LSUA Jongleur 2024

EricAlai

Editorial Staff of theJongleur

A’lysse Wallace: Editor-in-Chief, Photography Category, Contest Judge, Contest Certificates

Halie Fontenot: Editor, Fiction Category, Contest Judge, Contest Certificates

Seneca Cox: Poetry Editor, Poetry Category, Contest Judge

Bethany Lambing: Art Editor, Art Category, Contest Judge

Eric Alai: Managing Editor, Contest Manager, Contest Judge,

Front Cover: Artwork by Darrien Degrusha; design by Eric Alai

Back Cover: Artwork titled “Language Barrier” by Page Gardner

Front and back cover design by Eric Alai with assistance from Mira Parks Alvarado

The Jongleur is an annual publication of student work that is formatted and edited by a student staff. It is created for both the benefit of Louisiana State University at Alexandria and to project the voices of the students.

Jongleur

Louisiana State University at Alexandria

8100 Highway 71 South Alexandria, LA 71302

Individual authors and artists retain copyright. © Spring 2024.

Editor’s Letter and Acknowledgments

From the Staff of the Jongleur, we would like to personally thank those who have contributed to the 47th edition of the Jongleur. Every submission that we have received shows just how creative, skilled, and talented the students are here at LSUA!

Thank you to the editors of this year’s edition of the Jongleur: Seneca Cox, Halie Fontenot, and Bethany Lambing. All of your hard work toward the edition has not gone unnoticed!

The Staff would like to extend a huge thank you to Mr. Eric Alai for the utmost guidance, patience, and humor as we worked on this edition. The Staff would also like to thank Dr. Elizabeth Beard, Dr. Brenda Ellington, and Dr. Bernard Gallagher, and the College of Liberal Arts for establishing a platform and environment for creative students to display their talents.

Sincerely,

A’lysse Wallace and the 2024 Jongleur Staff

The MAN, The MYTH, The INSPIRATION!

Meet the Father of the Jongleur, Mr. Eric Alai!

A special thanks for always PUNCHING out the best ideas for our team to work with!

Editorial Staff of theJongleur

Halie Fontenot

Fiction Editor, Contest Judge, Formatting Director.

Currently a senior studying for a Bachelor of Arts in English and a Bachelor of Science in Psychology.

Halie plans to become a social worker for children in school.

Seneca Cox

Poetry Editor, Contest Judge.

Currently a junior. Holds an associate degree and is working on a Bachelor of Arts in English. Seneca will spend a semester at LSU as a part of the National Student Exchange in the Fall.

A’lysse Wallace

Editor-in-Chief, Photography Editor, Contest Judge.

Graduating Senior, Bachelor of Arts in English. A’lysse currently holds an Associate’s degree in General Studies. After graduation, she plans to pursue her master’s degree in English at the University of Louisiana at Monroe and begin a career as a professor.

Bethany Lambing

Art Editor, Contest Judge.

Graduating Senior, Bachelor of General Studies; Graphic Design

Concentration. She plans on becoming a ceramicist or a professional sewist / costume designer after graduation.

1st Place: Framed Memory by Delaney Merriman

2nd Place: Hot Dog Water by Savannah Callaway

3rd Place: The Good Shepherd by Harsimranjeet Sidhu

Honorable Mention: Language Barrier by Page Gardner

Untitled by Darrien Degrusha

Fiction

1st Place: Kellyland by Austin Southiseng

2nd Place: Deterus the Terrible by Hanlin Riddle

3rd Place: Only His Horse by Tanek Mouser

Honorable Mention: In Light of Eternity by Elizabeth Elliott

1st Place: Kellyland

Austin Southiseng

Wind beats against the brittle steel of the building. Voices ring harshly through the air and trace the room - cultivating disorder. Tremored hands clasp around a black lighter and carry a cigarette from his pocket to his mouth. A Friday night in the cold, dark grips of winter.

Incense filters the incensed air; a puff of freedom. Two animals with no patience for civility. Two animals snarling to instability. An unsteady snipe that they welcomed into their home; outstretched their hands to greet it, gently, and offered it a place to rest. A kindness so sweet directed towards deceit. Who could foresee it to grow up and sink its roots into the walls? To sprout its infection into every crack; every crease; every corner? Wind beats against the brittle steel of the building.

“...Your mother lives an hour away,” a somewhat quavering mouth spoke, “there is no reason to call her at this hour.”

“My mother was never fond of any of this.” She affirmed. A cigarette ash drops to the floor in the reflection of her eye.

“I just don’t get it! I’ve done nothing but provide for you and”

“This isn’t okay, Mark. I just can’t pretend anymore.” The woman coldly turned in apathy.

“Where are you going?!” His tone much louder now. Her calloused figure inches closer to the door; a silhouette cruelly moving in the pale moonlight seeping in from the window. With every step she takes, some sort of incandescence shines brighter deep within him. Intensity swiftly covets the room and a violent glow permeates the man’s movements. His filthy hands sweep her to the wall as he pushes his perverse frame onto her, freezing her motion. A dark outline of swine and swan stagnate momentarily. Silence briefly thumps a drum.

“Mark…”

“Don’t say another word.” A bewildered Mark quietly, yet sternly, ordered. “Am I clear?” A slight pause in her speech would suggest she considered his command, yet this stillness was inevitably temporary.

“This is why I have to leave, Mark! I’m sick of the abus”

“And, I’m sick of being married to a shrew!” His voice trailing towards a yell. She gasps and utters a few words more. “Get off of me!” Her voice, too, raising octaves. They scuffle shortly and, in struggling, her arm is forced through a window and lacerated severely. She screams in a hushed anguish to not alarm their sleeping children only rooms away. Another stasis separates her agony before she drops to the floor like a falling curtain. Mark intrepidly grabs a shard of glass and begins to slide it across her skin repeatedly; an abysmal screeching enough to alter the Earth’s rhythm. Blood leaks from her shell, coating the tundra of her flesh. Carving note after note into her - a melodious dirge. In eventuality, a curtain rises, but she does not. Mark stands there, half-appreciating the sight and dying tune. And, wind beats against the brittle steel of the building.

Mark trudges to the table in the center of the room to grab a bottle. LAMICTAL. And with a handful of crimson from her corroding body laying before the door, the bottle now rests empty in his palm.

A quarter of time has crawled by with no sign of tangible life inside Mark. He runs circles around the room in cold breaths, frantically clawing at bruises, repeating the same damn words: "Now she can't leave me! She can't leave! She can't leave! She can't leave! She can't leave! She can't-” The same damn words. Over. And over. And over. And over. Unending; unrelenting. Some form of chaos or psychosis has befallen Mark; wrapped its arms tight around his waist, cradled and kissed his body passionately. And all the while, Mark’s arms are wrapped around another - a chrome barrel. He looks down, plainly, upon his wife, waiting for any indication that she might still be breathing. Yet, there she sits: relaxed and tranquil. In any desperate attempt: a sedated jaw dryly yelled out to the sky, but only the Devil responded, because God wasn’t there.

And with her body displayed for us both to see, Mark locks his eyes to mine. A vision of Malice sketching itself into his pupils. Those eyes, etching and prying into my being; peering deep into my core. A gaze, only broken by vacancy: With one final scan of his surroundings, Mark clutches tight the trigger.

And, wind beats against the brittle steel of the building. Silence. A silence shrouding even the darkest trenches of existence. A silence with outstretched hands, inviting itself into the home, silently creeping through every existing molecule. Silent, still, and a lacking heart.

Isn’t life the most fragile thing? Months to cultivate it; years to perfect it; and minutes to destroy it. Such a beautiful cycle, ruined in fragments of images in broken frames. And, here, rests another broken frame, barely hanging on the wall an image of the two and a child in between them. Suddenly, and as if to answer an unspoken call, the silence is broken by the crying of coloring books.

“What have you done?” “Where have they gone?” “Tell me this is all just a prank!” “-It’s just a prank-” “-It’s just a prank-” “-It’s just”

What have I done? My hands are drenched in the same blood that lines the walls of this tomb. The child’s anxious body darts to the woman’s carcass, seeking for any semblance of humanity. The poor creature’s screams cut and tear through the framework of reality; a clump of mangled white noise lying somberly on my chest. I could have stopped it. I could have intervened. Why didn’t I? Why is it that I only watched in indifference and horror as this scene played out? Was I too stunned to speak? Too curious to turn away? Why are we humans so drawn to these cataclysms? Always fiending off another’s distress? Always slowing and crowding around to see a wreck on the roadside? Always pondering “What if it were me?”

Always seeking the worst outcome? Is it concern, or perhaps an uncertainty of death and all the things we're too afraid to know? Could I have stopped it? Could I have intervened? How will I continue to live with this song-and-dance routine constantly replaying in my head, overwhelming even my marrow?

“How could you do this?!” The child shrieked.

“It- it wasn’t me who-” My speech was interrupted by a tumultuous wail. A stream of tears squirm from the child’s face and alloy into the blood; a raspberry daydream. “There…was nothing that I could do!” Yet, another croak shifts the world on its side. Its body vibrating rapidly; a creature mirroring a child birthed from the wreckage and cloth stained in red. A monster outfitted in early adolescence.

“Why would you let this happen?” The beast whined. I choked down nearly every imperfection to construct a response.

“I- I don’t know…” I sighed, “I guess they just could not live with themselves.” I lie down on the pyramid of broken glass, exhausted. A hush surfaced and a muzzle remained. And, wind beats against the brittle steel of the building.

2nd Place: Deterus the Terrible

Hanlin Riddle

Not all life is beautiful.

Hearing me say this may make you think that I’m a negative person. You probably think I’m just some hateful pessimist, right? Well, let me explain myself.

I will admit that most life is beautiful. There are a lot of cool animals out there. I love dogs, for example. But not all life is beautiful. There is one species that not only consists of the most disgusting, putrid, revolting living creatures to exist, but are also, I would argue, greater scum than the worst humans who have ever lived.

That is why I spend a large portion of my life training to resist the fury of these creatures and prevent them from entering my house. But despite my greatest efforts… they still do

Luckily, I’m not bad at handling these monsters. I don’t mean to brag, but I’d say I'm better than the average person–mainly because of my intensive training. I regularly target practice with spray cans and all types of footwear. These creatures do tend to challenge me, yes, but because of my experience, I am typically able to win a battle against one of them without too much heartache.

However, there had once been a particular specimen, one foul enemy far worse than all the others of its kind, who had decided to dedicate its unwanted visit to tormenting me.

I was on my way to the bathroom when I saw it. I stood there frozen, paralyzed with fear. There, at the end of the hall opposite me, it lurked.

I call it Deterus. Deterus the Terrible. To this very day, it is still the most aggressive cockroach that I have ever faced.

I am a clean person. I vacuum the house once every two days. I dust every four days. I never, ever leave food sitting out.

I am a clean person. I am a GOOD PERSON. I did not deserve this. So explain to me: why must I, out of all the disgusting, unsanitary people on this earth, be forced to repeatedly face the scourge of Mother Nature herself?

