70 Shackled | Olivia Morsbach | 12 *Visual Arts Classic State 2nd Place Long-term
94 Soarin | Olivia Morsbach | 12 *Badger Conference 2nd Place 2D Mixed Media
When I sat in the sun-kissed room Where dust became sparkles in the sunbeams You sat with me silently And neither of us said anything And the soft music played.
I wish I knew more about you What your life was like Before you moved here. But now you don’t speak you Just sit.
You picked up a picture, and stared at it, and turned it around And continued to stare As I worked And the soft music played on.
Even now, when I hear music like it,
Ruthie Brenner | 11
Untitled | Jake Stacey| 10
I remember you and that sun-kissed room
Where the faded blue couch hunched And the piano sat in the corner
And the table and chairs settled in the middle.
The Family Room.
But you never had any visitors at all.
I wonder what you are thinking When you sit by yourself on the chair in the corner While the other patients sing loudly, you Just sit
But sometimes I see you smile And once, when I handed you A shaker, shaped like a pink egg I watched you discover The noise it made
When you shook it with the excitement of a child Who has been given a new toy And discovers what it can do
For the first time.
I smiled, too.
Unless someone finds a cure, One day I will end up like you It’s genetic.
You must have been shy before you moved here, Reserved and quiet Like me.
You were upset once The day someone else died
And you mumbled no no no no no no But usually you were quiet
You let life pass around you
Like the dust that was caught In the sunbeam of that faded room. You make me wonder.
Will I be like you?
Is that such a bad fate?
Dust caught in a sunbeam while the soft music plays on.
Starbase 3
Lilly Koblenski | 12
My job should not be this difficult.
My heart screams at me to stop and my body aches as I take a moment to breathe, twisted nearly in half inside the tight, insulated coils of the starbase’s innermost mass-power generation block. But I can’t stop, despite the exhaustion weighing my muscles down and the oil slicked all over my gloved hands, arms, legs, and overalls.
I reach up to brush a sticky strand of hair out of my eyes, and add a generous streak of oil to the sweat streaming down my face.
Everything hurts. But it doesn’t matter if my heart, or even my soul will ever recover from this, because I know that what I have to do will save far more people than it kills.
I pull back the glove on my left hand to glance at the analog watch on my wrist and realize with a sinking feeling that I only have five minutes before the rebels get here.
Five minutes to outpace the rebels… and betray my best friend at the same time.
I swallow and begin forcing my way up and through the coils again, muscles straining with each movement as I fight my way to the center of the power block.
Five minutes. 3
I give up trying to contain my tears as the brilliant neon blue light that’s been filtering through the darkness in tiny streaks grows stronger and brighter. Five minutes is barely any time at all. I can afford to grieve for five minutes.
As long as I don’t stop moving.
The aching in my muscles and in my bones fades as I continue to twist and throw my weight into the coils, replaced by searing, white hot agony in my heart. I grieve for the blood relatives I never met, and the family of my own that I always wanted, but that I will never get to have. I grieve for Serena, the only family I’ve ever known, who doesn’t know that I’ve betrayed her confidence her trust and love for the lowly electrician, far below her station.
The blue light grows stronger. I can see the funnel of light reaching far above and below from the center of the power block, connecting to the thick strands of light emanating from the adjoining ones. And I can just barely make out the generator at the center of it. I’m nearly there. My hands shake, but not from the strain of pushing aside the coils.
She’s a good leader. She doesn’t deserve this.
And that’s why I’ve been avoiding my thoughts and my tears for the past two hours. I can’t afford a moment of weakness. Serena may be a good person, but she’s only one of the leaders of the Space Federation. And just because she’s a good person doesn’t mean that she should have access to the amount of power that’s stored in the coils around me.
Just because the rebels and their cause are righteous, just because their desire to allow everyone access to the technology that’s integrated so casually into the very fibers of this starbase are fair and good, doesn’t mean that they should start a war over it.
I’ve spent thousands, probably hundreds of thousands of hours with these coils over the past few years, finding, repairing, improving. I know better than anyone how dangerous the power here is how dangerous it is to fight over it. How dangerous the greed driving both the Space Federation and the rebels to covet it is.
And so it is without regret that I pull the seemingly insignificant, though wickedly sharp knife from my pocket, cut insulation off portions of the two largest coils of wire that weave this incredible, wonderful, massive circuit, strip, and wedge between the coils, connecting power directly to ground.
For a split second, it is unbearably hot.
And then there is nothing but darkness.
Negative Space | Megan Harings | 10
THE PUBLISHER’S PARADOX
Pepper Marlee | 12
Anabel Harris had always believed in the permanence of the written word.
It was a conviction rooted in a bygone era, where ink on paper served as the bedrock of knowledge and culture. But in the sprawling metropolis of New Goldland, such beliefs were relics. Here, history could be rewritten with a keystroke, and narratives reshaped overnight to suit the whims of those in power. The concept of an enduring truth had become almost laughable. The world she inhabited did not value truth; it valued control. Information had transformed into a weapon, wielded deftly by the ruling elite, silencing dissent and molding public perception. Challenging the official story was a perilous endeavor, often leading to the quiet disappearance of the dissenters before their voices could gain traction.
Yet, Anabel fought on.
She had established her publishing house, one of the last independent presses in New Goldland, amid the remnants of a forgotten past. Nestled between towering data centers and imposing government archives, her modest office stood as an anomaly, a defiant formation from a time when books were tangible artifacts, immune to the influences of digital manipulation. The government had waged a relentless campaign against print media, branding it as unsanctioned
information storage, a term that made Anabel’s blood boil. They justified it as a necessary measure against data pollution, but she saw through the facade. Physical books were dangerous precisely because they could not be altered, rewritten, or controlled. This made her an enemy of the state, though no official decree had labeled her as such.
Surveillance drones prowled the city incessantly, their mechanical eyes scanning for any hint of noncompliance. Every citizen’s digital footprint was meticulously monitored, curated, and corrected. But Anabel had mastered the art of navigating these treacherous waters, existing in the scarce spaces where algorithms had yet to penetrate.
For years, she had managed to keep a low profile, publishing stories that slipped through the cracks of censorship. Tales that challenged the official narrative, spoke of resistance, and whispered of a time when individuals had the freedom to think for themselves.
Castle In The Night | Jack Prahl | 11
Then, the letter arrived.
It was an incredibly unremarkable moment. Anabel was seated at her antique desk, fingers stained with ink from a fresh manuscript she was preparing for press, when the sharp rattle of her office window cut through the steady hum of the city’s artificial rhythm. She had grown used to the noise, distant voices, the mechanical whirr of drones overhead, the low murmur of government broadcasts, but this sound was different. A knock. Or something that resembled it. She set her pen down, her heart skipping a beat as she rose from her chair.
The city outside was alive with its usual pulse, the flickering digital billboards casting garish colors against the gray sky. But as she approached the window, she saw nothing out of the ordinary, just the blank faces of pedestrians on their way to wherever the government commanded them to be. A shiver crept down her spine, but she dismissed it, chalking it up to the usual paranoia she had learned to live with.
Turning away, she returned to her desk. Her eyes fell on something new, something she hadn’t noticed before.
A thick, fibrous envelope lay on top of her stack of papers. It had appeared seemingly from nowhere, placed delicately among the scattered pages she had been working on. She hadn’t heard the door open, and she certainly hadn’t seen any delivery drones pass by. The envelope was oddly beautiful, its rough texture, the muted, 9
earthy tones of the paper contrasting sharply with the sterile world outside. It looked out of place, an anomaly in a society that had long abandoned physical correspondence. Her name was scrawled across the front in a color so dark it seemed to absorb the dim glow of her office light. The handwriting was unfamiliar, slanted, conveying a sense of both caution and urgency, a feeling that mimicked a need to wake up from something. Anabel hesitated only a moment before slicing through the seal with her rusty letter opener. Inside was a manuscript.
It bore no return address, no sender information, and lacked postage. Unsurprising, physical mail had become nearly extinct, supplanted by the omnipresent, state-controlled neural net that transmitted all information through government-sanctioned channels. Yet here it was, a tangible envelope, crafted from rough paper that was submerged a faint scent of ink and something metallic.
Anabel hesitated for a moment, studying the letter as if it might offer some clue as to its origin. Her pulse quickened with an unspoken suspicion. Who would send her something like this? Was it a government trap? An attempt to lure her into some deeper conspiracy? She had no way of knowing, and that alone made her wary.
She pulled the brittle, yellowed pages from the envelope with trembling fingers. The typeface on the first page looked strangely familiar, its serif edges crisp and deliberate. Anabel had seen it before, the manuscripts of authors she had published long ago, authors who had dared to challenge the system. Her brow furrowed as she skimmed the opening lines.
“The Publisher’s Paradox”
The story was a haunting mirror. It followed a woman, an outcast, abandoned by her family yet unbroken, who operated a small publishing house in a world where history was rewritten daily, and truth had been reduced to a matter of state approval. The woman’s existence was defined by the same struggles Anabel had known all too well. As she read, she couldn’t help but notice the uncanny similarities to her own life: the same stubborn way she stacked books against the wall instead of shelving them properly, the dim, vintage lamp on her desk, the isolation that surrounded her. The details were too precise to be coincidence, too intimate to be random. It was her, no question about it.
Despite that, she tried to dismiss it as a bizarre coincidence. An anonymous submission, perhaps, a misguided attempt at flattery, or worse, a veiled threat. But then, as she turned the page, her stomach tightened in dread.
The manuscript described her life with terrifying clarity, but it did not stop there. It continued on, detailing a dark prophecy.
“The city is on edge. The government has tightened its grip on free expression. Stories are being erased from public consciousness. Authors are reclassified as persons of interest, their books corrected into compliance or removed entirely. Three days from now, a fire will consume the publisher’s house. The woman inside will perish alongside her books, leaving only ashes where stories once stood.”
The words hung in the air, a sentence so stark and final that it felt like a looming truth pressing against her chest. Anabel’s hands gripped the manuscript as if the weight of it might crush her. She could barely breathe. Three days. Was this some kind of warning? A threat? Or was it something worse some kind of dark premonition? A sense of dread began to coil in her gut. How could anyone know so much? Who had written this, and why? She had faced threats before, but this felt different. This felt… terrifyingly present.
Her thoughts spun in a whirlwind of fear and suspicion. She glanced nervously at the window. The room seemed darker now, as if the outside world had become more sinister. A sudden, sharp knock echoed through the office again. It rang in her ears, she recognized the noise as what she might imagine death to sound like.
Anabel’s mind raced. She couldn’t ignore this. She couldn’t dismiss the manuscript as a hoax. Something in her gut told her this was real—too real. She had to act. But how? Should she destroy the manuscript? Burn it before it could fulfill its prophecy? Should she try to flee, or take some other action to protect herself?
But then, a strange resolve settled within her.
Her fingers hovered over her laptop. For a moment, she considered doing nothing, pretending the manuscript had never arrived, ignoring its chilling contents. But she couldn’t. She was a publisher, a creator of words, and words had power.
She turned sharply, scanning the darkened street outside. Towering digital billboards flickered overhead, displaying an endless rotation of government-approved headlines: 13
FAKE NEWS REFORM BILL PASSES.
HISTORY TEXTBOOKS UNDER REVISION.
TRUTH, SIMPLIFIED.
The phrase “truth, simplified” sent a shiver down her spine. She had seen it before, emblazoned on official government documents and echoed by news anchors reciting reports. It was the justification for erasing anything inconvenient, for molding reality to fit the government’s agenda. And now, it seemed, Anabel herself was next.
She turned back to the manuscript, her mind racing. She grabs the envelope violently to burn it, let the flames devour it. She wanted to pretend like it was nonsense. She could erase it first. Destroy the prophecy before it destroyed her.
Or she could rewrite it. Her fingers tightened around the pages. If this story had the power to dictate reality, then why couldn’t she take the pen herself? A slow, electric resolve built in her chest.
She powered on her laptop, the glow of the screen reflecting in her wide, determined eyes. Her fingers hovered over the keys for only a moment before she began to type.
“The publisher read the warning and chose to defy it. She would not perish in fire, nor would she be silenced. Instead, she would unwrite the fate set before her. She would not be a martyr to a prewritten story she would be the author of her own.”
The words flowed from her like an incantation. Each sentence was an act of rebellion against the grim future laid out before her. She rewrote every line, altering the narrative, unspooling inevitability thread by thread. As her fingers moved across the keyboard, the world around her seemed to shift, to tremble in response to her resolve. She realized that right before her eyes her world moved around her, molding into what her fingers wrote. The story was hers, now. The fire would not come. She would not burn. She would not be erased. She would fight, she would survive, she would reclaim the power of her own story. With each key pressed, she twisted the narrative, unraveling the fate that had been foretold. She would ensure that her voice remained loud and clear, unbroken by the tides of oppression.
And then, the final sentence came, heavy with significance.
“And so, the publisher woke up.”
As the words left her fingers, the room around her began to dissolve, the desk, the bookshelves, the faint light from the lamp all fading into nothingness. Anabel’s heart lurched in her chest as the world unraveled, and everything she had known vanished.
She gasped, and then nothing.
Her senses were assaulted by the unfamiliar. A soft, cool breeze stirred the air. She was somewhere new. The scent of earth, of grass, and something deeply familiar finally filled her lungs. Anabel sat up quickly, panic seizing her as her mind struggled to process what was happening.
She was no longer in the office. The familiar, comforting weight of her 15
old bed surrounded her. The room was bathed in a warm, golden light. The ceiling above her was painted in the soft glow of morning, its color startling, impossibly recognizable. A shade of pale blue. She turned her head. The window was the next shock.
It was open, a gentle breeze stirring the curtains. It was so real, unlike anything she had experienced since she was a child. Beyond the window stretched a city, but not her city, not the cold, calculated sprawl of New Goldland with its surveillance drones and looming digital billboards. This skyline was softer, the buildings nostalgic but different, untouched by the sterile efficiency of her science fiction present.
Anabel twisted abruptly, the motion sending her heart pounding against her ribs as she took in more of the room. The bedsheets were old and worn, the fabric stiff with years of washes, the kind of sheets her mother used to buy. A lump formed in her throat. No. This wasn’t possible. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet hitting a wooden floor that creaked softly beneath her weight, a noise she recognized. Her breath came in shallow bursts as she stood, the blood rushing from her head. A mirror stood across the room. Her stomach twisted as she stepped toward it, half-dreading what she would see. And then she froze. The face staring back at her was not the one she had seen in the mirror for years, the one lined with exhaustion, sharpened by the relentless battle for truth. This face was younger. She reached up, her fingers trembling as they traced the smooth skin of her cheek, noting the absence of the faint scar above her eyebrow, an injury she had gotten during a protest years ago.
Or...had she? Was she in her past? Had she unwritten her future?
She took a step back, panic rising in her chest. The manuscript. The story. She had rewritten it. She had undone her fate, unraveled the threads of inevitability, but had she undone herself in the process? Had she erased the life she had fought for? Her knees nearly buckled under her as she turned from the mirror. She needed answers. Something—anything—to tell her this was real. Her gaze landed on the desk by the window. It was small, unassuming, made of old wood. It had not been there in years, not since she was a child. And yet, now, it sat in its rightful place, bathed in the morning light. A single blank notebook lay atop it. Her breath hitched. Slowly, cautiously, she approached. The notebook was thick, its serif edges crisp and deliberate but yet untouched. Beside it, envelopes, oddly beautiful and rough in texture with a submerged faint scent of ink and something metallic. All accompanied by a dark inked pen.
Anabel swallowed hard.
Was this another test? Another story she was meant to write? She reached out, her fingertips grazing the cover. The moment she touched it, a strange sensation rippled through her, a whisper of something beyond words, beyond time.
A choice.
She could pick up the pen. She could write herself back into the life she had lost, rebuild the version of reality where she was a publisher fighting for the last remnants of truth. Or she could start anew. A world unwritten. A blank page, waiting. She sat down, back hitting the rough wood. Her fingers curled around the pen. She closed her eyes and after a deep breath. She began to write.
The View I Wish I Had | Sylvie Klestinski | 10
Scavenger | Sylvie Klestinski | 10
Room 201A
Eli Di Salvo | 10
I came into this room my first day of freshmen year
And won’t stop appearing in this room
I came here for safety
I came here to take the quiz I missed
I came here to laugh
I came here to learn how to a tie a tie
I came here to cry
I came here to be educated on the works of literature
I came here to talk about when a personal slur was whispered in my ear
I came here to room 201A for the comfort of someone who wanted to understand
Game Over
Kristy Barakeh | 11
The sun went up on a freezing cold Saturday in January. Zane woke up, his eyes immediately drawn to the unopened VR headset that his father gifted him . He decided that it was finally time to try out the headset. Without even bothering to change out of his blue velvet pajamas, he took the headset and hurried down the stairs with the box in his hands.
