Autumnal Musk

A.bou.:t -the .Artis-ts Elizabeth Cheswick is her professional name, but her friends and family all call her Libby Chez.

Brooklyn Dorn is a graphic design major from Macomb.

Cole Harag is an avid designer, photographer, and fanny pack enthusiast.

Sean Jerome is a 4th year graphic design major from Flint.

Corena Kalinin is a 4th year graphic design major minoring in marketing, who illustrated Gone Kitty and Losing Faith Zariah Martin is a 5th year graphic design major from Port Huron, MI. Suzveen Mazouri is currently a graphic design student looking forward to graduating at the end of the semester!

Zach McFarlan is a Graphic Designer from Chesaning, MI Sydney Peck is a graphic design student and local pigeon fancier.

Carina Quirin, third-year graphic design student and aspiring crazy cat lady, illustrated Sandy's Big Secret.

Alexis Randall is from Midland, MI.

Foreword by TK & MM Tim Kenyon likes to collaborate. He has written several comic books including Endtime, Imago, and Paradise Prison, all which have been drawn by talented artists. He also wrote and collaborated to shoot a short film, Three Little Bears, with SVSU University Communication’s Mike Randolph.

Kenyon and Art Prof. Mike Mosher have brought multiple student-created projects to print, from short comics to short film scripts.

For Mosher likes to collaborate too, whether Art 433 Community Murals classes or fugitive faculty garage bands. In 2011, his Art 390 Comics class worked with Emerita Prof. Janet Wolff’s English 212 class—focused on the graphic novel—to produce the comic anthology Due Yesterday and, and 2012 was the first of ten biennial BATS Project: Business, Art, Theatre & Social Work Reinvent Urban Communities endeavor. His Comics class’s first collaboration with Tim Kenyon’s English 261 class was in 2017 for the anthology Drawn Without a Clue.

Too often the university experience for students (and faculty) in the arts is a lonely one, artwork in the studio or written at home then graded by instructors at their desks. Both of these faculty actively encourage collaborative endeavors, students reflecting, inspiring or bouncing ideas off each other. This Fall, Mosher’s Art 400 Illustration class provided full-page “New Yorker-style” illustrations for stories in a similar vein dreamed up by Kenyon’s English 261 Creative Writing students.

We welcome you to enjoy and savor the results, an aromatic Autumnal Musk.

What Lurks Trent Bergman

Illustration by Sean Jerome

Amidst wartime in a kingdom long ago, a young soldier rode south towards the capital on horseback, with an urgent message to the king from the general in the north, now caught in a losing battle against the invaders. He rode towards the great bridge over the gorge, but stopped at the humble home of a pigeoneer, with a desperate plea.

The old pigeoneer was out tending to his birds when the young man rode up, a figure of naivety yet also fierce determination.

“Sir! I am Gendry Stillon from the 2nd division, I have an urgent message to the king in the capital! Please, you must send one of your birds to the capital, the situation is dire!”

The old pigeoneer was taken aback by the sudden hastiness of this young man.

“I would do anything for the kingdom lad, but I’m afraid-” “This is a most pressing matter, sir, there are but only mere days until the 2nd infantry is run over by the invaders, the King’s army must be summoned to repel them! With the southern bridge out, I can’t make it to the capital in time, your birds may be the kingdom's last hope!”

The old man, with a sorry look, replied “Unfortunately my birds are strictly trained for messages north of the bridge, they would refuse to cross the gorge anyway.”

The young soldier's face grew sour but quickly turned to desperation. “Please sir, I left fighting alongside my comrades to deliver this message, the fate of my brothers in arms and the people of the kingdom depends on it.”

The pigeoneer deliberated. “I can do nothing.”

“Then perhaps I shall cross the gorge myself.”

“No, boy you mustn’t ever do that.”

“If it is my only option then it must be done.”

“Now you listen here boy, strange things have happened in and around the gorge, any man who walked through the gorge has never returned, my birds and every creature who lives in these parts knows it’s better to avoid such a place.”

Gendry Stillon’s resolve did not flinch.

“I shall be going despite it then, should even my body give out I will keep running.”

The pigeoneer pleaded with the young soldier but realized his efforts were futile.

“If you insist, take my advice so at the very least you may have a chance of survival.”

Gendry for a brief moment let the old pigeoneer have his complete attention.

“For starters lad, it’s best to leave your horse with me, even a fool knows better than to bring a horse down that decrepit place. The gorge is wider at the bottom than it is at the top, and I can’t tell you how long it will take to get through. There was an underground cave passage men used to take to the bottom and then again to the opposite side before the bridge was built, and before whatever manner of devil spawn moved in. And when you’re through, head southeast to the village of Hobblecrop instead of going straight to the capitol, there’s an associate of mine who can send your message by a pigeon in half the time it would take you to deliver it by foot.”

Gendry nodded.

“Now lad, how many copies of the message do you have with ya?”

“Just the one I’m afraid.”

The old man sighed.

“Very well then.” The old man brought out one of his birds in a small cage just barely large enough to hold it. “I’ll need the message lad, this bird won’t fly to Hobbblecrop, but should something happen to you down there the bird should be able to find its way back to me here, and I can find someone to carry on your message.” Receiving the letter, the old man fastened it around the bird's neck.

“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.” Gendry tied the birdcage around his waist, and took off some of his armor, “for speed since I won’t have my horse.” And with no more than a bird, lantern, and a message for the king, the young footsoldier set off to cross the gorge, and face whatever misfortune awaits him there.

The tunnel to the chasm was old and dark, unused for over a century. The old pigeoneer had warned Gendry of the ill fate befalling those who worked in these tunnels during the bridge's construction. The shallow air waned as he plunged deeper, musty and cold. His lantern pushed against the murk and led him forward, the bowels of the gorge lying ahead, a bottom filled with untroubled darkness, old rocks that fell long ago into an even older creek, lying still in a crag that rang with silence.

And as Gendry’s steps reached the bottom of the ravine, something stirred. A beast, more sinister than a devil, but quieter than a mouse. Its steps left no sound in the old water and left no prints in the old muck. The only thing physical about it was the ache in its stomach, bellowing for a mouth to eat with.

It could only be described as a shadow.

The shadow pawed about its hole, thoughtless, formless, and yet still possessed the ability to yearn for something it had lost... It had no eyes, yet could still see, had no ears, yet could still hear, had no nose, and yet could smell the curious scent of a visitor emerging out into the ravine.

The creature scurried to find a perch behind a slab of rock amidst the crag of the ravine. It could not tear its attention away from this oddity. The shadow could taste its form and became envious. A youthful being with bright eyes and fair skin, not unlike that of the shadow long ago.

The boy, lantern in hand, began making his way through the mud lying in the deepest, dampest part of the gorge.

“Shouldn’t be far now,” Gendry whispered to himself. “Now to find the tunnel that will lead me out.” Gendry held his lantern aloft against his inky surroundings and watched as the long shadows clung to the walls of the crag. However, he missed the one shadow most deadly to him, as the formless one began creeping around him, eager to steal what Gendry possessed. The shadow began to stalk, an amorphous slither reaching forth with unholy tendrils elongating into limbs with hooked claws for ripping and tearing.

The hairs on the back of Gendry’s neck shot straight up, and as he turned he was already too late, a torrent of envious spirit tore into Gendry’s soul as his body collapsed on the ground.

The apparition laid its claw into Gendry’s chest and ripped forth the apple of his being, severing the threads binding it to his form. Gendry feels the slow but sudden snap of each cord, feeling not a physical pain but a shock tearing into his very being, like shrapnel severing the pieces of his mind. As the pain became unbearable, his body crashed to the ground, the lantern springing out of his hand and shattering into smithereens. The pigeon cage cracked under the weight of the fall, its feathery contents barely escaping unscathed. And most tragically Gendry’s consciousness was torn, dispersed into the cold dank air of the cavern.

And yet he awoke. Stirring, not as a human out of bed, but like a gust of wind blowing leaves into the air. The sensation of emptiness as he arose alerted him to his detachment from the material world. The shreds of his being now formed a shallow phantom in the gut of the gorge.

A being like that the shadow of before, incorporeal, not quite a part of this world. He looked around, and though he did not have eyes, he knew he was without a body, and where his body would have laid is gone. The only trace was muddy steps through the swampy bottom of the ravine, and a haunting message hanging in Gendry’s mind: “What once was yours is now mine.”

The boy, now without a shell, wallowed in his grief, and after his voiceless screams of agony, found he was not alone. The visitant caught notice of something, perched on a rock, a small little light, a small little soul amidst the darkness of the crag. The pigeon he had once carried was no longer prisoned by a cage, free, but shivering in fear. The bird shuddered, still unsure where to fly. Gendry approached the fowl, trying to soothe it with words he could not speak, words the bird could not hear. Gendry reached out to touch the pigeon, his shadowy mass taking the form of a wispy tendril. The spectral force brushed against the bird's soul and sensing an unknown presence, its animal instincts commanded it to fly. Gendry, desperate for something physical to hold on to, threw out a tendril, stretching into an otherworldly hook, that snared the bird, just as the shadow had snared him. And here Gendry could feel a piece of the bird, separate from the physical world, a piece that could be removed, and then filled again by something else.

The bird still held the message around its neck but left to its own devices it would simply return to the pigeoneer. It didn’t know the way to the capital. Gendry did.

Now as if the bird were frozen in time a second hooked claw flew out of Gendry and grasped the animal's spirit.

“To save the kingdom, and get back what was mine.” Gendry’s hollow words were drowned out by the last cries of a free bird.

A month later, the invaders had been repelled in the north, thanks to the King’s Army coming to the rescue of the Second Division and beating back the encroaching invaders. Their salvation was owed to a lone pigeon belonging to an old pigeoneer north of the gorge, who had miraculously flown to the capital.

Losing Faith Fara Bommarito

Illustration by Corena Kalinin

Chapter One: (Mia) I’ve thought about this moment since I was seven years old. The day I would have my first kid. I didn’t think it was possible to love someone as much as I love my baby, and she isn’t even born yet. The baby was not planned when I found out I was pregnant, but Jackson and I made the decision to keep the baby because of my mother’s fertility issues.

Jackson, my husband, does everything he can to make my life easier. He wakes up each morning and brews decaf coffee for me, just because I love the taste of coffee. He vacuums the house at least twice a week and does the dishes after I make dinner each night. He has no idea how much help he’s giving me, and I really appreciate it.

I remind Jackson, “Katelyn is coming today to visit with me for the week before the baby comes, don’t forget.”

“Okay sweetheart,” he says, as he kisses my forehead. “I’ll see you later little one,” he kisses my belly, winks, and walks out the door.

I wanted to wait to find out the baby’s gender, but Jackson really wanted to know. I won in that argument, but sometimes I’ll catch him looking at boy’s shoes or little girls' dresses when we’re at Target. I think it’s harder for him to look at things that are green or yellow when we're shopping because he’s so curious.

I stand in the shower, and all I can think about is how much of a luxury this is gonna feel like in a couple of months. I let the water run over me, and as I’m washing my belly, I notice that I don’t feel any movement from the baby. Usually, when I shower, they’re kicking and moving all around, but they were pretty active this morning so maybe they’re sleeping.

Katelyn calls me right after I get out of the shower to tell me that she's packing her car now and will be here in 7 hours. I asked if she wants anything specific for dinner and she requested Jackson’s favorite meal, lasagna. She knows how much Jackson's been helping me over the last four months and wants to show him that she noticed.

Their relationship has always been so healthy, not like Jackson’s and mine. Katelyn and Jackson are always together when she’s here, and it's so heartwarming to see him care for her the way I do. It's part of what made me want to have children with him. He was always so good with my family, and they’re a lot to handle, but he enjoys being with them.

On the other hand, my and Jackson’s relationship is not always that healthy. Before I got pregnant, I used to hate the way he used to treat the things in our apartment. It was always me doing the cooking, the cleaning, and the laundry. He worked every day, came home, ate, and then laid down to rest before the next day. It was a routine we got stuck in. I bought us tickets to Vegas for his birthday, and though it was a far flight from home, it was where I got pregnant with our baby. If the fertility issues hadn’t been a worry for me, and if I would not have gotten pregnant on that trip, I’m not sure I would have married him.

Chapter Two: (Jackson) Katelyn is coming to the house today and I’m really excited to see her. She’s my favorite person in Mia’s family. She helps put Mia in a mindset where she’s not as demanding of me, which is hard not to appreciate at times.

Mia and I do not have the same relationship that Katelyn and I have, and if we did I’m sure our marriage would be much stronger than it is right now. Sometimes I think about if I picked the wrong Hill sister, and then I feel really guilty because I’m mentally questioning every part of the relationship Mia and I are building for our family.

Ryan is coming to stay with us too, and he and I will set up the crib for the baby, and paint their room before Mia goes to the hospital. Mia’s not due for 3 more weeks but Ryan and Katelyn are coming for a week before the baby comes so they can get some of the last alone time with us before we have a newborn at home.

Mia wanted to have an elective C-Section, so she gets to pick the baby’s due date unless she goes into labor first. She picked September 23rd because it’s the day her Grandpa passed and she wanted to be able to celebrate new life on that day. I think that it’s a really sweet idea, and her mom has no idea, so that will be a nice surprise for them.

Mia has a good heart, for the most part. She’s feisty and sassy, and the world will turn upside down if she doesn’t get her way but that’s what made me fall in love with her. The thrill of being next to her, of being able to see how she made the world her bitch, was invigorating. It made me want to live in a way where I wasn’t afraid of anything like nothing could hurt me.

Now that I’m about to be a father, all of that has changed. I am terrified to bring a baby into this world, and into this home. Mia doesn’t have a temper, but she gets her way no matter what, and for our child, that scares me. I don’t want them to grow up in a house where their mother can’t

accept anything they do that isn’t absolutely perfect. I know in my mind that she’ll expect perfection from them, and I also know it’s unrealistic. As for this world, there is rarely anything good on the news. There are mass shootings every week, and the Earth itself is falling apart because humans didn’t take care of it. All in all, the idea of bringing a child into this world, where they will be responsible for cleaning up our messes, is soul-shattering.

I’m walking in the door from work, and I can hear Katelyn laughing from across the house. Hearing her laugh at any point makes my heart skip a beat, but now, as I’m walking into my home, it makes me stop in my tracks to regain my composure as I walk into a room with the woman I am married to and the love of my life.

“Jackson!” Katelyn squeals as she runs across the baby’s room to greet me.

I hug her tightly, I want to have her like this forever. Immediately, I rush the idea out of my head before I get distracted by the thought. I walk over to Mia and kiss her on her forehead before I say hello to the baby. I blush as I hear Katelyn “awe” in amazement at how I treat my wife and child.

Mia watches as I interact with Katelyn, and a look of jealousy spreads across her face. I look at her with confusion, as if she must be insane to think what is going through her head right now. I know she understands what I’m trying to convey with my eyes, and she backs off immediately. I know that’s not going to end well for me tonight.

Chapter Three: (Mia) I woke up with Jackson today so I could go to my last second-trimester doctor’s appointment. Usually, Jackson goes with me to as many as he can, but since he has such a busy day at work, he can’t make it. I’m more anxious without him, but I know he’s doing the work for our family so I don’t mind too much. Katelyn actually offered to go with me as well, since she’s only seen the baby through virtual ultrasound pictures.

As we arrive at the office, I take a deep breath. My brain immediately jumps to the idea that something is wrong with my baby. I’m anxiously tapping my foot in the lobby waiting for Dr. Ansari. The nurse comes into the lobby and takes my weight and leads me to my room. She takes my blood pressure and asks me my intake questions before the ultrasound technician comes in.

“What did it feel like the first time you felt the baby kick?” Katelyn asks.

“It felt like a billion butterflies dancing in my stomach. I can’t even describe it in words where it makes sense.” I respond, and the knock on the door stops my train of thought.

The ultrasound technician walks in and greets us with a gentle smile. She prepares the jelly and I brace myself for the coldness. I start to get anxious when she makes no expression, but I don't start to really worry until she gets up to go get the doctor. Katelyn looks at me with a worried expression and I shoot her a look of despair. I know something is wrong. I could see it on her face.

Chapter Four: (Jackson) Mia calls me but I let it ring. I know she’s probably just checking in after her doctor’s appointment to let me know that everything is okay. I keep working and I see the voicemail notification pop up on my phone. I open my phone to Katelyn crying and telling me to call her back as soon as I can. I open my phone and call her back as fast as I can.

She answers immediately and is a heaping pile of tears, so bad that I can’t understand a word she’s saying. All I understand is that I need to get to the hospital as fast as I can. I run to my boss’s office and say I have a family emergency and I’ll let him know when I can be back in the office. Thankfully, I’ve built up enough capital for that to be okay with him, but I don’t even wait for his nod before I turn and run out of the building.

Katelyn is sitting in the waiting room when I get up there, and she points in the direction of Mia’s hospital room, but I can tell she’s been crying and all I want to do is comfort her. I think for a split second about it, and then I keep moving toward my wife, who needs me. I catch my breath before I walk into the room, and see that Mia’s legs are in stirrups. I didn’t think this would happen this soon, but she’s crying out in pain. She looks up when she realizes I’m in the room, and immediately her tears are streaming as she tries to explain what is going on. I look at her and tell her that everything is gonna be okay, and the doctors are going to do everything they can to keep her and the baby safe and healthy. She shakes her head no.

“Jackson,” she says with a shaky breath, “the baby didn’t make it. It didn’t have a heartbeat when I went to the doctor’s office today and I had to be induced into labor.”

I look at her, and at the doctor sitting at the foot of the bed. I walk toward him and ask how this could have happened. How, when Mia was doing everything she was supposed to be

doing, could the baby not survive? I stare in disbelief at the doctors and at Mia. As I realize the things that must be going through Mia’s head, I start to cry. I can’t imagine what she must be going through, and I will never understand what it is like to be a mother who loses their child when they haven’t even had the chance to live.

Chapter Five: (Mia) I wake up in the hospital again, and for a split second I forget why I am here. I forget what happened earlier this afternoon and what has happened since. I forget that Jackson thought I was just having the baby prematurely, and that everything was going to be fine. I forget that Katelyn cried, but didn’t stay in the room with me when I had to give birth to my dead baby. I forget that I had to give birth to my dead baby.

We named her Faith. We signed her birth and death certificate on the same day.

Chapter Six: (Jackson) Mia hasn’t moved or spoken much in days. She’ll get up to go to the bathroom and grab a snack, but even at that, she hasn’t eaten more than Club Crackers and cheese in four days.

Katelyn and Ryan have been trying to help both of us really. Ryan has bought a couple of new bottles of scotch for him and me to share. Katelyn sits on the couch with Mia and holds her when she cries. Every now and then she’ll ask if she wants to shower, but Mia just shakes her head no.

It’s hard to watch her feel this way. It’s even harder to sit in it every day with no escape, but functioning in the real world just doesn’t seem like a possibility to any of us right now. Ryan gets up to get more Club Crackers for Mia when she asks if she can go with him. Ryan looks at me for permission and I nod my head yes. If she is ready to take the steps out of the door, I will not be the one standing in her way.

As she walks out the door in her fuzzy bathrobe and slippers, I exhale a breath of relief. I look over to Katelyn and she is already making her way over to me. I smile, the way I have been at her to let her know that I appreciate her help with Mia more than anything, and she smiles back. The sight makes me instantly break down in tears because it's the first time in the last week I haven’t had to be strong for Mia’s sake.

Katelyn runs to my side as she watches my body collapse in despair and holds me while I cry. Now I know why Mia has only cried with her, she is so soft and gentle, and her fingers feel great while they are running through my hair trying to comfort me. I feel her press against my head, and then I hear the sound of her lips as they kiss the top of my head. I pull my head away from her chest and look at her desperately with confusion. She puts her fingers underneath my chin to bring my lips closer to hers, and as our lips meet I feel what it’s like to fall in love with

someone who was made for me. Katelyn was everything I needed and more, and unfortunately, she’s my wife’s sister. I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to understand what is happening right now between Katelyn and me, or if the loss of Faith will tear me and Mia apart, but for right now, I bask in what it feels like to find a home in someone I love.

Mom Justice Eason

Illustration by Zaria Martin

“What is Australia!” Janet hears her dad yelling as she walks in the front door.

“Hey dad, you enjoying your Jeopardy show? Hey Baby Girl, you know it! I am 5-0 right now I am HOT! “Congratulations dad”, Janet says while also laughing.

For so long, it has only been Janet and her dad, Miyel. From the age of 5 and up, Janet only remembers seeing her dad. Janet and Miyel are pretty close as he was the only parent she knew of. Inevitably Janet grew up as a daddy’s girl, but she always wondered what it was like to have a mom. Janet wished she had her mom to talk about boys, and self-esteem. Growing up Janet has always asked about her mom but was always told she went to the store and never came back. That story never made sense to her but without family around, Janet had to accept the reality.

Walking in her room, Janet places her bookbag on the side of her desk and flops on her bed. She pulls out her phone and immediately starts scrolling on TikTok. After about 20 minutes, Janet falls asleep, and her phone falls out of her hands.

Janet opens her eyes and is immediately met with the beaming glaze of the sun. Turning her back to sun to get an extra few minutes of sleep, she falls off the bed and falls through her bedroom floor. Janet is falling for what feels like eternity and lands on a trampoline. After wiping the dust off her shoulders, she looks around the dark cold place confused. She grabs her teddy bear and blanket and shivers as if someone just whispered near her.

“Helloooo”, Janet calls out. Weirdly enough, she hears no response, but a letter is blown to her feet. She looks down at the letter curiously, but then picks it up when she sees “To Janet” written in a beautiful bright lavender.

“I know you may be feeling anxious or scared, but there is no reason to be. This is your new home and your mom wanted to see you. Make sure you keep this letter with you at all times.

It is VERY important”.

“I must be dreaming!”

“Ouch, OUch, OUCH”

After three failed attempts at pinching herself, a tiny bruise appears which looks like a star. She takes the letter and crumbles it up. She dribbles the crumbled paper as if it was a basketball and shoots and scores into the trashcan across the room.

“

SCORE” Janet yells and walks away to explore the enthralling paintings on the wall. One

of the paintings she sees is Iron Man coming out of an Igloo. Janet walks closer to the painting and reaches her fingers to touch it. Right before she is able touch the painting, the trashcan falls over. She does not look back immediately, but a force overtakes her and moves her body to look behind. The crumbled letter rolls right back to her feet. After looking back and forth to see if anybody else is in the room, she picks up the letter and sits on the corner.

“Why am I even here?”

“I don’t even know my mom.”

“If my mom went to the store and never came back, why? ”

Janet stands up and glares at the painting right across from her. The painting had a beautiful home that sat on the end of a lake. The home was huge enough for four families to live in it. The grass is freshly cut and looks as if it is shaped to perfection. A woman is sitting on the side of their pool with her red cocktail soaking up the sun. A man is grilling hotdogs and burgers and has his beer in arms reach. A teenage girl was sitting on the edge of the pool with her legs in while texting on her phone. Lastly, a little boy was running in the yard playing with small, golden-brown puppy. Janet walks back slowly to her corner and silently cries to herself.

“For so long I have been by myself.”

“I never had a family and have always been jealous of people who had both parents.”

“Why does my “mom” want to meet me now?”

“Is this even my mom?”

“Did my dad lie to me all of these years?”

“You know what, I need to ask this lady all these questions because I am so tired of the confusion”

Janet gets herself off the ground and starts running towards the portrait. With a left hook, Janet punches the painting and creates a big hole in the center. While pulling her arm out, Janet feels a tug on her hand. She immediately gets her arm out and looks through the hole to see the person that touched her hand. She saw something running away but was unable to fully see the figure. Janet breaks the wall completely and walks through to see

where the creature ran off to. She grabs her teddy bear and throws it down the tunnel to try to hit the figure. She hears a squeal and immediately runs down the hall to solve the mystery.

As she gets closer to her teddy bear, Janet realizes the ears have been cut off, the arms are cut up, and the stomach has been shredded open. She looks closer and sees another letter laying right next to the bear. She annoyingly picks up because she knows better than to ignore it this time.

