Page 1

There and Back Again Second Issue: Wunderkammer

There and Back Again Online Editorial Issue 2 April Edited by Jackie Falcon Copyright belongs to There and Back Again

Contents: “The Watching Spyder”…………………………Danii Two “Gossamer Wings”……………………………..Amny Rose “Scarlet Frost”………………………………….C. Bowland “Tick Tock”…………………………………..October Skye “Take a Dayre”……………………………….October Skye “Quotes”.………………………………………………Staff “Haven’t the Foggiest”……………………….Jackie Falcon

A Watching Spyder Artwork done by Danii Two

Gossamer Wings by Amny Rose I’m treading on gossamer One last single strand As I balance my words And try to understand I’m dangling on silk thread Too high in the air And my paper-thin wings Are beginning to tear While I’m seeing and learning And feeling new things My heart hangs by a ribbon And gossamer wings

Scarlet Frost by C. Bowland Once upon a time, for that is how all stories such as these go, there lived a glorious kingdom. This beautiful kingdom was ruled by a beloved king and queen who loved each other very much. It came to pass that the queen gave birth to beautiful twin daughters. Their names were Scarlet Elizabeth and Frost Gracelyn. When three years went by, Scarlet and Frost’s parents died in a terrible accident, drowned in the middle of a lake. Fate never allowed them to see their children grow up. As the two sisters grew up together, they found that no matter how hard the sorrows got, they would always have each other. When the pain became too much, they always comforted each other with a game of chess. Scarlet always played with the red pieces, but never because of her name. It was always because she felt the color red belonged to her, that it was the color meant for her. Frost had the same feeling about white. Never did these sisters argue, nor did they ever bicker with anyone. They were different from other girls; from other princesses. Their bond, they agreed subconsciously, would never be broken. But neither could ever predict the future. It was known to many that the girls’ parents’ last wish was

that one of their daughters to run the kingdom one day. In order for a girl to rule, though, she would need a partner, or, a husband, in other words. The handsome Prince Ket was selected to win the heart of one of the fair, unique princesses, in the hopes that the relationship would end up in a marriage. None could have foretold that both sisters would fall for such a charming prince. But, alas, that is exactly what happened. When first Prince Ket arrived at the kingdom, Scarlet and Frost fell for him instantly. Neither was aware that the other possessed the same feelings toward the same person. When they realized this, both were quite angry at each other, and now it was not a means of winning the heart of one of the princesses, it was now the predicament of which princess would win the prince over. The sisters refused to speak to each other, the bond they once had shattered to pieces that no amount of glue could place back together. The rivalry and hatred they now felt towards one another seemed incurable. Prince Ket had other plans, though. He held no love towards these girls, and the girls knew this. They both tried their hardest to keep him in their kingdom, to feel something toward them, but both were unsuccessful. It was at this time when Prince Ket departed from the kingdom that both Scarlet and Frost realized they would never be

free of the thing that lived manifested inside of them both: foolishness. And it was so that both decided that the only cure of their foolishness was something within reach. Their bond restored, though still with one slight crack, they traveled together over the river and to the center of their thick woods. They left a note addressed to their adviser—who was currently the one running the place—and explained their endeavor to rid themselves of their evil. As night passed and morning came, the entire kingdom’s inhabitants stood in the streets, waiting anxiously for the sign to come that the princesses spoke of in the note. The adviser stood on the balcony, worried and grieved that the princesses had chosen such a way to make themselves feel better after Prince Ket. Finally, the sign came. Scarlet frost came drifting down from the heavens, coating the roofs of every house and resting gently on every street, sidewalk, and path. The trees were no longer green, but their leaves became red and white, a blessing from the two princesses. The entire kingdom became witness to this happening, and all believed that Scarlet Elizabeth and Frost Gracelyn were talented in some way. They were different from any other girl, and would always be remembered throughout the kingdom as the Red Queen, and the White Queen. Everyone forgot about their feud, and all

forgot about Prince Ket, who died mysteriously before he could arrive back at his kingdom. “It isn’t exactly the happy ending that was expected, but a happy ending all the same.” “But, Mommy, what happened to the princesses?” the little girl asked. The mother just smiled, her crimson hair tied back in a ponytail, and kissed her daughter on the forehead. “Some believe the princesses killed themselves, but I believe that they passed into a different world. Our world, to be exact, and here they live on, sisters forever, meeting their own partners that they will love and cherish forever.” The mother pulled the covers over her daughter’s small body and shut the bedroom door softly behind her, switching off the light. The mother walked down the hall to the living room, where her husband was waiting. She sat down beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. “What story was it this time?” He asked. The mother’s reply was simple and true. “My own.”