When he reached the living room, he connected the headset to the television and turned it on. He then reached under the dusty TV stand and took out his new video game, Buffleboon. He had been looking forward to trying out this video game since it was released. He looked at the back of the video game. There was a picture of four hair-raising yellow eyes that caught his attention. Zane slid the disk in the video game console, his hands trembling with euphoria. He opened the VR headset box, quickly setting it up before slipping it over his eyes. The leather couch creaked as Zane jumped on it. When the game began to start up, he signed up with his username, “Zane 505.” He was startled when the following statement flashed in front of his eyes:
“This is more than just a game. This is a fight for survival. Proceed if you think it’s worth risking your life.”
Upon seeing these words, a chill traveled down Zane’s spine. He still dropped all his worries and ensured himself that it was just a game after all. Nervously holding his controller, he hit the start button. While waiting for the game to finish loading, Zane felt his vision fade. The last thing he remembered was feeling as if he was falling off his school’s building.
Zane opened his eyes. He was met with the sight of a multicolored sky and the feeling of sharp grass. He slowly sat up and
felt his head spinning faster than a tornado. “Where am I?” he whispered, touching his face. The VR headset was gone, so was the controller. He sat up and saw that he was still wearing his pajamas and his wool slippers. Zane looked around the surreal landscape. He was blinded by the neon green shade of the grassy mountain he was sitting on. He then redirected his attention to the majestic water fountain. Though Zane was pleased by what he was seeing, panic began to settle in. He sprang up to his feet and walked around, until a hologram flashed in front of him. It read: “Welcome, Zane _ 505. The game begins now. If successful, you may go back to the real world. If unsuccessful, you shall stay here forever.”
A new wave of anxiety hit Zane. He didn’t know whether he should feel petrified or confused. The hologram flashed again: “Your mission is to defeat Buffleboon.” “Buffleboon?” he remarked with hysteria. He glanced around and took a step forward, the grass crunching under his feet.
Out of nowhere came an ear-piercing roar that made Zane’s blood go cold. He froze, his legs quivered as his heart raced. Unnervingly, he turned around and was met with the sight of a purple creature with four yellow eyes that radiated with wrath. The plump creature stood lanky with jagged claws. It was none other than Buffleboon himself. He began to walk over to Zane while staring into his soul. The closer he got, the deeper Zane’s stomach dropped.
Once Buffleboon got very close to Zane, they locked eyes with each other. Zane gulped very hard as Buffleboon’s eyes widened. Without hesitation, Buffleboon lunged at him. Zane ducked just in time and started throwing punches back. Fighting Buffleboon was beyond daunting. Every punch Buffleboon threw, Zane could feel his claws slicing his skin. Scars began to form all over Zane’s torso and his pajamas were 23
already completely torn. The pain of the cuts was too much to bear. The pain only worsened when he felt his sweat go in his cuts, stinging him. Despite all the agony, Zane had no choice butto keep fighting. He felt all the adrenaline flowing through his veins as he began to start throwing kicks. When Buffleboon lunged at him again, Zane kicked him straight in his knee. His slipper stayed on as he repeatedly kicked Buffleboon. Another hologram appeared next to him. It read: “Weapon unlocked.”
A slender and polished sword dropped from the sky. Zane desperately snatched it from the ground. He glanced at Buffleboon. Buffleboon attempted to throw another punch at him. Zane struck Buffleboon in the stomach with the sword. Blood began to splatter, staining Zane’s pajamas. Buffleboon still managed to stay standing and continued to throw skin-cutting punches at Zane. Every time Zane struck him, Buffleboon’s wrath doubled. His punches towards Zane increased with intensity punch after punch.
Zane plunged the sword into Buffleboon’s chest. Buffleboon began to lose his balance, collapsing on the floor. Zane walked over and looked down at him. Buffleboon immediately began to turn pale. He laid on the ground, not moving a muscle. The yellow in his eyes began to fade away, turning completely black.
Zane stood there as the biggest wave of relief hit him. The only thing on his mind was being able to go back to his living room. The hologram appeared once again:
“Congratulations, Zane 505. You may now go back to the real world.”
Zane began to feel everything around him blur, the colors melting together. He was back in his living room, sitting on his couch. The VR headset and controller both rested on the carpet. “I guess it was really just a game after all,” he said with ease. Upon saying this, he 24
noticed his voice being deeper than usual.
Zane got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen. He had the gut feeling that something wasn’t right. When he walked past the mirror, he decided to take a look at himself. Upon looking at his reflection, Zane’s heart skipped a beat. His eyes beamed yellow, just like Buffleboon. The mirror turned into a hologram:
“Welcome back, Zane 505.”
A chilling laugh echoed through the dining room. Zane’s world gradually began to lose its color, leaving only darkness. The silence was broken by a loud roar: it was that of Buffleboon. Zane let out a blood-curdling scream, but nothing came out.
The only thing still in sight was the hologram. It flashed: “There is no escape, not until I’m done playing with you.”
Cade Patterson
Alien Deer| Jack Nickel | 10
Untitled | Hayden Reuhl | 12
An Artist Lost
Pepper Marlee | 12
I don’t mean to be cliche but I miss you.
I miss who you were before the small desks and the raised hands.
I miss who you were when they told you “good job” for writing your name at the top of your paper and you were given gold stars for being quiet
Because they broke you.
Weight | Eleanor Doro | 11
The daily 8-hour prison erased your ink-stained fingers
And the chalk embedded under your nails have been sterilized
The essay outline snatched your words before you could speak
And the highlighter swooshes removed with a plain soap
I fear this building is ripping my creativity from the clutches of my heart like a tornado's wind
My mind which used to be sharp, perfected by the commitment I felt for my studies,
Turned dull by expectation and the question of, “May I use the bathroom, please”
I remember a peppy child, In love with the stories her imagination would create. Worlds dancing around her head
I now recognize the slight hope that you would have for a class, The bright eyes entering a new room when it turns out to be just the same,
Just the same as all the others.
Molding and shaping you into someone you didn’t want to be I would hate to show you where you are now
Metaphorical scars on your hands from crawling away from expectations
Existing scars up your arms from wanting to crawl away from yourself
All because due dates continue to pile up to this day
But you’ve learned
That to get where you want to be
You have to work like your father and rest like your mother
So if I could tell you anything
It would be that losing yourself was the best thing for your dreams
But yes, I miss you and you will miss yourself
The Arsenal of Righteousness
RuthieBrenner|11
And a bar Of bombs Had each In real, re That were
That stuttered But I could wa Hid under des
While singing “Duck and cover!
Singing
While bombs exploded. is good, him?
rove themselves wrong?
Isper
Isper was really getting tired of how tight everything in this ship was. Despite his best efforts, he constantly found himself banging into things, catching other things on his large ears and long tusks, and knocking still other things over when he turned corners, things that probably weren’t even supposed to be touched by someone as new to the crew as him.
What’s the point of even being on this mission if I have barely enough clearance to sit in the control room and look out the main viewport? He swerved awkwardly around a hallway climate panel as he griped, barely avoiding cracking it with his tusk. And why in the name of Agnak did Andromeda Academy choose to put me on a ship made for Rosterians?
The excessive molting of his fellow crewmates on the starship was getting old, too Isper was sure that if he started collecting the feathers floating around everywhere, and had any means of transporting objects to his home planet of Tnagrwt (which was now more than three rotations away without jumping to light speed), he’d have enough to fill pillows for his wife and child within only a few cycles.
Over one and a half thousand cycles since I got on this god-forsaken ship, and we have yet to find the expired star cluster we’re meant to study, Isper thought, with a grimace. It’ll be 250 more by the time they admit we’re lost, and then Agnak knows how many rotations it’ll be until I can get home again.
If the Fleet lets me.
“Hey, Isper!” the chipper voice of Roman, the younger of the crew’s two research specialists, broke him out of his thoughts.
“Hello,” he grunted, glaring down at the Rosterian as his wings fluttered, adding six new snowy, downy feathers to the ever-present dusting of them along the shiny floor of the corridor.
“You want to go spar in the exercise bay?” Roman offered, fluttering up in Lilly Koblenski | 12
33
the air as if he wished the ship hadn’t received the new gravity controlssystem the galaxy’s manufacturing corporation were testing out through the Fleet.
“Fledgeling, I could crush you with one fist,” Isper grunted, shouldering roughly past the bird-man, who scoffed goodnaturedly and flapped after him.
“Oh, come on, Isper. Just cause you’re a big scary Raithar warrior doesn’t mean you’ll win every time.”
What is this chicken-headed nitwit talking about? Isper rolled his eyes. His only success is making an idiot of himself. “You forget that I am at least ten times your weight, pack on more muscle in one arm than you’ve got in your entire torso, and have two tusks thicker than both your skinny legs combined,” Isper said, turning into the bunk room with a heavy sigh. “Of course I’ll win.”
Roman followed him in and flopped dramatically on Isper’s bed. “You’re pretty terrible at being part of a team, you know,” he noted, as if he hadn’t made that same observation every cycle since the mission started.
“I never wanted to be a part of this team in the first place,” Isper growled. “Now get off my bed before you get it full of feathers.”
Roman sighed and rolled off, leaving a plethora of feathers behind anyway. Isper opened his mouth to bark an angry get out, when an alarm he’d never heard before blared in the hallway outside.
He and Roman exchanged a confused glance, then bolted to the ship’s control room.
Corbin, the captain, stood at the panel which controlled the ship’s movements with a blank expression on his face, though his dark wings fluttered in an agitated fashion, betraying his anxiety.
Isper’s other four other crewmates and Lieutenant Alouette, Corbin’s second in command, hurried into the room. Alouette started and flew over to the viewport. “Where’s the blaster fire coming from?”
“Don’t know,” Corbin breathed, fingers dancing wildly along the panel. “Everyone strap in, we’re in for a rough ride.”
The ship swerved harshly to the left and Isper grunted, throwing out a clawed hand to catch himself and avoid crushing Roman, who scurried to 34
his seat and hurriedly buckled in.
“This is going to be exciting,” he grinned.
This has got to be some sort of nightmare, Isper thought, angrily fighting away the fear that had begun to curl in his stomach. Why wasn’t Alouette in here earlier? With another pair of eyes, the captain might’ve been able to avoid the issue before we were in the middle of it.
A concerningly loud crackling noise spread along the exterior of the ship as Corbin spun it around, pushing away from the area with everything the engines had.
“Dammit,” he growled, and Alouette leapt from her seat and ran to the panel beside him. Another alarm started blaring and red lights flashed along the walls of the control room.
“Our shields are down,” she hissed, and Isper swung the battle control panel attached to his seat out as quickly as possible, stomach jolting.
“That’s not good,” Roman observed, to Isper’s right. He twisted in his seat to look at Kestrel, the ship’s engineer. “Can I help you with anything?”
“Working on it already,” Kestrel said, bent over her panel and tapping wildly.
“Take left wing,” Sergeant Goshawk snapped from behind Isper, and he complied, swapping screens and scanning the pictures produced by the 360 camera images, attempting to locate the source of the issue.
“Got hit by an asteroid,” he grunted, shaking his head. We’re so disorganized. We should all have had our panels out as soon as we knew we were under attack.
Mentally kicking himself, he scanned the images for further dangers, and started. “Foreign blaster shot fired, incoming at 9 o’clock!” He zoomed in on the image to locate where it had come from as Corbin swerved to avoid it.
Flashes of laser fire travelling at thousands of quiks per second rocketed around the ship as more and more shots flew through space. Corbin twisted the vessel around in a hundred directions, and Isper looked behind him to see that Alouette had pulled up the hologram 360-view camera. Sparks of light flew towards the glowing blue ship as it twisted and turned,
but the hologram couldn’t support any material beyond a four-quik radius around it.
“Where are the bloody things coming from?” Goshawk snarled.
“Can someone give me clearance to use my command panel for more than substance analytics?” Roman asked, twisting in his seat again. “I could help with the blasters.”
Isper glanced back at his screen in time to see another one of the vibrant blue jets fire off from a nearby asteroid. “They’re firing from the asteroids,” he grunted, swiping at the controls on the screen to turn the left blaster gun on the asteroid. He fired and smirked with satisfaction as the frozen hunk of space matter blew into pieces, then turned his blaster on the next one. “Bastards.”
“Don’t get too cocky, Private,” Goshawk muttered from behind him.
Isper turned to glare at him, puncturing the back of his leather seat accidentally with a tusk.
“What can I do to help?” Roman asked, turning towards Alouette and Corbin. “I want to help!”
“You can shut up,” Alouette advised sharply, and Roman sank in his seat, scowling.
Buteo, the head researcher, shook his head. “I brought you along to learn to analyze the samples we picked up, not to fight. You don’t have the training.” His chiding was gentler than Alouette’s by a mere fraction stress had overridden all tone filtration.
Isper snarled and blasted another asteroid, fury replacing the fear in his stomach as the lights in the control room went out. A third alarm added to the cacophony of shrill sounds ricocheting around the dark space.
I will not die.
A thunderous crash shook the ship, and Corbin let out a string of expletives.
I will not die.
“We’re hit,” Goshawk coughed, and Isper felt his chest constrict.
I will survive and return to Tnagrwt to watch Kiakara grow up.
“I’ve lost control of the ship,” Corbin said, voice resigned.
“Working on it,” Kestrel growled.
I will tell her stories of my time at the academy, and the idiots I flew with on my first mission.
“There’s a celestial body near us that we’re going to hit if you don’t fix it soon,” Goshawk hissed, wings fluttering dizzyingly fast against the leather seat behind him.
I will return to Maklasti and hold her hands in mine and promise that I will never leave again.
I will not die.
I will not die.
I will not
There was the sound of glass shattering, of metal creaking, of engines exploding, and then there was darkness.
***
Isper coughed, shaking his head to clear it and choking on the acrylic scent of the smoke that billowed up from the wreckage. Even with his natural adaptation to heat due to the high temperatures of his home planet, the flames licking the sides of the ship were scorching, hot enough that the padding on the control room’s interior had simply melted away, leaving behind white-hot structural boning and exterior plating that would burn his hand off it he touched it. Isper looked around, squinting through the smoke, and spotted Goshawk slumped over the control panel behind him, and Kestrel to his right, head nearly severed from her body by a scrap of fallen metal.
Pushing away the shock he knew was creeping up on him, Isper fought his way out of the crumpled wreck of his station, grabbed Goshawk and threw him over his back, then tucked Kestrel’s corpse under his arm and picked his way through the burning remains of the ship and towards the shattered viewport as quickly as he could. Roman’s form twitched as he passed, and so, barely taking a second to gulp down deep lungfuls of clean, smoke free air or notice his surroundings, Isper laid Goshawk and Kestrels’ bodies on a patch of solid ground and splashed his way through knee deep sludge back into the ship.
How many of them are still alive besides Roman and I? Isper was almost afraid of the answer, but he forced his way in and out of the ship again and again, scorching his arms on panels that burned like the pits of hell, carrying the bodies of his crewmates out into the forested swamp outside and laying them beneath what resembled a sprawling mangrove tree. He had barely made it out with Alouette’s scorched body when the ship began to sink, inch by inch, into the mud of the swamp, fire burning away into dark, roiling clouds of acrid smoke as it sank into the murky ground.
When he returned to the tree and slightly more solid ground, he found Roman struggling to lift himself up on an elbow, hacking up thick strings of black mucus all over his tattered uniform.
“Glad you’re alive,” Isper grunted, slumping down next to him for a moment and wincing at the pain from the burns and cuts all over his body as his adrenaline faded.
“How many of the others survived?” Roman coughed, glancing with a shudder at the bodies lying around them.
“Don’t know,” Isper sighed, getting heavily to his feet. “Not Kestrel, or Alouette, probably.” He bent near Goshawk and felt for a pulse. “Not Goshawk, either.”
Roman drew in a shaky breath and tried without much success to wrap his bloodied, broken, singed wings around himself as Isper made his way through the rest of the crew.
Are they all dead? A sinking feeling settled in Isper’s chest. Just because I didn’t like the idiots doesn’t mean I wanted them all to die
He breathed a sigh of relief when his fingers found a feeble pulse in the captain’s neck. Picking him up carefully, he carried him over to where Roman lay and propped him against a tree. “You, me, and the captain, it seems,” he said, looking over the rest of the crew. Roman nodded solemnly, and raised a shaking hand to cover, then uncover, his eyes, the Fleet’s sign of respect for the fallen. Isper copied the gesture and rose to pick up Goshawk’s body.