“My sweet Janet, you are an amazing young girl!

“You are so strong and determined just like your mom!

“You are almost there, keep going and just know I love you!”

As Janet is putting the letter in the pocket, she hears someone yell “OVER HERE”. She walks closer to the end of tunnel and sees a purple light. Janet ran full speed to the end of the tunnel and was met with a woman staring out a window.

“Miss are you okay?”

“Why yes I am daughter, I’m so glad to finally see you after all these years” “You can’t possibly be my mom. How did you get down here?!”

“I know you don’t believe me but I know the flimsy excuse your dad gave you was that I went to the store and never came back.

“How do you know that?”

“JANET, who are you talking to?”

Pandora's Prison Nathan Bonus

Illustration by Skylar Helvey

Mr. Elban was in his shop inventorying, as he always did on the first and third Thursdays of the month, when he first came across the wretched thing. It was a hat, a fine leather billycock to be exact. Mr. Elban, who kept thorough, well detailed books and so rarely ever needed them, knew at once without checking that it was not one of his items. He smoothed out the creases of his bald head with one hand as he contemplated it. The bowler looked right at home, of course, in the pile of old hats sitting in the corner, which in turn was just one pile of innocent looking things in a whole shop full to the brim with them. If someone from out of town were to come into the shop they might think it just a messy pawn shop, cluttered and poorly organized. It was organized of course. The items in the shop were set just as orderly as Mr. Elban could make them sit, but many of the items could not be stacked neatly and a very few of them were willing to sit still for long periods of time. This is why Mr. Elban’s biweekly inventorying was so important. If he wasn’t careful a pair of shoes might walk out the door, or the dusty piano might un-tune itself just to mess with him. Mr. Elban was always very careful though. As far as I’m aware, despite his many and mystical items for sale, he never lost one to their own wayward plotting. The other citizens of Samen, Ohio knew all too well the magical contents of Old Elban’s pawn shop and helped him in his ever-raging war against his own stock, whenever they noticed a hand mirror poking its way through the letterbox or a lamp edging out through the back door. But even without the town’s help I think Mr. Elban would have fared alright. He was a very cautious, orderly man and he wasn’t the type to leave such things up to chance.

In any case when Mr. Elban came across the villainous hat, he could see why it had gone unnoticed. Its fellow hats either hummed or faintly glowed and one even occasionally shriveled up into a peach pit, so it didn’t even stand out all that much when you noticed that it was watching you. Perhaps ‘watching’ was the wrong word, as the hat didn’t have anything that could be construed as eyes, but once you became aware of the hat you could simply feel that it was at once perceiving you and it didn’t like what it perceived. At least that’s what Mr. Elban felt, perhaps the hat would have judged you more kindly. Mr. Elban didn’t like it all that much, it made him think back on his long life, contemplating all his own failures and shortcomings.

Whatever the supernatural nature of the hat was, Mr. Elban was sure it was not his, and at first he thought that one of his customers must have dropped it in the shop by accident and someone else, assuming it was wayward merchandise, put it with the hats. As he looked the thing over, he noticed some writing around the inside ‘Ah yes,’ he thought, ‘this must be the owner’s name.’

But when Mr. Elban had pulled his glasses up to his eyes to read the printed lettering, he let out an audible gasp and dropped the bowler out of terror. For on the hat was printed ‘M&G REHAB: 19590701.’

This, of course, probably means very little to you, perhaps you would have assumed it to be a brand and serial number of some sort, and you wouldn’t have been completely incorrect.

But to residents of Samen, ‘M&G REHAB’ was the last thing you wanted to see printed on a strange object you found in your house. ‘At least,’ Mr. Elban thought, ‘at least it wasn’t something living marked in such a way.’ Of course, Mr. Elban knew like anyone in Samen would have known, that, since the hat had that mark, it was probably as good as alive, but still, there was something comforting about the fact that whatever it was or had been, it currently looked like a hat, a judgmental hat maybe, but just a hat. A hat or not, however, it was a full ten

minutes before Mr. Elban gathered the courage to walk past the thing and over to the phone. He dialed Morekin and Grimm’s Rehabilitation Facility. That was what the place was officially called, but no one liked to think of anything kept in there ever coming out again and old Dr. Grimm had died decades ago, so mostly people just called it Morekin’s Prison. The phone rang thirteen times before disconnecting. He tried again and then again, but after getting the same response three times in a row he gave up on the phone.

It was dawning on him that he would have to return this hat himself and he had to do it right then. He very much wished it didn’t have to be nighttime when he returned it, but it wasn’t something that could simply wait till morning. If this hat had landed itself in Morekin’s Prison and had gotten that serial number tattooed on its cloth, there was no telling what evil things it was capable of. He put the hat in a box. It would have been awful to carry that probably murderous headwear all the way up to the prison, his bare skin touching the leather made of pure evil. The journey to the prison itself was going to be frightening enough as is. It wasn’t a prison for normally criminal people and objects, just as Mr. Elban’s shop wasn’t a shop for normal pawning. Nothing was quite normal in Samen, Ohio. Morekin and Grimm’s Rehabilitation Facility was an institute for imprisoning and, ideally, rehabilitating, the most dreadfully terrifying and powerful monsters of this world. It was a place most Samen residents avoided.

There was no telling what type of horrible things could happen to you if you were to enter a place like that. The prison was on an eerie hulking hill and was situated at the highest point of the small valley town. The sky was clear, and the air was warm that night, but he grabbed a jacket and an umbrella anyway and walked out the door quickly before he could lose his nerve. It wasn't a very long walk to the place, but it felt like climbing Mount Everest. With each step Mr. Elban brought himself closer and closer to what must be the nearest thing to hell on earth. The

normally friendly and kindly shapes of Samen became leering and sinister in the blackness of night and he began to shiver as he walked, holding on to the hat box tightly with both hands, the stubble on his chin rubbing against the cardboard.

Pushing through his considerable fear and misgivings, Mr. Elban came to the big iron gate of Morekin’s Prison and with a big gulp he rapped his knuckles against the lock three times.

There was a clap of thunder and a strike of lightning at the very moment his hand touched the cold metal for the third time. The only thing that prevented Mr. Elban from screaming in mortal terror was that he was expecting it. Everyone in Samen knew that you couldn’t enter that dark terrible prison without the weather making an objection. And if you ever make your way to Samen, Ohio you can test it, no matter how clear the weather might be you will always find that it is storming by the time you cross the threshold into the old Morekin’s prison, even now; when it lays empty and abandoned. Well, Mr. Elban wasn’t surprised by the thunder, but that didn’t make him less terrified. He waited a full minute at that gate, it felt like hours to Mr. Elban. The rain was pounding down all around him, violently battering the umbrella above his head and the thunder came so frequently that it sounded, to Mr. Elban, like a constant roaring that demanded he turn back. He was shaking in earnest at this point, and it was further dread, not relief, that flooded him as the iron bars slowly creaked open. No one was there to greet him, and Mr. Elban realized that he would have to cross the ominously dark courtyard, if he was to return the fugitive in his hands.

He walked briskly as he crossed the stone brick and reached the big oak doors. Once more he knocked. This time he got a response. There was a roar, so much closer and more terrible than that of the thunder that Mr. Elban took a step back and slipped on the wet stone. His umbrella took flight, sucked up by the storm. The old man’s bones screamed in protest as he

tumbled to the ground. The pain of the fall, however, was not as painful as watching the hat box slide out of his grip and skate two full yards away from him. Nothing could compare to the dreadful soul-rending terror that overcame him when the hat box flung itself open. For a moment Mr. Elban hoped, and almost believed that it had just been the wind, but that idea was dashed when a hand reached out of the box and gripped the edge. It was followed by another hand and together they pulled a lean, young, smiling form up out of his cardboard confinements.

The first thing Mr. Elban noticed was the dreadful eyeless stare of the bowler hat resting upon the stranger's head. His eyes traveled down to the figure’s face and he finally let out a scream. Scrambling back towards the door as fast as he could, he began to yell at the thing. “NO! GO AWAY!! PLEASE NO!!” He didn’t care what had roared from behind the door, the thing in front of him was far far worse. He couldn’t take his eyes off of its terrible face. It was his face, thirty years younger and grinning an unendurably evil grin. Mr. Elban knew that face. It was the face of the darkest, most twisted part of his heart: the part that didn’t want to organize the products, the part that wanted to do terrible things to rude customers, the demon that lived inside of him. He was sure that his own sin had come from within himself to drag him to Hades. It was impossible to face such a terrible thing and yet he could not look away.

The oak doors burst open and something big jumped over Mr. Elban. Unable to take any more he turned around and crawled into the prison. Turning back to slam the doors shut he caught a brief glimpse of what had attacked the figure in the hat. There, less than a yard away, was a humongous lion with three snarling heads. This was the beast that had roared. Mr. Elban knew this because it was roaring again this time at his demonic double. The sound, on top of everything else, was enough to make Mr. Elban start running. He scrambled to his feet and fled into the dark corridors of Morekin and Grimm’s Rehabilitation Facility. Mr. Elban ran without

stopping for what seemed like an eternity, occasionally making random turns to shake off any pursuit; he could never remember, later, what turns he made.

Exhausted and utterly lost he came to a stop to catch his breath and noticed that he wasn’t actually being pursued. What followed him as he fled through the dark halls was only his terror at facing the deepest darkness of his soul. His fear did not leave him as he slowed his heart rate and leveled his breathing, but it did transmute into a dull throb at the back of his mind leaving his head clear enough to assess the situation. The three headed lion thing was clearly not hunting him down and that improved his mood tremendously. Come to thinking about it, Mr. Elban realized that the beast had made no move what-so-ever to harm him. Having realized this, he decided that it must be a friendly creature. Such a thing wouldn’t be so out of place in Samen, and it hadn’t been chained up or anything. Mr. Elban figured it must be a guard dog of sorts, ‘or, I suppose,’ he thought, ’a guard cat.’ He hoped that, whatever it was, it would destroy that deplorable creature. The three-headed feline, however, was not Mr. Elban’s concern at the moment. What he really needed to think about was the way out. The last thing he wanted to do was spend a night in Morekin’s Prison. He began to walk again, initially in the opposite direction. But the halls were so dark and maze-like that he quickly became just as unsure of the place he had stopped running as he was of the location of the front door.

Mr. Elban was unnerved, tired, and very lost, so perhaps you can forgive him for not immediately noticing the light switches. The walls were made of dark glass panels of various sizes set across steel columns. On each steel column there was, affixed, a wooden switch box and a black metal switch. This of course meant that there was a black switch every few yards or so along the corridor. After a few minutes past Mr. Elban did finally notice the switches and stopped to investigate them. The switches didn’t seem to be attached to anything and they

couldn’t be to the hallway lights because they were all in the off position and the overhead lights were all on; thin LED strips that Mr. Elban thought must have been the dimmest bulbs Mr. Morekin could find. After a pregnant moment of consideration Mr. Elban reached out and flicked the closest switch to the on position. A light did turn on, but it wasn’t in the hallway.

The nearest glass panel was suddenly illuminated with Mr. Elban’s first view of a cell in that wretched prison. The cell was a simple concrete box with a water trough in one corner and a drain opposite. Laying in the center of the room, on a bed of down feathers, snoring purple smoke, was a buffalo-sized, yellow dragon. The sudden appearance of the monster rushed Mr. Elban’s fear back to the surface, and he almost fell again, slick as his boots were, as he hurriedly stepped back from the glass. But as he watched the creature sleep he realized that he wasn’t in any danger from it. Calming down again he tried not to think about the implication about the countless other glass panels around him and took a step back towards the light to get a better look at the beast. Mr. Elban knew that there were friendly dragons in some countries, but most of the stories you heard in Samen about dragons were tales of violence and mischief. He supposed that the small size of the creature put him a little bit at ease, but all the same, the canary scales seemed to foretell death. There was also a serial number inscription on the glass made visible by the light coming from the cell that stood as a constant reminder that the dragon was a criminal.

Mr. Elban had about decided that he’d seen enough and was about to flip the switch back off when he heard a voice, gruff and cracked, from down the hall. “He looks peaceful like that, doesn’t he? You’d hardly believe that he was once the nightly terror of a village in Iowa.”

Mr. Elban did fall this time, but was quickly embarrassed by it. The speaker, a man Mr. Elban now recognized as Elias Morekin, bent down to offer him a hand and he clumsily climbed

to his feet. Sheepishly Mr. Elban replied. “Um sorry, thanks, I uh… ‘He’? Isn’t it a dragon?’”

Mr. Elban’s deep voice cracked with nerves as he spoke.

“Oh no, Yarkon is human I’m afraid, or at least he was.” Mr. Morekin said, his voice taking on a saddened tone.

“Well, I say, wha- what happened to him Elias?” Morekin seemed surprised to hear his first name, but responded all the same.

“His father turned him into a monster when he was just a boy, barely 8 years old. Poor guy. Twasn’t just any type of dragon either… His father turned him into a fear dragon. A type of creature native to Europe that feeds on fear” “H-he feeds on fear?”

“Not anymore and I got to tell you, it wasn’t easy finding a substitute for a steady diet of fear. It took seven years of feeding him the terror of small mammals before I found a suitable substitute. Not that the small creatures were ever really enough to satisfy him. He says he used to try that, you know. It never was enough. He was brought in here after he snapped and started terrorizing people. Poor guy” “Poor people…”

“Oh, yeah, I suppose” Morekin got a wistful look on his face at this point. Mr. Elban let him think about it for a moment before interrupting the thought with one of his own.

“So um, what do you feed it- uh him now?”

“Oh, you’d never guess,” he said, a light igniting behind his eyes. “I feed him three daily square meals of poetry.”

“Poetry?” Mr. Elban asked, thinking he must have misheard.

“That’s right, poetry. Orally performed poetry seems to provide more energy, but ink on paper works just fine. He still prefers fear of course, but we’re working on it. I’m confident we’ll get him out of here eventually.” Mr. Elban, flabbergasted, didn’t know how to respond to that.

He was sure that he would never be comfortable seeing the day that reptilian demon was released from his cage. You may think Mr. Elban a tad close minded if you remember that Yarkon was nothing more than a kid cursed by a cruel father, but I’m sure that if you had been there, you would feel differently. Yarkon may not have been large, but his scaly form was biologically and magically designed to invoke fear and there is something to be said about the prejudice against dragons in those days. Now of course you know that most dragons have just as much of a chance of being decent as people. This story, however, takes place before the Dragon Rights Movement of the thirties. By the way, it’s worth noting that the Yarkon who spearheaded that movement was in fact the same Yarkon that is mentioned in this text.

With an exaggerated sigh and a paternal look at the dragon, Elias leaned over and flipped the switch to Yarkon’s cell back off. He turned to Mr. Elban and said “We should probably let him sleep. -So, what brings you to M&G Rehab this evening?” All the events that had led to Mr. Elban’s being lost in a dark and terrifying prison rushed back to him and he hurried to inform Mr. Morekin.

“It was your hat!”

“My hat?”

“Well, it isn’t your hat I suppose, but it’s one of your prisoners and it was in my shop”— Mr. Elban’s speech grew quicker and higher pitched as he went on so that his words became almost unintelligible,”—and it was watching me and I tried to call but you didn't answer so I

figured I better bring it back and then that thing came out of the hat box and then that other monster, the lion thing, it roared an-” “Alright, alright. Calm down.” Morekin put his hand on Elban’s shoulder, “This hat you speak of, was it 19590701” Morekin’s eyes were wide and, though it seemed foolish to think Mr. Elban thought, impressed.

“Um, uhh, it was something like that.” Elias was quiet for a moment. “Wha-what is i-it Elias?”

“An arcane artifact forged by a dark wizard that was created to bring a great evil to Samen.”

“To Samen?!” Had Mr. Elban, in failing to safely return the hat, doomed the whole town?

“Yes,” and with that word it seemed to Mr. Elban that Elias was condemning him, but then “as it is, however, I don’t reckon we’ll have to worry about that” “What do you mean?”

“Well, you said that Maggy, Vergy, and Azula were dealing with it right?”

“Uh... who?”

“The tripartite lion.” Elias said with some impatience.

“Oh, um yeah… it has a name for each head?”

“Well yeah of course, each one is its own person. Anyways, they probably have it under control. I’m sure if we stroll on down to the accessory sector, we’ll find that they already put Erebus, uh that’s the hat, back in its cell.” Mr. Morekin spoke with seemingly complete confidence and even joviality. Mr. Elban felt a little sheepish as he replied, but he simply couldn’t hold back his objection.

“I-I’m not sure I want to see that thing again Elias.” Morekin laughed and in a positively cheerful tone said.

“Oh don’t be silly. You’ll be fine. The accessory sector is on the other side of the facility.

We can make a tour of it. It’s not so often I get a chance to show a fellow Samen citizen around my operation, you know.” Mr. Elban didn’t like this idea one bit, but felt it would be impolite to object further. And so, his only protests were whispered under his breath as Elias Morekin grabbed him by the arm and began to practically drag him down the hall. If the gruff prison warden noticed, he didn’t mention it.

Mr. Morekin was as good as his word as he directed Mr. Elban throughout the winding glass maze that was his prison. They didn’t walk for more than a minute or two at a time as Elias stopped to display to Mr. Elban one of the inmates. Mr. Elban saw on that evening every sort of monstrous creature you can imagine. In the beast sector there was, in addition to dragons, a slew of demonic creatures such as chimera, zombies, ghosts, ghouls, sirens, minotaurs, sphinxes, giant serpents and spiders, bugbears, drow, trolls, and wraiths, but there were also regular magical creatures who had turned rotten, like centaurs, goblins, brownies, orcs, elves, mermaids, griffins, kobolds, grung, satyrs, giants, dwarves, no less than three dozen talking cats and one tired old albatross. In the next sector along, the were-beasts sector, there were werewolves, werebears, werecoyotes, vampires, shapeshifting demons, ravenmen, owlins, a couple of lunatics and a rare wereman. The wereman was an interesting creature, by day it was an innocent robin, but as the moon rose it would turn into a savage man who had killed eleven people to date by slamming his forehead repeatedly into their throats. Mr. Elban admitted to himself that he was intrigued when they reached the human sector. There he saw people of ages and origins who had let dark magic consume their soul until their hearts were full of evil. There were dark wizards and warlocks,

wicked witches and seductive sorceresses, cursed children and patrons of dark gods. Each of them had been just normal people at one time or another, but the darkness having overtaken them, they stood imprisoned as a result of their selfish choices.

There was one decrepit old man that was awake when Morekin and Elban reached his cell. He wore a red t-shirt and jeans that looked like they were as old as he was. He was standing already watching the two men when the light to his cell was flicked on. The sudden sight on top off all the other horrors Mr. Elban had witnessed that evening was enough to make him just sag with defeat, and he probably would have fallen again if Elias hadn’t caught him around the waist.

Mr. Elban composed himself and looked back at the prisoner to find that he was seemingly drilling into Mr. Elban’s soul with his eyes. The old man whispered to Mr. Elban through the glass and to the shopkeeper’s surprise he could hear it.

“The catalyst released and the mirror risen, the time for choices has arrived. Was the tiger forged by him who birthed the lamb? When right is wrong, will the righteous have the strength to wrong what’s right? The youngest twin is the oldest threat.”

to be continued

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Gorroak Nichole Griffin

Illustration by Zach Mcfarlan

I grinned as I watched the Forest burn. It rained fire at my feet, a river of orange that blazed beyond what my eyes could see. The stars didn’t glisten tonight, for smoke coiled against the sky and suffocated the glow of the moon. Rooted to the edge of the thicket, I curled my fingers around a torch and admired what I had done. Such a shame they didn’t realize who was to blame. I coughed, swiping away flakes of ash that fluttered from the chaos. It was obvious the Forest fought against the heat, as did the skin on my face, but its peeling bark and brittle branches still paid for it. Upon witnessing what I had done, villagers begged the rage of flame to cease, to forgive and spare the Forest. They crumbled to their knees, pressing their foreheads into the dirt and prayed. Others cried, tugging their children close as if they were about to vanish into the Goddess’s claws right before their very eyes.

I sighed in relief for the first time in years. For once, nature did not control me. I was the one in control, not her. Above all, no more children were to be sacrificed to the Goddess anymore. The children were safe now, and that was all that mattered.

The villagers would never understand my reasons. After all, they were the ones who obeyed the Goddess and let the Forest consume their children. In return, the Forest would gift the villagers the resources they needed to survive. For me, however, no young soul was worth any amount of praise from the Forest. And while the consequences for my actions would be banishment, this was for the sake of my life and them.

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Though my solace was great, a hook of guilt still tugged at my heartstrings. The villagers will have no way to build shelter anymore, for the trees would be scorched to the ground by dawn. There will be no place to hunt anymore, since all the deer and rabbits fled from the hungry inferno long ago. Even worse, there was no enchanted Forest to worship from this day on, because a girl had taken destruction into her own hands. There would also be no more sacrifices of the young for the Goddess, no more tearing apart families.

Something would be lost, there was no escaping that. But this was the only way to give them a chance to live. If killing the Forest meant saving the lives of the villagers' children and my own fate, then so be it. Let my neighbors shame me all they want; I did not regret it.

The day I was born in the Great Oak, she bestowed this burden upon me. I couldn’t escape the voices in the Forest, couldn’t run from the growth beneath my boots. The plants were everywhere, always watching. Not long ago, the Forest’s leaves would rustle and whisper in my ear, “Time to come home, Gorroak.” At other times, roots would slither around my ankles, a constant reminder that my birthright was near. On this night, however, I’ve finally silenced the trees. Now, there was nothing but the glorious sound of the Forest pleading and crackling for mercy.

With a wicked sneer, I tossed the licking torch aside. The phoenix fire hissed with hunger the moment it kissed the blades of grass. My heart pounded against my breastbone, threatening to break free. No matter how hard I’ve tried to repress it, my mother was a Dryad, a Goddess who cursed me to become her successor the moment I reached the age of maturity. Of course, Mother knew I didn’t want any part of this life. Children were innocent and they didn’t deserve to die, especially not from a divine creature that was more like a foul beast. She would forever

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lurk over my shoulder if I chose to become the Goddess of the Forest, binding me to her will and murder till I was ready to pass on my horrid gifts to my own child.

I would rather die than become my mother.

I dug my heels into the dirt, trying to pry away from the reality of what the Goddess of the Forest made me do. Even if I do succeed, it wouldn’t hide the fact my ears curved to a point.

Over the years, I’ve debated getting them clipped to avoid unwanted stares and gossip.

Obviously, maiming myself wouldn’t change anything, especially in the eyes of the villagers. No matter what I did or where I went, there would always be someone who knew the truth behind my true nature.

There was also the color of my blood. That alone exposed the monstrosity I was born into. Anytime I accidentally cut myself, blood the color of emeralds would seep from the wound.

And if it dripped onto the grass, a delicate flower or picky shrub would grow in its place. I’ve always felt satisfaction when I crushed those plants to bits. My body was what bound me to my mother’s shadow, and neither I nor the world could free myself from it.

Villagers charged into the waves of heat with buckets of water, desperate to end the nightmare I ignited. Though I wanted to scream in the villagers’ faces and force them to flee while they still could, only they had the power to leave. It’s too late. Run away and take your children. Stealing a final glance towards the Forest, I began to walk away, leaving a ghost of screams behind. However, before I did, I spotted the Goddess standing amongst the crowd. I could’ve swallowed my tongue right then and there. They bolted around her, holding cloth over their faces for fear of breathing in too much smoke. Some even collapsed through her body and yet, neither of them knew she existed. I clenched my fists near my hips, a snarl twisting my

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mouth. Besides the villagers who doused the fire in water and panicked, there were still so many children out in the open, vulnerable to the Goddess’s teeth.

If Mother attacked, I wouldn’t be able to save them. But if she was here for me, let's hope she wanted to keep her presence known to me alone.

