The Laureate (2022 Edition) by LHCBooks

19th Edition, 2022 Literary Journal Lee Honors College

The Laureate 19th Edition, 2022

EDITORIAL BOARD Western Michigan University Editor-in-Chief: Ashley Patti Assistant Editor: Bella Loe Proulx Lee Honors College Faculty Editor: Becky Cooper Faculty Advisor: Jennifer Townsend Dean: Dr. Irma Lopez Assistant Dean: Anthony Helms

The Design Center, Gwen Frostic School of Art Art Director: Nick Kuder Production Management: Paul Sizer Design: Yazmine Vargas

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS AND MISSIONS STATEMENTS The editors wish to thank Western Michigan University’s Carl and Winifred Lee Honors College. The mission of the Carl and Winifred Lee Honors College is to provide an exceptional undergraduate experience for high achieving students, to inspire in our graduates a thirst for the lifelong pursuit of creative inquiry and discovery, to provide our students with the skill and passion to address critical challenges, and to foster personal responsibility informed by a global perspective. The Laureate’s mission is to provide undergraduate students at Western Michigan University a medium through which to publish their works of fiction, poetry, non-fiction, and other creative works. The Laureate strives to be a professional and engaging journal that appeals to all.

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR Much has happened since the last edition of The Laureate was published. We have been living through historic highs and lows. The world around us has changed drastically in a short time. The college experience is not what it once was. The cultural landscape is changing beneath our feet. Through it all, the human population has proven its resiliency, its adaptability, and its creativity. I believe that humans are inherently creative—that given the time and the freedom, we will make art. This collection of works proves that. Through the written word, photography and art, Western Michigan University’s students have shown their ability to survive, thrive, and create beauty in a world of turmoil and conflict, even despite an uncertain future ahead of them. I believe that my generation—the generation set to inherit the world, the generation that has made this art—will make it a more inclusive, equitable, sustainable, and beautiful space for all. Choosing the pieces for this publication was difficult. All the submissions were interesting and beautiful in their own ways, and it was hard to say no to any of them. It is no easy thing to submit your work to judgment, and I appreciate those who did. I am very happy and truly in love with each and every piece that is included in this year’s edition. They all work together so well and have created a gorgeous, cohesive work. I thank every contributor dearly for their art.

Many people have worked on this project in order to bring it to life once again. I would like to thank Bella Loe Proulx, my assistant editor, for her support and input on every aspect. She is just starting her college career, and I cannot wait to see what else she does. I also want to thank Jennifer Townsend for her keen eye and advice. She is a veteran faculty advisor of The Laureate and a welcome addition to this year’s endeavor. Of course, this whole project would not be possible without Nick Kuder, Paul Sizer, and the group of design students at the Gwen Frostic School of Art and Design. Their ingenuity is what makes The Laureate the professional and visually stunning journal that it is. I thank the Lee Honors College for the opportunity to lead this project and for lending their resources and support. Finally, I want to thank Becky Cooper for her unending enthusiasm and unwavering support throughout this entire process. She has been an excellent mentor, teacher, and friend. This project has been and will be an invaluable asset to me, and I never would have had the chance to hone my editorial skills if not for her. Dear reader, I do hope you enjoy this edition of The Laureate as much as I have enjoyed putting it together. It is something that I am truly proud of and excited to present after months of hard work. Ashley Patti Editor-in-Chief, The Laureate

TABLE OF CONTENTS 2

Eternal Spring • Nora Pluth

Spring Showers • Renee Ming Cilluffo

Bee on Wand Flower • Stephanie Leaver

Nature: The Natural Antidote • Abigail Simpson

Pink Milkweed • Stephanie Leaver

Break Free • Renee Ming Cilluffo

Coming Out • Nora Pluth

A Night Drive • Ava Dziadzio

Iphis and Ianthe • Sayantan Basu

Legacy • Dakota James

Asiya • Sayantan Basu

Tell Me I Am Less • Nora Pluth

Ensconced • Renee Ming Cilluffo

Holding My Tongue • Ava Dziadzio

Chicago Streets • Alayshia Hoover

Bull Thistle • Stephanie Leaver

Broken Match • Abbey Churney

(HYPO)MANIAC • Marlow Underwood

Hoverfly on Bull Thistle • Stephanie Leaver

Remember the Time • Sayantan Basu

Late For an Important Date • Renee Ming Cilluffo

Bumblebee on Pink Milkweed • Stephanie Leaver

Be Chill • Ava Dziadzio

Eternal Spring Nora Pluth

This is my eternal Spring The promise of new life And the disappointment of stifled growth

On March 11th I am alone And yet connected We are playing different pieces Somehow in tune

I am afraid

On March 11th I imagine a future Where friends are more than pixels And ideas more than just that Somehow in tune

On March 11th my eternal Spring begins

There is a peace in grief A terrible peace It leaves man broken and voiceless A quiet too still for us to bear In the silence a voice reminds me Of how much I want to live without it And how much I cannot There is a darkness in gratitude A wonderful darkness I wrap myself in the solitude of gratitude Until it’s all that I have Lost in its void

Grief within gratitude Gratitude within grief

A bird with a nest in a mailbox The gratitude of today’s safety The grief of tomorrow’s tragedy 4

That I am grieving and grateful That I am grateful and grieving

I wonder if my eternal Spring will end If I can adapt any more If the contradiction of gratitude within grief and grief within gratitude must continue

Or if it is a contradiction at all?

Spring Showers Renee Ming Cilluffo

Bee on Wand Flower Stephanie Leaver

Nature: The Natural Antidote Abigail Simpson

It is a warm, sunny evening in Michigan with the September sun setting over the tall, luscious green grass swaying in the mild breeze. The sky is set ablaze by bright, fiery shades of red, yellow, and orange. As the sun sets over the field it looks as if it is torching the grass with its colorful rays. The treetops in the distance also succumb to the fire as the sun descends into the tree line. I am not far from the hustle and bustle of the city, yet this place feels like a remote, distant escape. As I walk into Asylum Lake Preserve, I am taken aback by the beauty and complexity of the landscape filled with various plants and animals. Kalamazoo locals rave about this place, its many walking paths, and beautiful yet small lake. I had not known of its existence until a car wash company wanted to purchase part of the land to industrialize it. There was major uproar, and public outcry luckily prohibited the company from developing the land. I continue to walk down the man-made path surrounded by waist-high grass, goldenrod, and milkweed on either side of me. The stubbly, cut grass along the path caresses my laced-up black hiking boots and the breeze fingers through my hair on this pleasant summer evening. I reminisce on the legendary naturalist John Muir’s statement from A Wind-Storm in the Forests: "Most people like to look at mountain rivers, and bear them in mind; but few care to look at the winds."1 I feel as if this not only refers specifically to the wind but also is an analogy to illustrate that humans often fail to observe the finer details. The mountains, hills, and rivers are easy to gaze at but looking closer and deeper into nature takes time and skill. Muir’s writings incorporated tremendous detail, vividly containing all of his senses. To recognize your surroundings in a way that incorporates all senses takes great awareness and diligence. Focusing my attention on the intricate details and being more present both physically and spiritually was now a lifelong goal I aimed to accomplish each day. Michigan is a magnificent state, consisting of over sixty-two thousand lakes that hold the largest amount of freshwater in the world, an abundance of trees, numerous shorelines, and four breathtakingly beautiful seasons. I often hear Michiganders ridicule the state because there are few major attractions, and the winters are brutally cold and snowy–especially if you live up North. I used to dream about moving out of Michigan. I wanted to live somewhere warmer and sunnier. Perhaps Florida or California, which seems to be where lots of people talk about moving to nowadays. Over the years I have concluded that my dissatisfaction with my birth state is due largely in part to not having massive metropolitan areas and tourist hotspots. My infatuation with finding a new 11 1 John Muir, The Coniferous Forests and Big Trees of the Sierra Nevada, 1878 & 1881: With Special Insert, “A Windstorm in the Forests of the Yuba,” 1878 (Golden, CO: Outbooks, 1980)