“I’m going to bury them,” he said gruffly. “You stay here.”
He said a silent prayer to the gods as he worked, thanking them for his
life, asking for peace for his fallen crewmates, solace for their families. And please, please let us find a way out of here, he thought, going back to Roman, who was leaning against the tree roots, eyes half closed.
“You alright, there?” he asked, caught off-guard by the concern he felt for the researcher. Maybe it’s just that I don’t want to be stuck here alone.
“Alive, at least, but you already knew that,” Roman coughed. “What’s the plan?”
Isper paused, then winced, shifting his weight to his left leg. The captain’s barely clinging to life, and Roman’s grievously injured. Any decision making falls on me.
“We start looking for help,” he said, clearing his throat and trying to look more confident than he felt. I may be a warrior, but I’m a follower, not a leader.
You’re the leader here, he reminded himself. You have to be. With a deep breath, he hefted first Roman, then the captain, onto his back, one over each shoulder. “Try to hang on if you can,” he grunted. “Grab my ears if you have to.”
Roman laughed at that, but dissolved into a fit of coughing that sent scorched feathers fluttering off his wings and past Isper’s nose. He huffed out a sigh and set off through the swamp.
It was an awful couple of hours. The swamp, while much cooler than the burning remnants of the ship, was moist and murky, full of patches of water and mud and barely solid ground that blended into each other so seamlessly that walking at a rapid pace was an impossibility. Strange serpent-like creatures slithered past Isper’s legs in the muck, and tree boughs dripping with moss kept catching on Roman and Corbin’s wings.
Roman fell into a half-sleep after a while, occasionally moaning in pain when a burned or gashed arm or leg or wing pressed into anything a little too heavily, other times crying out in his sleep for his family, for his nowdeceased mentor, for home. The emotional pain he was clearly feeling made Isper’s heart twist in spite of himself, and he found himself humming a soothing lullaby he’d learned as a child, one he sang to Kiakara when she had nightmares. Roman’s cries ceased, but Isper felt the cool wetness of
tears against the skin of the large fan-like ear pressed awkwardly backwards against the Rosterian’s side and face.
A few hours later, the ground began to actually solidify, and Isper squatted to let Roman and the captain slide from his shoulders, then flopped on the ground beside them, letting his sore muscles relax for a few minutes. He turned to look at the captain and shock jolted down his spine.
How long has he been like this?
The man’s eyes were glazed over and his mouth hung partially open, tongue lolling out over blood coated teeth. A quick check for a pulse confirmed him to be dead, and Isper let out a shuddering breath.
How long has Roman known? Does he know?
He glanced at the researcher, who had curled his broken body into a fetal position, eyes shut tightly, tear tracks still glistening on his bloodstreaked face.
Isper didn’t have the heart to ask him, so he got up, muscles aching, and carried Corbin off to a softer patch of ground a quarter of a quik away and laid him gently in the muddy earth.
Don’t die on me, too, Roman, he thought, glancing over at the burnt shape on the ground. With a start, he noticed a shape moving closer to the Rosterian’s form—No, two… three shapes.
Fighting exhaustion, he rose to his feet and lumbered back to his only remaining crewmate, stumbling over tree roots and searching the burned away folds of his uniform unsuccessfully for weapons.
The three foreign creatures reached Roman at the same time Isper did, and looked up at him with a curious expression. Small, greenish blue froglike things, they held spiked clubs dripping with a yellow substance that looked and smelled suspiciously poisonous.
When they made no move to attack, he relaxed enough to scoop Roman’s body up in his arms. The bird-man let out a pained groan, and Isper shifted his right arm to avoid a particularly badly torn patch of flesh on Roman’s leg. “Can you help us?” he asked, in Common.
The frog-like beings looked at one another, and pushed the second of their number forward. “How did you come to this place?” she asked.
“Our ship crashed,” Isper explained. “The rest of our crew is dead.” Then he added, “We just want to go home.”
“Home,” the frog mused. “Where is home?”
“Quite a ways away from here,” Isper admitted, heart sinking. Will Roman survive the trip?
Will I? Doubt roiled in his stomach. He had only had very basic flight training, and would certainly not be able to operate a ship anywhere near the complexity of the admittedly uncomplicated mission ship they’d just crashed.
“You are with the Andromeda Academy Fleet?” She pointed a slimy, webbed finger at the insignia on Isper’s collar. He nodded.
“There is a Fleet post not too far from our planet, Anura,” she offered. “I am Siquios. Let me take you to our base, and I will ask our king if we can spare a ship.”
“Thank you so much,” Isper told her, relief flooding his stomach. Flying the ship was a problem for later. If there was a base nearby, perhaps Roman could get medical help.
“And we will try to help your friend,” the frog added, as if she had read his thoughts. “Though I do not know if our medicines will poison him,” she mused, leading Isper and her two companions away into the woods.
That’s the least of my worries, Isper thought, feeling tension ooze out of his muscles. If there’s a Fleet base nearby, he’ll get the help he needs soon enough.
The spacecraft Siquios’s king offered Isper and Roman turned out to be relatively easy to handle. After a cycle’s rest on the swampy planet, the frogs sent them off with a physical map, directions, and a bottle of medicine deemed safe for Roman. Isper graciously declined a second bottle for himself (“My blood fights off most infections, and I don’t mind the scarring”).
Despite being far too injured to help Isper in any way, Roman proved a good companion over the course of the flight. Isper found himself opening up to the bird-man in unexpected ways, telling him stories of his life back
on Tnagrwt and listening with interest as Roman told him of his life on Rostera in return. He laughed at the ridiculous jokes Roman made to distract himself from the pain when Isper treated his wounds, and sang him the songs of his home planet to comfort him each night as he fell into uneasy sleep.
Thirty six cycles and two fuel stops later, they reached the Fleet base on the tiny Anuran ship gifted to them by the frog king.
“We made it,” Roman breathed, as the station grew bigger in the tiny viewport, lights and windows glittering like a tiny city.
Isper smiled. “Yes, we did,” he grunted. “Now we can get you some proper medical care.”
“I think you were a great doctor,” Roman chuckled. “You only got the ointment in my mouth twice.”
“Shut up,” Isper laughed. “If you didn’t squirm quite so much…”
It was with something akin to joy that Isper lifted Roman out of the little spacecraft and up to the healing unit of the Fleet base, flocked on either side by soldiers who had been assigned to him until debriefing.
“I’ll be back soon,” he told Roman, laying him down on the clean white sheets of a bed that looked far more comfortable than the hard leather padding they’d been sleeping on for the past thirty six cycles.
“You better,” Roman smirked. “I’ll be waiting.”
***
“I’m going to be sent home,” Roman said, staring up at the ceiling of the hospital unit a few cycles later. “They say I’m too injured to be of any use directly, and have given me leave until I’m fully recovered.”
Isper nodded faintly. “I’m happy for you.”
“I’m sorry,” Roman said, looking over at him and reaching out to pat his hand. “I know how much you wanted to go home, too.”
“I do get to go home for a little while,” Isper pointed out. “They’re giving me 80 cycle’s leave after we check in at the Academy before I have to join the new team.”
Roman didn’t speak for a few moments. At length, he said, “I’m going to miss you, Isper.”
“I’m going to miss you too,” Isper said quietly. Then he chuckled. “Didn’t expect to get attached to you, fledgeling, but here we are.” He reached out to ruffle what was left of Roman’s hair, and the researcher smiled.
They sat there in silence for a while, resting in each other's company. Isper watched the gentle rise and fall of his companion’s chest, feeling eternally grateful that the two of them had survived, and choosing not to think about the missions and the new team ahead of him.
I’m alive. I’m alive, and I’m going to go home. And so is Roman.
“You’ll be a great member of your new crew, you know,” Roman said, looking back up at the ceiling. “I know you might view it as some sort of punishment, and I get that, I really do… but… maybe it’s like a second chance.”
“Maybe,” Isper murmured, leaning back in his chair to look up at the ceiling, too. The shimmering metal reflected back the image of his scarred face, and he sighed, offering the reflection a small smile. “Maybe.”
Untitled | Jamie Hoang | 12
Won’t Admit It Anonymous
etting warmer, the days long f summer. The two of us sto end of a small dock jutting out into the cool shallows of Lake Wingra. Here we stood, basking in the midday sun whilst simultaneously bracing for the next sudden barrage of wind. Each of us had just escaped from an hour long final, and were now killing time until the next one. So here we stood, unchaperoned in the wind; two slender frames, mine having a sweatshirt tied around my waist. We attempted to make something resembling a conversation. In reality, our chatting was a strained web of superficial inquisitions and dry replies; endlessly switching topics at breakneck speed. Our conversation had been stuttering along for a while, upheld by intermittent jokes and spontaneous bouts of chuckling. The edges of our mouths were con fixated i th li ht l f i Th h I di due dili n a
That day was hazy and bright, as if everything was tinted a shade lighter, not unlike the sun bleached dock we ambled on. Yet this haze appeared to have no effect on his face, which now seemed clearer and more tangible than anything that had come before. The sweeping hush of wind lulled me further into his details, the faint freckles dotting his cheeks, which were now turned up by his childishly reassuring smile. His eyes, slightly squinted in the sunlight, finished off his infectious air of tranquility; I was helpless to bask in it.
Except the grasshoppers and the determined, marching ants.
Summer brings the insects crawling from their hiding places
No longer chased or squashed underfoot by little shoes.
For ten weeks, the playground is theirs.
The grasshoppers come first,
Still wary of stomping feet and flying kick balls.
Now they play a game of hide and seek
Seeing who can blend in the most seamlessly with the wood chips by the creaking swings.
The mosquitoes come next,
Whining about the slaps and swats they’ve endured.
There’s not much for them to do but wait for warm blood, So they settle on the slide and gossip in clusters.
The rolly polies come next, Bumbling and slow as they crawl across the shaded sidewalk.
No one knows why they love the paved lot cracked by age and snow, But they don’t venture far past their concrete home.
The cicadas come gradually, Bursting out of the cracked earth in waves.
They are the older ones, smug with seven years’ experience. Their game is a contest to see whose cry is loudest.
Summer brings a different kind of recess to the playground Full of loners, brats, and whiners.
The players are different but the rules are the same. The game is open to anyone.
Summer fades slowly and the human children return. They swat and squash and sweep the bugs away, back to the tall grasses in the field.
Soon only the cicadas are left, fastened to plastic poles or peeling tree bark, Unworried by this disruption.
They are wise enough to know that the cycle will repeat itself.
Butterfly | Liliana Garcia | 9
language of the forest
Ava Anderson | 9
the forest talks to those who listen words float on the breeze like a morning mist it rustles the leaves brings news of the rising sun and the falling moon.
the bird tweets a messenger from afar shares with the trees that which it knows from many journeys the bird traverses very different forests, though not far from here, they are ones that grew to lack both birds and trees. only concrete grows there now.
“what have you found?” asks the sycamore in the language of the forest.
“suffering.” replies the bird in the language of the forest. the human hunter responds in the language of a gun collecting his feathered catch and continuing on. the forest remains. damaged yet alive. what kills it does not make it stronger.
When Hope Takes Flight | Olivia Morsbach | 12
Tidal Bloom | Uriel Nikiema | 12
The Last Hotel
Ellie O’Day | 11
Damian chose this hotel for me to stay at because it was still in business. Not because it was pleasant. This is what I’m telling myself as I sit in the lobby on a gray leather chair that’s cracked with stuffing spilling out. This is just the type of place he likes to send me to–a public one, where I can better observe targets. I hate it here. Places like this should just stay closed. I look up from my computer and gaze in disgust around the lobby. The walls are olive green and pale gray, designed in that abstract yet minimalist pattern of the 2020s. The floors look like they haven’t been washed in a while. That’s definitely not meeting the newest sanitation laws, but most people at this hotel won’t care.
They’re not here to leave a bad review. They’re here to escape something. They need to run. And this hotel is their only option.
Of course, there are masked men here who aren’t running from something. They’re what others run from. I’ve been here since yesterday morning and I’ve seen how people change when they enter a room. They pull their own flimsy paper masks up higher to hide their face. They turn their backs. They flee if they can. No one wants to provoke one of the masked men.
A group of them just walked in now. A burly, muscular man sees them and runs right out of the lobby. I pull my computer closer and squint at the screen. Unlike the others, I have nothing to fear from them.
There’s been news vids recently of masked men sitting down to eat at restaurants and not paying bills, stealing things from people on the street, even pointing guns at those who won’t comply. I look them up on computers at public libraries–mine’s being watched, and I can’t risk Damian seeing. They’d call me in for another reprimand if they saw I was watching the news vids. They want to 53
be my only information source.
The sliding glass doors, streaked with dried cleaning solution, slide open with a swoosh. A young girl steps inside leading a boy with her other hand. She has dark curly hair and dark eyes. There are deep circles underneath her eyes. She’s carrying a traveling bag that’s way too big for her. I frown. It’s not unusual to see children out in public alone these days, but at a hotel? And with such a large bag? I look around the lobby to see if the other guests find this strange, but they’ve all snuck off because of the masked men. The masked men are sitting at a table near the back of the room, but one of them looks up as the girl approaches the counter. The receptionist puts down her phone with a sigh and opens the plastic divider so she can hear.
“Hi,” the girl says a little shyly. “Can I get a room for me and my brother?”
The receptionist looks down at her in disdain. “How old are you?” she mutters.
“Um…”
The girl looks back at the boy, like she doesn’t think it’s safe to give out her age. At least she’s got some sense.
“Thirteen.”
Never mind.
“You’ve gotta be eighteen to get a room. Get your mommy and come back later.” The receptionist picks up her phone and starts to close the divider, but the girl reaches up and pushes it back open. The receptionist glares at her and pulls her mask up higher. “Young lady–”
“Look, I can pay!” the girl exclaims desperately. She leans forward so her face and the receptionist’s are only inches away. The receptionist recoils in disgust as the girl pleads with her.
“Please. I have money. I can pay extra. I can pay whatever you want. Just please let me and my brother stay, please, I’ve been looking for a hotel for hours and we’re really tired and I can’t find anywhere else–”
“Three hundred,” the receptionist says flatly. I hear a chair creak behind me and turn around. One of the masked men has sat up straighter. He’s looking at the reception desk. I could go up and distract him. But I really shouldn’t. I could get in trouble. Damian’s made it very clear what my punishment would be if I was led astray again. The masked man sees me looking at him and narrows his eyes. I look away, feeling a little sick.
The girl winces and crouches down to the ground. She whispers something to the boy, who’s been reading a comic book this entire time. They both fish around in the duffel bag for a few seconds, and then the girl straightens up again. From where I’m sitting, I can just barely see her slide three hundred dollars across the counter. I hear the masked men muttering behind me. The receptionist’s face lights up as she counts the money. She must decide that it’s not counterfeit because she forces a big smile on her face and passes the girl a key. “Room 220 for you, sweetie,” she says cheerfully.
The girl zips up the duffel bag, waits for her brother to get up, and disappears down a hallway to the right. Behind me, chairs screech across the floor. The masked men are getting up. I feel a twinge in my stomach. I know what they’re going to do.
Sometimes I hate that we work together. That I lay the foundation for their bullying. But that’s what I’m stuck with. And this isn’t my problem. If the girl didn’t want her money stolen, she should have been more careful. I close my computer and get up to go back to my room. At least the lights don’t flicker in there.
As I pass reception I notice something on the ground. The girl dropped something. I crouch down and pick it up, holding it up to the dim light. It’s a golden bracelet. Not real gold. Gold paint. It looks green in the flickering lights of the hotel lobby. I glance around to see if anyone’s staring and then look back at the bracelet. There’s two charms on it: One of a plastic pink heart, and the other…
I almost drop the bracelet to the ground. My heart is hammering against my chest. I glance back at the hallway the masked men followed the kids down. Could it be? No, the odds are impossible…but who else would have that exact ruby jewel? And that chip in the side…
The receptionist slides open her window and peers at the bracelet. “What’s that, sir?” she asks.
“Uh, a bracelet,” I stammer. “The girl must have dropped it.”
“Ah.” Her eyes glint with greed. “I can hold onto it for you until she comes up front again…”
“Absolutely not,” I snap at her. I shove it in my pocket. “I’ll go return it to her.” The receptionist slumps in disappointment and slides the window shut again. I hurry out of the lobby and down the hallway. Room 220–of course, the masked men are probably already there. I should get my knife out. Hopefully I can talk them down. Convince them we’re on the same side. I round a corner and run straight into someone. I hear a muffled grunt as I stumble backwards and look up.
