Spring Issue (3) - AV

P R E T T Y P I N K B A Z O O K A S

Written by Tyler Cho, Grade 9

I never really knew what to expect when I joined the Army. I had seen war movies, read books, but nothing could’ve truly prepared me for the harsh reality of being in the military. The first couple weeks of boot camp were some of the most challenging weeks of my life. We woke up before dawn everyday, ran for countless hours, did endless sit-ups, and learned to handle our rifles. We were yelled at, cursed at, and pushed to our limits.

But there was something so addicting about it all. There was a sense of unity within the barracks, within us. Having a shared hardship brought us closer together. I felt as if these guys were my second family I felt a sense of honor when saying I was a part of the Army. After boot camp, I was sent to a desert base in the Middle East. The heat was unbearable, and our platoon leader had told us to never trust where you step, in scars of a landmine.

The sand was everywhere I tried my best to adapt as quickly as I could. War never came. But we were prepared for anything to break out. We watched numerous movies, and played countless card games I found myself in a neverending cycle of boredom and frustration. Eventually, we were called into action. We were sent to a neighboring city to the one we were staying at. We were tasked with securing an area and taking out any potential threats. The adrenaline rush of being in the field was like nothing I had ever experienced before Every moment felt like life or death, and I had to rely on my training and instincts to survive.

When it was all over, I felt a mix of emotionsrelief, exhaustion, and a strange sense of accomplishment. I had made it through one of the toughest experiences of my life, and I had proven to myself that I had it in me, I was capable of more than I had ever thought possible. After coming back to camp, I realized being in the military isn't for everybody. You need to have a sharp mind at all times. You need discipline and dedication to your country.

I woke up the next morning to the smell of gunpowder and smoke everywhere I could see. We had been raided. All of my comrades were dead. Blood everywhere. I could hear someone pleading for help followed by a gunshot. Who could it be? I started to walk out of the team tent slowly. But right as I stepped out…

I felt something on the back of my head.

e T h e F l o w e r s

WWe start as little buds (so small)

Who soon begin to grow (so old)

And in our brightest hours (we shine)

Us little flowers we glow

But in the mirthless hours (so dark)

Our petals begin to wilt (we rot)

We pray for April showers (we drown)

Just to wash away with silt

Those flowers in the places

Where the sun will always shine

Life full of peace, in stasis

Must truly be divine

The world we must go around (a voyage)

To the place paradise may be (a dream)

We’ve shined, we ’ ve rot, we ’ ve drowned (lived life)

So our children can cross the sea

The Man Outside The Window

The walls cried out from the power of the wind pushing and pulling against them, sounding as if a train was heading straight towards the home. Eliza sat in her bed next to the window, the blinds being just slightly open, enough for one to see out to the street and for one to see into her room. Every once in a while, she would peek out into the street, she felt as though she was being watched Every few minutes, her heart would skip from the overwhelming feeling of eyes on her. But she never closed the blinds. She can never close the blinds.

The house went silent, the rain stopped pouring, it seemed as if Eliza’s room darkened. The energy of nature weakened, as well as the light bulb in her lamp. Darkness was something Eliza preferred to avoid, though sometimes it was impossible. What could exist in the dark but not in the light racked her mind.

The street light flickered every once in a while, and the darkness outside was extreme. There was no other light outside. Eliza relied on the street light to keep whatever was outside right where it was. Ever since she was little, her mother would tell her scary stories, though Eliza did not believe they were stories. Eliza believed in the monsters under her bed, and the creeps in her closet Over time, it turned into an obsession. She worried that someone was outside her window watching her, sometimes it gets so bad that she stares for hours. The next day, she would fall asleep in class.

Eliza sat watching the window, fearful that someone or something was staring back at her. Though, over time, she slipped away into the darkness of the woods just beyond the street. Her mind wandered the winding paths through the forest.

She nearly forgot what she was so stressed about, until she heard what she thought was the sound of scratching on the window. She ignored it for the moment, she could not lose this moment of peace. As Eliza ignored the scratching it became more and more violent, to the point where she could not ignore it any longer. She broke from her trance but as she examined the window, nothing was there and the noise had stopped.

