.Itwillsweepyouaway.Sosheplasteredpicturesofwavesandwindswept beachestoherskybluewalls,onlydreaming.

A glass cup, clear and sharp, sat untouched on her desk The still water within was mesmerizing,eachtrappedbubbletransxing,andshewatchedit,unwillingtodrink.Then,atlast,she liftedthesmoothcuptoherlips,tastingthesweetnessandwetnessofthatperfect,glisteningwaterasit slippeddownherparchedthroat,poolingwithacomfortingweightinherstomach Shecravedthe sensation,hungeredforit,butherparentswouldsnatchawaytheglassbeforeshecouldrellit,never letting her drink more than one at atime.Herthroatstayedwarmandwet,butshewasparched, starvingforwatershethoughtshe’dneverreach

Summercame,thesunblistering,pullingeverylastsweetmorselofwaterfrompavementand parchment.Shewasdrowning,suocatingundertheoppressiveweightofhothumiditythatsapped eachfragiledropofstrengthfromherscrawnyform Shecollapsedintothebathtub,ngersreaching feverishlyforthecoolhandle,sighingasthewatersqueakedandtwistedfree,dropletsburblingand singingtoherastheygushedfromthefaucet.Shewatchedeachdropfall,notevencaringwhenathin lmofwaterbegantoslideoverthemetalrimofthetub,poolinglikealakeonthebathroomoor In itshesawripplesdancinginthesunlight,wavescrashingonrockybeaches,theirsongasirenwailing fromfarbeneaththechoppysurface.

Shehadtoobeythewater’ssong Itwasadesiredrivendeep,astakeintoherheart,freeingher blood,likewater,torunrushingforthedoorinthedeadofnight.Herheadpoundedwitheachboom

ofthunder.Wavescrashedagainstherskull,desperatelyneedingtobeletfree.Thefrontdoorbanged open, summer rain pouring down into the hallway, soaking the carpet. As she stepped out,arms outstretchedtoembracethefallingdropletsthatclearedhervision,herparents’criesweredrownedin thestorm.Sheran,raindropswashingawaythetearsalsorunning,despairtrailingdownherparents’ faceswhilepearlsofpurejoysprangfromhereyes.

Water.Itwasallaround,acalltosomewherefaraway,ineverydrumbeatoffallingdroplets, everylightningashthatilluminatedthestreamsrushingdownthestreetlikeariverouttothesea.She chasedit,herselfanechoofthatunstoppableriver,reachingoutforsomethingfarinthedistance,an oceanshe’donlydreamedof.Itcalled,andshewashelpless,powerlesstostopherfeetfromfollowing thepathlaidoutinthetracksoftheclouds’tears.Timewasmeaninglessintherain,nothingmattered but the pounding of her feet echoing the beating heart of the storm and the water that nally embracedherasitsown.

Agustofsaltywindsuddenlywhippedhersoppinghairfromherface,stoppingherclumsy advance Rockscrumbledmerefeetfromwhereshestoodonthecliside,wavesbeatingtheshoreline farbelow.Itwasmoremagicalthananydream,thescreamingcallofthewaterbecomingaroarinher ears,thethunderofthestorminherheart.Therushingwindassheleaptwasherlightning,asplit secondofpureexhilarationandgoldenlightthatmadeherheartrace Shewastrulyalivefortherst timeastheseawelcomedherwithopenarms.Theragingofthestormandpoundingofthewaveswere silencedbyitssoft,coolembraceasitenvelopedherinsilence.Thewatercalledtoher,andasthelast waveclosedoverherhead,saltyseallinghernostrils,shecouldnallybreathe

SitaraPatel

Thunderstorms

Marchwastherstmonthofspring,stillholdingontotheicygrudgeofharshwinter.Theair wasbone-chillinglycoldwithfogthatcoiledthroughthestreets Asoftfrostcrustedthegrass She shiveredasabittergustofwindsnakeditswaydownherback,hunchedoverwithfoldedarmsriddled withgoosebumps.

She slumped on the wet bench, checking her phone. Twenty-one percent battery. Nine minutes Heavyrainsplatteredagainstthebusstopshelter,drowningthesoundofrushhourtrac Sheclutchedherbagcloser,numbngerstightlygrippingthestraps.

Sheheardathumpandlookedovertoseeaboyheragedrophisbackpackontheotherbench, sittingdownbesideit.Hesparedheraglance,tooquicktobenatural,andtrainedhisgazeontheroad infrontofthem Shepursedherlips,checkingherphoneagain Thescreenwasdappledwithlarge raindrops.Sevenminutes.Twentypercentbattery.Shehitthe‘lowpowermode’buttonwithacold whitenger.

Sheickedhereyestotheboy.Soakedbrunettehairplasteredtohispaleforehead,familiardull Atlanticblueeyes Hisleftlegshook,asthoughhehadtoomuchenergy Asmallvoiceremindedherit wasanervoustickofhis.Hiseyesmethers,justforamoment,beforehelookedbackattheroad.He showednosignsofmakingsmalltalk.Sixminutes.Shewipeddownthescreenwiththehemofher shirt.

“Weathersucks,doesn’tit?”Sheasked,softvoicealmostswallowedbythedownpour Theboy torehiseyesawayfromtheroad,expressionunreadable.Shealwaysfoundthatannoyingabouthim.