Tense, I stared down the six-legged menace. It stared back, daring me to engage

Cockroaches are unpredictable. Each one has a different personality–a different “programming” if you will. One can never know how it will behave at first because each one

behaves in its own way. And so did Deterus. That is why I watched it carefully. I had to figure out just what kind of cockroach it was. I knew that it would try to outsmart me, to surprise me, to catch me off-guard. I would not give it the slightest chance.

I slowly reached for my right foot to arm myself with the cockroach’s most common enemy: the tennis shoe. When one must face a cockroach, one must be armed as quickly as possible with a proper weapon. I am usually partial to using a battle ax or a flamethrower, but I decided that the shoe would suffice for the time being.

And that is when it made its first move.

At the twitch of an antenna, Deterus the Terrible sprinted up the hall towards where I stood. Having been balancing on my left foot while removing my right shoe, the shock of Deterus’s sudden movement caused me to lose my balance and fall to the floor. Immediately I sat up and looked ahead. Deterus was mere feet away from me, staring me down again. Mocking me for having made a fool of myself.

Wasting no time, I lunged for my shoe. Gripping it in my hand, I reeled it back, and slammed it to the floor where Deterus stood. Except it had stood there no more. In the blink of an eye, it skittered past me and along the wall towards the kitchen.

Of course! I thought to myself. It’s plan was to startle me as a distraction so that it could get past and make a break for all of my food!

I got to my feet and scrambled up the hall to meet with my oppressor. It was just like a cockroach to do anything it could to contaminate the food supply of its victims! Cockroaches are able to survive without human food, as their natural diet consists of rodent droppings, rotten snake eggs, the souls of the damned, and each other. However, a cockroach's hunger of the stomach is second in priority to its hunger for torment, so a cockroach tends to go out of its way to steal from us humans first.

(I’ve never actually fact-checked if cockroaches are cannibals, but I don’t think I have to. It would be completely in-character for a cockroach to value its own hunger over its friends and family. Would you GENUINELY be surprised if you found out that cockroaches are cannibals? I didn’t think so.)

I reached the kitchen. I quickly looked around to see where the fiend had skittered off to. For a split-second, I saw it. Deterus had skittered behind the fridge just as I had caught sight of it.

Deterus was a natural at infiltrating human territory. The cockroach knew exactly how to escape my authority: by hiding in the most inconvenient crevasse in the area and refusing to come out. That day was clearly not the first time Deterus had wreaked havoc on a human’s house. I was dealing with an experienced cockroach.

Its cowardly move was inconvenient, yes. And it was annoying, of course. But I knew better than to even consider giving up. If you give a cockroach an inch, it will not only take a mile, but it will also take everything you hold dear. Then it will eventually take over the world, but the Reign of Cockroaches shouldn’t happen for at least a few hundred more years.

I needed to move the fridge away from the wall. After doing a couple quick pre-workout stretches (I would never risk pulling a glute over a cockroach), I held my shoe with my teeth and squatted down, ready to begin moving the fridge. I could not have simply put the shoe down, as that would have left me unarmed, which I could not have afforded.

I first moved the left side of the fridge only an inch or so out. If I had moved it too much, Deterus would have had a clear path of escape. I also had to be slow, as I had lots of unorganized junk sitting on top of my fridge which would surely fall if I was not careful.

I peeked behind to see if I could spot the demon-on-Earth. But the shadow of the fridge made it too dark to spot my target. I decided to move the fridge another inch. Doing so was risky, but I needed to be sure that I could clearly spot the roach.

I looked behind the fridge again, but the area was still too dark. Rather than risk moving the fridge farther, I suddenly remembered something helpful.

I looked atop the fridge. Among the junk was one of my spare In-Case-Of-Cockroach flashlights!

I reached for the flashlight. But right as I did, I stopped. Still gripping my shoe between my teeth, I felt my jaw tighten in fear.

The dreaded cockroach was sitting right on top of it. Mocking me once again.

Before I had even a moment to react, Deterus villainously leapt from the flashlight and skittered down the front of the fridge. I returned my shoe to my hand. I did not plan to let it get away again.

I chased the cockroach throughout the kitchen, continuously slamming my tennis shoe to the ground, but never striking its wretched body. The thing is, I don’t work well under pressure. And cockroaches put me under a lot of pressure. Whenever I’m training, I can shoe-strike my

targets with precision that would make Robin Hood cry and Katniss Everdeen wet herself. But the moment I’m face-to-face with a real cockroach, my fear tends to take over.

Focus, I told myself. Take a deep breath.

Both Deterus and I stopped for a moment. It looked me dead in the eyes with a look of hatred. My eyes locked on my enemy. And as my shoe came down upon the mighty cockroach, I could almost feel its heart stop beating.

You may think that this is where the story ends. Well, you’re a fool for thinking so.

First of all, cockroaches don’t have hearts because they’re evil. You have to understand this by now. And secondly, a true roach-hunter knows that a cockroach is never truly defeated. Cockroaches are immortal.

So after having kept the shoe firmly pressed over its “corpse” for a solid 8 minutes, I released the shoe. Deterus lied there still as a statue. A disgusting, germ-infested statue.

Knowing that it was not dead, I did not take my eyes off of Deterus’s “corpse” as I made my way to the cabinet under the kitchen sink, where one of my cans of Dr. Nightmare’s Super Roach Annihilation Spray Deluxe remained. This was sure to knock Deterus out cold for a good, long while. Keep in mind that I said “knock it out cold.” This spray would not kill Deterus either because, like I said, cockroaches are immortal. But all one must do to overcome a cockroach rampage is to temporarily subdue it so that it can be properly disposed of.

With my eyes still locked onto Deterus, I opened the cabinet and reached in for the can of Dr. Nightmare’s Spray. I felt around for it until my hand found the familiar shape of the cylindrical can. Pulling the can out, I felt my tension begin to subside. Deterus was done for.

I slowly inched my way back to where my enemy lied still. Popping off the lid of the can, I aimed at my target.

But just as I began to launch the spray to the floor, Deterus sprang to life.

And that’s when the cockroach flew.

It couldn’t have been! But it was. Deterus the Terrible was a flying cockroach.

Yes… I remember my first run-in with an airborne roach. Good old Empress Amelia. I didn’t know at the time that there had been such a thing as flying cockroaches. I had only been a child then. An ignorant, innocent child who had to learn the hard way… when the Empress had flown directly at me to take me by surprise.

Surprisingly, that was not what Deterus did at that moment. I was expecting it to fly right at me, to remind me of the death of my innocence once again. To devour any spark of happiness I had left in this cruel, roach-infested world.

Fortunately for me, Deterus, despite being a mighty behemoth, was also quite cowardly. Rather than fly at me, it decided to fly away and back down the hall once more.

The surprise made me jump and drop the can of Dr. Nightmare’s Spray. It was all part of Deterus’s plan. It had played dead until my guard had been completely lowered. Then it had taken its chance to escape again. That fiend! That absolute menace!

Without wasting another second, I grabbed the can of Dr. Nightmare’s from the floor and sprinted down the hall in pursuit of the creature. I would not let my guard down again.

Why must cockroaches be blessed with the gift of flight? They would have already been the most powerful creatures on the planet WITHOUT wings! Humanity would be better off if bears had chainsaws, or if snakes were made out of fire! Of all creatures, why must the ultimate entity that is the cockroach have this blessing?!

I stayed on the path of Deterus the Terrible as it entered my bedroom. Once I arrived there, I watched in horror as it landed right on my bed.

Every cockroach that I am forced to face in my life tends to present me with some kind of trial when tasked with defeating it. Sometimes, the cockroach is sitting on something that I care about, soiling every inch of it with its scum-of-the-Earth cockroach filth. Sometimes, it hides somewhere hard to reach and manages to make it infuriating and tedious to defeat. And occasionally, it takes me by surprise and turns out to be a flying cockroach. So far, Deterus has managed to do all of these things and more.

Deciding that it could not have possibly gotten worse than it already had, I stayed firm and moved in. Don’t get me wrong: I was upset that this filthy, disgusting creature had the nerve to lay its satanic claws upon where I lay at night. But this had happened to me before. I’d just burn my sheets and mattress and get new bedding the next day. It wasn’t like I'd be able to sleep that night, anyway.

Approaching my oppressor, I aim my arsenal right at it. Wasting no time, I unleash the fury of Dr. Nightmare onto Deterus.

The creature flips over onto its back, as cockroaches do when they are defeated. I continue hosing it down for a solid 20 seconds. Then I cease fire and watch with anticipation,

waiting for the roach’s squirming to stop as an indication of a surrender. But the squirming doesn’t stop.

Deterus had the highest endurance I had ever seen. To this day, I’ve never faced another cockroach able to resist the power of Dr. Nightmare’s Spray for as long as Deterus had. Captain Crygar the Tyrant had survived the spray for a good while, but even that one had eventually submitted.

I was beginning to feel uneasy with how long Deterus was squirming. Then the unexpected happened: Deterus flipped back onto its legs, as if it was faking the pain all along! And before I could react, it took to the air and flew right at me!

Panicked, I flailed my arms around to keep it away. My arsenal, the can of Dr. Nightmare’s Spray, slipped out of my hand and rolled under the bed. After a moment of pure terror, I lowered my arms. I looked around to see where the roach could have ended up, but I saw it nowhere in the room… until I looked at my left arm.

And there it was. Right on my forearm. Deterus the Terrible was touching me. It was slowly infecting my body with its microscopic germ-demons.

I immediately smack Deterus off of my arm with the back of my right hand. The cockroach does not take kindly to this gesture. Deterus begins to furiously fly all over the room, likely preparing to attack me head on.

My greatest nightmare had become a reality. That day, Deterus violated my once perfect body. I would have rather face-planted into a pile of human waste than allowed a cockroach to touch my bare, virgin skin. I can bathe as many times as I want, but from that day until the moment that I die, a piece of my soul will always bear a faint stench of cockroach.

At that moment, a level of rage that I had previously never known began to come over me. I would not let Deterus reign in my house for a moment longer after what it did to me. I decided right then and there that it was time Deterus the Terrible was defeated once and for all, and that its defeat would be painful and agonizing.

Luckily, I had an emergency plan in case I had ever met with such a powerful foe as Deterus. During the cockroach’s airborne rampage across the room, I slowly began to back up–without taking my eyes off the roach–until I was right in front of my dresser. I firmly rammed the dresser with my elbow. From the top fell my emergency can of Dr. Nightmare’s Super Roach Annihilation Spray Deluxe, which I smoothly caught in my hand, action movie-style.

Except this was no ordinary can of Dr. Nightmare’s. This can consist of a formula that I myself concocted. In addition to the original Dr. Nightmare’s formula, I added a mix of gasoline, vinegar, shredded onions and garlic, holy water, and a pinch of pepper. I had been saving this can for an absolutely dire emergency, and it seemed as if that emergency was upon me.

The sound of me ramming the dresser with my elbow provoked Deterus to finally land at the foot of my bed. It watched me, challenging me one final time to make a move, as it did when I first encountered it in the hall. I glared back, challenging it all the same. Deterus no longer had plans of fleeing from my wrath. And I was ready to face its own.

