By- Claire Winters
I am me I do not need to be A he Or a she As long as I am me But apparently People disagree Calling me ‘he’ or ‘she’ I am not a he I am not a she I am me But constantly They ask me She or he She or he She or he Until it is all I can do not to scream Me I am just Me
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Raine Lipscher
7
peaches in a post-apocalyptic by emily weller maybe we’ll reach the next sunrise the next thing to live for breeze tickling our necks when I look into your eyes I’m reminded that there’s more to life than its end sand clings to my clothes and my teeth the grittiest picture that I will ever take the sun burns even in my dreams fever-ridden blurs of swallowing lakes
I’ve lost things I can’t replace with ragged hand me downs and makeshift families I’ve no doubt that you’ll still know the way back to our hometown once we’re finally free and sometimes I can’t make myself move past thoughts of what’s gone and matters of when
but you, dear you stand as my proof despite all the odds soon we’ll breathe again
tunnel vision by mina mashhoon
Bittersweet
By Jamie Ashworth Emily Sheffield
A boy walks into an ice cream shop. It’s hot outside today and he just came back from a party outside. He’s tired. Of course, he orders his favorite flavor: rocky road. He grows up, becoming a man, and he eats ice cream less and less often. Finally, he stops eating it altogether. His cravings for sugar are gone. One day, the man walks into an ice cream shop, remembering how much he loved the childhood dessert. He, of course, orders his favorite. The man behind the counter scoops the ice cream into a cone and hands it to him. He walks out of the ice cream shop and takes a lick. He then finds the nearest trash can and throws it away. It was too sweet. The man grows old and doesn’t return to that ice cream shop. He now lives in a care unit for the elderly. He doesn’t move around much, laying in bed and watching the birds outside his window. His birthday comes around and all the nurses come and sing to him. They remember him coming in, on his ninth birthday, when he broke his arm from a biking accident, remembering how much he loved rocky road ice cream. They bring in a rocky road ice cream cone. He cries when they bring it to him. “Why are you crying?” one of the nurses asked. “This tastes familiar! I don’t know why. This, this is the best flavor of ice cream ever! What’s it called?” the man said, curious. The nurses exchanged looks and turned back to the man. “It’s called rocky road.” 10
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UNTITLED
Grace Brewer
It was April 25th, 1994, and it was the last time she ever saw him. The last time she would ever step into that house again. She had thought that day had already came and gone months ago. When she pulled into the neighborhood, she had remembered the familiar houses she would pass on the way. She remembered the trees, and the winding roads. And then she remembered him beside her. Those days seemed like a lifetime ago. And they were. She remembered his green eyes and the trail of freckles on his nose. She remembered his curly brown hair that would cascade down his face. She loved that. She loved him. Did he love her? The thought would creep into her mind. She tried to subside those thoughts and feelings away for now. As turned down Rover Road, a feeling of nostalgia crept inside of her. She began to drive slower. And then, she decided she wanted to make this drive the longest drive of her life. She slowed down to about 2 mph, and she felt her tires grind over the gravely road. At the end of the road was his house. It looked so small, and as if it had a slouch to it. The house seemed to sigh and just look plain sad. As she pulled into the driveway, she parked the car. She sat solid in the silver rusted car. She gazed out the window into his house, and she swore he was standing in there, staring back at her. She turned the ignition off and stepped out of the car. She smoothed her black flimsy dress and straightened her hair. The only sound was the click-click of her heels on the paved sidewalk. As she approached the front door, she reached her arm out to knock. She hesitated, stopped, and pulled back. She took one more deep breath and extended her arm once more. She knocked twice ever so quietly. She wondered if they had ever heard her. She began to knock once more but was interrupted when the turning of the locks sounded through the door. She stepped two steps back and held her hands behind her back. His father appeared, and a small smile played on his lips. “I’m so glad you could make it,” he said. She wondered if she should hug him, but her thoughts were answered when he initiated the