Table of Contents
Dawn Powell Prizes
Dawn Powell Student Poetry Director's Choice Emilia Diaz………………….5
Dawn Powell Student Short Story Tie Winner by Sarah Turniski……………6
Dawn Powell Student Short Story Tie Winner by Justine Stanley…………..23
Dawn Powell Student Poem Winner by Eleanor Ramos…………………......30
Dawn Powell Student Poem Runner-up by Bond Brewster………………….31
Dawn Powell Alumni/Faculty/Staff Winner by Laura Greenwald………….32
Dawn Powell Alumni/Faculty/Staff Runner-up by Taylor Thorpe………….33
Kate Carter Awards
Kate Carter CORE Award Winner by Graham Lofstead…………………..35
Kate Carter CORE Award Runner-up by Emily Moran……………………41
Dawn Powell Student Poetry Director's Choice
By Emilia DiazMy Bird
Fruitful. Bright. Colorful. My bird. I bring it with me everywhere that I go. I like to play. I run around and around. Six years old. Father calls me to his room. Says that he has a stomachache. Pluck. I keep on running. I keep on playing. Seven, eight, nine, ten. Pluck. Pluck. Pluck. Pluck. Father always asks for my help. Pluck. Don’t make Father mad. Pluck. Running. Running fast. No destination, just run. If I’m running, Father can’t get mad. Pluck. Sixteen. Sweet sixteen. Special sixteen. Pluck. Pluck. Pluck. Pluck. Pluck. Snap. Blood. Finally free. I run. I run so fast that I fly away. Fly away to freedom. Bare. Dull. Gray. My bird.
Dawn Powell Student Short Story Tie Winner
by Sarah TurniskiDo Not Be Tempted
In the year 1118, the Templar Order was founded by a French knight, Hugues de Payens, to protect Christian pilgrims in their journeys to and around Palestine. It would then last until 1312 when Pope Clement V dissolved the Order brutally. The Order was founded amidst the Crusade years, a time plagued by death and war for the Holy Land, the birthplace of Christianity, Islam, and Judaism. With the Middle East in constant turmoil, other cultures sought the chance to take the lands for themselves as it would be easier with the Order beginning to lose sovereignty while the Crusades came to an end. Many historians have theorized that there were many artifacts held by the Templars that were perhaps related to Jesus himself and other religious figures; some have been discovered in ruins while others have yet to be discovered. Alongside these stories, Middle Eastern folklore and stories have been tied to the jinn (or djinn), who were thought to be angels fallen from Heaven as they helped Satan in his quest, only for them all to fail. The jinn appear in many old Arabic manuscripts, and it was believed that one must protect oneself from deception and powerful abilities. This work of fiction takes place in 1291 at the last stronghold held by the Templars in Acre, Israel; located north of Jerusalem on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea.
When you believe in something wholeheartedly, you expect it to protect you, and be with you through every moment. As I turned the corner, I gripped my torch as the small flame lit my way through the dark tunnels.
I was sent to check on the underground tunnels to ensure the passage was still easy to
navigate to get to the port on the Mediterranean Sea just beyond the fortress wall. I was not overly fond of the dark tunnels, so I prayed to the Lord I would be safe. He and I seemed to get along, but recently there have been things I have begun to question, sometimes too often to really think about.
When I was young, my mother would always tell me that I should never fear the dark, for Sindbad the Sailor was never afraid of anything.
Without much else to check on, I rerouted myself back up to the temple itself, tracing my hand along the damp tunnel walls as I walked. The dampness felt colder to the touch since May brought nights of chillier weather and warm days, but I missed seeing the snow of Paris in the colder months and the beauty of the endless flowered gardens in the hot summer.
There were heavily locked wooden doors to the unknown that made my hand skip over the brick texture, gently brushing over the aging wood. I only heard rumors of what might be found within the secret rooms. There were always rumors, but none of us in the lower ranks could be sure. The Ark was told to be kept in Jerusalem while the Grail was in Egypt, and the bones of our Lord were perhaps shipped to Rome. Recently, it had been said that an artifact once thought to be lost forever remained in the Teutonic Order’s care.
“It is a golden crown with beautiful jewels from faraway lands,” one Brother said, “Brought before the infant Christ by one of the three wisemen, Melchior.” Another voice chimed into my thoughts as I recalled the brief conversation from a few years ago, “It has a special power, it is why they hide it! I wonder why else they would because it truly must serve a powerful purpose.”
I, of course, was not one for conspiracies. We had other problems to worry about. With an accomplished flip of my Templar cape, I re-entered the Temple of Acre through the secret
passage in the wall. I pushed against the stone wall with ease, not using any brute strength to push the correct stone for the opening. Then, I placed my burning torch back in its place within the metal sconce on the wall nearby. As I thought of visiting my dearest friend, it was easy to hear the GrandMaster and some commanders speaking in the room nearby. They were speaking almost quieter than usual, yet the door was ajar as if they wanted someone to hear.
With a quick glance over my shoulder and down the hall, I stood beside the doorway, pressing my back to the wall as tight as I could manage.
“There is no question that our fortress could be in possible danger. Acre is the last of our order still standing, we need fortifications,” a stern, yet hushed voice declared. I recognized this voice as one of the commanders, Bartel de Marron.
“We don’t have the resources,” another voice said, “And what of the artifacts that are beginning to be lost?” Then there was murmuring.
I leaned in to listen closer when a hand fell on my shoulder, “Brother!”
I quickly spun around and hushed my Templar Brother, Hugo. His green eyes widened as he leaned over my shoulder, listening to the meeting at hand.
“Our spies have confirmed it, and as our Lord as my witness, the Mamluk army is preparing for something that could put even The Grail at risk.”
Hugo grasped my shoulder tightly, whispering, “Salih, come on. I have heard them talking about this before. I won’t lie to you, I feel something dark coming just as I see it in your eyes as well.”