The lamp still dim, Eliza’s pupils contracted, as if someone had put a flashlight in her face. Her heart began to beat faster and faster, it felt as if it might even give out. Her breath quickened as the world around her appeared to shrink. This is the end. Everything she had worked so hard for would never be worth it in the end. It ends right here. Until, the sun ’ s rays appeared over the horizon. It was nearly closing time. She could close the blinds and live another day.

Just to suffer all over again that night. Her mind would not clear of the terrifying feeling of the man outside the window just yet.

This was unusual. Her fears would perish at the sight of the sun, though this time they didn’t. The eyes she feared so much were still there. Watching, lurking, waiting for her Eliza couldn’t move She closed her eyes hoping that by the time she reopened them, the sun would be in full view. Just as she shut her eyes, the scratching slowly began. This time, when she looked at the window it didn’t stop. It kept scratching faster and harder. Eliza stood by her window and looked out taking a deep breath. This would be her last breath on Earth.

By Tessa H, Gr 10

My Pepsi.

Why is my entire future at stake for a misplaced comma?

The trajectory of my life depending on my grammar

The world may be our home, but humans are the traitor

Over complicating our reality with a philosophical meaning

Existence is an empty can of soda except more satire

My Pepsi resting on my desk completely careless, I admire

If only I could turn back time and take back all that I missed

The time I spent locked in my room working for a world That would never appreciate my hard work

Instead, I’d spend my time living in ignorant bliss

My Pepsi laying on my desk living the life I desire

Thoughtless and carless you my Pepsi I admire

If only I could forget all the hours that no longer matter

Or the perfect test scores and resumes that made me a disaster

My persona, a bright promising girl meeting society’s standards But I’m holding myself up by grades and not posture My trophies and certificates shining brighter than my future

Why can’t my Pepsi change its sick ways and turn into water?

I SEE YOU EVERYDAY, AND EVERYNIGHT,

Layersof Loneliness

YOU HAVE MY REFLECTION ON YOUR FACE, YOU HAVE EVERYONE’S GAZE IN YOUR EYES, THE PALE SURFACE OF YOUR BLEMISHED BLANKET YOU CALL THE SKIN TO YOUR FACE

IT’S FAR FROM SKIN

IT’S A LAYER,

LIKE HOW AN ONION HAS MANY LAYERS, YOU DO TOO

EACH ONE IS HARDER TO BREAK THROUGH

EACH ONE IS MORE MYSTERIOUS THAN THE LAST

I LOOK UP TO YOU, LITERALLY, IN THE SKY I WATCH YOU AS YOU WATCH ME

YOU CALL OUT TO THE LOST AND LONELY, YOU PROVIDE LIGHT AND PROTECTION TO THE ONES

FAR FROM REALITY

DO YOU WANT TO TALK TO US? WHAT DO YOU THINK OF US? DO YOU EVER FEEL LONELY?

GOODNIGHT, FRIEND

Heart on Fire

Burning like a great fire, Two hearts beat Boom Boom Booom.

When the last one dies, What becomes of the other?

Both hearts beating for each other

What happens if one

By Maryam R, Grade 9

…. Isn’t in sync?

Boom Boom Boom

One heart on fire

The other gone

The fire goes out What becomes of it?

Boom Boom Boom.

The rain tapped against the window, as if it was trying to draw Heather out. Come out, dance with me, sing with me it would say If it could talk, that is. The low light from Heather’s salt lamp and laptop in her dreary room made her feel safe Alone Quiet As the rain intensified, she grew drowsy, but not wanting to lose her last few hours before sunrise, she quickly sipped her energy drink, fighting sleep. The digital clock read about 2 AM. “Dang it.” she whispered under her breath The peaceful night would be gone too soon.

As if she was trying to slow down time, she paced around the room, quickly finding her journal This journal held all of Heather’s emotions, rants about people ranging from her most hated human, to the one she wished she had the most.