“Yeah,it’sawful,”hereplied.“Hopefullyit’llstopsoon.”Apangofdisappointmentstruck her Helovedthunderstorms Theyhadstoodintheraintogetheronce,withoutumbrellasorrain jackets Shewaitedformoreofananswer Shedidn’tgetone

“How areyou?”Sheasked.Thequestionfeltlikeastab.Shewastheonlyonekeepingthe conversation’sheartbeating.

“I’mgood,”hesaid “You?”Astingprickedbehindhereyesbeforetheywelledwithtears He usedtosaymore,andsheusedtolisten Shelovedeachandeveryoneofhislittle,seeminglypointless lifeupdates.

“I’mdoingwell,”shecroakedout,lookingawaysoshewasn’tlyingtohisface.Sheclearedher throat,ignoringthelumpforming Asilencefollowed,eachsecondstretchingforeons Fourminutes left.

Ashadowcrossedthestop.Shelookedupfromherlaptoseeabusparkedatthesign.Itwasn’t herbus.Arustlebesideherindicatedthattheboywasleaving.Shefurrowedherbrow.

“Wait!”Sheblurted.Helookedoverather,faceimpassiveasalways.Butthoughitmighthave been her imagination, she thought she saw the slightest hint of wonder. She took a deep breath, ignoring the way his eyes bore into hers like they always had before “Don’t be a stranger” He narrowedhiseyesatherinconfusion.

“Sorry,what?”Thebusdoorsopenedwithahiss.Hehesitated,lookingatheronelasttime, then turnedhisbacktoherandboardedthebus.Thedoorsclosed,andthatwasit.Shefeltahot raindroprundownhercheekandontoherlips Ittastedlikesalt

“IwishIstillknewwhoyouwere,”shespokeintotherain.Shelookedupintothegraysky whichweptwithher.Then,inawhisper:“AndIwishyoustillknewwhoIwas.”

She checked her phone. One minute. She rose from herseat,steppingintothestormand staringatherbusasitapproached Shedidn’tmindthewaywaterdrippedfromherbangsintoher eyes,seepingintohercottonclothes.Thebusdoorsopened,andsheentered.

Shedidn’tlookbehindher.

BellaPettit

GlassCeiling

LimitlessDaypassesinafrenzy,andyettheworldrecoversandquiets,allinamonth.

Townsarenowsilent,brokenonlybythethrumofrareautomobileenginesortheclatterof bipedalfeetonconcrete.Whenthosearen’tpresent,thelivelytownwiltsanddies.

There is no buzzing of pests, no crying of bickeringbirdfamilies,noskitteringofhungry rodentsbusyrustlingthroughtrash It’ssilent

Silencehangsintheairlikeacrushingfogatnight,whenPaliapacesthroughthetownsquare. Alightbreezerustlesthetoweringoaktreeinthecenter,drawingherattentiontothenoisewitha sharpstartledsnapofherhead

Itrustlesmore,thegalewhistlingthroughitsbranches,singingamournfultunethatgrieves thelossofbirdsong.

Paliastaresupintothetree,herred-rimmedeyeseruptingwithlongingastheyickerfromthe tree to the path her footprints left behind. Her eyes grow glassy as they trail over ahouseinthe distance,expressionshutteringasshetwistsawaytofacethetreeagain.

Thisisherchoice She’salwaysknownthat,longbeforeavoice,wornwithageand wisdomandkindness,toldher:

LimitlessDaywasnamedbythosewhosawthebestinyourability,achancetodefywhat unsaidrulesweoncefollowed Doit Defy Lookforlimits fortheyareasstrongasglass andbreak them.

Breakthem,mysongbird.

Withasmugsmile,Paliathrowsherarmsopen,lettingatinglingsensationenvelopherasa brightpinkglowbeamsfromherheart.

It feels so natural. Feathers sprout, tickling her sensitive smallernerves.Shehopsinplace, blinkingupattheoakthatsuddenlyswirlsupwardslikeaspire Hergoldenwingsarecumbersome, buttheirheavyweightsoothesher theyfeellikeapromise,apromisetotaketotheskies.

Andshe’sneveronetobreakapromise.

Later,Palia’sparentswouldfollowtheonlybirdsongintheirtreestondher

“Oh,honey,youcan’tbeabird!It’sjustnotright,foranyofus,anymore.”

“Yourmother’sright,Pal.Justcomealongnow,wecangohome.”

Thecanarywouldstareatthem,herbeadyeyesnarrowedwithshrewddisdain,beforeapping herwingsandtakingo.

And if her singing brings more to joinandaccepttheirancestry butteriesanddeerand cricketsandfoxes she’llkeepittoherself,andenjoythemelodiesthatonlytruelifecanbring.

OzetteRice

Ali’sSnowConeShop

MaryneverlikedtakingherkidstoAli’sSnowConeShop.Notbecauseofthehalf-milewalk there,althoughshealwayshadtoguideherchildrenacrossthestreetlikeamotherduckwithher ducklingsatthebrokenlight.Marydidn’twanttobethemotherduck.Shewantedtobeaduckling, fuzzyandtimidandyellowlikebutterbeforeithitsthepanandbeginstosizzle Italsowasn’tbecause oftheowner,thoughsheneverworeherhairinahairnetandMaryalwayshadtopeellong,thickblack strandsoutofherblueraspberryconeandtheyalwaysclungtothegummybearsliketheycouldn’t beartoleavethem,becausethatgelatinglowwastheonlythingkeepingthemtiedtoalifeofsugary wonderandawayfromthetherough,grimypavement. Itwasn’teveninthewayherkidsasked, pullingonthethreadshangingoherjeanshorts,theirfatfacesroundwithhopelikeshewasthesun andtheywereowersthathadbeenwaitingallwintertobloom,leavingMarynochoicebuttooblige.

