Tales from the Wolf Den vol. II

Tales from the Wolf Den Vol. II Fall 2023 edition

From Silver Ink Publishing

Table of Contents Death & Taxes...................................................................................4 A Husband, a Thief, & a Wife.......................................................9 Fishing………………………......................................................................14 Fear and Fear Compounded……………………………………….……...16 Lament………………………...................................................................20 Two Poems: Am I Really Existing or Is That Too Cruel?.......24 Indefinitely........................................................................................26

Sophia Rakestraw

I wouldn’t know. It had been so long since my

Death and Taxes

last Reaping that the feeling of a soul

There were no hours in the Offices of Death.

Assignments were constant and unending.

There were no windows, and if there were, they would just open into a featureless void.

There were no after-work hangouts, there was no “after work” at all. There were no family photographs propped up on our desks or betting pools or birthday cakes or Casual Fridays. Though sometimes there were donuts in the break room, so that was a bonus.

The reward was the work. It’s fulfilling to Reap. That is what the posters on the cubicle walls said, anyway.

colliding with my scythe was a fleeting memory. Now, I was just another paper jockey, signing and stamping and filing papers documenting other reaper’s catches.

It was while I was jockeying those papers, sulking through the void between the realms gathering up viscera the young and foolhardy among the Reapers had been so ungrateful as to leave behind, that I met the soul.

It had been decades since I’d seen a real, unreapt soul. And even longer since I’d seen one in person instead of on the grainy screen of a Computer on Wheels showing me a poorly-made training video on what to do if I found one.

I should really report it. Souls shouldn’t linger

I felt the pain of that irrelevance, the shame

too long in the Void, they start to go stale.

and the loneliness and the pent-up rage that

Who knew how long this one had been here?

simmered high after centuries of mind-

Long enough that its flesh had begun to melt

numbing paperwork.

away from its skeletal frame, its burial shroud

No longer would I stalk the shadows with

long since worn to threads.

the forgotten Vinča gods and the unnamed

Then it met my eyes, and I knew.

lwo and the scavengers picking at the rotting fruit of other, greater creatures’

It was Forgotten.

scythes.

Today, I would Reap.

It had no God to claim it, no power to be claimed, no cabinet to file under.

I stepped towards the forgotten soul where

For whatever reason, through its own

it lay crumpled on the floor like a once-

mediocrity or some administrative oversight,

favorite toy dropped absentmindedly by a

this soul had not been assigned a value. No

disinterested child.

one would reap it, it wouldn’t contribute to

As I moved towards it, it pleaded silently,

their quota.

begging for release, for freedom, for absence, for sweet nothingness.

It, like me, had become irrelevant.

I raised my arms straight out to my side, Irrelevance was worse than death. Well, I

feeling the power beneath my skin come to

assume. I had plenty of experience in death,

ebb after centuries of stagnation. I blinked,

but very little in actually dying.

and my eyes became pure glowing gold,

Irrelevance, though, I was well versed in.

like metal on the forge. My hair began to

I was once a Power That Be. Thousands of

float around me, lifted in the current

people prayed to me, begging for forgiveness

pulsing from my core. Flames jumped up

and mercy and, when all else failed, for haste.

out of the darkness to form a burning crown around it.

Then, I summoned my armor.

The anger rose in me again, burning my

First came the bronze corslet, fused into my

crowning flames higher. I did not deserve

skin. Then the spaulders hovering above my

to be resigned to desk or death. I was not

shoulders like hawks perched on their

ready to end. I deserved to live, to work, to

austringer. The vambraces and greaves, made

Reap.

of boiled leather. Not cow.

And then, backed by the strength of a

It pulsated, chomping at the bit after years of

thousand years of rage, I brought down my

neglect. It shivered in anticipation.

scythe.

And finally, birthed in the golden glow emanating from my armor, my scythe came to

It slit the soul in two, sliding easily through

being in my outstretched palm.

the empty space where skin would have

This was not a farmer’s utilitarian tool, no.

been, had it not long since rotted off. As the

This was a scythe only in name.

soul was severed cleanly in half, the

My warsword, a thick golden blade, wielded

snapping bones of its neck let out a final

with two hands at the heft and a tapered leaf

groan, a crunching, grinding, popping

like a Greek xiphos or a Roman Mainz at the

sound like a carrot snapping in half, or the

end, though this one was much older than

head being twisted off a particularly juicy

those names.

crawfish.

The soul stared in awe, then in relief.

I braced myself. Eyes closed in anticipation

It bowed its head in resignation, exposing its

of the surge of power that accompanied a

neck in the universal pose of the executionee.

