Perspectives - 2021 MHS Literary Magazine

Perspectives 2021 Massaponax High School Literary Arts Magazine

What do we do when everything we think we can trust and hope for is suddenly torn away?

What do we do when even the most stable things in life lose their stability?

How do we find peace with ourselves when everything is constantly changing?

These are our perspectives.

Perspectives 2021

Massaponax High School Literary Arts Magazine

Prose

Table of Contents:

Denial - Nic Martinez . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Anxiety - Camden Buenrostro . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 Ignorance (Static Bliss) - Dominic McCall . . . . . . . 18 Greed - Hailey Heyse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 Halloween - Brianna N. Smith . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 Desperation - Allison Embrey . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26 The City's Heart - Raine Tweedy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30 People Like Us - Madison Lee . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32 68 - Elaina Johnson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34 Depression - Brianna Smith . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 Fa'a Samoa - Josh Mamea . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40 The Tatau - Josh Mamea . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44 A World Alone - Dominic McCall . . . . . . . . . . . . 46

Artwork

Leah Taylor . . . . . . . . . . . . Front Cover, 2, Back Cover Liliana Faircloth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Julia Jank . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 Avery Haines . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 Abigail Christopher . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 Kimberly Dishman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .13 Aleena De Sir . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15, 16, 21 Mondel Washington . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 Abbigail Self . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Teagan Cork . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Chase Ramsey . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 Gabrielle Nguyen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 Allison Masterson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 Sienna Soto . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Skylar Cork . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36, 49 Andrea Allen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 Shelby Vernon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 Makayla Wonpat . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45

Poetry

Snakebite - Aleena De Sir . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Mermaid Scales - Elaina Johnson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 When - Abigail Christopher . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Defeat; Brothers - Kaitlyn Busse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 Stars - Alexis Fauscett . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 What happens eventually - Alessandra Jones . . . . 11 My Endless Summer - Bri Smith . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 Heartache - Rebekah Dotson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 Thoughts - Savannah Skinner . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 Life's Biggest Card - Aleena De Sir . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 Bleeding Breeze - Aleena De Sir . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 Grapes, Touch - Aleena De Sir . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 Steal - Veronica Johnson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 A Certain Fear of Drowning - Dominic McCall . . . 29 The Edge - Ama Damuah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37 My Hope - Knoelle Pipes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 Unique - Kylee Jarosz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42 Letters - Ama Damuah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50

Photography

Dante' Braden . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37 Ty Robbins . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50 Colophon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5

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Art: Leah Taylor

Snakebite Aleena De Sir

Risen from the leaves The snake that latches to me Venom takes its course

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Mermaid Scales Elaina Johnson

Her mermaid scales, they shined More orange than the sun But she was confined To the sea, and I was not

Live with me on land, I said You’ll be safe here with me Leave the hungry seabed You can be my queen

The mermaid I saw that day She sang a melody so pure It felt like she had so much to say So much pain she had to endure

She smiled at my offer And took my hand that night She left behind her melody And we disappeared from sight

Where the waves crossed one another Under a sky filled with night I reached out to touch her But she swam away in fright

Her mermaid scales, they tore As fragile as the moon We fell in love so quickly But she had to leave so soon

Her mermaid scales, they shined More orange than the sun But she was confined To the sea, and I was not

Withering away like fall leaves A mermaid lost at sea Her mermaid scales were drying out She didn’t belong with me

Her melody grew more sad Painful to my heart I wanted to comfort her But I didn’t know where to start

I carried her to the leaping waves Our last kiss goodbye But she buried me in the ocean Refusing to leave my side

She said she was a queen Her castle was destroyed If she ever went back She would be sucked into a void

Her mermaid scales, they shined More red than planet mars Mermaid scales - the last thing I saw Before I drowned underneath the stars

Her mermaid scales, they shined More orange than the sun But she was confined To the sea, and I was not

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Art: Liliana Faircloth

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Art: Julia Jank

Denial Nic Martinez

Of the five stages of grief, I am the first. To most humans, I am the glacial barrier between them and the warm, relieving feeling of acceptance. The face of ignorance and the antagonist of progression. I am Denial.

Many would pin me as one of the worst aspects of mankind - the refusal of the truth.

In actuality, my abilities are a double-edged sword. I give people a place to retreat to, a place to wait until they are ready for acceptance. I do my best to give temporary comfort. This feeling I provide can be intoxicating, compelling many to be with me for an extended period of time. I cannot stop them, however; it’s their decision alone.

Unfortunately, my powers are also damning. Some wish to never leave me. They twist their comfort into a closed perception of reality. In many cases, this new idea of reality will begin to spread through the masses, blocking out the light of the truth. This is the side of me humanity knows best, the one that allows for the truth to die and injustice to reign.

Once people unaffected by my powers become aware of my presence, the cycle gradually restarts. The truth is dredged up from darkness and revealed to the world, and my job is complete. If the original denier cannot accept the truth, at least society will. The role I play is that of a pathway to truth and acceptance, only masquerading as a barrier.

If I must play the villain, then so be it.

When Abigail Christopher

Love is in the air Kisses bring the blazing sun When is it my turn?

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Defeat Kaitlyn Busse

Here it finally became sharp Down the golden blade came The air singing like a harp Forged from a sacred flame, Empowered with the light, It put all swords to shame Upholding its glory in the fight Right through the foe's heart, It has become the enemy's spite But its aftertaste so very tart, Here its wins begin to fade The darkness begins to start.

The once fearsome holy blade Nothing more than its own shade

Brothers Kaitlyn Busse

Was I a Bother to you?

Was it always a Race?

We'd laugh tOgether, We'd cry Together, We were two Halves of one whole.

But now, whEn did we last Reach out to one another?

Maybe life continueS after childhood.

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Art: Avery Haines

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Stars Alexis Fauscett

As I look up at the sky, all I see is one moon Besides that, all there is, is stars As I watch the sky, I sing a little tune And it brings back a memory that I know is ours You were everything to me It was a shame that I had to lose you I want to know why you had to flee But maybe you had something important to pursue I remember the times we went to the beach We would sit and listen to the crashing waves You would bring me a peach It is sad our relationship is in the graves I miss you and want you back Just do not let the stars lack

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What happens eventually Alessandra Jones

Long nights thinking of nothing but another Adoring and kind Vexed with lust Warm embraces Abandoned A nauseating experience An ungodly experience Was it all a hallucination?

A magnificent, brilliant dream?

What happened to our titillating banter?

The life we supposedly built together?

I guess that’s just the cycle of love and hate

Art: Abigail Christopher

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My Endless Summer

Feeling that nice summer breeze Oh how I love to feel it in every part of my knees I’m usually out at the mall with friends having a blast Instead of being at school completing a weird task Now I am just thinking of all my summers in the past I just can't even believe they all went by like that so fast I’m so used to always getting up early in the morning My mom saying something about a flash flood warning Scratch that, my sister will just be performing The sweet smell of warm buttery pancakes in the air I finish my breakfast and leave my special chair I take my last heavenly bite drenched in so much syrup When my dad makes pancakes they just burn up I need five more minutes in the sun before I have to go Imagine if during this summer it just happens to snow The wind takes over and is blowing through my hair I wish I had someone to take this moment to share I'm back in my pajamas sitting on this soft green grass I let the time pass since it’s better than class A strawberry smoothie in hand, no care in the world I want some ice cream, the one with the swirls Feels like nothing else exists, it’s just me here right now In this moment I feel free, this is where I should be now I love being alone but I also like being around others Did you know they say Virginia is the state for lovers Sitting here singing these songs with my heart and soul It makes me feel powerful when I know I am in control This is how I pictured my endless summer

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Bri Smith

It’s June now 2020 I’ve lost that control No pancakes No ice cream No warm sun Just sadness Everyone is wearing masks What type of summer is this?

I’m supposed to be sitting on the beach Hair flowing and music blasting Or sitting on the fresh cut green grass I hate the smell but that's not the point Now I’m playing the same role as everyone else You can't leave your house without your mask No matter where you go the store clerk will tell you to get out if anything but your eyes is showing Now my hair is just tied back and I have airpods in so I don’t upset Karen If I make the smallest move she’ll call the cops as if I’m America's Most Wanted I can’t go just anywhere now without feeling like I won’t get infected It makes me feel like I actually am sick Like I’m a patient The smell of hospitals makes me sick to my stomach The scent of Pepto Bismol with a hint of old people The capacity for most places has been cut down People weren’t really listening before and just stayed out till all hours of the night They’ve paid the price by contracting the virus Now the streets are basically empty and we have to social distance My mom and I have gotten a little closer though We’ve always had a good relationship but now we agree more When we watch TV together, we are constantly making comments about how everyone is so close together and not wearing masks Sometimes my dad comes home to us eating popcorn and just screaming at the tv I’ve gotten so used to this life I am okay for now I want this to get better Maybe if we follow the rules we can go back to some type of “normal” Maybe Hello Endless Summer

Heartache

Art: Kimberly Dishman

Rebekah Dotson

Heartache is a bitter thing But what is so bitter about the heartache in one's soul?

Is it the tears it brings?

Or is it the sting, so painful?

Is it the prick of the needle in your heart, with so much might?

Or is it how your friends are sorrowful?

Is it the pain of the bite?

Is it the crack of your heart?

Or is it the feeling of fright?

Is it the way you don’t want the pain to start?

Or the way your heart locks?

Is it the way heartache makes you want to dart?

Like the way a heart wants for what makes it sing Heartache is a bitter thing

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Anxiety Camden Buenrostro

I follow you wherever you go, with you and here to keep you safe and prepared for the possibilities.

When you’re waiting to meet someone new, I’m there for you - there to remind you of all the possible reasons they won’t like you. I make you analyze your movements, the way you’re dressed, how you speak. You need me. I’m anxiety, to keep you on your toes and ready for the disappointments you will face. They’re judging you, it’s so clear, and you don't see it; but don’t worry. I do.

When your family leaves without you, I'm here to bring you to reality. Your family could die, horribly, in so many ways that I’m here to remind you of. If you think about what could happen, you won’t be prepared. You’ll never see them again. You let them leave. It's okay if they’re gone, because I'll always be here. Here to prepare how you will cope with the guilt of letting them leave the driveway.

You made a simple mistake. No, it wasn’t simple - it was awful. They will never forgive you for the mistake you’ve made. You’re a terrible, terrible person. They’re looking at you, despising you, wishing you never existed. If you wouldn’t have made this mistake, they wouldn’t feel that way. Now they’re gone. They hate you. You are now completely alone. You have no one but me, but I’m never going anywhere.

