Text by JACK CHAMPLIN
Art by LEIF THESEN
A Stork Forlorn Jack Champlin is a junior who is passionate about all kinds of storytelling. He is particularly fascinated by surrealism and all of the oddities accessible through writing. His favorite author is Kurt Vonnegut. Blackbird didn’t speak unless spoken to, Blackbird didn’t look at their wives, “Catfish.” She told me. Blackbird didn’t attempt to learn to read, Blackbird didn’t use their fountains, “What?” Blackbird didn’t enter their stores, Blackbird only did what they told it to do. “Catfish.” For fear of being, She spread her wings and soared away. cagedstrange fruitWhat on earth was she talking about? Talk about an inconsiderate final Occupied its mind. word to tell someone. I’m only left with more questions now. Blackbird only dreamed. My walk home is filled with fog and little noises. Those little noises are nice, like the clinking of fine cutlery. Although it wasn’t fine cutlery, I think it So tell me Blackbird, was bugs. A bird flies above me. I look up, partially expecting her return. When will you act upon your dreams? Instead, all I get is some half-hearted Déjà vu. When will you attempt to fly? Attempt to be free? There’s a crack in the path. I stepped over it eventually, but I stood there and looked at it for a while. This crevice was like a friend, so I wasn’t too hasty to leave. But eventually, I did. O’Maria Sephers is a who is dark. passionate The clouds were gone today, butsenior the sky was about poetry. She is particularly interested in anyIn the distance is a mountain covered with leftover snow. I can see a small thing that can be related avalanche occurring. too. Her favorite authors Angelou, I was feeling strangely alright forare theMaya first half of thePorwalk, but then I reached sha Olayiwola, and the halfway marker. I saw the shabby wooden signRudy attached to the shabby wooden stake in the ground.Francisco. My legs were out of tune. I collapsed, but the ground caught me. I can still smell the alloy formed of gravel from the ground and the skin that scraped off of my knees. Someone must’ve left the faucet in my brain on, because the water was beginning to come out of my eyes. I sat there frozen for easily a year. Maybe two. 730 days and still no clouds. Why couldn’t I move? If I were unable to see them, I would’ve thought my legs were gone altogether. Soon I mustered up the courage to stand. I arose and then fell again. Text by O’MARIA SEPHERS A cloud of apprised dust stained my eyes.
17 17 17