Mary’srstruleforthewalkwasdon’tlookdown.Ifshelookeddown,shewasboundtosee thedandelionsburstingdesperatelyfromcracksinthepavement.Andthedandelionswouldmakeher thinkofJack,herrsthusband,theirweddingceremonyontheEastonElementaryplaygroundinred polosandkhakibottoms,thedandelionsinherhairandthefactthathehadn’twantedtopickthem forherandsoshe’dhadtopickthemherself,rootsandall,thegrainytendrilsreadytowormtheirway intoherears.Jackwasgentlelikethat,notwantingtodamagethestems.Hedidn’tbreakcrayonsin tworightafterusingthemliketheotherboysandhealwaysheldinhisbubbleofairforthelongest AndthatwouldmakeMarythinkabouthowmanytimesshe’dbeenbrokeninhalf,howmuchofthat

waxypigmentwasonthehandsofothers,howmuchofherselfwasgonetothoseendlesssnaps.And thenshewouldprobablybreakdowncryingamidstthosehopefuldandelionsandherkidswould watchinhorror.So,rulenumberone:don’tlookdown.

Thetrickypartabouttheoperationwasthatrulenumbertwowasdon’tlookup.Don’tseethe blueskystilllitwiththelateglowofsummeranddefinitelydon’tndthemoon,thatbigwhitecircle thatsomehowisalwaysvisiblebeforethesun’sgonedowncompletely,thatdoesn’tknowwhenit’snot wanted.BecauseifMarysawthemoon,shewouldthinkaboutwatchingtheThrillermusicvideoon thebrowncomforterofherparent’sbed,theterrorshefeltwhenMichaelJacksonlookedupwith yelloweyeslikethebrightcrayonsthatalwaysgottheworstofit,turnedintoamonsterbythesightof themoon.Formonthsaftershesawthemusicvideo,thatimagewasburnedinhermind.Whenher parentsforgottopickherupafterschoolandshesatcriss-crossapplesauceontopofthemonkeybars andsawthathugewhitecrateredcircleintheclearsky,itterriedher.Shejumpedtothegroundand buriedherheadinwoodchipsuntilshewassureshehadn’tbeenturnedintosomethingdierent, somethingunnaturalandunwanted.

IfMarymadeitthroughthewholewalkthereandbackwithhereyesxeddirectlyinfrontof her,unruedbythetraclightsorthehairsinhersnowcone,shegotcomplacent.Butthechallenge wasn’tover,becauserulenumberthreewastonotthinktoomuchaftershegothome.Notwhenshe gotintheshowerandthehotwaterpushedthesyrup,stillstickyanddriedonherhands,downher bodyinbrightlittlestreams.Notthewayitridherofsweetnessasthesyruptrickledsadlydownthe drain,Technicolorblueagainsttheclearwaterassheturnedintomotherduck,elementarydivorcee, herheadpulledfromthewoodchipsandforcedtofacethemoon.

MollyRosenberg

SamandSylviaandJeremyandMaryKateandTommyandSusie

Wedidn’tevermeantogoinside,notreally.Wespentourrstafternoonoutofschool sprintingdownunchartedsummergravel,propelledbyadolescentadrenalineandthemosquitoes nippingatourheels.Itwasthewholegroupofus:SamandSylviaandJeremyandMaryKateand TommyandSusie.Sowhentheskyboiledintoamuggysoupandthemosquitoesscreechedtheir battlecriesandthehousesaroundusdwindledintofencesandthenforest,wecoulddolittlebutpray thattherainwouldn’tcome.Itdid,ofcourse.Anditwasn'tsobadforafewminutes,dropswarmand gentleastheykissedourcheeks.Soon,though,theskyspoutedfatteardropsandSamgotallstressed out asheoftendid aboutruininghisnewperm

Wedidn’treallyevenmeantostepontotheporch,butthatoldhousewhichlaytuckedina groveofmapletrees,nearlydecomposingintotheswampyEarth,promisedshelterthatcalledouttous likeabeacon oratleastitcalledouttoSamandallofhisvanity Samranoverthequickest,covering hisfreshgoldencurlslikeprecioustreasure,butthesaggingawningprovidedlittlerespitefromthe summerstormanddirtyraindropsstillpepperedourheadsandshoulders MaryKatesuggestedwego inside.Tommyshookhisheadfuriously thatcrybaby butSusieshushedhimbeforehiseyescould eruptwithfearfultears.

Sheplacedapalehandonthedoorknob,anditsquealedinagony,asiftoprotestour disturbanceofitsharmoniousstillness.Thewholebuildingshuddered.Somethingblackandspindly droppedontoMaryKate’smessyredhairandSusiescreamedsoloudandsohighwethoughtthe house’scrackedglasswindowsmightburstoutoftheirpanesthenandthere Tommywasquiveringby then,literallyshakingwithfear.Jeremyslappedhimonthebackandtoldhimthathewasbeingababy, andheseemedtostienafterthat.WedaredSamtoopenthedoornext,buthischeeksushedadeep shadeofpomegranateandhebackedup,frightenedeyesshieldedbyhiscrownofcurls Jeremy chuckledtohimself,afalseshowofbravery,andfacedthedoorwithmenacingdetermination,buthe, too,remainedparalyzedinapprehension.Sylvia,ofcourse,wastheonewhonallyshovedopenthe decayingpassageway

Theinsideofthehousewasdarkandwarm,withdustparticleslurkingstubbornlyinthesmall sliversoflighttheycouldnd.Inside,itsmelledofoldbooksandmildewandsomething else somethingterriblyfrightingandfoul Theoorboardscrackedheavilyunderourfeet Theoor wasmoving.Weleanedincloser.