A masked man is glaring down at me. He’s almost a head taller than me–it feels like every masked man I see is bigger and stronger than the average person. His two colleagues turn around at the noise and narrow their eyes. The one I ran into growls, “Watch where you’re going.”
“Excuse me,” I retort. “Would you speak that way to one of Damian’s assassins?” I’m not technically an assassin, but they don’t need to know that. It’s close enough.
The leader’s eyes widen behind his black mask. “Oh, sorry, man.”
“I’m sure you are,” I mutter under my breath. “Are you looking for those kids?” The masked men nod. “Well,” I say, “I heard that boy whining about the pool as they passed me. They were following the signs that led there.” I point back down the hallway and towards the other wing of the hotel. “Pool’s that way.”
“The pool?” the masked man on the left asks, suspicious.
“Yes. Kids these days aren’t careful anymore. They’re all idiots.” It’s true.
“What are you getting out of this?” one of them asks warily.
I shrug. “You saw those kids’ clothes. They’re rich, wherever they’re coming from. Maybe they’ve stolen from home, I don’t know. If you let me keep a little of that girl’s jewelry, you can have everything in their duffel bag.”
They look at each other, considering. Finally the one in front growls, “Alright, fine. Who cares about some stupid jewelry.”
They stand there for a moment, and I sigh. “Well, get going! They’re not going to be down there all night! I’ll be right here, waiting.”
“Oh, right, yeah.” They run off. I smirk and walk past the staircase. Those masked men may be bullies, but they’re dumb as rocks. I walk down the hallway until I reach Room 220. I knock on the door and call out in a false cheery voice. “Hellooo? I have your bracelet. I think you dropped it at the reception desk.” There’s no response, and I knock again. “Helloooo?”
The door opens. The girl is standing in the doorway, arms wrapped around her body. “Give it to me,” she says nervously.
I toss it to her and walk past her into the hotel room. “You’ve been really foolish, girl. You walk into this hotel and show everyone in the lobby your money, you drop your bracelet with a real ruby on the floor, and you open your door to a stranger after I pretend to be all kind and cheerful. You’re really stupid. Oh, and you’re in danger. Like, serious danger.”
“What?” The girl closes the door and runs up behind me. “From who?”
“The masked men. There’s a group of them searching this hotel for you as we speak.”
I stride past the bed and stagger as something heavy barrels into me. I look down. The girl’s younger brother has his arms
wrapped around my legs. “I’ve got him, Maren, I’ve got him!” he yells.
“Luca, get off him!” The girl called Maren bends down to pull him away. As she’s forcing Luca away from me, she looks up at me desperately. “Are you serious? Do they have weapons?”
“Guns, probably.”
“Guns?”
“Oh yeah. You’d be lucky if they have knives. I used to carry a gun, but it got too easy. A knife is more fun.” I whip my knife out. Maren gasps. It’s more to scare her than anything else. It’s funny to see someone so shocked at the sight of a weapon.
Luca creeps up to me, staring in awe. “Can I touch it?”
“No, Luca! Stay away!” Maren steps between us and glares up at me. “How do I know you’re not just lying? What if you’re just here to rob us?”
“Then I’d have already robbed you,” I say exasperatedly. “And you’d deserve it. You’re way too careless.”
Maren sounds like she’s about to cry. “How do we get out of here? Do we escape through the hallway?”
“Eh. Too risky. They’re probably heading to Room 220 as they speak. Even idiots can only spend so much time searching a pool.”
“So…the window?” Luca asks.
“It doesn’t open!” exclaims Maren.
“Just pack your things. I’ll find a way out.” I walk over to the window and push aside the thick linen curtains. It’s dark outside. It must be almost ten o’clock. If I hadn’t seen that bracelet, I would be in bed right now.
Luca comes up to me and tugs on my coat sleeve. “Why are you just standing there?”
I snatch it out of his grip and climb up onto the windowsill. “Don’t touch me and stand back. You’ll do more harm than good.”
“Why are you even doing this?” Maren asks. She zips up the duffel bag and walks over to us. “What’s the point? Aren’t you supposed to be in cahoots with them?”
“Why, because I’m wearing all black and I have a knife? Did you learn that in your Saturday morning cartoons?”
“My what?”
“Never mind. I don’t really know why I’m doing this, honestly.” They don’t need to know. We just need to get out of here.
“So, are you running from them?” she asks.
I frown, then snap at her, “Well, who are you running from?”
A loud bang on the door makes all of us jump. Maren exclaims, “They’ve found us!” and I can’t help but roll my eyes. Of course they found her. They know her room number.
I hurry across the room and pick up the nightstand. It’s heavy and metal, but not attached to the wall like in some other hotels. As I’m lugging it back over to the window, the banging gets louder and louder. I can hear the masked men shouting from outside. “OPEN UP!”
“Help me!” I grunt. Maren grabs hold of one end of the nightstand and I take the other. We hoist it up against the windowsill so the legs are touching the window. The banging from the door is getting even louder. They’ll be inside any minute. We need to hurry. “Okay,” Maren exclaims, “On the count of three–”
“No time, just go!” I snap. We ease the nightstand backwards and slam it against the window with all our might. The glass shatters. I put the nightstand down as Maren helps Luca onto the windowsill. Just as she climbs onto the windowsill and pulls her bag up with her, the door bursts open with an ear splitting crack. I scramble onto the windowsill and push Maren out of the way. The masked men run into the room and stop in their tracks when they see me.
I swallow hard. I should turn around and jump. But I can’t. I’m frozen where I am. This is just like last time. Damian’s going to kill me.
“You!” one of them shouts. “You dirty traitor!” He pulls out his gun and shoots.
It all happens in an instant–I hear the shot and flinch away, something pulls me down, I’m falling backwards into empty space, I’m landing on a hard surface.
I gasp for air. The wind’s been knocked out of me. My ears are ringing from the gunshot. I can hear the yelling of voices from inside. It sounds like there’s a fight going on–did the receptionist call the police?
Groaning, I scramble to my feet. I reach up and touch my forehead. The bullet missed. What happened?
Maren grabs my hand and pulls me forward. “C’mon, we’ve got to get out of here!” We sprint across the field towards the road.
We flee through the downtown area until Maren stops near a tree. “Stop!” she gasps. “I need to breathe.”
“We can’t stop,” I say. I’ve recovered from my scare now. It helps that I’m faster and more in shape than they are.
Luca slumps onto a bench and looks up at me, pouting. “Pleeeaase?” he whines.
“Ugh. Fine.” If the masked men catch up with us I’m ditching them out of spite.
I walk over and sit next to him with my arms crossed. Maren walks over and sits on Luca’s other side. Suddenly I realize who must have pulled me off the windowsill. It was her. Luca wouldn’t have been tall enough. She just saved my life.
Well, at least she did something useful tonight.
“So, what now, Maren?” Luca asks.
Maren’s deep in thought. She looks the same way as he did. He always frowned just like that whenever he was thinking about something serious. I glance down at her bracelet. “Where’d you get that?” I ask quietly.
Maren puts her other hand over it protectively. “My father,” she says defensively. “What’s it to you?” I shrug, but inside my mind is whirling. Her father? Is her father…Isaac?
Maren speaks up again. “I’ve been thinking. You should come with us?”
“Why?”
“We can look out for each other.”
“I’m the one who saved you–”
“I’m the one who pulled you out of the way of that masked man’s bullet!” she retorts. “We can both help each other. People have a better chance of survival when they’re in a group. And I doubt your old group would take you now, would it? The ‘dirty traitor’?”
I sigh. “Fine. You can come with me to the next city.”
“Yay,” Luca mumbles. He’s leaning on Maren’s shoulder, looking sleepy. I look at them together for a moment, then stand up. “We should find a bus. Let’s go.”
As the three of us walk down the street to the bus stop, I can’t help but look at Maren’s bracelet again. It’s Isaac’s, no questioning it. I can’t help but remember that I’ve been here before. And just like last time, leaving everything behind will either be the best one of my life…or the worst.
The Cabin | Elise Gantz | 9
A Chapter Too Hard to Read
Rose Caldera | 10
Words, the antagonist of my stories. The one matter that could make me feel as if I could be nothing, while those around me were something.
Symbols, which were called words, the torment of these black characters which had no reason to me why they were on paper. If you could untangle its web and decipher them all, it would make sense, my teachers would say. Nevertheless to me it did not. I only saw pictures of all the books I read. I read Garfield off his sentiment and expressions, Froggy based on the characters illustrations, making my own story that came together at the end. Who needs words while all these pictures made sense.
Time went on and words got longer and I continued to read my pictures. People moved on, but I stayed back, for I was the tortoise that was always last. Pictures started saying goodbye, never returning or waving back. Only words were on pages now, laughing up at me as I struggled to sound them out. Every word took me minutes to unravel.
Pages were stained by my s be good enough, as I reach to the battle which I thoug the group where the kids c stories that I could never re wizard to the adventures o Jac a d e. e e as o e s e t at can remember quite well, it was the shelf I was not allowed to approach. It was tall and brown and had a hue of books, books only the smart ones could reach.
As I was ready to renounce, my mother would not give up. I went to the lady who was supposed to help me decode. She had stacks of cards that were as thick as vines, that only had digraphs. I would read them everyday we met, and was given a new one every week. The smell of her house was of burnt candles. It brought me comfort because it was a place where I felt as the hero of the stories I never got to read. She made me believe I was smart but just needed to be taught in a different way. I read aloud to her everyday we met. She gave me a challenging book that no teacher thought I could read called The Chronicles of Narnia, an old book where the pages were frayed, but it started a journey that I never foresaw.
Time went on, sounds became words, words became sentences, sentences became books. All that seemed nonsense began to make sense. Books were no longer my antagonist but my protagonist. They became my dream. They made me believe I could be like the heroes that I read about on the pages. It was an obstacle but an obstacle that I was able to defeat.
Untitled | Lily Hofstetter | 12
MemoriesMade Alongthe BlackLine
The crowd cheering. The smell of chlorine.
The sound of talking.
The celebrations.
That nerves when you step onto the block. The silence when you hit the water.
A home isn’t always the place you lay your head at night. Sometimes it’s the place where you work the hardest, have the most fun, or even feel the most emotions. The place where you meet your second family, the life long friends that share the same passions. The place where you can feel true love coming forward in a way that is so truly powerful it cleanses the soul. The place that might provide trouble but yet offers a solution sometimes hidden within. The place you can be most like you.
The pool is a place that to some might not mean much but for me, it's those 6 lanes that never judges and always listens. The slightly dented metal bleachers that I sit on with my friends, waiting for practice or those rustic looking flags that have probably been hanging since the time of the dinosaurs. The tile is chipped and dirty but at the
Addy Sipe | 10
same time it is something that I have grown a custom to and it doesn't phase me. The lighting is soft and reflects poorly off the stale white paint that is slowly chipping off the walls like it’s a puppet that gets tired of holding itself up all the time. The maroon blocks are short on the other end of the pool and the banners hang against the wall bragging the faces of the state champions that had once trained there. The air is heavy with chlorine and is stale like it was a bag of bread that had been left open too long.
The memories that have been made never relied on the walls to look good or the tile to be clean but rather what went on in the water. The teal water that was a mix of perfect turquoise and the blue sky’s in the summer. It would lap against your body but you were so busy laughing that you didn’t notice how much you were freezing or how bad your arms hurt after the set. Jokes were being cracked and stories were being told that didn’t even make sense but still made you laugh as hard as you could. Laughter is heard over the endless sound of the water being sucked in the drain and it sounds like a harmony, hard and tough to some but gentle and comforting to others. The water tastes heavy like chlorine that makes you desperate for your water at the end of the lane but more than all, you taste the friendship in the air and notice the lifelong friends you have made.
Sometimes I miss the pool. No, actually, I miss the pool all the time.
When I think back about the memories I made over the season I not only think about the laughs I had but even the laps. The feel of the water slipping through your fingers and wrapping up your arms like a comforting gesture. It is the power that you feel when you push off the slightly rough wall. The smile of somehow knowing that you are all suffering together. The place where your non-blood family holds you the tightest.
Tooth | Mari Renk | 12
Shackled | Olivia Morsbach | 12
Crosses Anonymous
People like me must bear a cross.
They say that if I push my feelings down, I can be holy,
That there is a right and wrong type to love, That I can hide it and maybe I’ll be accepted.
They say people like me will go to hell, forever estranged
That not even God can forgive us of our sins.
For a while I didn’t know it was a sin
Just that people would narrow their eyes and cross
Their arms when they heard that someone was estranged
From reality, from normalcy, from being holy.
To them, those people will never be accepted
Their love
Will never be enough to earn God’s love.
For years I prayed He’d protect me from sin
Not knowing that that is what I am. I have never accepted
That through my life I’d always be carrying a crushing cross
Silently bearing it but never allowed to be holy.
One day, will I be estranged
From God? Is the price to pay for being me a lifetime of feeling estranged?
Is there a day when He will run out of love
For me, tired of my failed attempts at being holy
Tired of the fact that who I am is a sin?
What if tomorrow is my last time seeing a cross?
What if leaving that altar behind is the only way to be accepted?
Since I started coming here I started to feel more accepted
Whenever I return there I am again estranged
I’m sick of being confused and cross
Whenever I remember the conditions set on His love.
How do I live between identity and sin?
How can a lie be holy?
How can a golden talent that is holy
Be wasted, its owner having never accepted
That their love is not sin?
I cannot be estranged
From what I love And still I bear this cross.
I am not sinful or unholy
With God’s strength I have accepted my cross I will never be estranged from love.
Baptism | Arabelle Burton
Untitled | Eleanor Doro | 11
Don’t Look Behind Closed Doors
Pepper Marlee | 12
Characters
Natalie (Nat) - Mid 20’s, trusting, genuine, recently graduated with an art degree from college and eager to learn about the world.
Nathaniel (Nathan) - Late 20’s, Natalie’s skeptical but supportive boyfriend, he’s a realist and believes in the horrible things people are capable of.
Amanda (Ami) - Early 20’s, Natalie’s best friend, slightly eccentric, deeply spiritual, and wants to hide from the world.
Mr. Hargrove - Early 60’s, owns the apartment the kids live together in, reserved, suspicious, and seems to know everything about everyone.
Setting: Modern time in an old, dimly lit hallway of an apartment building with vintage furnishing lining the walls. A door that opens to a closet sits on the right wall, the hallway is eerie and unsettlingly quiet. Nathan, Natalie, and Amanda are tenants of Mr. Hargrove in the apartment building.
Scene 1
Hallway. Nathan, Amanda, and Natalie are all gathered in the small hallway, examining the door with curiosity and trepidation. The faint sound of a ticking clock echoes through the hallway. Light’s are dim, mimicking a dark environment. Smoke fills the stage from a machine, displaying a dusty area.
NATALIE
(Looking around nervously)
Are we really doing this? I mean, we’ve talked about it for weeks but Mr. Hargrove said he keeps it locked for a reason and we’re not to go in under any circumstances.
NATHAN (Sighing)
Look, it’s probably just a closet with a bunch of old junk. You know how these old landlords are - they love their “mysteries.”
(He air quotes, sarcastically)
But, hey, if you’re curious, let’s get it over with and let’s stop standing here like a bunch of idiots just waiting to get caught.
AMANDA
No, no, no. It’s not “just a closet.”
(Leans in conspiratorially)
I’ve heard stories. People say he puts in a small slip of paper in a box in the closet and they hear laughing and shuffling in the hall afterwards.
(Waggling her fingers at them)
NATHAN (Rolling his eyes)
Shuffling? Like Mr. Hargrove walking back down the hall to his room? Yeah, that’s SO suspicious.
(He says overemphasizing his words)
NATALIE (Jumping in)
Ami, Mr. Hargrove is just a sweet man, he couldn’t possibly be hiding anything, especially in a closet. He said nothing in there concerns us, and I believe him.
75
NATHAN (Scoffing)
Nat, you’re too trusting sometimes but honestly, if he was up to something, we would know. He stays in the room right across from us. He’s just bored and doing managing duties, like landlords are supposed to do.
AMANDA (Shivering)
But doesn’t it all feel odd? Like the paintings are watching us?
(Peering around at the dusty paintings hung around the hallway and lowering her voice)
How much do we really know about Mr. Hargrove? I mean, we barely see him, nobody does. Think about it, the only time we’ve seen him is when we signed those really long housing contracts. And he NEVER leaves the building, isn’t that odd?