I stared at him for a moment, wondering what he meant.
I blinked. He motioned for me to move on. The two of us walked outside to the training grounds, and we exchanged glances before he headed off in the other direction. I, however, head
into the city. I was greeted with smiles as I walked along the road, returning the happy gestures. I nodded gently to those who welcomed me, and of course, there were others who quite frankly wished the Lord would smite me out of existence, a thought courteously given to them by those who rejected our sacred order.
Without much of a warning, a small explosion was heard with smoke filling the air above a little stone house. I ran towards it with my heart pounding, but everything seemed fine. Just a little smoke coming out of the windows from the aftermath. As I threw open the front door to the building, my best friend flew into my chest as hard as a mule.
“Watch out, Red Acacia!” he shouted with a wide, mischievous smile.
“Hulim, what did you do now?” I demanded, pulling him to his feet by the back of his maroon tunic. Hulim was very light, almost delicate by nature. I, on the other hand, was what he referred to as a “human bull,” but I was just built from rigorous Templar training. That, I have explained to him more than once.
He dusted off the front of his tan apron as I followed him back into his house where the two of us fanned the smoke out. Hulim poured water over the small, kitchen-like fire as I patted out the small embers with the toes of my boot.
I shot him a glare, “When will you stop working with gunpowder, you already-.” He stopped me with flailing arms, “I am aware! Calm down, will you? I am on a scientific discovery! There are talks of new weapons being developed in the Ottoman Empire as well, and I wonder…” With a brief silence, he followed his frantic reply with sympathy, “What troubles you, my friend? You are never this… shall I say irritated?”
With a deep sigh, I sat down in a chair beside his table that was filled with scientific tools and concoctions I dare not touch, “I just can’t help but feel something is coming, Hulim. I hear too much. I see too much. I fear for Acre.”
“Salih, whatever happens, I will be with you always. If He wills it to be so, we must surrender to His will.”
“Is that what you say when you play with fire every day?” I asked.
He laughed, “I pray every day he protects your soul, my friend.”
We were quiet as he went back to his experimentation in his secret alchemy he disguised as scientific weapons.
“Would you listen to me if I told you to leave the city?” I asked quietly.
Hulim nearly dropped the mysterious glassware in his hands, “What?”
“Hulim, I want to ensure your safety when the time comes. You go straight to my parents, and flee the city, do you understand me?”
Hulim looked down, touching his hands to the table, “What about you? Why are you so worried?”
“Don’t worry about that. I took an oath and I will follow it until the end.” He lifted his head, and his expression was full of fear and sadness at the same time. “Don’t regret it in the end, then.”
My stomach twisted every time I remembered seeing that look on Hulim’s face in the days that followed. I couldn’t help but remember his words. I was distracted all through my times of prayer, and it made me feel as if I had said something I shouldn’t have. To make things worse, my suspicion of something unfortunate coming only got stronger. There was something I couldn’t shake, no prayer that would change my mind. I spoke of my concerns to our GrandMaster frequently, but he never assured me of whether or not I was wrong. My prayers to Him seemed to go unanswered.
Today I was tasked with some fellow Brothers to pass out grain and blankets to those who needed them. The town itself seemed to be under less ease as rumors began to spread that the
Templars were planning to further involve themselves in meaningless politics. Nearing the official end of cold and rain was one of reconciliation and new beginnings, at least it should be.
I grabbed one of the wool blankets from our cart and handed it to a man clad in a dark brown robe. He graciously took it, but in doing so, he grabbed my arm with his other hand. I was not stirred. The man had startled me, such is human nature of being yanked without warning.
Without panic, I stared into his old, lowered eyes, “Do you need something?” The man tugged on my arm so I knelt down in front of him. His raspy voice spoke quietly, “Do not be tempted by the jinn.”
I was intrigued.
“What do you mean?” I asked, “The jinn, like the ones fallen from heaven?” His grip around my arm tightened, “Do not be tempted, boy. They will make an offer you cannot refuse.”
“Brother Salih, we must carry on,” Brother Hugo called. The man let me go as I stood up, facing my Brothers who began to depart. As I turned back around to question the man further, my heart dropped.
There was no man.
There was no trace of his black robes, no trace of the blanket I gave to him. I looked around quickly, bewildered by the event that just occurred. What in the Lord’s name was happening to me?
“Are you alright?” Hugo asked, flicking my short, tight ponytail. I pushed his arm away, “I have to follow up on something.” He seemed concerned, “Do you want me to come with you?”
I hesitated with my reply because deep down I was frightened of what I might
discover on my own. “No, I will be fine.”
He nodded and went to catch up with our Brothers. As he was out of sight, I broke into a full sprint into the city. I was careful as I maneuvered around the hundreds of citizens and their busy schedules. When I came to it, I ran through the door of my father’s ironwork shop. He immediately stopped what he was doing, “Salih!”
I caught my breath for a moment, “Hello, father. Where is mother?” “She is tending to the horse. Something has struck your mind again. I can tell. Go to her, my son.” I touched his shoulder as I walked past him to the backdoor, and made my way into the stable. My mother was carefully grooming the beautiful brown Arabian horse I had come to know and love as Pazuzu.
His own name came from stories of oral tradition. He was as fast as the wind itself. Mother turned to me, and my heart pained that we could barely touch due to my vow as a Templar. The two of us secretly held each other’s arms in a brief silence. “What has come to bother you, my boy? Tell me what it is that you see.”
“Something strange happened today, and it made me feel more uneasy than I have ever been. Before I ask anything, you have to promise me that if Hulim comes to your door that you are ready to leave.”
She agreed, “I trust you, Salih, now ask.”
“Do you remember you told me of the fallen angels, those demons who listened closely to the angels of Heaven?”
“Of course.”
“This man told me to not be tempted by them.”