place to call home rested upon consumption, society, and yearning for something bigger and better. After all, Michigan was not the “fun” state, at least so I thought. I wanted a large house, many cars, and an above average job with the latest and greatest technology and clothes. This was the American lifestyle that most people viewed as success. I wanted to fulfill the so-called “American Dream” and then some. While Michigan is not known for Walt Disney World or famous cities such as Los Angeles, we have something better and it has taken me until now to realize and appreciate it. We have nature and natural beauty, something in short supply these days. Michigan has the longest freshwater coastline in the United States: more than 3,288 miles2. Michigan is also 50% forest and ranked among the top ten of the most forested states with over 14 billion trees3. These are astounding facts if you are deeply invested in the environment and nature. But for most people I have encountered, these would just be fun facts and would not further their appreciation for our state. I have concluded that most people appreciate things that benefit them. Sure, we have loads of freshwater coastline, but what does it do for me? This is the mindset our American society has succumbed to and if major re-evaluation does not take place in the near future, we are surely doomed. I must admit, a school assignment forced me to venture out and visit Asylum Lake Preserve. I unfortunately do not think I would have visited here if it were not for the push of one of my professors. My mindset on the way to the preserve was far from joyful and eager. As an overworked, exhausted college student I wanted to get back home to complete coursework and relax. Once I stepped into the preserve my mindset shifted. I thought back to the famous naturalist and transcendentalist Henry David Thoreau. I had just read his cultivating essay, “Walking,” where he states, “I am alarmed when it happens that I have walked a mile into the woods bodily, without getting there in spirit.”4 I had set a goal at that moment to immerse myself in nature not only physically, but with my mind and spirit as well. This is when true transformation happens. I did not find my passion for protecting and advocating for the environment until my late teenage years. I always cared about and loved the outdoors but was ignorant to the catastrophic environmental destruction around me. I knew the basics: do not litter, recycling is beneficial, and donate old goods to be repurposed. I grew up in a family that cared about the Earth from afar but did not actively do their part to make our environment cleaner or safer. My family’s lives, mine included, revolved around consumption. My last semester at 12 ² "Does Michigan Have the Longest Coast Line in the United States?" Michigan.gov, accessed December 10, 2020, https://www.michigan.gov/som/0,4669,7-192-26847-103397--,00.html#:~:text=World Book Encyclopedia (v.13, p.500 of the 2000, has 6,640 miles or 10,686 kilometers of coastline) 3 "Native Trees of Michigan," Trees for Me, accessed December 10, 2020, http://www.treesforme.com/michigan.html) 4 Henry David Thoreau, Walking (1862), p. 3, line 13)

community college consisted of an environmental science course that sparked my passion and changed my life forever. Although Michigan possesses immense amounts of beauty, it has a human-induced dark side. We have major oil companies running pipelines throughout our delicate state, polluting the water, air, and land. Enbridge, a Canadian-owned oil company, spilled nearly one million gallons of oil into the Kalamazoo River in 2010, causing the largest inland oil spill in United States history5. The spill occurred thirteen miles from Battle Creek, my hometown. The recovery effort lasted for years and stole people’s homes and livelihoods, along with the lives of numerous plants and animals in my community. Although the cleanup process is “complete,” the eco-system can never return to its pre-spill condition. The auto industries and paper mills have also wreaked havoc on our water, air, and land. These industries (and many other companies) pumped our water full of PFAS (Per- and Polyfluoroalkyl Substances) that now bioaccumulate in the environment and have detrimental effects on living organisms. This peek behind the curtain of destruction shook me to my core. How could we be so careless and naive? Our poor choices have not only drastically harmed plants and animals but have simultaneously destroyed ourselves. I have concluded much of our destruction is not because we do not care about the environment but because we care more about money. Greed will become our self-destruct button. As I continue my journey down the preserve’s path it begins to turn into gravel and dirt. Lack of rainfall has made the top layer of dirt dusty and powdery. It begins to cover my boots and some pebbles cling onto the bottom of them for a free ride. Two baby deer cross the path in front of me nearly unaware of my presence. They must be used to humans because they are un-alarmed as I walk past them and snap a couple pictures on my cell phone. I look around to see if I can find their mother, but she is nowhere in sight. Their brown noses are pressed to the ground rummaging for food. One persistently scrounges for food while the other occasionally peers up at me making sure I am not getting too close. After several minutes of observing them I continue onward. Bio-regionalist and environmental activist Gary Snyder said it best: “Nature is not a place to visit, it is home.”6 Often we think of nature as a distant place full of untouched, overgrown life or a place where humans have not had substantial impact. The truth is that nature is all around us. Nature is us and we are it. Oftentimes humans think we are above nature and have to travel to seek 13 5 Rebecca Williams, "A Look Back: 10 Years After the Largest Inland Oil Spill in The U.S.," WKAR, July 23, 2020, |PAGE|, accessed December 10, 2020, https://www.wkar.org/post/look-back-10years-after-largest-inland-oil-spill-us#stream/0) 6 Gary Snyder, The Practice of the Wild (Berkeley, CA: Counterpoint, 2010), p. 7)

it out. If we awakened to the idea that we are immersed in nature no matter where we are located, perhaps we will have more of a respectful connection to it. I believe greed has adverse side effects. These side effects have led to environmental destruction, pollution, and despair. Nature is viewed as a commodity with a price tag. Our environment has a higher worth than monetary value. It provides us with more than any human-made object could. Nature provides us with peace, harmony, and tranquility. What if we stopped yearning for wealth to make us feel better and instead yearned for nature? Nature is the antidote for our stress and worries in life, yet we disconnect ourselves from it when we need it most. The sun is almost submerged below the horizon and the breeze is now cool and comfortable. I look up to see the nearly dark sky and I observe the outline of the tree line above me. I follow the same path out of the preserve to avoid getting lost. On my way out I encounter the two-baby deer again, this time with their mother. She keeps her focus on me, making sure I am no threat to her babies. I continue onward, hoping not to upset her. The breeze is a bit stronger now that I am walking through the field and there are no trees to shield me. Only the tall grass swaying in the wind accompanies me. I hear the crickets humming in the grass and the sound of vehicles driving in the near distance. The hustle and bustle of reality awaits me.