Reaping. It did not come.

I stood there, for a second wavering on the edge of uncertainty. How much time could a

I opened my eyes, stared at the soul. It was

single soul buy me? A century? Two? Maybe

not dead.

only a few measly decades.

It clutched at its neck, surprised to still have one.

I turned my Scythe in my hands. So I was a bit out of practice. Just shaking the rust off.

I blew out a measured breath, and struck again.

Slice. Snap. Still not dead.

I tried slicing lengthwise, nothing. I stabbed the soul, bludgeoned it with my purely ceremonial hilt, kicked it, just for good measure. The soul didn’t even seem to feel it.

I dropped my sword. It hit the ground with the resounding gong of pure gold hitting pure darkness, ringing through the void. My armor stripped off, dissolving into shimmering light and broken dreams. My flaming crown had disappeared somewhere along the way.

I sighed, and drew out my clipboard. The soul stared up at me with betrayal in its hollow eyes.

“Name and date of death, please.”

. .

A Husband, a Thief, & a Wife

“Thanks” is all that she can mouth out

think anyone gets special treatment

to him.

honey, at the end of the day we all die.

As the car pulls away from their

Why should it matter what kind of day

garage, the thumping of the rain is

it is?” Keith glances at Rachel while

the only sound being heard in their

still trying to keep his eyes on the

presence. Rachel cannot help but

road.

“Do I really have to wear this? I mean

seem distraught looking through her

The rain continues.

I barely knew her; do I have to go?”

window, pretending the raindrops on

Keith says in a sarcastic tone.

the glass are her tears, though she’d

Rachel can’t help but wonder why she

After a deep sigh, Rachel mutters,

had none since she received the

feels displaced in such recent weeks.

“Like it or not, you’ll be in it all

horrific news. Maybe reality had not

Even before her sister passed, her

evening, and yes dear, we must go.

hit her yet that her sister was no

life had never been simple. Growing

She was my sister. Ugh, we’re never

longer with her.

up in her sister’s shadow, Rachel

going to make it on time! Where did

Maybe she didn’t like her sister.

finally has her chance to be seen. A

you leave the car keys?”

Maybe she just wants to see the will,

sense of pride and relief now hangs

“Honey, they’re in my coat pocket.

or just maybe she knows that she is

over her without her sister being

Remember I’m driving, you don’t like

all alone.

present.

Isaac Martin

stormy weather,” voices Keith.

Rachel’s sister was not known to

As the couple shifts away from the

Keith and Rachel are one hour into

many, yet everyone knew about her

bedroom and towards the garage, The

their four-and-a-half-hour drive to

through the magic power of the

two can’t help but feel that something

Rachel’s sister’s home. “You ever

grapevine. A sheltered kid she was,

is off between them. “Seatbelt on,

wonder if there are certain days

not one to go out and make friends at

hon?” With a click the buckle locks

designed for people to die on?”

school or better yet try and make

into place. “I just want to make sure

Rachel chirps out to her husband.

friends at all. Rachel’s friends are

you’re okay, I know this week hasn’t

“Who cares, we all die anyways” is

Amber’s friends too is what their

been easy for you Rach.”

what Keith wants to say, but instead

mother would say. This was not the

he responds, “I uh..I don’t

case.

Amber got everything Rachel wanted and well, this is

Rachel awaits in her seat, more thumps and taps from

partially what made Rachel into the woman she is today.

the rain splashing and crashing down onto the car.

When she wants something, she goes and gets it. Amber

Looking through her sunroof, despite it being cloudy

moved away when she was 18, she just finished high

outside, she just wants to get out and lay on the ground.

school, meanwhile Rachel is away at college getting

To just be accepted and swallowed into the thick

herself an education and “doing something with her life” is

downpour that is before her very eyes. To just disappear

what their father said to Amber once the door slammed in

and be alone, just like her sister.

his face as she left their home for the last time, not to

Keith, pondering in the gas station, is trying to

return.

remember his wife's food habits. “Hmm, nothing

Hour two:

sour...not to sweet.” Murmuring to himself “She is a

“It’s bizarre though, right? The rain, perfect gray clouds

sucker for chip mix, maybe a grape soda?” Facing the

shunning the sun and it’s not even 56 outside.” This is

cashier with his purchases on the counter, Keith asks for

funeral weather she exclaims to Keith. Choosing his next

a pack of smokes from the top shelf. The cashier turns

words carefully, Keith drew out a “Well, you’re not wrong.

away and woosh, Keith grabs his goods and dashes off

Gloomy weather like this brings a damper on anyone who

through the door back into the rain, knowing the lone

is in it.” He was right. Of all the weather to be happening

cashier won’t bother to follow.