“You search for the jinn,” my mother explained. “They are not good nor evil, and yet you have been warned. Strange, isn’t it? They warn a Templar above all others.” I nodded, “So
what do I do? I can’t tell those around me of it.”
“It will be up to you. I cannot tell you whether or not to trust one thing over another. This spiritual journey is your own.”
Her gentle hand touched my cheek with warmth for a split second before I set out to go back to the Templar castle. On my way, my thoughts were interrupted as I wandered into the Enchanted Garden that was in the middle of the city. This place held special meaning, and it was the place where I first let go of my favorite possession I was forbidden to keep upon entering the Order.
As part of the entrance that led to both the city and the temple, I stood in the middle. I stared at the tree whose roots grew wildly across a stone table. I knew that if I touched my possession, I would be tempted to keep it again. My heart would not let go of my small toy knight made of nothing but wood. My parents had given it to me when we were in Paris, but that was many years ago.
“Boy, why are you here?”
Too many people were looming over me, rapidly appearing, but I was trained to never hesitate or flinch. Not even at the mercy of the sword.
A woman, young and fair, stared at me from the entrance of this particular part of the gardens. I bowed slightly, “Hello, young maiden. I am simply passing through, I am heading back to the temple in a moment.”
She didn’t smile but rather approached me without fear or any type of expression. Her frail hand suddenly grabbed my chin, holding my jawline in her cold fingers, “You are one of few as many fail to understand. Trust in me, boy, and you shall be spared.” Her own skin seemed to change color to a pale blue. Like some strange, witchcraft-tainted woman.
I shook out of her grasp, reaching for my longsword. I felt threatened as a sense of dread came over me. The hairs on the back of my neck and upon my arms stood on end. I felt the same sensation the man from the other day had passed on to me.
Just before a lump welled up in my throat, I spoke, “Are you a jinn?”
“You are in grave danger. Make your decisions wisely. I need you to do something for me.”
I grasped my sword tighter in my hand, white-knuckling the handle.
“Bring me the artifact from the temple.”
I drew my sword then, “We have no artifact.”
We were always told to deny others of these secrets we might know of; our lives were worth the risk over the darkness that plagues this earth by one angel who betrayed him. The woman only smiled, “You know of which I speak. It is one of the last artifacts that has not been lost to your pointless crusades.” She turned herself around, her long black hair flying around to meet her back as she turned a corner. I cautiously ran after her. And yet, as mysteriously as she came upon me, she was gone. I blinked once and there was nothing but the gardens in front of me. I touched my hand to my chest, my heart pounding against my ribs.
I walked back to the temple emotionally tense. It was nearing the evening, but I was too caught up in my thoughts to even think about sleeping. I decided to make time for individual prayer. One in which I would demand answers to this uncertain feeling.
“Salih,” a voice whispered, “Salih, wake up.”
I opened my eyes as I awakened on the cold floor of the chapel.
“You fell asleep in here again.”
I pushed myself up, Commander Bartel knelt down on one knee beside me,
“You demanded of Him again, am I right?”
He stared into my eyes, and he seemingly received an answer. “Up with you, then. I have tasked your ranks with unloading supplies from the ships at the port.”
I nodded, heeding my orders. Neither of us said another word.
I lifted the hood of my cape over me as a gentle rain began to fall upon entering the port. In the distance of the vast Mediterranean Sea, my home of the great city of Acre on the ground of the Holy Land seemed small and penetrable.
Do not be tempted.
“Salih!”
With a quick turn, Hulim approached me atop Pazuzu. I stopped my horse from running further, grabbing a hold of the reins. “Hulim, what has happened?”
I knew the look on his face before, for I had seen it twice before. Those eyes…full of despair and guilt. The first being when we were young. His parents seemingly disappeared into the desert without a trace. The second was when he burned me, forever marking my left elbow with its reddish-pink stain upon my light olive skin. “Salih, you were right.” I looked up at him, “Hulim, I told you that if I-.”
“I did what you asked of me, and they are safely on their way to Tripoli as of last night. We have to leave the city.”
I shot him a glare, “I took an oath. You were supposed to go with them.”
Hulim looked down at Pazuzu, “I won’t leave without you. You are all I have, Salih, and you need me with you.”
“Brothers! We have direct orders from our GrandMaster!” I shook away my current thoughts as we were called back to the temple.
Hulim pleaded with me. “There is nowhere for me to go. You have to understand,
the Mamluks are at the temple wall.”
Those Mamluks from the east. They had taken nearly all of our Holy Land, claiming it for their own. My body became heated with anger at the thought of losing my home. The Mamluks claimed the lives of too many of my Brothers-in-Arms. There was no running. There was only blood to be shed now. My stomach twisted, “Stay away from the wall, and stay near the port.” Hulim was distraught. “Will you meet me here, Red Acacia?”
I felt him tug at my heart with those words. That name which I only allowed for him and my own mother to call me; it killed me to know that he was frightened. Without replying, I quickly spun around and ran towards the temple. I was to be stationed on the wall and for right now, I had to think and be one with my thoughts.
“Have you decided then, boy?” A gentle yet familiar voice questioned me, “Will you trust me to ensure that you will not die?”
The same woman from before stepped into the prayer room where I had decided to spend my short and brief quiet period. She had dark, long hair that was well-kept behind her, and a figure that could draw in any man who was instantly tempted by what was before covered by her oversized clothing. I drew my sword as she let out a laugh.
From the other side of the room, the man I had met on the street stepped into the doorway. “Do not believe her, young knight. Trust her with nothing!”
“Tell me who you are!” I demanded of both of them, “I am confused!”
The woman released a frustrated sigh, “I am the jinn, Jaari.”
“I am the jinn, Zaastera. I bring truth to the eyes of the tempted.”
I lowered my sword, “This has nothing to do with me. I have no reason to trust either
of you, you are the fallen ones!”