Deterus flew right at me. I popped the lid of my arsenal off and took aim.

And just as it was about to lay its unholy fury upon me, I unleashed my revenge onto the gaping maw of Deterus the Terrible.

It fluttered to the floor. And there it lied, finally defeated, slowly losing motion in its painfully squirming legs. Its body was flipped upside-down once again, taunting the above world with its fading breath and germ-infested underside.

Once it had fallen to the ground, I opened the can of spray and dumped all of its contents onto the body of Deterus. I then repeatedly stomped it with the shoe that was still on my foot. I didn’t need to do any of this; I was certain that the creature had surrendered for good. But I wanted to make the pain of its defeat a misery that it would remember for the rest of its immortal existence.

The horror was over. The hero (me) reigned supreme despite all previous adversity. But I did not feel victorious. “Why?” you may ask. I had finally succeeded in overcoming this “unimportant, minor inconvenience” that I’m sure you would consider it to have been. So how could I not feel completely gratified by my triumph?

Well, that day, Deterus took one thing from me that I will never have again: The sanctity of my once not cockroach-touched body. I was once completely content with my physical appearance, but now, every time I look in the mirror, I see a filthy cockroach. So, in the end, I was the true loser.

I first thought that I may need to have my arm amputated at some point in my life, as the touch of a cockroach would likely cause it to begin rotting while I’m still alive.

But then I decided that that was a bit of a ridiculous thought. It was just a cockroach. A simple six-hour shower would be enough, given that I use bleach instead of water and boiling acid instead of soap.

Once the tension in my body began to dwindle, I went to the bathroom and tore off half a roll’s worth of toilet paper. Then I went to grab the defeated body of Deterus. I used a lot of toilet paper so that it would be as easy as possible to grab the roach without the slightest risk of it touching me again.

“You wasteful hog,” you say in response to my excessive use of toilet paper.

“I’ve been violated, so I’ll do whatever I want. Sue me in a court of law, I DARE YOU,” I say in protest to your entitled, privileged whining.

And after dumping the body of that wretched, havoc-wreaking monster into the toilet, I finally treated myself to the bathroom break that I was pursuing before I had first met the monster. Then I pushed the handle and watched as Deterus spun down the drain.

So, now you may understand why I don’t think that all life is beautiful. Cockroaches are forms of life, and they could not be farther from the definition of beauty. Despite this fact, however, I felt a newfound perspective on these wretched creatures after having dealt with Deterus. There is one characteristic of the cockroach that I learned to respect: resilience. Nothing in this universe can truly defeat a cockroach because it is a resilient, unstoppable creature. I aspire to match the level of resilience that a cockroach has.

I had this epiphany as I was watching Deterus flush away. As it went down the drain, I saw it, very quickly, twitch its antenna.

I was not surprised. I knew that nothing could truly defeat Deterus the Terrible. Cockroaches are immortal, after all.

3rd Place: Only His Horse

Tanek Mouser

The doctor sat astride his horse at the crossroads. He could turn right and ride the long way around the forest and make it to the village with the cholera outbreak in two or so days, or he could keep going straight through the looming woods and be there by dawn.

According to the villagers in the nearby settlement, the woods were said to be cursed. People went in one end and never came back out. Most likely it was base superstition. The doctor was above that, and people were dying. The choice was simple, he would go through the forest.

Soon the towering trees encased him, and the lowering sun began to dim. It would be dark, he realized. Even if the moon showed full this night the light would be caught by the trees. It would be dim in the woods. The tree branches already fragmented the fading light of the sun, and they would only obfuscate the moon's slim rays even more. He didn’t worry much though. His horse was sure foote, and the path, though somewhat overgrown from disuse, was smooth enough.

He rode on.

The villagers were stupid to be afraid of this road. They talked of beasts in the woods or brigands in the trees, but he had nary seen a bird or rabbit in the hour or so since he’d begun riding, and if the villagers were telling the truth there was not enough traffic to keep a band of men entrenched in these lonely woods. Perhaps an escaped prisoner or some other lone ne'er-do well might be hiding out here, but still there was no game and the path looked undisturbed. He was alone out here. The villagers were jumping at shadows.

The doctor rode on. The sun sank lower. A wind kicked up rattling the tree limbs and piercing through the woods. The doctor could only imagine how windy it would be out on the plains around the woods.

Night descended slowly in the midst of the forest. The pressing wind clattered branch against branch above, and the doctor had to gather his cloak around him as the temperature dropped with the fading of the light. Soon all was dark. The trees loomed like twisted sentinels,

their branches breaking the light from the moon into tiny fractures like the strings of some giant spider's web.

The fading of the light necessitated slower going, and so the doctor dozed in the saddle while he could. He awoke sometime later to the continued rhythmic step of his horse and the clattering sigh of the wind through the trees. The doctor opened his eyes. It was still, deep night and not much had changed. The woods we’re still dark. He was still riding, but glancing around he had the feeling something was off. There was an oddness that he couldn’t quite pickup on.

Then he noticed.

Amongst the breaks in the trees, illuminated only barely by the broken light from the moon, we’re figures. Tall figures slowly moving.

The doctor pulled up on the reins and looked around. They were everywhere. The doctor was frozen in place. There were dozens, some further away, some closer. The doctor had no weapon, a few scalpels and knives in his bag, but he couldn’t reach those now, and against a band of armed men he had no chance. What, then, was he to do? He dared not call out in the unlikely event they hadn’t spotted him. His horse was his greatest asset. The horse's speed could save him. He readied himself to bolt but refrained from moving. He watched the figures closely, perhaps they would simply pass him by. As he watched the figures continued their slow movements seeming to sway lightly. Were the figures drunk? Sleep deprived maybe? The doctor wondered at this as he watched them, and then he realized…

The figures were drawing towards him.

The doctor grabbed the reins and heard a rushing of wind through the woods. A major gust was smashing its way through the treetops, and as it drew near, the figures, as if on cue, leapt forward lunging towards the doctor. Without another thought the doctor kicked his horse and they began a headlong flight into the woods. The doctor tried to stay on the path, but the fear and darkness made it near impossible. He was worried his horse would break a leg or otherwise fall, but he couldn’t afford to worry about that when who knows who is out there chasing him.

Branches and foliage whipped at his face and arms as his horse carried him into the trees. Somehow, though his horse was running at great speed, the figures were managing to keep up with him. He would catch glimpses of them through the trees, though they didn’t stay in sight for long. He tried desperately to follow the figures with his eyes whipping his head to and fro as he

rode, trying to see how they were keeping up with him, but the trees would not let him catch more than a glimpse of the figures.

Suddenly, the doctor's horse began to skid. The doctor's head snapped forward and he saw ahead of him one of the figures directly ahead. It looked immense, tall and wispy like the reaper himself come to take the doctor away. The doctor leaned back in his saddle trying to distance himself from the figure, and at the same time his horse's skid turned into a rearing and the doctor tumbled from the saddle.

The horse bolted, and the doctor scrambled to his feet. The figure swayed above him and seemed to have raised an arm as if to strike him down. The doctor had no time to think, and his feet carried him away from the figure, away from the way his horse had gone. He tripped and stumbled through the tangle of trees, roots, bushes slamming his feet against rocks, scraping his hands as he fell or stumbled into trees. He moved as quickly as he could, but the figures remained all around him. His route zigged and zagged as he strove to dodge one pursuer after the other until he plunged downward slamming against the ground hard.

The doctor found himself in a small embankment, the earthen ridge he had plunged from behind him, a fallen tree on the other side, and a mess of small plant growth at the other end. The tree made a small hollow with the ground the way it had fallen, and the doctor took this as his refuge pulling himself as deeply as he could and curling up trying to make himself as hidden as possible.

There the doctor lay listening. His heart beating fast, and his breathing labored. The only sound he heard was the roaring of his blood, his gasping breaths, and the rushing of the wind. He expected to be found at any moment. To have a knife driven into his hiding place. To hear the approach of men, but the sound never came. For long hours the doctor lay in his hollow until the wind died down and the sun began to lighten the forest.

Then the doctor rose and peered above the embankment. He could see the figures. They were the bones of hanged men dangling from tree branches. All around him were men strung up by the neck. There were even a few animals strung up by a tail, neck, or leg. Birds, foxes, even the bones of a deer. They swayed eerily in the dying sighs of the night's wind. All of the corpses and their nooses were covered in leafy vines that bound their bones and kept the skeletons from falling to pieces. He approached one of the lightly swaying corpses. Noting a number of other

empty nooses hanging from trees. The closer he came to the corpse the more intrigued and frightened he became.

The corpse was clean. All that remained of what used to be a man was the bone and any metal or stone he may have been wearing. Cloth, flesh, and sinew were all gone. The doctor drew up to the hanging bones and peered close. The vines tying the skeleton together wound all throughout the corpse literally tying the man together. The doctor wondered why one would string up so many people. Was it a warning? Some sick form of trophy for brigands? Some form of Justice to leave the bodies of the hanged whiteout burial?

The doctor's curiosity piqued he leaned forward trying to get a close look at the rope tied around the bodies neck. The vines seemed to sprout from the rope as though it were the stem and not a rope… sickeningly the doctor realized these were no ropes. The bodies throughout the woods were strung up by vines. The doctor stepped back in surprise. Why would anyone use vines to string people up?

The doctor backed away peering up into the canopy of the forest. The vine seemed to extend all the way up to the tops of the tall trees. No one would have been able to throw a vine up that high. It must have been thirty feet in the air. The doctor had seen men struggle with a branch not even ten feet off the ground. Perhaps they climb the trees the doctor considered.

Claiming his neck back and straining his eyes trying to see the knot tying the vine to some faraway branch, the doctor took a step back and felt something rough brush against the back of his neck. Before he could do anything else the roughness spun around to the doctor's throat. The doctor's neck was now in a loop. Quickly the thing tightened down on his neck and raised the doctor into the air crushing his windpipe. The doctor tried to gasp. He Raised his hands and clutched at the thing trying to pull it away. It was a vine constructed so tight around his throat that he couldn’t slip even the tip of a finger between it and his neck.

The doctor hung there floundering as the vine constructed even more. Lances of pain shot into the veins of his neck, and he felt the warm wetness of blood oozing down to his chest. He felt even more lances of pain and saw tendrils from the vine shooting out into his hands. The vine was growing into him.

The vine was eating him.

Honorable Mention: In Light of Eternity

Elizabeth Elliott

I knew God’s man and woman as they were meant to be. Before their eyes carried tears and their hands held blood. I saw God’s Eden as it should have looked forever. Before death’s disgusting fingers caught trees by their roots and creatures by their tails.

I was counted by God amongst the behemoths and leviathans. They were my brothers and sisters. Before the Great Flood stole them from me.

I remember watching the man and the woman thriving. They loved to walk in the sun, in the breeze, in the grass. When it would rain, I would walk with them. In those days, my wings were undamaged.

Perfect.

Pure.