Your stomach hurts because of me. Or is it something else? It couldn’t be me. I'm rational. It’s you. You ate something, something bad that was poisonous. What could it be? Think of everything you’ve eaten today and what could have been in it. What if someone washed their hands when the water filter was underneath? There is now dish soap and germs in your water. You have drank almost all your water in your water bottle today. If it wasn't for me, you would be dead by your contaminated water. You need me here to keep you safe.

Sleep. You’re tired. You’ve been going all day today. Lay down. Take a nap. Let your brain bounce from thought to thought about every mistake you’ve made. You drift into a deep sleep for hours in the middle of the day. In your sleep, you look around and you’re alone. The world is empty. Everyone you know is gone. It’s just you and me.

Your eyes flash open, gasping for air, collecting yourself from the nightmare I gave you. You take back the layers covering your window to reveal the dark sky. You slept all afternoon. You might as well fall right back to sleep.

I’ll see you tomorrow.

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Art: Aleena De Sir

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Art: Aleena De Sir

Thoughts Savannah Skinner

She thought she was beautiful like the ocean.

It can be calm or still.

She blocked out the commotion.

She thought she was troubled, but she had will.

It can be desire or longing.

She kept her thoughts chill.

He thought he had no belonging.

It can be worry or fear.

He kept his thoughts from calling.

He thought he had yet to appear.

It can be confusion or uncertainty.

He blocked out the tears.

Both took their thoughts personally.

But it didn't matter, they were here for eternity.

Life's Biggest Card Aleena De Sir

Has there been a single moment, a second?

A breath that I’ve taken on this earth?

A glance given?

Any word said?

Any thoughts had?

That hasn’t been self interrogated or questioned?

I am pelted.

Dealt the judgment card by my own hand.

What kind of dealer gives themselves a sub-par deck of cards?

Why not cheat? Why not lie?

Everyone else deceives with ease.

So it should be just as easy, if not easier, to want to cheat.

But cheating is only the acceptance of inferiority.

I know that the best.

I know that just as well.

But maybe being a lie is better than existing like this.

Against the people who sneak, how am I to compete?

I think I will take a break from gambling.

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Ignorance (Static Bliss) Dominic McCall

He sits alone in his softest chair, its cushion a comfort to counteract the sad noise droning from the television across the room. The awful static brings tears to his poor eyes, the daggers of newstime terror piercing his open heart. A silent shadow, I drift into the scene, making my way between the man and the screen. I stretch my arms and shield his view, the jewels adorning my golden gown dazzling the room in its dim lamplight.

A smile tugs at his cheeks.

I start to dance.

I glide across my stage, and his eyes follow every fluid motion. I glitter and gleam and leap into the air, my wings unfurling the purest, most blinding white plumage he has ever seen, yet the man stares on. His smile widens, his tears falling now as liquid joy, as laughter bellows from his gut. I swirl through the air, his reverence follows me, and the static fades into roaring applause. His worry fades with the white noise as I become his centerfold, his source of light, blazing bright above it all. I bring his mind to magical places in my flight, each kick and twirl carving another path for him to wander, endlessly entranced by my beauty.

I come down upon the man, then, like a hawk to its prey, and wrap my great wings around his periphery. His vision blurs and wobbles, new visions birthed in its dizzying glare. I wrap my arms around his broken chest and fill its gaps with my new noise. My rendition of a prettier truth.

The softest illusion to blanket his soul.

His smile grows till his chapped lips crack like concrete, blood seeping from their open wounds. In one deft movement, my crystal nails glide against his lips, and the blood blossoms into a sweet wine that trickles down and soothes his sore throat. He leans back and sinks deeper into the velvet cushion, drunk and mumbling.

My arms coil up his body and twist around his throat, two serpentine scepters finding their destined resting place over his glossy eyes. He sinks and submits, his entire world enveloped by my loving arms, my blinding light, and through my palms, he peers out towards a new world. A world of rosy sheen and splendid silence. I lean into him, my lips lingering beside his ear as I murmur the secrets of bliss, and we sway, alone there, in our precious palace. Our prison of daze and dreaming.

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Bleeding Breeze

Art: Mondel Washington

Aleena De Sir

The night breeze carries me.

Over all the houses and dense forest trees.

I hover above it all.

I watch all the others fall.

Deeply crept into the soul.

And chilling to the very core.

Turned to paper, made to float.

If it rains, am I to run?

Out of fear of becoming mush.

For now, what’s there to worry?

I am in no hurry.

I let the breeze carry me through.

I let it tear into every fiber.

Soak every written word.

Until all the ink is muddled.

Until I am black and blue.

I will wait for the ink to fade.

Later, to be carried by the breeze again.

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Grapes Aleena De Sir

Dew dances on the skin, Tickled by the Sun’s wide grin.

Dripping freshly out of the vine.

Honey-kissed, less green with time.

Clear as the crisp blue nights, slurring rhymes.

Tying pipes.

Time capsuled treasure.

Scale tipping pleasures.

Are all things meant to mature this slowly?

Enjoyed only by refined taste.

“Why, is it so disgusting to me?”

“When it started off ever so sweet.”

“What was quenching in the past?”

I take a sip of the mixture.

“Nasty.” I take a sip once more.

Touch Aleena De Sir

What is this feeling?

“Is it excitement?”

No. “Enticement?”

Most definitely not, It’s almost discomfort.

“Discomfort?”

I want to burrow deep into the goosebumps.

“Oh…?”

At least I think I do?

“Scary, is it not?”

Oh yes, it is, how could it not.

This feeling penetrates the bone.

Completely, I stand Unable to cloak my own disdain for these simulated interconnections.

All of which are based on selfish satisfaction.

Yet we pretend it’s all for the greater good and her well-being.

“You’re strange.”

I know.

Think real slow my friend, my voice.

Are these things really enjoyable?

“Others seem to love it.”

Am I less than human for such differences?

“I’d say no.”

I would hope it to be so.

“You are incredibly strange.”

I know.

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Art: Aleena De Sir

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Steal

Veronica Johnson

Her big blue eyes As you can see One can’t deny Those two beauties Her tiny ears As you have heard Can really hear Your every word Her small, soft hands As you can feel Misunderstand Her need to steal For she’s not poor She doesn’t need more

Hey Mom,

Greed Hailey Heyse

I'm writing home because I haven’t been feeling appreciated as much lately. People really don’t know how lucky they are to have me. I mean, sureee, I’ve caused war and bloodshed- but we all know that would’ve happened whether or not I was there.

People confused me with instinct. Instinct! That kid is NOTHING in comparison to me.

I light a fire in the lowest of the low, influencing thieves and murderers alike. What could possibly be better than that?

I’ve been here for awhile now. I remember when Europeans were forcing religion down each other’s throats to “spread the word of god!" Yet another hilarious facade to cover up the church’s thirst for power. It’s so invigorating! My, how the time’s flown by...

Oh! Mother! I’ve observed that humans are weak; easily influenced and affected by their surroundings. Blinded by the lights of Creativity and Hope. Though some people are able to see through to me. They avoid me. Every time I feel like I finally have my grasp on them, they slip away.

When they close their eyes to sleep, I paint pictures of wealth in abundance on the backs of their eye lids. I don’t work alone. They awaken to Envy gazing through their own eyes. Some don’t want their dreams of what could be to end. That’s what I’m here for!

I’ll help everyone see that there’s much more to be gained from Life. More to be gained from their peers. After all, it’s my specialty.

For example: This past year I made a man lose his family with nothing but a whisper. His wife told him multiple times they were going into debt, but it took him sneaking out and pawning off her engagement ring in the middle of the night for her to see that I was the only one on his mind. I’d found a good one, mother. He no longer thought about anybody he’d cared about before. It was him and the slot machines versus the world!

Anyways, I can’t wait to come back home and see you during the holidays! What a time to thrive! Children who are unhappy with the gifts their loved ones spent their last three paychecks saving up for. Grown men and women temporarily full of happiness left craving more of it. The perfect present.

See you soon!

Ungrudgingly, Greed

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Art: Abbigail Self

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Halloween Brianna N. Smith

Ace, Parker, and Braden were headed back to Parker’s house, bags of candy slung over their shoulders, occasionally sticking their hands into the bag and shoving what candy they could grasp onto into their mouths. A small smile would find its way to their lips as the candy hit their taste buds, giving them a warm feeling. Most would say they were far too old to partake in trick-or-treating, though those words meant nothing to them. They still put together costumes with what items they could find lying around, snatched the pillowcases off their pillows, and headed out for an enjoyable night with each other.

Coming to a stop, Parker turned to face his other two friends. He nodded his head toward the woods that weren’t too far away from them.

“If we take this way, we can get back to my house faster.

Who knows, we could probably find something creepy on our way too!”

Braden hummed in reply, going along with the idea. What was the worst that could happen?

“Let’s do it. I wanna get back to your place and chill,” Braden said. His stomach growled. “I’m hungry as well…” A sheepish grin formed on Braden’s lip; he was embarrassed.

“Let’s get going, jelly belly here needs some food in him,” Parker said with a laugh.

Ace looked at the two and then cleared his throat to catch the attention of his two friends who stood before him.

“Not a good idea. Who knows what’s in there?” He shifted his weight onto one foot, not fond of the idea of heading into random woods - especially on this night. He could feel his anxiety flaring up slightly as he chewed on his lip. “We could get hurt.”

Laughter erupted from Braden and Parker. They expected nothing less from the scaredy-cat of the group.

“We will be fine! Ain’t nothing dangerous out here,” Parker said. He turned around and began making his way down the hill, Braden not following far behind him.

“But-” “Stay here if you want. I don’t care. Although it’s in your best interest you follow us. You don’t wanna be out here alone, do you?” Parker waved his hand at Ace, not looking back at him.

“Catch ya later!”

Ace looked over at his two friends who were reaching the entrance of the woods. A sigh escaped his lips as he took his eyes off them, now looking down at his shoes. The thought of being here alone freaked him out enough. He looked up, taking in his surroundings. It was dark, and the flickering street lights didn’t provide him enough light. They looked like they could go out any second. Letting out what appeared to be

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a frustrated sigh, he began following down the hill after his friends. “I’m coming, please wait!”

Ace caught up to his friends in no time. Braden turned around and looked at him, grinning. A small laugh followed soon after. “You decided to come? Surprising!”

“Ace followed after all?” Parker spoke, not looking back at the two. Both of them knew Ace had followed down shortly after them, they just wanted to poke fun at the younger boy.

“Of course I did!” Ace glared at both of them, clearly not amused with their jokes.