“We are a part of you, Salih,” the man said as his eyes followed me to the door, “You were connected to our string of fate the moment you were born.”
“You are young and capable, and I can change your fate,” Jaari said boldly, “Do not let those who wish to destroy all you love have any taste of victory.”
Zaastera scoffed, “You know nothing of the boy’s fate. Only He decides that, and not even the angels tell us what He thinks. Salih, divert yourself from this fate you feel drawn to.”
“Believe what you want, old man. I know ‘His truth.’ You were once shown it, why not explain that to the boy? After all, he knows of the last artifact.”
Zaastera then drew his gaze to me, anger filling his deceitful eyes as his own flesh turned to a dangerous, red-clay color.
I heard voices calling for me from beyond the room. “Salih! Where is Salih?” The door
to the chapel flew open, and Brother Hugo shot me a glare. “Get to the wall!” he demanded, “We have orders to go into battle.”
The two who argued about my fate were suddenly gone. Forget it! I am sick of hallucinating! I had no choice but to follow my Brothers into battle. I was handed a shield with our templar symbol as I rushed to my station. I shut my eyes as I stood in line with my Brothers before we were ordered to fight on the battlefield.
With a deep breath, I was reminded that my parents were safe. I imagined I was at home with my mother. She had always told me stories that were told across all of Arabia as she grew up in a small village converted to Christianity. My beloved hero was Sindbad the Sailor, and I found comfort that he would have been one to fight for God without the fear of failure. Sindbad had a life of voyage and freedom, but I was not as lucky.
Sindbad once reflected in his stories, “I wished to command my life's good deeds to
Allah so that He might be merciful to me, but I would remember so lamentably few.” We were at the mercy of God. We are the last of the templars. We are many, yet we appeared as few before the numerous Mamluk army.
My Brothers and I quickly looked at each other, unfortunately for the last time as one family. We stepped into the dark day once again, this time with the strongest will to fight. I looked around, and we had no commander. Hugo was beside me, “We are on our own! Advance!”
Each of us raised our shields to form a wall reliant on our strength as well as that of the Lord. On every side of me were death and despair. There was pain and suffering. My heart became caught in my throat as I was engaged in a battle with a single enemy without my Brothers beside me. I dare not call out for help. I did not want them to fear the darkness in front of me. I had been trained well, and I had an undying will to live.
As I was personally victorious, I was suddenly thrown to the ground in a collision. A few of my Brothers stood over me as some of our enemies came charging in. With blood covering our Templar tunics of white, the red cross in our uniforms seemed to lose vision… and almost a sense of meaning.
“Brother Salih!” Hugo called.
A sharp slice cut into my shoulder, and the pain made me cry out in agony. My Brother defended me. At that moment I had lost focus, and I had no choice now but to raise my sword again to aid his efforts.
“The wall is being breached! Fall back!”
I painfully lifted my shield again with my arm pulsing. Hugo and I pushed back a small group of the Mamluks, slowly making our way back to the temple behind us. We dared not to turn our backs to the enemy. “Keep moving!” Hugo called to our Brothers. His voice was
hoarse and almost fading.
I looked at him beside me, and I put his arm over my shoulders to help him. I glanced back to where our brothers were defending the wall. Hugo used whatever strength he had to keep the two of us moving to the door of the temple wall, and we threw ourselves forward as our Brothers closed the gate.
The injured Brothers who were gathered just inside the gate with us were frightened. “What do we do?”
I gently set Hugo down and grabbed my own arm with the rainfall stabbing at its vulnerability. Brothers came and lifted Hugo to be aided in the medical ward. I then felt a tug at my injured arm. Before I lashed out at the person who grabbed it, it was Hulim who touched a burning knife to my wound, slowly, excruciatingly closing it. I couldn’t, nor would I be, mad at him. I was in agonizing pain, and at the time, I shouted with anger and irritation. “Thank you, my friend,” I said, catching my breath.
Hulim helped me to my feet, but there was no time to continue the conversation. I quickly picked up my shield and sword, “Hulim, head back to the docks of the sea.” Without any negotiation, Hulim ran back into the temple. As if time had stopped, the wall behind me erupted with a loud explosion. Out of instinct, I lifted my shield over my head to protect myself. Rocks smashed into my shield, pushing me forward. Loud shouting echoed behind me with a slight ringing that overcame my ears. With few Brothers in sight falling victim to the circumstances, I stumbled as I lifted myself up to run into the temple. “Hulim!” I yelled, “Hulim, where are you?”
Hulim came out from behind the altar in the chapel, “Salih!” I looked up at the heavy wooden cross that towered over the rest of the chapel. Is there nothing you can do? This is madness! I will not let myself die this way! I then grabbed Hulim by his arm and ran to the
wall where the secret passage to the port was.
Hulim was frantic, “What are you doing?”
I tucked my sword into its sheath on my waist and grabbed a lit torch from the wall. I took a quick glance behind us before using all of my strength to push the brick wall passage open. Hulim was surprised. I took a quick glance at him, “Stay close to me!”
He nodded, grabbing onto my cape as we ran into the secret passage. I could hear him breathing heavily as he tried to keep up with my stamina.
“I have a boat ready for us at the far end of the port,” Hulim said through quick breaths. “I am glad you are smarter with water than you are with fire,” I remarked.
“It was one time!”
Hulim waited near the secret exit as I ran as fast as I could back through the tunnels. I suddenly stopped, frozen in my tracks. A cold feeling overcame me, and my hair stood on end once again. “Salih?” Hulim asked, “What is it?”
Another voice spoke clearly in my ear. This way, boy.
“I will be right back,” I replied sternly, “Wait here, I will be back as soon as I can.” Down the hall.
I followed the directions spoken to me.
I then turned my head as one of the secret wooden doors flew open, a cold breeze blowing towards me. I had no time to think, I just had to move. I went into the room, not thinking twice about my actions. Take it!