Untitled

BY TESSA H, GR 10

Feeling overwhelmed with what the next day held, she wrote. She wrote about everything she felt, her anger, her love, her wishes I’ll never make it I’ll never be the one who’s happy. I’ll never feel anything. How could she feel? With parents who never wanted to comfort her, who said they just wanted what was best for her, but all she felt was embarrassment? Insecurity? Fear? She felt her heart begin to race. It was nothing new. The panic setting in for the next day was regular. Expected, even.

As the rain slowed, the room became bare, too quiet. The silence was powerful, leaving Heather with her thoughts. After a few minutes, she put on her music, as quietly as

possible so as to not wake her parents The lights flickered with the wind, with the sound of it howling in the trees. The mixture of the rain, the wind, and the music harmonized in her mind The overwhelming feeling of hope filled her body. Looking over her journal and laptop, she saw her desktop and monitor. Who would it hurt to play for just a little while? She got in her chair, adjusting how she was sitting until she felt she was ready. Taking a deep breath, she turned it on. As the computer started, the hum of the fans was the comfort she needed.

It wasn’t like she was addicted to her computer, she just loved the feeling of being distracted. Meaning, once she couldn’t get on her computer, it was like a storm brewing slowly, just waiting for it to rain hell on her. It was her outlet, talking to her friends, playing games, it fueled her creativity and love.

As her screen gleamed with all of the games, she immediately opened Valorcan’t and searched her friends list to see if Mark was on Mark was the new guy she started talking to. She’d been in multiple different “situationships” in the past. Heather’s emotions were strong. Stronger than most, she often thought it was too much for her, though it was who she was

The Subway Train

I walked hurriedly on the concrete floors stained and tainted by the dirt, carried from the feet of strangers in and out of the station. I glanced over toward the subway train of grayish color as I rushed through the doors right before they slid shut, barely getting inside. As my eyes examined the train for an available seat, people placed down their bags as to readjust themselves. Minutes later, I found myself grasping onto a pole while I stood, trying to find a comfortable position where I could easily balance. On each stop, people arose from their seats, but before I could make my way over to an empty seat, they were quickly occupied by people boarding the train. Then, I walked over to a pole and waited for the next stop where I would find myself repeating this routine once again

As my trip came to an end, people would stare at me. There must have been a spec of food in my teeth, or a strand of hair on my shirt since they have a look of disgust and nausea on their pale faces I feel the need to check my appearance; however, I feel as though now isn’t quite the time to care. I noticed some people were very cautious since they inched themselves further away from me. I became more and more insecure from their dirty looks & distancing themselves from me They looked at my pimple-covered, pointy nose and my busy, uneven eyebrows. They were judging me. Judging my unbrushed hair, my mis-matched clothes, my worn-out shoes. At first, I figured they were cautious, avoiding physical contact, and trying to stay safe from viruses because anyone on a train could have viruses and germs and you might not know it. Then, I finally realized that it was because they didn’t like the way that I look that they were avoiding me They either glared at me, or looked away because they didn’t want to see me. They covered their children’s eyes so they couldn’t see me, they shifted themselves away from me, they shut me out from everyone else. All because I didn’t look like them, and I didn’t realize this because I didn’t care how I looked I left my house this morning feeling good, but these people made me feel gross, like I don’t belong. People can be like that. They have that power over you that makes it nearly impossible to feel confident in your own body, unless you ’ re lucky enough to have the power to not care what others think. Most people have been convinced by society that they should only see their mistakes, their imperfections, their little, tiny details that are considered unlikable. I stood on the subway train with these thoughts flying around in my head. I decided that I wouldn’t be bothered by it. I got off on my stop feeling confident, worthful. And that is how I started my day. B

The Burning Piano

As I watched the torrid flames completely engulf my house, all I could stare at was the most beautiful pair of emerald eyes I've ever seen The utter shock of all of my neighbors and constant stream of pity from them, surrounded me like a thick fog But through complete chaos, I saw those eyes