on her helpless sister's death day, it’s a rainstorm with no

Keith may not be the best man for Rachel, but he has his

urgency to stop anytime soon. Those make-believe tears

moments.

still roll off the outside window, Rachel's head turning each

A quick sprint back to the car, Keith rushes to close his

time to make it seem like she can cry. Yet she cannot.

door avoiding letting the rain follow him inside. Pulling

“We’re just under halfway, do you care if I stop for a

out the grape soda, he nudges Rachel and says, “I think

bathroom break up ahead? I’ll get you your favorite

you are soda-pressed, take some snacks and let’s talk it

snack!” Keith tries to entice Rachel...or at least try to liven

out, you’ve been silent this entire ride.”

up the tension between them.

“Stop. Do you even know what you’re saying to me?”

“Sure, I guess if you need a break, take one. It’s not like

Rachel smacks the snacks down onto the floorboard, the

we’re in a rush or anything.”

soda makes a fizzing noise. The purple aluminum is now building up pressure inside, soon to unleash a disaster if opened. “Tread lightly” she states.

Hour Three

The rain continues.

Keith and Rachel have been driving for some time now. The

Knock, knock, knock. Keith always knocks three times.

rain continues and the storm rages on showing no mercy to the sky. Massive clouds filled with each shade of gray

The two stand close, eyes on the pale front door that

there is in this world. Bright white illuminating bolts

creaks open just as Keith's third knock ends.

stretch across the horizon, yet do not reach the ground.

“It’s not locked...has someone been here?”

Rachel ponders a thought before leading with a cracked

Trailing in after her Husband, Rachel says, “I forgot

voice, “Why didn’t you want to come here? Is it because

something in the car, you go in without me!” as she tries

you have to see me like this?” Rachel crosses her arms in

to shout louder than the roaring thunder. Keith navigates

shame.

through the shadows of the hallway with only the light of

“Rach, bear with me here...Sad things bring out the sad

his cellphone. He looks around the narrow walls and tilts

person inside us. You are sad, there is no denying that

his head at each picture on the wall. “Huh, she never told

feeling.” Keith leans his right arm across and lends a

me she was a triplet” “She played the piano?” Keith

rubbing hand on her left shoulder. She is comforted by his

cleared the first floor, no signs of life except for his

act, One she has not seen since the two married each

above average heart rate. CRASH, Rachel stumbles

other over 12 years ago. Rachel feels her body tremble

through the front door, Keith nearly falling to the floor

and her mind starts to question everything.

from shock.

Hour four:

“Why did you do that!” he shouts.

Arrived. Keith cautiously pulls their car along the “NO

A simple response: “You know I don’t like stormy

PARKING ANYTIME” part of the curb and inches his way

weather, so I rushed to get out of it.”

toward the once forgotten home of Amber. “Uh, is this the

The two now stand side by side in the dining room, facing

right place? There are no other cars, just ours and the one

towards the basement door that is open, as is the light

in her driveway,” Keith says with his hands on the wheel.

at the bottom of the staircase.

“That’s what the map says. Do you think I’m wrong? Are

“Be a gentleman and lead the way, unless you’re scared,”

you calling me a liar, Keith?”

Rachel says in a playful tone. Keith hesitantly places one

“Forget it.” he says, “Let’s just go up and see if anyone’s

foot after another down the carpeted staircase, blind to

home.” The two make their way out of the car and to the

knowing what lies at the end.

ridged steps outside Amber’s address.

Twisting around the basement corner, he is frozen in his

Frantically finding her steps, Rachel makes her way to

tracks and is in awe of what his eyes are fixated upon. A

the center of the room by her sisters, and Keith.

body sitting upright in a chair, but who could it be? He

Amber clears her throat and reads off from her phone,

approaches, one foot in front of the other until he is right

“Now that her sister Amber is dead, I bet she’s got some

where he needs to be. Tap, tap, he goes on the right

pretty things,” “Or is it like we just go in and take what

shoulder.

we want, she does have some nice jewelry we could

No response.

use...or sell.”

Keith looks closer and realizes, this woman looks just like

Rachel exhales, “You wanted Amber dead so I could get

Rachel. But if Rachel is with me, and Amber is dead, this

her jewelry and you could make a quick buck?? You

has to be the third sister.

really showed yourself Keith, how about I give you something that’s priceless.”