Theoorwasnotmoving,infact;itwascrawling,withthesamethick,spindlycreaturesthat hadearlierassaultedMaryKate.Throughthegreylightthattrickledinfromthefrontentrance,we peereddownatwhattheinsectsseemedtobeencircling.Theobjectontheoorwasgreyaswell,faded withthedarknessofitsownsolitude Werealizedthenthatthatobjectwasnotsomethingatall,but rather,someone.Fingernailspackedwithsoilandattachedtothickpurplengerspokedoutglaringly, thoughwecouldnotdiscerntowhomtheybelonged thespecimencutosharplyatthewrist.Susie letoutanotheroneofthosehigh-pitchedscreams,andthewholehouserattledagain

Samwasthersttoleave,torunoutintotherain,nomatterthatpermanymore.Wefollowed him,bloodandbileclimbingupourthroats,andshutthedoortightbehindus.Sylvia,remarkably calm,suggestedwesealthedoorshutforsafety,soweslidacobweb-cladbenchinfrontofit Afew insectshadescapedandwerecrawlingcuriouslyupMaryKate’sfreckledlegsasshecriedandailed about.

AJSchlang

Rise

Deepintheheartofbattle,lowinthewindsweptplainswheremisthungheavyandthescent ofdeathhungheavier,aNamelessSoldierrose Aseaofbrokenbodieshadreplacedthegreeneldthat hadbeenhosttothehorrorofwar.Corpses,allstuddedwitharrows,impaledbylances,riddledwith bullets, and burned by explosions, were strewn along the once beautiful landscape and stretched beyondthehorizon

Therewasnolife.

Therewasnohope.

Therewasnolove

Still,thedeadmanrose.Bonescreaking,bodycakedinmud,sweat,blood,andspit,herose.Thesilent darknessaroundhimstirred,likewaterbreakingaroundaheadrisingtotakearaggedbreath.Silverfog spun around him as he struggled to pull himself higher and higher He grittedhisteeth,muscles strainingwiththeeorttorisejustanotherinch.Beneathhim,deathbeckoned.Thatsweetembrace calledtohim,aneasyreleaseintothatsilentnight.

TheNamelessSoldierspatthroughhisgrittedteeth,rejectingthemercyoeredtohimandhe lifted himself higher. He rose to his knees, then he lifted a foot, then he lifted another. Using a weathered longsword to support his weight, he climbed even higher. He ascendedfromthatvoid beneathhim,lettingoutaprimalhowlindeance Hecursedthedarknessathisfeet,thatprimordial forcetryingtoclaimhissoul.Hiswill.

Thebestialroarrungacrosstheemptyhills,thenoiserollingacrossthelandlikethunder.The emptyvoid,theeasynight,thesweetreleasewasbrokenbythatindomitablesurgeofpowerasthedead manpulledhimselftohisfeetagain.

Theenvelopingmistsparted,allowingmoltensunlighttosprayacrosstheeldofdevastation. Anupdraftofwindsurged,ascolorbledintothelandofthebroken Thedarkvoidwassuddenlylled withbrightredblood,camo-green,silverplatesofarmorandbare-chestsdecoratedinbrightwarpaint. TheybeckonedtotheNamelessSoldier’scall,andbeganrisingtoo.

Anarmyofdeadmenrose,seemingtosoarintherisingsunlight.Somestayeddead,choosing tostayinthenight’sembrace.Theychosetheirnalrestinthevoid,sleepinginapoolofwarmblood, whileothersrose,swellingupintothatcoldjetofwind Painwelcomedthem TheNamelessawoke fromtheirdreamintoanightmare,nursingbrokenbones,cuteshandcrushedlimbs.Eachonelet out their own cry of deance, wrenching themselves from death and rising in a chorus ofsavage screams.

Protectors,guardians,warriors,Namelessall.THEYROSE!

In response, an opposition stirred under the horizon, malevolent forces gathering Each Namelessturnedandsawtheloomingthreatapproaching.Theysawthelongshadowscastbythesun, thelustforblood.Theyalsounderstoodtheirduty,thereasontheyhadrisen.

Gunswerecocked War-horsesweremounted Bladeswereunsheathed

TheNamelessSoldierliftedhisrustedlongswordastherestofthewarriorsralliedbehindhim. Millionsofbannersroseintotheair.catchingthatsteadyupdraftofcoldwind.Bladeupraisedtowards theblood-redsun,theNamelesssoldieropenedhismouthandbellowed Notaroarofdeance Nota screamofsavagestrength.

Abattle-cry.

TherestoftheNamelessjoinedintherallyashundredsofwarhornsbellowedtheirvicious cries. Togethertheycharged.