NATHAN
You know what I think? I think we’ve spent too much time here, can we just go already?
(The hall creaks and NATALIE, NATHAN, and AMANDA freeze, eyes wild. NATHAN whispers.)
Can we go now?
AMANDA
(Voice low and lights brighten a little bit)
You aren’t curious at all?
NATALIE
(The lights flicker and a little bit more smoke fills the room)
I mean, maybe a little but not enough to go snooping through a poor old man’s private things.
(The lights flicker again and she grabs NATHAN’S arm)
NATALIE
Yeah, I guess some things seem a little out of pla(NATHAN interrupts her)
Ugh, you guys are so squeamish.
NATHAN
(He suddenly reaches forward and twists the knob, the door pops open with a creak)
It’s open….
(A single letter floats down to rest at their feet and silently slides under a nearby lounging chair. In the closet is a yellow box, similar to the size of a jewelry box, like one with the dancing ballerinas.)
AMANDA (Eyes widening)
Why would you open it?
(Moving to close it again)
NATHAN
(Looking annoyed and says in an exasperated tone) You’re the one who wanted me to!
(MR. HARGROVE enters from down the hall. AMANDA rushes to close it but a hand grabs her shoulder.)
MR. HARGROVE
(Removing his hand from her shoulder) I thought I told you kids to stay away from this closet.
NATHAN (Confrontational)
Look, old man, we are paying you to live here, it’s our home too. We have the right to be here.
MR. HARGROVE
Look, kid, I own this building. And with what I know, you don’t want to disrespect me.
(AMANDA looks at NATHAN sparingly, begging him to stop talking with her eyes)
NATHAN
You don’t know anything. We haven’t lived here that long. (He reassures AMANDA with a look)
MR. HARGROVE (roughly)
Then are you sure there isn’t anything you want to tell your dear girlfriend, Nat?
NATALIE
(Still holding NATHAN’S arm, she looks quizzically at MR. HARGROVE) What is he talking about?
NATHAN (Covering)
Nothing, babe. It’s just the ramblings of a senile, lonely man.
AMANDA (Reassuring)
If he knew something, he would have said or done something already.
MR. HARGROVE
(Letting a loose laugh escape)
Oh, but I have. I keep secure records of all your comings and goings. (Pulling out a key)
You should have really read the fine print on your tenant contracts.
NATALIE
(placing a hand on MR. HARGROVE’S arm, concerned)
Mr. H, are you feeling okay? You seem a little out of it.
MR. HARGROVE
(Swatting her hand away)
Yes, foolish girl!
(Shoving them away from the door with surprising strength)
I have been recalling you for quite some time. Before you even approached me for your apartment, I dare say.
(He reaches forward with a shriveled hand, placing it around the box. He slides the key into a slot in the front and twists, a slight popping sound reaching them. AMANDA, NATALIE, and NATHAN all look puzzled).
What are you doing?
AMANDA
MR. HARGROVE
What I should have done a long while ago.
(Pulling two slips of paper from the box, which they could see contained many more)
Each of you has a secret, or several.
(Making direct eye-contact with NATHAN)
Ones you’ve even kept from each other and involve others.
NATALIE
(Pleading)
But Mr. H, everyone has a right to privacy, why would you break that?
MR. HARGROVE
Like I said, you should have read your contract with more assurance.
(Unfolding the papers)
Be honest with one another, or I will reveal what I know.
NATHAN (Unamused)
You’re bluffing. Do you think this is some kind of game?
MR. HARGROVE
Since you seem the most unbelieving, Nathaniel, let’s start with you. (Pulling light readers from his brown jacket pocket)
Nathaniel Reed, born April 1st 2001, grew up in Seattle, Washington, parents murdered in a double homicide known as the Reed murders when you were 25, remains a cold case to this day, yikes boo hoo you, that sounds like trauma.
NATALIE (interrupting)
I thought you were from Miami? (Lights shutter)
NATHAN I am!
MR. HARGROVE
Mr. Reed. I think we’ve had enough of the falsehoods today. (addressing NATALIE)
That’s not the only fib he’s told you, darling, now if you’d let me continue. (focusing back on the paper)
First girlfriend at West Silver High, had a bit of a heartbreak there, didn’t we? Police Science major at UCLA, dropped out mid-term of your junior year, too much for you? Then you meet Natalie. And Amanda. And the rest is history that remains untold.
NATALIE
(staring at the floor, removing her hand from NATHAN’S arm slowly)
You said I was your first girlfriend….
Untitled | Elizabeth Abel | 12
NATALIE
(takes a step back toward AMANDA, wrapping an arm around herself when NATHAN stays silent)
MR. HARGROVE (scoffing)
I wouldn’t get too close to her, she hasn’t been transparent either, sweetie.
AMANDA (nervously)
He’s lying.
(Taking NATALIE’S hands in her own)
You’re my best friend, I tell you everything.
MR. HARGROVE (Chidding)
She’s already squabbling, Nat. Trust your instincts. (NATALIE takes her hands back, wrapping them around herself again)
Use that beautiful brain of yours. (Lights flicker)
NATHAN (Disturbed)
Hey! You’re messing with her! Stop!
NATALIE (looking between them)
What are you not telling me? (NATHAN and AMANDA share withholding glances)
If you don't tell me, he will!
(Pointing at MR. HARGROVE, while a grin spreads over his face)
NATHAN
(grabbing Mr. HARGROVE’S arm and staring him dead in the eye forcefully)
You don’t have to do this. She doesn't need to know. It will only hurt her. If you actually have the knowledge that we think you do then you also know it was nothing.
MR. HARGROVE (sneering)
You should have thought about hurting her before you had a little late night rendezvous with her best friend.
(NATALIE gasps, tears welling up in her eyes as her eyes bounce between AMANDA and NATHAN)
NATALIE
(Eyes falling to the floor, letting her emotions process)
What else don’t I know about her?
(thrusting an arm in AMANDA’S direction and gritting her teeth)
MR. HARGROVE
(Unfolding the other small slip of paper)
Amanda Breese, born July 6th 2004, grew up in the suburbs of LA, graduated top of her class in high school, “happily married” parents.
(Speaking under his breath)
I wouldn’t call using your mother as a punching bag happily married but that’s just me.
(He chuckles and AMANDA lets out a small whimper and covers her mouth with a palm, all eyes floating to her)
Amanda deary, is there anything you’d like to say before I continue?
AMANDA (Frantic)
I don’t have any secrets! You’ve said everything that could ruin me. 83
MR. HARGROVE
(Acting surprised)
Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry. I was unaware that you influencing your college professor to pass you wasn't a secret. I thought you’d want THAT kind of bribery hidden.
NATHAN (disgusted)
What did you do?
AMANDA
Like you’re one to shame! You have done nothing but lie and cheat since you met Natalie!
NATALIE
(Suddenly letting her anger out)
EVERYONE SHUT IT!
(Taking a few seconds)
Nobody here has the right to be mad except for me. You!
(Jabbing a finger in NATHAN’S chest)
How dare you! I have no idea who you are. And you.
(Turning her attention to AMANDA)
I will never forgive you.
(Lights brighten)
MR. HARGROVE
(In a sweet tone)
Now Natalie, it’s not like you’re completely innocent either, sweetheart.
NATALIE (genuine confusion on her face)
What?
NATHAN
Oh? You do all this blaming and you have something to hide?
NATALIE
He doesn’t know anything about me, I’ve done nothing wrong.
MR. HARGROVE
(Turning around to rumble in the closet) It should be here. If only I could remember. (Looking around, rushed. Stage lights turn red as he becomes suddenly angry)
WHERE DID YOU PUT IT?!
NATALIE
(Raising her hands innocently)
We didn’t move anything!
(Facing her slowly)
I want to know what she’s hiding. (Demanding) Come clean.
NATHAN
MR. HARGROVE
(Emotion disappearing from his demeanor and stage lights returning to normal)
Oh well, it seems my old age has caught up to me.
(Turning to go, addressing NATALIE)
Oh and dear….
(Taking a pause and winking) I always know.
(He turns away, swinging his cane and humming a tune that slightly resembles “Jingle Bells.” He exits back down the hall from where he 85
came. AMANDA, NATHAN, and NATALIE look startled by the deescalation of the situation. The silence that follows is exit is stark and uncomfortable)
AMANDA
(Breaking the silence in a quiet tone) Nat, I(AMANDA’S voice breaks)
NATALIE (Stopping her)
Amanda, no, you do not get to call me Nat, like I’M your friend? How could you! There is nothing that you could possibly say that could fix what you both have done to me.
(Looking between NATHAN and AMANDA)
NATHAN
God, Natalie. Just let Amanda talk.
NATALIE
If there is anything you think you could say, go for it. Let’s see what excuse you can come up with.
AMANDA
We - We didn’t mean to hurt you. We(NATHAN interrupting)
NATHAN
Don’t you dare include me in this. You wanted to.
AMANDA
We were both drunk! (Facing NATALIE)
We honestly didn’t know what we were doing. We don’t even remember it, 84
Momento Mori | Mara Bains | 11
AMANDA (continued)
we just woke up with each other and given the circumstances, could take a guess about what happened.
NATHAN
It meant nothing, Ami and I have already gone over this a hundred times.
NATALIE
(Fuming and stuttering)
Did you just call her Ami? Like SHE’S your friend? You should hear how she talks about you. How you’re “so bad for me” and are a “horrible boyfriend.”
(Turning to AMANDA)
Or was that all just a ruse to get me to break up with him or you could have him? You know what, I can’t trust either one of you. Get out of my sight! I never want to see you again!
(AMANDA and NATHAN share surprised looks, furious NATALIE wasn’t a side they’ve seen before. They don’t move.)
I’m serious, if you both don’t get out of here, I can’t promise I’m not going to do something drastic. NOW LEAVE!
(NATHAN and AMANDA both back up slowly off stage, down the hallway while NATALIE holds her head in her hands, pacing. Once they exit NATALIE looks after them and releases a breath and drops to her knees, searching for something. Her hands feel around the creaky floorboards and her face lights up with evil success when her fingers grasp the fallen piece of paper from under the lounging chair.)
NATALIE
(In a relaxed tone, shifting her eyes to make sure no one was around)
Ah, if only they knew.
(She unfolds the piece of paper, scanning it quickly)
Well, old man, you do know everything, don’t you?
(She looks around for a destruction method, finding nothing, she lifts a lighter from her pocket and clicks it on.)
NATALIE
But your tricks won’t get the best of me.
(She lifts the flame to the corner of the slip then stops when the hallway creaks again. MR. HARGROVE enters.)
MR. HARGROVE
I knew you had done something with your secret, I don’t misplace things very often.
(Giving a disapproving look)
NATALIE
Really, Dad? You’re always so dramatic. If you had found it, what were you actually going to tell them?
MR. HARGROVE
Nothing, of course, my dear. Your fear just had to look real.
NATALIE
Trust me, finding out he was cheating on me with my supposed best friend was emotional enough. Real nice way to expose that, by the way.
MR. HARGROVE
I just wanted you to know what they did behind your back.
(Solemn)
I wanted them to see the fury that you so often hide.
NATALIE
You know where I got that from?
(Giving her father a knowing look)
MR. HARGROVE
Yes, indeed, I do. Make sure to thank him once in a while.
NATALIE
You really have no sense of gentle parenting do you? That was totally a “Hello, Sweetie, sit down, I have to tell you something that may hurt you but you need to know” moment.
MR. HARGROVE
You’re right, darling, my apologies.
(Nodding to the slip in NATALIE’S hand)
Now burn that before he finds it. You cause too much drama as is, I don’t need more people dropping out of contracts.
NATALIE
Yeah, about that. Did you really have to put my actual secret on here? And with all the tabs you keep on people, pops, I think they’re going to drop contracts on their own.
MR. HARGROVE
You know I love nothing more than authenticity.
NATALIE
(Rolling her eyes)
Speaking of authenticity, burn my tenant contract, I don’t want you owning me anymore.
MR. HARGROVE
Of course, kiddo. Use the back door as normal and I’ll see you tonight for dinner, I love you.
NATALIE
I love you too, dad.
(MR. HARGROVE exits back down the hallway and she flicks the lighter back to life and lifts it to the paper. The lights dim to draw focus to the burning paper. Just faintly as the room fills with smoke again you can
NATALIE (continued)
see the words ‘KILLER IN THE REED MURDERS’ scrawled in an old man’s handwriting.)
I wonder what he’s making tonight.
(She takes a deep breath and looks deeply at the note burning in her hand)
So long, Nathan. May you never know the reason behind my empathy for you.
(She drops the note as it hurts to ash and stomps on it once the flame goes out)
And may you both burn along with that note for the things you have done.
(Smoke fills the stage and lights go to blackout with a single spotlight on NATALIE)
THE END.
Untitled | Thorley-Arya Oner | 11
Untitled | Rose Caldera | 10
Justice, Highest Bidder Wins | Liam Bradley | 12
Soarin | Olivia Morsbach | 12
Scars
Charlie Hughes | 12
Remember everything will be alright. No matter how stressful of a day,
Know you are a body filled with undying might.
You may feel like you’re wandering far from light, But eventually you will know and say, “Remember everything will be alright”.
Hard days happen when all you do is fight, But you will turn out okay Because you are a body filled with undying might.
Progress is not going backwards at night. Just calm your mind and as you lay, Remember everything will be alright.
Good days come with hugs so tight And loved ones pointing you to the right way
Because they know you are a body filled with undying might.
Relapse will sneer and bite
And your downfall, it will pray, But remember everything will be alright
Because you are a body filled with undying might.
Untitled | George Powers | 11
More Than Just A Room
Addy
To many, the pool is just a room. A room that has a hole in the ground filled to the brim with chlorine laced water. “The Lanes”. The room drips sweat down the walls and the smell of chlorine is enough to clear the sinuses from the worst cold. The temperature is hot and you can feel the air unless you're the swimmer.
If you're a swimmer, this place is more than just a room.
It’s the place that has seen it all. The pool has seen your victories and your losses. The pool has seen when you shine the brightest and when you feel that the world is ending. The pool has seen you smile the biggest and cry the hardest. The pool has seen more emotion than any of the people around me. This “room” has hugged me when I'm sad and allowed me to simply swim my laps when my head is so full that I feel like I’m about to explode.
Sipe | 10 97
Photo Finish | Elisa Olson | 11
Maybe it’s the fact that I spend 6 days a week in that palace. Maybe it’s that that is where I have spent my time since I was 10. Or maybe, it's the fact that the pool has led me to the people I now call my family. I guess I’ll never know. This simple “room” has its problem. It inflicts pain without knowing it. It's like a kid knocking a vase off the table. They don’t know what they are doing until it's simply too late and then all that's left to do is pick up the broken pieces in hope that it can be reassembled.
Maybe that's what happened to me. It was a tough day when I felt that love I once had for that room disappear. Swimming along that black line had been all I had ever known. I had been knocked off the table I sat on, and broken into pieces. But slowly, one by one, the pool built me back together. It took a long time and I still to this day, sometimes feel a piece that wasn’t glued back in just right. Sometimes I still feel a pain and a lurking fear that that looming pool will someday leave me behind without any loving feeling towards the crystal blue water or that the pool will become a room.
The Mermaid | Keira Cason | 12
Music To Me
Pepper Marlee | 12
Oh how I wish to create s
You peacefully carry a ton Blend in with the busines
Oh you see how you’ve m
Every thought and every Exposing my deepest des For who could have know
Surrounded by padded w
never want to remove
Like when you left
And I was alone with the Who also wished for your Just like the phone who b Only to be plugged up by Muffling you
You flow through them li
Your path to my ears so s So gentle
Hearing the quiet pop of My eyes close like they w
Only to snap open when t
And my happiness so rud And the absence of the pr
Your notes replace my thoughts
Your harmonies replace my actions
Your melodies replace my wonder I wonder what the world would be without you
Dull and boring
No safety net to catch me from falling
Instead the pain of an annoying emptiness. In silence I suffer for you are my comfort in which I know nothing without
Untitled | Hayden Meier | 12
Child’s Game
Wynn Quant | 11
Characters
Detective Code Name: SeekerMan, mid to late 20’s, visibly tired, light blue hair, trench coat
Detective Marywoman, late 20’s, serious, brown hair, wears a suit
Setting: The start of a work week. MARY and SEEKER are at the detective office’s. It is currently empty as everyone else is on holiday. Inside Seeker’s new office, very messy, full of open file cabinets, shelves, papers scattered everywhere, a desk with two chairs.
Scene 1
MARY
(MARY opens the door to the office. She turns to Seeker before seeing the room.)