I would hide them from the showers as white fingers of bright light touched the ground ever so slightly. Some days, when I was in a jesting mood, I’d close my wings and open the skies for them. They would always laugh, and we would chase each other through the orchards of fruit trees that stretched beyond what even my eyes could see.

When night would finally fall over the garden, I would find many creatures beneath my wings, curled together for warmth. All the while, I could feel the presence of God surrounding me, even in the places I wasn’t present, places I couldn’t see.

But the man and the woman… The fools… They disobeyed…

In a way, I feel responsible. I wasn’t there to ward off the serpent, to aid and encourage them in the right path. I wasn’t there for them. Perhaps that is why all life was cursed.

None of us, not the animals, not the trees, the lakes, the rivers, the flowers, the rain, were there for the man and the woman.

But we hadn’t known! We hadn’t known about the serpent’s guile! He was one of us, a child of the garden! Had he not had good intentions like the rest of us?! Was he not pure like the rest of us?! Why had he deceived them?! Why had he led them astray?!

It wasn’t really their fault, then…they’d been lied to… Were they really at fault? Were any of us, aside from the snake, at fault? I couldn’t bear the thought that all this rested on me. I believed that losing Eden was the worst of it.

How wrong I was…

In the same way we had been given life, life was taken from a sheep. Out of nothing. I knew her, the sheep. She had never wronged a soul, never held ill will against anyone. She donated her wool to make beds for the largest and smallest of animals. Any kind. Every kind. She was generous. She was sacrificial. Perhaps that was why she had been sacrificed. Perhaps, in her selflessness, she had volunteered. I will never know.

Only God knows.

To this day, I still mourn her life. I will never forget the sight of her blood spilled over the grass, over the man and woman. They were given clothes made of her wool and skin. There was an outcry that day from all of life, a cry of rage, of grief, of hate. Emotions we had never felt before.

Loss begot loss after loss. The woman’s children killed. They killed plants. They killed animals. They killed each other. They killed and so God killed them. He killed them, and he killed my friends, my people, the leviathans, the behemoths, the dragons. My people. Gone.

Their bodies were strewn across the earth, which had become a lesser form of itself, a sadder, muted version. The gods of the plants and animals had, in a matter of days, lost their thrones and lay dead amongst their subjects.

I was tempted to feel bitter and angry at God. All of life was. We hated mankind. Moreover, we became afraid of them. Life and death were held in their fickle, whimsy choices. What they did affected all of us, at least, those of us who remained.

I went to God as an advocate. We wanted answers, a cure for our grief, some way to reverse all the horror that had befallen us so quickly.

“I will provide a way, my most loved child, and I’ll provide it soon.”

Soon! The word “soon” was an encouragement to me. “How soon, O Lord! How soon is soon? A day? A week? A month? A year?”

“What is a day in light of eternity? What is a thousand years? When I say “soon”, I say it with forever in mind.”

I was nothing short of crestfallen. What was I supposed to tell those who were waiting on an answer from me? A thousand years? Soon? God sensed my despair and came beside me. “I am providing a way for man to make himself right with me. It will come to pass. My word always comes to pass.”

“But how? How will man return into your good grace, Lord?”

“For now, they must offer sacrifices when they wrong each other.”

“Sacrifices? They are to sacrifice themselves?”

“No, my child. They are to present blood as atonement, but not their own blood. They will spill the blood of your kind. Sheep, cows, goats, doves, pigeons. They will burn everything over which they have dominion.”

This was His plan? The eternal death of plant and animal life? Utterly broken, I wept at God’s feet. “My Lord, why? Why have you forsaken your people! My people! Why must we die in the place of man and woman?”

God gently wiped the tears that had gathered in my eyes. “My beautiful child, this is the consequence of man’s foolishness, his disobedience. It has not only affected mankind, but life as creation has known it. But soon, I will provide a way, a way that will stop the shedding of blood.”

“How soon, O Lord? How soon is soon?”

“I will provide. I am Jehovah-Jireh.”

I hung my head, feeling defeated, yet humbled. The Lord will provide. We, the children of creation, wait in hiding for God’s providence. We hide for our safety – humans cannot hurt us if they cannot find us. We hide and we wait for the day when heaven is returned to earth, when the glory of God will rest again on the heads of men once and for all.

One day…one day soon. Because what is a thousand years in light of eternity?

And Then She Smokes Another

Madalyn Thrash

Virginia Frances LeBlanc sits in her vanity chair, staring into brown, sullen eyes she doesn’t recognize as her own. She feels she is looking at her momma when she has those glazedover eyes after tippin’ too many bottles. Somehow, Virginia has to accept that she is not seeing her momma but her own image. Though, her image is similar to her momma’s. They both have that angry, defeated look in their eyes. They have that look of a lost soul, lost wherever drugs and alcohol transport them. Who knows where that place is?

Well, Virginia hopes that place is where she can eat again. It sounds silly, but she really wishes she could eat a good meal without the scorching burn of guilt. Every bite, even of her favorite desserts, turns to ashes and bits of burning dust in her mouth that scald her throat. -

Virginia lights a cigarette and takes a drag. She glances at the reflection of her sink water brown, gelled waves now waving about in her vision, mourning how the locks used to pass her shoulders. Her eyes then draw to the postcard from her past suitor of only a few months ago, an image of a lady staring back at her with the same gelled locks as Virginia.

Virginia turns her heavy head to face her wardrobe. Oh, the magic held in that chest. It’s been locked in that dusty, faded box since beginning that damn diet barely a year ago.

Perhaps an effect of the drug, the alcohol in her veins, or both, she moseys to that closet and throws the doors open. For a second, that desperate magic smacks her heart, a breath of an invite to where her soul wants to go. Virginia grips that invite with white knuckles as she plunges her hand into the sea of old night-out dresses.

She lays a dress across her vanity chair delicately, as if it were a crime she is indulging in this trip for her soul. With the tips of her fingers, she grasps the white off-the-shoulder fringes winking with rhinestones in the lamplight. Her palm lightly glides down the soft velvet of the bodice.

Virginia slides her coffee-stained dress off without thinking, examining her bound-down breasts and pressing shapewear. Tears escape her eyes.

After dressing in her ghost-colored night dress, she snuffs crumble of cocaine and lights another cigarette.

Jack Richard Acrement. Once a name that held handsome looks and romantic daydreams now brings the image of a nose-up-turned JACKass!

Well, Virginia fell in love with this man from New Orleans in the deep south of Louisiana. When he traveled to Belle Chasse for a stay in a country outskirts, where Virginia is from and lives, he brought with him the attractive charm of the city. When her eyes met his baby blue eyes and clean swept hair about as black as his boots, she damn near dropped her tray of breakfast plates!

Every time Virginia saw Jack in the diner, she found herself either stopping by his table, clearing his empty cups from the bar, or ringing up his bill at the cash register.

Finally, one bright day in the book of Virginia, Jack asked her out on a date that was to be an evening stroll around 7:oo p.m., when the summer heat cools its temper. That date was the most romantic experience of Virginia’s life! She couldn’t believe her efforts to plant seeds of romance in this man produced a plant.

All was well, taking day trips to New Orleans with Jack for several months. She enjoyed the hustle and bustle and the majestic view of the tall buildings. Her favorite part was the dress shopping, the matching gloves, and the cute hats! She’d try an outfit or two on, get Richard’s approval, and take them home.

The day the thunderstorm came was while trailing about Virginia’s favorite dress shop, she noticed Jack examining the looks of another woman admiring a red, fringed dress. And while Virginia couldn’t blame him to a degree, she began to itch in her own skin, with that woman’s short, gelled hair in those beautiful shiny waves, the straight line of her thin body and flat chest. Her lips puckered when she smiled.

From that day on, the rain kept pouring.

“You know, Virginia,” Jack began one day on their way to New Orleans. “I should pick you up a pack of cigarettes. I heard that the cigarette diet is in fashion as the diet of the 1920s! It seems some women that are choosing to ‘reach for a Lucky’ are seeing real results!”

“Why do I need to “

“Oh, dear! Don’t think I don’t still love you. But just picture your body, your breasts a couple of inches smaller, your hips slightly less curved. How stunning you’d be in all your dresses! If you had a look like that, I might have to beat a man up!”

Time went on, and Virginia adhered to Jack’s suggestion to keep to the cigarette diet. Virginia knows to this day that in the back of her mind, she wasn’t skipping meals at night for cigarettes every day for Jack only, but for the way his eyes followed the blonde beauty in the dress shop that one day. She remembered her appearance, including her lack of inches all over her body!

There came a day that Jack kissed his lover goodbye, for he had a trip where he must stay in New Orleans, and Virginia was instructed not to visit him! One lonely evening, she discovered a piece of mail left in her vanity chair. She opened it, and it revealed a postcard from Jack! She was elated but soon dejected when she saw the postcard was of a lovely woman, similar looking to the woman she saw in the dress shop! She thought her eyes deceived her, or maybe it was the trick of the strange white substance called cocaine that Jack introduced her to. But that woman on the postcard looked just like that dress shop woman! So, even more obsessed with her, Virginia decided to adopt the city fashion and get her locks cut short! She started styling it with gel in the same fashion as the dress shop woman and the woman on the postcard. Perhaps, Jack would notice when he returned from his business trip!

The rain came pouring down harder than it ever had. Dear Virginia met the end of her love story.

Virginia started noticing that Jack’s business trip had grown longer than three months. An unholy knot formed in her stomach the morning she realized this while pouring a local gentleman’s coffee. Her ears began to ring as she realized Jack had quit calling the diner to greet her every morning from his “office.” Her work became so busy that it took her five days to notice.

Where, oh where, was her dear Jack?!

Her ears rang louder the next morning. What she saw out that diner window, she swore the drugs hadn’t worn off from the night before! She saw the swoop of gelled blonde hair poking out from a familiar automobile one of the few automobiles in Belle Chasse and by far the cleanest!

Virginia grasps the vanity chair’s back as she recalls this page of her tragedy.

Virginia watched the dress shop lady’s thin leg step out of the automobile. She was wearing that red dress she was examining the day she caught her dear Jack watching her. She almost vomited in the tray of lunch plates when she watched him step out from the driver’s side and wrap his arms around the dress shop woman’s paper-thin waist. To Virginia’s embarrassment, she dropped the tray when she watched him smash his mouth to her puckered, cherry lips.

Virginia intuitively knew that the postcard she received had been an omen all along. A nasty omen she wished to brand as an effect of her diluted head.

Virginia lights another cigarette. Feelings of worthlessness, anger, and all the feelings in between came flooding back, quickening her pulse.

It doesn’t matter that it’s been months since she lost Jack to a prettier, thinner woman. It doesn’t matter one lick. All that matters is she tried for him. In her heart of hearts, she tried. She gave up her utmost favorite meals and replaced them with cigarettes. Now, she can’t rip herself from snorting the last doses of cocaine left from the supply Jack gave her to help calm her nerves and hunger from the lack of nutrition.

Her shoulder bones are protruding, her rib cage yawning out from under her heart, yet she still feels too full, as if she will bust through her own skin.