“We’ve been expecting you, Keith,” a collection of three

Rachel lands a slap across Keith's cheek, leaving a red

different pitched voices arise from the basement. Rachel

mark that only got darker as time goes by.

comes down from the stairs, the woman in the chair holds

Facing his wife now, Keith collects himself, head down

her head up high and Amber comes in from the outside,

and breathes out,

covered in a mix of rain, mud, and a faint cigarette smell.

“Rachel, I can explain, I onl-”

“No no no, you’re supposed to be dead!”

Keith is shaken as the sisters surround him in the once

The smell of gunpowder fills the room as Amber tucks

empty basement.

her pistol back into her waistband.

“Oh, I know,” Amber mutters. “Except you forgot the part where your plan didn’t work.”

“He was never good at cleaning up his messes anyways, I did you a favor sis.”

Rachel is silent.

Keith didn’t think Amber would find out, much less for

Keith’s body lies where he once stood, getting colder as

Rachel to know.

time passes by.

Amber, walking up to Keith, says, “Rachel come here, YOU need to hear this too.”

Rachel, too scared to retaliate against Amber, says her goodbye to Keith in his last breath and leaves.

“Are you going to untie me now?” Amanda, the third sister, asks, in shock from the events in front of her.

Amber loosens the rope and says simply, “You’re free to go, but if you say anything to anybody, you know what will happen. Oh, and thanks for the help”.

“I understand,” Amanda says as she walks backwards away from Amber.

The rain continues.

Rachel sits in her car after leaving the basement.

Now she has to drive home without a husband, and it's storming outside.

The rain stops.

Fishing Blake Christopher

Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiizzzzzzzzzzzz

However, more often than not the water Schlop

was too dark to even glimpse a brief

Back when I was a kid, I always imagined

shine of a struggling fish on the line.

a “Weeeeeee” from the worm on the hook

Mornings and nights were always the

as it felt the roar and bite of the wind.

most enjoyable times to fish at my

Though now having a few more wrinkles

pond. Sure during those times there

in my brain, I can imagine it was more of

was not enough light to see the bait

a “AAAAAAAAAAAA”. Ever since I

glide through the water or see the fish

changed from organic to plastic, the pitch

stalk through the weeds, but the thrill of

of the worms’ screams no longer plagues

frequency more than made up for it.

my mind. I repeat the same process over

The hook would rip through the cold air

and over again: cast, reel in with jerks

and within seconds of being in the

and then clean ten pounds of plants off

water, one eager to eat would bite.

the hook. Some days I could see the

Some slam into the hook and fight with

worm slink through the water, and other

the fervor of an army; some take a

days I enjoyed teasing the inquisitive fish

more gentle approach and the

by making their meal fiestier than normal.

sensation feels

like you snagged a weed, but the line

More often than not one cannot do

always announces the ruse; some, in

much more than snip the line and throw

incredibly rare miracles of malice, hook

the fish into the weeds to give it a more

themselves in cruel ways like through the

favorable death than starving for

mouth and into the eye or through the

several days.

skull which makes it a dull experience.

The feeling of gutshotting a large fish brings the same satisfaction as finally

The least enjoyable part of fishing is

being strong enough to wrestle with

removing the hook for it is even more

your dad and hearing, “Guess I am

unpredictable than the manner in which

getting old.”

the fish hook themselves. If you are lucky, the fish will be calm and the hook can be easily removed, but luck is not on your side. Sometimes a five pound bass will not fight and just lazily dance its way to land and let itself be easily unhooked; sometimes a six ounce bass will slam the hook through its mouth, gills or eyes and writhe like a raging inferno.

The worst case is to gutshot the fish, especially when the fish is a leviathan that fights with all the vigor of its souls.

Gutshotting is a rather nasty bit of work to deal with as more often than not the hook is unable to be retrieved as its current home is stuck in the stomach of the fish, though once every lottery winning you can get the hook out.

Fear and

Two, the action fear.

That brings me to my

The shit or go blind fear.

greatest childhood fear of all.

Fear Compounded The kind where the brain Curtis W. McNeal III

That’s fear stacked on top of fear. Like one and one is two plus one more is three.

As a kid you probably had at least three different types of fears.

One, the average fear, like falling while climbing higher in a tall tree or riding a bike for the first time. You learn to be careful in the tree and to balance yourself on the bike.

No big deal, you fall, you get up, you are embarrassed for a minute. Maybe a broken bone or two. The badge of courage and awe. Curtis broke his arm riding a bike.

The talk of the playground.

The “All hell is going to break

goes into overload and shifts

loose” fear. Most of the time

into the “Three F’s mode:

it’s a parent who instills this

Fight, Flight or Freeze.” This

kind of fear in their child.

can be a lifelong fear. A fear

The kind where you knew

you can have for a long time

your parents were really

or until you come to grips

going to jack you up.

with it.