Bibliography "Does Michigan Have the Longest Coast Line in the United States?" Michigan.gov. Accessed December 10, 2020. https://www.michigan.gov/som/0,4669,7-192-26847-103397--,00. html#:~:text=World Book Encyclopedia (v.13, p.500 of the 2000, has 6,640 miles or 10,686 kilometers of coastline. "Native Trees of Michigan." Trees for Me. Accessed December 10, 2020. http://www.treesforme.com/michigan.html. Muir, John. The Coniferous Forests and Big Trees of the Sierra Nevada, 1878 & 1881: With Special Insert, "A Windstorm in the Forests of the Yuba," 1878. Golden, CO: Outbooks, 1980. Snyder, Gary. The Practice of the Wild. Berkeley, CA: Counterpoint, 2010, 7. Thoreau, Henry David. Walking. 1862, 3, line 13. Williams, Rebecca. "A Look Back: 10 Years After the Largest Inland Oil Spill In The U.S." WKAR. July 23, 2020. Accessed December 10, 2020. https://www.wkar.org/post/look-back-10-years-after-largest-inland-oil-spillus#stream/0.

Pink Milkweed Stephanie Leaver

Break Free Renee Ming Cilluffo

Coming Out Nora Pluth

It’s like this: I pull out a rubber band from the depths of the junk drawer Tangled in twist-ties and broken pens that should be thrown out

I begged for it not to be so I prayed; prayers upon prayers asking the same question Why me?

I am pulled apart, my self fracturing into several different directions What I am What I think I am What I want to be What I present.

Everything has a breaking point.

I stretch the rubber band, testing its elasticity Stretch it around my wrist Let it fall into place

But when you try with every cell in your body To escape the perception of change To beg for a re-deal To press pain into your body: can anything be worse than this moment now? You lose your grip And snap back into place

I stretch as far as it goes Slipping from my fingers, hurtling toward my wrist

In the moments before your worn out, aching body regains its form

Freefall

Tension slips away and shapelessness takes hold Arms fly to cover my face But it melts in tears before I get the chance They work their way down this useless canvas I use to emote Splashing like the spilled milk on the floor I’m not supposed to cry over Legs tangle with confusion, searching for a way to flee this nightmare Humanity cut from my jagged being Movement contained to gasping breaths of air Sobbing shudders of terror I slam to a halt, abruptly pulled from the edges of humanity 21 Into the centerfold of the flock.

It slams into the cloth of my wrist Telling not time, but the sharp reminder of pain Of permanent And impermanent

Shaken, but not broken Bent, but still the outline of a person Contents may have shifted during flight

It is less of a circle But whole

In all my praying, hoping, trying, and twisting 22

I did change I no longer need permission I no longer need your acceptance

I did change A human stronger for the tears I cried over the person I lost Over the person I mourned

I did change A human, though hardened on the outside, softer on the inside For all your words, the cruelest ones seemed to pass right through

I did change A human as the original actor Not the part I pretended to play

I did change A human worth fighting for

A Night Drive Ava Dziadzio

I remember that I knew. That night when my phone chimed, I knew the text would be from her. Not thinking but knowing with some deep understanding. I often wonder how I knew. But maybe that was just hope. Can you go for a drive? I dropped my pencil on my scattered papers and stared at the screen. I stared at the letters of her message and tried to ignore the swirling mass of excitement and anxiety growing in my stomach. like right now? Yeah. I flopped on my back. I still had integrals to solve, Spanish vocab flashcards to flip through, a Tale of Two Cities essay outline to write. I knew logically I should've just stayed in my room and finished my homework like I wanted to. It was already evening, and I was already in my pink polka dot pajamas. And I hated going to sleep with unfinished work. Then I’d have to get up early to do it. But it was her. “No,” I whispered to myself. “I need to stay.” I ignored the feeling of disappointment as I gave her a not-so-uncharacteristic-of-me rejection to a social outing. idk lora i have a lot of work left to do I didn’t even put my phone down before the next chime. Please? I really need this. I took a breath. That text was so not Lora. Lora didn’t beg. Lora wasn’t desperate. How could I say no to her? ok i'll be there soon Thank you. Two minutes later, I jogged down to the living room where my parents were watching Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. “Um.” They were engrossed in the film. “I’m gonna go for a drive… if that’s okay…” My dad kept his eyes on the screen, his attention rapt as if he hadn’t seen the movie seven times already. But my mom looked at me with her eyebrows raised. “Really? Ok.” “Yeah, I won’t be back too late or anything.” She smiled. “Have fun, Kat.” Turning back, she took a sip of her herbal tea. The nice part about virtually never going out is that when you actually want to, your parents never say no. Even if it’s 9:30 on a weeknight. Kate Capshaw screamed on screen. “Oh come on, Dave. This movie is terrible. Can’t we watch something else?” I chuckled. Any other day, I would’ve loved to join my mother in critiquing a classic. But the thought of Lora waiting for me pulled me away.

Worry started to consume me. What’s up with her? Lora was the epitome of having her life together. She turned in every homework assignment on time, always a 95 or above on a test. She was friendly and charming and sociable. Unmistakably pretty. I’d never even seen her blonde hair in disarray. As I waited at a stop light, I stared at the neon sign of the Taco Bell on the corner. I wondered why Lora texted me. Why not Rachel or Hannah? Why not her boyfriend Connor? Why not one of the thousands that were always orbiting Lora like planets around the sun? I met Lora in our freshman American History class. On that nerve-wracking first day of high school, my leg bounced in the seat five minutes before class would start. I glanced at the clock for perhaps the hundredth time when a smiley girl in a floral dress slid into the chair in front of mine and whipped around to introduce herself. Her green eyes sparkled as she told me about all the ways North River was different from Phoenix, and I forgot to be nervous for class. I was happy, proud even, to be the new girl’s first friend. Lora told me later offhand that she made it her personal mission to make a friend in every class the first day. So, I guess I was actually her third. My Chevy jumped a little as I toed the gas. Soon after our meeting, I thankfully befriended some of her other new friends. I’m lucky I got in with them because my middle school friends and I started to like different things (I don’t regret not joining cross country—running sucks. Lora excelled at bringing people together. Or maybe she just never left people out. I assumed that was why she always invited me to the movies and game nights in her basement. She slid up next to me in the hall to chat because she’s just a nice person. She probably just wanted a smart friend to help her study. But as I turned into her subdivision, I considered that maybe that wasn’t true. Don’t kid yourself. I shoved down the hope. I couldn’t go there that night. She needs a friend. Among the dozens of mini-mansions, I pulled into her driveway. The house stood in darkness. My headlights shined down on Lora sitting on the ground, leaning against the closed garage door. I tried to calm my pulse. She rocked onto her feet and yanked the passenger side door open. By this time “Bob Marley” played softly on the speakers. Not the artist, but a song named after him, which I found amusing. As with a lot of music I listen to, this was a Lora recommendation. Last summer, it granted me peace when I was a week deep into family vacation. Its melody brought me back to being in the mountains, to looking over the edge of a cliff, to pine trees and alpine shrubs and a river of puffy clouds that extended for miles over the valley. I texted her to say the song by Grizfolk made me feel free, like I was an explorer of the great unknown. I didn’t have the courage to ask her why she liked the song or why she thought I would, too.