And the only thing that doesn’t turn to ashes in her mouth is her cigarettes.

“Will this thunderstorm run out of rain?” she cries. And then, she lights another cigarette and smokes it. And then she smokes another.

Then one other.

Keeping Count

Taylor Gardner

The happiest day of my life, I remember all 86,400 seconds.

The first 28,800 seconds were how we were every morning. I rolled over in bed, eager for a kiss, but you already headed downstairs. Trying to stop you before you left was a race and you always finished in first. The sound of you rambling on the phone and your infectious laugh fills the space of the kitchen. There’s a sudden stillness as I wrap my arms around your waist. If the silence was a film, it would sweep every best picture category in the 1910s. You turn to look at me, our eyes barely have time to meet before you rush out the door. I shout your name as you scurry down the driveway. You turn around and kiss me, but this feels different. “I love you,” escapes my lips in a whisper to no reply. The sound of tires leaving the pavement ring through my ears, I wave from the window and trek back upstairs. Today was the day.

The first 57,600 seconds into the day, was when I found it. It was bigger than I expected but I wasn’t too fond of the cut or color. I slid it back inside your bedside table with the sly smirk of a child who got into the cookie jar. I rushed to prepare your favorite meal in anticipation of the news. Vegetarian lasagna with Italian soup, and a bottle of red wine adorned the decorated dinner table. I laid out the dinner plates we bought when we moved in together, my reflection gleaming off of them the same as the first time we used them. I sat sipping the crimson drink, eagerly waiting for you to come through the door as I did every other night. Another 7,200 seconds passed before I heard your keys jingling in the doorway. You apologized once before sitting across from me and not saying a word. The silence once again telling stories I can’t begin to write. You barely touched your food, taking small bites, and excusing yourself to take a phone call upstairs.

The first 75,600 seconds into the day was when you discovered I knew your secret. It hit you like a trainwreck, I ruined everything you had planned. You got down on your knees, I don’t think I’ve seen you more emotional. The tears streaming down your face, echoes of please and I love you hugged my ears. That was all I wanted to hear, the shaking of regret in your voice. I reached for you for two years but you were gone. A love that was once just mine had become shared with someone else. My castle crumbled but you kept building with no room for me.

A full 86,400 seconds passed, the moon providing the only light as I drove down an empty road. The glimmer from the moonlight, a foreshadowing of my future without you.

The happiest day of my life was when I walked out of yours.

No Way Out

Nico Pastore

It was the afternoon, and the streets were packed with people. I saw this very appealing lady in the city I was walking around in. For some reason she caught my attention, and she was paying attention to me as well from afar. She was like a magnet and drew me in. It was like she wanted me to follow her. So that is what I did. I was behind her every step of the way, but it was still a distance between us. We walked around for a while and turned on every corner it seemed like. I noticed she went down this water drain sewer that was blocked off by construction cones and nobody seemed to have paid attention to her. I walked to the sewer drain and looked down in it. I could see her walking down the ladder. It was quite wide enough for a normal size person to climb down. At that point any kind of sense I had left me.

I started to climb down the ladder, and I could see her walking off when she got to the bottom and then she left my field of vision. As I got closer to the end, I noticed this black emptiness behind the ladder as if there was nothing there, no wall or anything. It felt evil and I did not want to be near it. I had an overwhelming sense of fear not to accidentally fall in that black emptiness because if I did, I knew there was no coming out of it. As I climbed down and my feet hit the floor, I began looking for the lady. I was now in a weird underground room with no kind of walls connecting to the floor. It was just darkness all around me, but I could see the floor I was walking on. The area was big enough to see everything around me and I did not see her. I went back to the ladder and try to climb back up but as I went up, I noticed the hole I came into was not there anymore. It was covered up and part of the ceiling now. I rushed back down to the room and tried to find some kind of secret entrance door. I felt like a hamster going around in circles. There was no door to get out. I was panicking and freaking out! I began to believe the lady that led me in there was not what she appeared to be. What’s so strange about this whole thing is that I never even saw her face, but I was drawn to follow her and don’t know why. It was a trap by this entity, and I knew I was stuck down there and there was no way out and nobody to help me.

Nothing

Tanek Mouser

The lights would have to go off. Mark came to that inevitable conclusion looking out the airlock window that had saved his life. Beyond that thin piece of steel, where once had been a hallway with branching rooms for different equipment and storage, was now the empty void of space. Some massive piece of space debris had unexpectedly collided with the station at high speed roughly an hour ago. The subsequent loss of pressure, venting of oxygen, and destruction of the reactor core had left the station with approximately three weeks of power at current consumption levels. Mark had already sent out a distress signal and received a response. A rescue crew was on the way, but they would arrive in three and a half weeks.

Mark was now stranded on the Edge of the Observable Universe station, the EOU, or as it was commonly called the “nothing” station. The station observed the space beyond the universe. Mark was being flung along with the very outside pieces of Big Bang debris into the void beyond space all alone. The station was manned by a single person. Most of the systems were able to be controlled by automation, so mark was simply there to observe and or repair any damage to the station. The purpose of the station was to monitor current rates of universe expansion and for anything interesting that might be beyond the universe. The station observed nothing. Mark was hurtling into nothing.

Mark looked one more time at the empty space beyond the airlock. He turned them and made his way back into the station. The lights would have to go off he thought again. By his math if he cut the lights, set the radio to ping every hour so the rescue ship could maintain an idea of where he was while reducing the consumption of the radio, and cut all other nonessential systems he would have ten more minutes of power than he would need to keep himself alive until the rescue ship arrived.

Ten minutes was not much, though. Mark didn’t like those numbers. If a small air leak, some error in his calculations, even an errant heat loss he hadn’t accounted for existed his ten minutes would evaporate like water in the sun. That’s where the batteries came in.

Mark had made haste when he awoke to the blaring alarms and ripping metal of the reactor's destruction. He’d repaired what little there was that needed to be repaired to ensure the

station’s integrity, gathered up all the emergency supplies, calculated the remaining power, and made his realization about the lights. Now he donned his insulated suit and made his way to the backup battery bank. He had all of the battery powered equipment there. He’d dump all of their power into the backup bank and buy himself an additional three hours of power. Three hours wasn’t much, but it could be the difference between makes life and death. With the extra power added to the supply, Mark punched in his commands for power consumption and set the backup supply.

The station grew quieter, and the lights went out. There was still the background hum of the life support systems providing heat and oxygen recycling, but it was much quieter without the other systems. Mark had expected that silence, though, what he hadn’t expected was the oppressive darkness. There was just nothing. No input to his eyes only dark, oppressive, inky blackness.

After a moment of shock, Mark did realize it made sense. The portion of the station mark was in now had no windows facing the universe. All of the ports for the part of the station he was in now faced the edge of the universe, and at the edge of the universe there were no stars.

The touchscreens were gone too. All of the computer screens. Mark had turned off everything with light. He’d anticipated the dark, though not as much dark as there was, he’d moved the food, water, and emergency medical supplies to his room. The computer now set Mark made his way back through the station, stumbling in the dark and using his memory and a hand along the wall to guide him. He made it back to the airlock door to his room and pressed the button that opened the door. Crossing the floor and tripping over the supplies he made it to his bed and took a seat. The last hour had been full of frantic action. Now Mark was left with the question of what to do. Mark settled on sleeping. The destruction of the station had occurred in the middle of his sleep cycle. Mark closed his eyes and drifted off quickly.

Mark awoke. He opened his eyes, or at least he thought he did. The darkness made it difficult to tell whether his eyes were open or closed. He wondered how long he’d slept. He began to rise from his bed. He would check the main computer… but he couldn’t it was shut down. Mark had no way to tell the time. No way to tell the date. He could have slept for moments, hours, days, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t know for how long.

Panic began to grip Mark. He was restless and nervous. He was trapped, unable to escape his fate or do anything to change it. He was paralyzed for a long time, or perhaps it was only a moment, before he decided to organize his supplies in the dark.

Mark groped around finally finding the food and began to sort it. The task occupied him for a while before he grew hungry. To satiate his hunger, he ate. He grew thirsty so he drank. He grew tired so he slept. All the while he remained in a prison of darkness alternating between panic and calm. Mark had nothing holding him to the universe other than the artificial gravity and the low hum of the stations systems. He passed time like that. Alternating between drinking, eating, sleeping, exercising in the dark, pacing in the dark. Occasionally he left his room to wander the stations darkened hallways and rooms, though he tried to limit his excursions in order to conserve the power that would be used on the door actuators. He made a game of his excursions when he did leave trying to navigate from his room to other parts of the ship without injuring himself. One time while playing this game he wandered into the main room of the station and walked into the great glass window that faced the void in the opposite direction of the stars. He pressed against the frigid glass and wondered at the thinness procreating him from the void. His wonder began to change. What if the glass was to shatter? What if he were to spill into space? What if the glass weren’t there. The thoughts terrorized him, and he threw himself away from the glass falling over monitors banks and stairs as he fled through the dark. More time passed in the eternal night. Until, after what felt like an eternity and a second, Mark heard it. A deep thud from somewhere in the station. Mark perked up alert. He would need to check on this if something else had impacted the station he’d need to repair it or risk suffocating as the air leaked from the station. So, Mark emerged from his room and began to move through the dark. As he moved through the station, he began to hear the noise more and more. It became rhythmic. A deep resonate thud… thud… thud. The sound grew louder as Mark wandered through the station growing to a crescendo as he made his way to the other end of the remaining station. Thud… Thud… Thud. That was coming from what Mark thought was the air recyclers. If the air recyclers were damaged that would be dangerous. Mark hurried his way through the hallways as the sound grew ever louder. THUD… THUD… THUD… Mark made it to the door, heard the sound resonating from beyond, and pressed the button. The door slammed open, and the sound stopped. All was quiet again.

The hair on the back of Mark’s neck stood on end and he slowly backed away from the door feeling his way behind him. Suddenly he saw something somehow. A darker darkness billowing in front of him, lunging at him. Mark turned and ran stumbling, falling, crawling desperately moving as quickly as he could to his room. He made it there pressing the doors butting repeatedly, frantic to get in. The door opened and Mark bolted in falling over the strewn food and water containers. On his hands and knees, he felt for an area to hide and crawled under his bed. He pushed himself as far back into the space as he could and began to listen, slowing his breathing. As his breathing slowed, he heard nothing. All was quiet.

From that points Mark began to stay under his bed terrified of the dark. He woke and slept fitfully shaking, waiting. It was grueling watching the dark, not wanting to move, breathing slowly like a hunted animal.

More or less time passed. Mark remained under his bed watching, until he ran out of water. For as long as he dared, he lay there thirst drying his throat and burning his head. The thrust drove him from under the bed and into the halls. Maybe he had missed some water somewhere. He thought he’d had plenty of water to wait for the rescue. Maybe the rescue was late. Maybe the thing in the air recyclers room was stealing his water. No matter what he was thirsty and thinking hurt his head.