NoaSpector

ThingsWeCan’tChaseAway

SometimeswhenI’mafraid,Ibecomereclusive.Somuchso,thatnotevenGodhimselfcan deciphermythoughts;andifnotevenHecan,thenhowissomeonesuchasmyselfsupposedtolive withthesepoundinghorrenities?

Sometimeswhenmyeyelidsturnheavy,Ibecomereclusive.Irunfromthetown,fromthese peoplewhohauntme,followme,laughatmydrunkenwords Istumblethroughthedarknessandnd thedilapidationwhichIcallmyfrontdoor.Igropefortheedgeofmydoorandmanagetoswingmy footabovethestepthathasonlyamindtotripme.Mypoorbalancemeetsthesoggywoodwherethe monsterscrawlfrombelow,creepingupmylegsandintomymind Ilaythereuntilmyeyesareno longerstrongenoughtoholdupmyeyelidsandI’mstaggeringinandout;onlywhenInallynda stateofsleepdothehorrenitieswakeme.

Sometimeswhenmyscreamsdeafenherpoundsonthedoor,Ibecomereclusive Glassbottles shatteronthewallsandoorsofmyhouse,therugscoveredinglitteringshards.Lyingwithblood drippingfromthelineacrossmyeyebrow,shenallyfoundme “I’msorry,”Isaytoherasshekisses thelineofbloodaway.SheholdsmeandtakesmybottlesawayandwhensheasksmeIsay,“Ipromise. I’msorry,”butinmyeyesIknowsheseesbutnotsorryenough.It’swhensheshutsthedoorthatIrun outofmyhouseonsteadyfeetonlytostumblehome

“I’msorry,I’msorry,”IslurwhenIleanoverthetoiletwithherhandonmyback,atouchso lightthatit’salmostnotthere.MyownvoicesoundsinmyheadandIseeherface,herbeautifulface, twistedandwetandredandpleadingtodoitforher,thatIjustneedtosayI’llchange Myvoicetells herhowI’msorry,howI’msosorry,thatI’llstayhomeandI’lldrinkwaterandeatfoodandcleanmy room,soshegivesmeasmallsmileandwipeshereyesandnods;butthistimesheknowswhatshesaw inmyswolleneyes

Whenshenallyleavesandlocksthedoorbehindher,Irun.IrunafterthedropoflifeIhave left.Istumbleafterherandfallintomycarpressingonthegaschasingaftertheonethingthatpushes thehorrenitiesaway Butsomethingisn’trightbecausethere’sabumpintheroad AndsoIgetoutof

mycarandwhenIseeherthereontheground,allIseeisI’mnotsorryenoughinhereyesthatstareup atme.

Onetimewhentherewasnallynothingelse,Ibecamereclusive SomuchsothatevenGod himselfwasn’tabletoreachmeinmyreclusivity.AndbecauseevenHewasn’tthere,nobodywasable toholdmebackfromfollowingher.

GraceSun

TheRelapse

Istaredatmyreectioninthemirror–apale,shrunkenface,likeaowerdrainedofallits colour Theowerhungtherelikeajaggededgeofcrackedglass,likeabrokenpieceofmemory,likea reminderofthetimewhenitwasstillalive.

WhendidIdie?

Deathwasnotacommonoccurrence Thedeathwasn’tliteral;itcamegraduallylikeatidal wave. Then the memories became scatteredandforgotten.Now,eventheactofrememberingwas somethingphysicallystraining,somethingthatscorchedmeontheinside.

Whydoyoukeepdoingthisifthereissomuchpain?

Ilaughed.Thehurtwassortoffreeing,wasn’tit?Feelingsomethingsointenselymademefeel likeIwasstillalive.

Thestarvationbecamecraving thecravingforlife,foranysortoflife,foranysortoffeeling thatwasstillalive.Soclose.Itwassoclose.Icouldtakeitandnobodywouldknow.Alittledose,a temporaryhigh.Maybejustone.Onewouldn’thurt.

Orwouldit?

Ifeltmyngersshake.Quiettrembleslikewhitenoise;yetloudandhowling.

Iputonmakeup Itwasapractisedmanoeuvre,engravedintothedeepestpartsofmyskin My handswererobotic,roboticsothattheydidnotshakeortremble.Ifellintothefamiliarpatternsofthe past thepeach-tintedpowderacrossmyfacethatcleansedmyfaceofscars.Addabitofpink,adda bitoflife Evenifitwashesosoeasily,atleastitwouldstayforthetimebeing InthismomentI becamealive,thoughonlyonthesurface.ThisperformancewasoneIcouldputupwithforawhile.A newmask,anewme.

Thedoorbellrang

“Mariole!”Hervoicewassoaliveitmademewanttodie.

Shepulledmeinforahug,thoughshewasmerelyhuggingadoll.Anabandoneddoll,tossed

awaytothesideoftheroombyaprecociouschild.Adollnolongerlovedbecauseshewassimply unlovable.

Thenhereyeslingeredforamomenttoolong Ifeltmyhandsshake

“W-what?Whatisit?Isitmydress?I’msorry,Ididn’tknowwhattowear…”

“No,no.Notatall.Youlookbeautiful.Youlookbetterthanever–twomonthscleanalready!” Itiltedmyheadtothesidewiththehopeofconveyingembarrassmentortimidness.Iwasan excellentactor.Whywouldn’tIbe?I’vebeendoingitformywholelife.Shecarriedonbabblingabout herwonderfulvacation Hertalkingwassofree,sopainless,whileeverywordIspokefeltlikevomit, likeforcingsomethingoutofthisalreadyvacantshell.