I tore a large piece of my cape from behind me and I crouched down in front of a wooden crate covered with a sacred pall used to cover the Holy Eucharist during our congregation hours every morning.
It felt wrong, but almost liberating when I removed it, opening the crate’s lid. Beneath a
pile of old cloth lay King Melchior’s golden diadem before it found its way to Acre by way of a sacred man entrusting us with its power.
Bring it to me!
I shook my head to focus, “Stop whispering to me with your deceitful nature! I am taking it to Rome, where it belongs in the Lateran Palace with our Holy Leader.” The artifact was cradled in my arm, wrapped tightly with the strip of my cape.
I will be waiting for you, wherever you go, I will follow. Your fate lies in the hands of the jinn now, foolish mortal boy.
I angrily dismissed the voice, knowing full well it was not who I wanted it to be. I made my way back to Hulim, who was waiting for me in a panic. He did not question what I held in my arms, covering it with my shield. He knew better than to question a Templar of these things.
I then pushed open the door that led to the port outside. He ran out first, and I followed behind him. Hulim had left Pazuzu near the docks, and he quickly jumped onto the reliable horse’s back. He grabbed onto my arm tightly, pulling me onto the back of Pazuzu behind him. As we rode to the boat Hulim had prepared, I heard a quick whizz of an arrow brush past my ear. I raised my shield over us as I turned my head and looked up at the wall.
The Mamluks had taken the temple.
With one wrong angle, an arrow flew into my lower back. I fell against Hulim, grasping my shield tighter to protect him. He reached one of his arms behind him, holding onto me, “Hold on, dear friend.”
We reached the boat Hulim told me about, and jumped down from the back of Pazuzu. He guided me down as well, helping both Pazuzu and myself aboard. Hulim quickly set sail with an almost coincidental stormy breeze that pushed us into the Mediterranean.
He finally sat down beside me, shaking with fear. We were silent as the burning city of Acre was behind us now. “Can I know what it is that you hold?” Hulim asked quietly, his voice still shaking, “Please, let me share a heavy burden with you. We have no home anymore.”
I shook my head, speaking with a painful stutter, “Not yet. For now, this is a burden I must carry on my own. You do not understand just yet how powerful this is. It is the last remaining artifact that has not yet been lost.”
I suddenly fell back, and I could see my own pool of blood forming beside me. Hulim said my name over and over, but everything seemed so distant. I held the artifact as if I were holding on for dear life to some ledge that led to my demise.
“What is it that you choose, boy?” Zaastera’s voice asked clearly. “She is a jinn who will destroy every ounce of true courage within you. She cannot be trusted. You must trust in the Lord!”
The two jinn appeared before me at once. Jaari’s voice came gently, “Live forever with my power, sweet boy. This is the last chance I will give you. May the jinn of the sea spare your life should you betray me. Give me the golden crown.”
Zaastera was agitated, “Live forever, and you will fail to see the face of your Creator. Continue to see the torment and pain of your kind. You will not see the truth. Your fate has already been proclaimed. You wish to change that?”
Am I tempted to give up a life so sacred, to betray all that I know?
I turned to Jaari, “I want to be with my parents again. Away from all of this. I want my friend to be safe when all he has ever known is the Lord and myself. I will hold on to the crown until I am safe in the Holy Roman Empire.”
Jaari smiled, “Trust in me, boy, and you shall be spared. Betray me, and I will make you suffer. I await your safe arrival to the Empire.”
Dawn Powell Student Short Story Tie Winner
by Justine Stanley LapseLapse: (noun) a slight error typically due to forgetfulness or inattention
In September of 2059, a meteorite landed in the wilderness of central Canada, just southwest of the Hudson Bay. The research group appointed to recover the remains was composed of scientists representing Canada and the United States, who had been tracking the object from the moment it entered the outer reaches of our solar system. Astronomers had recorded strange frequencies emanating from the meteoroid as it streaked through the void of space, and there was chatter about new elements and their potential uses.
Among the youngest members of the group was Weston Harrow, a recent graduate of the California Institute of Technology. The rookie felt like an outcast among the experienced scientists in the group. Not only had he just begun his career, but his field was geology, not astronomy. He had barely explored the potentials of his own planet, yet here he was, taking samples of something thought to be from another. He surveyed the scene from the sidelines, waiting his turn to get a closer look at the thing. He shivered in the cold wind that swept through the trees, adjusting the dark green scarf around his thin neck slightly tighter.
“What do you make of all this, West?” asked Professor Elroy as he sauntered over. The man, who walked as though he’d spent the last 40 years crouched over garden rocks (He had.), was the CIT professor that had gotten Weston this opportunity in the first place.
“I think a rock is a rock, regardless of the planet it comes from,” Weston grumbled his response with an annoyed sigh. “What, exactly, do they hope I’ll find in a sample?”
“I reckon it’s the same as everything else related to space. You look for evidence of life, or evidence of a planet that could support it.” The old man shrugged and shook his head. “Ever since they built that Mars station, they've been obsessed with expansion. Personally, I don’t know why they think another hunk of rock is gonna treat them any better than this one.” Elroy gave a hearty laugh that complemented his subtle Southern drawl.
“Let them leave. I’m comfortable with this hunk of rock.” The younger man chuckled in response. Weston couldn’t stay and chat for long, hearing his name called by one of the lead researchers. He approached the woman and held out his hand to greet her. His fingers felt like ice.
“I’m Dr. Onusumba. I’ll accompany you as you examine the meteorite. Any sample you wish to take must be approved and accounted for. Your findings must be shared with the United States and Canadian governments, and any sample you take will be returned to Canada after six months.” It was clear the woman had given this exact rundown to a dozen other eager researchers that wanted to get their hands on the meteorite. “You are researching this material with the consideration that it may be harmful to your health, even without contact or ingestion. You must use extreme caution while any samples are in your possession. If there is any concern for the safety of yourself or others, you must report it to the overseeing government officials immediately.”