hug. He pulled her in, and as only her head popped into the house she took a quick look around. When the father pulled back, she pulled back as well and began to straighten her dress once more - a nervous habit she upheld. She stopped, and was welcomed inside with the wave of a hand. “Would you like some thing to drink?” The words shivered her spine. She remembered times like this before. “I have white wine, red, or water if you’d like?” He poked his head out from the fridge. “Water’s fine,” she replied. She looked around. It’s funny, because old times she would visit this house, she would always swear something was new. Perhaps his mother had moved a chair around, or a new painting was introduced to their ivory walls. But this time, everything was the same. Nothing looked different, and she wondered to herself if it was just her. “Here’s your water,” his father approached her with a clear glass. “Thank you,” she replied, taking a sip. “He should be ready by now,” his father said. “My wife bought him a new tux just yesterday. Should be fitting for a funeral.” The words rolled out of his mouth. She wondered if he knew. If he knew his only son had failed his father. If he knew his son was a cheater, a liar, and that he didn’t love her. From behind her, she heard his bedroom door creak open, and out he stepped. It had been 3 months since she saw him. He stopped mid-way in the hallway. And there they stood. Staring into each others dark voids, hiding behind their emotionless faces that shared no expression. “Are you guys ready?” The father interjected. Across the room, he nodded. She wanted to hear his voice, she needed to hear his voice. But he spoke no words. “Alright,” the father said. He tossed him the keys to his car and a 20 dollar bill. “Get dinner or something after.” The father walked toward his son, patted him on the shoulder, and entered his room, shutting the door. She stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room feeling sheepish. She kept her focus on the magazines scattered around the coffee table. “Are you ready?” He said quietly. eyes that now look so much darker than they have ever looked before. She nodded her head yes.
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Her heart pounded at the sound of his voice. She looked up and met eyes with him, with his green green
eyes that now look so much darker than they have ever looked before. She nodded her head yes. They exited his house together silently, entered the car silently, and drove along the road silently. He kept his attention on the road, and she thought to herself how proud his mother must be of her only son, being such a great driver. The only sound filling the empty cold car was the muffling buzz of the radio. She kept her hands in her lap and looked outside the window. The night before the April showers had poured on them, and the trees were still sprinkled with the glossy dew. She looked over at him, but he never broke his stare. She looked down at her hands in her lap, and messed with her fingers. They were so cold. She heard him clear his voice. “When did you find out?” His voice hadn’t changed. She looked over at him. He still hadn’t caught her eye. “About Mrs. Evelyn.” He said specifically. “Oh,” she sighed. “I think four days ago. What about you?” She was still staring at him, desperate for him to look back. “Two days ago. I saw it on the school website.” She looked down. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” She didn’t want to look at him now. “No, no. I get it. I didn’t expect you to.” She felt like a knife had stabbed her in her heart. The car dismissed itself back to silence. “You know,” she started but immediately regretted it. “I would have told you. I’ve tried calling, so I figured you changed your number.” She said under her breath. “I know.” He bluntly replied. And there’s another knife. She sighed and looked out the window. She wished she wasn’t such a coward. She wished she could yell at him, scream at him for hurting her. The rest of the car was in silence, and as they approached the funeral home the weary cloud of sadness castes iced them. They stepped out of the car in unison but did not talk. The service was long, and the whole time she felt uncomfortable. Maybe it was the topic of death that stunned her, or maybe it was being next to him for so long. Mrs. Evelyn was their English teacher back in high school. Mrs. Evelyn loved them, and brought them together. Without that class they would have never met. Although she wishes she could go back and change meeting him, she who,d have never changed meeting Mrs. Evelyn. The pastor closed the service with a heartfelt prayer, and muffled sobs filled the room. As the mourners began to