So, Mark crept through the halls crouching and creeping. Before long he began to hear something faintly sounding through the halls. It was a light rapping, as if against glass. Mark didn’t want to go towards the sound, but there was nothing else to make for. Perhaps the rescue team had arrived and were trying to make their way in, knocking against the door.

Reluctantly Mark made his way through the dark station edging closer to the sound. Just as with the air recyclers it grew louder as he approached, but never more than what one would expect from a person knocking at a door. Eventually Mark drew near the sound. It was mere feet ahead of him. Mark held out a hand towards the sound and touched the glass window. The rapping ceased at his touch. The air grew tense, and Mark drew a breath. Then a great sound came from the glass as though someone had taken a hammer to the window and Mark felt the glass fracture beneath his hand.

Mark fell backwards and scrambled through the darkness trying to make his way back to his room. He had to get back to his room, to the space under his bed, to safety. He ran headlong through the station in the direction he thought was his room. Soon he came to a door and began

to slam his fist against the open-door button with reckless abandon. He could hear the rapping behind him, see shapes in the dark. They were here, the void was coming to get him, the nothing was here. Suddenly with a great Mouser 6 whoosh the door opened. Air blew through the doorway sweeping Mark out. He was in space now. His ears burst, He fell into the void. There was no sound. There was no light. There was nothing to feel. There was… Nothing… Nothing… Nothing. Nothing.

Pest Control

Tanek Mouser

The wizard had tried everything to rid the village of rats. First, he had simply set about killing every rodent he’d seen. A quick fireball would fry the buggers. A combination of inefficiency, complaints about the scorching of crops, and the burning down of a small house led to the Wizards decision to change tactic. Thus, for many days the wizard thought about what his next solution would be. Many a night he spent studying rodent anatomy, historical cases of rodent infestation, and drawing up detailed plans for how he could complete the destruction of the rodent's nest.

Finally, the nagging of the village alderman had worn on the wizard, and he’d decided on a plan. He procured a big sack of grain, drew a magic circle in a field and spread the grain out. Then, the wizard hopped into a bush and waited to unleash a jet of magic that would fry the rats where they stood. Unfortunately, the grain only succeeded in attracting a large swath of crows who, once satisfied with the wizard's grain, began to eat the villager’s crops. Needless to say, the wizard, at least according to the alderman, now had two problems to solve.

So, the wizard returned to the drawing board and, after much study in the natural predators of rodents and birds procured a couple of cats. After much experimentation with adjusting the cat's size, number of teeth, number of eyes, and tail length, the wizard had created the most lethal form of feline the world had ever seen. A test of three of the perfected felines showed promising results as two of the cats showed a marked increase in rodent and bird control measures, the third of the wizard's felines spontaneously combusted, a small side effect of the modification process only seen in about a fourth of the specimens.

With the cats optimized, the wizard released them into the wild and waited. It did not take long for a small smattering of the villagers and the alderman to pay a visit to the wizard.

“One of your cat monstrosity’s bit me left pinky toe off,” complained one villager.

“It ate all of me cows,” complained another “me poor heifers didn’t deserve that, and now I don’t gots any milk.”

“Your cat abominations snuck in me house at night and stole all of my potatoes.” Another whined.

The alderman rubbed his temples pensively and joined in “get rid of the cats. They’ve served their purpose. I won’t pay until they’re gone wizard.”

The wizard was gob smacked, simply bamboozled, positively discombobulated. These people were angry that he had done the very thing they asked him. Of course there were some issues! He was working on the very cutting edge of pest control methods. The wizard toyed with the idea of turning the townspeople into small lizards, but he didn’t want to risk garnering the reputation that some wizards had, so he assured the villagers he would fix the situation and retired to his study to mull it over. After several more days of thoughts and villager complaint the wizard had a grand idea. If introducing a predator had worked once, it would work again.

Thus, the wizard procured a fine dog. Back at his study the wizard set about the same process as with the cats and modified the dog to be more cunning, faster, and to have thumbs. In this way the wizard planned to give the dog, who already had a size advantage, equal footing with cats in the realms of intelligence and agility. With the dog modified suitably all the wizard needed to do was duplicate the dog, a trivial task for one as skilled as the wizard. So, within the next several days the wizard created an army of canines to defeat his malformed felines.

At their completion the wizard released the dogs into the wild and retired to his chambers for the night. The next morning the wizard had hardly woken when a loud, angry rapping came from his front door. The wizard wondered who it could, be and answered rubbing his eyes. A wave of angry vitriol assayed him. The villagers had once again come to complain.

“Your dogs had me sign a loan with my house as collateral, and when I couldn’t pay interest took my house and turned it into a cobbler's shop!” One villager shouted.

“Your dogs gave my son a comprehensive liberal education and now he’s taken up arms against the king!” Growled another.

“Your dogs bought up all of the bread makers in town and monopolized the bread industry for profit. A loaf costs three weeks wages now, and don’t even get me started on the price of cake.” A third moaned.

“I’ve had it with you wizard!” The alderman shouted, “I’m going to hire a hunter and we want you out of the county.”

The wizard was cowed by the shouting and angry remarks and simply agreed that he would leave within the next few days. As the wizard prepared to leave a few days later he glanced out of the window and happened to see the huntsman the villagers must have hired

making his way towards the village. The wizard thought quickly and decided that he had a way to make amends for his earlier mistakes and to revise the villager's opinion of him.

The wizard hurried out his front door and caught the attention of the huntsman. The wizard asked the huntsman if he would be interested in making his pay in half the time. The wizard explained he wanted no compensation from the village or the huntsman and only wanted to make up for the trouble he had caused.

The huntsman considered for a time, obviously warned of the wizard by the village folk, but eventually he gave in and said to the wizard, “If you can get me me pay in half the time, I’ll take you up on your offer.”

The wizard beamed and insisted that the huntsman come into the wizard's home so they could get started right away. That very evening the huntsman and the wizard got to work. For three days after all was quiet, and the wizard believed he would soon be seeing the smiling faces of the villagers coming to praise him for making things right. Just then a rapping sounded from the door and the wizard hopped up ready to welcome the adoration of the villagers, but when he opened the door, it was not smiles that greeted him, but scowls.

“Those copies of that huntsman you created have destroyed everything. Sure, they took care of the dog abomination, cat monstrosities, crows, and the rats, but they hunted the rabbits to extinction, expunged the snails, and slaughtered our pachyderms!” One villager shouted.

“They’ve even flooded the local electoral system and loaded the local offices with each other. I’m not even alderman anymore!” Said the ex-alderman.

The wizard was disheartened listening to how his plan had gone awry. He promised he would right things that very day, and if he could not that he would seek out a powerful wizard that could. With that the villagers told him this was the last straw; he would be facing a wizard burning if he didn’t fix this. The wizard assured them he’d do everything he could and returned to his study to consider the problem. He paced and thought until his eyes alighted on his reflection in his mirror. That was it. What he needed now was more thinking power. The wizard grinned. What he needed now was copies of himself.

What Happened to Him?

Macie St. Romain

I never liked to play games. Someone always loses and is never happy about it. This could just be the bitterness talking. I was supposed to be happily married right now. My house was supposed to be our house. His dog was supposed to be our dog. Instead all I have is a truckload of grief and an overactive mutt he called Lola. I sit alone in my house with my brain running marathons.

Adam and I were sitting at the kitchen table, the one we had picked out together. Pictures of different centerpieces scattered about its dark surface. “Lilies or roses?” I had asked. Of course he didn’t care which way. He didn’t know the difference between the two. Chicken or steak? Church or wedding venue? So many decisions and conversations for one day that never came to pass. Peace lilies or carnations? Mahogany or oak coffin? Burial or mausoleum? So many decisions for a day I never thought would pass.

The night my fiancé died, I was out with some friends. They were just a few girls I had known from work. Instead of letting me sit home with the dog, they had decided to throw me an impromptu bachelorette party. The party was simple; it was just a nice dinner and some dancing afterwards. I came home to blinding red and blue lights. Apparently, the neighbors had heard some cries from Lola. The neighbors thought maybe the dog was stuck or hurt. Instead, they found Adam’s body lying on the grass in the backyard.

I’m pulled from my thoughts by Lola’s pitiful cries. I look over and it’s past time to feed her. I walk outside toward her food bowl with Lola at my heels. While pouring the food, I peek over at the shed and notice it: the yellow tennis ball Lola had lost months ago. I walk over to pick it up and spot something else poking out just under the shed. I pick up the shiny object and wipe the loose dirt away. I see the dark clock face and the two hands telling me the time. The watch looks oddly familiar. I’ve seen this watch on Julian’s wrist before. Julian, my high school best friend turned boyfriend who is now the sheriff. The same Julian who messaged me just days after Adam’s death telling me that he’s here if I want to talk. I go into the house and run the watch under the faucet. Three initials appear under the dirt: JMJ. Julian Mitchell Jones.

Why was his watch under my shed? When was Julian at my house? I haven’t spoken to Julian since high school other than when we crossed paths at the grocery store. Now that I think

about it, we crossed paths an awful lot for it to just be coincidental. It all comes crashing into me like a tsunami. I slide down the kitchen cabinets and sit on the floor next to the sink. Julian was always at the grocery store the same time I went to the store every Thursday at five. He would always bring up our fun high school memories and ask about my relationship with Adam. The one time I mentioned he and I were having a small argument, Julian’s face seemed to light up. He had insisted on giving me his number and I took it reluctantly.

“How’s that guy you’re seeing?” He asked one Thursday. Julian knew his name but refused to use it. He always resorted to calling Adam “that guy.”

“Adam’s great. We’re actually getting married in a few weeks” I replied. Julian’s easy smile quickly turned to anger. Julian mumbled goodbyes then took off down the hardware aisle.

I pick up the phone and dial Julian’s number. “Hey, Julian. It’s Evelyn. Would you want to maybe have dinner tonight? My house, say eight o’clock?” I ask the deep voice on the other end of the phone. The voice sounds overjoyed and quickly agrees. I don’t miss the fact that I never gave him my address nor did he ask for it. Julian shows up on my front porch all the same, five minutes early. He is wearing a nice button-up with slacks and holding a bottle of wine. I never changed out of my same ripped jeans and Rolling Stones t-shirt from earlier.

“Hey. I’m glad you could make it. Come in. We can sit in the kitchen,” I tell Julian with a tight smile.

“Sounds great,” Julian says. “What’s for dinner?”

“Let's sit and talk” I reply, this time not faking a smile. Julian’s smile doesn’t waver. He pulls out a chair for me before taking the seat next to it. “Have you gotten any leads about Adam’s death?” I ask innocently.

“No, unfortunately we still don’t know anything,” he says looking a little deflated.

“That’s strange because I think I may have found something,” I say looking dead into his eyes as I set his watch on the table between us.

Julian’s face drops. His eyes are wide when he asks with a shaky voice, “A watch? What’s that gonna do?”

“It’s going to do a lot seeing as it’s the only evidence you left,” I reply with anger lacing my voice as I begin to stand.