The eyes I would now dreamily look into every morning I woke up The eyes that made me the happiest man in the world The eyes that emancipated me from my regrets and sorrow The eyes that finally silenced the bewailing of the burning piano

Most people would assume that I, a twenty five year old man, would have experienced a fearless and dauntless life It does make sense, I was exceptionally talented and acceptably attractive But this is nowhere near the truth My late father had made it obligatory for me to play the piano everyday after school Instead of being passionate about my instrument, it encumbered me like chains on my legs. The sound of each key and harmony marched around my living room like an unwanted guest. Even when I don’t play I hear the putrid sound of music forced into my brain It caused countless headaches

My father was an ingenious man, he thought that if I wasn't allowed to leave our house, attend parties, make friends, etc I would stay out of trouble and focus on my studies and piano lessons He was right After his death I never left our house, the chipping floral wallpaper and bookcases filled with records were the only things I'd see

I planted some fruits and vegetables to cook and eat for breakfast and dinner and oftentimes I would watch Napoleon Dynamite DVDs But my main source of entertainment was the grand piano that sat largely in our living room and deduced from the busy wallpaper

I play from six to eight just like father had always ordered me to, and with all of the change that occurred with him leaving, the piano keys and tones continuously stayed the same

Years after his death, I only saw two people, my reflection in the mirror and Sage She’d oftentimes go on runs around our neighborhood training for what I’d assume was a marathon Her visage was visible when she was running and I knew she enjoyed doing it People run for many reasons, whether it’s health or the release of stress I’d sometimes wonder why she was doing so

All of the curtains in my house were drawn except for the living room window I’d occasionally look up from my piano and out the window and catch a glimpse of her At the time I thought I was extolling her speed, but little did I know, my future was just out the window and waiting outside of my house for me

On September 16th my birthday, like every year, rolled around the corner and brought a vast array of emotions My father passed away on my birthday and since then I've had mixed emotions celebrating the day of his death. I usually treat this day like any other, but this year felt different. It had been eight years and my steps felt lighter and I began to enjoy the sunrises and chirp of birds.

I had grown a substantial amount of tomatoes and decided to cook a lovely pasta sauce to go with my angel hair, instead of my usual fruit salad I haven’t cooked in years, but the cookbook was in front of me and my will was strong So today out of all days seemed right

I diced the tomatoes and sprinkled on some oregano and thyme, and let it marinate on the stove The sweet aroma of the sauce detracts from the guilt and sadness of my father and I allowed a smile to grow on my face for the first time in years I stirred the angel hair and admired the perfect consistency

At moments like this I often wonder what life would be like if I had gone to college or gotten a job, left the house or met someone I’m self sufficient, yes, but I’m not self satisfied As a man who hasn’t left his house, I longed for human interaction, I longed for a friendship or even more At that moment I remember closing my eyes and deeply imagining myself sitting at the dinner table, eating angel hair, with a beautiful woman beside me and two little girls brightley smiling from ear to ear.

I felt such deep comfort, none that I've ever felt before My heart grew warm with the idea and so did my body and that's until I opened my eyes.

Fire The heat of the flames traversed through my kitchen, destroying and knocking down everything in its destructive path My mothers porcelain china set fell from the cupboard and the photos of my grandparents came crashing down, the glass shattering on the wooden floor. I stood, paralyzed for a moment, until eventually sprinting out As I ran out I could hear the bewailing of my piano as its fine polished surface became simple firewood and sustenance

My heart slammed against my chest and my legs ached as if unsure of whether or not to leave.

At that moment, I didn’t think of the thousands of hours I've spent laying on the baby blue cotton couch or the creaky wooden steps I'd race down as a child All I could feel was the cold wind rushing onto my face, I was standing outside feeling the bare air rush past me. I felt naked. I let out a small grimace as I noticed my very unmaintained lawn

Although my house was burning down in front of my very feet, I felt incontrovertibly unbothered

My neighbors ran out of their houses and gasped at the burning monstrosity in front of them. The fire station was called and many people swarmed me and asked sympathetic questions

“Are you okay?”