Weston nodded in agreement to the stipulations of this agreement, having already signed various documents expressing the risk of radiation poisoning, alien bacteria, or chemical reactions between unknown elements. Onusumba led him down into the shallow crater and stood beside him as he knelt beside the thing. It was much darker in color than other meteorite samples he had seen. It was porous but hard. Weston pinched a protruding part with his fingers and tried to break off a small piece, but it wasn’t brittle enough to snap under human strength.
The entire meteorite was about two feet in diameter and relatively spherical in shape, with a few lumps here and there. Someone had already broken it in half with tools. The jagged break left a few chunks of the material on the ground between the halves. Weston picked one up, deciding it would be a good sample to study the main structure of the object. Then, looking closer at the internal structure exposed by the break, he noticed a light gray material peeking through the porous rock.
“May I have the chisel?” he requested, holding his hand up. Onusumba retrieved the tool from a table set up nearby and handed it to him. He promptly got to work, gently chipping away at the obsidianlike material for half an hour until he had freed up a round gray orb of stone.
Weston adjusted his wide-lensed glasses as they slipped down his nose, standing up to observe the orb in a better light. The lead looked at it with just as much curiosity as the young man who’d extracted it.
“What do you think that is?” she asked.
“It looks like some sort of geode. I’d like to crack it open in my lab and see if there’s anything interesting inside.” He watched as the woman wrote down a description of his samples and recorded his personal information.
“You will have to report frequently throughout your research. Failure to do so will result in fines and judicial action,” Onusumba explained, on script again.
“Understood.”
A few weeks later, Weston was sitting in his lab in Seattle, staring at the orb he’d taken from the meteorite, which was now called OMO-4. The other sample he’d taken was easy enough to study. He’d found the main structure of the meteorite was a mixture of Obsidian, Magnetite, and Olivine, hence the first part of the given name. Sure, the combination and structuring of these elements were unlike anything observed on Earth, but the materials themselves were unremarkable. Any hot, rocky planet could create such products.
The orb, on the other hand, was more intriguing. Weston had watched several saw blades get eaten up trying to make a dent in the solid gray exterior. He had struck it with hammers, dropped it off the roof, and ran over it with a car. After replacing his tire and fracturing his wrist on his last hammer attempt, he was sick of this softball-sized hunk of space debris. He lazily dropped it onto the surface of his desk and jumped when a beaker sitting near the back corner shattered from the mere vibration. Weston groaned, running his hands through his dark brown, unkempt hair. He was officially giving up, at least for a bit. He had six whole months before he had to return his samples to Canada. He pulled open the top right drawer of his desk and gently placed the orb with the mess of rock and crystal samples that lived there. As he took his hand away, the rough surface of the orb sliced his finger in just the right way. The wound bled fast enough to drip before he hastily wrapped a tissue around it and scoffed. Kicking the drawer shut, he decided he was done for the day before he could lose the last thread of patience he had over a stupid rock.
Over a month later, Weston found his eyes drawn to the desk drawer, curious to reapproach the enigma that was the OMO-4 orb. He sat in his chair and pushed his glasses up his nose before opening the
drawer and freezing at the sight before him. The gray orb sat nestled in the small pile of mineral samples, split in half with an empty cavity in the middle. He cautiously grabbed one half, disappointed to find a smooth interior layer. There were no glittering crystals like the quartz geodes found on Earth. He turned it over in his hand as if the answer was written on it somewhere.
“Strange…” he uttered aloud to himself. “It almost looks like-” Weston dropped the piece back into the drawer quickly, as if it had burned him. His brown eyes stared down at it in a shocking realization.
It looked like an egg. ~~~
Lapse: (noun) a passage of time
Weston stared at his computer screen anxiously as it rang for an incoming video call. An official researcher with the United States government was calling to check in. He took a few deep breaths before answering the call and staring into the camera. He kept his hands out of frame to hide the trembling in his cold fingers.
“Mr. Harrow, how are you?” The intimidating woman on his screen made small talk like it was her least favorite thing to do.
“I’m well.” There was a moment of hesitation that was slightly too long. “And you?”
“Fine.” The official was unamused by this young, inexperienced scientist. “I haven’t received a report from you since last month. Have you learned anything about the other sample you took?”
“My other sample has proven to be… difficult to study.” Too vague. “The material is incredibly hard and I haven’t been able to reach deeper layers of the structure.” That’s better.
“Perhaps someone else has the materials needed to-”
“No!” He blurted out suddenly. The official glared at him for interrupting and he tensed up. Clearing his throat, he quickly thought up an excuse. “I’ve put in an order for more sophisticated tools. I would like to keep working on this sample. This research could jumpstart my career.” He sounded desperate, but not for the ambitious reason his words expressed. The more accurate reason was that the discovery of his current situation could destroy his career.
“Mr. Harrow, you are in possession of property of the Canadian government. We only have 6 months to get as much information as possible on OMO-4. If you are not capable of gathering sufficient information, I will have to find someone who is. I expect another report within the next month, or your samples will be confiscated and passed on to someone else.”
Weston gulped and nodded, muttering something of a goodbye and hanging up the call. He stared at his own reflection in the black screen for several minutes before working up the nerve to open the desk drawer again. He placed the two halves of the orb on the desk in front of him and scanned the inside of the drawer. Nothing else was out of place.
Grabbing some tools, he prepared some tests for the inner layers of the egg. With a sharp blade, he scraped away the white innermost layer, which was thin and powdery. Underneath that layer was a thicker, harder layer of mineral. Removing more of the white revealed deep green stone with vibrant red running through it like veins. Weston chipped away at various parts to test and then spent the next several hours identifying what it was all made of.