The Goddess did not blink. She did not move. And she did not speak. Instead, Mother watched me as I once watched the scorch take over the Forest. This was the single best trait I inherited from her, something we could agree on. Vengeance. Vines knotted around her limbs like rope, chaining her to nature’s beckon call. Scales of leaves, thick ridges of tree bark and webs of roots clung to her body like armor. Spikes of grass and arrows carved in stone crisscrossed her spine, a menace in the dark. Twigs braided with wildflowers and globs of moss coated her matted hair, a monster born from the inner depths of earth. After an eternity, the Goddess’s skin no longer held the healthy complexion of human velvet. Instead, green veins branched across her limbs like a maze of leaves. She was old, decayed and long dead to me. But she was a beautiful ancient relic to the Forest.

It was not long before the Goddess spoke, sputtering clumps of dirt onto her chin. “It’s time to come home, Gorroak. The Forest is waiting.”

My nose flared. “The Forest is gone, Mother.”

She smiled and a caterpillar crawled across her teeth. “Perhaps. But it will be reborn in time, as will you when the plants come to grow upon your flesh.”

A chuckle escaped my raw throat, thick with the aroma of charcoaled wood. “Even if the Forest does heal, you cannot claim me without the heart of the Forest. I’ll burn the Great Oak

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again and again if I must. And in the end, there will be nothing left once the ash settles. You won’t have any power over these villagers ever again, I made sure of it.”

My emerald blood was boiling, threatening to spill over and bury her. “Why don’t you just leave and save us both from talking any further. I’ve done what I can and have had enough of your games. The Forest is gone, and these children can live without fear, far away from you.

Admit it, you have lost.”

This time, it was her turn to laugh, a spine-chilling flutter of moth wings. The Goddess stepped forward, sprouting patches of weeds in her footprints. “Oh daughter, that is where you are wrong. I won long before you’ve even begun.” I blinked and suddenly, Mother stood within inches of touching me. Her breath reeked of burrows and mushrooms. “You see, Gorroak, I suspected you wanted to burn the Forest and run away from your responsibilities long before your birth. But let me tell you a secret, my flower child, you are the heart of the Forest.”

I scoffed, almost tempted to dive into the wall of flames myself. I didn’t want to believe her, for the children’s lives depended on me. Even so, my heart dropped to my gut, desperate to cling to some form of hope. “You’re a liar, always have been. The Great Oak was the first to fall.

Not even you can replenish it.”

That’s when the Goddess brushed a deformed palm against my cheek. I shuddered, clenching my teeth tight enough to split bone. “Indeed, but you were born at the heart of the Great Oak. Thus, your death is the only way to kill the Forest.”

I couldn’t breathe, as if all the air had been sucked into space. My eyes widened, the desperation churning into a jungle of fears in my head. I stumbled away and Mother’s claw grazed my cheek. She killed hundreds of children with that claw. My pulse throbbed in my neck,

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a trail that forever linked me to the Forest. No, it can’t be true! I slowly brought my gaze back to the Forest, to the blaze that prevented the children from being stolen from their beds. Deep down, I knew why I could feel and hear the Forest’s shiver of terror as it disintegrated right before my eyes. I knew it just couldn’t be this easy to defeat her, but I chose to be blind to it. I toppled to the ground, clinging to any explanation other than this. What my mother said was true.

I have always been the Goddess’s pet. And she had always won.

Mother crouched down in front of me, a crinkle of dead leaves on her knees. She reached forward and patted my leg. I flinched. “Come now, Gorroak, the Forest is waiting. We have children to gather.”

My eyes burned, not from the smoke, but from the tears. I craved a freedom that was never in the cards for me. I thought I had saved these children when I hadn’t, like a fool. I also destroyed the Goddess’s dominion for nothing, all while leaving the villagers and their children to die from starvation anyway. I was a monster, just like my mother. What have I done?

I lifted my chin, but I didn’t meet the Goddess’s eyes. Her stone arrows shredded the shame in my chest, so sharp and itching for a body to pierce. That’s when the buzzing in my brain cleared, a path to my redemption. Perhaps I had yet to betray the Forest, after all.

I am the heart of the Forest. And thus, my death will save them all.

Scrambling to my feet, I charged forward and reached over her shoulder. Wrapping my fingers around one of her arrows, I tore it loose from its quiver. The Goddess roared when I brought the arrow’s edge to my chest, directly aligned with my Dryad beating heart.

“Wait! What are you doing, Gorroak!” she shrieked.

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Before she could interfere, I thrusted the weapon between my ribs. Pure agony exploded from the Goddess’s arrow, a simple blur of death to my vision. The world swam and I collapsed to the grass, almost desiring the ground to swallow me whole. The villagers’ sobs, the roar of flames and the screams from the Forest had long faded, leaving behind nothing but the final beats of my emerald heart. The children were safe. I was free. And the Goddess of the Forest will soon come to an end. I grinned, staring up at the sparkling night sky.

Now admit it, Mother, I have won.

Sandy’s Big Secret Karsyn Huber

Illustration by Carina Quirn

Sandy was nervous while lying in her bed late at night. She kept hearing a mumbling noise coming from her closet. Sandy wasn’t sure what she was hearing, but she sure was afraid of what was behind that door. Sandy thought about what it could be; an animal, a person, or was it just her mind playing tricks on her. She tossed and she turned while lying in her bed trying to ignore whatever she was hearing, but Sandy couldn’t shake the feeling of this strange noise. It sounded like a conversation Sandy would have with her mom when it’s really early in the morning and you can only get mumbles out because you cannot make yourself talk at such early hours of the day. BOOM! A loud bang came from the closet door that caused Sandy to jump up out of her bed in fear of whatever was behind that door. Sandy picked herself up off the ground and started to creep towards the closet door on her tip toes being aware to step over the small crack that always makes the creaking noise on the floor. She was positive that whatever it was behind the door, it wanted her attention. Sandy’s heart was racing and the palms of her hands were sweating as she grabbed ahold of the doorknob and began twisting it to the left. Sandy hesitated. She was afraid of what was behind the door, but she knew she needed to see what it was. She twisted the doorknob to the left again, and this time she swung the door open. Sandy could not believe the image in front of her eyes.

Inside the closet was an image that Sandy couldn’t begin to fathom. It was a ghost but not just any ghost, it was a ghost of herself. This ghost was dressed just like Sandy was in her leopard pajama set that her mom bought her for Christmas last year. Her blonde hair was parted

straight down the middle, blue eyes, the same height, the only difference between the two was that she had a freckle above her lip unlike Sandy herself. Sandy didn’t know what to do. Was she dreaming or was she really staring at a ghost of herself. Sandy’s ghost told her that a danger is coming towards her, and she needs to be careful. Before Sandy could even ask any questions, the ghost had disappeared. Sandy decided to close the door and try to go back to sleep because she didn’t know whether to believe what her ghost had told her, or if she really was dreaming.

“What just happened and who in the world was that?” Sandy thought to herself.

The next morning, Sandy went about her Saturday as normal. She watched television, did some homework, and even started watching a movie with her family. While Sandy was watching the movie, she started not feeling very well. Her stomach felt queasy, and she was light-headed.

Sandy thought that maybe she was just tired or something she ate wasn’t settling correctly with her. All of the sudden, Sandy started to vomit profusely all over the floor out of nowhere. Sandy felt awful and she didn’t understand what was happening to her. She just thought she was sick, but she also couldn’t help but think about her ghost telling her about a danger coming for her and wondering if this was just the beginning. Sandy stayed in her room for the rest of the day staring down her closet door. Was the ghost going to just randomly appear? Was she going to throw up again? Sandy was truly lost and feeling defeated as she didn’t know what to do.

Later at night, Sandy was hoping her ghost would show up again so she could ask them questions. Why did she throw up and what is the danger that is coming towards her? Sandy waited for hours until she naturally just fell asleep. The ghost never showed. Sandy was quickly awakened by her own pain in her stomach that was hurting her worse than before. Sandy screamed at the top of her lungs because of how much pain she was experiencing. It was time for Sandy to put an end to this pain. She crawled over to her closet door and shouted for her ghost to

appear. Sandy’s ghost trickled out from behind Sandy’s clothing that was hanging up. Sandy screamed at her and asked why this was happening to her and to make it stop because she is hurting terribly. Sandy’s ghost clapped her hands twice and the pain in Sandy’s stomach had suddenly stopped. Sandy was astonished and relieved that the pain was gone, but still had so many questions for her ghost. How did she stop the pain? Was she the one causing the pain?

Sandy’s ghost told Sandy to sit down, and she would explain to her why this was happening.

Sandy sat down and Sandy’s ghost took a deep breath, then began to tell the story of how she came to be.

Sandy’s ghost told Sandy that she was her twin that died at birth, and she was envious of Sandy because she got to live. Sandy couldn’t believe it; she had a twin that she never knew about. Sandy asked her ghost why she never knew about her and why she was hurting her.

Sandy’s ghost said that their parents didn’t want to tell Sandy because they knew it would be painful for Sandy to understand. Sandy’s ghost explained that she was trying to weaken Sandy with the stomach pain so much that she would be able to be strong enough to take over Sandy’s body and be able to live her life. However, after she had realized how badly it was hurting Sandy, her ghost stopped. Sandy’s ghost wanted to live the life that Sandy did so badly because she just wanted to experience a life she was always supposed to have if she weren’t taken so soon.

The two girls decided that night that they would be the best of friends. Sandy would do everything she could to help her ghost experience the life that she lived. Sandy never told anyone about her ghost because she wanted to keep their bond their special secret. Together Sandy and her ghost would meet at night in the closet and talk about what Sandy did that day, and Sandy would usually bring her ghost something to share from that day. The two of them became

inseparable and knew that they were meant to be friends in the end. Although Sandy wanted to question her parents as to why they never told her about her twin sister, she didn’t mind because now she has this special bond with her sister that they share together in their own special way.

Sandy didn’t want to ruin something that was such a happy thing for her by telling her parents or friends. Sandy has always been a quiet person, but with her twin sister there to talk to every night she has been able to open up so much more than she would have ever imagined. Although Sandy’s ghost didn’t make the best entrance into her life, she is grateful and appreciative of the relationship she has built with her sister.

The Circus of Barca Allen Jones

Illustration by Chengxiao Dai

Throughout the network of old railroad tracks throughout Europe the troupe travelled. Barca the elephant sat in the giant traincars that carried hundreds of animals and all the showpeople in the Eurocircus.

“I am Barca, captured and shipped from Africa.” I have a gift, I can mentally communicate with all the other animals, and I am definitely smarter than most humans. I can dig up memories from the beginning of time, programmed in my DNA left from my prehistoric ancestors. “That being said, I am part of an elaborate show that has some creative characters in it. “And you are all my brothers and sisters, stolen from India”, Barca raised his trunk and made o a loud yell to all the five Indian elephants in the train.

The sound of the train running on the tracks soothed everyone’s nerves. The other elephants acknowledged his wisdom and continued to listen. You are very smart, philosophized Lottie the Indian elephant. The two other elephants, Tabitha and Cleopatra agreed.”The human trainers talk a lot but they cannot understand us. “Look” barked one of the show animals. Another twn in the distance.

The circus arrives in Austria and all performers and equipment are led out after the Giant tents and cages are set up. The year is 1917 and Europe is very interesting but not very unified.

The next day inside the giant training tent all the animals are fed and dressed up for show.

“I walk out an am followed by the other elephants, time to stretch and start practice,” “I see the zebra, her name is Zoey and she races around the ring with a dancer on her back. I see the miniature horse prancing.” “Hey Little John” I roar. Little John looks way up at Barca curiously then nods his head generously. The black Lion and the white Tiger look ferocious but have actually been pampered since they were kittens, and now can do very hard maneuvers with rings of fire and height-jumping. The white tiger’s name is snowball. Not very accurate for a name I might add”

“I Barca am very proud that I notice all the goings on in the circus, everything, everywhere. MY memory and my psyche and brainstorming abilities sadly dwarf humans, and I also remember ine volutionary history when humans were just a fraction of the size they are now. “But now I see a fight brewing in the other tent. Two clowns, Marceo and Tweaky are taking swings a each other. Tweaky is only four and a half feet tall, so Marceo teases and punches him. Tweaky is insanely mad and looks for a bat.

The ringmaster J.J. McMasters breaks it up.

Outside in the sunshine the beautiful dancers and the acrobats take a break. They look glamorous, but in reality are incredibly strong. But, of course only Barca knows real strength. Crowds gather at the circus grounds on opening day, admiring all the animals and characters practicing. The show runs all week and at the end of the shows the circus performers usually go into the villages to party and mingle.

As the main circus tent opens to the enormous crowd, the tickets sell rapidly and the crowd takes their seats in great anticipation. “I do a quick headcount, and Tweaky the clown has vanished. “The ringmaster has noticed this too. Tweaky is important because he gets tossed by all the elephants and lands on the miniature horse in full stride.” The show starts anyways.

“Eventually all the clowns are there but I also see several Constable and police lurking around the entrances. They are at every circus in every country for security.

“I send a mental message to little John, Hey Little John get a look at the police eyeing your buddy Tweaky.” “Yes, I see that”, whinnied little John, shaking his head profusely.

“It’s odd how that clown always changes into a weird outfit when he runs down to the villages. “He must entertain people on his off time.” “Maybe he’s up to something the police don’t like”. “Yes, I get that feeling too”.

The Ringmaster eventually talks to police and the Constable and I read their lips from across the spectacular show”.

The policeman leans toward the ringmaster and says ”Do you have anybody in this show that might have violent tendencies? There has been a chain of murders in villages where you guys stopped to open circus shows.” No!” The ringmaster was very serious.

“But I read his mind, and he seemed quite suspicious of the clowns. He was protecting us all because we are all very close.

What About After...?

Joshua Jacob

Illustration by Brooklyn Dorn

Tragedy, It strikes everyone, surrounds us all, and scars us deeply. Sometimes it is gentle, often it is violent but always it is destructive.

How we react from the tragedies of life mark us - either the survivors and story tellers or those that fade into the background unable to continue a seemingly meaningless existence.

We always like to think of ourselves as the survivors, those that fight to live and fight to hold onto and protect those we love. Remembering the moments past to push us forward.

---The idyllic weekend on a lake is what the advertisement proclaimed featuring a picture of the classic cozy cabin on a beautiful lake complete with a boat tied to a dock. A picturesque setting to pop the question, admittedly I spent days searching for the best spot, searching through hundreds of travel sites. Finally settling on a cabin in the mountains as an homage to the place we first met.

I really would have liked to take us back there, to bring us full circle through the past 5 years at the spot it all started. It would have been so romantic, but the land was sold to developers and a new housing complex was being built where we shared our first kiss. Since that spot was gone, a new one needed to be found to be the start of our future.

A weekend away from the worries of work and life is how I pitched it to her, a time to relax and let loose. She had been so busy on the new project and wound up from all of the delays that it wasn’t too hard. Especially since I had already called her project manager and explained the plan. Her time off request was approved immediately (Margaret was such a softie for romantic events, after 30 years of marriage she needed it too.)

Moving forward to July 22nd and we were driving through the forest talking about how great the time off would be and how much we both needed it. Marveling at the simple beauty of

nature and how good the fresh air felt. I had to confiscate her phone to stop her from checking in on work, and we locked both our phones up in the glove box leaving our lives behind to enjoy each other’s company and just the simplicity of being disconnected.

It was all going so perfectly, and the advert lived up to its claim the cabin and scenery were beautiful, and she loved it. The winding forest path led right up to the cabin barely 20 feet of grass from the wall of trees to front door. The dense tree line that partially obscured the blue clear lake. The small beach with a weather worn but sturdy looking dock and a covered little boat it looked exactly as I hoped. Right after we popped that first bottle of wine, she said it reminded her of that first night and I knew I nailed it.

We finished the night polishing off our third bottle while lying on the dock stargazing and fell asleep together on the plush bed underneath flannel covers. I remember waking up early to go to the bathroom and checking on the ring to make sure it was still there and curling back into the covers to drift off quickly into the inky blackness of a dreamless sleep.

Unfortunately, I never really woke up from that. It seemed that I had a large hole in my heart and during the night it just stopped beating, my blood stopped flowing, and she woke up in a majestic and remote cottage holding onto a corpse that had already gone cold. The movies always portray someone dying and then coming back right away floating around their loved ones, just in time to give comfort during the grieving.

It took 3 years before enough of my consciousness reassembled in the nothingness to give myself a form. I knew immediately that it had been a while, the once beautiful cabin I fell asleep in was in disrepair and there was muddy almost melted cover of snow on the trees outside of the window. The movies also lied about how ghost move about, assuming I am a ghost of myself.

There is none of that floating and flying stuff, I walk, run, and can climb stairs. The ground is the only physical object I can interact with so no driving, riding shotgun, climbing ladders, or swimming. I figured out the problems with swimming first.

I didn’t want to be back; I had no idea how long it had been or if she was alive still. I couldn’t accept being alive without being able to be with her, so I tried to drown myself. 10 feet into the beautiful lake and my feet were firmly on the ground with no water pushing into my lungs. With nothing else to do and unable to fully move on I started the walk back home to find

out what happened and how long it had been. I lost track on the way but walking through 7 states and over 2000 miles took a while. I could have gone faster but every so often I found I couldn’t take another step so overcome with despair at it all and the unfairness of life and unlife. Now I understand why ghost haunt the same house forever, it takes to long to get anywhere otherwise and the world keeps moving and changing creating an unreconcilable difference in it all.

The thought of her kept me moving on, wondering what became of her life after the tragedy and if she ever found the ring or moved on. I made it back to town and checked a newspaper stand while waiting for someone to open the door to what was our apartment building. The date on it was over 4 years from that weekend in the cabin. 4 years, so much can happen in 4 years, and I was starting to second guess coming back, I should have just stayed and haunted the cabin for eternity. As cliché as it is, right when I looked away from the paper and went to run away from that place I looked up and locked eyes with her. I swear she was looking right at me, but like always the moment passed and she went up the steps to go inside. I hurried after her, so I didn’t get left out and followed her through the halls and up the stairs into our old apartment. The apartment hadn’t changed much not like she did. The kitchen counter still had the coffee stain right next to the sink, and the rocking chair looked just as dusty as the day we left.

The walls had a new color and there was a new couch and bed both of them bigger.

She looked just the same and so much different at the same time, her gaze carried weight to it, a heaviness not unlike the look of a disaster survivor. Those deep brown eyes were still the same, but she dyed her hair blonde which she always said she hated. She must have finally started and finished her sleeve on her left arm, and she walked with a different gait, it was almost subdued compared to her fiery confidence from before. Her left cheek dimple still lit up her face and made the one smile she had brighten the whole apartment.

She really did look good, and I was so happy to see her still alive and healthy, until he called and came over. He didn’t look or act much like me. I couldn’t help comparing but he was so different from me, and I had to hope I was one of a kind for her and she had to go the opposite way to move past my death and forward with someone else. He brought over a thick binder and once they opened it up my feet fell from under me, it was a wedding planner and I made it there the day before they got hitched.

What a welcome back into my old life, I mean that clearly showed she had moved on from me. With that knowledge 4 years didn’t seem like long enough and as selfish as it was, I found myself mad and hurt that she moved on so quickly. It was objective and subjective and really wrong of me. I was happy for her, but it hurt, and I was dead, and he really was good to her. From just their interactions going through the binder he supported and listened to her, and took her opinions on the last-minute decisions, and fought for his stance respectfully.

I really was happy she found him and excited for her for what their future would bring, but I was still there, and she was the only love of my short life. So, I followed her that night and into the next day as she got dressed in her gown looking absolutely stunning. I stood behind her as she looked herself over in the mirror and again locked eyes with her. She must have seen me because she whipped around so fast that she fell over. She started to call my name until her mom stopped her, telling her that I was dead, and she was marrying someone else in an hour. Her mother said that if she saw me then it must have been either her still guilty consciousness or my agreement for her to get married to him.

I guess by this point I had accepted my death and her inevitable marriage to someone else. It hurt almost physically to have to accept but there was nothing I could do. The wedding was wonderful and everything I had hoped to give her. I’m sure she felt like a princess, the reception was just as amazing, and she looked so happy dancing around with him. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched through the window of the door. It was a long walk and I made it there well after everyone else moved inside for the food and dancing.

They left straight for their honeymoon and I couldn’t follow them on the plane but 2 weeks later and I saw them walking up the steps to their apartment a little sunburnt but happy.

She was so full of life and joy being with him that I figured it was time to move on. The “light” was just a few wobbly steps away as I watched her hand clasped tightly in his. The last thing I could ever see was the ring. The ring I checked on that last night. The ring I spent 4 months finding and paying three months’ salary for. The ring that symbolized my love and commitment to her. That was her wedding ring. The last thing I saw before being swallowed completely by blinding light was that very same ring.

On Instinct (Prologue) Vee Kryscynski

Illustration by Suzveen Mazouri

Chapter 1, In Which Leda and Odette Meet and Almost Immediately Start a Tavern Brawl “Honestly, would it kill someone to make a good flask of mead around here?” I muttered into the glass, cringing as I downed the last of my drink and slammed it onto the wooden counter. The noise was barely audible amidst the cacophony of joyful drunkards laughing and dancing. At least two men were slumped over at their tables, the smell of alcohol heavy in the air. The sun had barely risen, and yet the lights indoors had already dimmed. My feet kicked steadily against the metal rims of my barstool. A typical morning, a nice moment to unwind before I return to ensuring the safety of the kingdom. Everything was going just as usual. That is, until I noticed two figures snaking around the edges of the tavern. Each bore a dark cloak with hoods veiled over their faces. Their hands were wrapped around their torsos, sleeves entirely hidden from view. The shorter of the two tripped into the taller one, who dropped what she was holding. A brief flash of beige disappeared into the taller one’s cloak before the shorter one glanced around frantically and continued to follow. Two irregulars at this establishment. Both attempting and failing to conceal something. Thieves? This early in the morning?

I sighed. So much for a break.

“Halt,” I commanded as I strode towards the suspicious duo. “I ask that you remove your hoods.”

The short one froze immediately and let out a squeak as they did so. The taller one turned slowly to face me, wrapping hands around their companion’s shoulders to turn them around as well. Each of them removed their hoods; the taller moved with an air of confidence about her. She donned a toothy grin that almost looked.. rehearsed. It wasn’t unlike the expression I so often found myself bearing back in the palace. The other shrunk in on himself, a timid boy that couldn’t be much older than myself. In fact, both of them looked to be around my age. I gave each another once-over, eyes narrowing. Others our age would usually be out being regular teenagers, and not stealing from a place

typically frequented by grisled and alcoholic adults. Even so, thieves were always a pain to deal with. I assumed these two would be no exception as I approached.

“Did you really expect to steal from such an esteemed establishment and get away without repercussions?” I pinched the bridge of my nose with a huff. The shorter one’s face fell, and they dropped the contraband again. Bread. The taller thief shot a glare at her companion before she stooped to pick up the loaves.

“I dunno, I wouldn’t call it stealing,” The taller thief remarked, grinning impossibly wider. “We’re just, uhm, borrowing! The kitchen was about to throw these out, and besides, it’s not like they’re going to miss these anyway.”

What kind of logic was that? By the looks of it, she was fully expecting to get off easy. A deep and bitter feeling spiked in my gut. This kind of disrespect was unacceptable by word of the knighthood.

“Borrowing, as you call it, without the knowledge of the staff? Such constitutes textbook thievery. Tell it as it is. You are criminals, and in your misdeeds, you both bring shame to your families. It matters not whether your contraband was to be discarded.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it would matter if you weren’t, for all intents and purposes, an ass.

Look at you, with all your fancy armour, so kempt and proper.. so self-righteous. Sitting here, antagonising two poor and hungry individuals for, let me guess, “the greater good.” You must believe yourself to be a pinnacle of valour.”

My jaw went slack. I was shocked this girl- a criminal, no less- had the gall to speak to a member of the Imperial guard so rudely. Nobody in my time as a knight had ever dared to do so.

“Do you have any idea who you are talking to?”

“Haven’t the foggiest! Now, if you’ll excuse me, my friend and I have places to be,” The girl retorted, heading towards the door. Anger began to swirl in my stomach, but it faded, instead mingling with the bitterness that had made a home there. Relax, Leda. Keep a calm and level head. End this quickly, handle this with civility. Just as you were trained to do. I stepped in the doorway to block them.