Braden turned around and sped up a little bit to match Parker’s pace. Ace followed behind the two, noticing they had begun talking about sports. He remained quiet. Sports had never piqued his interest. He was more interested in writing and art. Finding himself rather bored with their conversations, his eyes began to wander. His thoughts drowned out Braden’s and Parker’s voices.

His eyes bounced from area to area, taking in what the woods had to offer. It was beautiful, but something was off.

Something was eerie about this place. The way the trees towered over them was unsettling. The branches swayed back and forth from the wind that would whisper every so often.

Ace looked up. The trees were so tightly packed together, it made it nearly impossible for the moon to shine down on them and supply them with any light. The further he walked, he could hear the sound of little animals hurrying up the trees, scared of his presence. Sighing to himself, he looked ahead of him and his heart dropped. Parker and Braden were gone.

How did he not notice? He looked around. Where had they gone?

So many thoughts crossed his mind. Were they pranking him and hiding somewhere? Was he moving too slowly and they had already left? Did something happen to them? He could feel his anxiety rise as he looked all over. “They were just right here...”

The sound of something rustling ahead of him caught him mid-sentence. He squinted his eyes and listened closely.

Nothing.

A look of confusion crossed his face. Mustering up the little confidence he had, he called out in front of him.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

A figure emerged from behind a tree. It was human--or at least that’s what Ace hoped. He could feel his heart jump to his throat, not peeling his eyes away. Ace looked down and he had to suppress the scream that wanted to rip out his throat.

A knife was gripped tightly in the figure's hands. The moon glistened right on it, making the blood on the blade very visible.

It dripped down, staining the leaves under them. He looked at the person’s clothing, noticing blood had been splattered all over him.

Surely this had to be some sick joke, right? Ace wanted to convince himself that it was, but as the person crept toward him, he quickly plunged that idea down. He backed up, not taking his eyes off the person. Where are Braden and Parker?

Had they been--killed? Had they gotten out and were already home?

Suddenly, Ace made a break for it, sprinting in the opposite direction. He didn’t know where he was going, but the only thought in his head was to run. Run as fast as he could and get somewhere safe! Ace wasn’t the most athletic person, but he hoped his feet could carry him far and he would not run out of breath. His shirt was getting torn by the branches that were sticking out, cutting at his skin, but that was the least of his worries. He could hear the person’s footsteps growing louder and hear their heavy breaths. Tears pricked at his eyes, blurring his vision, greatly causing him to trip and fall.

He hit the ground hard. He attempted to push himself up, only to fall back down. Tears rushed down his face. He didn’t want to die. He wasn’t going to give up just yet. He sat himself up and started dragging himself by his arms, but he was oblivious. The person had caught up within no time. They yanked Ace by his ankle, a scream mixed with a sob escaping his lips.

He looked up at the person, barely able to form words. He put his hands up to his face.

‘P-please d-don’t kill--” Silence.

Well, not complete silence.

The sound of Ace’s last gasping breaths was more than clear. The knife was plunged deep into his chest over and over again. Blood was pooling around him as the person watched the life drain from his eyes. A sinister smile crept upon his face as he brought his finger up to his lips.

Now, there was silence.

Art: Teagan Cork

25

Desperation Allison Embrey

Wow, who is she? She's beautiful. Her curls lay perfectly on her shoulders. Her body looks like it had been sculpted by gods. Where did she get her outfit? It's so adorable on her. I wish I could look as beautiful as her. Having those cute clothes will for sure make me look and feel better about myself.

Who knows, maybe I could even attract the same positive attention she receives…..not that I want to be exactly like her or anything.

Wanting to be EXACTLY like someone sounds completely bonkers. Everyone should want to be themselves at least a little bit. So what if she has the perfect hair, smile, freckles, dimples, eyes, body, clothes, social status, personality... life. I am aware this might sound like I want to be her, but I can assure you, that is not my wish. I desire to be in the well-liked group at school. She makes it look so easy to fit in. It must be easy to fit in when you are that perfect.

Step one to making myself feel comfortable in my own skin; buy a new outfit. I swear I saw her outfit at a new store in the mall. Not that it matters. That’s where I will start my transformation into my own person.

Fifty dollars for the shirt and skirt alone? These prices are insane... but I am willing to pay the price for happiness. Now all I need are the shoes, jewelry, and the new hair ties. But wait. Her hair is curly and mine is straight. I guess I have to go to the beauty store to buy a hair curler. This is really timeconsuming but the homework can wait. I have to look like that girl to boost my mental health. Once I get her looks, happiness can finally join me.

Three hours later and I have finally finished my shopping trip. I can’t wait until morning comes so I can show off my look. If no one can resist that girl in this outfit, no one should be able to resist me.

Tomorrow I will finally get to be my best self. No one can tear me down. I will fit in. Just wait and see.

I don’t get it. People called me a wannabe. I am so not a wannabe. The only person I want to be is myself. Kids were telling me that I wanted to be like that girl and that is completely false. I just want to possess her perfect hair, smile, freckles, dimples, eyes, body, clothes, social status, and personality.

That doesn’t mean anything. Someone can still be themselves and have the characteristic of others.

Some people call me a disease of the mind, but at least I am not rude. Why not save the insults for something like rudeness or sadness? They do the real damage. So what if I am controlling this girl’s mind? I am doing no harm. My simple task is to make her fit in. That is all. All of these kids are really causing a fuss and they are certainly not making my job any easier. All I want to do is make people fit in. I make some people’s dreams come partly real.

I can see rudeness and mockery have already infested the people who call me names. How ungrateful to call me names when I am trying my best to pave the road to happiness for people.

Sometimes I feel like quitting, but I know that I am capable of helping a human’s mind to happiness.

I will continue to help that girl reach happiness and achieve the goal of happiness. Some people are easier to help than others, but determination has taken a liking to me and often partners up with me.

With the help of determination and ignoring all of the haters, I know I can help her.

26

Art: Chase Ramsey

27

28

Art: Gabrielle Nguyen

A Certain Fear of Drowning Dominic McCall

I. A mouthful A lifetime A childhood Held in fear A certain fear of drowning The certain terror of time Running late, Running past ourselves In cycles Never broken Only braided Knots of rope In our foreign memories II. Cabins line my dreams Each a palace of memory A past life left Morose, misguided Giddy things Sprouted from the Earth And settled in my soul

I set fire to each one Trace patterns in their smoke Say a prayer for my mother And turn to darker places In her flaming shadow III. I find kinder places In your dark Drowned out noise My silence spilling epics Tongues caught in its crossfire I have bled for you In the light of dawn Carried you Past daybreak Past civility

Heaved your brittle bones To corner stores And cried for you Forever lost in this Turbulence of ascension

I find myself swimming in Those places between All grey and shapeless All crude and forgotten Forsaken knowings of greater evils:

Rising from your ashes To kiss the night with a fist

Evil in her eyes Evil in her bedroom Evil in the church In the house Of the Gods We subject ourselves to In silence Never knowing Never feeling Always numb

V. For him, great manipulator I bring a thousand roses Thorned and flattered To pierce the veil Of lovers lost and lied to For her, Mother made Desolate in daydreams A thousand veins To mend her ways A needle for a lost daughter For me, lover lost Daughter found Brother birthed Foreign fold Of our fragile family tree A thousand leaves To fall free Onyx and lowly In rotting peace VI. We are what we are All charred and nameless All blind and battered Blackened brows For the bluest eyes

You drown there If you stay Blind and barking Vividly victimized On our own time We take none to see Bigger pictures Portraits of ourselves Lined in gold Beyond our own forms No lines of vision Only vastness An ocean of terror A version of hope Whirling deep in the tide Tumbling and true We fill our lungs And rise to fall another day Wiser and willing To wake the world With every dying breath

29

The City's Heart

The sky was a near blood read as the sun beamed on the scorched land. The skeletal structures stood tall against the angered sky, their thin fingers grazing the coal-colored clouds. Aishe stared up at the rusted metal figures, wondering how they had managed to continue standing after so long being exposed to the forces of nature. The asphalt that she stood on was dry and cracked, with sprouts of greenery growing up from the exposed earth.

Aishe bent down to examine the small white flower that had bloomed from one of the cracks in the pavement. It stood brightly against the deep grey of the pavement and the dusty rust-colored sand that was dancing by it in the wind. After examining the flower for a bit, Aishe stood, bringing her mask over her mouth and nose and her handmade goggles over her eyes before carefully pulling it from out of the crack and placing it into the canister attached to her belt. The inside of the canister was full with other little white flowers that Aishe had meticulously collected over the past several days to build up to this moment.

She looked down the lonely stretch of deserted road that she had followed for weeks on end. She was low on both food and water, and the city was the closest thing to salvation in the barren land she was trapped in. She remembered the first time she had realized that she was running low on supplies while on her miserable trek through the desert.

The feeling of despair as she looked into her bag and saw the one-and-a-half bottles of water and four granola bars that she had left.

Luckily, she had seen the large city along the horizon that same day, but it did nothing to quell the despair; if anything it only made it worse. The cities were dangerous. They were where everything had started and ended.

Another memory came to mind as she began to walk closer to the city: The sound of a low, gruff voice, the feeling of a scratchy beard brushing against the side of her face, and a large, worn hard point to circled areas on a yellowed map. “One day I’m not going to be there to protect you, Aishe,” he had said in the softest voice possible. “You’ll need to learn to survive on your own in our pitiful world.

The one thing that you must embed into your mind is to never go into the cities. No matter how desperate or hungry, you must never go there. You must rather die than go there.”

At the time, his claims had seemed outlandish and foolish. Who would rather die than go into a place with more opportunity to achieve food and water, the necessities for life? It didn’t take long for her naive and childish self to find why he had said those words when she was forced to watch him die

30

Raine Tweedy

in the same place he had tried to swear her never to go to.

Aishe forced the undesired memory out of her mind and stopped next to a lone wall and a pile of debris. Spray painted in bright red against the grey wall was a message: Only those who are truly desperate may enter here Aishe swallowed hard, making sure that her mask and goggles were on tightly before she walked past the warning wall and into the mouth of the beast.

Aishe walked slowly, looking wearily at every sign of movement that caught her eye.

Her heart was pounding out of her chest; the dead silence was overwhelming. On the sides of the streets, buildings stood crumbling in the harsh sun. Some of them that were still standing were boarded up with large wooden planks. Many of the planks were rotting away by now, giving Aishe a clear vision into the empty, lifeless rooms. The closer she got to the heart of the city, the more rot and destruction she saw. Old and forgotten things littered the streets and the hunks of cars lay empty and in ruin. Many had already been stripped for metal parts by those who had previously dared to wander in the forbidden lands of the city. Places where food and water would have been stored were stripped completely bare of anything useful. The only choice Aishe had was to go deeper.