Tick Tock Artwork done by October Skye

Take a Dayre by October Skye “Lissa!” Dayre cried into the alley behind her. “We won’t get caught.” “How do you know, Dayre?” Lissa challenged, hiding behind boxes and trash. “You said that last time.” “If we sit here,” Dayre argued, “two blocks from home—Yes, I know it’s more like three, stupid—we are far more likely to get caught.” Lissa’s blue eyes glared at her from under thick black lashes. “It’s a bad idea.” “Come on, Lissa, it’s the Inventor’s Festival! Pleeeeeease?” Dayre begged, getting down on her knees in front of Lissa. Lissa shrewdly examined Dayre’s puppy dog expression. Dayre’s eyes were huge and brown, a bright coppery color, and she was pouting her full lips. A strand of hair had fallen out from the confines of her Gatsby. The thread of hair was electric yellow and it stood out in harsh contrast to her tan complexion. Lissa tugged on the strand. “But what if someone catches this?” Dayre hurriedly tucked her hair back into her hat. “They won’t, no one ever has.” Lissa’s resolve was melting away like snow in the spring. She

was pretty curious about the Inventor’s Fair even it didn’t seem like it on the outside. You never knew what to expect at the fair. All sorts of rarities and new creations were always displayed. Lissa sighed, rolling her eyes. “Fine then.” She hurried on trying to suppress Dayre’s shout of enthusiasm. “I still say it’s a bad idea!” But of course it was a bad idea. Bad ideas are always the most entertaining. Dayre pulled her sister up and they both emerged from the alleyway. She tugged on her Gatsby out of habit, making sure her unusual characteristic was well hidden. The streets were a bustle of activity, and the hubbub of hundreds of conversations drifted through the air. It reminded Dayre of a busy beehive. Lissa, in spite of trying to play the cautious sister, couldn’t help but feel the energy of the crowd. She felt a smile creeping onto her face, and, as Dayre turned to make sure she was following, Lissa realized that she was beaming. Dayre was the thrill seeker. She was always looking for an adventure around the most ordinary corners—hoping to experience everything she could, living life to the fullest. She was always trying to drag Lissa along on her escapades, much to the Lissa’s irritation. In the main square a cloud of smoke from a collection of state

of the art machines permeated the air. The atmosphere was thick and Lissa coughed, waving the fumes away from her face. Both girls were relieved that they had worn trousers. It wasn’t socially acceptable, but it was a whole lot better than trying to navigate the crowd in a cumbersome gown. They dodged through the masses of gentlemen in top hats and ladies in their Sunday best. Dayre couldn’t take it all in at once. The booths lining the streets holding so many sensational new inventions, took her breath away. She gaped at them all open mouthed. Even Lissa had to admit it was astonishing. There were miniature toy trains that zoomed on their own tiny tracks, a gleaming silver robot that could say his name, and a machine that spouted bubbles. A flying copper bird squawked and soared over the sisters’ heads, making them squeal with delight. They passed by a young lady who was advertising her new gadget that could iron clothes all by itself. The noise from the many contraptions was quite overwhelming. The machines squeaked and groaned creating a great cacophony of noise, but it was music to Dayre’s ears. Dayre was so absorbed in her surroundings that only Lissa noticed the potentially disastrous situation that her sister was walking into. A large fan was positioned near the street so that the passersby would note its spectacular cooling ability. But what

Lissa saw was a spectacular machine that was adept at blowing hats off of heads. Lissa shouted ahead to Dayre, but the clamor of the festival was far too loud. Lissa watched with her had over her mouth as Dayre’s Gatsby sailed from her head into the crowd of people, setting her hair free from its confines. Bright yellow locks of hair cascaded around her shoulders making her suddenly stand out luridly from the crowd. Dayre turned quickly and Lissa could see a few streaks of orange joining the yellow color in her hair as she realized her mistake. Her brown eyes were full of anxiety as Lissa ran up to her, and her hair was mostly orange now. The people around them were beginning to notice the Dayre’s freakish hair and were staring. Neither Lissa nor Dayre knew what to do. There was nowhere to run, and no way to escape the crowd. Dayre brushed her thick hair back from her face as if it would hide its queerness. She was shocked by the sudden hush; only the whirring of the machines remained uninterrupted by her unusual hair. But then suddenly someone began clapping. The crowd joined in quickly as a boy pushed his way through the crowd towards them. He wore a white shirt that was stained with grease and dirty worn trousers held up by suspenders. In his hand was none other than Dayre’s Gatsby.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” the boy shouted, as he handed Dayre her hat. She was momentarily distracted from her confusion at the boy’s actions and by the relief of having her hat back. “My newest invention! However I wasn’t planning on showcasing it this year,” the boy continued. “But someone,” he glared at Dayre good-naturedly, “decided to show off.” Dayre realized he was helping her out, and she had no idea why, but at the moment she just went along with it. He had given the masses a good explanation for her wild trait, satisfying their curiosity and shock. Her hair then became a turquoise blue as her fear evaporated and relief took its place. “Anyways,” the boy flashed a winning smile. “We have to go fix it before it ruins this lovely lady’s hair.” The crowd clapped again as he grabbed Dayre’s arm. She barely managed to snag Lissa’s hand as he pulled her into one of the booths and shut the flimsy door behind them. The boy then leaned casually against the door, sending a clear message. They wouldn’t leave without first explaining. This alarmed both girls somewhat, although Dayre certainly owed him an explanation. “I’m Jack,” he began, brushing his blond hair out of his eyes. “And you are?” “I’m Dayre,” Dayre replied. “This is Lissa.” “So, Dayre.” Jack searched for a better way of phrasing “How