Before I venture into my My second fear was of

story, I have to take you on a

snakes. The idea of being

trip back in time. A time

bitten by a snake was more

before “Don’t hit little

than I could stand. I even had

Johnny, give him a time out.”

nightmares. “You get bitten

A time when you got your ass

by a snake you are surely

whupped, not whipped, with

going to DIE! No question

any instrument of whipping

about it.” This fear has been

available for tagging that ass.

the source of many

Just as long as you didn’t kill

confrontations and very

them or inflict great and

tense moments which could

permanent bodily harm,

have caused hurt and pain. I

everything was alright.

overcame that fear once I

My mother, the late Mrs.

learned to understand and

Dorotha McNeal, was the

respect them as a part of

best of them all. She didn’t

nature's plan. Now we catch

care what she whipped you

fish together.

with. She would use anything

she got her hands on that

It was a Saturday afternoon,

My problem began when I

wouldn't break. She would

just a little after one o’clock.

got around the corner and

make us get our own switch

Momma was putting the final

down the block from my

to be whipped with. She

touches and adjustment on a

house. Ricky O’Kelly had a

would use whatever was at

dress to be worn Sunday for

new puppy, a pretty little

hand, anything from

Ms. Perry across the street. I

thing, about four months old.

extension cords to water

was just lying around when

I stopped to play with it and

hose. Your worst nightmare

she said to me, “Curtis! run

to assist in its training

was to be awakened from a

up to Walgreens and get me

session. As was the practice

sound sleep being whipped

a large spool of #30, white

of us boys, we would hold

with one of those devices of

thread and come right back.”

their nose until they break

punishment. It didn’t matter

The emphasis was put on the

loose using their paw and

if you were clothed or not.

words run and come right

shaking their head. This was

She’d say, “I'm not tearing up

back. I calculated that I could

supposed to bring out their

the clothes I paid for. Take

go to Walgreens and return

aggressive spirit. In the

‘em off!”

in about an hour if I took the

process I was scratched on

scenic route, cutting across

the back of the hand.

My story began with a simple

vacant lots, going through

Nothing serious. The scratch

request for me to run an

alleys and slipping through

was barely visible, no blood,

errand. Mother was the

Billy’s yard.

little more than a red line on

neighborhood seamstress.

Being the good kid I was, I

the skin.

She would sew dresses and

went straight to Walgreens,

Four hours later, I had to go

crochet items for the

got the thread and had time

home, knowing what would

neighbors to earn additional

to test the new toys. In my

happen to me when I got

income. After all, she had

mind, play time was a given.

there. My mind was working

four growing, wayward boys

After all, I didn’t go to

overtime trying to come up

at home.

Walgreens everyday.

with an excuse or reasons for why I was delayed. Then the

light bulb in my head started

more clothes and put on

Momma said, “Don’t put on

shining real bright. I’ll tell her

clean underwear. I have to

your church clothes, you are

I was bit by a dog. I spent a

take you to the hospital”.

not going to church. We have

half hour practicing, covering

“Why?” I asked.

to go to the city hall.”

every angle and question for

“Because you said you was

“Yes Mam,” I replied with

my lie.

“bit by a dog!”

suspicion. I kind of got a little

When I finally made it home,

I didn’t have a problem going

idea something wasn’t right

I was ready. I had answers for

to the ER. I wasn’t sick or

about this bus ride on a

every question she would

hurt. We would go and come

Sunday-- no church? Just us,

ask. What happened, where

right back home cause ain’t

all by ourselves?

were you at, where is the

nothing the matter with me.

dog. I had the perfect

So off we went to the

When we arrived at city hall,

answer. “I was trying to catch

hospital. Momma and the

I knew something wasn’t

it, when he ran down the

doctor talked for a little bit.

right. The sign on the door

alley through Ms Channing’s

Then I was given a tetanus

read, City Health

yard.” Momma knew just

shot and we returned home.

Department.

about everybody for a ten

No more conversation about

Hell, I’m ten years old. I can

block radius. “That's what

the dog or what happened.

read. The last time I was here

took me so long.” It seemed

Nothing about a whipping,

they gave me some shots for

to be working. I hadn’t

not a word.

school. But this was

received a whipping, so

summertime; ain’t no school.

everything was going great.

Come Sunday morning. I was

I was relieved and relaxed,

busy putting on my Sunday

Sure enough I got another

had a snack, and read a book

clothes and getting ready to

shot, but this time it was in

like nothing had happened.

go to church when I heard

the area at the navel with the

the words that opened the

biggest needle I had ever

door to my new hell.

seen. “OWWW!” I screamed.