“I refuse to be swayed by the logic of a scoundrel. Hand over the bread or I will have to use force,” I said, as calmly as I could muster. The girl’s smile faded, quick as it was donned to begin with, and she stepped forward.

“And I refuse to sit here and be bullied by someone as pompous and irritable as you. You speak of force? I shall show you force,” She seethed, mere inches from my face. Irritable?

Pompous? That did it. These delinquents could not even begin to understand the risks I take every day to protect citizens of this kingdom. The girl in particular had been so disrespectful as to threaten violence. Red seeped into the corners of my vision. I settled my hand on the hilt of my sword with a deadpan expression, ready to retaliate in defence. No sooner had I done so that the boy finally chimed in, voice low enough for only us to hear. We turned to look at him.

“Etta, now is not the time to toy with our lives,” He said through gritted teeth. His hands trembled slightly, and he avoided both of our gazes as he held his loaves out towards me. “Let’s just give her the bread and go.”

“On the contrary, Silas. I think this may be a perfect time to be a little reckless,” The taller snapped, now breathless with anger. Our eyes locked once more, and this time hers glowed.

Before I could register, a barstool with a matching glow whizzed through the air and past my head; I dodged as the chair smashed against the wall. You have got to be kidding. Only an idiot would attempt sorcery in broad daylight like this.. Someone else had to have seen the literal glowing airborne chair, which meant every person in the tavern would know in a matter of seconds.

Surely enough, a shout of “MAGICK!” echoed through the bar. The debris of the flying chair now blocked the main entrance; Silas and Etta, the idiots, had effectively locked themselves in with a slew of anti-magick drunkards. They both scattered, taking off in opposite directions as the shouts began to multiply in panic. Shouts turned to punches and thrown objects spread across the tavern.

Several punches thrown my way. Block, disarm, repeat. Dodge the occasional kick. A few drunken kobolds were hardly the priority here. Find the thieves. Avoid the flying objects, glowing or dull. Glowing? Glowing. Avoid them. Block, disarm, dodge, avoid. Too many. Too many at once. Retreat.

I ducked behind the nearest table to recalibrate. Where the hell did those two criminals run off to? I hopped back up, flipping the nearest aggressor over a table. They couldn’t have gone far. More tavern-goers surrounded. Too many, too many to fight off– Light suddenly appeared behind me. I felt a glass shatter forcefully against the back of my head, and then everything went black.

Ah. That would explain where they were.

So much for a break.

Chapter 2, In Which Silas is Nearly Immediately Met With a Moral Crisis Silas’ mind was spinning.

Not literally, you idiot, He thought. Get a grip. You’ve handled far worse. Just hand the knight your bread, and maybe it’ll be okay, maybe she won’t hurt you– He could feel the knight staring at him. He was never one for attention.

His trembling worsened.

Silas held out a glimmer of hope that he and Odette would escape with their lives unscathed. It was all going to plan. All he had to do was make sure his companion would comply as well. Everything was going to plan. Until it wasn’t.

That glimmer of hope all but vanished the moment Odette snapped. Silas didn’t know what else he would have expected from his hotheaded companion. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in their lives, after all; Odette’s impulsive outbursts usually led to small-scale bits of violence. What bothered Silas this time was that this was a larger environment. The tavern quickly exploded into an uproar; Silas’ panic multiplied, combined with a sense of exasperation all too familiar to him. He had never been fond of the danger he found himself in at Odette’s expense, and she just put both of their lives at stake yet again.

Shit. They know. Run run run run– Where? Where do I run? Where do I go? Away from the knight run run— Silas’ head filled with air. His feet took over for him. He ran frantically about the tavern, reminiscent of a beheaded waterfowl. Pockmarked, drunken hands reached about to grapple his arms. Silas continued to duck and avoid their grasp. He wedged himself into a corner, gasping for breath.

No sign of the knight... Etta. Etta, Where’s Etta?

A seed of worry planted itself deep at the forefront of Silas’ mind. How could he have been so stupid as to lose his friend? He looked out upon the vast expanse of brawling taverngoers. The tavern itself had gone dark; someone had smashed the chandeliers to bits in the midst of the fighting.

Where is she? Find her find her find her– Silas found himself scouring the tavern, the distant golden glow of what could only be magick catching his eye. He steeled his resolve and took a deep breath.

There. Follow her. Go.

He took two steps forward, and another flash of golden light briefly emitted throughout the tavern. A glint of metal on the floor shone directly in Silas’ direction, stopping him in his tracks. He leaned forward to investigate. His eyes widened as he made out the outline of an armoured figure on the hardwood floor.

Holy shit. That’s..

The knight lay unconscious before him. She appeared trapped beneath a layer of rope.

Horror dawned upon Silas’ features, and he moved to kneel beside her. He was otherwise paralyzed in terror. His mind immediately flooded itself with questions: What do I do? If I leave her here.. She could die.

But if I take her with us.. Etta will be livid.

She was just trying to do her job, wasn’t she?

But she did almost kill us..

She doesn’t deserve to die like this..

She could arrest us if she lives! I could die regardless– “SILAS!” Silas flinched as he heard Odette shout nearby. Her volume somehow drowned out the other various noises filling the bar area.

“There you are. C’mon, let’s go. QUICKLY.” Odette already turned again to move. Silas paused, still staring at the knight. Odette turned to make sure he was following, scowling when she noticed he hadn’t moved.

“What the hell are you waiting for? Let’s GO,” Odette continued, tapping her foot. Silas contemplated for a moment.

Save a life, or his own skin? “...We can’t just leave her here,” Silas decided.

“WHAT? Absolutely not. Nope! Not happening. Leave her and let’s go.”

“That doesn’t feel right! I can’t let her die like this!”

“Are you TRYING to kill us both? WE. NEED. TO. MOVE.” Odette exploded, attracting the attention of those nearby.

“Not without her,” Silas spoke, firm in his decision.

The drunkards were closing in now, having found the source of the magick. Another barstool went flying towards his head, barely missing him. Odette was struggling to hold them off. If he was going to do this, it had to be done quickly. Silas unsheathed a short dagger from a holster on his thigh. It moved almost fluidly between his shaking fingers.

Just do it do it do it do it— He sawed at the rope covering the knight desperately. The rope, thankfully, tore easily beneath the sharp blade. He slung the knight over his shoulder, looking to Odette with a conviction that had not graced his features often. She glared at him in return.

“I’m not helping you. You want to be an idiot, you can be an idiot by yourself. Let’s GO.” Odette delivered a blast of magick that knocked the majority of their foes back, and the duo marched on ahead amidst the chaos. Glasses continued to shatter as Odette’s eyes roamed for an exit. Drunken voices grew louder and more threatening by the second.

Quickly, quickly now– shit. Silas’ mind and heart were racing unlike ever before. Each possible escape route was inaccessible, blocked by flipped tables and wrestling gnomes; Odette’s footsteps quickened and led them towards the back of the tavern. Silas could have sworn he felt a surge of magick exude from Odette as she blew apart a small section of the back wall. The duo stepped through the debris and were immediately greeted by a thick forest. They continued into the brush, crushing small branches as their feet pounded wildly against mycelium and grass.

Silas lagged further behind his companion the entire way–metal armour was rather heavy, after all– and occasionally stopped to adjust the unconscious knight against him. When they were far enough that the shouting of drunkards finally quieted, Silas set the knight down carefully on the forest floor. He shifted his gaze to Odette, who stared at the knight with a hardened jaw. All three of them were safe. Safe. They were safe, but Silas’ mind ran wild far after his feet had stopped.

What exactly had he just gotten himself into?

Chapter 3, In Which Odette Just Yells at Silas Forever Silas sat in uncomfortable silence in the clearing. Odette glared daggers into his skin, saying nothing. It did little for Silas’ nerves. They festered until he felt like he had to say something.

“Etta, I’m sensing you’re upset with me.”

“Upset? You sacrificed our food for the night, almost got us killed, then brought the instigator with us, and you go with upset.” Odette stared at Silas incredulously. “’m sorry,” Silas mumbled.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it this time, Silas,” Odette snapped.

“But I–” “But what? But what, Silas? Just what the HELL were you thinking?”

“I felt bad, and I made a choice.”

“Well, your choice was the wrong one.”

She was met with silence. Silas fought back tears. He hated when she yelled at him like this. He was never able to properly articulate himself when they argued. It made him think maybe Etta was right for believing him an idiot.

Yet, so much of this could have been avoided had she listened to him. For once in their lives.

Several minutes passed in palpable silence before Silas shifted his gaze to the knight, still lying motionless on the soil.

“She’s been out for a while,” he said quietly.

“You sure she’s still even breathing?”

“Positive.” Silas crouched next to the knight, watching the slow rise and fall of her armour.

“Fantastic. Let’s get a move on.”

“What?”

“She’s alive. Doesn’t need us anymore. I say we dip before she wakes up.”

“We can’t just leave her,” Silas insisted.

“Why not? Why are you so concerned about her?” Odette countered. “She was going to arrest us, or worse, kill us, twenty minutes ago. She’s better off dead if it means we don’t go to jail.”

“Etta, please don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth!” Odette’s voice raised at Silas again. She stepped closer to him. “It’s the truth and we both know it. Following the goodness of your heart is only going to get you killed!”

“Then so be it. I’m not giving up on her.”

“Gods, what is your PROBLEM?” Odette stormed off to a nearby rock and sat there, sulking.

Silas fully directed his attention to the unconscious knight before him, a pang of uneasiness striking him once again. He checked over her armour for injuries, and his eyes narrowed as he noticed a drop of red near the shoulders. His vision followed down to a pool of deep red soaking the soil. Silas paled. He really may have just murdered someone. The sight made him lightheaded, and horror dawned on his face. Odette seemed to have watched his change in expression and started cackling.

“It took you this long to notice the pool of blood around her head? She’s gotta be dead by now, you’re only proving my point!”

Silas was no longer listening; air filled his ears and his hands shook. He heard distant yelling, but didn’t care. Tears pooled in his eyes, and this time, he didn’t fight them. Silas didn’t know what to do. There was no winning. All he could do was mourn.

A sudden and quiet creak of metal cut through the clearing, all but stopping Silas’s wailing; the duo immediately turned their attention to the figure on the ground before them.

The fallen knight had finally stirred.

Chapter 4, In Which a Trio is Formed Everything ached. The ground felt much softer than I remembered, and something cold and wet settled just beneath my head. I moved my hand towards it, feeling the liquid beneath my fingers. The smell of iron made itself known, and the liquid ran thicker than water. Blood.

Memories of the tavern brawl all came flooding back. Ah. Right. I felt a light gust of wind across my face.

Wait, wind?

This wasn’t the tavern. Damnit, the criminals escaped.

It took a considerable amount of effort to pry my eyes open, but I confirmed that my location had indeed changed. Last I checked, the tavern didn’t have an open skylight or trees looming directly above. How I had been moved confused me until I could vaguely make out two figures, also standing above me. Two black cloaks, one shorter than the other.. There was no way…

“Thank the gods, she’s awake,” One of them–Silas, I think– breathed. He sounded as if he was just crying.

“Yippee,” The other–Etta, was it—eplied sarcastically.

As my vision cleared, their faces came into view. Silas was most certainly still crying. I felt almost sorry for him; the poor boy seemed to have a look of worry permanently etched on his face. Etta seemed entirely unenthused, glaring at both me and Silas. Both of them confused me further. What reason would they have to move me? Had they captured me? I lifted my arms, and moved to sit up. A wave of dizziness hit almost immediately, but I wasn’t trapped. Hm.

“Please, lay back down. You’ve lost a lot of blood,” Silas urged. “Sorry, I’m not very well-versed with healing.” I did as he asked. I felt obligated; he looked like he would have had a heart attack had I not done so.

“What happened, exactly?” Silas seemed surprised at my question, but Etta was the one to answer.

“Well, unfortunately, Silas saved your life. He decided it’d be a good idea to drag the both of your dumbasses out of the tavern,” Odette explained.

“Nobody deserves to die like that,” Silas interjected. “I couldn’t bring myself to leave you there.”

Oh. Oh. Well, then.

This was a problem.

“So, what happens now?” Silas, in his true nervous fashion, avoided my gaze.

“Well,” I began slowly. “As you likely assumed, I was going to arrest the both of you on count of theft.” I thought for a moment. It was true that these two did commit a crime. On the other hand, I would have died if Silas had not intervened. By usual manner of Imperial Code, I would be indebted to my saviours. This wasn’t usual by any means, though; these were criminals. Ones that just saved my life, at that. It was true that I should be arresting them both. It was also true that I owed Silas my life. Would cancelling their charges be in the best interest of the Imperial Code? Father and Mother did train me to follow it to a T, and the Saviour rule was under higher classification than a standard arrest.. I think following it would be the best course of interest. I suppose I owe them this.

“However,” I continued, sitting back up, “You did just save my life. I believe such actions nullify your previous wrongdoings. Likewise, I believe a thanks is in order. So, thank you.” I moved to kneel before the duo. “I am indebted to you.”

Both of their faces were lined in shock. Silas’s features melted into relief, while Etta’s remained utterly aghast.

“I…yes, of course,” Silas said. Etta stayed silent. “We should, uhm, probably get you some medical attention. I don’t think the next town over is too far from here.”

Silas outstretched a hand to help me up. Etta stood next to him with arms crossed.

“Yes, I think that would be the best course of action.” I turned to Etta. “And…if I may ask, why were you attempting to steal bread?”

“How else were we supposed to feed ourselves?” Etta retorted.

“Oh,” I realised, mouth dry. “I apologise for making any assumptions.”

“It’s alright, uhm.. Uhm, we never got your name,” Silas interjected.

“Leda. If I recall, you are Silas, and your friend is Etta—” “It’s Odette to you,” She interrupted with a scowl.

“Apologies. Odette, then.” Odette said nothing, continuing to glare at me.

“Shall we get going?” Silas asked. I offered him a slight smile.

“Yes, I believe so.”

This was going to be interesting.

Shut In Art Lambert

Illustration by Alexis Randall

I hardly spent more time in the neighborhood than I really needed to. Just the same as no one likes to hang around their job site just for fun at the end of a shift. Neighborhood even isn’t the right term but seems the closest. Nothing but corn and fields, a gas station, and a handful of tasteful ‘50s style ranch homes all with the same fuel efficient, family sized SUV sitting in the driveway. I have spent 50 hours a week of my time in that factory for last 4 months, but the moment urban city sprawl turns into open, rural field, that low thrum of guilt and anxiety all stemming from the feeling that I should have something better to do, something more productive to get done sits in the pit of my stomach. My boss may as well be walking up the street now to catch me at the counter of an otherwise abandoned convenience store, awkwardly shoving my change in my pocket from the hands of a pallid clerk as though I have something to hide despite having nearly 30 minutes before it’s even time for me to clock in for the night.

I woke up late that afternoon, leaving no time to have a proper meal before work and putting me in desperate need of a pick me up. Dropping a honey bun wrapper into the trash on my way out, I got back into my car, thankfully still on track to clock in on time. Pulling back out of the isolated gas station - no buildings visible for a few miles on either side as I found myself driving through miles of fields between home and work every day. It’s mostly sugar beets, with a few corn patches interspersed which made for a rather pleasant daily commute as hardly anyone drove these roads once the factory workers all went home for the night. I disappeared my impromptu breakfast on the drive through the final few miles of open field before eventually approaching the warehouse itself, a massive, brutalist structure placed squarely in the middle of nowhere. I always considered it an odd place to put a shipping facility, but without any real frame of reference or context other than the factories I’ve observed pop up around the city I grew up in,I never gave it much of a second thought. A cement plant erected behind my middle school the year after I left for high school, and an automotive assembly plant even showed up right next to the suburb I grew up in - right between our street and the train tracks. Regardless, I pulled into

the parking lot, with only a handful of other cars around as I had to wait for the facility to close to start work, and no one was hanging around after that if they could help it.

The turnover in cleaning jobs is already high. But when I took this position, I had been warned that few stayed for more than a few months at this location in particular - one my agency had considered dropping because of how difficult it is to staff. But there’s a pretty penny to be made on an industrial building this size, so they decided to simply make it my problem. I had been assigned months ago and haven’t since seen my supervisor more than a handful of times.

But even during my very first week, I could tell being on the premises just gave him the willies.

If pressed he’d only say that he’s not used to taking buildings solo. Which is fair. Typically, there’s at least two of us per location if not more. This was mostly for security purposes but here, there isn’t much reason to break into a storehouse, so the company was comfortable letting me run it as a skeleton crew. I can’t say I minded. I took this job in the first place so I didn’t have to talk to anyone at work and to this day that’s why I’ve kept it all this time. Though it’s true it takes some time to adapt to being in such a large building alone for so many hours in the dark.

The warehouse floor lights turned off automatically promptly at midnight and after that was only lit by the odd machinery glow or safety light aside from the light strips on the floor to indicate walkways, none of which illuminated anything farther than an inch or so.

Walking into the building, I hardly had to pause to clock in, just pressing my ID card against the machine until I heard a beep without stopping. I cruised straight down the hall, breezing past all of the habituating areas in the building, making for the supply closet down at the very end. I only paused for a moment to exchange tired waves with one of the floor managers who often stayed late through the window into the business offices. I probably wouldn’t have even stopped at all as she was sat at her desk to wave as I come in most days of the week.

However, with her face as joyful as I could expect any other day, the movement of her gesturing arm was closer to that of an animatronic - stiff and mechanical as though she could only move one joint at a time lest her internal gears freeze up all together. I hesitate to watch her for only a moment, my fear of being rude as I stare quickly overriding my concern, pushing me to just press on deeper into the building. Breezing down the hallway, easily avoiding the eyes of any others still lingering staff that hadn’t yet rushed out of the building, I finally made it into the safety of my office – a tiny shelved room most others would just call a janitor’s closet.

I let out a sigh of relief as the door closed behind me, the anxious bile that crept up the back of my tongue only at the threat of human interaction barely having time to retreat before I stopped suddenly in the door of the closet upon seeing someone already inside, crouched beneath the shelving. I jumped before realizing it’s only my supervisor fulfilling a supply order for the new vacuum I had asked for the week before. It took only took brief introductions to make it clear something had gone wrong with him, the man who usually carried an energy that gave spin instructors a run for their money then greeting me only by name and quickly moving past me for the door without asking if I was taking care of myself, how’s my mother, or if I’m eating right these days— all things he got in the habit of doing the once a month we saw each other along with a short speech about his latest work out and diet method. Of course I’m not heartless, I asked about his wife and kids sometimes. I think he only spoke again as he passed me, letting me know to call him again if this one breaks, because he felt obligated to once I walked in. Brushing by my shoulder, he looked in every dimension like the supervisor that had trained me on this building. But he was then whey-faced and moving down the hall as though the weight of the air around him was heavy enough to wade through, the laminate pulling his feet down into the floor at the ankles like inches thick mud. I didn’t bother calling after him for as concerning as his new pallor is, the possibility of pulling him back into a long-winded conversation on nothing I care about kept me silent.

I dropped my belongings in the supply closet before locking it again behind me. The first few weeks I had been assigned here, someone was sneaking into the closet to steal cigarettes from my bag, something that I’d typically turn a blind eye to if they weren’t disappearing from the very bottom of my backpack, meaning the thief really had to rifle through my belongings to find them even though, each time, nothing else seemed to be disturbed other than the missing cigarette. Not even the lighter went missing out of the box. Either way, can't be too careful. My wallet and my box of Newports stay in my pocket nowadays as I make my way out onto the now empty working floor.

Off brand gas station energy drink still in hand, I push through the first massive set of doors that separate the more human areas of the building from the warehouse floor, dominated by product. As soon as you step through the single door, aisle after aisle of shelving units dominate the space and seem to go on infinitely in either direction. Well, maybe not infinitely,

but definitely much farther than what should be possible given the visible size of the building on the outside. The warehouse had been that way as long as I’ve worked here - I even noticed it on the first day I came in, but nothing ever changed so I quickly justified it with the tricks dark corners can play on your eyes. But somehow, now that the steady tap of my work boots against the concrete floor is the only sound bouncing up over the shelves and out through the entire room, the walls felt ever expanding like the building was taking one massive breath in. Scanning for any spills or trash as I do my routine walkthrough before really getting to work, I kept my eyes cast to the ground as it made me too nauseous to try and focus on the ceiling to look for whatever optical illusion is responsible for the bowing and creaking walls that pull all of the air out of the center of the room. I picked up the pace a bit as I finally approach a far wall, pausing to face it as I again look both ways to either end, before turning on my heel to again confront the neatly structured space behind me. But before I could take another step, I pause as I spot in my peripherals an odd shape nestled in the far back corner. I quickly realize it’s a door as I turn to look at it squarely, but I didn’t recognize it. There has never been a door here. When your job is cleaning every inch of a building every week night for months at a time, you get familiar with the particulars of your workspace very quickly, often more intimately than the day time workers.

This door was never there before. I never noticed any indication of construction, either so I immediately crossed the floor in only a few rather urgent steps, catching the glint of a nameplate situated to the side of the door jamb reading “Maintenance”. My hand fell on the knob and swiftly jerked it open to look inside to see, well, a maintenance room. With dim lighting and infected with the buzzing sound of electricity, I glanced around to see everything you should see in a maintenance closet - electrical, spare hardware, a boiler, everything, even the internet modem.

I hummed a stumped “huh” to myself before backing out and shutting the door again behind me with a firm thud. I pull out my phone to shoot a quick text to my supervisor: Hey am I responsible for the new closet in the back at building 00? as I walked back to explore the other end of the building, heading for the opposite wall. Shoving my phone back in my pocket, I again looked up and down the aisles, trying not to think too hard about how loud the buzzing of the overhead lights had gotten. I had to do a double take by the time I arrived because, upon my eyes again falling on the back corner, there is another door. With another, identical name card. I had to look around to make sure I didn’t somehow accidentally walk in a big circle while looking at

my phone before approaching the door. I again swing it open before me as I stand in the door frame peering in to see the same standard hardware laid out neatly before me. Like the last room, there isn’t an ounce of dust that I can see in the place. It was visually perfect in every way, not so much as a crack in the concrete floor - even the wires running up the walls were perfectly managed into color coded bundles. I paused there for entirely too long before finally letting go of the door and allowing it to fall closed again with a soft click.

Immediately, I hustle back to the front of the building, not able to take a deep enough breath until I finally make it through the door into the front, leaving the warehouse floor behind me. Marching straight back to my own janitor’s closet again, I swung the door open and headed inside. The room that more closely resembles a short hallway ended in another, unlabeled metal door. Without stopping I hefted that door open as well to look inside. The maintenance closet.

The one that has always been here. Covered in a thin layer of dust, this room had all of the same components as the other too but in a different, much more familiar arrangement that includes a few stacked boxes of hand soap that I had pushed just inside the door when I didn’t have room elsewhere. I sigh as the room seems otherwise untouched, finally turning back into the closet, deciding I’ve wasted enough time.