Thank you for meeting with me before your first day tomorrow. This is our building, you will find your badge and gun on the desk. This office is you(She is baffled by the mess they both look at and Seeker has no visible emotion)
I am sorry but this wasn’t a mess yesterday (She says more to herself than Seeker. She has a puzzled expression trying to figure out what caused this)
SEEKER (sighs)
It is fine, I’ve worked in worse (he steps further in and looks around) This will probably help explain what happened here (Seeker picks up a note from the desk, written entirely in morse code)
MARY
(Mary approaches Seeker who hands her the note) It appears to be in morse code. What does it say?
SEEKER
(He begins to look around the room for something)
It reads “If you wish for your badge and firearm, you must complete all of my fun puzzles… smiley face”
MARY
(She place the note back on the desk)
The person who caused this mess probably wrote it in morse code to avoid us identifying them by their handwrit- what are you doing? (she looks over to Seeker who is throwing papers and files everywhere)
SEEKER
(without looking up from his search he responds)
I find it odd that a message in morse code would type out the words ‘smiley face’ instead of just drawing… one (he pauses and picks up an envelope) Here.
MARY
(looks over Seeker’s shoulder at the somewhat thick envelope with a smiley face on it) Well? Open it.
SEEKER (sighs)
Yeah yeah.
(he opens the envelope and finds a rotary combination lock and a note, the lights flicker)
The note reads “Within the desk begins your first puzzle. You must find which of the boxes in your desk contains the secret. Here is a riddle: Though one might travel north to continue forward, sometimes stopping and looking east might help you find your path”
MARY
(thinks for a second and begins to go to the desk. There she opens a drawer)
Seeker. You’re going to want to have a look at this
SEEKER
(Seeker puts down the lock and note and walks over to the desk, there he looks down and sees forty small little boxes each a different number on it)
My guess is we are supposed to open the box that has the number of the hint. But what is stopping us fro(Seeker begins to reach to open a box when Mary stops him)
MARY
(Shows SEEKER the note)
Here is a note I found in the drawer. Thankfully not is morse code, it says: “You only have three guesses of the box. If you fail three times you won’t get your weapon.”
SEEKER
(Seeker sits and thinks for a moment then inspects the lock)
I guess we will have to play by the rules of this game, who knows who set this game up. Anyways… The lock has a total of 40 different numbers. Obviously the clue is the directions for which number is the answ-
MARY
(grabs box number 10)
Okay then. The lock has 40 numbers right? So then, it doesn't want us to go North so it's probably not the number it would be set to. Then it would want us to go “East” which would be the number on the right, like East on a compass. So it has to be 10.
(Seeker pauses for a moment then tries to stop Mary from opening the box. He fails and Mary fully opens the box. As she does so a small breeze goes through the room, disturbing all the papers)
SEEKER
(quietly)
That shouldn’t be possible…
(looks around for the source of the wind then faces Mary)
What’s inside the box?
MARY
(seemingly ignoring the wind, hoping it was her imagination. She looks in the box. She is confused and disappointed)
Well, um, it has a note-
SEEKER
(interrupts Mary, very impatiently)
What does it say?
MARY
(annoyed at SEEKER for interrupting)
Well if you had let me finish it says “Incorrect box, you remaining. Good luck!”
SEEKER
(snatches the note from Mary’s hand)
How would they know we would pick box 10…
(he begins to inspect the box and looks around th
MARY
(thinks for a second then picks up the first note)
Well clearly it still has to be a number from the lock, set?
(she mumbles to herself)
SEEKER
(reaches for box number number 34)
The answer is 34, the lock was set to 14 when I opened the envelope (begins to open the box)
MARY
(grabs Seeker’s arm, stopping him from opening the box)
14 is a strange number. Are you sure it wasn’t supposed to be set to 15 and it got moved when you picked up the envelope or something?
SEEKER
(looks at Mary, then pulls his arm away and opens the box)
Only one way to find out (as he opens the box, the lights in the room flicker for a moment. Inside the box he finds another note and mumbles to himself)
I’ve seen this hand writing before…
MARY
(pretending not to fully hear his mumbling)
What was that?
SEEKER (sighs)
Nothing… anyways (he pulls out the note)
It has another puzzle on it for us to solve.
MARY (sits on the desk)
Well? What is the puzzle this time?
(Seeker hands Mary the note)
Where is the place that water always runs to?
“Where is the place that water always runs to?” What types of puzzles are these? It's almost as if they were-
SEEKER
(Looks at the sink in the office)
Made by a child…
(looks down at the ground and goes quiet)
MARY
(is able to see the slight amount of sadness in Seeker’s face)
Is everything alrigh-
SEEKER (walks towards the sink) Yeah, it's nothing.
MARY
(picks up one of the boxes from the drawer and This box doesn’t have anything in it. (she picks up another and shakes it)
Neither does this one
SEEKER
(looks into the sink and responds without looking up)
I doubt any of them do
(he picks up a crumpled up note in the drain)
The next one says: “When you are stuck, look at the clock, a great reminder of the time y-” the rest is unreadable
MARY
(looks at her watch then at the clock)
Well that’s odd, the clock is stuck at 3:34, its only 8:15
SEEKER
(looks up at the clock)
Of course it is…
MARY
(Looks at seeker with distrust and concern)
Seeker, are you hiding something? You seem to know more about this than you are letting on
SEEKER
(begins to go through all the papers found in the cabinet under the sink) It's… this just reminds me of something…
(Mary looks at Seeker, trying to see if he is lying and decides to let it be and continue trying to solve the puzzle. Seeker pulls a folder out from under the sink and tosses it to MARY) You open this one
MARY
(She glares at SEEKER then opens the folder and pulls out only paper within)
Uhhh well this isn’t good
(looks concerned) Why? What’s wrong
SEEKER
MARY
(Looking confused and slightly frightened) Well- um-
(she takes a deep breath)
It says “Good job Mary and Seeker on doing so well, you have completed the first 2 puzzles and found my sink hint! The next clue is this: ‘What do you use when you try to look at something that is either hidden in the dark, or unable to be seen?’ Well when you find out, use it on the ceiling. Good luck!”
SEEKER
(Mary begins to search the room while Seeker looks up at the ceiling) It is asking for something to allow us to ‘see’. Any ideas?
(He looks towards Mary who is search the piles of papers on the floor)
MARY
(without looking up and mildly annoyed)
Can’t figure it out yourself?
(she sighs)
The only thing that could help us see would be some sort of light, but the room is fully illuminated
SEEKER
(starts searching around the file cabinets but realizes they are locked)
If I had to make a guess, invisible ink.
MARY
(looks up at Seeker with a mix of confusion and interest)
Like the stuff kids play with and use to pass notes alo
SEEKER
(look of something ALMOST clicking in his head
Yeah, there’s probably some on the ceiling
MARY
(shakes her head)
That’s nonsense. No one could have had the time to put invisible ink on the ceiling.
SEEKER
(looks Mary in the eye. Speaks seriously)
Right, because a gust of wind inside makes ‘sense’. Be honest, you simply ignored it and pretended it was your imagination.
MARY (rolls her eyes)
Right… I am supposed to believe that a ghost set this up, that is ridiculous.
SEEKER
(goes and takes the clock off the wall)
If you believe it or not, that is up to you (flips the clock around and looks at the back. He grabs a flashlight taped to the back)
Catch (he tosses the flashlight to Mary)
MARY
(catches the flashlight and reads the side of it)
This is a UV light…
SEEKER
(points up to the ceiling)
Try it.
MARY
(turns on flashlight and points it up. The lights start flickering)
I doubt there is anything to… (the lights flicker off and she looks up)
... see…
SEEKER
(looks up and puts his hands in his pocket)
‘Congrats on finding the writing on the ceiling. Not the walls this time. Well then, your next clue.. This time it's a game of hide your next clue under a blood red toy car somewh cked the cabinets earlier and they were all locked.
MARY
(points the light down. Mary gets startled. T ) Se-Seeker? Wh-what was that?
SEEKER (looks towards Mary concerned)
What was what?
MARY (frightened)
I- I swear I just saw a smiling girl wave through the reflection of the cabinet
SEEKER (sighs)
You are probably imagining things
MARY (takes a deep breath and goes to open the drawer)
Right, we have a puzzle to sol(looks into drawer)
SEEKER (looks into the cabinet)
Why is there an entire drawer of different shade (looks towards Mary with a disappointed loo
MARY (offended)
We do NOT keep toys like this around our office number.
(closes her eyes and breaths)
Okay, lets just sit down and try to search through all of this
SEEKER
(starts taking out the hotwheels in massive piles)
Well might as well start searching. I doubt it is going to be that difficult because the first few weren’t
MARY
(sits down and starts going through the piles that Seeker is creating)
I doubt it is going to be difficult, this is just tedious. (stops searching for a moment
This is not how I planned to spend my day off
SEEKER
Yeah. Might as well get this done as quickly as possible (Seeker takes out the last pile) Well it has to be somewhere…
MARY
(gets up and goes to the now empty drawer. Starts moving her hand around the edges)
I wonder if it is(stops and pulls off tape) -if it is taped to the side (she holds up the red car with a note attached to it. The lights flicker)
SEEKER
(stands up and takes a deep breath)
I should have expected that. What does the note say this time?
MARY
(removes the note from the car and unfolds it)
It says ‘There is a piece of paper with the location of your items inside the locked drawer on the top of the grey cabinet. The key to the lock is hidden somewhere in the file cabinet, good luck’. Great! Another fetch quest (sarcasm)
SEEKER
(goes towards the locked cabinet and starts to grab something out of his coat)
I don’t have time for this
MARY
(puts note down and goes to the file cabinet. Points towards the files cabinet)
Seeker, the cabinet we need to look through it this one
SEEKER
(finishes going through his pockets until he finds lockpicks)
No we don’t (begins to pick the lock
MARY
(gets a look of concern)
You said that it was possible that a ghost was responsible for setting this up. So we should probably follow the rules? Right?
SEEKER (without stopping)
Nowhere in the rules did it mention I couldn’t pick the lock (The drawer opens and the lights flicker on)
MARY
(questioning tone)
Why do you have lock picks? Why do you know how to use lock picks?
SEEKER
(puts lock picks away and grabs the note out of the drawer. Responds saddened)
I learned very quickly that they were important for a detective… Anyways the note says ‘Great job with the lock picks. Your items are under the rug in the corner’
MARY
(goes to the corner and lifts up the rug. Seeker joined her. SEEKER grabs his gun and badge out of the hole under the rug. Right as SEEKER turns around MARY stops him)
Wait, there is something else…
(MARY reaches further and pulls out a very dirty and worn stuffed bear)
SEEKER
(at the sight of the bear SEEKER’s eyes widden. He b break his stoic facade. Sorrowful and frightened exp
Th-that…that shouldn’t be here…
MARY
(gets up and turns back towards SEEKER)
What is it? Do you recognize it?
(SEEKER only nods his head)
Why is there a note here…
(the note falls on the ground. As she goes to pick it up g After a moment they turn back on.)
Uhh Seeker? Turn around…
(after he turns around they both look to see the room that was covered in papers now is perfectly clean. Mary decides to read the note)
‘Thank you for playing Seeker. It was a lot of fun to watch you try to solve my puzzles again. Find me so we can play together again- Lily.’
SEEKER
(snatches the note from Mary, surprising her)
This, this isn’t possible.
MARY
(looks around the room and only finds an old newspaper on the desk. The lights flicker then dim)
Seeker, there is a news paper here
(she looks closely at it then gets frightened)
115
Seeker. The girl who I saw in the reflection. She is the one on the news paper. She is also holding the teddy bear we found.
SEEKER (stops reading the note and faces MARY)
What’s the headline?
MARY (still shocked)
It is from several years ago. A young girl, Lily, found dead after new detective failed to protect her… (closes his eyes and breaths. shakes)
Is there anything else? (continues reading)
Yeah… it says she died at 3:34 A(frustrated)
Under a different headline (stops reading)
Seeker? Are you okay?
Yeah
SEEKER (takes a deep breath)
MARY
(starts reading again)
“The primary suspect of the murder walked free due to a lack of evidence. Mysteriously found dead. Circumstances regarding the death are unknown although informants say that the cause of death should be impossible.” Seeker? What is this?
SEEKER
(opens his eyes and faces MARY)
My first case. My first failure
Thank you for playing Seeker. It was a lot of fun to watch you try to solve my puzzles again. Find me so we can play together again
-
Lily
Sore Loser | Claire Hees | 11
Addyson Sipe | 10
Art is a tool. A tool that can be managed, adapted, captured, or changed by anyone. Art is something that seems to be misunderstood with the amount of power it holds. The question “How can art make a difference in the world?” is an open ended question with a large amount of power. Particularly because art has the ability to be created by anyone.
Art is something that doesn’t discriminate against its creator. There are no “set rules” about art which allows the creator not only to create, paint, sketch, draw, sculpt, etc., what they want but also voice their opinions and emotions in ways they might not have been able to before. Maybe the artist is a quiet, introverted person but has these ideas that most cannot fathom, then art gives that person the power to give their ideas to the world.
Art is not restricted by society or told what to do but rather allows any and all to see it. You can be wealthy or poor, any race, any gender, any age, and still be captivated by art. Art doesn't discriminate against its audience. You can gaze into the soul of art and allow it to show you messages that the artist put on display. By whispering the wildest ideas and thoughts, in the simplest ways, to any and all people across earth, art is a tool.
Tulip | Rebecca Ring | 12
Oliver Rea | 11
Untitled | Abi Meier | 11
A Prayer for Ron
Moriah McAdams | 10
Pray for my friend Ron
A man I’ve known since childhood
Who would come over and sit on our spinny island chairs
Ron with a sweet tooth for dark chocolate and wild raspberries
A man who crunched on cucumbers and could eat cauliflower raw
Who loved the smell of cedar trees and Cascade mountain air
Ron who adored my yellow lab
Traveling with her from Seattle to Madison
Who navigated 1,924 miles across North America
Cool foggy city to corn covered fields
Ron bearing gifts and a wide smile every time he stepped through the front door
His white fuzzy beard like packaged fake snow
Who had the freedom to fall off the grid without a cell phone and email address
Ron whose kidneys failed him but he overcame the dance with death
Ron who is now back in the hospital and needs prayer
Battling a stroke, breathing stale air, alone, and bedridden
As tough as a tardigrade with faith like Job, he waits
Longing for mountain air and snow capped peaks.
I pray for Ron.
I pray he can climb Mount St. Helens again,
Sing in his church choir, and
Pick bucketfuls of ripe Rainier cherries.
Say a prayer and tell a friend about Ron–It’s what he would do for you.
Birdhouse | Lawson Kinsman | 12
BastioN
The first story of the series, Nexus Point Origins Wynn Quant | 11
“Charles,” the teacher calls out. A young student with black hair stands up. “I want you to quickly summarize today’s lesson.”
“The Bastion was founded by RR to raise the next generation in combat. It was founded on RR-02 after a war with the Aura and Shadow clans,” the student replies unenthusiastically.
“Very good Charles. The rest of you should pay attention like Charles does. He is the prime example of a student in our military academy,” the teacher says with a grin on his face. “With that, your class is dismissed.”
The swarm of students all leave the poorly lit classroom and chatter amongst themselves. Charles, on the other hand, takes his time packing.
These classes are all boring. Unfortunately for him, his internal monologue would get cut short.
“Hey Charlie!” a boy someone enthusiastically shouts from the hall. Charlie turns to see a boy with spiky brown hair waving to catch his attention, he looks to see a girl with white hair standing next to him.
Charlie begins to walk towards the pair. “You know Silive, you should get less obnoxious company,” Charlie says playfully to the girl with white hair.
“I suppose I should, you and Alex are a handful during training,” the girl responds, joining on the teasing of their energetic friend.
“So Charlie, will you be participating in the survival games? Your swordsmanship should be good enough,” Alex responds, unfazed by the pair's comments.
Charlie closes his eyes and begins to walk away. “I’m going to avoid those, my only goal is to protect my younger brother,” he comments while walking.
“I suppose there are only a few of us who are actually from here, huh?”
Alex replies, understanding Charlie’s point. “Well at least we will have classes and training off to view the games. But I have to work on the information squad,” he sighs, not wanting to have to do work.
“Yeah.” Charlie waves goodbye to the pair and begins to walk to his dorm. As he walks he notices the tournament poster in the halls. He quickly glances at it, wondering which of the upperclassmen would be participating. When looking at it he notices an unfamiliar name. Who is Grace? I know of all the upperclassmen. Is she someone in my class? Deciding to pay no more
Dogon Mask Inspiration | Cade Patterson | 12
mind to the thought, he walks away. When he was back at his dorm he readied his gear to go out for extra training, deciding it was better than wasting time doing nothing.