“How did this happen?”

“Did you get burned?”

“Do you have insurance?”

I felt bombarded and exposed and refused to answer any ‘He must be in shock’ they thought But I wasn’t I feel more freedom now than I have ever felt in my life. It was such a rush.

Anyone’s house burning down may be the fraught of their life But who would've thought it would be one of the best moments of mine

But through the bright burning red fire and the navy blue blankets placed on me from the ambulance, the only color that stood out to me was a prominent emerald green It was Sage The woman I'd seen go running everyday for eight years Through snow and sun, she’d run past my house every single day Her long brunette ponytail swiftly swung from side to side

She looked at me and didn’t at all mention my house which was now a burnt crisp, she didn't mention the hundreds of neighbors flooding my front yard or the ambulance surrounding me

She simply said, “You play the piano beautifully ” My mouth dropped open, not with her comment, but with her strong presence. “The whole neighborhood hears the music you play ” She chuckles, “sometimes I take my headphones out just to hear the notes you hit and the perfect pace you keep ”

She gleams down at me, her green eyes sparkling and even with complete chaos surrounding me, I only saw those eyes.

The eyes I would now dreamily look into every morning I woke up The eyes that made me the happiest man in the world The eyes that emancipated me from my regrets and sorrow The eyes that finally silenced the bewailing of the burning piano

A Response

Dear Creator,

Do you ever sit and ponder about the young boys that you tricked? That you lied to? Told them they would have fun and adventure every day, riding a majestic leopard in clean uniform, carrying an innocent gun on a beautiful tranquil beach? Did you ever tell them that they wouldn’t see roaring lions, but animals dead with a bullet to their body that they didn’t deserve? Victims of the actions of officials that sit on the cries of civilians? Did you ever tell them that their clothes wouldn’t stay bright and fresh but would be streaked with the blood of animosity and the ghosts of dead men? Did you tell them that their gun would kill those just like them, stolen from their homes, shipped to a land unknown, starved, broken, killed before they died, who dropped dead because of the trigger that your fingers gripped? Did you ever tell them that they wouldn’t fight on a beach with the sun shining down on them, the smell of crisp waves wafting through the air? No, they fought 3ft down the mud, ready to bury themselves when they should’ve been sitting at a desk at school, studying how to write an essay and not studying how to kill another human with a soul, a mind, and a conscience just like them. Rats crawling all over them while typhoid crept inside, did you ever tell them they wouldn’t go back home to welcome arms? No, they would die and fall into the arms of their fellow soldiers, who were already immune to the sorrow that came ...

with death, death which was now nothing different from the hair that falls out everyday. And yet even if they did, they could only come back to a country that was crippling from the war. Broken homes, damaged morality and a collapsing country. None of that patriotic utopia that you fought for Nothing more than little puppets tied to the strings of iron hands that ruled the country, ones that didn’t feel the pain of war. But it's not just them. I hope you realize that you helped those ruthless emotionless hands, tying young boys with strings that suffocated them, to those hands But what’s all this anger for if nothing convinces you to stop the propaganda? I hope it does.

Less Drama, More Theater

By Abigail J, Gr 5

Once there was a girl named Willow Flower

Her family did live in a tower

She was really interested in theater

Man you don’t know unless you hear her

But my family really does fear her

She is always in the drama

I bet she gets it from her mama

Everyone says that she should calm down

She promised she would practice real loud

I said no more drama

She did a show last night

I learned she would not go down without a fight

This Girl & The Other

This girl is happy, She is skinny, pretty, gets good grades, and makes her parents proud. She has fun with her friends, always has a good time. She does her best, and success is what she is all about.

The other girl is not happy. She is not skinny, she is not pretty. She does not get good grades, she always disappoints her parents. She has fun with her friends, but her anxiety keeps her busy, It takes over and makes it difficult for her to enjoy things. She does her best, but she does not succeed.