As Aishe walked, spots of random greenery began to pop against the rusted oranges, yellows, reds, and deep browns. At first, the greenery was nothing more than vines that were climbing the sides of trees or small spots of grass and weeds growing in between the cracked pavement of the road. As Aishe neared closer and closer to the heart of the city, the small spots of greenery turned into large patches of grass, vines, and white and red flowers.

Aishe stopped dead in her tracks as she looked at the thing that lay ahead of her. She was standing in the middle of an intersection.

Cars were scattered about along the sides of the road and the buildings stood tall against the midday sky. Behind her, the ruins of the dead city lay silent and in front of her, stretched across the three other roadways, was the heart. Thick pulsing veins stretched across the gaps between the two sides of the road, connecting them in the large mass. Climbing up and down the sides of the buildings were large collections of small flowers, ranging between purple, blue, yellow, and red. The ground was covered in a mosslike grass that was a deep bluish purple to the point where it looked black. It moved on its

own, spindly fingers swaying back and forth in the windless air. The large and strange plants cast shadows everywhere they spread and the foliage only got thicker the farther that Aishe looked down the street. The only source of light that Aishe could see in the darkness radiated from the veins and lit up the small stretch of road left unclaimed by the plant life.

Aishe glanced down at the small container filled with the small white flowers that she had collected. Doubt began to creep into her mind.

Would it be enough to protect her? Were the stories even true? What if she lost the container? She looked at her hands, watching them tremble horribly as fear rightfully overtook her body. Aishe looked back the way she came. She knew that if she left now, she would not have to face the heart of the city, but she would have to hope and pray that something somewhere would have food and water that she could forage. The dunes of the desert were just visible along the city's horizon. Aishe remembered the scorching and unforgiving heat, the hopelessness and exhaustion. She would never make it out there without food or water; she would simply die and become just one of the many skeletons that were covered by the sifting sands.

Aishe looked back at the pulsing heart, clenching her fist so tightly that it hurt. It would be the only place that people wouldn’t dare enter to scavenge for food, so anything that was left behind would still be there for her to take. The downside, however, was that even if she was able to retrieve the items she needed, the likelihood of her coming out alive was slim to none. It was a simple choice: die from lack of food and water and exhaustion as she searched the endless desert or take a risk and search the heart knowing she might not make it out alive.

Aishe took a step forward over the veins that pulsed in front of her feet. The rest of the vegetation loomed over her, death crying out to her in the silence. Aishe took a deep breath and without looking back, walked deeper in the heart.

The pulses sounded like a low drum, a simple and steady rhyme. It was no wonder why this place was called the heart of the city.

Aishe looked around in both astonishment and fear as the world around her pulsed in soft but brilliant light. All around her, flowers of varying colors and sizes bloomed, radiating that same light, that same pulse, all of it in one synchronous rhythm. Despite being covered in the strange foliage, many of the buildings seemed to be intact. Windows peered into stores stocked full of the items that had been put there so many years ago. Mannequins

and shelving units stood tall, displaying their shiny new objects for anyone to see. Too bad the only person to see them was Aishe.

She stopped to glance into one of the many stores, this one bearing toys of all shapes, sizes, and uses. A ginormous teddy bear was seated in a small wooden chair in front of the window. Its black eyes stared out onto the road, gazing back at her. Aishe recalled from her childhood how she had had a bear that resembled the one in the window. Her bear had been significantly smaller and had a lot more rips, holes, and tears due to usage and old age. She had loved that bear; it had been a gift from her father when he had gone on a trip to find food and water. She remembered cuddling with the bear and talking to it quietly when her father was away or asleep. Aishe no longer possessed the bear anymore; she had left it in the small underground hole that she and her father had lived in before he died. She had no more use for it, and back then she had thought that maybe her father’s soul would have loved it more than her.

Aishe turned away from the toy shop, walking farther down the street, keeping her eyes peeled for anything that resembled food. That’s when she saw it. The doors were broken down and the windows smashed in. Even from her position on the street she could see that many of the aisles were barren, but hope still flooded through her. It was a marketplace.

Aishe carefully stepped through the busted open doors, her feet crunching on the broken glass. Different from many of the other stores on the street, the marketplace looked run down and old, stripped of metal parts and necessities. The ceiling was open and exposed with wires and hunks of metal hanging down like the vines outside. Aishe silently walked down each aisle, checking for any reminisce of food or water. She was able to find a few cans of mushrooms, beans, and fruits and vegetables but no water, which was crucial to her survival. Aishe set her bag down and placed the canned items in, making sure to keep more room in case she found anything else.

As she zipped the pack shut and turned to leave, there was a loud BANG that echoed through the empty space. Aishe quickly ducked down behind the large white shelving unit. The bangs continued and Aishe soon realized they were coming from the street. It sounded like metal was being crushed under a heavy weight. The bang sounded out again.

This time it sounded like it was right outside of the store. Aishe held her breath as she listened. Then there was the crunch of glass and a low and monstrous groan.

Fear welled up in Aishe once again as whatever it was that made the sounds walked through the aisles groaning lowly.

Beads of sweat were beginning to form on

Aishe’s forehead as the thing crept ever closer.

The thing groaned again. This time it came from the aisle over. Aishe prepared herself to run as soon as it turned the corner; that would be the only way that she would survive. A long, clawed hand reached out from the other end of the aisle. Its black clawed fingers raked across the tiled floor as a giant mass of stringy black hair came into view.

The creature's face moved into her line of vision. Its skin was a light grey and it had spots of purple and blue dotted randomly all over its body. Its eyes were black, along with gloopy bits of black drool that were pooling on the floor. Its head slowly turned toward Aishe, its low moan turning into a wheezing growl. Its human-like face was distorted, its bleeding mouth stretching beyond what a normal mouth should. The monster seemed to smile as it slowly turned its head, showing its giant jagged teeth. Aishe wanted to run away and scream, but her body was paralyzed with fear. The thing opened its mouth, revealing black blood and saliva. Then it screamed, its high pitched wail piercing through the air as it lunged toward Aishe.

In a split second Aishe reacted, swinging her bag and hitting the creature in the face with it. Aishe scrambled to her feet and sprinted down the opposite aisle. The creature screamed loudly in anger as it chased after her. Aishe didn’t dare look back as she jumped through the window and out onto the street. Out of the corner of her eye, Aishe saw the creature that was chasing her. Its face was the only human-like thing about it, the rest of its body was a distorted mass of flesh and vines and weeds. It chased after her on all fours, screaming loudly as it went along. Aishe could hear the sound of her heart thumping in her chest as she sprinted down the street, leaping over veins and debris in the road.

As she came to another four way intersection, debating on which road to take, the creature stopped screaming and Aishe heard it skid to a complete stop. She turned to look at the thing, hoping that it wasn’t a ruse. The creature was crouched low to the ground, its eyes darting between her and the canopy of thick foliage that covered the intersection. The creature hissed at Aishe, but didn’t dare move an inch closer. Instead it stayed crouched and paced back and forth in the same spot, its eyes now staying trained on the space above. Aishe slowly looked up and nearly screamed in fear. Above was a giant fleshy mass of twisted purplish pink veins that moved in warped unison as they pulsed with the same eerie heartbeat and lilac glow. At the mass's center was a seemingly endless black pit. Giant triangle-shaped teeth encircled the outer edge of the pit, moving in a slow clockwise motion.

The creature that had been chasing Aishe let out another loud shriek, this time its eyes

completely locked onto her. It launched itself forward, catching Aishe off guard and knocking her to her ground. Instinctually, Aishe brought her hands up to her face to protect herself as the creature brought down its claws at the place where her throat would have been. Aishe screamed in pain as the creature's claws raked through her arm. It shrieked again, raising its claws to bring a finishing blow, this time at Aishe’s belly.

This was it. It was the same way that she had seen her father die - at the hands of a beast born from the heart. It was rumored they had been human once, before they were turned, but nothing that was left of them was human anymore. Aishe prepared herself mentally, holding her breath and squeezing her eyes shut as the creature's claws swung down.

Suddenly, there was a wet crack as the creature screamed again.No pain flooded though Aishe's stomach; the only pain she could feel came from her arms. Aishe opened her eyes as saw a pink flesh vein had been stabbed through the creature's chest. Aishe watched as the vein yanked the creature upward toward the mouth of the monster above. Aishe wasted no time, getting shakily to her feet and clutching her injured arm as quickly and as quietly as she could and ran away from the giant lifeform. _____________________________________ The pain in her arm had numbed by now, which made things a little easier for Aishe.

It had been about a day since her trials in the heart. She had sought refuge in an abandoned building along the outskirts of the city to heal up before trekking back out into the desert again. Luckily, the room that she had occupied had two bottles of water tucked between the old, busted couch and the cracked wall. Aishe chewed on one of the small white flowers that she had collected. It made sure that any poison passed onto her from the beast didn’t kill her.

Aishe looked down at the bottle of unopened water that she held in her good hand and sighed in both exhaustion and relief. Part of her hated the fact that she had ruled out checking the outskirts, but there was nothing she could do about it now. She had gotten what she needed, even if it wasn’t a lot, and she had successfully made it out of the heart alive. Aishe looked out the broken window into the starry night sky. Hundreds of brilliant stars glittered brightly against the darkness, deep pinks, purples, and blues filling the sky. The heart, whatever it was, had come from up there, in the stars, no known origin or real purpose. It situated itself in densely populated areas and began to feast upon the unsuspecting people. Now it still remained on Earth, pulsing his foreign glow and listening to its own heartbeat.

31

Whenever someone asks me, “What is the pivotal part of your life that made you who you are today?” My mind can’t help but think of that one autumn day. I loathe it. I loathe that day. I loathe that thing.

It started off as any other day. I got up, took a shower and headed off to work.

Living in London had its perks. There are plenty of employment opportunities as well as beautiful sights that will turn any substandard day around with just a glance at the arches of the European architecture.

The screeching of tires and honks following pulled me back into my reality.

Continuing down Carnaby street, I couldn’t help but admire the rustic shops that tumbled down the stretched yard.

Admiring the blues, reds, and yellows of the shops, I knew I had to go into one of them. Opening the door, I was met with a loud ding sifting through the store signalling I was there. The cashier looked at me with such confusion as if I was Medusa about to turn him into rock hard stone.

“Back already? Did you forget something, ma’am?” asked the cashier.

I didn’t understand what he meant since it was my first time in weeks being back in this store.

“Back? I’m not quite sure I understand; I haven’t been here in weeks,” I spoke.