“Hey.” She smiled, but her eyes stayed on her lap. “Hi.” I tapped the steering wheel once, twice. “So...” Silence. “Where are we going?” “Anywhere but here.” Her fingers fiddled with her seatbelt. I snapped my eyes away. “Oh gosh. What’s up?” I shifted into reverse and pulled away. “Not much.” My stomach dropped. I’d heard many different answers to “what’s up?” from Lora. My favorite came on a sunny Friday afternoon: “Some would say the sky, but I’d argue that we live and breathe in the atmosphere itself. So, I’d rephrase it as ‘space.’ To answer your question, Katherine, the stars, the moon, and the planets are up!” She was excited for the weekend—Connor’s birthday or something. In that memory she glowed so bright she became the sun itself, radiating the Lora joy and confidence that everyone loves so much. But that night in my decade-old Impala, she was so dim. I slowed at a red light, and I looked over to her. To really see her. She looked so un-Lora in the crimson glow. Her hair was in a messy bun. No make-up. Connor’s North River High men’s lacrosse hoodie was baggy on her body, and her grey sweatpants had stains. But it wasn’t just the absence of her brightly colored sweaters and curled eyelashes. She stared straight ahead, but her eyes were out of focus. It was like someone had plucked out all her happiness. In my memory of this moment, a dark shadow hangs over her shoulders. If I had seen her in school like this, I wouldn’t have even recognized her. When her face reflected green light, I pressed on the gas. We rode in silence for a few minutes. I swallowed once, twice. I didn’t really know where to go, and I got the feeling that Lora didn’t want to talk, so I just went straight forward, watching the yellow headlights’ beam light up the black, curvy road. Lora stared out the window. Led Zeppelin played us “Stairway to Heaven.” I remember thinking that I hadn’t ever been out this late on a school night. I remember being certain that Lora had. “I’m sorry, Kat.” Her words amidst the silence startled me. I might’ve swerved a bit. “I never asked you how you are.” “Oh. Umm... I’m fine, I guess.” I shrugged. “You’re fine?” I glanced over to her, and she was looking me in the eyes. I could see the forest green. My heart jumped. I shifted my gaze back to the road. “Well, I— I guess I’m a bit…stressed,” I managed to say. When she didn’t

say anything, “You know.” I swallowed again. I silently cursed the saliva in my mouth. Is there always this much fucking saliva in my mouth? “With midterms coming up and all.” “Oh, yeah,” she said absently. “Midterms suck.” She shifted her elbow on the center console to prop her chin on her fist. I pretended not to notice that her arm was touching mine. I ignored the racing thoughts. It’s normal. People touch each other all the time. It’s casual. Stop thinking about it. “Stressing you out, too?” I said. I told myself to calm the fuck down. “Well, yeah. I guess.” She sighed. “Gotta study.” I hesitated. “But it’s not just midterms?” I steeled my gaze on the road ahead. Snowflakes drifted down, dusting the road. “No. Yeah. Kinda,” she said. “I don’t know.” She rolled her face into her palm. I frowned. “What don’t you know?” I wasn’t sure where this was going. “Lots of things,” she mumbled into her shoulder. “Lora, no. You’re really smart. You know a lot.” Why did she always doubt herself? She scoffed. “I get good grades, Kat. That doesn’t mean I’m smart.” “But you are,” I said gently. We passed a sign thanking us for visiting “the quaint Village of North River.” Lora was quiet for a second. “Kat, is that all you think of me? That I’m smart?” She leaned back against her door to look at me. She really wanted to know. I kept my eyes on the road. How does my face normally look? What do I do with my face? I reined in the thoughts. Focus. I wondered what was wrong with being smart. Smart’s good, right? But Lora wasn’t just smart. “Well, you’re also super nice.” “Am I?” She sounded miserable. “Well.” I swallowed. “I think so. You… um.” I took a breath. More confidently, “You always let me complain about calc. You ask me how I’m doing. You’re really positive.” “Well, at least there’s that.” She knocked on the window with her knuckles. “Lora, are you ok? Why did you want to go out tonight?” She sighed. “I don’t know. I just couldn’t stay, you know?” I knew what that kind of restlessness was like. Of course I did. I only felt it every night I went to bed in the same room I had for the past 17 years dreaming about all that I would see if I could just get out of that town. But I wasn’t sure if she was talking about the same feeling, and I didn’t want to scare her with all that. How close were we? “Um, maybe?” I said.

“Like…” She scratched at her wrist. “I just couldn’t stand to stay there tonight.” I huffed a laugh. “I get it. I can’t stand Mrs. Walter’s class sometimes.” I turned to smirk at her, proud of myself for keeping it light, but her imploring face wiped the grin clean off my lips. “What is it?” “You ever feel like… like you’re stuck? Like you wanna escape, but there’s nowhere to go? I just… just want to… I don’t know.” She leaned back in the seat, exasperated. She may have turned in beautifully crafted essays in English, but words failed her in that moment. Yep, it was definitely a similar feeling. We were driving next to the river by then. The moon was almost full, lighting up the blue night. Its silvery beams reflected off the undoubtedly freezing river and shined through the snow-dusted pine trees. The road curved into a straightaway, so I took a few longer glances to the side, toward the river. “I always forget about this,” I said. “It’s beautiful at night.” A thought arose about what else I thought was beautiful. It floated up and almost reached my lips. But I clawed at it first and shoved it down so hard I might’ve bruised it. You have to be more fucking careful. Lora looked up from her hands fidgeting in her lap and followed my gaze out the window. “Yeah.” She dropped her head to look down again. My fingers tightened around the wheel once, twice. I was blowing it. I couldn’t stand to see her like that. I turned on the hazards and pulled into the shoulder. The car rumbled as it rolled over the gravel. I twisted the volume knob until the inappropriately cheery song muted. I don’t even remember the song; my worry for Lora was too distracting. She was too distracting. She looked up. “What are you doing?” I put the car in park and looked at her. “Lora, you’re not ok.” I didn’t know what else to say. It took all my strength to maintain eye contact as my heart palpitated in my chest. I wanted her to know that I was going to listen. That I cared. As she looked back at me, tears flooded her eyes. She buried her face into her palms. “Oh God, Kat. I’ve dragged you into my shit.” I felt so awkward. More than usual. I didn’t know what to do when someone cried. I started to reach out a hand to her, maybe to reassure her. But I stopped myself. I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. I just didn’t know what I was doing. “Well, not really.” I scrunched my nose as I searched for words. “I don’t really know what’s going on.” I told myself to say more, to reassure her somehow. “You can tell me if you want to. Or we can keep driving away from town. Or whatever you need, honestly.”