“Hey Charlie,” Charlie picks up his communication device to see Alex on the other side.
“What? Shouldn’t you be at work?” Charlie asks, puzzled as to why his friend called.
“I am, I got a hold of the new roster of recruits and their information. It seems one of the new kids who are a couple of years below us is from a redacted universe.”
“Meaning she has memories outside of RR…” Charlie finishes his friend’s thought.
“Exactly. Her name is listed as Grace. I wonder if we will see her in
training?” Alex responds, thinking of how nice it would be to meet a fourth person who has memories from outside.
“You said she was a couple of years below us?” Charlie asks, more to himself than Alex.
“Something’s come up, I gotta go,” Charlie says seriously, hanging up before Alex can get another word in. Charlie leaves his dorm, grabbing his gear along with his unique ID. He walks down nameless hallway after nameless hallway.
The Bastion is a stronghold and labyrinth. Students are expected to have the layout memorized as good memory keeps soldiers alive. Throughout the Bastion, everybody is assigned roles shortly after joining. A handful of students were picked for being exceptional at everything. They are called RR’s Knights, and they are the only ones with unique ids. Even among the Knight’s Charlie is the most exceptional.
Charlie enters a somewhat large room with a desk in the middle. On the desk, a sign reading “Sign ups” is displayed. Charlie looks around and glances at a clock. He then quickly accesses the computer and views the list of competitors in the survival games. The name at the top of the list was Grace, and a note to the side of it read “registered by Archie”. Archie… Charlie thought to himself. Why would another Knight break the rules like this… and poorly hide it… He considered his options and realized he was almost out of time, he quickly modified the list to include his name, thinking that the best way to solve this mystery would be to enter the survival games himself.
Charlie enters a dark, single person locker room at the bottom of the open arena before the games start. Waiting is going to be annoying, to think I’m missing classes for once.
“Welcome everybody!” an announcer yells, in a massive colosseum kilometers in diameter with seats completely full. “Welcome to the start of this year's Survival Games!” thunderous applause is heard, capable of drowning out any explosion. “And this year we have a special guest!” the
announcer continues. “Stand and welcome the great leader and founder of RR, Giovanni!” The crowd stands and erupts in cheers as a man in a black suit with black hair walks out onto the main balcony above the coliseum followed by Archie and the other RR Knights.
“Archie, a word,” whispers Alex when Archie walks in. The man with black hair tinted blue stops.
“Ah, you must be from the Logistics Division, yes what can I do for your trainee,” Archie says condescendingly.
“First you could get better with respect,” Alex says bluntly, causing Archie to get visibly frustrated. “Second, mind explaining why you entered a spy class recruit into the survival games?”
“I don’t know what you are referring to,” Archie replies, still frustrated with the first comment.
“Grace, from UU-1,” replies Alex, not wanting to waste time.
“Oh that girl,” Archie says dismissively while waving his hand in a dismissive motion. “Yeah what of it?”
“Here I thought the RR Knights were smart. That could jeopardize RR’s future plans if she dies!” shouts Alex, now upset with Archie’s behavior.
“Well then we’ll have to find a new spy,” Archie replies, now grinning. “Now quiet down, the show's about to start,” he says while moving his hand behind his back and pressing a button.
In a dark room at the bottom in the edge of the coliseum, Charlie sits, waiting for the games to start. Archie must have something planned. He wouldn’t be so careless unless he was sure his plan would work. Charlie looks across from him to see the bag provided for the games. A bag containing rations, a couple of types of knives, and a spare handgun. Why must they keep all the good gadgets hidden in the arena? He looks out of his room to see the clock at less than 10 seconds. At least we get one weapon to take with us. He grabs the katana he brought with him, grabs his bag and turns on the mandatory tracking device on his wrist. The clock hits zero, the gate opens, and the game begins.
A loud buzzer is heard from the stands and across the entire arena. All the 100 different competitors rush out into the forest-like environment.
Untitled | Nikolai Stankewicz | 12
“Remember competitors, the last ones standing after a week are the winners, but of course, the rewards are split among those left alive. Do you all want more rewards? Try thinning out your competition,” the announcer laughs and continues “ don't forget, working with others is allowed, but, be careful to watch your back.”
Charlie begins to make good pace, running easily through the harsh forest environment to
where he suspects a container of better gear could be found. He slows down, making sure to move very quietly. He closes his eyes and breaths. This is just like training, best to be silent when you don’t know where your opponents may be located.
“So do you think Archie was telling the truth about the reward?” a voice in the opening asks, causing Charlie to drop to the ground and listens closely to the voice he just heard.
A person replies “Who knows, but hunting down one girl shouldn’t be too hard.”
A third person joins in “The others all probably are thinking the same thing, best to only go after the girl first, then fight amongst ourselves.”
Chills run down Charlie’s spine, not of fear, but of worry. Is Archie sick in the head? I have to stop this… but I’m limited in my options… *crunch*
The group of three go silent. Two of them ready their weapons as one approaches the tree which Charlie is hiding behind. Charlie begins to quickly survey the area. Alright. Three enemies, somewhat large opening… something catches the young warriors sight is that a weapon cache? I’ll need that if I intend on breaking the walls. Now determined and having a plan in mind, he readies his knife.
“I’ve got you!” the man who approached the tree yells as he swings a massive sword down at Charlie. Before the blade hits Charlie quickly rolls to the side, narrowly dodging the massive sword. “Don’t try to run away now!” the man shouts as he readies his sword for another slash. Charlie, now standing, prepares himself for the next strike. The man swings his sword. Now ready, Charlie uses his knife to parry the strike, shattering his knife in the process.
“Why are you doing this?” Charlie asks, hoping to buy time to think of a plan.
“Well it is simple, Archie promised the one who was successful a spot on the Knights,” the man swings his chipped sword.
“I doubt he will follow through,” Charlie says while raising his arms. I created this opening with my knife. While risky, it's my only chance. Only a couple of centimeters before the sword hit Charlie, he side-stepped down, and jabbed the chipped part of the sword with his elbow, splitting it in half. Perfect. Charlie swings his other elbow and knocks out the man.
Swoosh… Swoosh Charlie almost instinctively quickly leaned back and forth. Grabbing his broken knife Charlie rapidly turns, and manages to split a bullet with his knife before it comes into contact with the broken blade. What? Not now, I’ve got bigger problems.
“Impressive job dealing with our teammate there, but good luck dealing with bullets,” one of the two remaining men said as they both aimed their guns at Charlie.
Did they not see what just happened? In any case I need to close the distance of about 10 meters and fast. Charlie focuses on the two men’s rifles. I guess they both picked automatics. Suitable pick for the unskilled I guess. He looks at the triggers, waiting for the perfect moment to move. He closes his eyes and thinks how this is going to play out. One second, the men are about to fire their weapons while Charlie grips the katana on his back. A small gust of wind could be heard as both men fell in sync with their guns which were split in two. Charlie opens his eyes. “What?” he stumbles back a few steps away. “How did I…” Charlie looks behind about 10 meters to see where he stood only a couple seconds ago. He puts his
katana back into its sheath that he is carrying on his back. Before Charlie can process what happened, a loud buzzer can be heard.
“I’ve got quite the unexpected news!” the announcers from before exclaims. “It appears the first two eliminations in this event were caused by the RR Knight Charles Mecha!”
“Wha-WHAT! IMPOSSIBLE!” Archie storms over to Giovanni. “Sir, Charles Mecha was not at all on the roster list yesterday, on top of that, RR Knights shouldn’t be in these tournaments. I request you pull him out of the event immediately.” Giovanni looks at him with an interested look. He grins as he thinks about what he should do about this revelation.
“I can assure you Boss, Charlie’s name was present on the final roster and was entered legitimately,” Alex says while shrugging as he had figured out what Charlie had done. “Unless…” Alex looks towards Archie and smirks “Unless you want us to investigate and see if Charlie was entered somehow illegitimately, in which case we would have to investigate all the participants,” Alex continued, intentionally being over dramatic with his tone and movement. Giovanni closes his eyes, thinks for a moment, then looks at Archie.
“It is clear that both you and Charles manipulated things in this game to suit your own needs, with that in mind…” Giovanni smiles menacingly. “I’m interested to see how this little ‘game’ plays out.”
“Bu-But Sir..” Archie continues, trying to find any reason to cancel the games. “What happens if Charles dies, replacing a knight woul-”
“As per protocol, if a Knight is killed, whoever killed them takes their place,” Giovanni says. With that, all present on the balcony fall silent.
Charlie goes through the bags of his fallen opponents. If they are hunting her, then I should probably avoid anything too large. Charlie grabs some of their extra pistol ammo, knives, and tracking devices. He goes over to the cache he spotted earlier. Charlie complains with a sigh “Why must these boxes be so annoying to open.” He aggressively shakes the large, shrubbery covered container until he gives up and kicks it. Much to
his surprise this opens the box. Alright, not too many useful things in here. He thinks while tossing out lots of heavy gear that would be useful for surviving in the arena for a long period of time. He, however, doesn’t plan on staying or winning. Right as he is about to give up, he spots a faint blue light at the bottom of the container. “Now this is useful,” he mutters while grabbing all of the glowing batteries.
“Alright contestants, only 2 of you have been eliminated so far. Be careful though, night is quickly approaching as the first day of the survival games comes to a close. Good luck fairing in the woods at night,” the announcer says, much to the annoyance of Charlie who dislikes the loud speakers. Charlie connects one of the glowing batteries to his and one of the stolen tracking devices
Alright, so they were given a somewhat consistent update on the general location of Grace… Ugh why do they have to disable devices after their owner is eliminated. Charlie fidgets with the wire a bit that connects the devices then begins altering his while transferring all the data from the stolen one. These are supposed to be used to track us, not us tracking each other…
Unfortunately, they left the connection far too unsecured. Charlie’s device emits a loud ping and which he quickly disables. He places the remaining batteries into his bag and runs off, following the dot he now can see on his device.
He jumps quickly through branches and rocks, going at a far faster pace than he thinks. The ping said that she was on the opposite side of the arena yet now it says she is only a couple of meters away. Why is it so hard to get precise or working machines here? He looks around at his new terrain. He stands in an opening that separates a rocking cliff littered with caves, and the dense forest he was running through. As he takes in his surroundings, he gets an unwelcome surprise. He hears rustling from the trees behind him. As he turns around he catches a glimpse of something jumping at him from the rocks. Without looking he quickly spin kicks the attacker to the ground.
“Ow,” the attacker groans as she lays down on the ground. She looks up with what Charlie knows is a mix of fear and confidence. She slowly gets
Ronin | Lydia Shannon | 12
back up, picks up her dropped knife and swings at Charlie.
“Are you Grace?” Charlie asks while effortlessly catching the girl’s arm. She looks surprised at his question. It makes sense she would attack whoever, this is a survival game after all. Her skills are sloppy, definitely not up to the level someone her age should be at. “Look, I am not here to harm you. Other people here are trying to eliminate you.” The girl stops. Surely she realizes she is out of options.
“Yes, I am Grace,” the girl finally says as Charlie releases her arm. “You don’t look as old as the others,” She comments, now slightly more calm.
“Yeah we both have that in common, now we need to get moving.” Scaling this mountain without getting shot would be impossible… Now that I know she is being tracked my plan is going to get far more annoying. He looks up at one of the caves and grabs Grace’s arm. “Come on, I know a place we can rest.” They both go into one of the caves at the bottom of the mountain. Charlie pulls out a battery and uses it as a dim light, hoping to conserve power. I need to keep at least a couple of these things if I hope to blow up the wa-
“Hey… um sir,” Grace’s voice snapped Charlie out of thought. “Your wrist thingy is beeping.” Charlie looks at his modified tracking device to see a message.
“New objective: first to eliminate Charles Mecha and the girl gets double the promised reward on top of his spot,” Charlie reads out loud to himself. I must have gotten this message because I moved the data. If they have both mine and Grace’s location… Charlie grabs the battery being used as a light and connects it to his and the other stolen device. “Grace, give me your tracker, the thing on your wrist. She tosses it to him and sits silent, interested to see what her new ally has planned. “I’m going to force the connection to go both ways and overclock it.”
“What does that mean?” She asks, even more interested in Charlie and his idea.
“It means we are going to know where everyone else is,” Charlie replies, clearly leaving out a key detail.
“That’s it?” she asks, thinking it can’t be so simple.
“Yeah that’s it… well…” Charlie says as his device starts beeping rapidly.
“Why is it beeping?”
“Wellll uh… so everyone else also knows our location… all of them are about to arrive.”
“This seems like a greaaat plan.”
“Thank you,” Charlie replies, now going through his bag to grab weapons and gear.
“That was sarcasm,” she replies, not understanding how Charlie didn’t pick up on it.
“Hey!” Charlie shouts, mildly annoyed, much to Grace’s amusement.
“You know, you remind me of Ree-” Grace gets cut off as Charlie tosses her a better pistol.
“I’m going to go out there and deal with the people attacking us. You stay in here and shoot anyone who enters. Got it? She nods as Charlie places the remaining batteries onto his belt. When Charlie exits the cave, all 96 other people step into the opening to face him. All of them are older and carrying better weapons. Rifles, bows, rockets, plasma beams, and more. Charlie stands ready, draws his katana, and says one more thing. “I warn all of you, anyone who doesn’t want to die tonight, leave.” Although Charlie is by far the youngest there, his cold stares send shivers down everyone there. Instead of heeding his warning they all ready and aim their weapons.
One of them shouts “Ready. Aim. Fire!”
“I warned you,” Charlie mutters. He closes his eyes, picturing the feeling he had during the first fight and when running. The moon was gone that night, pure darkness and shadow filled the starry lit opening. As all of them open fire Charlie dashes toward one of the large groups. Faster than anyone can perceive he cuts all of them down. As everyone reacts to the first blitz Charlie dashes at the group holding all close range weapons. Just as before Charlie manages to easily dispatch them.
A man in another group tosses a grenade at the cave opening. “Let’s rush the cave, that’s where our first target is!” Charlie quickly pivots around, backflips over an enemy trying to slice him and throws his katana
and the grenade. The grenade gets pinned to the mountain wall by the sword, something that shouldn’t be possible. Right before the grenade explodes Grace manages to see the sword throw.
“The sword didn’t pierce it… its shadow did?” Grace mutters out loud to herself, trying to comprehend what she is seeing. She quickly dives back behind cover to avoid the shrapnel.
Charlie checks his pistol and sees it only has three bullets remaining. Yeah I guess the armory is very skilled with numbers. Alright, only 4 or 5 more groups left and three shots. I didn’t want to do this.
“I see you lowered our numbers significantly, well for a kid,” the group starts to laugh. “What are you going to do about the 70 or so left of us?”
Remaining cold and expressionless, Charlie tosses a battery at the group. “Catch.” He shoots it right as it goes over the middle of the group. A bright blue explosion rattles the trees and even the mountains, followed by a deafening sound. Charlie grabs the remaining two batteries as two large groups from north and south of him start to rush him. A group from the east ready to shoot him. Before anyone can react Charlie tosses the batteries at both of the rushing groups and pulls out his spare knife with his now free hand. As a wave of bullets approach him he starts to cut down and deflect them all. In a small window created by the gaps in shots Charlie shoots the two batteries, wiping out the two rushing groups and engulfing him in a flame.
“HA. That Idiot. He really sacrificed himself. Well that leaves us twenty to fight over the remaining reward,” one of the gunmen exclaims. His joy would be cut short as the blue flames fade.
“Everyone ready!” One of the other men shouts.
“No, did you see how he deflected all of our shots, we have to take him out in close range,” Another suggests. They all drop their guns and grab various close quarter weapons. A dark cloud covers what remaining light shined on opening. Many things are thought to be feared in the light, but it is the unknown that people fear when looking into the dark. The only time Charlie was ever visible to the group were the few sparks of when their weapons clashed with each other. It was here that the group realized that
Charlie’s knife was shorter than they felt, for its range was vastly longer than any knife. No sparks appeared when Charlie’s knife cut cleanly through the armor and weapons of his opponents. Although Charlie didn’t realize that he had affected the range of his weapon. It was only a couple of seconds before the cloud passed, showing Charlie, standing alone, and all who tried to attack him below.
“Quite impressive young Challenger. But for you to win you must be the last one standing!”
The announcer shouts over the speakers. Charlie looks up and glares at Archie and then at the announcer standing close to his rival.