“You weren’t supposed to find out. It doesn’t matter anyways. Now we can finally be together!” Julian says rising with me. He doesn’t look like a man who’s been caught for murder. He looks overjoyed.

“Finally be together? What is that supposed to mean?” I practically yell at him.

“I love you. I have always loved you! Don’t you see? Now that Adam is gone, we can be together. Nothing is holding you back!” says Julian with hope in his eyes.

“I’m not going to be with you! You murdered my fiancé! I am going to the police, and you will be caught,” I tell him with disgust.

“No you’re not,” I hear him mumble before lunging at me. I quickly step out of the way but not quick enough. Julian’s hand grips my forearm. Reaching over to the dinner table, I grab the bottle of wine and crash it into Julian’s head. He stumbles backward across the wine-soaked floor. This is my chance. My feet hit hard against the wooden floor as I make my way into the bedroom. I feel around in the dark to find it: Adam’s gun hidden in the nightstand drawer.

Julian’s heavy steps come closer towards me. I tighten my grip on the firearm as my heart races. A dark shadow covers the doorway. I feel the gunshot reverberate through my body.

Poetry

1st Place: Seize the Day by Spencer Bordelon

2nd Place: Arachnia by Austin Monk-Southiseng

3rd Place: Life Is by Alexandria Bradford

Honorable Mention: Midnights by Kaleigh Stutson

1st Place: Seize the Day

Spencer Bordelon

Soldiers ride on white steeds

Paid dirt cheap for their dirty deeds

Possessed by fear to to spread it wide

Peace shatters, hopes subside

Ride through a land, uninvited

Ignore the weary cries

Fight head to head, morals misguided

By a throne built of lies

Young lives end in vain

Lost in time like tears in rain

Friend turned foe by word of king

Choir of pain, hear them sing

Devils cheer and angels weep

Bloodshot eyes, no more sleep

No tears to cry, no toll too steep

Hate the strong and kill the weak

Crimson days are all I see

A slave to freedom all I’ll be

I pray to god to take my sight

It’s still unknown why we must fight

Kill for your right to kill them more

Forced to wage a devil’s war

Lend me your courage, for I have no more

All for a cause we shouldn’t die for

My tortured soul desires peace

My mind a prison, freedom nigh

Death our savior, it comforts me

Too young to live, but not to die

So hear me, all, and turn the light

Toward the very root of our hopeless plight

Our true enemies, behind the lines

The very men we should despise

Let freedom ring, and sow the seeds

No longer pawns or tools of greed

Turn towards the elite who condemn us so

Seize the day and deal the final blow

2nd Place: Arachnia

Austin Monk-Southiseng

rain falls heavy on my shattered mirror a soiled, vacant pool of life before me my hands dip further into the water revealing flawless wastes for me to see come clip your wings into the ebb and flow disentangle me 'til i can't breathe disentangle me below the season of the uncertain faerie if cut and dry routines could clear my mind i'd frame myself a victim of this storm and wash my hands clean a thousand times to witness your enclosure. i'm a swarm of red velvet rain bugs that cloud the room rain falls heavy in the absence of you.

3rd Place: Life Is

Alexandria Bradford

Life is a single word with numerous definitions.

Its meaning varies depending on who has the mic.

It could be said it’s magical.

Or maybe it’s just an illusion. Movement of the hands using sleight

Life is the sum of a lot of things except predictability.

Its only guarantees are death and taxes.

Not money, peace, or even love

Just a promise that what’s owed will be paid and the body will return to ashes.

Life can be cruel, cold, and callous.

Forcing you to deal with loss and grief. Hearing no so many times you forget the sound of a yes

Then faster than light and sound it becomes sweet. surreal, and hopeful

Charging you up like a group of children ready for recess

Life is a question with a multitude of answers.

It’s an oxymoron, entendre, and a doubleedged sword.

It’s beating the odds and overcoming obstacles.

It’s betting on yourself.

Life is taking seeds of doubt.

And watching them bear fruit of success.

It’s pulling an all nighter

And still flunking the test

Life is a risk.

Its dreams made tangible.

Walking a tight rope with net

Sometimes it calls for radical.

Life is art.

It’s subjective to whoever is in the audience.

The grandest of stages

So, take the center with confidence.

Life is more than a dash between sunrise and sunset.

It’s freeze frames and moments that pass by with speed.

It’s hello, good-byes, I love you.

Hugs, handshakes, kisses, wants and needs.

Life is a cycle.

It’s you, me, they, them, hers and his

Its universal shared experiences

Life just is

Honorable Mention: Midnights

Kaleigh Stutson

life is a journey full of surprises the day that i met you i was full of disguises i was shy and timid whole and sweet i wouldn’t ever show you what’s underneath you peeled away at me layer by layer knocked down my walls my answered prayer you fell in love with the mess that i call life you loved me day in and day out all through my midnights.

From the moment I saw two pink lines

And heard your first heartbeat,

For My Girls

Kaegan Verret

You’ve had me wrapped around your finger,

Though only a tiny seed.

I grew more and more anxious,

With every hiccup, kick, and twirl.

More anxious for your arrival

And to hold my baby girl.

The first time that I held you, Time seemed to cease.

For a moment, the world stood still.

A flooding sense of peace.

How quickly days pass by

As I watch you start to sprout.

No longer a babe in my arms,

But a girl eager to stand out.

May you always feel my love,

Even when the storms blow through.

And know that you always have a friend.

When it seems, the world turns its back on you.

I pray that you always know your worth, And greet each moment with grace.

Remember to be gentle, love hard, And always keep your faith.

And when it’s time to blossom, May you do so with care.

You’re more precious than you’ll ever know.

For you, my darling, are quite rare.

It is unfair to be stuck but not.

Flake

Anais Callegari

I may not live in the snow, But, in the woods, I stay in a little cabin.

Snowflakes fall and in my vision, they slow,

They drift leisurely so I see all that may happen.

People question those that step out of cabins;

They are snow covered and often cold. Snowflake watchers shake more than many imagine,

And, out of everything, only their thoughts are bold.

It was outside the snowfield, when she was younger,

With words she would consistently stumble. Despite the interactions the girl would hunger,

Each of her efforts would crumble.

A question was asked and she knew what to reply,

For this answer, her hand remained down at her side.

Internally, a response flows from her mind–so why?

Snowflakes were falling and she was staying inside.

Teased for skin, eyes, and cotton hair, Dreadful days for snowflake covered girls.

As jolly, warm students walk on air, In a cabin, the wind will always swirl.

She dwelled there back then, though she’s moved,

A place where kids could be uneasy and cry.

While many say her “temperament” improved,

In those days they called her shy.

In her teens she could not speak her mind, And defense felt like a terrible crime.

Even if the delicate girl looked kind, She found a new cabin to stay in this time.

With age comes avalanches worth of forces, Pressure to become someone you know you’re not.

And though these feelings fall from different sources,

The biggest snowslide happens outside the small cabin plot.

When one wants to prevent a blizzard, There are lessons that cabin girls have to learn.

“No” is the word to use to prevent flurry from being triggered,

But the word is tricky to use; necessity tough to discern.

Many times she couldn’t even celebrate an event,

Despite constant insistence and invitation.

In sadness, she would remain stormed in and content,

And everyone partied knowing snowflake girls are bad at communication.

She would stay in this cabin more frequently than the last,

To prevent snowballs hitting her face labeled “no fun” in writing. Instead they hit her window, but she was used to being harassed, In those days they called her unexciting.

From this cabin I had moved as well, A new one now: the exterior was nice, internally...decrepit. Anyone who has been inside can easily tell, The girl inside could hardly help it.

Despite past names, I am now called many things,

A bad employee and one lacking in passion When life has plucked the feathers of a cabin girl’s wings, They tend to fall so, to life, it is hard to fasten.

Now that I am older, it is called anxiousness, With few cabin visitors, this snowfall is my own. Trudging through the heavy fall with only callousness, Snowflakes are much heavier when you are grown.

I may not live in the snow, But, in the woods, I stay in a little cabin.

Snowflakes fall and in my vision, they slow,

And drift leisurely so I see all that may happen.

The cold rain, feeling it in my lungs, almost imitates pain. But what more could someone like me ask for?

A chance to feel air in my lungs, alive. A chance to heal.

Autumn

Kaleigh Stutson

Love (noun)

Kaleigh Stutson

I have this amazing concept of love, that it heals all.

Love will carry me, and never let me fall.

Love is tea and a book.

Love is beige.

Love is caramel cappuccinos.

It’s “Let’s get coffee!” after a long day. It warms the heart, makes me cry. Love hurts.

It breaks my heart sometimes.

Love is pain.

Love is beauty.

Love is everything and anything. Love is cuddling up and watching my favorite movie.

It’s a broken heart being fixed, a cup of coffee being poured.

It’s a poem written out, a guy opening her car door.

I have this amazing concept of love, but maybe it’s not for me.

Platonically, yes, but nothing romantically. Love can heal my wounds. Love can kiss me goodnight. Flowers, words, pictures, and more, but for me it’s never quite right.

I have a concept of love, one I’ve never known to be true, not for me anyway, because who am I that you’d want to pursue?

Glass shattered under a flesh veil

Tough Love

Nicholas Blood

Blood runs, but all you do is point your guns

Guess that is what you call “tough love”

Leave him as a damaged shell of who he was

You won’t like who he becomes

But it’s fine, it’s just “tough love”

Treat her like a white cloth, thrown away when she gets dirty

Once she’s no longer soft, you won’t care if she is hurting

If you abandon her, don’t you dare say it’s “tough love”

You hold a knife in your left hand, a bandage in your right

Your poison makes our veins blacker than the darkest night

From the inside, you tear us with your claws

After all of this hurt you’ve caused

You say, “it’s the cost of love.” Who’s the buyer?

And the ones who don’t want it, you’ll throw in the fire

Funny, you care to claim for others, then leave them with fears

And when nobody is looking, you won’t wipe their tears

For many, you have tarnished the name of the love you claim

But don’t be surprised, if you didn’t bother to love them the same

Tell me, do you think what you are doing is right,

Or do you do as you’re told and not put up a fight?

Train kids to be soldiers of hate in your crusade

And to help keep up the masquerade

If they grow up, and your “tough love”, they don’t support

We can hope you treat them better than the ones who came before

Somewhere Dark between a Mushroom Cloud and a Place where Stones Don’t Grow

Austin Monk-Southiseng

mark me with your vacant words and bleach my skin beneath your dismay. dress me in your favorite shape. aren’t i so comfortable now? i was waiting to see the grin on your face but your being sprung violently into the dirt before my feet could grudge crookedly and swiftly enough to reach your sunken frame. and you’re the same discomforted and open soul that i last saw in the sand. old ghosts don’t hide from the earth - a lucid dream would never project the same motion as the actuality of the stars.

ed’s song

Austin Monk-Southiseng

i just need a moment to not be myself stuck in this shell all the time your company is something i cannot help eyes that drill into my mind don't look at me

i was waiting on the sun to rise it all comes down, it all comes down i said i'd buy my time from someone else; shedding skin breakfast in the bathroom sink again think i need a minute up all night on hunger strike

to teach myself a lesson in self-destruction

i can tell you things about you never knew i'd see right through you ornaments of open legs that eat right through you

i was waiting on a plane to rise it all comes down, it all comes down i said i'd buy my time from someone else; shedding skin i was waiting on a train to leave so i could throw up all of me i bite off all my skin still couldn't lose anything

Gate Keeper

Jamie Lynn Martin

She has always been the keeper of her shadows, collecting them like little trinkets, rusted by the cold.