“God, you have homework to finish.” Her sleeves and tears muffled her words. I wanted to cry seeing her cry. How could I stop it? “It’s fine, Lora. Forget about me.” I really did mean it. I pushed aside the thoughts of homework. I gladly did it for her. “You sure?” She peeked at me from behind her hands. Her red-rimmed eyes looked scared. “You have a big test to study for.” I knew Lora would tell me to turn around if I said I needed to go back. But I wasn’t going to let her do that. No way. “Of course.” I gave her a little smile. “It’s just a quiz.” She sat back. She used her sleeves to wipe her face then took a breath. She couldn’t go back to that dark house. I didn’t have to ask if her parents were out of town again. I knew that they were rarely home. Lora said they traveled a lot for work, but she didn’t explain much else. I could tell she didn’t really want to talk about it ever, so I didn’t ask. Maybe she wanted to get away from that solitude. It must’ve been hard for her to be home alone so much. At the time, I was jealous. I thought I would’ve loved to eat dinner on the couch by myself and watch whatever I wanted every night. I loved my parents, but I loved the bliss of alone time. Thoughts about who I wouldn’t ever mind having around floated up. A warm image started to form, but I scrubbed it away. I hadn’t turned the volume back up, so it was still silent. I didn’t know what Lora wanted, so I pointed to the aux cord questioningly. She unlocked my phone and shuffled a new playlist, twisting the knob again. Lorde’s mystical voice filled my car. Lora’s breaths were steady by then. We both stared at the river. “You never answered my question, by the way,” she said. “Hmm?” “You ever feel stuck sometimes?” “Um, yeah.” More than you know. “School work can really be a lot. I wish we could graduate already.” “Yeah.” A silver car shot past us on the left. “Honestly, I don’t know what to do after graduation.” “What?” This was news to me. It seemed like a given that a year from now she’d be reading on the manicured lawns of an ivy league school. “You haven’t been applying?” “No, I have. But I don’t know where I want to go.” She hesitated. “Or if I want to go.” “Well, college isn’t for everyone. It’s okay to do something else.” “Oh, says Katherine the Brain.” I laughed, and that made her lips tug upward. That’s a nickname she gave me in sophomore year when I aced the first geometry test we took.

“Yeah, like I’m the smart one here,” I said. “You are! You’re going places, kid.” She sighed. “I wish I could say the same for me.” I shook my head. Lora never believed in herself. Her grades were like mine, but she had a much more impressive college application than I did. Theatre, soccer, student council. What didn’t Lora do, or at least try? She probably tried out for every single team, auditioned for every role, and attended every club meeting she possibly could freshman year. I asked her once how she could be so brave like that. “I just had to be. I was new,” she said. But if I was the new kid somewhere, I would regress even further into the shadows. She truly wanted to be different here, to make friends and be herself, and so she just did it. I admired that. I still do. I watched her in the passenger seat. She was looking at her hands again. “I don’t understand how you could say that,” I said. “Honestly, you could go anywhere you applied. You could get any job you wanted.” I hesitated for a moment. “You can make it to June.” “Thanks, Kat.” She looked up and caught my eye. My heart fluttered. “You will, too.” And then we were just smiling at each other. I tried to ignore my heart. In my memory, its beat shook the whole car. I tried to ignore the feeling of warmth, the wanting to look into her eyes forever. But it was hard to think. To control the thoughts. Then she started to slowly nod. Full nods from her chest to the head rest. She looked to the side. Her brow furrowed and her eyes glimmered. “What is it?” I grinned. She was getting goofy again. “Katherine.” She said it like a declaration. “Lora.” That made her grin at me. “We need ice cream.” “Of course.” I put the Impala in drive. “It’s not the middle of winter or anything.” “I know you want it too.” She wiggled her shoulders up and down. I laughed. It was nearing 11 at that point, but we were almost to the next town. I asked her if the McDonald’s there was ok. “My treat,” I said. “No!” She smacked my shoulder. “No way, you drove! Allow me,” she said. “What? No.” “No, no protests from you, Miss Katherine.” She waved her finger around like a scepter. “I doth declare to provide thee with a fine dessert from Sir McDonald.” She giggled at herself. I laughed. “Fine.” The Jonas Brothers serenaded us as we downed our M&M McFlurries driving back. Lora pulled up a bite and examined it. “These spoons are so weird.” I laughed. “I told you before, they attach the weird end to the machine to mix it all up. It’s more sanitary or something.”

“Aren’t the McDonald’s ice cream machines like always breaking down because the machines aren’t cleaned well enough?” she asked. I shrugged. She considered that for a moment, then took the bite anyway. We laughed and chatted all the way back to North River. When I pulled into her driveway, she unbuckled then paused. “Thanks, Kat.” “No problem, Lora.” In this part in my memory, the shadows have gone away. Her face looks luminous again. “No, really.” She reached over to squeeze my hand. My heart jumped. “Thank you. You’re good to me.” “Anytime.” She glanced up at me questioningly. “Really,” I added. She lingered there for a second, looking at me, her hand still on mine. She looked down at it and pulled away. She stared at her dark house. I really didn’t want to leave her there. “Are you okay now?” I asked. “I’m better,” she said. “Thanks to you.” My heart jumped again. I told it reflexively to stop. Maybe it was the ice cream or the late hour or what she just said right then, but a flash of courage overcame me. “Why did you text me?” I blurted. She looked confused. “What do you mean, Kat?” “Why not Rachel or Hannah? Aren’t you closer with them? I mean, not that I’m not happy you texted me because I had fun, and I like hanging out with you. Like, I really like hanging out with you, but I just thought...” I felt my face burn. In my memory, it glows red like a hot plate. Shut up, Kat. She was amused. “I like hanging out with you too,” she said. “That’s why I texted you, dummy.” When I glanced over at her, she changed her smirk into a look of sincerity. “And I knew that you’d make me feel better.” That panged something in my chest. I knew I should have just taken it, but I couldn’t stop myself. “But why not Connor?” “Oh.” She stopped smiling. She looked away, then back at me. “Well... we broke up.” “Oh.” I did not expect that. At all. I looked at my lap. “I’m sorry.” I pushed down a smile, a surge of emotions. I scolded myself, you should be sad for her, what are you thinking? I pushed harder. I didn’t want to confront this. No, no, no. Not there, with her six inches from me. “Yeah, well I thought I was too,” she said. “That’s why I texted. I was upset. For that and, well, everything else. It all bubbled up when I hung up, you know?” Damn, over the phone, Connor? That’s low. “Yeah.” I didn’t know what to say. “Are you ok?” She huffed a laugh. “You already asked me that, Kat.”