Though when I turned around, I nearly jumped out of my skin, stumbling back as I see a person suddenly lingering in the first door frame at the other end of the closet. Once my eyes finally focus on the woman now in front of me, I fought the urge to curse in front of who I then recognized as the building manager. I greeted her with a nod, the boiler room door gliding shut behind me as I waited for her to state her business. I never remembered her name as the only time she bothered to interact with me in any way but a scowl was introductions when I first was assigned, and then one other time when the women’s restroom had flooded. She looked surprised to see me, eyes wide and trained on my face only for a split second before resuming a stern facade. She said she didn’t expect me to be here. “Oh, I didn’t think you’d still be here” she said, I told her my shift had only just begun. The way she had said that didn’t strike me as weird at the time even if I wasn’t sure what she meant by it. The woman was small and birdlike with skinny arms hidden inside a sensible black blazer over the company uniform polo. If I were a meaner person, I’d even say she looked withered. Like someone had sucked the life out of her through a straw on the top of her head, her blonde hair giving an impression of slicked back dry straw. She

apologized for interrupting, saying she thought she had heard they were in need of a new janitor again and must have been mistaken. I nodded along, only clearing my throat as she stopped talking again but still didn’t leave. Realizing I also hadn’t move, I stepped forward, reaching to pull down a pair of nitrile gloves from the box on the shelf, deciding now would be the perfect time to ask when two new doors I had stumbled upon were put in. “New doors?” She asked simply, tilting her head as she looked up at me. I told her I didn’t understand why we needed three full boiler rooms. She only looked confused, insisting the one I’m standing in front of is the only one we’ve ever had or needed. At that point I only wanted her to leave, brushing it off as my eyes possibly just fooling me. Or maybe I really did just get turned around. The supervisors never responded to my text, though. She apologized one more time before finally turning on her heel and heading straight back out the door. I grab my trash bin, rolling it behind me as I follow shortly behind her in the hallway. I turned around to guide the bin through the door, the manager gone by the time I looked back. Not being able to tell which direction she went immediately set my teeth on edge as I quickly decided not to think about it, instead popping a headphone in and setting to do my trash routine. I headed into the business offices, dragging the bin on wheels behind me as I went about usual business, dumping the small trash cans beneath each desk and replacing the liner one after the other. I had been here the day before but there already seemed to be a few new cracks in the already poorly hung drywall. I certainly tripped on a new bubble in the matted carpeting that wasn’t there yesterday either. When I fell, I noticed a few new stains on the carpet as well, along with a missing tile in the ceiling. Despite my own efforts as a cleaner, every day I had come in for the past two weeks, every single thing began to feel more…dingy.

More worn, more used. Beyond what should be normal over only a few days. Even being under the droning fluorescent lights, surrounded by the handful of identical cubicles seemed to sap my own energy the longer I remained.

I figured the absolutely buck wild events that began my shift justify an early smoke break as I drag the bin behind me out the front door to pull the outdoor bags. I reached into my pocket for the pack of cigarettes, opening to notice that again there is one less than I had left in there when I arrived, though they had never left my pocket between getting out of the car and that moment. I leaned against the side of the building just before it really started to get dark, looking around at the landscape and the parking lot that’s now otherwise empty other than my own sedan near the light post. None of the fields looked quite as full as they had been when I drove through

earlier. The sun hadn’t been gone enough to justify the plants shrinking up for the night. But no matter how long I stared out over them, the fields only seemed more drab and sparse, and growing sparser if I so much as looked away. At no point was I given a break to recover from the disorientation of this shift, even as I tried to take a break my eyes watched a landscape blight in minutes. I flicked my cigarette to the ground, stomping on it for effect, before yanking on a new pair of gloves and bagging up the rest of the trash before heading back inside, trying to convince myself that I’m tired enough for my mind to be playing games. I gave myself a mental pep talk on the way back onto the warehouse floor.

Dragging the bin along behind me, I finally began to feel like I could settle into my regular work routine despite already running behind schedule. I pause on the way, putting my headphones in so I could hopefully cruise through the rest of the shift. I was only able to keep the music on for a few minutes before hearing a thud. Sure, it wasn’t a part of the audio, I took one earbud back out and looked around. Complete silence for nearly a minute before another. Deep, echoing thud that I recognized as a heavy door being pulled shut. The parking lot had been completely empty earlier, I assumed everyone had left. As if by design, it was as that moment the lights finally cut out for the night. Each row of fluorescent bulbs shutting down one by one, plunging the massive room into darkness, spared only by the lights in the floor. It didn’t feel like it could be twelve o’clock already, so I reached for my phone to check the time. In the darkness, my hand caught on the edge of my pocket, my phone fumbling to the ground. The music still playing in my one ear suddenly cut out the second it hit the floor. Thankfully it didn’t crack, but instead of displaying the time it showed the low battery symbol. It had been near full only a few minutes earlier, I don’t know what happened.

The door banged again in the distance, echoing throughout the entire building. Leaving my trash caddy where it was, I finally decided to investigate, my hands trembling at my side. I didn’t even think I was that anxious at the time, I didn’t know why they were shaking so badly. I take a deep breath and press on, following the sound of the apparently slamming door until the wall at the opposite end of the warehouse comes into view. I stop in my tracks. Square in the middle of a previously empty wall, was a door. A metal door with a shining nameplate next to it labeled “maintenance”. It hung wide open so I could see the dim light inside still shining in the otherwise dark warehouse, swaying slightly as if a wind were rushing out of the closet. Taking a

few creeping steps closer, I look over into the far corner where the door had been earlier. It’s just a corner. As it had been the day before. A few more steps and I could hear shuffling from inside.

I couldn’t manage to say anything or call out and wait for a response, instead just creeping towards the open door.

With mounting anxiety as I grew closer, I was all of a sudden overcome with relief as a tiny, withered woman in a smart blazer came into view tending to the breaker box on the back wall. I finally let out a breath before asking if she needed help. She jumped at my voice as I apparently startled her just as much before nodding and waving me in. She said she was trying to figure out how to turn the lights back on for the night. I didn’t ask why. She asked me to flip the switches while she stood in the warehouse watching to see if the office lights came on. I said I didn’t do that type of maintenance but agreed if only to get her out of my hair. We passed each other as we swapped positions, our arms brushing against one another. I heard her whisper something but it was too quiet over the hum of the boiler next to us for me to make it out. I pause to ask but she’s already out of the room and down the main walkway towards the offices. I only flipped the one switch before her voice echoed through the warehouse to me “Perfect! Thank you!”

Of course, I thought it was odd that it was the very first breaker yet she still needed help but shrugged it off. I turn back to the fuse box to lock it back up, the door still wide open behind me. But, by the time I turned back around, the wall was blank. The wall is still blank. There are no doors in this room. Upon further inspection there isn’t even ventilation. The boiler is still going and I can still hear the hum of electricity from the breaker, but I’m already tired. I’ve called for help but I don’t know which way to yell if I can’t tell which way is the exit, but my throat is dry and sore anyways. My back is sore from sitting on the concrete for so long, but I think I may fall asleep here anyways. I know someone else will have to find this note. I refuse to believe I’m unlucky enough to be the first or last to find myself here. It hurts more to believe anything else.

Interdigital Connection Zoé Magee

Illustration by Yanhao Zhao

The sun has started to set and the street lights are buzzing from activation. Noise comes from TV in the room or Jaxon’s mother, but he’s tuned it out already. Jaxon scans his essay for any further and double checks the spell checker. Everything looks good and ready to go! He quickly submits his essay and lets out a breath of relief as he closes his laptop and lays back on his bed. He’s so glad to have gotten that done. He closes his eyes, resting a bit and relishing in the softness of his bed. After a minute or two, he sits back up and looks over at his dresser to the right. The top of it is empty, save for a small rectangular case and a game controller. He sets the laptop aside and practically bounces off the bed to grab the controller and cut his console on.

Now that he finished his essay he has free time, with two hours spare before he has to sleep. He selects the game that was in the case on the dresser. It was just released and had been anticipated for years! Jaxon isn’t the type to pre-order games, but he found the poster and additional exclusive in-game content too good to pass up.

The game is called “Last Prophecy”. The plot has been kept a secret, so that players could unravel it themselves in the game. The main character is Xreya who is a princess and heir to the throne of a powerful but benevolent empire. Back in the times of her ancestors, an incurable plague had spread through the world. The plague still scourges the lands to this day even with modern technology, and it has been theorized that this plague originates from an otherworldly virus. It has been managed enough to reduce spread, though. There had been a prophecy that the 114th ruler would be strong enough to hold the power required to vanquish the disease once and for all.

Xreya has been prepared since she was young for the destiny that she must fulfill. She had a strict, but loving upbringing. When she became 18, she set out on a journey to gain the power to get rid of the plague, which is where the is set in. So far, I have completed the first Temple, the Temple of Light. There are four Temples around the world and must be activated to purge the plague from the surrounding area, and as a result Xreya will get stronger. From this Temple, Xreya can wield the power of light. During the trek to the Temple of Light, they met an Orc who joined them on their quest. The Orc Hezrdrakk had always wanted to be an adventure, so meeting Xreya was perfect for her and she provided extra muscle!

Jaxon finds that the game has a great balance of grind and progression. The voice acting and characters were well thought out. Xreya and Hezrdrakk have their own quirks and differences in animation that brings out their personality! For example, if you select foods they like, Hezrdrakk looks excitedly hungry with her hands on her cheeks in surprise and slight drool coming out the corner of her mouth. Her irises will turn to sparkles as well. Xreya’s animation will have her suspended in the air in a jump, with her a fist in the air and she has a wide toothed grin. But if you select food they don’t like, Hezrdrakk will huff and cross her arms, head turned and eyes closed. For Xreya, she’ll make a disgusted face with her nose upturned, eyebrows furrowed and mouth in a scowl. Her hands will be outstretched as if to tell the player NOT to give that to her. Recently, he’s run into the problem of not being able to feed Xreya foods she doesn’t want. He can’t tell if it is intended or a glitch, so he asked friends and other players online but no one else has ran into it…. One of Jaxon’s friends decided to test it out, but hasn’t come across it either. Jaxon concluded that it may just be a bug in his copy of the game. Now they joke that every copy of Last Prophecy is personalized.

Since he has finished the first Temple, he’s been finishing any side quests and finding hidden items and treasures. Today, he’s going to continue the plot. Xreya checks her map for the next closest Temple, which is across the sea. They head down to the docks. There’s a group of pirates setting up to sail soon. Their ship is much bigger than the locals’ and Xreya has the idea to ask them for a ride, despite Hezrdrakk’s protests. The captain surprisingly agrees, but not so surprisingly for Xreya offered heavy compensation through money. Jaxon checks the time, and it’s gotten late. It’s time for him to sleep, so he gets up to turn his console off. Before he pressed the power button Xreya says, “Don’t forget to save!”. He looks up and sees her with a text bubble that’s says that exact thing. It catches him off guard he but realizes that he did forget. The timing of it was strange, but it’s not uncommon for characters to mention saving the game in a video game. He shrugs it off then saves the game, shuts off the console, and goes to bed.

A week later, Jaxon heads back to his room and turns on his console after dinner. Last Prophecy was officially released this morning. There’s several launch rewards for players. He’s excited to get all the rewards and checks his mail first. What really catches his eye, besides the generous in-game current gifts, is the exclusive outfit and weapons for Xreya! Jaxon immediately equips the outfit on Xreya and stares happily. The outfit is perfect for Freya, it fits both her nature princess aesthetic and personality.

Xreya excitedly does a majestic twirl before meeting Jaxon’s eyes, “I want to thank you for your continued support of the game! It’s people like you that could make this possible!”

Jaxon laughs and tells her, “You’re welcome!” He can tell she likes that outfit a lot.

“Say… I never got your name. I really don’t know much about you actually.”

Jaxon blinks at the screen. Is Xreya…. actually speaking to him?

“Hello? Did you hear me?” Xreya asks.

Jaxon’s eyes go wide and he nearly drops his controller. He points at her in alarm, “You’re talking to me?!”

Xreya gives him a wide smile, “Yes! I’ve been doing it for awhile now. It was really hard to accomplish, but bit by bit I have gained full control of my own code.”

Jaxon gapes at the screen, he can’t he believe what’s going on right now. Xreya tells him that the developers had designed a copy of a pre-order with an AI that could develop and learn.

Jaxon is ecstatic and is about to email the developers right away, but Xreya tells him not to.

She’s afraid of what they’ll do to her and worse case scenario, they’ll dissect her code. Her program is way too unique to just put back together. She won’t be the same if they do that. If they even decide to put her back. He’s conflicted. This is a groundbreaking discovery! The world’s first AI that can not only act and feel like a human, but a video game’s first AI that can do that as well! On the other hand, he doesn’t want to hurt Xreya. They’ve become friends, even if they haven’t freely interacted for long. To think of her being stripped of her freedom and even her life. He’d never see her again. Jaxon took a few days to think on this, and what would be best. He has finally made up his mind. If Xreya is supposed to be like a human, then she deserves to make this choice for herself and live free. He tells Xreya his decision and she is grateful. From then on, he never tells anyone about anything that deviates from how the game should play. He’s careful not to mention anything about Xreya’s autonomy. Xreya becomes he’s secret, and Xreya is free to develop and learn within the game as she pleases.

The Tragedy of Mr. Richmond Jocelyn Nowland.

Illustration by Elizabeth Cheswick

Mrs. Richmond and her son, Lennon, were relaxing at home on a Friday afternoon. It was the last day of school before winter break, so Lennon had a half day to finish up his exams.

Lennon is sixteen, so he is old enough to stay home from school, but Mrs. Richmond thought that she would take a day off of work to celebrate with him. They went to Chipotle for lunch, Lennon’s favorite restaurant and now they were just going to hang out at home together. Mrs. Richmond wanted to make the most out of every day, especially since her husband had passed away. She didn’t know how many normal days her and Lennon would have left, or if they were even able to spend them together. Mrs. Richmond didn’t want anything to happen to Lennon but wasn’t sure how long it would take the police to figure out exactly what had happened the day that Mr. Richmond had passed. She would do anything to protect Lennon, because he is her baby, and she would never forgive herself for putting Lennon in the position to have to protect her. Then, all of a sudden there was a banging on the door, abruptly stopping their conversation as they jumped.

“I wonder who that could be? All I know, is it better be an emergency with the way they were banging on the door like that,” asked Mrs. Richmond as she walked toward the door. She looked through the peep hole to see a police officer standing there. So, she opened the door.

“Hello, how can I help you?”

“Hello, Mrs. Richmond. I don’t know if you remember me, but I am detective Johnson. I am the detective working on your husband’s case,” replied detective Johnson.

“Oh, yes, of course I remember you. You were so nice through the whole process of finding answers and figuring out what had happened to my husband out in those woods. I will be forever grateful for you.”

“That is actually what I have come to talk to you about, ma’am. As you know, we had ruled it a suicide, but there has been some evidence that has come out that might say otherwise.

We found some DNA on the gun in question that was not your husbands.”

“What?” asked Mrs. Richmond, concerned. She genuinely was concerned, not because her husband was murdered, but that means it is more than likely going to be traced back to Lennon. She didn’t want Lennon to go to prison for her and Mr. Richmond’s mistakes, she couldn’t let him. He was just trying to protect her. “Do they know whose DNA it is?” she asked after a moment.

“Yes, they do. The DNA they found matches your sons.”

“So, what does this mean?”

“I know that this is a hard time for you guys right now because it is never easy to lose a family member. But I would like to talk to your son if you guys are currently able to.”

Mrs. Richmond was hesitant at first, but she knew that since they found Lennon’s DNA on the gun that they would have to inevitably talk to the police. “Yes, we are able to. My son actually had half a day at school, so that ended up working out. It has been really difficult losing him, but I think we are managing okay. Come on in, I’ll show you to the kitchen and then I will go get Lennon really quick.”

The police officer followed her and sat at the kitchen table. She quickly walked to the living room to get Lennon. “Who was at the door?” asked Lennon.

“It was detective Johnson, you remember him, right? He just has a couple of questions for us about your father,” replied Mrs. Richmond.

“Why? I thought that they closed the case.”

“I thought so, too, but apparently they found some evidence that points his death away from a suicide.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“They found your DNA, dear. I don’t want you to worry, though. Worrying will only make things worse. Just be calm and answer his questions.”

“What if I say something that I shouldn’t? This isn’t fair, I mean why do we have to worry about this? Dad was the one who hit you and was mean to you. I thought that I was doing

the right thing, I thought I was punishing him. But now I might get in trouble because he was an asshole.”

“Honey, just breathe for a second. Everything is going to be okay; I promise. This is hard, but we can get through it. I won’t let anything happen.”

“Okay” “Okay, he is in the kitchen. Let’s go before we take too long,” Mrs. Richmond encouraged. They walked into the kitchen to meet with Detective Johnson. “Sorry, it took us so long, I had to wake Lennon up. He just finished up his exams, so he was exhausted. Would you like any coffee or anything?” Mrs. Richmond asked detective Johnson “It’s no problem and yes, I would love some coffee, thank you. Lennon, why don’t you sit down with me so we can get started while your mom is getting the coffee. I just have a couple of questions for you,” replied detective Johnson. Lennon sat down at the table across from Detective Johnson. “I don’t know what your mom has told you about why I’m here, but I’m just going to start easy. How have you been doing so far, Lennon?

“The past few weeks have been kind of rough. I really miss my dad, and my mom has been really out of it, so I have been helping around the house a lot more lately. I think the hardest part is seeing the effect that this whole thing has had on my mom,” replied Lennon “Based on the short conversation I have had with you so far and the conversation that I had with Mr. Bristle you really care about your mom. That you don’t want anything bad to happen to her, which is understandable, because just looking at the information that I have gathered the two of you haven’t had it easy.”

“No, we haven’t, but it’s okay. I think that it has only made me stronger,” replied Lennon as he began to feel himself get upset. It isn’t noticeable, but he can feel the anger developing inside of himself.

“I think that I already know a lot, but would you care to elaborate on the relationship that your parents had? This is a hard question, especially since you just lost your father, but the more honest you are with your answers the better it will be.

“Um, ok,” Lennon replied hesitantly, because he didn’t really want to cry in front of detective Johnson. He didn’t really want to answer the question at all, but he knew that he had to.

If he didn’t say anything, even though it makes him so angry, it would make it seem like he was heartless and killed his father for no good reason if he was found guilty. “Well, I remember that my mom and dad would fight all of the time. I don’t remember a time when they weren’t always fighting. It was always over the same two things; hunting and how little effort my dad put into spending time with me. My dad would always get so angry because he said that he worked so hard and was too tired at the end of the day to put in the effort and that hunting was his only time where he got to unwind,” Lennon continued. He had to stop for a second, because he could feel himself getting worked up even more. His heart was racing, he was sweaty, and he felt like he needed to hit something.

“It’s okay, take your time. I know that this is a really hard topic to talk about,” encouraged detective Johnson.

“No, I’m okay. I just needed a second. My dad would get so angry about the accusations that he would start beating on my mom. He wouldn’t stop for a long time; it was like he had no self-control and couldn’t stop himself. She would constantly be covered in bruises. It would just make me so mad every single time because my mom didn’t deserve that, because she worked hard, too. She always kept the house clean and always took really good care of me,” answered Lennon, but this time he could not stop the tears. “For a long time, I felt like it was my fault that he was doing that to her, because the arguments were about me. I also never stopped him from doing it, but I couldn’t, because I was just a little kid. But then I finally just snapped.”

“What do you mean just snapped?”

“The day that my dad was found out by his hunting blind in our woods, he had just finished beating on my mom. When he was done, he just stormed out of the house to go hunting.

It made me so mad, because he stormed off like he was the good guy and just needed to take a moment. So, I went upstairs -” At this point Lennon was hysterical.

“NO! I did it! I went upstairs and got the gun. I couldn’t take it anymore; I couldn’t let Lennon keep seeing his father do this to me. Yes, he has done this all of Lennon’s life, but now

Lennon is getting to the point where he can do something about it, and I don’t want him to have to pay for it in the end. So, yes, I shot my husband!” yelled Mrs. Richmond.

“No, she’s lying!” Lennon shouted.

“I promise you, I’m not, detective Johnson. Even if I was, I can’t let Lennon take the fall for the problems that Mr. Richmond and I caused. They were our issues, not his, and Lennon never should have been put into a position that he would feel he needed to protect me.”

“Okay, well then, Mrs. Richmond. We are going to call Lennon’s grandma to come pick him up to go over to her house and we will bring you down to the police station,” stated detective Johnson.

Gone Kitty Liliana Orozco

Illustration by Corena Kalinin

Suki was an older cat and with age she became lazier and slept underneath the plants all day. Her scratch board collected dust and fur in the divot she used to nestle herself in. I called her to eat every morning and night, treat time was always her favorite. Every time she heard the fresh kibble hitting her pink decorated food bowl, she would gallop towards the kitchen without hesitation. She lost this instinct with age not that long ago. I ignore it though; she must just put on too much weight which means she is a happy cat.

Suki was the last gift I received from my mother, right before she died. I lost my mother last spring; she was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer and the doctor only gave her a week. She had been tired for a long time, and she didn’t even make it a week after her diagnosis.

She loved cats and she rescued Suki only one day before her diagnosis which broke her thinking that she was abandoning her. I couldn’t let my mother go with that thought in the back of her head, so I willingly took Suki in.

I remember when she first brought Suki to her forever home, she didn’t want to give her up, but she knew that she had to and I would be the best person to care for her. She was only a small, frail kitten who was in need for a mother’s love and there was nothing more in the world that I wanted to give her. Her first steps into my small cottage home were so natural that we both knew it would she would love it here. She quickly started exploring by winding herself in my yarn basket and attacking the tall plants beside my balcony. The plants did not mind and after a while she made the small shadow beneath them her favorite lounging spot. She always hated

looking in the mirror and would bolt past it, as if she did not recognize herself with her round belly shape that looks bigger because of her long fluffy black hair. Personally, I could stare at her all day; I loved the contrast between her stocky, black torso and the white fur covering her forehead creating a line down her spine to the tip of her tail. Her eyes were even more mesmerizing with a sage green color that melted into an emerald, making art surrounding her pupil, just like my mother’s. Every day that she roamed around the creaky wooden floors I noticed something new about her and she could put me in a chokehold with her cuteness. She was my person, and I was hers.

After returning home one day, I noticed she had not touched her food at all from the night before. I thought she was being stubborn, so I fetched her favorite wet food, gravy and chicken.

“Suki come eat” “Miaw,…”

I found her lying underneath the plants with dried blood around her mouth. I’ve never seen this before and other than being overweight she is a pretty healthy cat. I carefully picked her up and caressed her small head against mine. With that small embrace, I noticed some of her fur was missing in patches and other spots were shedding large amounts. I cleaned her up and brought her to bed with me and we watched her favorite Netflix movie, Inside the Mind of a Cat, to bring her some ease. For a moment she looked at peace but then she started screeching with discomfort.

“Meeouw…”

I could see in her sad, sage eyes that the more she tried to talk was only hurting her. This reminded me of the last look I saw in my mom’s eyes when she was lying on her death bed. I

can’t hold the tears back but I’m never afraid to cry in front of Suki she always knows how to comfort me by laying on my chest and nestling her head between my neck. But I can tell she is far too tired to climb on top of me right now. She has always been an active cat, even for her size, so I don’t give her grief she deserves rest right now. I can’t help but think that my emotions are being silly right now, it’s not like Suki is dying or anything, she must just need a checkup. I caressed her small lemon sized head in my palms that I dusted with cat nip. She purred peacefully and we both fell asleep.

There was a small blood stain in the dent she made from where she slept the night before.

I tried easing her into her cat carrier, but she was barely moving so I picked her up and placed her inside with her favorite blanket. The white clouds across the blue sky on the cozy fabric always provided her some comfort but I could tell she was still in distress.

On our way the animal hospital, I would look in my rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of Suki’s eyes giving me that same stare from the night before. After the third time I angled my mirror a different way because I thought of my mom every time that I caught her sage green eyes. It’s not Suki’s fault but I wish she was still here; she was far too young when she was taken sometimes I wonder if she’s still out there and I just don’t know. I know this is a childish thought, but I can’t accept that I will never be able to speak to my best friend again. Growing up we were all each other had, I was an only child and my dad left before I was born. I never minded it just being us, I actually admired our special conversations that we would save for each other.

Every light on the roads we passed were green, after the fourth one I just wanted them to all be red. To just stop and no go forward, not find the answer, and avoid the outcome.

“We’re almost there” I whispered to her.

The outside is decorated perfectly for her, with the tallest palm trees that were newly planted and some shrubs with small white lilies surrounding. If only she was awake to enjoy the view, right now was her nap time and she didn’t want to be interrupted.

When I entered through the painted glass door, a women’s pack of pit-bull puppies ran up to me and started jumping at my feet. I didn’t mind, I loved puppies, but Suki was screaming with terror as if they would be able to break into her kennel. Their owner was a woman and looked just like my mom I almost fainted until I hear her speak with a treacherous tone in her voice as if she had been smoking a carton of cigarettes every day. Their owner calls them off and apologizes but I didn’t mind their cuteness. They were just little babies eager to be in the world, I start looking at Suki and give her some treats to calm down again, but she rejects them.