Shewasproudofme,Icouldtell.She’sclappingatmebecauseIhadputonagoodshow.Her wordsarelikeechoes,therebutnotreallythere Halfthere Specicwordspoppeduphereandthen, likehalf-eatenbitesofcandy.MaybethatwaswhereIwas halfway.Notatthestartingline,notatthe nishingline.Juststuckthere,inthemiddle.Withnoclueofwheretogo.

Whydoyouresistit?Whydoyoucontainit?Why?

Whyisthereguiltincravingjoy?

Theguiltwaspointlessoncetheacthadbeencommitted.Ilaughed.

Maybethislifewasn’tsomuchofahellafterall

AshleyThompson

MyLovelyWife

Ryko pulled the bow across hisviola,playingasonatawithalloftheintensityofafourth movement Hishandstrembledfromtheperformanceanxietyhehadneverquitemanagedtoshake

A Brahms sonata scratched across the strings with a disturbing hiss, andhewincedatthe discordantsounditmadeinhismind.Itdidn’tmakearealsound,afterall,itwasinhishead.

Therewasnoviolaandhedoubtedhisscarredhandscouldholditeveniftherewas,butRyko wasnothingifnotadreamerandarecklessimaginationwastheonlythingthatcouldsavehimfrom thecripplingfearofneverplayingagain.

Hedidn’tknowwhatwasworseabouttheroomhewaskeptin:thelackofsheetmusicto writedownhiscompositionsorthelackofviolatoplaythemon.Theywereequallytragiclacksto him,although,sincehewasskepticalofhisabilitytoholdapenoraviola,therealproblemwasthe burnsonhishands Inthefrontofhismind,ashefantasizedwhilehummingacertainsonata,hewas holdingtheinstrumentandthebowwithhandsthatdidn’tshake,armsthatdidn’tspendlonelynights wrappedaroundhisownknees,abodythatdidn’tinchatloudnoises.

Inthefarmorerealisticbackofhismind,hewassittinginalockedroom,staringatthewall withhishandsatonthemetalbench,wishingthesteelwouldcooltheburnsonhispalms.Oh,the things he’d done tokeeptheAntimelodicsawayfromtheothermembersoftheSecretSocietyfor ComposersInvestedinOriginalSymphonies

Hehadn’tbeentoameetinginweeks:he’dbeentakenandmostlikelypresumeddead,andit wasthelastthinghewantedtothinkabout.HowhemissedsittingnexttoIolantheasthetwoofthem workedtogethertodecodemessages

TheAntimelodicshaveburnedtheSibelius.Holdontoeveryscrapofthepieceyouhavebecausethe originalhasbeendestroyed.

And,atthetime,hehadsmiledbecauseIolanthehatedSibelius,butitwasn’tfunnyanymore, notnowwhenhemissedmeetingupwithaclandestineorganizationtosavethefateoftheclassical

world.Noonethoughtthatonelittlespeechaboutmusicbeing“manipulative”couldgosofar,butit landedhimwithburnthandsandafearofsomethingfarworsetocome.

Aloudcrashsoundedfromthemainlevelofthehouse,andRyko’sspiritslifted Someonehad foundhim,heknewtheyhadthistime,orelsehe’dworkedhiswayupfromrockbottominvain,and notforhiswifeorforSSCIOSorformusicalfreedom.

Someone ran down thestairstothebasementandstruggledwiththedoorhandle.Electric relieflledtheairlikestatic.Abrokenvoicescreamedcursesasthedoorremainedlockedfromthe outside Thewomanyellingdidn’thavethekey Anothercrashandthesoundofsomeonestumbling downthestairscamefromoutsidethedoor.

“What’sgoingon?”Themanwhowassupposedtobewatchinghimshouted,“Whatareyou tryingtodo?Youcan’ttakehimouttheback,you’llhavemetoanswerto!Whoevenare–”

Heletoutaheavilymuedshriekbeforehecouldnish.ThedoorwaskickedinandIolanthe Arratastoodwithanirongriparoundtheguard’stwistedarm.

Shewashismusic Hedidn’trequireanythingbutbreathinhislungstoloveher “Whatdidyoudotohim?Actually no youspeakandI’llstabyou,”shewarned.

“Whoare–”hewascutobyaknifeinhisheart.

RykogrinnedatIolanthe,butthecornersofhislipstiltedintoasmirkashelookeddownat theguard.“Iseeyou’vemetmylovelywife.”

KateVasanth

IcyFingerofDeath

TodayIlearnedwhatabrinicleis.ItwasontheNatureChannelattwo.Oh,andIatethepotroastthat Cynthiadroppedo–itwasalright,butyouknowhowthewomanlikesherchardonnay.

That’sgreat,Honey Didshestay?What’dyouguystalkabout?

Shehadtogopickupthekidsfromsomesummerprogramfor“giftedchildren”orwhatever.Ishould havesentPeytonawaytocampsomewhere–Ithinkshe’sbeenkindof bored Doyouknowwhata brinicleis?

No,tellme.

Basically,asseawaterfreezes,itforcesoutanyimpurities,soallthesaltbecomesconcentratedinpockets of brine. When theicecracks,saybecauseofabigwaveunderneath,oritstartstomelt,thebrine tricklesout.It’sheavierthanwater,soitsinks,andsincethefreezingpointofsaltierwaterislower,the brineturnsthesurroundingseaintoanunderwatericicle.That’sabrinicle.Oh,andthey’realsocalled “IcyFingersofDeath.”It’sreallycool,Ithink.