“Well, you just broke up with someone. Or he broke up with you, or...” “Uh, well.” She looked down at her hands. “It kinda just happened, I guess.” She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. “I think he was bored.” There wasn’t hurt in her voice. I was so confused. They really seemed great together. She was wearing his sweatshirt. What was going on? Shush. “And, uhh...” Her hands fidgeted, curling around each other. Her eyes roamed over like they’d tell her the right words. “Um, I realized...” She paused. I held my breath. What could she possibly say? “I realized that I liked someone else.” She looked up at me, her lips pressed together in a tight smile. Her eyes looked terrified. Hope glimmered. Stop, I told it. But was that feeling wrong? “Oh?” I didn’t dare say anything more. I couldn’t. I sucked my lips together. What was she saying? My heart thumped in my chest. She smiled shyly at me. “Yeah.” Her cheeks pinkened, and her hands held each other so tight a knuckle cracked. I couldn’t form words. Hope was swinging through me like a trapeze artist. My words were trapped. I couldn’t be wrong. I didn’t want to be wrong. It was hard to breathe. “Yeah,” she said again. She kept smiling at me. “She’s pretty awesome.” She reached up to scratch her head, hiding her face. “Yeah?” I breathed out. She?! I hoped my face was doing the talking. Conveying what I wish I had the courage to say. “Yeah. Honestly, she is the best friend I have.” My gut squeezed. Her gaze fell on her hands again. I implored my mouth to speak, but it was stuck. Of course I knew what it was like to feel stuck Lora, I wanted to scream. I’ve felt stuck since the day I met you. Since I couldn’t get that sunshine girl out of my head and I was too scared to do anything about it. She couldn’t take the silence. Her fingers found the door handle. “I’ll... see you tomorrow, Kat.” She opened the door. No! I panicked. I couldn’t let her leave. Not like this. This was my moment. This was how I could become unstuck. Maybe we both could. Speak! “Lora?” She whipped her head back. Her eyebrows raised, her green eyes filled with fear and hope. I swallowed. “I like you, too.” She beamed, which sent the trapeze girl soaring. She squeezed my hand, and the girl flying inside flipped three times. “Tomorrow, Katherine.” she whispered, squeezing for emphasis. “I’ll see your lovely face tomorrow.” I nodded. I couldn’t say anything else. She squeezed my hand one more time then slid out of the car. When she closed the door, I let a big breath out.

Holy fucking shit. She bent down to smile and wave at me through the window. I smiled back. Then she skipped up to the big, empty house, the McFlurry cups in her left hand. I hoped it didn’t feel as empty to her anymore. I smiled all the way home. And gushed. And screamed the lyrics to One Direction songs. I didn’t quite believe that it was real. When I pulled into my driveway, I had to steady myself. I took a few deep breaths then shut the ignition off. When I picked up my phone, I saw that I had a text from her. My heart raced again. Did she change her mind? I hastily unlocked it. It was a link to an article explaining why the McDonald’s ice cream machines were never working. It’s BECAUSE they’re being cleaned. It takes 4 hours! I laughed. My whole body was trembling. that gives me a little peace of mind i guess haha Lol. Me too. Maybe we could get something better next time. Like gelato?? I beamed. It was real. This was happening. it's a date ;)

Iphis and Ianthe Oil Pastels Sayantan Basu

Legacy A Short Play By Dakota James

Cast of Characters: James, late 40s to early 50s. Jimmy, 20s. Time and Place: A bench at a lake, evening. Note: Jimmy should not be drunk beyond coherent thought, but there should be a small level of inebriation that is visible. TRIGGER WARNING: This play contains themes of grief, abandonment, and substance abuse.

Lights up. jimmy sits by the lake, staring off, holding a fishing pole, and drinking a bottle of vodka. BEAT. james: enters behind jimmy. jimmy finishes the bottle. Starts to put the cap back on. jimmy: Finished with that. jimmy chucks the bottle behind him. It shatters at james’s feet. jimmy reaches in his bag and opens another bottle. Drinks. BEAT. jimmy ’s phone rings. He shakes his head, trying to sober himself up. He answers the phone. jimmy: Hello... The lake... Mom, I know. I will be home soon... Yes, I did my homework... Yes, 9am... Alright, love you too. Bye. james: I see your mom hasn’t changed. jimmy is startled. james: Still nagging you. jimmy: Dad? james: Hi, son... You know, I came here yesterday... listened to the quiet rush of water as the wind made tiny waves. Watched the ducks swim; There was a family right over there (gestures toward audience) playing Frisbee with their dog. jimmy: What are… How are… james: I get why you come here. jimmy: How… are youjames: We came here once, with Bolt. You remember that? jimmy nods. james: And then when Bolt passed, you kept coming back here. I see it now though. The birds chirping. The snow-capped mountains in the distance. I see it. It’s calm. It's soothing. Other than the random people making a shit ton of noise. (to the audience) HEY YOU! YEAH, CAN YOU KEEP IT DOWN? WE’RE FISHING OVER HERE. jimmy: Dad... JAMES: What? If these assholes would stop being so loud maybe we could catch somethingjimmy: Dad, DAD! james: (laughing) Alright, alright. BEAT. james: Just like when we were fishing, huh? jimmy nods.

SILENCE. jimmy: Does it hurt? james looks at jimmy. BEAT. james: (sitting next to jimmy) I would imagine it does. Getting hooked in the mouth and then being dragged away from your family and friends only to be eaten by the tall, weird looking monsters that we are. jimmy: You know that’s not what I am talking about. james: Like what’s up with our noses? You ever think about how weirdly shaped our noses are? jimmy: Dad. james: And our ears. What about our ears? It’s like a monkey’s, but not. Although some people’s ears look like actual monkeys. (gestures to audience) Like this guy. jimmy: DAD! (to audience member) He didn’t mean that. james: You’re right. (to audience member) I’m sorry. BEAT. jimmy: Will you just answer the question? james: I did. I believe it does hurt... Although, can fish even feel? Can they comprehend what is happening? jimmy: Dad, for once just stop avoiding me! PAUSE. james: Okay, son. No, it doesn’t hurt. Not really. It's like you're falling asleep. The pain goes away, your worries disappear, you’re finally at peace. jimmy: So you didn’t feel anything? james: No. BEAT. jimmy: Why did you leave? james: Do you remember the baseball games we would go to? jimmy: Yeah. james: I miss those. You always asked for that hot dog. Every. Single. Game. jimmy: You never bought me one. james: It was $25! You never could have eaten the whole thing! jimmy: Yes I could have! james: No you couldn’t. jimmy: Yes I could. james: No you couldn’t. jimmy: Yes I could! james begins to respond.

jimmy: And don’t you say I couldn’t! james: (happily frustrated) Ahh! (beat) I see you learned from the master. JIMMY: I did. jimmy ’s smile turns to sadness. SILENCE. james: You remember how instead of the hot dog, after the game I would take you to your favorite restaurant? jimmy: Alberta Dave’s. james: They had the worst food ever, I still don’t know why it was your favorite. jimmy: They had the best chicken nuggets! james: (chuckling) They were ninety percent fat! jimmy: (laughing) That’s the point! jimmy ’s laughter turns to sadness. BEAT. james: Do you remember that Drake concert you wanted to go to? jimmy: I remember you didn’t let me go. james: You went anyway. jimmy is surprised. james: We knew. I remember you being super nice to your mom and I afterwards. jimmy: I didn’t know that you knew. james: I knew a lot, Jimmy… I remember a lot. I remember how your mom had me change your diaper and you peed all over my favorite shirt. Twice. I remember you walking for the first time. I remember, after it was healed, you getting back on the same bike that broke your leg, and you rode that bike in the same spot you broke it. jimmy is silent. james: I may not remember everything, but I remember the good things. May be not the pain, or heartache, or all of my episodes, but I remember the good parts. jimmy: Of course you don’t remember those. james: There was nothing I could do. jimmy: You could have stopped drinking! james: I know. And that was my mistake. jimmy: So why didn’t you? james: What? jimmy: Stop drinking? james: (sighs) It’s a disease. jimmy: Oh fuck off, dad. Don’t give me that bullshit.