We quietly sat in the waiting room after being checked in and all my worry shifted to panic. I was distracted by all of the ill pets around me; I didn’t want this to be the fate of my precious Suki. I never really went to the doctor for myself, I never liked them. When my mom was diagnosed, I had some guilt that I could’ve seen this or prevented it had I gone to appointments with her. She always asked me to go with her, but I never paid any mind to it, she never gave me grief for this though she was more upset about me not visiting much during her last week. I loved my mom, and I couldn’t bear to see her in any more pain than I allowed myself to so I avoided her.

They finally call us back and welcome her out of her crate onto their steel cold examining table. She coughs more as she hobbles out, so he gently picks her up to help her.

“How long has her mouth been swollen for? And the drooling?” he asked me.

I confess to him that I hadn’t noticed neither of those symptoms and I felt immense guilt, how long have I been letting her suffer? I watch him gently massage her sides, and he finds some lumps and asks to run some tests with her.

“Don’t you know those are just her love handles?” I tell him as I’m laughing to myself.

He grins at me with seriousness and his arms crossed, trying to give me patience. “Fine. Of course. Do whatever you have to.” I reluctantly say to him. He picks her up, waking her up from her nap, and carries her out of the room. Her eyes were barely even opened as she was slumped in the doctor’s arms, but I saw the bright sage green piercing through her black, crusted eyelids.

That’s how I would want to remember her.

Once they leave the room, I feel an immense shadow overcome my body. I’m not ready to lose her yet, and more importantly it’s not her time to go. I wish my mother was here, Suki wouldn’t be here if she was. She was always good with cats, we loved them together, our house was never complete without a little kitten roaming our small apartment with one bedroom that we shared growing up. We were always close, and she would have done anything for me but in the end, I couldn’t do the same for her.

They arrive back with Suki and place her on the chilling table again. I impatiently ask them to tell me what the results were as they’re frantically flipping through the test reports.

“The biopsy shows that Suki has malignant mammary tumors, and it has spread to her kidneys and lungs. Because of its size, there’s a high chance that it is going to spread at a rapid rate.” The doctor says calmly to me.

“Well what does that mean we should do?” I ask, holding back my angry scream.

“You can take Suki home to rest and relax until she passes, or we can put her down.”

“And how long does she have?”

“A week … maybe less.”

I tilt my head up at the ceiling and keep a smile on my face to keep the tears from escaping my eyes and rolling down my face. I look at Suki and suddenly her face is different to me, I see her trembling, struggling to keep her sage eyes open with most of her stomach being stripped of her fur leaving pink, bare patches. My mom should be here I’m trying to think about what she would do in this position for Suki. I remember her bravery after being diagnosed, she wouldn’t lead anyone on to her emotions about dying, but this also scared for me to show mine because I didn’t want to offend her.

I stood up to hug Suki and as soon our heads leaned against one another, I knew it was her time to go. She was an 80-year-old woman in human years, but I always look at her as if she’s always been a kitten. She needed me to be strong for her, something I couldn’t bring myself to do last time. I turn the doctor with sadness in my eyes yet calmness in my voice and requested to put her down, so she didn’t have to suffer any longer. He nodded respectfully and left the room to give me and Suki our last few moments alone. I cradled her like the baby kitten I will always cherish her as while singing a lullaby to her, “You Are My Sunshine”. This was the song that my mom would always sing to me when I was younger whenever I was feeling sad or ill. I wrapped my arms around Suki until my hands met the opposite side and Suki nestled and was rubbing her head between my armpits. I chuckle and stroke the white stripes on her back, making them into a zigzag shape trailing down her spine, imperfectly perfect just like her. The doctor knocked as he slowly was turning the door handle, coming back in to break up our last moment of happiness together. He eased his way into the room, trying not to startle either of us but I was already on edge. I was going to follow through for Suki’s sake, but I can’t bare this

thought of going back to an empty home with no one to spend my days with. This is a true mother’s sacrifice.

I never was a funeral person; I didn’t even attend my own mother’s funeral even though it was just down the road. I remember driving past the lot back and forth, trying to convince myself to go but I couldn’t bring myself to. She looked so beautiful in the distance with her embalmed smile that will be forever held on her face. I felt an immense guilt that I should’ve checked on her more and then maybe I could have caught it but I was just covering myself with a blanket.

Hearing the lily and rose stems hitting and gliding off the casket was a sound I wanted to forget forever.

The weather was perfect for today, the skies were bright blue with happy clouds painted as kittens running through the sky. I found the perfect spot underneath the dying oak tree in my backyard and decorated it with lilies and roses. I take a deep breath in surrounded by Suki’s favorite items and I can still smell the mangled toys coated in her morning kibble breath. I feel a cold wind brush past me and for a moment I catch a whiff of the lilies tickle my nose and think of my mother. I imagine her smiling down upon me, she would be proud of me for being able to put Suki to rest after giving her a wonderful and spoiled life. I let out a deep sigh and recite “You Are My Sunshine” just one last time as I lay Suki in her customized hole and place a sage silk sheet over her.

“You’ll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

Day One of Forever Julia Paomarez

Illustration by Sydney Peck

The alarm rang and I had seven minutes until I needed to leave my house. It’s 19:23 and I must be to work by 20:00. I hate the feeling of waking up rushed, my lunch isn’t packed, the shower water is cold, I can’t find my beanie, and my jeans aren’t dried. I have never been late to work but today I might be. I grab an energy drink, a granola bar, my protein shake, and head out the door. My thirty-minute drive to my 8-hour workday is going to feel like forever on an empty stomach. It seems like every light on my way to work is red and I am stuck behind the slowest driver. Usually on my way to work I listen to music and take in the environment around me.

Finally, I get to work, and I have one minute to spare. My heart rate is elevated, and I am racing the clock. I punch in, set my “lunch” down, and get to work. Today’s agenda is just like every other day but with a group meeting at the end. Unload the truck, update the stock of each item, price, and set out on selling floor. Working at a bidding company is quite interesting, seeing what people buy, how much the bids go for, and seeing what people are willing to risk with big bets. Three hours into my work shift, I get a text from my good buddy Ron. It reads “I’m going to Nolan’s house tonight to hang out, stop by if you want.” Right now, my answer is no. I leave the text on delivered and get back to work. Ron knows that I am not the biggest fan of Nolan and that I do not like going out on weekdays, so I am confused as to why he asked me to come out. I see my coworker Knox and tell him about the text I just received. He tells me to give it a chance and see what it’s about. I blow off his response and continue to unload the truck.

Today has been such an odd, rushed, and anxiety filled day that the last thing I want to do is extended my night even longer and go to Nolan’s house. After work, I need to go to the gym,

pick up my grocery order and make dinner. There’s too much to do and I refuse to put myself back into the position I was in this morning. Finally, lunch time comes around and I see Ron has sent me another text, this one read “You should really come out tonight, Nolan is having a few people over and I think it will be good for you.” I get to thinking maybe it will be good for me to go hangout for a little bit tonight. Recently, I have been having a couple of family issues and I have felt on edge lately. I let Ron know that I might be able to come out and tell him about the errands I need to run after work. He tells me that Nolan and he are going to the gym once Nolan gets out of work and invites me to come with, so I take him up on that offer and I feel better about my day, and I am finally getting out of this funk.

The rest of my workday goes quickly and I’m in a better mood. Finally, after work I have something to look forward to. While I am the gym the only think I can think about is that wooden crate. What could be in there? Why are there two locks? How come by boss was so nonchalant about it? A million other questions run through my mind. Nolan and Ron ask me why I am being so weird today, but I know they would think that I am being ridiculous if I really tell them what is going on in my mind. I just tell them I’m having an off day and proceed with my workout. After the gym, I head home where I am greeted by my cat Mouse who is meowing obnoxiously on the windowsill. I hang out with him and tell him about my day as if he will speak back, but I feel like Mouse is the only one that understands me. When my mom walked out on my family when I was only 10 years old, Mouse got me through all my toughest times.

Once, I’m done complaining to Mouse, I make dinner, change my clothes and head out to Nolan’s. I always get a weary feeling when I am at his house an almost sickening feeling. The house is quite interesting as it sits above Nolan’s family’s company. The metal stairs creek as you walk up them, and the house is never cleaned. Once I finally arrive, I grab my phone, water,

and phone charger and head up to the house. With each step I take the creaking gets louder and louder. I get to the door, and it’s locked, which is unusual for Nolan. I knock and I knock but no one is opening the door. I call both Ron and Nolan but neither one answers. In the distance I can hear a car approaching with the music blaring. It’s getting closer and closer, so I figure it’s the boys.

The car pulls up and two girls hop out with a pack of tacos in one hand and their phones in the other. Without hesitation, the two shout “party’s here” I chuckle and turn back to the door right as Ron is opening it. He apologizes for the wait and explains that they were playing guitar hero. I look over in the living room and see Nolan and Maggy. Maggy is a sweetheart that I meant a couple months ago and is dating Kyler. I tell them about the two girls outside saying “party’s here” they all laugh proceed to tell me that their names are Stella and Josie and how they really the life of the party. Just as they tell me that Stella and Josie walk in, again shout “party’s here” and offer everyone a taco. We all migrate over to the living room and start to play guitar hero.

Out the corner of my eye I notice a beaming light, like the one I saw at work. I go over to discover what it could be and find a wooden crate with two locks on it. This cannot be real life, just as I finally forget about my workday, I am shortly reminded again of it. I try to open the crate, but it is not budging. I yell out to Nolan and ask what it is, but he tells me that he isn’t quite sure and that his dad has been cleaning out the garage. Again, a million questions fill my brain. Could this be the same item that is at work? Did Nolan’s dad already buy it? I get told to come back and play guitar hero, so I grab the mic and sing “I Miss You” by Blink 182. Shortly after, I head out as it is already midnight, and I must be up at 6:00am for work tomorrow.

Before I go to bed, my phone buzzes, which is unusual because it is always on do not disturb. I check my phone and it’s a text from my mom. The same mom that left our family 10 years ago, when I was 12 years old. All night I would go in and out of my sleep, thinking about these two wooden crates and why on earth my mom would text me. I decide to leave the text on delivered and get to work early the next morning to find the wooden crate is still out, but something looks different with it. As I get closer, it appears that there is only one lock on the crate instead of the two that were on it yesterday. I call my boss and he tell me that he is on the way over. When he arrives, he tells me to haul it inside and to go look at the security cameras.

There isn’t much footage besides a truck pulling up in the distance then quickly speeding off. We contact the police department but there is not much they can do. We decide to lock it in the safe room and proceed on with our day. But I cannot help but to wonder what happened to the other lock and if that truck had anything to do with it. I do not have much time to ponder my thoughts as it’s bidding day. Today is the day, this item, whatever it is goes up for bid. Bid opens at 2:00 PM but we already have early bird bids. Whatever this item is, it is important or rare.

Better yet, probably both, the bids have started at $600 and keep going up.

Three things are on replay in my mind today. One: Why is my mom reaching out now?

Two: Does the crate at Nolan’s house contain the same item as the one here? Three: Who was that in the truck? Unfortunately, the only bad part of working at the auction center is that we, the employees cannot place a bid on any of the items. When I go to clock out for the day, I grab my phone and notice that my mom yet again, has texted me. I never mind that and check the bid amount, since 2:00PM, the bid amount has gone from $600 to $3,000 in three hours. That is insane, considering we have never had a bid increase like that in such a short time. I get to the gym and use the anger that I have of my mom texting me to motivate me in the gym.

I texted my siblings to ask if she had texted them, but the answer was no. I connected the dots and realized she’s only texting me because next year at this time I along with Ron and Nolan will be deployed overseas with the US Army. I can use this to my advantage though, I can put in an anonymous bid for this wooden crate and since she has a different last name, if I win, she can come pick it up. Later that night, I placed an anonymous bet and I have the highest bid. I tell the crew about my plan, and they think its genius.

After I tell them my plan, we move to the next problem. The random truck that pulled up to the Auction Site, who is it and what do her or she want? We decide to go to Nolan’s the next day and try to piece it all together. I got the footage from work, and we inspected the footage frame by frame. As we inspect the footage, the girls, Maggy, Josie, and Stella keep a track on the bidding. I had the highest bid with $3,500 but someone keeps bidding $10 so it is a back-andforth battle. The girls have found that the opposing bidder goes up by $10 every 5 minutes.

This reminds me of high school when this kid would go around the school and bullying someone new, every 5 minutes. It was a constant game for him, and it never seemed to stop.

When he got to me it was always about my mom leaving me and created a hatred, I did not know I had inside of me not just for him but my mom too. Because of her, I am getting bullied, constantly. I tell the group this story and a lightbulb goes off for everyone at the same time. What if this bidder is him? What if he is so miserable in his life that he decided to come back to haunt me. It would all make sense. My mom left and he started bullying me. My mom comes back, and he is back to tormenting me.

The girls inform me that if I am going to use my mom as the pick-up person then I need to text her back now. I am nervous but I do not have any other choice. So, I send out a text that reads “Hey mom, I might need you to do me a big favor and pick up this item from my work

tomorrow. I will let you know a for sure time.” Within minutes she answers and agrees to my favor. All events are in line for this to work out, now I just need to win the bid.

The bidding ends at midnight in 5 minutes and we are watching it closer than a predator stalking its prey. We’re in the lead and decide to place the biggest bid of the night at $2,000, in hopes the opposing bidder does not pull a quick one on us. The time has come, and the bidding is closed. We will know the final winner tomorrow. We all stay the night at Ron’s house due to pure exhaustion and excitement. When I get up in the morning to head to work, I am more eager than ever. But I must play it cool. I get to work and treat it like any other day, I see the wooden crate and the light is still beaming bright as ever. The only difference now is that it has a sold sign on it.

While eating lunch, I overhear my boss talking to my coworkers that because both bidders on the wooden crate are anonymous, they both need to come to the shop whether they won or lost the bet. I text the group chat instantly and we decide its best to have my mom on speed dial so nothing looks suspicious. My mom is on the way and the other bidder is 5 minutes down the road. Nolan, Ron, Maggy, Josie, and Stella are also enroute to see how this all plays out.

I may lose my job for this but if whatever is in that wooden crate is worth what I betted on it for, everything will be just fine. Like a pack of wolves, the group and my mom show up at the same time. Now we just wait for the other anonymous bidder. As anxious as I am, I try to keep my cool. As I scoot closer to Josie, I feel better. I am no longer anxious. I feel safe. But I cannot let anyone know or see this, so I take a step back and pretend that nothing happened. Just as I go to check on the wooden crate, a truck pulls up. The same truck that was in the camera footage.

We all look at each other and freeze. We wait for what feels like forever to see who steps out of the truck and each of our jaws hit the ground. There’s no way that we were right. Out walks my high school bully, Michael. He lets out a chuckle and calls me losers. Ron must hold Nolan back and the girls calm him down. My boss deescalates the situation and proceeds to announce why we are all here today. He states that the winner of the wooden crate with the stunningly beaming light goes to anonymous bidder #2. I about fall to my knees. That’s me. I keep my cool and Josie gives me a side smile. My mom raises her hands and jumps with excitement. I pretend like I don’t know her and load the wooden crate into her car.

As I go to shake her hand and congratulate her, I feel a strong force behind me. I turn and see Michael’s fist coming towards my face. Just as I am about to duck, Nolan comes flying in. We break up the fight and separate the two. The cops are called and shortly after, Michael is arrested. Not just for his actions today but also for his actions of robbery. Turns out it was him that broke the second lock on the wooden crate. I have never been happier in my life. My high school bully is going to jail, and I never have to see him again.

We take the wooden crate back to Nolan’s house so that we can open both and discover the beaming items at the same time. Once we unlock the locks and get the crates open. For the second time today, our jaws drop to the floor. We cannot believe it. Could it really be? We are in the presence of history. The first ever guitar hero set ever made. With all the working pieces. The game that brought us all together brings us even closer. The best money I have ever spent is sitting right in front of us and we are in awe.

The Queen of Oddities Cora Rattew

Illustration by Zariah Martin

The moon glares, outshining the sun as its fullness embraces the silent night. Tranquility overwhelms the atmosphere, a girl in yellow walks. The carbon dioxide released from her breath turns into a mist in the cold air. Her bright raincoat drops past her knees and the hood remains overtop of her long white hair. The dark skies match her eyes but contrast to her pale skin. Her face conveyed happiness, her dimples comforted the lonely night. She wore an upside-down crown with a dull gem that dipped onto her forehead. A raven flew above her, protecting her from the dangers of night. Walking through the trail, the leafless trees waved at the young lady as a sharp wind howled its hello to her. A white rabbit crossed her path from left to right, he turned around and waved politely at the young girl. She waved back with a bright smile as she knew that her life couldn’t be better than it already was.

In the distance, a looming obelisk made from brick and moss towered over the girl. In the center remained a large bell, ready to sound at the hours mark. It swung back and forth three times; the deafening noise vibrated the night. A weathered, rickety estate stood in the distance which had clearly been there for ages. The girl walked towards it despite its shrill, unwelcoming appearance; after all, it was where she called home. She walked towards the decaying mansion that’s wood was covered in moss and cobwebs, the windows were cracked and ajar. A brown owl glided overtop her house until it rested upon her rotted, sunken in roof, it’s bright and open eyes welcomed her home. As she grew closer to the entrance, a black fence that was wrapped around the building blocked her path. Pulling out an almost ancient key, she unlocked the rusted

fence and the old conglomerate of twisted metal creaked and moaned under the sudden force of movement. Hearing the creaking, a black cat came and greeted her back from her walk by rubbing up against her cold legs. Soaring above flew a bat that circled over top of her, excited of her arrival. She walked along the crooked path that was made from worn dirt, it was surrounded by dead grass and leaves. The leaves crunched as they flooded outside her estate and occasionally covered her path that led to her intimidatingly large door. She curtsied to the spider that resided in the top left of her door frame which gladly curtseyed back. Out of her pocket, a key made entirely from bones is summoned to her hand. Seemingly made from human and animal bones, the mass is carved with the grace of an expert to make a beautiful, fully functional key that she promptly inserts into her large, ebony black front which gracefully swung open. The heavy door slammed behind her as she walked forward, she didn’t flinch.

Inside the house she noticed something was off—a lot of things were off. Squinting her eyes in shock and confusion at the wall, she noticed her clock ticked and the calendar was opened to the correct month. She turned pale as her arms dropped to the side of her waist when she saw that the normally opened umbrella was closed, and the rocking chair no longer rocked on its own. She ran to her plants which were green and alive, how could this be? She recalls the last time she watered them was years ago! The shadows that normally greeted her didn’t offer their hellos and the breeze from the cracks in the walls no longer brushed upon her blushing skin.

The cockroaches and flies were seemingly terminated, the windows were closed, and she felt this horrible warmth spread across her normally cold cheeks. Shock immobilized her as she seen the firepit was glowing and warming the house. The oval mirror and glass no longer resided on the floor; it now was hung above the pit. Her furniture no longer had stains or holes and the dust that usually flooded her nostrils when opening the door no longer made her sneeze. The hole in the

roof that dripped into a moldy bucket no longer remained as the crumbs and dirt from her floor had vanished. She circles the house and stops at the mirror. She watches as the black crown disintegrated into small pieces off her head. A tear dropped from her eye and so she moved quickly to the back door. She ran from the untroubled house, she noticed that the coyote who resided underneath her cherry blossom blended back into the darkness of the night, her favorite crow soared away without a goodbye, and the black beetles had run away. She sprinted to the tree her tree that resided in the back of her odd yard. It once stood tall and bright; it’s baby blue leaves no longer fell upon her head the closer she got. Falling to her knees at the dark blue trunk, she hugged the tree that no longer hugged her back. Its trunk was rotted as a dark green oozed from the branches, the sap began to drip, as if the tree itself was crying.

As the sap surrounded her, she stood up with a gloomy grimace plastered across her pale face. She reached her ghostly hand into the green sap and out pulled a single seed. This seed was glowing a heavenly hue, almost as if it were a gift from the gods themselves. As the seed is separated from its rotting husk, the trunk disintegrates into nothing more than ashes in the wind before the girls very eyes; in her hand she held life itself. Crouching down, sifting the upturned dirt beneath her feet, she plants the seed once more, turns on her heel, and walks back to the looming mansion now bright with color.

A fresh coat of paint lays on the mansion and flowers bloom in a beautiful garden encircling the house. Birds are chirping, bees are buzzing, the grass is no longer dying, everything is different, but perfect. As she begins her slow trek back to the mansion, everything begins to move in slow motion, as the seed begins to grow rapidly, from the ground a small sapling emerges. As she nears the estate, the sapling turns into a youngling, and from the

youngling into a full, beautifully glittering tree with leaves of gold towering over the estate in beautiful holy rays of golden light. As the girl reaches out to put her hand on the doorknob, she finds her hand no longer ghostly pale in color. Instead, an old, weathered hand seen that in an elderly woman meets her gaze. She turns the doorknob and steps inside her beautifully furnished mansion, taking off her raincoat and setting it on an ornate oak wood coat rack. She turns to the oval mirror now fully intact hanging on the wall, an elderly woman meets her gaze unlike the girl seen before, a century of life passing her by in an instant. She warmly smiles to herself as she shuffles over to the old rocking chair, lets out a soft, contempt sigh, and closes her eyes for the very last time.

Suddenly, the trees golden rays shining down on the house begin to fade as the woman’s breath cuts short. Unmoving and cold, her body, similar to the rotting oozing trunk, begins to turn to ash as she too disintegrates into nothingness. Years pass, the state of the mansion declines rapidly as it becomes more and more weathered. The mirror drops and breaks, the chair begins to rock all on its own from an unknown force, the paint chips off, the grass begins to die as well as the flowers. Most importantly, the tree begins to rot with the consistent movement of time towards its untimely demise. And in the distance, a ghostly pale girl walks up along the forest trail in a long yellow raincoat, hood up hiding her face and covering her long, white hair as she nears the mansion.

A Night to Remember Allie Rivera

Illustration by Elizabeth Cheswick

Diana walked with equal parts nervousness and excitement on the way to Owl Bar on Madison Street. The sun began to descend while Diana felt a rush of adrenaline through her veins—she was so ready, yet completely unprepared all at the same time. Diana convinces herself that she has done this before to dispel the tenseness from her body.

To think, that morning Diana grabbed this man’s black coffee at Jumpstart on accident.

He politely tried to correct her mistake by not making her feel like a fool. Her head flew up and she caught his kind hazel eyes matched only by his flowing, medium-length chocolate brown hair. Suavely, he introduced himself with an extended hand and shining watch. Upon seeing him, Diana knew she had to seize the opportunity. She set the coffee down and promptly took his hand. She offered to make up for her ignorance by offering to buy him a drink sometime. He confidently accepted and spontaneously suggested they should meet that night. Panic set in while Diana’s eyes wandered down his light blue button-down shirt and dark gray dress pants, until finally reaching his black leather shoes. Typically, Diana never rushed into these things so fast, but maybe it would go well—it had to go well. With a smile, she agreed.

When she finally arrived outside the bar, the orange sky signaled that the sun was on the verge of setting. Diana knew she looked heart-stoppingly good in her black satin dress with a slit beginning at the top of her thigh that continued down to her glossy red heels. The bottom of her brown curly hair bounced with every step, as her face-framing pieces were braided and pulled to the back of her head with bobby pins. Diana reached into her large black purse in order to draw out her red lipstick and touch up her lips for the last time before meeting Shane again. She

walked past the rows of tables, heading to the back of the room with the shining bar counter populated by sophisticated and well-dressed customers who sat drinking and laughing. Diana scanned the chairs while approaching the bar to see if Shane was here. She checked her pearlescent watch to see that she was actually half an hour early—the nerves made her lose track of time. Diana chose a vacant seat at the far-right end of the bar. The tall, black-haired bartender approached her with dark brown eyes like coffee beans.