After a little while Momma told me, “Go put on some

“That hurt!!!” That was the

That was the beginning of 14

Enough for me to know

days of torture and hell.

Momma was going to beat the shit out of me. I was

I had seen kids who were bit

going to Die. I had taken too

playing with puppies, me

long to get from the store,

included. Doing what we did

going to the hospital, all

getting scratch or nipped on

night finishing the dress.

the hand was a given. No one

And worst of all, I Had Lied!

ever said anything about

That would be the final nail

Rabies Shots!

in the coffin.

Every day the same thing,

I never got around to

weekend included. Catch two

confessing to that lie. That is

buses, get stuck in the navel.

the only practiced, downright

Riding home I would be in

lie I ever told. Consequences

agony and pain. And I had to

didn’t end with the shots and

be there at the same time

a bad conscience.

each and every day. After the first 5-6 sticks, you run out of

I consigned myself to a new

new territory for an injection.

life fear.

I endured.

I hate Needles!!!

I was too afraid to tell the truth.

And by now it was too late.

I had stacked up reasons on top of reasons to get a killing.

Lament Nabiha Qureshi

My brother often jokes that I form attachments and thus, am reluctant to let things go.

He says I find safety in the familiar, so I bubble myself up in hopes of never venturing into the unknown.

He’s not wrong.

He never truly is, but I pretend otherwise, because if I don’t, if I tell him so, his body will no longer be able to carry the weight of his head. He knows how much I value his presence, and I’d much rather show it than say the words I know he’ll only tease me with.

I find words often hurt more than they soothe, anyway.

I’m on the floor, hands fisted in my lap, unable to settle my tremors. I eye the box of items I’ve saved, despite never using them, not once, after I’d been hurt by those who gave them to me. They’ve been left under my bed to fester, but I’m a coward, too afraid to part from them. However, my brother is right; I cannot move on if I continue holding the past in a tight grip, begging for reprieve yet being the one keeping it from myself.

My brother is beside me, a constant, comforting presence as I lift the first item, a necklace I’d been given a few years prior. A birthday gift from a friend I’d treasured close. It had been a one-sided bond, I’d later found out, and I’d never let the jewelry touch my neck after, but I’d never thrown it away, either. My brother believes it’s because I’d hoped, if I kept it with me, I’d recover that friendship somehow. Maybe he was right.

He called me hopeful. I call myself naive.

The next object I let go of is a pin. It’s small, a cute little panda eating bamboo.

It’s not much, its story not that strong. But it’s familiar, a memory of a time I’d laughed too easily before the sound had been snatched from me.

The pin isn’t hard to bury.

But the next item is. I’d kept it safe since I was a child, treating it as a friend that would never leave me. I’d clutched it close to myself as I’d slept, this bear. I’d cried when it had eventually lost an eye, although my brother had fixed it promptly. It was given to me by my father, a reassurance for when he’d needed to leave. I remember his parting words clearly, each word burned into my memory. He’d told me if I needed him, he’d be there. He’d only be a phone call away.

I’d called often. He’d never answered.

He’d lied.

I set the toy to be buried, as well. I sift through the other items, reminiscing about the life I’d once led, a life that had both harmed and brought me joy. A life that I am moving on from, because I need to heal. I need to find that light again.

But when I close that box, seal those memories, something heavy forms in my gut. It steals my breath, floods my veins with panic, and I’m trembling all over again. The little peace I’d come to know is gone, and in its wake is a void I’m not sure how to fill. A sob catches in my throat and I look at my brother through glassy eyes. He’s looking back at me, his face twisted in agony. There’s understanding in there, too, and acceptance, and that haunts me more. I don’t want that acceptance. I want him to honor his promise to me, to continue being the only person who’d never lied.

I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again, but nothing comes out. I can’t find my words. Maybe if I say nothing, we can stay in this moment forever. Maybe this is the one thing I can get to keep. Maybe, out of all this tragedy, I don’t have to be alone.

I’m sorry, I want to say.

I love you.

Don’t leave.

I’ll miss you.

“It’s okay.” He breaks my grief with his soothing words, watching me struggle trying to find my footing, watching me fall apart.

He reaches out to pat my head, and I close my eyes, trying to remember what the warmth of his hand had felt like before I’d lost it. “I know. You’ll be okay. You always are.”

The sky has broken, and rain runs down my cheeks, and when I can see again, when I can breathe again, just barely, when I can think again, my brother is no longer here.

I’ve let go. I am alone.