“Forgive me, ma’am, it must be my eyes telling me I’m old then.” The cashier laughed with smoke-filled lungs.

I left the store, wishing the cashier well.

The next place was a local coffee shop, The Beany Brew. I spoke my normal order, which was a pumpkin chai with almond milk, and waited for my name to be called.

“I have an order for Arden.”

I got up and started pacing my way to my drink until another woman was on her way to it. I greeted her with a smile but I saw nothing but her black hood.

Thinking it was just a common name, I sat back down.

32

People Like Us Madison Lee

There was something about her that drew me in. The way she swayed off, the way her energy radiated beneath her, that felt so familiar. It was a strange experience, really. On that note, I started to go into my everyday routine.

I walked into my brick two story office with the everyday “How are you doing, Arden?” “Good morning!” “Any new reports come in yet?”

I sat down and watched the morning sun shining through the foggy London sky, permitting it to radiate a palladian blue tint. Seconds passed, minutes passed, then hours passed. I tried working on my new articles, but I couldn’t get a hold of anything that came to mind.

Almost as if the sky and I were both foggy together. Feeling hopeless, I grabbed my coat and headed out the door for my lunch break.

Subby’s, the only place that could cure my hunger with a reasonable price. The owner knew my order as always, so we never truly spoke a lot.

“Wow, you must be hungry. Second time in five minutes.”

His words got a hold of me, for this was the second time someone had mentioned that I had been somewhere that I hadn’t.

“What are you talking about? I’ve been in my office all morning,” I spoke, annoyed.

“Maybe it’s your long lost twin. You should meet her; she shouldn’t have gone far”.

With that note, I took it upon myself to find this mystery woman.

Walking for about five minutes, I noticed something. The sways from earlier, the same black hood clinging on to the woman's body. Picking up my pace, I shouted.

“Arden?”

The mystery woman sped up to a near jog. Following her, I screamed again.

“Arden! Wait!”

She continued along this path that she

seemed to know all too well. Catching up to her, I was met with horror. My eyes, my lips, my skin, even my hair were all the same features. “What the he-” I drifted off. The other me then spoke.

“You’re running out of time.”

With that, she left as quickly as she came, leaving me with nothing but teary eyes and my jaw touching the ground.

I wearily walked back to my brick office with thoughts running through my mind: “Why is this happening to me?”

“Why did I...Or this thing look just like me?”

“I'm running out of time?”

I sat at my poorly decorated desk with nothing but a picture of my brother and a poster of a local band. Gwen, my boss and somewhat friend, noticed my off expression and ordered me to take off the rest of the day.

“No use in being here if you’re not mentally here,” she said.

I sat for six hours feeling like I had lost my mind, doing nothing but bouncing my ideas back and forth. Sitting back in my lounge chair, I began to think of all the possibilities. A twin? A doppleganger?

Future me? At that note, I closed my eyes with the rain placing kisses to my window.

“Don’t fall asleep” I leaped up, opening my eyes open to see... me again.

“What do you want from me and why are you following me around?

“Go downstairs and lock the doors,” she spoke.

I was so scared, I didn’t ask any followup questions and ran down the stairs. I walked wearily back the dark room with the other me ushering me to hurry up. I managed to lock the porch door and garage door, but when I got to the front door, I saw a figure standing just right beside the garden. Running to the front door to bolt it shut, the figure dashed to the door with an item in his left hand. I locked the door just in time and

Art: Allison Masterson grabbed my phone to dial 911 for help.

It took about eight minutes of my heart thumping like a scared horse running to its mother for me to see the tones of blue and red. I looked to the right to see my own self staring at me with a relieved smile on her face.

“I wish someone was there to warn me

when it happened to me” I completely faced her at this point and she must've read my face because she followed up.

“I am you. This event happened to me about 2 months ago but with a completely different outcome. When I died, I must have respawned at this time

period to warn you so you wouldn’t have to go through it as well” With that note she disappeared at once and I never saw her again. Perhaps she was my guardian for the unknown.

All I know is that I have one heck of a story to tell for icebreakers.

33

He stumbles out of the labyrinth with blueprints scattering behind him.

“Stop coming here with your useless ideas! You call yourself an inventor?

Pathetic. Go cremate yourself.”

The door slams shut, and he turns around stiffly to pick up his work. The wind wrinkles most of the papers with its reaching arms, carrying the faint smell of oil from the ironworks. He looks up at the building, the shadows squinting at his 66th failure. Its crown reads Robotics Chamber. He waves goodbye to it before heading home.

“Mate. Ya look awful. Another failure eh?”

He looks up at the ironworker who just sighs and waves him off after a moment of silence. Noisy hammers are wielded by iron machines, pumping oil steadily 24 hours every day. He winces at the smell and continues on.

Wooden flying machines flutter outside, and the sky is polluted with grey smoke.

The wind carries it far away into lands unknown.

He gets to work right away at home, filing his wrinkled blueprints away and scanning his quarters for useful gadgets.

He clamps together metal, forming humanoid arms and legs, wiring them to an engine that fell from a flying machine long ago. He oils the bearings and connects them to a pulley. Using circulated gases, he fires up the machine and creates basic arm and leg motions.

He draws his creation out on a fresh blueprint and experiments again and again.

Clang!

“You don’t belong here. A freak like you deserves to be cremated.”

This interruption pulls him outside where two ironworkers corner a young boy. He looks closer to see half of the boy is electronic, blue and red lights blinking at rapid speeds. He hurriedly runs inside and grabs a small iron contraption. Hoisting it over his head, he

34

68

Elaina Johnson

catapults it toward the two attackers.

The contraption unfolds itself into a larger compartment, encasing the ironworkers in a steel cell. They shout indiscriminately.

He presses a timer on his shoulder and grabs the boy, running toward the robotics side of the city.

They run and run and run for a long while.

The boy suddenly stops in his tracks.

The boy asks, “Why did you help me?

I’m a freak.”

“You’re not a freak. What’s your name?”

“Phil,” the boy says hesitantly. “Just Phil.”

He nods at Phil and paces around in circles, keeping his eyes locked on Phil’s artificial side.

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

“I don’t have a name. I only have a dream.”

“What?!” Phil exclaims. “How do you not have a name?”

“I have a favorite number. 67! It's one more than the times I've failed before I finally succeed. Call me 67.”

“That’s ridiculous! I can’t call you by a number.”

“Sure you can. It’s my new given name.”

Phil tilts his head, his robotic side blinking slightly faster than before.

“Astonishing,” remarks the inventor.

“You are part of my dream! Help me, Phil. We could show the world that androids are not freaks. We could create the first sentient robots.”

The inventor extends a hand to Phil, who quizzically shakes his head.

“You’re crazy. You’ll get us both cremated.”

“My friend. If they wanted to cremate me, they would have 67 tries ago.”

Phil crosses his arms. The inventor sighs and leans against the wall of a bladeworks factory.

“Let me tell you a story that you

probably haven’t learned yet. The world was once a sphere of unimaginable intellect. Some may not believe it, but there were machines that could take mere mortals into space. There were footprints left on the moon. There were once great birds of steel that could fly across the entire sky in the course of a few days. Our era is a steampunk era.

We have declined in technology and yet advanced in it too. How is this possible?

Robotics. We are a small society that survives off of simple machinery. But how have we come to this point? Species inequality. My friend, your people once ruled the world.”

On the way back to the inventor’s studies, a cyborg family is pushed toward the cindering cremation cavities.

Night shift workers are quick to pick up leftover mechanical parts, recycling them into a large waste bin. Phil shakes his head in disapproval, his lips quivering with anguish. The inventor points up to the steam wheel.

“That’s where they are now. After cremation, their souls find their way back to the center of our city, where they’ll be reborn into our sad, dystopian society.”

They continue on glumly.

“I’m not sure what I want,” Phil says.

“I feel like I want to help you, but I’m just a freak show who got stuck being part android.”

The inventor molds copper wires together and shakes his head.

“They were scared,” he says.

“Scared?”

“Of people so quick to replace limb after limb with technology. The strong started to show how greedy humans are, so the world collapsed to where it is now.

People like you are only hated because people like you are feared...But I think what you have is something special. It’s something that needs to be protected. I want to create something as beautiful as that.”

Phil looks at the inventor with

newfound conviction.

“I...want to help. I’ll go get some of my other parts. I’ll help in any way that I can!

It’s all a freak like me can do.”

He runs and runs and runs for a long while. _________________________________ Phil hurriedly runs back toward the inventor’s home, but his face is soon distorted in fear. Metal clangs leave a small echo in the air as the two

ironworkers from before chuckle at the sight of the inventor being pushed into the cinder cavity. The fumes rise up as he falls in, the squelching of his skin growing thicker every second. There is no scream.

Just laughter. The laughter of two men holding a small iron contraption in between them.

He looks up at the building, the shadows squinting at the 67th failure.

Its crown reads Robotics Chamber. He

enters with his fists clenched.

A robotics worker scoffs at the sight of Phil.

“You call yourself an inventor? Pathetic.

Go cremate yourself, you android freak.”

“I have a favorite number. 68. It’s one more than the times we as a society have failed before we finally succeed. Call me 68.”

Art: Sienna Soto

35

I come to you at a certain time in your life.

Depression Brianna Smith

I rest inside a young girl at school. She is sad and no one wants to help her. She is the outcast because she wears a lot of dark clothes and she doesn’t talk much. Everyone likes to bully her nonstop, so here I start to come in. I am a black hole that you should never meet. I like staying inside, I don’t eat, I sleep all day. I tell you to walk into ongoing traffic, I tell you to cut yourself, every day you wake up and I tell you to die, you don’t deserve to be here, you’re a nobody, no one will ever love you, and that the world would be so much better without you in it. You believe me.

I live inside Scarlet, whose parent just died in a car accident leaving her and her two siblings alone. Scarlet and her two sisters got separated. She starts thinking about how she's supposed to survive without her family, she wants to die, wants to be with her parents, she doesn’t wake up, she doesn’t call friends, she barely eats dinner or goes outside, she hasn’t showered in days, she just lays in bed watching TV and thinking how life would be so much easier if she lived the same lifestyle as the female lead, she keeps crying, she doesn’t

36

even go to school, she misses her sisters. She even goes to a therapist to talk it out, but that doesn’t help. They put her on antidepressants, and at the beginning she starts to feel a little bit better. She started showering again and walked her foster mother's dog, but then I showed up again and told her to die so she cried for hours and started having panic attacks.

I make you feel miserable, but actually, I only do that to help you became a better version of yourself. I came to toughen you up, I came to make you realize you are a great person who's strong and can survive everything. I know I used a brutal way, but in the end, I just want you to realize your full potential.