exit the chapel, she did as well. But he didn’t. He sat. He didn’t move. She looked down at him, and awaited for him to respond. “Are you okay?” She asked. His stare didn’t leave the closed casket sitting solemnly on the small chapel stage. A single tear rolled swiftly down his freckled cheek. She sat next to him. “If you want to stay longer, I get it.” She kept her hands in her lap and looked at the casket as well. No one was in the chapel, and it was just him and her. “I’m sorry,” he quietly said. She looked over at him, wide eyed. His one single tear had turned to multiple, and his face shimmered from the light shining on his tear stained face. He was still looking at the casket. “For what?” She asked. He looked over at her. “Seriously? I could go on for days for all that I did to you.” A look of guilt glistened in his green green eyes. “I, I humiliated you, I lied to you...” He sat briefly thinking of other things. “...cheated on you,” he broke down. The tears began to drench down his face now. “And now, the first time we ever see each other after all of this is o our teachers funeral.” He swallowed. “I should have called you, I should have... I should have made things right,” she looked down. His hands were, too, placed in his lap, and he was picking at his nails furiously. “But it’s too late,” he said. She felt her heart drop. She didn’t want it to be too late, but it was. He looked up at her. His green eyes met her cold grey ones, and it was the first time in forever that they really looked at each other. She wished she could kiss him. Just one last time. But she didn’t. “Please go,” he said, breaking the stare. “What?” She asked, shocked. “Go.” He was so cold, and he stood up, and began to slowly walk down the isle, out of the home. “Hey, wait!” She yelled. “Are you kidding me?” He was still walking. She jerked his shoulder and turned him towards her. She pulled him in, and kissed him. He kissed back. As they pulled back, he sighed. “This isn’t right. I broke you.” “But you can fix me,” she said. “No. This is it. This is the end.” He shook his head. He began to leave her. He was all the way up to the door when she stopped him dead in his tracks and said, “If it’s not okay in the end, then it isn’t the end.” He stood, solemnly. She wished her words could turn him. She wished that if she just begged a little harder, if she pledged with all her might that he would stay. But he carried on, opened the door, and left her. For the thousandth time all over again.
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Claire Winters
Claire Winters
Art “What do you live for?” I asked her one day, we were sitting in the church attic. “Art.” She replied as she gazed into the puzzle of triangles in the stain glass. “Art? You don’t even draw.” I laughed, thinking this was one of her many characters talking. “Look around.” She looked around the attic with a strange grin on her face. “What do you live for?” Her vigorous green eyes and the mystery behind them killed me. “Nothing.” I told her, she twirled a strand of her long dark hair around her finger. “I don’t know why I live. I just do.” I elaborated, she nodded and my mind started arguing with itself again. “Well, I know why you live.” She got up from the pue and ran across the attic. “You’ll never catch me! Nanabooboo!” Her feet made loud sounds as they peddled down the runs of the latter. This isn’t funny! Come out… Ok then, I’m leaving.” She was nowhere to be found. “Ugh fine. You’re no fun.” I heard her say from behind me, I turned around and she popped up from behind a fake potted plant. “Whatever.” I crossed my arms and turned away from her. “What’s wrong with you?” She asked me as she placed her hand on my shoulder. “Go away!” A tear dripped down my face as I started to make a dramatic exit. “This is what I live for.” She said pausing me mid stride. “Art.” I slowly turned around, a huge smile was plastered on her face. “What?” I uncrossed my arms and looked at her with nothing but pure confusion. “This is all one big masterpiece! Just close your eyes! And feel it! Feel this!” Eyes closed, arms up in the air, blank look on her face. “Are you on something?” I asked her. “Close your eyes.” I fell under her spell. “Raise your arms.” My arms floated above my head, a deep breath entered my chest. “You felt it.” I opened my eyes to see her joyous face. At the time I didn’t know that it’d be the last time I ever saw her smile. Abbey Archer
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By Veronica Mieres