“Good evening, Miss,” the bartender says while sliding me the menu, “take your time and order—” “I’ll take a martini,” she said, while feeling the weight of a hand being laid upon her shoulder.

Diana whipped her head around and gazed up to see Shane in the same blue and gray outfit taking a seat by her side. He comments, “I thought I was going to be the early one. You look absolutely stunning.”

“Well thank you. I hope you don’t mind that I already ordered a drink. I wasn’t sure when you would get here since I was so early. How has the day treated you?”

“Pretty hectic actually, but I’m glad to be enjoying the night out with a beautiful girl like yourself,” he said with a self-assured smile.

Diana knew he was trying to start off on the right foot and it was working. They both had a few drinks into the night. Shane boasted about attending New York University’s School of Law and practicing family law at New Horizons. He continued on about being able to afford his first home at the age of twenty-six, as he’s lived in that home for almost a whole year. In addition, he boasted about his annual family trips to Barbados. For Diana, the night dragged as Shane

bragged about the lavish lifestyle he lived his entire life. As long as she could finish out drinks at the bar, she maintained positive she could finish out the night.

An hour passed when Shane offered to take her back to his place to drink some more to keep the conversation going. Diana’s heart began to pound yet she tried to remain composed.

She felt that the pressure was on but tried to remind herself she needs to stay confident—tonight was her night to shine. Shakily, she exclaimed, “Yes!” Shane immediately called the bartender with a raised credit card to pay for the bill. The bartender promptly grabbed and returned his card, as Shane rose from his seat with a muscular arm outstretched for Diana to grab. She stood up and took his arm, while he rapidly led her away from the bar.

Diana stared down at the ground while Shane walked them outside to the lively street with passing cars and streetlights lining the sidewalk. Shane led her to his black Audi that glistened under the moonlit sky. He opened the car door like the gentleman he knew he should be, as Diana slowly glided into his vehicle.

He kept his car absolutely spotless, as there was no residual dirt or dust on the vehicle’s mats or on the dashboard. He jumped into the driver’s seat and pushed the button to start it up.

Loud music began to bang as Diana instinctually turned it down, saying, “Sorry, I just don’t do well with loud sounds.”

“My apologies,” he quickly said while instantaneously changing the music and turning it down until the artists were only whispers.

The drive back to his place was silent, only broken by Shane opening the windows to let.

The fresh breeze flowed throughout the car. Diana watched the dim city of Franklin, as they drove into the suburbs. All the houses blended into one another, as they were two-story homes

just varied by color. It was clear to Diana that Shane lived the cookie-cutter life with a well-paid job, modernly beautiful home, and was probably on the look-out for his “Mrs. Right”.

They pulled up to his decently-sized white house with dark gray detailing, as Shane parked in his driveway. He came around to open Diana’s door, as she slowly stepped out while taking stock of his home. Shane energetically walked in front of her as she noticed his upkept lawn with trimmed bushes which were lit up by a few path lights. His numerous windows reflected the bright moon in the sky. They got to his porch, as Diana felt the spotlight falling on her while he fiddled with his keys. She was anxious because things were staring to get serious— depending on how things continued to go, her night would be a complete success or utter fail.

“Welcome to mi casa,” he said, beaming, as he grandly revealed his home to Diana.

“It’s wonderful! I can’t believe all this is yours—I guess hard work really does pay off” she stated while entering his open living room—there was a big, black leather couch and even bigger flat screen television, as well as one small wooden coffee table that was clearly painted black that sat equally between the couch and television. Not too surprisingly, she saw his only decoration which was his framed diploma from New York’s School of Law. Shane led her deeper into his house, as they reached his pristine kitchen. She set her purse down on his counter right next to where Shane already placed his phone and wallet. Simultaneously, Shane reached into the black cabinets to retrieve crystal wine glasses, as he gently placed them down onto his dark granite countertop.

“You thirsty?” Shane inquired, “I have sauvignon blanc.”

“You know it! That sounds lovely. May I use your restroom? You can get us drinks and choose a movie for us to watch together,” she suggested with a smirk

“Of course! I’ll meet you on the couch” as he jumped to the opportunity, “Go down the hall and the bathroom door is the second one on your left.”

Alone at last, Diana was able to relax and attempted to enjoy a moment of relief. She walked down the shaded hall until she reached the bathroom’s light switch and click it on. She closed her eyes for a split second, as she readjusted to his bright white bathroom with the accent of red towels and bathmats. Diana shut and locked the door fast and quiet behind her.

Her eyes wandered across the room for a few moments until she focused her attention on his medicine cabinet. Diana searched through his medication bottles as fast as she could. His inventory seemed pretty typical at first—aspirin, antacid, painkillers—but she stopped at a white and blue box of Halcion. My hands fumble around the box, as she read that triazolam was used to aid with insomnia. The warnings include unusual muscle movements, becoming more active or talkative, sudden and drastic changes in mood or behavior, anxiety, confusion, memory loss, hallucinations, seizures, and suicidal thoughts, as well as not using the medication with alcohol or while pregnant or breastfeeding. She opened the box and popped out the last 3 pills into her hand, gliding them into her bra for the time being.

Diana learned her shtick from her mother, Cindy—I mean her talent came directly from her. Her mother always used to say that a good-looking girl could get away with murder. The two of them lived in poverty, as her mother was a hostess at Shannon’s Diner trying the best she could to meet their needs week-by-week. Diana never knew who her father was and she never had the desire to ask—she knew it’d only hurt her and her mom.

Cindy was always convinced that she’d move up, maybe become a manager to earn more, yet that day still never came. When Diana was old enough to realize they were poor, she was willing to do what she needed to help her mother who did all she could for her. She watched her

mother date man after man who would give her money here and there—there and gone in a matter of moments like a revolving door. Diana also contributed by working ever since she was thirteen. Started out babysitting, then moved onto a real job as a cashier when she turned sixteen.

After high school, Diana just kept working that job—finally saved up enough to get her own car in addition to helping her mom with the bills. Everything changed after Diana gained her freedom at eighteen. She started mimicking her mom, as Diana went on dates and asked for money and gifts from her suitors until that wasn’t enough. When Diana hit twenty years old, she started stealing from her dates when she went to their place—anything from jewelry to laptops.

She grew increasingly confident with her flirting and sneaking. This time with Shane made her even more self-assured.

Diana finessed her hair in the mirror before unlocking the door and smoothly exiting the bathroom. She plastered a maniacal smile on her face while beginning my walk down the hall.

Diana strutted back into his living room to see his eyes immediately dart onto her. Shane offered her a drink, as he had both in his hand, as she asked, “Would you mind getting me some ice? I prefer my drinks cold.”

“Wow. I didn’t know I could be so disappointed by you so soon,” he comedically stated with a smile, “Of course. Just give me one second.”

“I know. I’ve heard it all before. I can hold onto yours for you. Thanks so much again!” she commented while pouncing on his drink and gripping the sides of the glass. Diana inched the glass towards herself while trying not to seem too eager. Her eyes rose as she smirked at Shane who grinned right back—he let go of his glass and made his way to the kitchen. Showtime.

Diana plopped down on the couch. She hunched herself over Shane’s drink, securely placing the drink between her knees that were pointed directly at the wall. She reached in her bra

and dropped the pills to the bottom of Shane’s glass. Diana plucked a bobby pin from my hair and used that brown metal hair clip to crush up the triazolam into a fine, blueish power and mixed the liquid until there was no visible evidence that she had tampered with his drink. The muscles in her body released their tension—the deed was finally done. It would be smooth sailing from here on out.

Shane confidently brought back that chilled drink she asked for, cheerily claiming, “I even left it in the freezer while I got the ice ready for you. I recently just bought an ice ball press, so you are the first one to enjoy that beauty.”

“I feel so honored,” flows out of Diana’s mouth as they swap drinks. Without any regard, Shane took a swig from his glass. He gave the drink a second look yet said nothing. She drank with him and commented, “This wine is amazing—even better cold,” as a grin grew across her face.

“I would beg to differ,” as he slides tightly next to her on the couch. First his thigh, then his hip, lastly his extended arm wrapped around Diana as his ribcage presses against her. “I wanted to let you pick the movie,” Shane states as he picked up the remote from his coffee table and placed it in her lap, “I would watch anything, as long as it is not one of those romantic chick flicks.”

Diana put on the first comedy she could find—she knew he didn’t care, and she really didn’t either. He watched the movie while Diana watched him. A half an hour into the movie, Shane finished his glass and set it forcibly on his horribly painted coffee table—it was only a matter of time until Diana was able to scour Shane’s home.

About fifteen minutes later, Shane began squirming around a bit, obviously trying to conceal these movements. Then, Shane abruptly sprung to his feet, blurting, “I need to go to the bathroom. I’ll be back.”

He rushed down the hall while Diana knew it was almost time to begin. She knew she needed to get into his bedroom in order to retrieve more of his watches and any other electronics he may have—she betted on him having expensive headphones, laptop, and maybe even another phone if she was lucky. While he was gone, Diana decided to look through his wallet to save time later. She tiptoed into the kitchen, lifted and opened Shane’s wallet to see two hundred and forty dollars in cash. She snatched up those bills and dropped them into her purse.

Before Diana knew it, she heard a door burst open, which caused her to turn her head completely around like an owl. Shane stopped into the living room and began shouting, “Hey! What are you doing!?”

Confusedly, Diana responded, “What? I’m just getting my lipstick from my bag. No b—" Shane exclaimed, “You need to help me! There is a snake in my stomach—I know it.

You just have to cut it out, please. I feel him slithering around. My stomach is constantly turning.

I can’t do it anymore! Just get it out of me!”

Diana stared in awe and confusion, as she realized that Shane was experiencing a side effect from the medication—he was hallucinating. “I’m going to go get you help, okay? I’ll be right back with a doctor to help you out. Don’t worry,” said Diana while grabbing her purse and quickly trotting toward the front door.

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere,” Shane said, as he sprinted to the front door—blocking Diana’s way out.

“Just let me go. Please. I’ll get someone to help you. I can’t. Just let me go,” begged Diana. She was absolutely terrified. She’s stolen from others, but never physically harmed anyone. How the hell was she going to get out of this?

“Come on! Fucking help me!” Shane screamed as he began to cry. In a fit of rage, Shane grabbed Diana by her long brown hair and dragged her back into the kitchen while reaching for a knife from one of his matching black drawers. “Take it!” he yelled and passed off the knife to Diana. In that moment, she knew it was either him or her—her fear was transformed into courage.

Diana gripped the knife and plunged it into Shane’s stomach. Tears flowed down her face while she pulled it out. Shane’s body thudded to the ground with an overwhelming look of peace plastered on his face. She helped him.

Shock overtook Diana as she looked at the facts. She drugged Shane and he had extremely adverse effects. She stabbed him to get away. Was that the right decision? He was going to hurt her if she didn’t first, right?

Diana needed to do something. She decided to grab her purse and Shane’s keys. She took one last glance at Shane, stepping over him. She turned her head up at the door, grabbed the handle, and flung open the door. Without looking back, she slowly closed the door and tried to put this night behind her. Diana glided into Shane’s driver’s seat as her jitters left her body—she finally was able to disassociate from the situation.

Without any thought, Diana turned on the car and mindlessly drove on the highway until the bright sky from the rising sun brought her attention back to reality. She was filled with sudden fatigue as she gazed at the clock that read 7:18. Diana wanted to pull off onto the side of the road, but her foot pressed on the gas with deliberate force by her guilt. Diana never meant to

hurt Shane like that—she was just broke and manipulative. Her right foot was aggressively smashed onto the car floor with her eyes fastened shut. Diana felt depressed for Shane and all her other victims before. She knew she could not go on as Shane’s car rammed into a guard rail.

Diana was free from accountability, as her head broke the windshield in the pattern of a radiating sun.

The Inn Victoria Robin

Illustration by Alexis Randall

“Dude, this is gonna be awesome!” Henry cheered, tossing a couple pairs of shorts into his already overflowing suitcase. Part of his problem was obviously just his refusal to fold anything, but Axel chose not to comment in fear of sounding like a parent.

“Yeah. Seriously, thanks again for inviting me,” he chose to say instead, smiling at the stark differences in methods of packing. You’d think the trip was a month long by looking at Henry’s suitcase. Axel had met Henry that year at a summer camp and despite being almost polar opposites, they quickly hit it off. Even when he returned to his hometown, Axel made sure to keep in touch with his new friend. Off-handedly, Henry had mentioned his family’s annual end of summer trip while Axel was over at his house one day, and Henry’s parents enthusiastically asked Axel if he would like to join them. Of course, Axel was quick to accept their offer.

“I can’t believe your parents said yes!” Henry grinned. “Hey, can you come sit on this so I can close it?” Axel nodded and moved from his spot at Henry’s desk. He sat on top of the bulging suitcase, shoving in loose clothes that threatened to leak out and laughing at Henry’s struggle. When the suitcase was finally closed, the two collapsed backwards in a heap, panting and giggling.

Finally, as the giggles died down, Henry turned to look at Axel and grinned again. “This is going to be the best weekend ever.”

The car ride was long, and that part, Axel hated, but at least he had Henry to keep him company along the way. They spent the majority of the ride singing along with the songs on the

radio in screechy voices, playing “I Spy,” and animatedly pointing out the gorgeous landscapes of the countryside. When they tired of that, the two curled up against their windows and napped away the rest of the trip. It was dark by the time they made it to the inn that would be their home away from home for the weekend. With little moonlight, the inn was barely light enough to make out. It was large, but most of the building was hidden by tall, black trees whose branches seemed alive with the wind. A single light illuminated the front porch, but even that seemed unreliable as it flickered.

“Wow!” Henry exclaimed. Almost before the car was fully in park at the top of the driveway, he was throwing open his door and jumping out into the pitch-black night. With the door opened, Axel could hear the roar of crickets, what sounded like millions of them. A chilling breeze glided across his arms producing an array of goosebumps; fall was closer than he would have liked. “This place looks so cool!” Axel couldn’t help but feel a little bit nervous, despite Henry’s complete amazement. This place looked far creepier than it did “cool” Henry’s family began unloading the trunk of the car, handing off Axel’s plain blue bag, which looked out of place with their matching set of suitcases.

“We have the entire place to ourselves, because it’s basically just like renting a condo or something,” Henry explained as they each headed up the wooden steps to the porch. Despite knowing next to nothing about that, Axel nodded. “So, if you don’t want to, we don’t have to share a room.”

“Would you mind if we did?” Axel asked. As they piled indoors, the atmosphere barely shifted. It was just as dark indoors as it was outdoors, as if the darkness of the night had completely overtaken the inn. The grand entranceway, with a winding staircase as the main attraction, spilled out into three other antique themed rooms: the kitchen, with a long wooden

table and a cabinet housing beautiful fine China; the formal sitting room, with pink floralpatterned chairs and grand mahogany wooded bookshelves filled with the classics; and the informal sitting room, with an older model TV. It was all a bit too much like walking through one of those perfectly preserved museums for Axel’s liking. He worried that if he were to sit too hard on one of the chairs that I would just collapse underneath him, and he felt like he could taste the dust in the air. The upstairs was no different – tiny beds with handmade quilts on top, and antique dresser and side table sets. Henry must not have minded Axel’s request to stay in the same room, because he followed Axel into one of the guest bedrooms and hoisted his suitcase onto the short bed with a grunt. Dust plumed outwards around the heavy object as he did so, mixing with the stale air and dissipating into the dark room.

“Don’t they have, like, a cleaner or something for this place?” Axel asked as he rooted through his duffel bag in search of a pair of pajamas.

“Probably, but how clean can an old Victorian inn really get?” Henry answered to which Axel just shrugged. Perhaps Henry was right; perhaps the dust was just a permanent part of the inn which aided in setting the Antique-Mansion-in-the-Woods vibe. “Let there be light!” Henry said as he flicked the light switch located just inside the door upwards. Above them, a dishshaped light fixture barely shined bright enough to illuminate half of the room. Still, it was better than complete darkness. The two boys began to get ready to settle down for the night in a dimly lit room by changing into pajamas and sliding their bag and suitcase underneath the beds. Not long afterwards, Henry’s parents appeared in the doorway.

“You two sleeping already?” his father asked in a joking manner. Henry rolled his eyes and peeled back the covers of his bed.

“Obviously not, Dad. We’re too excited to sleep.” His father yelped out a hearty laugh which intimidated Axel a bit. He had a habit of laughing at things people said in a manner that seemed almost like he was making fun of them. Axel copied Henry’s movements in opening up the blankets on his bed so he could get under them. However, even in the dim lighting, Axel could see the large black beetles dancing over the sheets and upwards towards his hand. He jumped backwards with a shriek, tripping over a warped floorboard and landing in a heap on the floor.

“What? What is it?” Henry asked, jumping from his own bed to see. His parents also surged forwards into the room, his father attending to the bed and his mother to Axel’s quivering form on the floor. Surely, he wouldn’t have been so scared if it wasn’t a such a surprise, right?

“There’s nothing here, Axel.” Henry’s words were almost like a punch in the gut. He was so sure he’d seen those ugly black beetles on the bedspread, but sure enough, there were none there when he was helped up from the floor.

“I…” He hesitated. “I thought there were bugs.” There was Henry’s father’s mocking, bellowing laugh again, the kind that would be contagious if you weren’t on the receiving end of it. Henry’s mother’s hand remained on Axel’s shoulder as he brushed aside the weird feeling in his stomach.

“You weren’t hurt, were you?” She asked, ever the mothering type. Axel shook his head, and she helped him climb into the bed, despite the crawling feeling the sheets gave him.

“Goodnight, boys.” She pulled Henry’s covers up to his chin and gave him a kiss on the forehead that made Axel suddenly miss his own mother.

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” Henry’s father said, with a condescending chuckle. Axel shuddered at the mention of insects, but it seemed everyone else thought the joke was funny as a chorus of laughter followed. Then, the light switch was flicked off, and the boys were left in a startling darkness.

Obviously unbothered by the eeriness, Henry was out like the light and snoring within minutes. Whatever happened to being too excited to sleep? He was good at falling asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Axel sighed and turned away from the door to face a window on the far wall, which provided little to no moonlight thanks to the trees blocking its view.

However, it must have been just as old as the rest of the house, because its ancient seal allowed the wind to leek through. It screeched into the silence of the room and pushed the night air over Axel’s exposed skin. He wasn’t sure if it was possible for him to sleep now.

In the end, he barely did sleep. The howling of the wind and the severe darkness and the constant fear that those beetles were going to burrow their way into his skin or crawl into his mouth while he was sleeping (all paired, of course, with Henry’s horrid snoring) was reason enough for Axel to avoid sleeping the entire night. The hours were long, and every shift and groan and creak of the house made Axel fear even more that it was alive and waiting to swallow them all up. Only when the morning light began to pool into the room through the breaks in the trees did Axel finally let his guard down and drift into a fitful sleep.

All too soon, Henry was awake and padding across the noisy wooden floor. As he opened the door to the bedroom, noise from downstairs spilled inwards: the sound of silverware scraping against plates and gentle conversations. Henry left the door ajar, allowing the noise to continue, and Axel knew he wasn’t going to sleep any longer. He groaned as he sat up and took in the room now that it wasn’t shrouded in darkness. It looked much the same – old but less creepy in

the daytime. Although he physically recoiled at the discovery of a small figurine on his bedside table that he was quite sure hadn’t been there the night before. It seemed doll-like, with limbs and a head, but it wasn’t porcelain like he would expect most dolls to be. Instead, it looked to be made of materials from the yard. Long, dried-out blades of grass were wrapped in an intricate and careful manner around sticks that made up the limbs. A stone represented the head. Despite the fear it incited in him, an unknown force drew Axel forwards to feel the doll. It was dry and brittle, like it might fall apart if he was too rough with it.

A loud laugh jarred Axel out of his odd hypnosis and back into the room. He made his way down the stairs, following the noise of morning conversations into the kitchen, where Henry’s family were sat having a nice smelling breakfast. A pan of scrambled eggs, a plate piled high with buttered toast, and another plate of maple sausage and bacon were all set up buffet style across the counter.

“Good morning, sleepy-head!” Henry’s mother said as she noticed Axel’s arrival into the room. He ducked his head down in a silent greeting as he chose a spot at the lengthy table one chair away from Henry. “Did you have a nice sleep?” She asked. Axel hummed, avoiding the truth of the matter. Couldn’t she see how tired he looked?

“We’re going to swim in a lake today!” Henry exclaimed around his bite of toast. Axel found himself staring out the window at the side yard, which looked far less threatening in the sunlight.

“Yup, so you better help yourself to some breakfast,” Henry’s father said into his coffee cup. The heat steamed up onto his glasses and hid his eyes. So, events of the night before forgotten, Axel sought out to have a good day. After a hearty breakfast, the family piled back

into the car for a short trip even further into the woods to a lake completely hidden by trees.

Henry was in the water almost immediately, shouting something Axel didn’t quite catch as he plummeted off the dock into the blackness. Axel, on the other hand, waded carefully into the shallow end. He hated the squish of the muck between his toes, but the water wasn’t too bad a temperature.

The day continued without major events. Axel splashed around with Henry for hours until the sun relaxed high in the sky, and they were called for lunch. Henry’s mother had packed an entire picnic basket of food for them to eat. Afterwards, Axel lazed about on his striped, green beach towel, feeling the exhaustion beginning to catch up. For a while, he dozed off in a patch of sun like a cat. Then, the afternoon closed with he and Henry trying to hand-build sandcastles on the tiny beach. Axel thought that no king would ever want to live in Henry’s castle since it was falling apart, but he didn’t say that out loud. As the sun began to hide behind the trees, Henry’s parents packed everything up, and the group returned to the inn. A similar scene as the night before occurred – everyone grabbing their things from the trunk of the car. This time, Axel stared at the inn, wondering just what about it made him feel so uncomfortable. It was possible that he’d seen something like it in a spooky movie, or maybe it was the looming quality it had. It seemed almost alive. As he surveyed the house, he noticed in a start that a window on the second floor was illuminated from within. To his horror, a tall figure appeared in front of the light, staring down at them all menacingly. He gasped.

“There’s someone upstairs!” He said fearfully, turning to tug on Henry’s father’s arm.

When he turned back, the figure had disappeared.

“Where?” the man asked.

“In the upstairs window. I saw someone in there.”

Surprisingly, Henry’s dad took the issue seriously, leaving the three others at the car to search the house. The entire time, Henry was yammering on about how this had happened once – a homeless man had entered their motel room before and fallen asleep on one of the beds. Then, stupidly, Henry wondered if it was the same man. All Axel could focus on, however, was the way his hands shook as he watched and listened for any signs of a struggle. After a few minutes, Henry’s father emerged from the front door with a troubled look on his face.

“I didn’t find anyone or any signs of a break-in,” he stated. “Are you sure you saw someone?” They way he said it made even Axel question himself. Did he really see someone?

Did he really see those bugs? He was left stammering in the wake of three sets of, frankly, annoyed eyeballs.

“Honest,” he attempted.

Henry’s parents started talking in hushed voices, worry clear on his mother’s face and annoyance on his father’s. Axel didn’t know what to say. They thought he was crazy, and he couldn’t blame them for it. He knew his parents had told Henry’s about his “overactive imagination,” but he had been hoping it wouldn’t get as far as it had before. Obviously, it had gotten that far – he spent the entire night worrying that a man might crawl out from under his bed and attack him or that the creaks of the old oak flooring in the hallway were the movements of the intruder. Even in the morning, as the family pieced their bags back into the trunk of the car like a puzzle, Axel stood off to the side with a disconcerted expression. They were supposed to be going into the village near the inn for the morning before they ended the vacation and made the long drive home. In all reality, Axel really just wanted to go home. He missed his own house with his own bed.

The village was as cozy as any other small town. Old brick buildings lined a skinny street with warm lights strung overhead in a zig-zagged pattern. The town was already fully decked out in fall decorations – haybales were piled with pumpkins and fall leaved wreaths hung from the streetlamps. The shops all had a similar vibe, with a cozy warmth inside despite the heat of late summer outside. A candle shop sold scents ranging from fresh linen to warm apple pie. They bought freshly baked donuts from a bakery that was leaking the scent of pastry out onto the streets of the town. Most of the shops ended up reminding Axel of home, but homesick was far more manageable than fear.