SILENCE. james: It was a habit. When I married your mother, she told me that I had to stop drinking so much. I promised her that I would. I thought she was enough of a reason that I could break years of habits. jimmy: And she wasn’t. james: She wasn’t. jimmy: And neither am I. jimmy starts to walk away. james: Jimmy, no. That is not true. jimmy: (crying) Why? Why wasn’t I enough? james: You are. jimmy: Apparently, I’m not. james: Yes, you are. jimmy: No, I’m not. james: Yes you are. And don’t you say you’re not! jimmy is not amused. BEAT. james: Look. You are enough, and I know you may think I left because you weren’t, but I left because I wasn’t enough. jimmy is silent james: I was ashamed that I couldn’t be the dad I wanted to be. jimmy: And leaving was how to be better. james: I thought you would be better off without me. jimmy: You know that’s not true. james: I know that now. And I am sorry that I can’t make that up to you now. jimmy: (chuckling from pain) You’re sorry… james: Yes. jimmy: You’re sorry… james: Yes, I am. jimmy: You don’t get to be sorry! You left! Mom and me! You can’t come back from that, and you don’t get to be sorry! james: NO! I can’t… You’re right, I don’t get to be sorry… But that's all I have. BEAT. jimmy ’s anger shifts into a breakdown. jimmy: Maybe if I found you sooner. Maybe I could have saved you. james: There was nothing you could do. jimmy: I could have gotten you to the hospital sooner. I could have given you CPR. james: Son… Son, Stop! (Pause) There was a blood clot. It blocked blood flow to my heart. The tissue had no oxygen and died. There was nothing you could do.

jimmy: But what if I answered your call? What if I didn’t ignore it? What if I told you not to drink anymore? james: Stop! You can’t think like that. jimmy: Why not? james: Because my dad died in my arms when I was eight. (pause) He had a heart attack. Like me. BEAT. james: I blamed myself for years. After school, I walked inside and went into the kitchen. He had the Andy Griffith show on so I grabbed some Doritos and went to go watch with him. There he was. Lying on the floor. (pause) No matter what I could have done differently, it was too late. No matter what you could have done differently, it was too late. And that’s okay. We all die. The goal isn’t to live forever, the goal is to create something that will. PAUSE. james: Chuck Palahniuk. jimmy: The Fight Club guy? JAMES: Chuck knew to create something that would outlive him when he is gone. So he created Fight Club. A novel. A movie. A legacy. jimmy: You didn’t create a novel, or a movie, or a legacy. james: Novel, no. Movie, no. But a legacy, yeah. jimmy: What legacy? james: I created you. SILENCE. They share a moment. james: I have to go now. james gets up to leave. jimmy: Hey, Dad. james turns around. jimmy: ...I’m going to miss you. james: Take care of yourself, Jimmy. jimmy looks away. He then looks back. JAMES is gone. BEAT. jimmy grabs his chest. jimmy: I love you, Dad. jimmy holds his chest, trusting that his dad loves him. jimmy picks up the bottle of vodka. Starts to drink. Stops. Sets the bottle down on the bench. Stands. Turns to where james exited. Then looks back at the bottle. 43 FADE.

Asiya Oil Pastels Sayantan Basu

Tell me I am less Nora Pluth

Tell me I am less. I want you to look me in the eye. My human eye Breathing my human breaths, My human heart pounding Human blood pumping

Tell me I am less.

It is more a question of your strength than mine

When you say it, I flinch Although I asked you, nothing prepares me to hear it The words echo in around my head Bounce around my brain; trapped

When I become myself again, I take you in Your eyes widen in something I cannot place I sense a bit of triumph 47 The gleam of pride in your eyes

Tell me I am less.

The reason you told me I am less is the same reason I tell people they aren’t

Too terrible to say out loud Too terrible not to For a brief second you think you’re helping me Compartmentalizing me into what is less

Tell me I am less.

And then the second passes I know you’re scared Fear pulls back your pupils Opening up into your soul, now split A human brain A human heart A human body

48 A naked human spirit

When fear breaks into the forefront of your mind You try to pin it on me I don’t blame you, I am the one you want to change

Tell me I am less.

You could be scared of me I spoke of that terrible and wonderful power All at once I threw what you thought you knew out the open window I’ve considered jumping from a million times Made sure I watched your thoughts smash onto the asphalt below

Tell me I am less.

But I think you’re scared of yourself

We are capable of more than we ever dreamed We can smash every obstacle Climb over every barrier 49 Love more deeply than we thought possible Break into a billion pieces

And we can hate.

We think we know what hate is When I eat a tomato When I see the politician When I see the people that throw back the curtains to that window Give me a stepstool in case I’m not tall enough

That flash of pure anger that courses through us The hot tears that stream down our faces The clenching in our stomachs Revenge Blame Pinning the fear

That isn’t hate

Hate is when it tumbles out of your mouth When I tell you to look me in the eye and say it 50 My human eye

Tell me I am less.

As panic sweeps in As fear escapes through your widening eyes And flies toward me arms outstretched Ready to call me home I see a hint of disgust in your eyes

The words you uttered reverberate around the room You are forever changed

And that’s what hate is Nothing will erase that feeling You told me I was less

Your pitiful fear clings to me Hoping that it can beat me That I will succumb to its invitation I am tempted but not swayed 51

A human brain Breathing human breaths Human blood pumping through Human veins

I don’t know who’s who.

Tell me I am less.

It is more a question of your strength than mine.

Ensconced Pencil Renee Ming Cilluffo

Holding My Tongue Ava Dziadzio

My fingers taste bitter as they pinch my tongue. They’re anxious and scared, which is a bad taste in a mouth that craves beauty.

It wants to feel words roll off its lips, but the anxious fingers are in the way. They are afraid of what the mouth has to say.

These fingers, you see, have crafted a life, a beautiful marble statue for others to marvel. But those words would be its destruction. If freed, we’d be surrounded by stone shards.

Maybe I want the image to break, maybe I want to taste the words bursting inside. Even if the words crack and shatter my image– well, maybe I don’t want to be made of stone.

I am flesh and words yet to be spoken.