Brine-i-cool.

Shutup

Hey,ifyou'remeanlikethat,howareyouevergoingtofindanotherhusb-

Anyway,Iforgottotellyou,thebrinicledoesn’tjustfreezeseawater–ittrapsallthestarshandsea urchinsandothermarineanimalsthatgettooclose,pullingwarmthfromtheirbodies,makingthem justascold,thenencasingtheminasheetofsaltyiceuntiltheyjust…die.

Whydon’tthelittleguysjustrunaway?

They’re too slow,probably Idon’tknow Orit’slikeoneofthosehorrormoviesthatstaplesyour throatshutasbilecreepsup,butyoujustcan’tlookawaybecauseit’ssointeresting,andyouwantto seewhathappensnext,eventhoughyouknowsomethingbadiscoming I’mnotsure Thefullbottle ofredinCynthia’s“wineroast”tookoverbeforeIcouldnishwatching.

Well,itsoundsreallypowerful,thisbrinicle Strong Ifeelkindofbadthough Ibetit’sjusttryingtomake friendswiththecritters,intheonlywayitknowshow.

It’sjustice And,actually,it’snotstrongatall Onelittleripple,notevenawave–aripple,anditloses its anchor totheseaoor,splinteringandshootingshardsupwardsbeforetheymeltbackintothe wateranddisappear Untilthenextbrinicle,Iguess

Hey,Ell?Youknowyou’renotanicyfingerofdeath,right?

Imissyou.

NatalieVernon

RedTelephoneBooth

TherewerecountlessredtelephoneboothsinNewOrleans.Eachonewasnolonger used,withchippingpaintandrustgrowingonthedoorhinges Itwasamiraclethattheywerestill standingup.Butonetelephonebooth,foundonthemostbusystreetinallofNewOrleans,looked justasperfectasitdidonehundredyearsago.Itscrimsonpaintwasvibrant,likeithadbeenfreshly painted Thedooropenedsmoothlywithoutanyscreeching,likeitshingeshadbeennewlyoiled And thelightsinsidestillshone,likethebulbshadbeenfrequentlyreplaced.

Alehadbeendoingallofthosethings.Hepaintedtheexterioreveryweek,heoiledthedoor hinges every month, and he replaced the light bulbs when they burned out He had been doing maintenanceonthistelephoneboothfortwentyyears,andnobodyinNewOrleansevercomplained thathewasdoingtheworkwithouthavingapermit.Notoncedidtheyreporthisunauthorizedlabor. They all appreciated that he was making the city albeit a very smallpartofthecity alittlebit prettier.Everyoneinhisneighborhoodknewhim,andwouldwaveastheypassedhimonthestreet. OnSaturdayandSundaymornings,Alecouldbefoundpaintingtheboothinafreshcoatofscarlet red.Onthetwenty-rstafternoonofeverymonth,hecouldbefoundoilingthedoorhinges.Andon randomnights,hecouldbefoundreplacingthelightbulbs.Peopleonlysawhimduringthesetimes.

Theyhadnoideawherehedisappearedtoduringallotherhours

Ale was happy with his routine. Aside from Friday nights, during which his schedule deviated,Alespenteverywakingmomenteitheratthetelephoneboothorattheopera.Duringthe hoursinwhichhewasn’tworkingonthebooth,hewouldsitinthesameobscuredback-rowseatin thesamevintagetheater,watchingthesopranosandtenorssingtheirmagnicentarias.Thenhewould visitthetelephoneboothinthedeadofnight,whentherewasnochanceofbeingseenbyanyonewho mayfrequentthestreetintheearlierhours Iftheboothdidn’tneedanywork,hewouldstandinthere anddialrandomnumberswiththeNewOrleansareacode.Iftherecipientsanswered,hewouldspeak tothem,askingthemquestionsabouttheirworriesortheirpersonallives.Mostwouldgetoended,

andhangupthephone.Butonoccasion,akindsoulwouldtellAletheirtroubles,maybeevenasking himabouthis,andAleknewthattheywouldbethenextdonor.

OnFridaynights,afterhehadoiledthedoorhinges,Alewouldn’treturntothetelephone boothortheoperahouse.Hehadotherplans.Afterhehadfoundhisnewdonor,hewouldusethe White Pages inside the booth to locate the person ’ s home address. While other directories were outdated,andexcludedtheplentifulnewinformationbornfromthedigitalage,thistelephonebook wasalwaysgrowing.Inthelastfteenyears,ithaddoubledortripledinsize,accountingforeverynew number,everynewaddress,everynewconnection

Laterthatnight,hewouldndthem.Hewouldusewhatevermethodsheneededinordertobringthe donorbacktohiscute70scottage,wherehewouldhangthemupside-downfromhisceilingandwring themdry Oncethepure,untaintedbloodwasthoroughlydrained,hewouldretrieveanemptypaint canfromhisstorageclosetandpourthesubstanceintoit.