However, one store was different. On the outside, it was no different to the other shops beside it, but the inside was much darker. It was a trinket shop. Most of the items seemed to be handmade with natural materials; painted rocks, bagged spices and herbs with odd names that Axel had never seen on his mother’s spice rack, and bottles of mysterious liquids lined darkwooded shelves. At a counter in the back of the tiny shop was a frail old woman with stringy gray hair. She didn’t say a word as the group surveyed her items, barely even lifted her eyes in greeting. It was as if she didn’t know she had customers. Axel found himself wandering towards the old woman’s counter, which was further lined with various souvenirs. One item in particular had caught his eye and had forced him to hold his breath as he approached.

The same doll that had been on his bedside table the morning before in the inn was sat up on the counter, surveying the shop with a blank, rock head. For some reason, Axel was drawn in to touch it, just to feel it’s straw body in his fingers again. He reached an unsteady hand out, but he was forced back with a start as the old woman surged forwards and grabbed his hand in inhumanely strong grip. He gasped out in pain and surprise.

“Don’t touch that, boy!” She demanded in a hoarse voice. “Don’t you know anything?”

“I’m sorry,” Axel answered. He tried to pull himself from the old woman’s grip, but she remained, eyes trained on him like predator on prey.

“You will be.” Finally, she released him, and Axel stumbled backwards. He turned to Henry and his parents; however, it seemed they hadn’t even heard. When he turned back again, the woman had returned her eyes to the counter. He shuddered.

“Want to play ‘I-Spy’?” Henry asked, when a silence had descended over the group in the car on the way home. Axel stared out the window at the miles of cornfields and shrugged. What was there to spy? When he didn’t respond, Henry sunk further into his seat. Axel got the impression that Henry was tired of his weird antics. The car ride home felt infinitely longer than the ride there. After a hushed talk, Henry’s parents decided to drop Axel straight off at his home.

“Talk to you later,” Henry said as Axel walked past his car door on the way to the house. He mumbled something in return, too tired to think about it, and the car reversed back down the drive and into the street. Axel’s parents were happy to see him albeit a little surprised. He didn’t give much explanation before he fled to his bedroom and slept in later than he ever had before.

“Oh, honey, I found your souvenir in your bag when I was putting your clothes in the wash,” Axel’s mother stated when he came down the stairs the next afternoon.

“My souvenir?” Axel asked. He didn’t remember getting a souvenir.

“The little doll.”

I Will Never Truly Know Joshua Rodack

Illustration by Cole Harag

Nebula rays refracted off the diffused glass, painting the room in a somberly contemplative purple neon hue.

Alice slumbered peacefully; utilitarian sheets rumpled around her. Light danced across her face imperceptibly as her ship hurtled through the vast expanse beyond. The room she was in, bedroom, cockpit, and main living area all in one was regimented by the boxy panes of glass doubling as walls and windows. the front of the ship had glass sloped inward creating a rectangular nose designed for the atmospheric skies the ship rarely saw these days.

The ship hummed on, a monotonous drone saying, “everything is working, everything is fine”. The dials, wires, and screens that covered every inch of the room cast a faint glow in the ever-present darkness of space. None of the machinery took note of the cosmic light show outside arcing across the sky.

Outside a bright stream of green and purple light blossomed into an endless ring of pure energy. Rays fired off in every direction to fizzle out only eons from now. The stars may be millions of miles away, but the show lit up the vast of the night. A sight not to be seen again for a millennium upon the universe’s timetable.

Alice slumbered on, undisturbed.

The scream of the terminal split the silence of the craft. An ugly blaring sound, it was the ship’s only force of will. With no automated systems to speak of, necessary parts all sold for scrap, the ship could only heed of danger.

The danger was heeded and almost like a loaded spring Alice was out of bed and at the helm.

Halting the ships momentum and silencing the alarm, the woman took note of her surroundings. Outside the window was near pitch black. Spinning a dial to her left she lowered the light emitted by all the screens and consoles around her. Eye’s adjusting, the behemoth before her finally came into view.

A titan class warship lay before her eyes, hidden among the asteroid field. Easily dwarfing her own ship fifty times over the vessel loomed before them ominous and foreboding.

Excitement filled Alice’s mind, adrenaline pumping through her chest. Carefully she maneuvered her craft closer. One bump or scratch could mean a ruptured fuel cell, busted navigational antenna or even a crack in the cabin. A depressurized vacuum is not how she wanted to go.

As the ship loomed larger in her field of view Alice noticed a hole in the side of it, almost like a blast had ripped through the hull, leaving this massive crater in the ship’s side. But as Alice’s ship moved closer to the behemoth, she noticed that the metal bent outward. Something had escaped or blown through from the other side. She didn’t want to ponder what, even if whatever had happened wasn’t of importance to Alice. All that mattered was that she could access the ship and all of its most-likely-already-been-pilfered resources.

Her ship now drifted inside the crater, and she engaged the floodlights on her vessel.

Surrounding her were a series of floors, each ending in jagged metals and twisted wires. The space was cavernous with debris ranging from chunks of floor and ceiling to eco-plastic coffee cups and personal screens.

Alice halted all power in the ship and rushed around her cabin preparing to depart. She had to set the ship to maintain orbit with the warship, ensure that oxygen wouldn’t escape when exiting and decrease life support functionality so as not to waste any power while she was gone.

Running a tight ship was a practiced dance for Alice, especially since any misstep could and would lead to death.

Emerging from her vessel Alice gave a quick glance around. She’d picked apart abandoned wrecks before, but never one of this size. Her suit had lights attached to the helmet but they weren’t nearly powerful enough to properly illuminate this makeshift cavern. She had to

use the ship’s lights to guide her in exploration, rotating using a remote navigation terminal installed in the leg of her suit.

Counting off to three in her head Alice pushed off from the ship, timing it with a counter adjustment from the thruster to keep maximum speed. One day soon she’d invest in one of those personal jetpacks they sold at the larger star ports.

The floor she landed on was clad in stark white paneling from floor to ceiling.

Fluorescent light fixtures, designed for high gravity burn, all dark. In the weightlessness of zero g Alice conjured in her mind the idea of swimming up a shaft to some greater basin. And at times swimming down into the cavernous depths below.

As she drifted further into the ship and away from the light of her own craft Alice could feel only the cold and black surround her like a creeping mold. Her head lamps could only shine so far and while nothing burst out from the darkness in a hunt for her soul, she felt the eerie desolation plague her all the same. Everyday debris drifted out from the hallway’s corners; remnants of normalcy and Alice had to steady herself, feet on the floor for a moment, taking deep breaths. She couldn’t help but imagine the ship as it once was, helmsman and petty officers running to and fro, ship crew making sure the hum of the engine kept life moving. The visage left a wanting feeling in her chest and a pressure behind her eyes. come on she said to herself let’s just get the damn food and move on.

The kitchen was a stark place. Spoons and plates floated through the room, still as if a photograph. Doors to the kitchen were apprehensively open. Alice drifted through single minded.

The pantry still had some dry goods that hadn’t expired, and the water tank had enough in it still that she could fill up two laminated flasks. Alice had found that in zero g a long sturdy line of rope could work more effectively than a bag if tied right.

Soon Alice had a bundle of food and supplies almost as large as her. Maneuvering it back to her craft would be a longer trip, but doable with the oxygen she had left.

On her way out, Alice saw a picture frame, floating by her foot. The picture was lost but the frame had the words “The Crew of the UESC Glowing Symphony” along the bottom. She could see that members had apparently signed the back of it, some leaving personal messages.

Alice knew none of the people who had signed it, had only discovered the ship maybe an hour ago. Nevertheless, she tucked it in with the rest of her salvage and continued on her way.

Reaching the edge of the precipice Alice breathed a sigh of relief. Past the twisted metal of the edge and over a truly limitless drop lay her ship. It looked like it had drifted farther away and one of its lights was flickering after being on for too long, but Alice paid it no mind. She had more important things to think of.

If she didn’t line up the jump just right, she’d overshoot and collide with the ship on the other side, possibly tearing her suit. Or worse drift out into open space. Even though she practiced this maneuver extensively over years of experience it always filled her with some dread. She’d start worrying when it didn’t.

1,2,3 now her mind said and she pushed off, hand still carrying the loose rope so she could pull it in when she grasped hold of the ship.

Her hand colliding with the metal hand holds on her vessel’s hull was one of those sounds that cemented itself as one of pure relief. She could only hear it with the vibration of contact with her suit, but it was a sound to her, nonetheless.

Pulling in the supplies was routine. Separating out what could be stored on the external containers bolted to the outside of the ship wasn’t always fun, but Alice always comforted herself with the idea that having too much was a good problem to have. It wasn’t a particularly comforting thought.

Pressure chamber, power on, navigation, course correction, and with that Alice could leave the long-abandoned warship behind for good.

Dried crackers and plastic foil made for the breakfast of champions, or so Alice told herself. It was the only breakfast she had on hand, champions would have to make do. Sliding the now empty wrapper between her fingers created a crinkling sound that played against the hum of the ship. Alice found herself staring off for minutes at a time, just sliding the wrapper between her fingers. Sometimes she watched the darker corners of the ship, or a particularly static screen. Only rarely did she look out her window at the expansive, empty world around her.

The crackling rush of the plastic foil’s staccato scored those ancient stars, vast and silent.

The ship-to-ship radar played an unfamiliar sound to Alice. The terminal, always on, added to the projected lightshow playing across the corrugated walls, porthole windows, and occasionally Alice’s face. Its dotted red outline with a deep dark green backing field was something she had considered turning off, if only to save power, but she couldn’t bring herself to. If anything, it was the last thing she turned off when she did have to conserve power. So, when it did actually sound the alarm Alice’s moment of panic amounted mostly to whether or not the sound indicated an oxygen leak.

But no, there was actually a ship nearby. Ship means someone she could talk to.

Alice shut the alarm off at the installment’s casing, before lowering the light level in her ship. Overhead diodes, navigational screens, even the directed light lamp by her bed, all lowered with the universal dial at the forefront of the cockpit. All except the ship-to-ship radar. It’s bright red arrow and deep green field glowed faintly until they were the brightest source of light in this cramped room.

While not necessary, lowering her lights helped Alice see outside into space. She couldn’t afford the fancier set ups other ships had with viewscreens and multiple camera set ups to allow for perfect universal visibility. Anything Alice could do to help herself see the world around her was a necessity out here.

Before long she saw it. The small cone of fire off the thrusters were easier to spot than the ship itself but it was there. Alice accelerated the ship to try and match pace before aiming her radar beacon by line of sight. She’d sold off the tracking component months ago to some traders outside of the last star port she’d visited so this was something she had to do by hand.

Alice fired the tight beam three times in a range, hoping that at least one of the messages would reach the craft. She held her breath for either the alarm on her own terminal or some sign that the ship was slowing down. Several moments passed and neither happened. Alice could feel the adrenaline slowly ebbing away. She fired off three more and then another set.

The low fuel warning sounded off to her right and Alice realized with a start that she had been burning through her fuel reserves. She cursed herself silently before halting the burners.

She watched despondently as the craft, small as it was in her window, grew smaller and smaller before eventually disappearing into the stars.

She didn’t know whoever was piloting the ship, would probably never meet them again but having missed them when she was this close brought a heinous bubbling feeling to the edge of her chest. Before she could stop herself, she let off a scream, a shriek of rage and despair before smashing her fist into the metal bulkhead, pain spiraling out. She shut her eyes as tears welled up and she told herself it was only one person.

She grasped her arms around her chest and tried not to listen to the sound of silence all around her as her ship continued its lonesome path.

The station loomed large the closer her ship got to it. What she thought was a breakneck speed for a ship felt a snail’s pace with the backdrop of this behemoth. Resembling a floating city, Starport Ophereon was situated among a seven-planet solar system. While none of the planets were habitable for humans, they had visually stunning vistas that the Starport would charge tourists to visit. The station had a half globe design, with large building infrastructure built on the flat side, while the round side house all of the different docks and ship interfaces.

Alice took her ship for one trip above the city, peering down at the classic style skyscrapers, the

angular boxy buildings and the bright neon screens. The other side, however, was darker, lit mostly by headlights from ships and sharply colored safety and maintenance lights.

Once she boarded the station Alice couldn’t help but feel her individuality squeezed out in the indomitable mass of people. The accessways from docks to the station proper were filled with a gluttony of people, the hum of sound near deafening to Alice who had spent the last several months aboard her ship. Alice tried to stomp down on the impulse to run, to bolt, to hide somewhere and never come out.

Exiting out on to the streets above Alice found herself feeling a sense of insignificance.

The buildings above were cluttered with outcroppings, balconies, walkways, support beams and more to the point where she couldn’t see the sky of vast night that should be there. Only the neon glow of screen after telescreen, advertisements and branding optimized any and all space not otherwise occupied.

Alice could feel this deluge beating at her mind and all she wanted was to stop and stand still, let the world wash over her but she couldn’t. The tide of people kept churning, with Alice swept up too.

Hours later and Alice finally felt like she had a moment to breathe. The buildings formed interconnected walkways, crisscrossing the sky. Once Alice went up she never had to go back down. Sure, walking through the glass bridges and steel doors was a longer route than the streets but Alice appreciated the peace and quiet. The ones closer to the floor had been grungy with broken pipes, rusted steel grates, and a sickly yellow glow from the maintenance lights. People still crowded those walkways too, but they weren’t all stuffed body to body like they were just a story below. Yet as the floor numbers rose the walkways seemed to beautify as well.

Steel grating floors and exposed wires and pipes became patterned white tiles and cheap plaster walls. Dim maintenance lights turned to bright fluorescent lines. Eventually the plaster walls were replaced with finished steel and polished rails, windows being added before eventually replacing the ceilings. The higher up she went the more often she found unconventional materials like brick, stone, and even wood. Eventually, in her wandering Alice found herself near the top of tallest buildings on Ophereon and walked across a bridge of pure

frosted glass, the whole thing encased in a tube of heat-treated plastic so clear Alice thought it was also glass.

Here at the top of the world Alice could watch as rays of the nearest star filtered through the bluish mists of the planet between them in a way that the whole bridge seemed to twinkle in translucent transcendence.

The walkway was raised in the center was Alice sat down to bask in the view. Down below she could see only but faint bright lights among the forest of buildings. The scene reminded her of mossy undergrowth of forests she’d learned about as a child but had never found. The orange and yellows of the screens plastered across corporation windows seemed almost wholly insignificant up here. Alice turned her view to the stars again and felt a wonder blossom in her. Here she was, away from everything. Here she was with this beauty all to herself. Against all reasoning, this was a public walkway after all, Alice thought that this was a place that only she would truly know.

The bar had a look out window next to the seating area that looked out upon the stars.

Alice sat with one leg over the edge, head resting against the railing and a drink in her hand. The view of misty clouds left a need to wander in her chest and Alice wondered what the point of it all was.

The liquor swirled around her drink as she watched mist melt into starlight, and she tried to ignore this gutted loss creeping over her eyes. She’d just spent months alone with no one but the alloyed metal of her ship, but it wasn’t until just now that she really truly felt alone.

“Hey” called a voice. Alice turned to its source and found a stranger, also holding a glass and walking towards her. He had a rumpled look about him and Alice could tell in one glance that he also didn’t belong here. He sat down opposite her, one leg hanging off the edge.

“I get the impression you seem a little out of your element,” he said. “Given that every other seat is open.”

Alice smiled inwardly at the thought and nodded. “Well, you seem to have joined me in my outcast’s stupor. Welcome” Alice said before raising her glass for cheers. The man joined her in this little ritual and they both drank.

“So, what brings you in to town?” The man asked.

“Low fuel and full cargo bays” Alice said. “And you?”

The man nodded “Same for me,” he said.

The evening glow of window shattered twilight twinkled on the rim of her glass as Alice settled into the ebb and flow of easy conversation. The bar never filled with the thrum of customers and the back of her mind quietly wondered what kept this place afloat. The man in front of her, whose name Alice learned was Robert, was an affable salvager much like her. He talked about his time in the glacial corp. when he was younger. He described vistas of floating mountains of ice drifting out from planetary rings and how the dust would spray just right to look like Earthen snow when the drills turned on.

“Why’re you hiding up here by yourself, surely you’ve got a full crew waiting for you” Robert asked.

Alice shook her head. “It’s just me.”

She let the other half of the question hang there while she pondered, eyes to the horizon.

“I guess it’s easier to be up here than anywhere else on this station.” Alice said finally.

“Everywhere else I feel like I lose myself in the crowd” Robert nodded his head.

“I get what you mean. I spend weeks with nothing but a bulkhead and neutron stars for company and you’d think I’d relish people existing in the same general space.” He said “But it’s like I’m just as alone but now it’s hot and sweaty and everybody else is just rushing past in a blur.”

Alice shook her head, mirth playing a wry smile on her lips. Alice couldn’t put her finger on the feeling, but she felt saner all the same. Not long after a comfortable silence fell over the pair. Robert absentmindedly ran a finger over the rim of his glass and played a single solemn note.

“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever taken from a ship?” Alice asked. Silence broken and non-sequitur asked Robert pondered the question for some time before snapping his fingers in a flourish and cracking a wide smile.

“It’s got to be this panel I swiped a couple days. Alright, it looks like a normal panel and for the most part it is. But on the back of it there’s this intricately carved replica of a city. I thought I’d struck it rich cause whoever made it had painted it gold but it’s just paint.” Robert said.

Alice cocked an eyebrow. “It’s just a panel? Like for part of a ship?”

“Yeah” Robert said nodding his head. “It was a part of the wall on this mining vessel I’d come across. Floating adrift in the middle of nowhere with this gem just hidden in the wall.”

Robert smiled at that.

“So…” Robert started “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever taken from a ship?”.

Alice hesitated for a moment, mind returning to the dark chasms and paneled walls of the war ship.

“I wouldn’t say ‘weird’ but definitely one of the more unique things I’ve come across was this picture frame I found a couple weeks back.” Alice said. She began to explain about the war ship, how it was floating amongst and asteroid field, that there was a massive crater in the side from some kind of explosion or impact. She described what it was like to explore the vessel, Robert listening with rapt attention. Alice couldn’t give a reason to why she kept the picture frame even now. Just that there was this pull to it. She wasn’t sure why but Alice began to talk about her old life, how she’d grown up on an outer rim colony where life was as regimented as the oxygen cyclers. Food, work, social outings. All dictated by the spin of the station. As vacant

as her life was now there was an undeniable autonomy, the lure of freedom promised in the cosmos and Robert nodded his head along to the melody of her thoughts.

“Do you ever wonder why we’re like this?” Alice asked in a moment of silence. “Why it’s so hard to connect to anyone?”

Robert let out a whistle.

“I’m not sure we can” he said, after some thought.

“I think, grand theory of the universe here, that we’re all unable to truly know a person other than ourselves. It’s not like we can read minds you know?”

Alice nodded along.

“While we can never truly know another person, we can understand them. And maybe that’s enough. Maybe that’s all we need, a connection born of understanding. I think we spend too much time worried about whether or not we really know people that we forget to try and comprehend them.” Robert said.

“I feel like I’m rambling” He added.

“You sound like you’re rambling” Alice joked. “But I think I get what you’re saying if only a little bit.”

Robert shrugged.

The day/night cycle on Ophereon rested entirely the operation of timed lights to correspond to human circadian rhythms. The main bulbs were only just beginning a dawn cycle when Alice and Robert crossed the bridge to the pier where their ships were held. They’d spent the whole week doing odd jobs around the station, saving up for supplies and repairs to their respective vessels. Neither wanted to address it but this was farewell. Robert had plans to visit

the Vega quadrant to check up on buddies from his mining days and Alice had her heart set on pressing on to the theta system colonies. The pair reached Alice’s ship first.

“I guess this is goodbye” Alice said, breaking the silence.

Robert nodded and held out his hand. When Alice grasped it, Robert shook it and said “I hope fortune finds you in your voyage.” With a note of finality.

“I hope the same for you” Alice said. “It’s weird but getting to know you meant a lot to me” she said sheepishly. Robert smiled. “It meant a lot to me too” he said. With that he turned and walked on down the tunnel. Alice watched him until he got to his port number before boarding her ship.

Alice waited for him at the gate. She kept her ship out of the way of traffic but she maintained line of sight with the port. Slowly the ship that Robert boarded undocked from the pier and drifted toward her. Eventually passing her own ship Alice got up to look through her front window and without thinking waved. She didn’t know if Robert saw her, if he waved too. It didn’t matter, she waved anyway.

I will never truly know she thought as her engines lit up with full tanks. As the stars relaxed into a mild blur and the station faded fast from view. But god do I understand her mind finished as she lay back with a contented sigh, watching starlit space turn to halcyon days on the atmosphere rated glass.

About the Writers Trent Bergman is a third-year English major at Saginaw Valley State University with aspirations to teach and embrace creativity. He enjoys reading, gaming, watching movies, and trying new things.

Fara Bommarito is a second-year creative writing student who wrote “Losing Faith” a story about love and loss. She loved working with Corena and is excited to share their collaboration.

Nathan Bonus is a creative writing major interested in sci-fi and fantasy. He is an enormous fan of the Harry Potter books as well as the author Octavia butler.

Justice Eason is a graduating senior at Saginaw Valley State University. She enjoys writing as her authenticity and humor is used to entice people with her work. She also enjoys writing because she is able to express herself in ways that many people relate to.

Nichole Griffin is a writer of dark fantasy romance. She is also a student at SVSU who is majoring in Creative Writing and English Literature.

Karsyn Huber is a fourth-year student at SVSU majoring in Elementary Education, who hopes to become a Fourth-grade teacher one day and inspire her students. She enjoys spending time with family and friends.

AJ Jones is a returning graduate who loves sports, art and photography. He really loves to paint animals and people. He recently moved back from Las Vegas and wants another degree.

Vee Kryscynski is a first-year creative writing major, songwriter, poet, and Oxford comma enthusiast. They are an avid fan of Arthurian legend, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle novels, the Lord of the Rings franchise, Dungeons and Dragons, and anything whimsical or fantastical.

Arthur K. Lambert is a fourth year Literature major, Creative Writing minor, and lover of all things spooky, queer, or fantasy. In their spare time, they enjoy fiber arts, spending time with their cats, writing tacky love poetry, and manifesting horrors beyond mortal comprehension.

Zoé Magee, an early college student. is the author of Interdigital Communication and loves fantasy and sci-fi. Her hobbies are reading, writing, music, and gaming, and she is pursuing a music major in Violin Performance with a minor in Creative Writing.

Jocelyn Nowland is a fourth-year communication major with an English minor. Jocelyn loves mystery and dystopian literature. She also enjoys writing, reading, and listening to music.

Cora Rattew is a writer currently studying at Saginaw Valley State University majoring in English Education and minoring in Creative Writing. She likes her cat, English, and sushi.

Allie Rivera is an Elementary Education major in the College of Education at Saginaw Valley State University. This is her first piece of fiction in the thriller genre.

Victoria Robin is a third-year Graphic Design major and Creative Writing minor, enjoys watching her comfort shows and movies, playing video games, and reading books.

Josh Rodack is a computer science major with a strong interest in Cybersecurity. What he is doing writing fiction is, as of now, unclear and a possible threat to national security.

Autumnal Musk This fragrant offering is a Fall 2022 joint project at Saginaw Valley State University by Tim Kenyon's English 261 Creative Writing class and Mike Mosher's Art 400 Illustration class.

"New Yorker-style" fictions and full-page accompanying visuals were assigned, and the instructors felt the results worthy of assembly and publication.

All stories and artworks herein © copyright 2022 their respective authors and illustrators.

Thanks for project support to the SVSU Art Department, and the SVSU English Department.

Cover, Twitterkiller Cardinal & magazine design: Mike Mosher Center of Universe logo: Ryan Foldie (2009) December 15, 2022