Chicago Streets Alayshia Hoover

Bull Thistle Stephanie Leaver

Broken Match Abbey Churney

There is the sound of the door and the plastic crash of the bags being set on the table. Following it is the god-awful clatter of Kelley stirring through the junk drawer, each stroke of her finger an avalanche in its own right. I smile and poke my head around the corner. “Hiya babe, how did the real-hell-on-earth—the multinational retail corporation department store—serve ya today?” Nothing. No grin, no rude gesture, no disapproving-but-fond glance from those beautiful brown eyes. “Did some jackass call you a freak again? ‘Cause I’ll kill ‘em.” I crack my knuckles. The idea of yet another person toying with her makes me gnash my teeth together. “You know I’ve been waiting to try out that rainbow knife you got last week.” But she’s not listening, instead occupying herself with pulling the candles from their type #4 recycling shrouds. The lids are tossed away, the box of matches opened, another bag grabbed. She makes for the living room. I drift after her, plopping myself in the lounge chair. I imagine she’s preparing to vent about whatever’s on her mind through her spine-chilling art, which often has the potential to send even God running away in fear. Absentmindedly, I begin to count the cat scratch marks on the armrest. At least the damned creature isn’t in here. The little feline shithead herself—formally known as Azrael—has never liked my company much. These days she usually leaves the room if she sees me coming, tail high and eyes narrowed as if she’s too high and mighty to mingle with the likes of me. But Kelley loves that cat, and who am I to argue with— More movement catches my eye, and my gaze jerks back to the woman in question. She’s lighting the candles, her hands trembling more than the aspen leaves just outside the window. I watch as she singes her finger on one of the flickering flames. She bites her lip, murmurs a quiet fuck, and continues on. “Babe, you could have asked me to do it.” I cross my arms. “At least it would save you some matches.” But she’s lit the last candle and is prying open a paint can from her hardware store bag. “What ridiculously named color is it today?” I ask. “Dirty Tooth Yellow? The Soy Next Door? Hint of Gray?” Still nothing. The flames flicker around her, light and shadow waging war across her features. The paint is the color of blood. Kelley dips her fingers in it, eyes scanning the pages of an old book she must

have pulled from the attic. Jesus, I’d spent all that time up there, how was I not recognizing the damn thing? How is Kelley even reading it? The pages are stained and uneven, as if something had started to eat them. Probably all the damn cockroaches up there that she hadn’t wanted to poison. How would you like to die like that? she’d said. And, besides, they don’t bother me. The attic can be their part of the house. I push the memory away. “Babe, what book is tha—hey what the fuck are you doing?” I gape at her as she drops her red-covered fingers to the floor. Kelley offers no explanation, and I feel something start to twist inside me. “C’mon. You can’t be serious.” I search for a hint of a smile, a suppressed laugh, anything. Finding nothing, my eyes dash around the rest of the room where they eventually spot Azrael lurking in the doorway. She’s glaring at me, her gleaming eyes barely distinguishable from the yellow flames of the candles. I stick my tongue out at her and look back to Kelley, who’s sprawled over the scarlet-stained canvas that is now the living room floor. “You said you weren’t one of those theater types, but you’ve convinced me. Hell, you haven’t even broken character, you’re practically a pro.” I smile, but even I know there’s worry dancing behind it. This has to be a trick, doesn’t it? Some kind of sick joke? “Babe, I really admire your dedication, but I also really need you to stop.” I watch the way her dark hair falls into her face as she continues to both ignore me and trace the pattern onto the floor, the circle only made imperfect by the continual shaking of her hands. Amidst it all, she’s ethereal, her lips like two crescents of a new moon. But her eyes don’t leave her work. Is she really about to exorcise me? Me? Her best friend? “Babe, you’ve got me fooled. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were about to, erh, kick me outta the house in a…very permanent way, if ya know what I mean.” I sit forward in my chair, waiting for the burst of laughter and the reassurance that I’m a dumbass and a complete idiot. I can’t believe you fell for it in the first place, she’d say, falling backwards as the hysterics pulled at her sides. I’d join in soon after…Azrael would bolt from all the sudden noise…and then all the terror and fear would have been worth it… Shit, it was hot. Had she cranked up the thermostat? Why was I noticing? “You’re scaring me,” I say softly, dropping down to the floor. My fingers begin to twitch, and I vaguely wonder if the marks they’re leaving will rival those of the little shithead’s. For the briefest of moments, Kelley pauses. She’s seemingly unsure of her next move, so I make mine.

“Babe, do you remember when we met? You nudged the chess piece on the board in the attic, and I started playing against you…or when I came down on Halloween and about made those kids shit a bluebird? Oh, how about when you brought home the bin of icing and we ate it all with our fingers while we watched that rainstorm blow through?” I flash a smile at her. I can still taste the icing. I focus on the faint sweetness of times gone by, on her troubled eyes. Her lips begin to move, and I brace for the onslaught of laughter in the way someone uselessly braces for a tidal wave. It never hits shore. I can only watch in horror as she begins to speak, not to me, but at me, her quiet voice twisting and contorting into the language written on the page. I feel the weight of it all sinking in and wonder why I can’t make myself act. Surely Kelley knows that I could. A couple of my signature tricks and this little exorcism would be over, just another blood-stained page in my book of bad memories. But I find myself unable to lift a finger as she gazes into my eyes. In them I see the nights we spent gabbing until the early hours of morning, shit-talking the people who’d done us wrong and wondering how we’d gotten to be the way we are. I see her delight when I managed to get that old radio working, even though the background noise made us want to smash it ten minutes into playing anything. I see the day we turned the walls of the basement into Rorschach’s paradise, the hours we spent afterwards deciphering the patterns we’d created. And in these visions, I find the answer to my question. I pray to god Kelley can see it too. She’s peering at me, her head almost tilted, eyebrow raised just a hair. She smiles sadly, a soft, precious thing, and resumes her chanting. Somehow, it’s far worse than if she’d cackled and bared her teeth, ‘cause at least then I could be sure that she was the enemy. Pain begins to spread through me, reaching to even the most remote corners of my being, tingly and sharp like a foot that’s been sat on for too long. I can’t tell if it’s from the ritual or the blow Kelley has delivered to what used to be my heart, though I suppose it doesn’t really matter anymore. “Why?” I manage to croak softly, reaching my trembling arm across the floor towards her. Kelley is still, serene. She is a queen upon her recently stained throne, the candles her followers. They’re all wondering if she’ll explain herself to the offender she is about to place a sentence on. I can’t take the silence anymore. For the first time in what feels like 100 years—and very well could be—I feel tears slide down my face. I don’t want to go back, but if she wants me gone, that will have to suffice.

“Oh gods.” Kelley’s voice is quiet, urgent. “You weren’t toying with me after all, were you?” There’s panic in her eyes as she stretches her hand out to take mine. “I’m so sorry—" Her fingers are slipping through empty air.

(HYPO)MANIAC Charcoal, graphite, pastel, and ink on paper Marlow Underwood

Hoverfly on Bull Thistle Stephanie Leaver

A million free lives denied last goodbyes, Denied a last hug, a forever-etched kiss. Why did it take such bold sacrifice? For birds to chirp again, for someone to miss.

Who is to be blamed, who started all this? How many pawns, their kings, knights and rooks? Nothing matters when the game's lost or won What's preached in the prayers and their holy books.

Life will move on, breathing lush carbon fumes, Treading on blue seas, soaring high up in skies, We'll weave our own stories of our tears and our loss of a time under the sun that flew butterflies.

Remember the Time Sayantan Basu

Late For an Important Date Renee Ming Cilluffo

Bumblebee on Pink Milkweed Stephanie Leaver

be chill. Ava Dziadzio

be chill. an anthem sung by an entire generation.

be calm, cool, easy amidst the searing flames and crumbling ruins that is the World.

be positive, find life’s great beauty. find wonderment in the colors, the laughs, the contentment.

linger in the releasing bliss, be mesmerized by it until it becomes

81 Meaningless.

don’t you dare look around. don’t you dare question. don’t you dare feel. don’t you dare get

Angry.

there’s no reason to, life is beautiful. you are content. you are chill.

The Laureate (2022 Edition)

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