The white layer inside was mostly calcium, and the middle layer was green jasper and red hematite. The outermost layer that he couldn’t break through before it hatched was… well… the closest
thing to compare it to was kimberlite, the rock in which diamond forms on Earth. It appeared to have microscopic diamonds laced throughout the structure, which explained why it was impossible to cut through.
Weston Harrow was starting to feel a bit mad. He was hoping to find something new and interesting to get his name out there. He didn’t think what he had found and confirmed was anything to gawk at. Maybe he could contribute to whatever journal would be written by whichever Canadian researcher got their hands on it after him.
Determined to get something more out of this stubborn sample, Weston grabbed his blade again, attempting to remove some of the diamond from the outer layer of the orb. It was still too tough for him and the blade slipped, slicing the tip of his left thumb. He cursed under his breath and pushed himself up from the desk, walking to the bathroom to grab paper towels. As he wrapped something around his injury to slow the bleeding, he heard a sound from his desk and looked over.
He had to blink several times to convince himself that he wasn’t imagining something. There, on the desk, was a creature he’d never seen before. It couldn’t have been bigger than a squirrel, dark in color with a short, thin tail. Weston slowly approached it, watching it as it was hunched over on the surface of his desk. The creature snapped its head up to look at him with its deep red eyes.
The man looked closer, realizing that the creature was lapping up the small amount of blood that had dripped onto the desk. As he stepped closer, the creature spooked, zipping down to the chair, then the floor. Weston danced on his toes as it ran between his feet and vanished into the storage cabinets on the far wall of his small lab.
Hesitating to go after it just yet, Weston sat down and wiped the blood away, looking over his research again as if it could give him the answer. He turned to his computer, typing something into the search bar and scrolling through the results.
“Bloodstone,” he said as he sat back and looked down at the broken orb in front of him. “The jasper and hematite in the middle layer is bloodstone… is that why-?” He glanced in the direction of where the creature disappeared, only to see it sitting on the floor, observing him. It looked slightly bigger than when he spotted it on the desk, but he blamed that on his shock causing him to misinterpret the size. Keeping his eyes on the creature, Weston reached for a plastic storage tub. He popped the lid off with one hand and slowly dumped the contents out onto the floor. The creature watched cautiously, eyeing the red-soaked paper towel around the man’s thumb.
Weston removed the paper towel and tried to get some of his blood into the container, but the injury had already clotted. Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed the blade from the desk and ran it across his palm, allowing the blood to drip into the bottom of the container for a moment. The creature lunged forward, landing in the plastic box to feed, only to find itself trapped when Weston snapped the lid on above it.
The man carefully picked up the box and stared through the old, scratched plastic at the alien creature he’d discovered. Yes, the alien he had discovered. Forget geology, Weston Harrow would be going down in history for something far less boring than a stupid space rock.
Lapse: (noun) a temporary deviation or fall especially from a higher to a lower state
Weston was quick to write his newest report about his discoveries. He documented the behaviors and traits of Nox, the creature. He found the Latin word for “night” quite fitting for the little… guy? The
name felt gender-neutral anyways. A trip to the pet store had resulted in a better enclosure for the alien: a 55 gallon lizard terrarium. Weston could only assume that Nox was content in this setup.
After sending in his initial report, the young scientist headed out on his next errand to figure out what else Nox could eat other than human blood. He’d tried frozen and live mice from the pet store, but the alien wasn’t interested. Weston had resorted to asking a local butcher to collect pig’s blood for him.
When he returned home, he promptly removed his shoes and trench coat, which were wet from Seattle rain. He poured some of the pig’s blood into a shallow bowl and placed it into the enclosure. Nox rushed to feed, but quickly grew uninterested. Weston sighed and noted it in his research. It seemed human blood was the only option.
It took a lot of effort to persuade the government not to take Nox away from the random geologist that had it. Weston argued that he had it under control and could get a good start on studying this creature even with his lack of biological knowledge. Word got around about what he had found, and soon the frequent government calls turned into reporters and journalists.
Weston Harrow had become an overnight sensation just in time for Thrive, an annual conference for researchers of every field held in New York City. The event would be the perfect place for Weston to find biologists to work with. He needed someone who would let him keep the credit he deserved. When December rolled around, Weston was on his way to the Big Apple with Nox in his luggage. Since capturing the alien, he’d only fed it once. Human blood that wasn’t his own was hard to get his hands on without breaking several laws, and using his own blood wasn’t pleasant. Besides, the creature was still growing whenever it ate and would have outgrown the terrarium if he fed it too much. Its condition appeared stable without regular feeding, but Weston knew it was important to get a biologist involved before it starved to death.
First, he had to present the creature to the large crowd of people, who anxiously awaited his appearance. They were waiting for him. They wanted to hear what he knew. Weston was important, even if it was just a fleeting moment. Still, he savored it, taking his time describing Nox while the terrarium sat covered with a sheet on the stage beside him. He could feel the electric tension in the air as he shared a made-up story about incubating the egg in an attempt to melt the minerals and having it hatch instead. Finally, he reached for the sheet. He’d practiced his smile for this moment, knowing this would be on headlines across the globe for a while. Weston yanked the sheet off of the glass terrarium and gasps rang out from the audience. His attention fell to the empty enclosure. One of the glass sides was shattered. Nox had gotten out.
“Please, don’t panic. My observations have shown that this creature is not aggressive. It is curious and cautious in nature,” he advised the worried audience over the booming microphone before the intimidating woman he’d video chatted with grabbed his arm.
“What kind of game are you playing? Where is the alien?” she demanded.
“There is no game. Nox escaped somehow. I’ve never seen it even attempt to escape before,” he seemed more annoyed than concerned.
“You need to tell me everything you know about this thing, now!”
Weston repeated all that he had said before the big reveal, which conveniently left out some important information that he clearly didn’t want to share. His fumbling words were drowned out by screaming from the crowd. He turned his head to see Nox pouncing on a woman in the audience. The alien was now the size of a small horse.