This girl is always happy, always energetic, always doing well, Never doing badly, always seems to brighten the mood. The other girl is sometimes happy, but often not truly happy. She is drained of her energy, she’s screwed.

Although they are different, they are practically the same, Not sure if you have discovered, So did it catch your eye, Even with one girl perfect & the other not

That one girl is a mask for the other?

Even Stars Flicker

To some courage is shining brightly, To me, courage is flickering. Even the tiniest stars have to burn.

To some courage is blooming into a rose, To me, budding leaves are enough. Even the plantings have to bear the rain.

To some, courage is gaining the strength to go on, To me, it’s going on, hoping to gain strength along the way.

To me, courage isn’t knowing what’s ahead, But trusting that it will work out either way.

To some, courage is knowing the sun will rise, To me, it’s embracing the night.

To some, courage is no longer fearing, To me, it’s no longer fearing fear.

To some, courage is being able to speak up, To me, it’s choosing to stay silent.

To me, courage isn’t being able to keep myself together, To me, it’s smiling even when I’m falling apart.

To me, courage is letting the light, Flood in through the cracks.

To me courage, isn’t never getting tired, It’s running till I fall. And when I do, Courage is getting back up and shaking it off.

To some, courage is this, To me, courage is that.

Afterall, courage looks different for all of us.

To some, courage is doing, To me, it’s being.

By Siang Lian, Gr 9

Jewish culture has been embedded in history for as long as humans existed. Whether it’s old folktales, or modern twists on traditional Jewish values and ideals. But superheroes were probably the last thing you would think of as “Jewish”. What if I told you that the first superhero to ever exist, Superman, was actually supposed to be a representation of Moses. Think about it for a second. He was born on a dying planet, much like how Moses’s parents were enslaved by the Egyptians. He was sent away to be safe, much like Moses. Superman finds loving parents, just like Moses and the Pharaoh. Throughout his teenage and young adult years, Superman develops the ideals and values that make him who he is, just like Moses. Clark Kent turns into Superman and protects the Earth, and Moses turns into one of the most important Jewish prophets in history, and protects his people from th th f Ph h S l t t b J i h h A rein does

A JE SU

It was a frozen night, and Harkeldrin

Dak’kur was sleeping soundly in his bed. He lived in the little town of Durn in the empire of Bakhlan, happily retired from his position as head general of the sorcery division in Bakhlan’s military. While Bakhlan had questionable decisions at times, Harkeldrin consoled himself they were right for wanting power, because they were the only ones that could be trusted with it. He was currently in the process of training an apprentice, a young man named Drould who was just as curious as he was and would make a wonderful successor.

He was able to see into the future, however something impeded his knowledge of it. He could only see the possibilities of what could happen, but couldn’t tell which one would become reality. And while he could remember some of the more distinct possibilities, and record them, it would take millenia to write out a fraction of them.

It would take immortality to use it to its full potential. Seeing far into the future was even more futile, because the more the time, the longer the possibilities. As a result he was not able to use his power effectively, because even one who knew the secret to longevity couldn't completely stop death His nemesis, Rachtur the Necromancer, planned to assassinate him on that night. He was a tall man, with lanky limbs, and a cunning smile. Rachtur forged a beautiful knife of adamantium alloy, encrusted with enchanted jewels that would allow easy penetration of Harkeldrin’s magically protected skin, accumulated from a variety of spells Harkeldrin casted over the years. Rachtur covered it in a bubbling mixture of poisons and potions that were potent enough to slay a Drake. With his weapon forged, and his plan formed, Rachtur rode a steed of flame and bone from his dreaded lands to the town of Durn. As he approached the entrance of the town, he left his fiery steed on a hill near it, and proceeded on foot.

He snuck through the sleepy little town, sticking to the shadows until he found the house that his spies had told him was Harkeldrin’s.