Thenextmorning,hewouldreturntothetelephoneboothat7:25a.m.,carryinghispaintcan andapaintroller Then,hewouldgettowork

Ale’smethodsmayhaveseemedspecic,andperhapsunwarranted,butheknewthatthey werenecessary.Thetelephoneboothneededrighteousness.Ifthebloodwastainted,theboothwould rejectitandbegintooxidizeandrust AndthatwasthelastthingAlewanted

HenryWade

Fissile

Ihadthoughtthewarwasover.Wealldid.Fortenlongyears,thestarshadbeenplungedinto bloodychaosunseenforcenturies Plentyofpeopleknewitbetterthanme I’donlyfoughtintherst halfoftheWarofSurvival.Itwasattingname.Lifeordeathforbothsides.Ifwewon,freedomcould persist.Butiftheywon,there’dbenoonelefttostopthem.

Them “Empyreans,”wecalledthem ApparentlytheywereonceHumans Now,notsomuch Theirancestors,theysay,haddisappearedintodeepspace,andreturnedfromtheheavensunderdivine blessingtosaveourlittlecorneroftheuniversefromannihilation.Abletobendthemightofcollapsed stars,andshieldedbytheirnigh-indestructibleforms,theychasedbackandbanishedthedarkness We calledthemsaviors.

Butastheyearsworeon,moreEmpyreanswerebornofthosenoblefew.Anditwasthemwho turnedtheirpeoplefromsaviorstosinnersinordertofulllasinisternotiontheybelievedwithall their hearts- havingsavedsomanylives,havingsomuchpower,andbeingsofewinnumber,how couldtheynotbetheonesdestinedtoreignoverthecosmos?Ofcourse,weallthoughttheywere blinded. Delusional,even.Slavestoanimpossibleidea.Atleastitshouldhavebeenimpossible.Yet planetafterplanet,starafterstar;billionsbowed,untilwefoughtback.Hopereturnedtoeveryweary heartwhennewsofoneEmpyrean’sdeathinanuprisingreachedfarandwide Itwasprovennow, clearasday.Theycouldbekilled.Sobeganthewar.

3899,CuirassColony.MyclassmatesandIhadjustgraduated.Insteadofchasingjobsorlove, wewerechasingathrill Therewasaninextinguishablereinmysoul,ablazingfurythatIwanted nothingmorethantounleashonthetyrantswhothreatenedourwayoflife.Thenextyear,owe wenttothefrontline.Iwasmostsurprisedtondthatinthemilitarythereweremorepeoplelikemenotmenorwomen,butboysandgirls Soasthehourofourrstbattleapproached,rumorsandstories spreadlikewildre.Therankers,no-minions,oftheEmpyreans,soldiersfromacrosstheirempire, were no match for us, especially when we stoodtogetherwithourmanyallies.Withoursuperior technologyandnumbersfacingaforceofdisorganizedrecruitsscroungedupfromeverycornerofthe

galaxy,weweresuretoroutthem.Therealthreat,mycomradeswouldtellme,wouldcomeifoneof thefewEmpyreansthemselvesenteredtheght.Then,well…thenwe’dhavetopray.

WefoughtourrstbattleontheoceanworldofWynclo Lashedbysheetsofrainandwith onlyboltsoflightningtoilluminatethebattleground,itwassuretobearudeawakening.Thenwe learned that therumorsweretrue.Wynclo’sbrainwasheddefendersweredispatchedwithease.But theirmasterswerenotsoeasilydefeated.Oneofthemappearedthatnightoutofthestormychaos.I neversawthem.Ionlyknowbecausenootherbeingcouldcommandthepowerthatrentourranks beforeme Forasplitsecond,thenoisesofthepouringrainandspeedinglaserboltswerecutout A transientashofradiantindigoburstforwardfromsomewhereuptheway,speedingdowntheslick avenue.Theblastheldadeadlybeauty–sparklinglikecrystalinsunshine,orstarsagainsttheblackness ofspace Itsveryessenceseemedwovenofetherealthreads,joinedtogethertocomposeanimmaterial, impossiblefabric.Itwasdazzling,butforeign.Eldritch.Wrong.Thethinashroaredpastmeinthe blinkofaneye,violentlyrattlingmyeardrumsandknockingmeomyfeet.Spittingthemurkywater ofthesidewalkoutofmymouth,Iheavedmyselfinmyheavyarmortomyfeet Wheresecondsbefore mycompatriotshadstood,myeyesnowbeheldnothing.Hundredsofliveswashedawayinaninstant, sweptawaybyacosmictideorharvestedlikestalksofwheat,simplyceasingtoexist.WhatevertearsI mayhaveshedaresuretohavedisappearedintherain IdidallIcould Iran

Faculty

JenLuebbersLeonard’09,Director

AmyButcher

Dr.PeterGrandbois

Dr JuliaKolchinsky

AlisonStine’00

TeachingAssistants

CorderoEstremera’23,HeadTA

KtAmrine’24

ElizabethKoeppen’27

MaggieMalin’25

CharlieStocker’27

ZoeWard’28

NinaApple BlytheBalock

HarperBaillie AsaArdayfio

NidhiBathla

OliviaCarey

TallulahConolly-Smith

ClaytonCox

CatherineCullen

KateDiller

SophieEtherton

NazlıEyigör

IsabelFogel

AsherHill

GretaHaroldson

HelenHe

KennediLindsey

AlexanderMuñoz RubyMiguel BrynnLitus

ViviMyers

MichelleNguyen SitaraPatel BellaPettit

OzetteRice MollyRosenberg AdrianaSarraf AJSchlang

HenryWade

EllieWomack

NatalieWeis

JessieWang

JosephineWong

IrisXiong ZoyaZamir