There’s something about seeing the world the way I do Yes, that’s an I Not an us, a me The way I see it This nonexistent reality There’s never any we My brain is fuzz The world is worse Any place but here is the one I’d rather be But tied to the meat and organs that cover my bones Slopping sloshing desecrated and tainted I think, no I know, My brain would look better on the pavement painted A fall from a thousand stories Peace for the end of a lifetime I can’t help but think you would love me if I wasn't here Yes, you You as in everyone The light has won Because darkness has only always been my friend She never leaves To be so vile To hate what is beautiful To love what is beautiful My existence would be much better if it was washed away in a sea of blood So I choose to watch it pool from my wrists And my throat And stain the tile as I bleed And so I breathe I breathe I breathe To be attracted to pain When the hurt starts to comfort you That is when you know it's the end Yes, That is what it’s like to never have the world as your friend

Existence is never kind My words are the smoke in the air Whenever you to try to breathe, they're there Like paper onto honey I live here When everything gets so bright it dims Through black lace and spider webs They creep within Severing my eyes again and again And then the world begins to load Slowly it reboots, how do I know People once in front behind in an instant As my limbs glue themselves in place like porcelain And the cars crawl on broken roads And the whole world is no longer covered in rose Just loads and loads of many holes and a static blanketing grey And it gets so hot It gets so cold It is so dark and bright and fast and slow I just simply can no longer know And it feels like my throat is collapsing in Like two hands of death strong and thin Breaking in my tender nape And my tender throat So that they may kiss as they meet in the middle Effectively smothering my lungs little by little The world is so tall It feels so small Like my steps would crush reality Beneath its soles Just like you did to my own I despise you The rot in my skull Full of control But unable to contain it

Two Poems: Am I Really Existing Or Is That Too Cruel?

Moe Wood

Indefinitely Zoey Love

I can recall how tense the atmosphere had been, like it was yesterday - only it was, wasn’t it - I’m always in that room.

It was such an odd space really, four walls, a roof, a window, cheap carpet and even cheaper paint on the walls. There were four steps at a diagonal, forming the crossroads for the open concept. So not just one room, one big room that bled into others. With no privacy, not that there ever is, anyhow. Not in this household, not in ours, especially his.

One big open concept, with mediocre oils splattered on the walls, and the carpets texture like ratty fibers that tangled easily, patches that matted whenever you so much as placed an ounce of pressure.

Absolutely no personality, no pictures of smiling faces and goofy memories, no character only beige, blacks, and brownsno air, I’m suffocating.

We made a mockery of our homes. I often

I would sit on the same couch as my

think about how, on the exterior, we were

father watching a show from the same

basic, clean, and functional. Sporting the

TV (not 7 feet away) and still we would

occasional bicycle on display by the side of

be worlds apart. Total silence. Cold

the house. Or the fancy, modern car in the

silence. Bone chillingly unnerving

drive that shined brighter than all the

silence, that festered the more we

diamonds locked in a jewelry display

stayed that way. Neither of us would

case. Mom, of course, had her tacky pots

move, though, not when the nights grew

trapping various flowers or herbs she

darker, not when the channels became

managed to get her dainty hands on that

insipid, only silence and stillness in

year. But go inside and the story changes

attendance. Until he’d break, shatter

completely.

the stillness, and walk away. Out the room and into another. There’s never

One television, as large as a single car

anything living in our living rooms. Our

garage, poorly placed in the center of the

last living room was no different.

main room. Being stabilized by cabinetry outdated, and hardly strong enough to

I could practically see the invisible ice

bear even a small child's weight, but

climbing the awkward vaulted ceiling.

miraculously pulling this circus act off.

Watching the dust particles transform

There’s always one couch with more tech,

into icy crystals, glittering in the light

somehow packed into the - fake - tight

that intruded from the massive bay

leather, putting NASA to shame. All these

windows. No curtains or blinds were

bells and whistles hardly made up for the

hung to shelter our lives from the

frosty feeling that accompanied our living

invasive world beyond the glass panes,

spaces. They were high in tech and suave

because dear old dad didn’t want to

but low in comfort and acceptability.

hang any up. Too busy. No time. No

Not enough room to gather and too much

money. Not a necessity. “It’s easy to put

room to feel close.

in, I’ll do it some other time,” his

excuses were endless. His excuses were

that, what is that? I don’t know this

always just that, excuses. No matter the

person sitting just up those four

tasks, no matter the reasons, not even to

diagonal steps. I’m staring at a stranger,

the extent of protecting his children.