He reached for a ruby in his pocket, said a few words, and it glowed. He rubbed it on the windows on Harkeldrin’s house and melted them. He crept inside like a coward, malevolent and gleeful in his madness. He walked to his bedside and raised the knife high for maximum strength, and Harkeldrin’s eyes opened

Rachtur slammed the knife down and tore the bedsheets to shreds. He looked behind him, but it was too late. Harkeldrin slammed him against the wall with Rachtur’s face pressed against it, so that the flaky paint cracked and a picture above the fireplace fell on the ground. Rachtur went limp to show his surrender and Harkeldrin loosened his grip slightly, just as Rachtur elbowed him in ribs, still facing the wall.

Harkeldrin staggered back and Rachtur turned around and raised his knife above his archnemisis’s head, and Harkeldrin smiled. He grabbed the knife out of Rachtur’s grip, but Rachtur teleported out of the way of the blow, summoning tendrils of shadow to aid him. Rachtur launched them at Harkeldrin, and he tried to slice them with the knife but they overwhelmed him and as soon as one managed to touch him, all of his energy disappeared and he fell on the floor. The tendrils snaked around ...

... Ac Toth's limbs lifting him up and Rachtur grabbed the knife from Harkeldrin’s incapacitated hand.

Rachtur smiled, and Harkeldrin hung his head in defeat. Rachtur stabbed the old man in his forehead with vigor, and the tendrils dissappeared as Harkeldrin’s forehead bled out Rachtur fled from the d d

opening on his forehead, but there wasn’t. However there was a large, pulsing gem in the shape of an eye with a scarlet hue on the floor beside the body, pulsing with almost tangible energy.

He felt a strange tug to the gem, some sort of primal and magnetic allure. He had a strong urge to hide it and despite his better judgement, he did.

He kept the body of his master to himself and mourned Harkeldrin. He buried him in the backyard of the estate, and had a private ceremony where he cleansed the foul energy of the murder by pouring ether on the corpse.. He knew that his master had made enemies, foremost among them Rachtur the Necromancer, and he knew that if he sought protection from the militia, they would only die if Rachtur came to kill him. As far as Drould knew, Rachtur would have had no reason to believe Harkeldrin would have had an apprentice, so the prospect seemed d d

exploring the forbidden tomes. He knew Harkeldrin would not approve, but Drould was quite a curious student. One day, he used a spell to communicate with things, regardless of language, and figured he would test it on the gem, since he was fairly sure there was some kind of presence trapped within it.

Shockingly, it responded, revealing itself to be a crystalized form of Harkeldrin’s g g nemesis, happen with an extremely strong magical conduit, like the knife, and they happen concerning extremely powerful people, like Rachtur and Harkeldrin, a physical manifestation of the event will form. The gem revealed itself to be that manifestation.

And while a talking murder gem might’ve scared most people, Drould was only ever-curious. And since he was alone in the house, the only thing he had contact with was the talking murder stone. And only talking to a murder stone for months makes people more than a little insane.

After it was clear that Drould was attached to the stone emotionally, it asked if Drould wanted some nicer food for a price. A simple question and a simple answer, given how bland the food had started to get.

The cost was equally simple: a cup of blood. It didn’t say a specific creature's blood, just some blood.

Drould was smart and wasn’t going to use his own. He found a cow from the farm on the estate and slayed it. He was planning to use it for food anyway and might as well make better food with it. He thought he could make it even better and filled a quarter of a barrel with its blood.

He brought the barrel to the gem. The gem was very pleased. It promised him the best food he had ever tasted. It levitated the blood from the barrel and formed another layer around itself with the blood, which quickly crystalized. It glowed with malicious power and oozed satisfaction.

As he dove deeper into his studies of dark magic, he found a way to siphon blood from creatures. He would use this blood to make little improvements to his house and still thought it harmless. Until one day the gem asked for a dead body’s worth of blood. Human blood.

At first he was flabbergasted: what could he possibly need that would be worth more than a dead body. The gem promised to give him more power and if it kept getting what it needed it would give him power that rivaled that of his master. Drould got the body.

He was an elderly man, practically already on his deathbed, thought Drould. Drould decapitated him swiftly, so he would at least die painlessly.