Scarlet acted weak even though she was strong. I came to her so she would realize who she wanted to be. After awhile, that foster home and everything she went through helped her become the person she is today, who is a guidance counselor who helps young teens with their everyday problems, and everyone loves her there. She even gets to see her sisters again. she eventually got married and had children of her own.

You may hate me now, but you will soon realize why I did it.

Art: Skylar Cork

The Edge

For years I’ve stood over the edge I don’t know when I got there But I knew I’d been there for a while.

What is at the bottom of the edge Remains a mystery to me.

It’s dark, engulfing, terrifying, And for years, taunting me.

Mocking me And I didn’t care.

I was there and the edge was in front of me.

I stood at the edge Laughed, cried and danced.

And every day I would get closer and closer Yet not close enough.

And I ask myself “Why don’t I jump?”

It would be so easy, Put one foot in front of the other And see what is beyond the great abyss.

But I look behind There is the world I hate, yet love.

The world that loves to make me cry and laugh The world that terrifies and excites me The world that I know if I leave, I will never be able to come back to.

How can I love such a world, And hate it at the same time?

And why am I so willing to give it a chance?

One day, we all will go over the edge.

What will become of us, we don’t know.

But for now I’ll take a step back And see what else the world has to offer.

Ama Damuah

Photo: Dante' Braden

37

My Hope Knoelle Pipes

People say that hope is something we believe in They say to never lose it But What if we do?

Then how do you feel?

You see, people say have hope and something good will come to you But sometimes that never happens You have hope that you are chosen Never happens You have hope to see the light Sometimes it happens You have hope That everything will change That's a roll of the dice That we call life Your hope is your energy But will it fade out Hope can be like a dove But sometimes it could turn into a crow Stand up if you know In this world we call our lives But you know that lives can come and go But there is one thing One thing that can break your endless cycle of misery And that’s called hope

38

Now where’s my hope?

What can I do to break this cycle?

Well let’s go back in history for others Slavery was a thing But it didn’t last Women being silent Didn’t last Having one person being a tyrant didn’t last Because people fought back Stand up if you know That this thing we use in ourselves isn’t a show I have hope in myself That I break out of these chains I will not just lose hope like most people But find my own type To make me feel like I am a powerful person From deep down inside Waiting to erupt Last time stand up If your hope will find its way to you again Or to bring hope in the world Cause hope isn’t created or destroyed Because We already have it in us

Art: Andrea Allen

39

“Fa’a Samoa,” I said under my breath before entering the stadium.

I stepped on the field. The turf crunching under my cleats was such a satisfying sound. The other players on the team followed behind me in a way a lion pack would follow their leader.

They watched me for a reason: I was different. I was a Samoan lacrosse player. A Samoan lacrosse player?

Yes, when you think of Samoans in sports you think of football, rugby, or any high contact sports. We are big people; we are built for high collision sports. Unfortunately, people like us and other people of color are not well represented in lacrosse. This gives off a feeling to me that I shouldn’t play this sport, nor do I belong.

I stood out, a few inches taller than my teammates, tribal ink engraved in my skin showing ever so slightly below the sleeves of my jersey. My wide shoulders and bulky arms gained looks from the crowd and opposing team.

My skin unlike the rest of the players on the field. I disregarded the negative thoughts and snapped back into the moment.

“Run up the warmups coach, I will get the defense coaching,” I roared across the field to our coach in signal to start the warmup drills with the offense.

We began running our formations, picking up ground balls, and practicing leading players in front of the goal so I could execute them. There were five minutes on the warmup clock and we were starting to click mentally and physically with each other.

“Josh... Don't let them get in your head. You are better than them,” one of my other captains whispered to me.

The opposing team was a southern team known for their remarks toward players of color.

“Knock knock,” I told him with a

40

Fa'a Samoa Josh Mamea

devilish grin. I was known for having explosive hits on the defensive side of the field. I began to prepare mentally for what I was about to face. I feared no man on that field, but the remarks can get to you after a while. The warmup clock was about to end and I gazed into the night sky.

“Fa’a Samoa,” I said out loud. I praised my late grandparents from the islands and prayed they would be with me throughout the game.

“I will play this game the Samoan way, foa'i mai ia te a'u le malosi Atua,” I silently prayed to myself. The skies above me seemed to echo my thoughts as they darkened. It was game time and I asked for strength.

I lined up, getting ready to go and play. The whistle from the referee echoed in the stadium. I sprinted toward the ball. Our faceoff man lost possession of the ball, so this meant it was time to play defense, my speciality. I positioned myself in front of our goalie, much like a linebacker getting ready for the snap. The opposing offense passed around us a few times, circling us like sharks. After a few reads and calls, our goalie noticed something from the top of the field.

They were subbing on a small, shifty kid that was not slowing down.

“CUTTER,” our goalie roared.

This caught my attention. I began looking up and seeing this small offensive player running full speed down toward me, disregarding the other offensive players on the field.

“What is this-this was not in their film,” I thought to myself.

A sudden change in their offense, they slithered around and quickly tipped the ball to the player that was fully sprinting down toward the goal. I recognized this and reacted; I moved my body with such power and strength. Like a rhino charging, I quickly

matched his speed and hit him five yards in front of the goal. The crowd gasped and my head was buzzing. I saw the player unresponsive on the ground. I knelt down and put out my hand as a humble gesture of kindness.

He quickly looked at me and locked eyes with me. I could sense his fear.

He’d never been hit by someone of this caliber before.

“You-you n*****, go play football,” He shakily said to me. I wasn’t surprised by this, but it definitely hit home somewhat.

“Why can’t I play this sport and just be like everyone else?” I questioned myself in my head.

I left him there and ran off to get water. There are rarely minorities playing this sport, but I was different.

I loved the idea of doing something others don’t. I took his remark with a grain of salt and accepted that this is what I would have to deal with. But in the end, I was doing my part to help the team win. It’s a sad thing that this was still happening, but I had to overcome many experiences like this.

I watched from the sidelines as our offense was doing their thing. The usual scheme they ran looked so smooth in the stadium lights. Time elapsed and it was quickly approaching half time. I had my fair share amount of defensive/offensive plays and I was hoping that there were scouts in the crowd noticing this. I wasn’t a normal lacrosse player after all, and I was trying to play like it.

“Josh we need you down near the goalie; one of our poles is hurt,” one of my coaches said.

As our defensive pole limped off the field as quick as he could, I began to get ready to go on. I took my last sip of water and got on the line. My injured teammate made it off after a tough walk back to the sideline. I set my feet

down and exploded back toward the middle of our defense. As I was set up, I began commanding my outside defenders.

Everything was moving effortlessly and clean. We held this defense and did not get scored on for the third quarter of the game.

“We are not done here yet. Finish, though I don’t care about the score,” I said to my emotionless teammates.

We were down four goals and the team morale was low.

“Do it for your brothers next to you,” I exclaimed loudly. The team seemed to enjoy that and I saw a sliver of hope from them. Did they want it as badly as I did? I was determined to give my offense a chance to score at least three more times.

“Fa’a Samoa,” I whispered one last time to myself before going onto the field for the fourth quarter.

I wanted to be the best of myself. I wanted to make my ancestors proud so that everything they had done for me would not go unnoticed. I said a quick prayer for strength and power. I then took the field with my defense.

We set up in our normal defense and prepared for the worst. Time flew by, with nothing going on. The opposing offense players did not want to drive it down toward the goal; they just continued to pass around us. They were stalking us in a sense.

“Play up,” I told my defensive players around me.

We needed to apply more pressure so that they would drive the ball inside.

The ball continued to fly around. My left defensive player stepped up as I had told him and applied the needed pressure. I saw this opportunity and reacted. As the offensive player was getting cut up by my defensive player, he shifted right and tried to slide past him. I met him head up, body to body.

A painful groan erupted from the offensive player as he crumbled to the ground from the impact.

I picked up the ball and began running to the opposite side of the field. I was zoned in, but I could still hear the loud chatter from the bleachers. I took the ball to our offense and began checking what the opposing defense was in. I was close to the opposing team's sidelines and I heard the usual racist remarks.

But this time was different; I was not worried about them at this moment. I was focused on the game, my desire to perform at my best. I took the comments in and fueled it into my aggression.

I passed the ball and decided to stay on the offense for a bit. The ball banged around the field, going from player to player. The opposing defense did not contest us. My teammate caught the ball from our player behind the goal, and I began running down the field toward it. The pass came to me crisply and I secured the ball in my stick.

As I was running in a forward motion, I could begin to hear the chatter of the defense. They did not want to come up and try to stop my charge toward the goal. My bulky physical features seemed to intimidate this team. With this opening, I saw no pressure toward me. I planted my feet, ripped my stick back and snapped the ball out of my stick. It seemed to move in such slow motion that at that moment I felt at peace. The opposing goalie tried to block the shot, but it was flying at a speed unmatched by any player on the field. I fueled my performance with anger resulting from the comments I heard on the field. The ball snapped the top left corner and the goalie hung his head. The referee blew the whistle

and indicated it was a complete goal.

We were still down three points, with 30 seconds left in the game. I ran toward the sideline and touched the tribal ink engraved on my left shoulder. I remembered my ancestors and smiled as they probably smiled down at me.

The outcome of the game looked grave and the coaches began to sub in the third strings and freshman players. I took the bench and looked around me. The steam rising from my teammates' bodies in the late night atmosphere was unforgettable. We had played a good game, but it was not enough. All I cared about was that the players around me did their best.

We played as hard as we could. There was a feeling of sadness that we had lost the game, but we were a new team. The experience and skill level would rise with time. Time was all we needed.

“Fa’a Samoa,” I said for one last time before the clock began ringing.

The game was over. We lost by three points. We had a quick word with our coaches before heading up to the locker room. The adrenaline slowly wearing off, I noticed the blood and sweat dripping off of my jersey and chest pads. It was nothing to me at the moment. I thought of the comments I received from the game and realized how I used them to my advantage. Before entering the locker room, I gazed at the sky and smiled.

The prayers from my family on the island swept through me that night, and I silently thanked them.

Walking into the locker room, the dreary and tired faces of my teammates wordlessly set the tone of the room. I was not affected by this, though. I felt praised at that moment, and continued that way throughout the night.

41

Unique Kylee Jarosz

My hair Is not brown or blonde or grey And my body is not sliM I do not look like yoU Nor do I want to I work on myself And I don’t Quit because yoU cannot change who I want to bE

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Art: Shelby Vernon

43

Crashing waves hit the ship. The ocean was beating the lower part of the ‘alia.