when just moments ago I wasn’t. I looked up to him, I walked on the path

So the light invaded the room, not with

that he paved for me. Or have I? Did I

the intent of warming anything - or

take the wrong turn, or not follow his

making our little lives more miserable in

instructions properly? I often find that I

the mid-July summer heat - just

get things wrong on the first couple

acknowledging that the room is now

tries, but I quickly adapt and solve the

dangerous. The threat being just up those issue before it becomes too much to four diagonal steps, not in the room

bare. Did I make a mistake, and now it

meant for living - the one meant for

is too late? Is this my fault? It is my

dining. The dining room, much similar to

fault. It has to be, there is no other

any of our past living rooms, is barren

explanation. I don’t know who that is,

and cramped. An expensive wood table

and that terrifies me.

crafted for a wealthier family to eat their meals off of, sat taking up more room

I track the tears that venture down my

than necessary, the chairs tall enough for

mother’s features. Features that are

giants to crouch. Our dining table was a

more pale than normal, and far more

jungle gym for toddlers, and my youngest concerned with the other tiny creatures brother - only 7 at the time - occupied it

within her vicinity. She clutches the

with a beast.

lanky - yet - lavish chair with an ironclad grip, terrified that at any

With just a few syllables spoken, in a

moment it might be ripped away from

hushed - yet strong - tone the world

her hands and she would cease to exist -

stopped moving, stopped spinning. This

therefore, leaving her children

isn’t right, something is wrong. Who is

defenseless. Her tears are full of both

sorrow and rage, I have never seen

I want so desperately to warn her, “run

anything like it, and a part of me slowly

back to your room,” and do what?

slips away. My mother - who all my life

There is nothing she could do, we have

I’d never had the best relationship with -

no family within an 800-mile radius

would be willing to lose everything she

from here, it’s the middle of summer,

cherished, for the sake of family.

and all of our neighbors have hearing problems. There is nothing she could

My little sister snuck around the corner

possibly do - nor I, for that matter. Yet,

with concern, heightening her senses.

the warning stays perched on the tip of

She heard the voices, I can see that much

my tongue, like I can’t put my fingers

in her eyes. Her glossy little irises remind

on the correct answer for a math

me of all the colors in an autumn forest,

problem.

hazel and bright. She’s the most effervescent little girl you could meet,

What I would do to have that sort of

full of wonder and life. The center of

distraction, maybe then people could

attention - not just for the attention -

focus on my inability to solve a fraction,

holding our family together with

rather than the atrocity happening at

voracious laughter and a contagious

the moment.

smile. This is not that girl. She is as utterly horrified as I am. Concerned with

There’s an exacerbated sigh, right

our current events and unable to do a

before my father slams his closed fists

thing. She angles her face to meet mine,

on the table and rises. The structure

wondering what to do, what am I going to

shakes and that’s what gets me standing

do? I always intervene, I always put

in attention. No amount of rough

myself in the line of fire, I always do - but

housing or family game nights has ever

I don’t want to anymore. I’m both frozen

made that table shake, it’s too sturdy.

with dread and exhausted from the same

He must be in a blind rage, and I don’t

routine. But this is different, far different.

know what for - I’m finding it difficult

to place his words, I can only feel his ire.

I erased an error like a scribble on a

The closest person in his reach is my little

piece of paper.

brother, and he will not be a victim to this man's indignation. My little brother

Not because of his adultery, although it

is a bawling mess, and my father - his

never did help his case. I did it because

father - is mocking the child for his tears,

he decided that instead of handling his

claiming he’s his mother’s son, and “suck

emotions in a mature manner, he would

it up, you big baby.”

attack the very people that stood as his foundation well over a decade.

I so desperately want to shout, “He’s seven, asshole!” But that wouldn’t be

I still to this day don’t know if he would

respectful to say as his daughter, and I

have landed a hand on any of us; one

am nothing if I’m not respectful. So I

thing I do know is if I could go back, I

stay, paralyzed. I have to move, he’s

would have reacted quicker than I did.

tearing our family apart, limb from limb.

My brother did not need to hear that he

Why can I not move?? Move. Please. He’s

was officially the man of the house, at

going to do something rash, stop this!!

the ripe age of seven.

My sister didn’t need to see her father

The moments after come in a hazy rush,

break the front door on his way out,

words were passed between a father and

making her more vulnerable than ever.

a daughter, words and curses alike. A defining moment, nevertheless. In that

Nor should my mother have seen her

instant I removed a very important

young teenage daughter kick her own

person from my life, a person who was

father out of their lives, indefinitely.

always present, only never fully invested.

I kicked out a man who controlled the lives of three people, whom I care very deeply for.