The woman grabbed Weston by the collar of his shirt, pulling his face down to her level as she seethed with anger.
“Everything!” she reiterated. Weston flinched.
“It eats human blood,” he answered.
When Nox was finished with its victim, it turned towards the stage, staring at Weston with its familiar red eyes. Was it angry at its captor? He couldn’t tell. Regardless of the creature’s emotions, Weston felt only fear as Nox rushed the stage, pausing directly in front of the young man.
There was a loud ripping sound as two wings erupted from the alien’s back. Weston stared up at them in shock until Nox grabbed him and fled the conference hall. At first, he struggled and tried to free himself from the creature’s grasp, but once they were airborne, he held on tight.
Nox took him to some penthouse balcony, dropping him there and landing on the railing. Weston sat up and pushed himself away from the creature. It stayed where it was.
“Why did you bring me here?” he asked, trying to catch his breath.
Nox tipped its head curiously at him.
“Why did you hurt that person?!” Weston rose to his knees.
Nox lifted a limb to its abdomen, signaling hunger.
“Where did you come from?”
Nox lifted its eyes to the night sky above them, staring for a quiet moment before looking at Weston again. He sighed and shook his head.
“What are you going to do now?” he asked as he slowly got back to his feet.
“F e e d…” came a deep, raspy voice from the creature in front of him. Stunned, Weston watched Nox extend its wings again and step off the balcony railing to dive towards the city below.
His knees felt weak and he stumbled to the railing for support. His heart raced in his chest, pounding against his ribs as if attempting to break out of its cage. Half an hour ago, he’d been stepping into a life of fame and luxury. He had scheduled interviews and cameos for the next few months. He had even told his landlord that he would be moving out of his tiny apartment in a month.
Now what? How much could Nox consume and how fast? Weston cringed at the sound of gunshots echoing through the labyrinth of buildings below. He was sure this was the quickest anyone had ever reached rock bottom.
Lapse: (noun) an abandonment of religious faith
Weston looked out across the city, listening to the muffled song of distant sirens. Word was quickly getting around about a dangerous alien on the loose in New York City, the dangerous alien he discovered. He looked up at the sky.
Above all of the chaos that erupted from the web of streets below him, the sky was crystal clear. The stars glimmered peacefully in their celestial void, too distant to witness the end of a planet full of human beings. He wondered how quickly humanity would be snuffed out. Was a single alien even capable of wiping them all out? He understood now why his carelessness was so irritating. Perhaps there was a reason to study this creature with more caution.
The man remained on the balcony for a while, recovering from it all. When he returned to the streets, he saw some of the carnage left in Nox’s wake, but the world didn’t appear to be ending just yet. No, despite the initial ruthlessness of the alien, it regained a sense of mercy. Weston left the city before
the police could apprehend him. He spent a week getting back to Seattle by buses and taxis, retrieving a few essentials from his apartment before wandering into the city to hide.
Over the next year, society fell apart. People stood in the streets with signs calling the alien a demon and encouraging onlookers to repent. Weston watched in silence as fewer and fewer people walked the streets around him. Then, one day, he was the only one left. He found himself standing across from Nox as the sun was setting beyond the rotting city skyline. The creature hadn’t grown much from their last meeting. Maybe there was a limit to that characteristic.
“Is it my turn already?” he asked the beast, his voice hollow. “What did I do to deserve your mercy for this long?”
“Mercy?” Nox’s ability to communicate had developed well beyond what Weston ever thought was possible. “Did you find watching the world around you die to be merciful?”
“Are you going to kill me now?” Weston ignored its question to him and asked his own. Nox appeared to ponder for a moment before answering.
“I already have.”
The creature’s wings spread wide from its back and lifted it off the ground. Weston yelled, running along the road after it until it disappeared from sight. He had always wanted the world, and now he had it.
Dawn Powell Student Poem Winner
by Eleanor Ramos HireathMy entire being longs to go, simply to leave.
I am unsure of where to, or why, but I know that I must see new eyes and hear many new voices.
Although I yearn to escape, traveling does not mean crawling out of this skin that is mine; My skin and my soul, they must stay attached, however, in each and every place that I visit, I feel a piece of my soul peel himself off, and walk away, step by step. Little by little, I begin to believe that I have lost myself…
I now ask you to consider, truly, how astronomically beautiful it is that there are pieces of me in every city that I have set foot in.
Throughout all corners of the world, I have seen nearly one hundred different versions of myself.
With this, I struggle to determine where home is.
I have found home in more places and more people than I ever would have wished. If you ask me where I call home, I will ponder telling you that the perfume I wear daily is from a shopping center in Germany.
I will think of pulling the lip oil out of my pocket and showing you the jagged tin from Egypt.
I will tell you that I inhale France every time I drunkenly throw the cigarette box into my purse, and my lighter is from a roadside shop in Greece. I wear Spain in my tattoos and the States in my piercings.
I ate honey from Argentina on my toast this morning, and I purchased my coffee beans from Brazil…
I guess I would reply that home is anywhere but my own skin.
Dawn Powell Student Poem Runner-up
by Bond BrewsterI am the Owl I am the Owl. High above the Earth, I perch on dampened wood. Sturdy are the branches That support my tired body. Yet, with every breeze We dance with staggering grace To the music of frenzied leaves.
Returned from delivering flight, Haven tasted the clouds, I eye the world beneath me. Cautious wonder intrudes the mind. Can a being of the sky Ever exist below the trees, Littered with the resting fallen?
The height of my life Is my place of contentment. My legs can not carry me Across the carpet of dirt So scarcely before explored. These wings serve as transport Their flight delivers me.
I soar with the winds
Confining to their will. Gravity combats my body, My feathers distorted and wild. The Earth calls me downward, Refusing my mother`s beckoning arms, My wings embrace the desolate air. Returned to the dampened perch, I watch through the leaves, High above the Earth.