The glorious sails whipped in the wind, creating a cracking sound. This noise was satisfying to Matai; he felt at peace. There was no danger to him at this moment.

He looked over and noticed men armed on the mast, controlling the ship’s movement effortlessly. Their bodies were covered in ink, each line telling a story.

The devilish wind ceased and the sun came out of the bleak clouds. Matai heard the chatter of the men on the ship, and gazed into the sun. Then, the sun slowly faded back into the blanket of clouds, and the island was in view. Home.

His eyes jolted open, the slight breeze blowing throughout the house. The windows cracked open, revealing the sun beginning to rise over the green horizon.

Excitement flowed throughout Matai’s body. He vaguely remembered the dream he had, a vision. He remembered everything: the storm, the ‘alia, and one other thing stuck out to the young boy. The tattoo, tatau. The ink wrapped around the warriors’ bodies and marvelously told each individual story.

He eagerly got up out of bed, the fresh smell of rice hitting him. He ran down the stairs and began making his breakfast.

“Rice, spam, and eggs, loaded with protein,” The young boy thought to himself. If he wanted to be a warrior, he must eat like one.

He noticed his father missing, the chief of the village. His cousins lay sprawled on the couch and the floor, still noticeably asleep. He stepped outside, the fresh air overtaking his senses. He began walking to the meeting place of the village. This is where Matai suspected his father was.

The dirt crunching under his sandals, the roosters echoing in the distance provided the calming sense of home.

He watched as the village began to wake up, smoke arising from the cooking area. The men had begun cooking

44

The Tatau Josh Mamea

breakfast for the chief and council members. The wisping of hands as the women wove baskets. All of this was normal, but it calmed Matai.

As he slowly made his way to the meeting place, he glanced over. The fast, swift tapping of a pig bone. The inked bone, hitting the skin of a man. The lines being made told a story of this man. By the build of this man, Matai assumed him to be a warrior. The man's face grimaced as the bone pounded his skin, blood slowly rising from the marks being made. Each line told the story of this warrior’s life.

“Sole…. Why are you watching us?” The tatau artist said.

Matai jumped. He had been staring at the scene for three minutes, lost in his thoughts.

“Sorry, sorry!” The boy said as he began to run further down the dirt road, his face flushed with embarrassment.

As Matai reached the meeting place, he noticed the door open. A shadow revealed itself through the closed curtains on the windows. He slowly creeped toward the door, peeking inside. His father sat there, alone. His father's eyes gazed out at the sea. His battle-torn face told enough stories, and his intimidating frame made Matai uneasy at times.

“Dad!” the boy yelled out.

The chief turned, his eyes staring at the boy, assessing his every move, looking him up and down.

“Yes son?” the chief calmly said.

“I’ve been thinking. I think it's time I get my tatau,” the boy exclaimed joyfully.

The chief's eyes blankly kept staring, unable to portray any certain feeling.

Matai began to feel uneasy as his father continued to stare at him. Slowly, the chief swayed his head left to right.

"No. You are too young. You have much to learn,” his father boldly said.

The chief's body shifted as he resumed looking out at the vast sea. A frown erupted from Matai’s face as he knew

there was nothing else to be said. He was upset after all, his pouting face setting the tone as he wordlessly left the room. _________________________________ Five years passed, and Matai was now 17. His body physically had grown; he was strong. He had become a warrior, and the battles he had fought had left his body scarred. The son of a chief, a title given to few. Matai felt like it was his job to portray himself as a warrior to the village. He hoped that they would view him as such. As he walked through the village, the young eyes of the children gazed at him. They saw Matai as a hero, a role model as such. He noticed these looks, and a sense of pride flowed throughout his body. It was time; he was of age and was ready. The tatau was calling his name.

The day slowly passed. As the young warrior layed in bed, he drifted off to sleep, his dreams all about the tatau.

It was time; the day had finally come.

Matai was awoken to the sound of his father’s heavy footsteps. Quickly, Matai jumped out of bed and waited for his father to approach him.

“Ready?” the chief asked, smirking.

There was no comment from Matai.

He quickly nodded and rushed toward the door. The usual morning scene hit Matai differently.

“Wow, this is beautiful,” he thought as he saw the smoke rising from the cooking area.

Each individual person was doing their job to keep the village running smoothly.

Matai and his father slowly approached the tatau artist, who quickly bowed his head in respect to the chief.

“You may begin whenever you are ready,” the chief boldly stated.

A quick nod from the artist and he motioned for Matai to come forth.

Matai layed down on the floor. The artist had prepped everything. The sharp ink-tipped bone was ready. The tatau artist began tapping on his shoulder.

Art: Makayla Wonpat The soft sound of traditional music ran throughout the area. With each tap of the bone, Matai’s mind opened. He saw everything. He saw the ship. Matai was connected with who he was. He was one with his true self. His eyes were staring blankly, but his mind was moving quickly. He envisioned the waves he saw in his dream, the men, everything.

He remembered the tatau they had. He smiled. He was becoming the person he wanted to be.

As time went on, Matai’s eyes became

heavy. The painful tapping of the bone began to fade. His body relaxed, and he drifted to sleep to the rhythmic tapping with a smile on his face.

The words wove their way through the air, whispers surrounding him. Matai’s eyes began to open from hearing the voices. The village surrounded him while he layed on the floor. He glanced around and saw the producers of the voices. The shadow-like beings were ghosts in a sense, slowly chanting.

Their words projected into his mind.

Matai was still in a deep slumber, but had awoken spiritually. As his mind wandered, the environment changed around him. He saw himself as a young boy running around the island. He noticed how carefree he was. He saw the excitement becoming alive in his young eyes. His mind flowed, and he saw himself amongst the men he dreamed to become, all heavily covered in storytelling ink.

He was one of them now, the man he always wanted to be.

45

I never looked forward to the parties that my dad would drag me to. They were always so full of friends from his football team, or family that I hadn’t seen in years, and I had never really been the social type, so I developed a system. A system of hiding away in corners and sinking into loveseats with a book in hand to look busy. A system of glancing around the room at all of the action, the commotion, the energy of the adults who’ve known each other for years laughing and catching up. I would look to the kids and watch them play, not caring about who they offend or what they were told. They’d look so lively and confident, living carefree in their own worlds of movement and openness, and I was as stagnant and closed off as they came.

I was a complete ball of anxiety as a kid, overwhelmed by the constant motion of everything and everyone around me. I never understood how people could keep up with the social cues and nuances that came with small talk, and I never, no matter how badly I wanted to, could understand how to start conversations. I was even more clueless when it came to ending them.

I was so terrified of rocking the boat or saying the wrong thing that the only solution that came to mind was isolating myself. Making myself invisible against the chaos that was always spinning around me. I kept myself stuck, forever outside of the action.

That was until Cinco de Mayo, 2012, a few months after my ninth birthday.

My dad had driven to Fredericksburg from Charlottesville to go to a party his friends were throwing, and he wanted to spend the day with me, so I tagged along. I was more than prepared to resort to my habitual hiding away, and I did lay low for most of the party.

I stuck to the couch, a little notebook in one hand, my tablet in another, just watching my dad walk around and

46

A World Alone Dominic McCall

catch up with everyone there. It wasn’t until Becca, my dad’s friend and host of the party, came up to me and asked if I wanted something to eat that I even got up from my spot.

I’d always liked Becca, I basically grew up with her around, so I was comfortable enough to talk to her while she served me some moderately soggy Doritos Locos Tacos from a cardboard party box. We talked about what I was doing in school, and my mom, my little sister that had just been born, all the normal catching up you’d do. Becca had always treated me, not like an adult, but at least with more respect than most adults would at the time. I felt like she understood my anxiety and saw when I was getting overwhelmed, even better than my dad did. I started to loosen up a bit more as we kept talking, both of us laughing and devouring our tacos faster than we could chew. I was finally feeling like I could breathe freely again for the first time since I’d gotten there as we threw our wrappers away and went into the backyard.

It was absolute chaos. Dads were congregated around the grill on one side of the yard, yelling and pushing each other around, half-drunk and rambling. Moms were gossiping and drinking wine coolers on the deck where Becca and I stood, shooting glares over to their husbands. Their children, all younger than I was at the time, ran all across the warzone that was the center of the yard, the boys throwing footballs and pushing each other to the ground, the girls squealing and cartwheeling right through all of the commotion.

I was immediately overwhelmed by all of the energy, having thoughts of hightailing it right back inside, before Becca put her hand on my shoulder and pointed me toward the swingset on the other side of the yard, on the outskirts of the mess. A girl, much

closer to my age than the rest, was sitting by herself, looking just as alone as I was. Becca asked if I wanted to go hang out with her, so I obliged, nodding with a heavy gulp at the thought of braving the battlefield.

I sped quickly through the flying limbs of restless kids running on a seemingly endless supply of sugar, nearly getting clocked by a football and a bedazzled sandal before finally making my way to the swingset. I sat two swings away from the girl, and neither of us spoke to one another for a while. Our eyes were still stuck on the rest of the partygoers, a few parents finding their way to the middle of the chaos, stumbling and trying to record Vines on their phones with very little success. The girl chuckled at the adults’ attempts, the first sound to come from either of us since I had sat down. Taking this as an in for a conversation, I turned to talk to her right as another girl sprung from the deck and rushed to the swingset.

Before I could get a word in, the girls grabbed each other’s hands and ran over to a jump rope left lying in the yard, leaving the swingset and me lonely in their dust.

I sighed as I watched the two girls play, kicking rocks as I sulked on my swing. I looked around for Becca to find her by the grill, surrounded by a crowd of other parents. The thought of going back with her crossed my mind, but she seemed to be having fun, and I didn’t want to interrupt anything, so I just sat, swinging idly with my head down, watching myself kick up dirt and grass, all alone again.

----------------------------------------Jack rolled into the party about half an hour later, pulling his twelve speed into the backyard with a wide, goofy smile. I noticed him immediately, making himself known with a “Yo!” and the nod of his baseball hat to everyone in the backyard. He was probably only around thirteen, but to

me, he looked older and taller than I could ever be. He scanned the crowd for a second, gave a nod to an older man I guessed was his dad, then dashed across the yard. I saw glimpses of his bright red tank top through the crowd before he emerged on the other side, right next to Becca.

Becca and Jack hit it off immediately, obviously familiar with each other, hugging for a minute before Becca turned to look at me. I jolted out of my sleepy daze on the swing as Becca started making her way to me, Jack strutting in tow. She stopped in front of me with a big smile as she introduced Jack to me as her cousin.

I gave Jack a sheepish, “Hi,” before he suddenly stepped forward and reached out for a handshake.