do you do that?” but found no substitutions. “I was born with it.” Dayre’s voice was resigned. “There’s no way you were born with that,” Jack told her skeptically. Dayre ran her fingers through her turquoise locks so he could see that it was her hair and not some sort of wig. “Yes, there is.” “But how?” Jack’s face was conflicted and frustrated. That was the problem with inventors, Dayre thought. They got so caught up in figuring out how something worked that if they couldn’t understand it, they couldn’t accept it. Dayre shrugged, her hair turning a darker shade of blue, the blue shooting from the roots of her hair to the ends. She was getting irritated with Jack, and she knew she needed to get Lissa back home. “It changes color according to her moods,” Lissa spoke up, earning a killer look from Dayre. “What does blue mean then?” Jack asked her. “Dark blue means annoyed,” Lissa answered grinning at Dayre. “It’s just hair!” Dayre remarked. “Oh, does red mean angry?” Jack asked looking at Lissa conspiratorially. “Yea, once I made her so mad her whole head turned blood

red,” Lissa giggled. “Alright then,” Dayre muttered, tucking her hair back into her hat. “We’ve got to go.” “Does it irritate you having to wear that everywhere?” Jack asked her, pointing to her Gatsby. Dayre took a deep breath. “Yes it does, if you must know.” “I could try to fix it,” Jack suggested, and one of the red streaks in Dayre’s hair disappeared. “Really?” she asked him, hopeful in spite of herself. “I’m not promising anything but I could try.” “Not today,” Lissa said, reminding Dayre of the time. “Right, we really have to go. Um…” Dayre cleared her throat. “Could we meet somewhere?” “How about right here tomorrow?” Jack suggested. “Sounds great!” Dayre said as Lissa pushed her out the door. “Thank you!” As soon as Jack shut the door Lissa said in a singsong voice, “He liked you!” Dayre shoved her sister, but Lissa would later swear that she saw a stray strand of Dayre’s hair turn pink.

Quotes “Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.” –Benjamin Franklin “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” –Ernest Hemingway “One must be an inventor to read well. There is then creative reading as well as creative writing.” -Ralph Waldo Emerson “I have never started a poem yet whose end I knew. Writing a poem is discovering.” –Robert Frost

Haven’t the Foggiest Notions from your Editor Your hand lingers upon the cold metal of the doorknob, chills of excitement tingling in your fingers, making them feel alive with sparks that you cannot explain. The rough wood of the door chafes at your hands, the splinters making you wince as they dig into your skin. A chill crawls up your neck, spreading its clammy fingers over your skin and raising gooseflesh. You take a deep breath of musty, stale air, then turn the knob and step into the room. Your shoes make slight imprints in the dust upon the floor. The room is dark, gloomy, but you can make out vague shadows lining the walls, hulking shapes littered about the room. They are all covered with draping, dusty sheets that, in some previous life, you are sure had once been white. Everything, at first glance, is dead—lifeless with the sense that comes of being left alone, neglected, not wanted anymore…for that is what this room is, correct? It is a forgotten space of mechanics with rusty springs and broken sprockets, tarnished gears and fragmented wheels—relics of a genius’s imagination, a master’s touch, an apprentice’s eager tools. Your fingers brush along a sheet, lifting one corner and blowing the dust away—the small particles swirling through the air and making you choke. A small box, tiny and minuscule, stands

upon the table before you—a windup key protruding from the side. The box is coated in a thick layer of grime, its tarnish dull. Your hands itch with eagerness as you twist the key, click-by-click, winding it up and hoping beyond hope that it will make music again. And it does, slowly at first, but then faster and faster as it warms up—creating a simple, beautiful melody. You listen, enraptured, until it stops. And then you move quickly between the other tables, lifting a cloth here, twitching a gadget there, making calculations and corrections, until the whole room hums with animation: the slow tick of the clock hanging upon the wall, the whirr of windup toy as it zips around a table, the hiss of steam as a small model engine started to chug. Under your fingers, everything comes to life, thrumming tiredly as if after a long sleep. The sheets lie in a neglected, tangled heap upon the floor, forgotten and unneeded now. You smile as you survey the contents of the room, all the wonderful curiosities and mechanics. It is truly a Wunderkammer: a wonder chamber. Regards, Jackie Falcon Editor of There and Back Again


Quote Credit goes to Brainy Quote: Gvqj.99 Clipart credit goes to Clipart ETC: Visit

Second Issue  

Second issue of There and Back Again

Read more
Read more
Similar to
Popular now
Just for you