When he took a barrel of his blood back to the gem, it once again absorbed it, growing bigger yet again. At this point it was an astonishing three feet tall, and its pulsing energy could be heard now as a subtle vibration.

Over the course of the next week, it asked for more and more carcasses, and it would give him more and more power.

When he brang back the final barrel of blood back, the gem asked him to participate in a ritual to give him the power it had promised He accepted.

Instead of feeling the power he wanted, he felt the gem combing in his mind, raking its delicate construction to pieces, shattering his brain into pieces. It now picked up those pieces of his brain, and took complete control of him.

The newly possessed Drould would go on a murderous rampage, only growing stronger each time. He would hide in the shadows, and find a victim alone. He would tear the soul from their body and consume it, siphoning the very thing that made a person a person. He transferred this raw energy into a kind of nectar that would fuel his magical powers.

It went on for weeks, until several patrolling Magi found him asleep, with pulsing energy around him, and apprehended him, knowing he had been experimenting with dark magic by his aura. Luckily they were smart and sedated him before they moved him. They later identified him as the one that witnesses said committed the gruesome murders.

They took him to the Magi headquarters, found him guilty of murder on several counts and unlawful use of dark magic.

They decided it would be impossible to contain him in a normal cell with the power that he exhibited, so they chose to build their own adamantium one. It was a large orb, sealed so that no light was in it, with a huge vault-like door on the outside, suspended with chains in the air, and guarded every second of the day by two guards that were both a button press away from alerting everyone in the prison and simultaneously shooting two arrows loaded with explosives that would cover every part of the entrance and instantly kill everything inside of it if it was exposed. For seven years he rotted in that prison, planning how to get out, thinking of plans to escape. He summoned animals that he would siphon the blood from in a process that would gradually allow it to get more and more energy. After seven years, when it was ready it blasted open the door.

The prison was alerted and the arrows launched, and everything seemed fine as the explosion lit up the cell. When the smoke cleared, he stood in the orb’s doorframe, and brushed off his shoulders. The soldiers pressed another button, and ran as the adamantium doors opened.

They reached them just in time as they started automatically closing and breathed a sigh of relief.

A bang was heard as the metal started to buckle and it melted. Drould vaporized their ashes, leaving no trace of them and floated down the hall, killing everyone he met, releasing inmates, and throwing the deceased guards weapons to the inmates in the crowd. He released them from the building, and his newly formed army slowly killed everyone in the city, leaving no survivors.

Eventually, he killed all of them, gaining their energy and discovering a peculiar phenomenon in the process. The that the inmates had killed lived on within them, allowing him to harvest their energy as well as the inmates.

With that energy, it morphed into a Drake, a monstrously huge entity, capable of single handedly wiping out a large city. This was no true Drake though. It had grimy bones almost poking through its torn flesh, and its wings were tattered. It’s head was hideously scarred, and it’s left eye was white. Its claws were covered in dried blood, and it breathed not fire, but a green lightning that crackled the sky with malevolence.

It secreted a fluid on itself that was slippery to the touch, and acidic. It could shake, not just causing an earthquake, but spreading the acid everywhere and melting its surroundings.

In all applicable forms it was equivalent to a deity, except for the fact that no one worshipped it.

And for thousands of years, the dreaded Thorothak would sack villages and citadels for souls that it would eat and become even stronger. It found a cave in the Krashlach mountains, a huge alcove It stored the valuables it collected from the husks of each city, which even it deemed useless, but it was like some sort of trophy to it. It gradually had to widen the cave to make more room for its collection, which probably was worth vastly more than the caskets of gold from Sakantun and all of the aqali fruit from the Singali jungles.

It stored the gem inside, as it was more of an empty shell of itself, but now that it had evolved to merge the gem ’ s consciousness with Drould, it didn’t really need it. However, it still contained a flicker of the evil spirit that was trapped inside of the gem.

But one day, when Thorothak was out collecting souls, someone would find the cave, and discover the gem inside.

By Isaac S, Gr 6

BURNING BRIGHT

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