Madness is a place she finds solace more often than most, and it’s the only place she feels safe.

Pandora is best kept sealed, Its fury has no compassion for the weak, for the pure of heart hope seeking souls desperate to take a peek.

Curiosity can be dangerous when you’re waking up the devil, forcing your scent under his nose, inviting him to feast.

So, she kneels at the mercy of his belly, latching the key beneath her prayers. Her sword was a birthright, inheriting the blood that comes with it.

Penance must be paid. She has a sadness, a vulnerability, sending smoke signals with her eyes. Humanity burning her sins, demanding their pound of flesh. She waits, surrendering her sleep, waiting for her release.

The Fireman

Harsimranjeet Sidhu

The alert goes off, and he looks at me, Horns and sirens, red and blue, He wears a vest, and not a cape.

Says he’ll be back in a few.

Not everyone can wear his shoes, That guy, now dressed in blue.

There’s someone who might need him more.

But I want him back too.

“This will go off, and it’s very loud,

If I miss a beat, or few.

We’re trained for this, but just in case,

Just know, that I love you.”

He turns around just one more time

I see courage but longing too

Will there be more or was that it?

I wave, scream “I love you too”

He often asks, “What would you like?”

“Please come back, alive, will you?”

I can jump into a fire for him

He jumps for strangers too.

“They are just like us, who lose their homes

Dreams and lives just gone like that

You’ll want someone, to get me out too, if flames wrapped me like that.

There’s a father that we need at home,

Mom’s okay, but Daddy’s cool.

“When you’re taking out the fire and flames,

Keep their dad safe for me too?”

And if someday you say goodbye

We’ll find you, in the stars and moon.

I’ll raise them big and kiss them twice.

And say “Daddy loves you too”

And then one day they’ll bring you out

On your arm, they’ll rest me too

I’ll get to keep you forever this time

“I’m finally home.” “I know, me too.”

She’s like a storm

Like a Storm

Heather Allen

Not the traffic lined up for miles on the rainsoaked pavement

But the songs you sing along to as you’re mesmerized by the beauty of the taillights and traffic lights reflecting on the sheen sheen surface

She’s like a storm

Not the worry of the wind blowing you away

But the cool, damp breeze that whispers away a bit of the weight of the world and helps you breathe a sweet sigh of solace

She’s like a storm

Not the rumble of thunder rolling in the distance

But the beating of your heart whenever you feel her presence near

She’s like a storm

Not the crack of lightning webbing across the sky as the electricity fills the air

But the spark that courses through your veins every time your eyes meet and you feel her touch

She’s like a storm

Not the floods that cause doom and drowning

But the waters that nourish the abundance of life all around

She’s like a storm

Not the calculated chaos of sirens and shelters, but the perpetual peace your soul has longed for like the rain finally dampening the dry Saharan dust

I heard a story about someone who met a guy. It was fun!

She wrote him letters that were never sent. She daydreamed at night. It was innocent.

She thought of him every day. Hoping to see him and become something.

She dreamed of picnics. She dreamed of pets. “This looks like you!” They’d laugh and laugh.

She was a romantic, a hopeless soul. She drowns in love, desperate and cold.

You see this wasn’t the first time this had happened, each time that it did the girl’s soul would sadden.

She lived and breathed hopelessly searching for someone to love her, who finds her deserving.

Without him, you see, she’ll fall apart. She’s alone and homely, a breaking heart.

This girl had a best friend

Hopeless and Hopeful

Kaleigh Stutson

who was also in love, Except, this was different, this was ordained from above.

She was perfect and funny, kind and true.

He laughed at her jokes. He loved her too.

She wrote him little notes and brought him food. Her love showed up and showed out, through and through.

There were times of trouble and times of peace. Each time it was the two of them, perfectly unique.

She was a romantic, a hopeful soul. She drowns in love, funny and bold.

Time after time, boy after boy, she loves and she learns, a bundle of joy.

She searched for home and found it time and time again. She loved love, but she didn’t need a man.

Without him, you see, she’s still a work of art, she’s amazing and beautiful a genial heart.

The hopeful romantic is optimistic and free, but her best friend,

the hopeless romantic, She’s me.

Poem for LSUA

Justice Sensebe

Beneath the heavens, the sun will rise,

God’s promises, etched into the morning skies.

The sky, God’s canvas, adorned with his holy paint,

A masterpiece representing love, without constraint.

Among the stars that twinkle in the midnight sky,

I marvel at the Creator’s artistry up high.

May the constellations guide my wandering soul,

Towards a path of faith, making broken spirits whole.

At night when I lay my head down to dream,

I see God’s face, a light filled beam.

In such a beam, I see glimpses of eternity as time dies,

I bow my head out of respect to the creator of skies.

In fields of gold, where sunlight dances free,

I pray that God above hears my plea,

“Please Lord, let the sun shine just one more day,

And from your path, may I never stray.”

A Gentle Calling

With love and gentleness, the Lord God almighty is calling.

For he knows already that you and I are falling. Still, he seeks no man’s applause. Yet he died for a greater cause. Many would know him. But would choose not to serve him.

Carlie Ewing

A blood-stricken tree was his plea for All of humanity.

A selfless act from the savior you see. would bring the key to our eternal destiny.

I ask you again my friend will you hear the Lord God Almighty’s desperate plea for your eternity.

I Am

Bridgette Robinson

You ask who I am? Well, I am the wind that whispers through the trees.

Who Am I?!

The land you dare to seize. I am the sun without shade. The stride in your proudful wade. The seconds in your decade.

Who Am I?!

Truth wanting to speak when lies flutter your soul making you weak. I am the air breath. Blood when you bleed. The heartbeat within you. Your thoughts processed brain molecules. The scratch of the itch you can’t reach. I AM the word for you to preach.

Who Am I?!

I am the will and the way. The strong and the brave. The need you feel when your want is great. I am the King of the sparrows. The straight and the narrow. Alpha and Omega. The beginning and the end. The first. The Last. Your weakness and your strength.

I AM your tears and laughter. Your creator. Your Grafter.

I AM the reason why, the way, the truth, and the light. I AM! I AM!

Stargazer

Kozinski Jones

A great spectacle formed long before my time presently spent in this world, I look upon the skies, witnessing the wonder,

An everlasting curiosity only shown as the simplest thing,

Giving a sense of fullness to a space that seems so empty, Giving me clarity. Giving me joy.

I find nothing but peace within the infinite embrace,

The lights becoming more of a beacon of hope in each day that I look,

And as I sink lower into the depths of my own despair,

The stars that carelessly dot themselves among the night skies become clearer,

And when I reach out to them,

I feel nothing but the warmth of the infinite.

As the world tries to take you away from me,

Your lights shine brighter than ever, And as it tries to sap away at your art, It only becomes more creative,

The magnificence of your Aquila, Ophiuchus, Ursa, Capricorn, Illuminating forever in its glory, Making your luminosity forever beautiful.

I AM BLACK

Anthony Wright

I AM BLACK…

Proud and Strong

A Story of my ancestors written upon A History that I call my own

I AM BLACK…

And I will not be ashamed of the color of my skin or hair

I will speak my truth, loud and clear

I AM BLACK…

I will not be denied

I will break down barriers and defy odds, and pave my own curve

I AM BLACK…

And I will not be underestimated for I am more than the color of my skin

I am a force to be reckoned with

I AM BLACK…

And my culture is rich with art, music and literature

I will celebrate it and never be a glitch

I AM BLACK…

And my voice will be heard, for I am part of this nation

I will fight for equality and not be deferred

Beyond My Years

Bryce Mitchell

People tell me that I am so wise for my age. I tell them thank you, that it is something that I hone, that it is something that I cherish.

They cannot see the scars behind the wisdom.

The battles I have been through, the people I have lost, the endless fears that flood my conscience.

Gaining wisdom is painful. It tends to come from the worst experiences. Even though I am battered and bruised, I did yield a reward that makes all the worst things worth it.

I am delighted that I can tell people about my battles.

They can learn from my mistakes.

I can show them the wisdom that I have earned, and it can be passed down for generations.

Photography

1st place: Untitled by Sara Rose Allen

2nd place: Lantern Moss by Delaney Merriman

3rd place: Untitled by Sara Rose Allen

Honorable Mention: Untitled by Sara Rose Allen

1ST PLACE

Photographed by Sara Rose Allen

2ND PLACE

Lantern Moss by Delaney Merriman

3RD PLACE

Photographed by Sara Rose Allen

HONORABLE MENTION

Photographed by Sara Rose Allen

The Incline

Dakota McNaylor

Dynamic

Jewel Campbell

A Sunset in Colfax

Neyda Roman

Sara Rose Allen

Sake Barrels

Delaney Merriman

Lakeside

Torii

Delaney

Merriman

Ray of Light

Jewel Campbell

Knot

Delaney Merriman

Sara Rose Allen

Nico Pastore

Grant Me Luck

Delaney Merriman

Cleansing

Delaney Merriman

Kiuomiza-dera

Delaney Merriman

Moss

Delaney Merriman

Nara Deer Delaney Merriman

Iozan Delaney Merriman

Sara Rose Allen

Osaka Delights

Delaney Merriman

Osaka Castle

Delaney Merriman

Sky’s the Limit

Jewel Campbell

Akihabara, Tokyo

Delaney Merriman

Unaware Dakota McNaylor

Karaoke in Osaka

Delaney Merriman

Golden Pavilion

Delaney Merriman

Red Curtain

Delaney Merriman

Red Lanterns

Delaney Merriman

Sticker Signpost, Tokyo

Delaney Merriman

Art

1st Place: Framed Memory by Delaney Merriman

2nd Place: Hot Dog Water by Savannah Callaway

3rd Place: The Good Shepherd by Harsimranjeet Sidhu

Honorable Mention: Language Barrier by Page Gardner

1st Place:

Framed Memory by Delaney Merriman

2nd Place:

Hot Dog Water by Savannah Callaway

3rd Place:

The Good Shepherd by Harsimranjeet Sidhu

Honorable Mention:

Language Barrier by Page Gardner

Darrien Degrusha

Great Heron 2

Molly Daigrepont

Scattered Blooms

Goldie

Valerie Tavee Kendrick

Sydney Allison

Nature’s Mask

Sydney Allison

Darrien Degrusha

Darrien Degrusha

Binx Sydney Allison

Spencer Bordelon

Heather Romero

Sadee Evans

Elliana Blackwell

into the soul

Sydney Allison

Darrien Degrusha

the valley

Chloe Rivera

Sydney Allison

Romantic Cats

Nico Pastore

Krista Herrin