Why would you put your socks on before u get dressed it’s so you’ll be ready from your toes to your head oh no the sky’s gray, they say time to go inside for the day but i wanted to stay outside appreciate the tears from the sky all words make no sense complete and utter gibberish isn’t it funny how we have a word for something that means nothing and one that means everything why do the most incredible colors come from the north seeing the sky like painted curtains, creativity, that’s the source oh no you’ve made a mess it’s beauty, but i digress stunning chaos is what makes humans so alive all words make no sense complete and utter gibberish isn’t it funny how we have a word for something that means nothing and one that means everything
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these words make no sense complete and utter gibberish isn’t it funny how we can relate to something that means nothing and get confused by everything 2 20
-nonsenseNonsense
By Veronica Mieres
why would you put your socks on before u get dressed it’s so you’ll be ready from your toes to your head oh no the sky’s gray, they say time to go inside for the day but i wanted to stay outside appreciate the tears from the sky all words make no sense complete and utter gibberish isn’t it funny how we have a word for something that means nothing and one that means everything why do the most incredible colors come from the north seeing the sky like painted curtains, creativity, that’s the source oh no you’ve made a mess it’s beauty, but i digress stunning chaos is what makes humans so alive (that didn’t rhyme) all words make no sense complete and utter gibberish isn’t it funny how we have a word for something that means nothing and one that means everything
Caleb Dukes
these words make no sense complete and utter gibberish isn’t it funny how we can relate to something that means nothing 8
9
Roses
by Sage Sutton Roses, there were always roses, every morning on my doorstep, there were roses. Sometimes accompanies by other various “gifts,” sometimes not. When it started I had just broken up with my boyfriend Alex and my dad figured they were from him and threw them away; my dad hated Alex. So, I didn’t I’d been receiving roses everyday for about a week, but then i saw a bunch in the kitchen trash can, their petals pink and dying. The next morning, more roses, white this time, no note, just a dozen white roses on my doorstep. For a month there was no note, no communication and by this point we realized they weren’t coming from Alex. He had already moved on. Pretty and blue-eyed, Jessica and him made quite the pair. More roses, now two dozen a day and still no note, never a certain color either, I stayed up until 8:00 a.m. One time to see if i could catch the culprit, but ten minutes asleep and there they were, pristine and innocent on my doorstep. Two months passed, finally a note, “don’t leave.” It said. “I’ll die without you.” My dad called the police, “nothing that truly poses a threat to you Miss Parker, enjoy the attention,” they said. This wasn’t something to be proud of to show off to in anyway enjoy, this was something i had begun to dread every morning when I woke up, the roses on my doorstep. They never seemed to miss a day. A few more weeks had passes and there was no relent. “Pack your stuff Lila, we’re leaving.” My dad said and walked out of my room. “Maybe if we move away we will be able to find some sort of peace.” He called from down the hall. So, I packed, said goodbye to my room, my house, my city and climbed into the old grey minivan that would hopefully take us to safety. It had been a long time since I had received any roses, any contact, anything that would lead back to them. Things seemed okay. My shadow no longer scared me, I could sleep with the lights off again and I hadn’t checked my backseat for strangers in thirteen days. Maybe I should’ve been checking the other cars instead. I had finally finished my day at school, and I was I got closer to my car I saw them, there on the hood of my car were a dozen red roses in various stages of decay. The bouquet full of fraying petals and loose leaves. I found the note, “So this is what its like when love leaves.” One thought raced through my mind, go home, call dad, we’re moving, again. What did this person get out of terrorizing me? I was scared and there was a car, a car going to fast, a car not stopping, wrong side of the road. I never made it home that day. Shattered glass and dead rose petals surrounded my body. My leg was stuck, my head hurt, I couldn’t open my eyes. “This is what its like when love leaves.” I heard before everything went black. When the paramedics got to me, I was already gone, battered, bruised and no pulse. He’s stood off to the side, hidden, emotionless as he grasped the fresh flowers and noticed a pretty girl, how about daisies?
Katie Hamill
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