“Sup, little dude?” He said, still with a grin, making direct eye contact that I desperately tried to avoid.

I gulped a bit before I managed to sputter, “N-nothin,” taking Jack’s hand to shake with hesitation. As soon as I did, I was being pulled into him, the side of my face smashed against the heat of his chest in this awkward embrace as he gave my back a few firm pats, then let me go. My face was flushed red as soon as I was free from him, but he just laughed as Becca continued to introduce us over the anxious ringing that took over my mind.

Everything about Jack was confusing to me. I’d known people that dressed and talked like him before, and none of them even acknowledged me; if they did, it was always something sarcastic or off-handed, but Jack was nice. Too nice. I felt like at any moment I could say something wrong, or he would drop the mask, and then who knows what he would-“Dom?” Suddenly, I was snapped back to reality, Becca and Jack looking down at me expectantly.

“Sorry, I…” I trailed off with an awkward chuckle.

“Hey,” Becca leaned down to me, “Jack’s going down the street to chill with some friends. You wanna go hang

with them?”

I didn’t respond for a good moment, looking to Becca, to the ground, back to Becca, then finally landing on Jack. He was just smiling. Still smiling.

I turned my sights slowly back to Becca.

“Uh… sure?”

----------------------------------------The walk with Jack was tense at first.

He was talking a lot, and I was keeping my words as scarce as possible. He was still being very nice, asking about what school I went to, what grade I was in, all of the other basic niceties. I was trailing behind him as he made his way down the street with confidence, walking his bike alongside him. I would steal a few glances at Jack whenever he’d have his focus ahead, observing the way he carried himself with as much swagger as a thirteen year old could muster. When I looked at him, I got this feeling I couldn’t fully describe: a mix of jealousy and anxiety and admiration that sat and festered in the pit of my stomach, flaring up with every look shot towards him. For some reason, I just couldn’t stop staring.

We made it nearly halfway down the road before Jack slowed, looking over his shoulder at me as my eyes shot straight to the ground.

“Hey, you seen my dad back there?”

He asked, coming to a stop, fully turning toward me.

I thought back to the man he nodded to at the party, but I didn’t want to make any assumptions, so I just looked up and shook my head.

“Big redneck dude? Loud as hell?”

I smiled a bit, giving him a nod.

“Yeah. He’s a prick.”

I laughed, genuinely. I was worried that I wasn’t supposed to for a moment before he laughed, too, and I felt the tension in my body loosen, my smile growing wider. Maybe not too nice, I thought as Jack grabbed me by the shoulder and brought me forward, still laughing as we continued our walk side by side.

----------------------------------------We made it to our destination a few

minutes later: a little house at the end of the street with two other kids, a boy and a girl both around Jack’s age, sitting in the yard beside each other. As we started to approach, the boy stood with a scowl.

“You’re late, dude,” He groaned, walking to pick his bike up off of the driveway.

“Chill out, Sammy. Had to make a pit stop,” Jack said, gesturing to me as he gripped my shoulder a little tighter, “This is Dom, y’all. Dom, this is Sam and Jenny: the Wondertwins.”

Sam scoffed, pulling his bike past us to the end of the driveway and giving me a short “Hey” as he passed. Jenny stood carefully and walked to us with a kind smile.

“Bout time,” she remarked as she gave Jack a playful shove. “Hey there, kiddo,” she said to me as she passed, picking her bike up from the edge of the yard and pulling it to where Sam was waiting. I looked to all three of their bikes, looked down at myself, then to Jack. He grinned.

“You ready for a ride?” He asked quickly before turning to the twins, “Hey, y’all got--” “Well--” I started to interrupt, meekly.

“-- another bike in the--” “I-- I can’t.”

Jack looked back to me, eyebrow arched. “Huh?” “I, um… can’t ride one. Yet.” “Oh, well...” Jack looked around for a short moment, then just shrugged, hopping onto his bike and patting the back half of the seat, “Hop on, then.”

A blush immediately returned to my cheeks, “I… I…” “C’mon, dude!” He laughed then looked back at me, his eyes piercing straight into mine, “I’ve got you.”

I stood still for a moment, hesitant. I looked to Sam and Jenny at the end of the driveway, their eyes impatiently ushering me along, then to Jack and his warm, mischievous smile. I sighed, shaking off my doubts and clinging onto Jack’s back, my arms wrapped tightly around his torso as I climbed onto the bike. My entire body tensed

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as Jack began to move. He looked over his shoulder, chuckling.

“Hold on tight, kid!” He exclaimed before pushing off, my body clinging to his for dear life as we rode off into the afternoon.

----------------------------------------We rode around the neighborhood for about an hour. I just coasted along with Jack as he showed me different parks and spots where they would all hang out. We drifted one neighborhood over and rode past Jack’s house, the three of them laughing and recounting memories to each other as we went along. I didn’t speak much at all, all my focus on keeping my death grip around Jack, so I just let my head rest on his back. I felt the rise and fall of his breathing, and with it I became more relaxed. The vibration of him speaking and laughing against the side of my cheek strangely comforted me as I looked out, watching all of the houses pass by in flashes before I closed my eyes gently, settling into the beat of Jack’s breath as we cruised through the suburbs.

Once we made our way back to the house, I found myself not wanting to let go of Jack. As I finally climbed from behind him, I felt like something was missing. I felt like I had to be closer to him again. Suddenly, the worry I had felt earlier had turned into want and longing for his presence. The whole situation left me confused and frustrated, but I didn’t have much time to think about it before Jack went storming past me toward the backyard.

“PAULIE!” He screamed with joy as he ran up and embraced a much older boy, around seventeen or eighteen, that stood at the gate to the backyard next to a smaller kid that looked more my age.

Jenny came up behind me and tapped my shoulder as I watched Jack mingle.

“That’s Paul, by the way. He’s the

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oldest,” she explained as Sam walked toward them, giving Paul a wave and ruffling the shorter boy’s hair. “That’s Georgie. He’s the devil.”

Almost as if on cue, Georgie abruptly lunged for Jack, who spun out of the way skillfully, turning back to the younger boy with a gasp. “Oh, you little--” Jack leaped toward Georgie, trying to put him in a headlock, but the boy managed to slither free.

“What? What?” Jack taunted with a grin, throwing playful punches at Georgie, who had the same widetoothed smile.

“Hey!” Paul bellowed, crossing his arms and stepping toward the two of them, his looming presence casting a shadow over their wide-eyed expressions. There was a moment of tense pause before Paul finally chuckled and gestured over his shoulder, “Take it to the ring.”

Jack and Georgie both shared a quick, mischievous glance before Jack was speeding off into the backyard, Georgie right on his tail. Paul turned and started into the backyard as well, waving behind him and calling, “Sammy!”

Sam sighed, laying his bike down gently on the driveway, “Here we go,” he muttered under his breath before slipping through the gate as well.

Jenny laughed a bit, walking toward the gate and glancing back at me.

“They’re always like this.” She leaned on the gate to hold it open.

----------------------------------------I sauntered into the backyard, Jenny locking the gate behind us, and turned the corner of the backside of the house to look for Jack. I found that, within seconds, all of the boys had jumped onto a trampoline in the middle of the yard and were flailing all over each other. They were pushing, pulling, grabbing, and wrestling, all with these wide grins across their faces. Even Sam, who seemed more the timid type, was opening up and having fun in

all of the mess.

I stared at them in awe until Jack finally noticed me looking and yelled “C’mon, kid!” before his legs were taken out by Georgie, the two of them falling flat on their stomachs.

I let out an anxious chuckle at the idea of joining in, the pit in my stomach growing before Jenny laid a hand softly on my shoulder.

“You good, dude?” she asked. I nodded slowly as I looked back to the trampoline, seeing Jack now sprawled on top of Georgie, beckoning me over in the middle of a laughing fit, and suddenly, my feet were moving. I found myself at the edge of the trampoline, hands grasping its metal rim, and felt my anxiety start to spike before Jack’s hand pressed itself firmly over mine. I looked up to see Jack kick Sam off of him from behind and Georgie finally slip from under his weight.

“Need a hand?” Jack requested, and I couldn’t help myself from nodding.

With ease, he heaved me up by my shoulders and threw me into the mix.

It was absolute chaos. Limbs flying and crashing into each other. Bodies falling and clinging onto one another.

I felt carried by all of the movement around me, getting caught in the current of energy that radiated from each of us. I was thrown every which way, tossed around like a ragdoll between each of the boys as we all pushed against each other, but any anxiety I had felt before was thrown out the window. It was like something opened in me; a chain was pulled taut, then dismantled inside of me, lifting a weight I’d always kept on my shoulders. If there was any pain or discomfort that came, it seemed to be cured by all of our laughter as we lived in that moment, bouncing off of each other like human pinballs.

We were completely content in the chaos of our own little world, and suddenly, I was free for the very first time.

Art: Skylar Cork

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Letters Ama Damuah

Every day I send letters to you.

Each word, a piece of my feelings.

Every letter I write is like a fleeting note; Dancing off the pages to create music beyond the world’s comprehension.

Creating the greatest love song for lovers to hear And share for children beyond our time.

My letters are my declaration of love, words I’ve held in my head and over my heart for years to pass.

Words I could never tell you to your face Now I bear this gift to share my love, my story, my wish.

Every day I’ll write you letters and leave them by your side.

I’ll write till I can write no more.

I’ll write till the last breath God provides for me.

I’ll write till I can greet you in the heavens above.

And get one last chance to share with you the emotion in my heart, the feelings wielded and the pain I felt.

My story will be told, my loves shared.

And the world will know how fleeting life and love can be.

Sincerely, Ama Damuah

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Photo: Ty Robbins

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Colophon

This year's literary magazine, Perspectives, was produced by adviser Megan Marshall using Adobe InDesign and Photoshop CC. Display text is in the font Afterglow, and body text is in Louis George Café.

Due to restrictions caused by the COVID-19 outbreak, this magazine has been released digitally only and is available at no cost. Any physical copies have been printed by individuals.

The cover art was created by Leah Taylor.

The purpose of this magazine is to showcase students' thoughts and perspectives through both writing and art. As with any publication, the views expressed by the writers and artists are not necessarily the views of Massaponax High School, the editorial staff, adviser or Spotsylvania County Schools.

All Massaponax students were permitted to submit entries for consideration for publication. All work completed in Miss Marshall's Creative Writing I and II class or submitted to the virtual Art Show on Padlet was automatically considered for publication.

All writing and art submissions were considered based on quality, appropriateness, relevance and overall impact. The editorial staff reserved the right to edit material for both clarity and correctness. Original artists retain copyright of their submitted work.

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