“I will not attack the remaining survivor,” Charlie says as he looks back at the cave.
“Then she will have to kill you,” the announcer retorts.
“She isn’t able to. And no one here can punish me for breaking this rule. If you find someone that can, send them down.” At this point, even the audience goes quiet. The tracker on Charlie’s wrist acted as a microphone, enabling him to speak to everyone. “Today, this survival game is over, and will have two winners.”
“This is unacceptable! Both of you should be punished for your blatant disrespect of the rules!” Archie yells as he stands up, full of rage and anger. He gets slightly scared after seeing Charlie’s cold gaze being directed at him.
“Hmmmm, well. I don’t see why we can’t have two winners this year,” Giovanni says, to the surprise of everyone. “Charles, Grace, meeting me in my office to receive your rewards for your win.” Archie is appalled at this decision. But he understands he is unable to do anything about it.
Giovanni’s word is the law here. Everyone knew and almost everyone respected that fact.
“Is- is it safe?” Grace asks from within the cave, very exhausted and on the verge of tears. Charlie enters the cave and sits next to Grace who hugs him.
“Yeah, it's over now,” Charlie says. I’m not one for hugs. But she has been through a lot, I guess I can make an exception this time. Grace breaks down
crying and the pair stay in the cave for a while longer.
A couple hours later, Charlie arrives outside Giovanni’s office with Grace who has yet to leave his side. Grace grabs Charlie’s hand as the two walk in. Giovanni stands up to greet the two.
“I’m glad to see you are safe, Charles,” Giovanni says in a slightly sincere tone. Although Charlie doubts if Giovanni actually cares. “And it seems Grace is doing well. Well take a seat you two, we have a lot to discuss.”
“We prefer to stand,” Charlie says in a respectful tone.
“Very well then, well what do you two want as your reward?” Giovanni asks while taking a seat behind his desk.
“Um sir? I would like to stay with Charlie,” Grace replies, tightening her grip on Charlie’s hand.
“And I would like to recommend Grace to the RR Knights,” Charlie adds, much to Giovanni’s surprise.
“Well that is quite a request Charles. You know only I have the power to add people to the Knights program,” Giovanni replies, locking his fingers together, waiting to see how Charlie responds.
“It’s not a request sir. I fully believe she has what it takes to be in the program. My request would be to become her personal teacher.”
“Your brother also possessed promising qualities yet you openly denied that possibility, much to the annoyance of the senior Elite. You showed your skills and worth today. No one can possibly match you so if you wish to be her teacher then very well.” Giovanni looks back towards Grace. “As for your request, I’ll allow you to choose any room you wish, if it is occupied and you don’t wish to share, then I’ll have them move.”
“And what of my recommendation,” Charlie asked, although it was laced with annoyance.
“I’ll allow Grace to join you into the RR Knights under one condition.” Giovanni smirks. “You have lots of potential, not just in combat. Be the best, destroy all who oppose you, and be my successor. You are now the leader of the RR Knights and my second in command, of course, only if you accept.”
“I do.”
The next night, Charlie and Alex are standing on the roof of the RR Knight’s dorms, looking over the walls into the wasteland outside of the Bastion. Looking out into the tragic past.
“You are lucky Haze was A, in the room next to you, and B, willing to share her room with Grace. Sometimes I wish I was a Knight so I could stay in these dorms and bother you,” Alex chuckles while patting Charlie’s shoulder.
“You wouldn’t want to leave Silive all alone now would you, she would get quite lonely without her fire,” Charlie remarks, causing Alex to get flustered.
“Well you can just stay all lonely in the shadows by yourself. I doubt you will get that close to Grace. What happened to your rule about only protecting yourself and your brother?”
“Things… they changed…”
“So what is your goal now? You wanted to lay low yet be powerful enough to keep Sharp alive. And now you are the second in command of a system you hate. Are you going to be more active and change it from the inside?”
“No.”
“Then what is your goal?”
“To run, or I might take a page out of your book.”
“Oh yeah, and which page is that?”
“Burning it all down.”
Reminders
Natalie Trampf | 12
As the sun rises low from the sky
With watercolors of dusty pink and departing purple I feel the gentle embrace of your sweetness
And as the branches shyly snicker to themselves Through the whistles of the wind I hear the echoes of your laughter
As the birds cheerily sing amongst themselves In the sighing morning light I recall the comfort of your company
When life is brought back to Earth
In the dampness of spring I see myself falling for you all over again
For you showed me that love is more than
A prize to be won
A favor to be owed
A treasure to possess
Love is sensing your warmth in The comfort of silence
The security of trust
The simplest of moments
Love is everything that reminds me of beauty
Everything that reminds me of peace
Everything that reminds me of you
Colored Light Portrait | Natalie Hoeft | 11
Carousel
Rose Caldera | 10
When the music starts to sway and I start to whirl, memories close in
For I was a lamb in a pack of wolves
With the eyes of innocence and hope, I saw the world in gold
In a place where I thought love was real and there was no such thing as cuts or scars,
All I ever wanted was to be seen and be older than I am
But the world unraveled and cast me in chains
The chains with no key, which was cast into an endless sea
For the world of my innocence will never be seen
The cruelty of man shoved me to my knees
Showing me all that gold was a dream
In a game where victors will stand and the rest cast to their knees
As the world did to my blood
As my eyes were opened, I saw there was no such thing as love
For love at first sight was just a tale, it was only lust
If you give up your heart to someone, don't give them no trust
For their love will never last
As their flame gives out for you and lights for another time and time again
For I will always be alone
Yes, I have my parents, but they will never stay forever
For who will love me after they leave me, to tend to this forest alone forever
For the music starts to close, and the horses die down
The truth fades in and brings me back to the ground. 153
Griffith | Liam Kellihan | 12
SAVE YOUR PITY FOR THE CONVENTIONAL
Ruthie Brenner | 11
The last time I had been to these hills, I was ten. I glance at the rippling lake, taking in the surface, the boulders above me, and the hills above them. I still remember this place. How could I not?
My dad had been taking photos the entire time. My siblings and I had been so annoyed. We would beg him to stop, and he would respond, “You’ll want these when you’re older!” My older brother Will would respond, “No, we won’t. That’s stupid.” Will was like that then, at the age of fourteen, convinced the world was out to get him.
My dad was a professional photographer. He was a really good one, too. He had a knack for seeing things that others didn’t, a knack that is memorialized in scattered exhibits all over our town. The only art gallery, restaurants, a coffee shop, the art store. I have one above my bed: a flowering thistle that sprouted in a sidewalk crack in front of my childhood home, the photo taking in the faded purple flower against the dusty, grey sidewalk and the fraying yellow house. Another is in my kitchen, brilliant red and orange dusk above the dark silhouette and fluorescent lights of the corner store that sold me Pepsi and Snickers as a child.
That trip, he had been working on a series of photographs, but he wouldn’t tell me or my brothers what the theme was. He would grin at us and say, “Guess!”
While my brothers tried and tried, I was content to wait until Dad told us himself.
The first day we were there, we stopped to sleep in a town stuck in the strange, timeless era of the past trying to become the present. We slept in
a lot filled with identical cabins. They were small, and I wondered how much business they got out in the waving prairie grass.
“Do we have to stay here?” Asked my little brother Will when he saw them. I rolled my eyes at him, but said nothing.
My dad looked around and then nodded, apparently satisfied with what he saw. “We do,” he said.
While my younger brother–whom we all called Little Guy–and I were waiting for Will to finish his shower, I was reading. Little Guy got bored easily, though, so he went and played around on the front porch. That was when Dad got his first photo that ended up in his exhibit: Little Guy in the shadow of the small porch leaning out across one of the wooden poles. I couldn’t tell what he was looking at, but I could see the thunderstorm brewing across the prairie behind him, dark gray against the muted yellow of the waving prairie grass.
The two other photos that ended up in his exhibit were taken later on the trip, both on the same day. The first of them he took while we were taking a hike. We had arrived in a place of hills that rolled out of the ground, smooth with the exception of occasional piercings of sharp, jagged limestone. Spruce trees of some sort covered everything like moss. It was beautiful. Little Guy and Will hated hikes, but I loved them. My dad and I would walk ahead at a fast pace, stopping occasionally to wait for the others. Will cursed the whole way, staring at his feet instead of the rock spires. I wished he would look up and I didn’t understand why he didn’t appreciate the natural beauty around us.
At the top of the mountain, there was a tower, built over a hundred years ago by the civilian conservation corps. Tracing my hands over this seemingly ancient remnant of the Great Depression, I could almost feel the determination of the men who built it. For a second I shared their vision, a
young man and a little girl looking at the same landscape over a hundred years apart. One was desperate and determined, the other was hungry for something only the trees, grass, rippling water, and the sun and the moon could give her. The sweat of my hands melted into the warm stone, along with the sweat of so many others, humans and humans on their tiny little planet, holding one another’s hands through the cumulative knowledge and achievements of hundreds and thousands of generations. Two earthlings, feeling the same million-year old earth under their feet and the same billion year old sun in their eyes. We were the same.
Almost the second Little Guy got up to the tower, he wanted to go back down. Will lingered at the top with me for a little while longer, looking over the picturesque landscape with a quizzical eye. That was when my dad got the picture. Will and I are leaning against the tower, neither smiling or frowning, unaware that our photo is being taken. In the background you can see miles and miles of beauty, stretching until the horizon, and it looks like the earth goes on forever.
Dad took another photo that day, after we hiked down the mountain and went swimming in the mountain lake at the bottom of the trail.
The water was murky and freezing, and both Will and I shivered as we waded in.
“Do you think we can jump off those boulders?” I asked as we paddled towards an outcropping of rock in the middle of the lake.
“That’s probably not allowed,” said Will.
“No one said it’s not,” I told him.
“It’s not a good idea,” he said.
When we finished climbing to the top of the boulder, I agreed with him. It had started raining, the rock was slick, I was cold, and the top of the rock looked much higher from the top than the bottom. But as much as I agreed with him, I was also struck by the childish urge to never admit I was wrong, and also to never back down from a challenge. “I’m jumping,” I told him.
That was the second picture. A little girl in mid-air, forever frozen like that. In this picture I look brave and frightened, as much so as the rain that pats down on the surface of the lake, many little ripples and dots against the cloudy sky. Then life unpauses, and I crash into the cold water, feeling its impact as it swallows me, and suddenly I am alone, floating in a foggy darkness, feeling my toes brush against soft cold sand under my feet. Then I remerge and the rain pats the top of my head. That photo was titled “A Bad Influence”. I always assumed that was because Will jumped in after me, and after him some more kids that were hanging around the lake. As a child, I thought the title was unfair. It took many years for me to realize what Dad actually meant when he wrote that title.
I was ten when Dad’s exhibition went up at the local art store in our town. Neither Little Guy nor Will ended up guessing the name correctly. Save Your Pity for the Conventional.
Now I am standing on that same shore, and it is again cloudy. I marvel at the black and green pine trees and the dark outline of the lake. I look upon the boulders that I once jumped off and the ghost of the rain and the cold and my childhood stir in my chest. The sky and the tower are tiny specks against the sky, made distant by both age and miles. I start towards the lake, knowing full well that I will make my way up to the tower with my hair wet and my heart beating, alive as the wind which shakes the trees like it always has and always will.
158
The Uncertain Comfort of Love
Eli Di Salvo | 10
love of a anger of a so called love a ____ has to protect he so called justifiable anger of a he clenched fists, clenched jaw, hard foot on th pedal, throwing of whatever is in my ____ ’s he so called comfort of his hands on my should
____ ’s hands are not a comfort to me
Now I’m uncomfortable with anyone’s hands on shoulders, it always reminds of my ____, ho didn’t take no for an answer
he love of a he care of a ____ he comfort of a ____ ’s presence he careful touch of a ____ he way my ____ holds me while I cry, while I la while I experience life he way I feel safe and protected when I’m with m
____
Now at the end of the day, I feel I will always have someone to love me, my ____
The love of a
The destructive passion of a The isolation of
The lovely feeling of having a
The way I swooned over my
The way I looked in the mirror and saw the dee and blood-shot eyes of mine from the night b remembering the words my ____ hit me wi ow I realize that love was not right, but I am m towards the ones who love with joy rather th
he love of a he comfort of laughing with a he peace you feel when seeing a smiling and fa face of a he version of yourself that you discover when you are with a he way I feel so loved and safe when our stomachs start to hurt from laughter because I am with my The way I have no filter or false-self with my true Now I realize there are people you accept and love my company, and so do I theirs, for my ____ s will always be my light in a crowded hallway
The Window
Brianna Donovan | 10
Isabella was on her way downstairs for a late night snack, when she was met by the growing sound of yelling coming from the kitchen. Isabella had just finished her homework; she felt dizzy from the amount of work she faced. As she walked closer to the noise, she recognized the distinct voices of her sister and mother. Her sister, Cora, always had a strong opinion; her mother almost always disagreed with her. Isabella did not even register the topic of the argument, it did not sound like anything she would be of interest to. Across her, in the hallway, stood a window. She gazed out of the window, jealous of its calmness, while she stood in her chaotic household that was never quiet. The idea of calmness brought goosebumps to her arms. She felt a shiver come across her while snow began to fall from the sky. The wind was still, and the snowflakes fell softly to the ground like a feather. Isabella was frozen in the glory of the landscape outside the window, and could hear the distant sound of her mother and sister yelling; none of the yelling mattered anymore. The time was around 4:41 pm, she just realized it was her favorite time of day. Sunset. She loves sunsets, she wished she could be dancing on those stunning clouds, away from the noise. The idea was so close she could feel the delicate clouds beneath her, she wanted to be in the blazing sky forever. There was then a sudden rise of yelling followed by the sound of shattering. Isabella snapped out of her peace to look around, but nothing around her was different. She looked back to return to her sanctuary, but it had changed.
Daydreams | Brianna Runnheim | 12
Colored Light Portrait | Elias Shaffer
Theo | Jackson Rudd | 9
Sunset Silhouette | Izon Thoronka | 10
Family Portrait | Eleanor Doro
RememberMe
Natalie Trampf | 12
Do not remember me by my name Nor what you made it mean
Remember me by the words I spoke
Even when I was alone
Remember me by how I held you up Even when I was on the ground
Remember me by the sound of my laughter Dancing through the trees
Remember me by my restless soul Yearning to be free
For I am to be remembered as more than hurt The hurt you tirelessly tried
I am to be remembered as something more than this Something more than lies
Manni | Mari Renk | 12
Everything
Isabelle Jensen | 12
My eyes peered across the dreary landscape of a restless Tuesday with red, white and blue flashing lights in my rearview mirror. My brain had been at war with itself for approximately seventy-two days with no end in sight, but surely that was no excuse for going twenty-one miles over the speed limit in a 25. Alas, there was too much on my mind to consider a stealthy officer clocking in my careless driving. There were decisions to be made and I felt as if all my choices were disappearing and drying up with each moment I chose no action, like a rose wilting in the sun. The biggest thing on my mind was next year's “what ifs”. College left me with so many options. Wherever I go it is somewhere new. When I really tried to grasp the idea of college my brain went blank in the way someone trips over a cord, and the vacuum abruptly stops. The chilling thought always circled my mind: I am leaving everything behind.
Everything
Arrow Reflection | Kristy Barakeh | 11
But what was everything? Was it birthday cake with those you love? Was it bedtime stories and Nana braiding your hair? Maybe it was driving across that bridge on a summer evening watching the city lights come into view. Yes, I think that is everything to me. The small moments in the valleys of my mind that hit me like the faded rays of a misty spring morning. A cup of warm coffee and late-night conversations you hope will never end. How could I leave the home where I stood on my tippy toes to reach the top shelf not so long ago? When I leave what will I bring with me? I suppose I’ll bring a toothbrush, some clothes, a smile, and an ear to lend. I’ll bring with me the little girl who loved to laugh and play pretend and chose blue over pink because “that's too girly”. I bring my dad with his music, and my mom with her recipes. I’ll bring my friends with their notes and photos and gossip too. These too, are everything to me. So maybe I won’t take the city or the people with me when I go off to venture on in new lands, but I still have the moments. The everythings will remain wherever I reside.
As the cop hands me my ticket and I gaze upon the sun peeking from the cloudy sky, I realize that this too is an everything. For the first time in seventy-two days I allow myself to indulge in the sweetness of a silent moment. In that moment I understood that no matter where I go or what I do, I will always have the memories I have made, and the ability to make more. There are decisions to be made, and I think I am finally ready to make them. I look towards the open road in front of me, buckle my seatbelt and hit the gas.
