PAW Print Autumn 2023

VA GO

Vermont Academy Presents

PAWPRINT

Autumn 2023

WHAT PEOPLE SAY AT THE GYM

by: Reval Suleymanov

WANDERING AND ROAMING

by: Yuliang feng

REMEMBERING YOU

by: Grace Duffy

TREE by: Lisa Mcnealus

APPLE TREE

by: Lisa Mcnealus

THE DIRT MAN

by: Elizabeth thompson

PARALLELS

by: Mason evans

NIGHT OF TOKYO

by: Yuliang feng

TACO WEEK PROJECT

by: Cole allen

SELF PORTRAIT

by: Cole allen

by: Yuliang feng

CREATION STORY by: hale hurwitz

LILY FLOWER by: Andy darcy

RED EFT by: Andy darcy

ONLY SMALL TOWN THINGS

by: sofia bianconi

BREAKFAST JAR

by: sydney palmiotto

SHALLOW

by: Khiem nguyen

SHADE RECIPROCATION

by: khiem nguyen

SAXTONS RIVER IS NOT A CITY AND BARLY A TOWN

by: khiem nguyen

CHALICE OF FALL

by: khiem nguyen

OUT ON THE VERGE

by: Andrew liss-noda

DESPERATION

by: Andy darcy

The Fallen Moon

By: Khiem Nguyen

SUPER BLUE MOON

by: Andy darcy

YELLOW HAZE

by: Yuliang feng

CREATION MYTH by: maya carbone

MIST

by: Khiem nguyen

CREATION MYTH by: Maddy Spires

FERRIS WHEEL

by: cody marconi-quinones

THE BECOMING OF MORLACK

by: Talia Engel

THE FALLEN MOON

by: Khiem nguyen

This stick is like a missing puzzle piece that completes the picture. Although he does not know how to use it, he knows that this stick represents the end of his struggle. This stick is his salvation for the great return to his people. Morlack does almost everything he can to see how this stick works. Out of frustration, he throws it to the ground, hitting a toad. A strong wind takes over and the toad grows as large as Morlack, but the toad is no longer just a toad, it has power and strength.. “Woah! I have the power to create and the toad is now my follower.” He then picks up the stick and proceeds to find other animals in the forest who now also follow him with such dedication, each animal holding a unique power.

Morlack builds up a group of powerful animals and starts his journey back to his people. With his new ability to create, he now has purpose. His people will accept him and he can use his power to help his community thrive through their challenges.

What people say at the gym

By: Reval Suleymanov

1. I’m just here for a light workout.

Translation: I’m going to spend two hours lifting every weight in this place.

2. I forgot my water bottle.

Translation: Can I have a sip of yours? No? That’s cool.

3. Is this machine taken?

Translation: It looks like you’ve been on it for an eternity, can I have a turn?

4. I’m not really a treadmill person.

Translation: I trip over my own feet and would rather not do it publicly.

5. Can you spot me?

Translation: I need someone to witness my strength.

6. It’s my cheat day.

Translation: I’m going to eat everything I see once I leave here.

7. I don’t usually lift heavy.

Translation: I took a month off and now I’m weak.

8. I’m here to tone, not bulk.

Translation: I have no idea what I’m doing.

9. Is it normal to feel this sore?

Translation: Everything hurts, and I’m dying.

10. I’m on a new diet.

Translation: I’ve eaten only kale and chicken for six days, and I might snap.

11. No pain, no gain!

Translation: I am in immense pain but pretending it’s intentional.

The Becoming of Morlack

By: Talia Engel

In the beginning of all myths and creations there was this one creature Morlack. He has been thinking hard and long to find a way back to his people. Morlack was forbidden from his land and people because he was deemed useless. Without the ability to create, like his grandmother, he is not the chosen one that the people expected. He must find something that can help create strength and magic for his power. “I must find it, the one, the only, my power.”

After traveling for over a decade, Morlack has been getting closer and closer to finding his power. Every once and a while he notices his body gets a burst of energy that starts in his toes and ends at his fingertips; a tingly feeling. Could this be his one and only power that he needs to convince his people he is worthy? Morlack shall figure out how to use this sensation to help him succeed.

He travels down to the river like he does every day, but this day is different. He can feel a pull and energy from the forest. “It is calling me, what is it? This is a sign!” He walks confidently, but with nerves overflowing. He is being drawn to a cave that is just on the other side of the river. He is slowing down his speed and he sees a shining light. “Could this be? Am I just seeing things? This has got to be a trap.”

The opening of the cave is filled with blinding light, and Morlack is now taken over by its energy. He walks further and further into the cave that should be dark. On the ground he only finds a stick, but his whole body and mind is now inspecting it. “Is this what the force led me to? A stick?” Morlack was confused, but knew this had to be his power.

As soon as Morlack picked up this stick, the sensation was stronger than ever, bringing tingling throughout his entire body. He left the cave with a renewed sense of control.

12. I don’t usually sweat this much.

Translation: I always sweat this much, and I’m mortified.

13. I forgot my headphones.

Translation: I’ll be listening to every grunt and drop of sweat in here today.

14. I’m just working on my core today.

Translation: I’m going to do one plank and then leave.

15. Do you come here often?

Translation: I’m trying to make gym friends, please like me.

16. I’m just trying to stay active.

Translation: I’m here to impress someone, and it’s not really working.

17. I hate leg day.

Translation: I love leg day, but complaining is part of the ritual.

18. I think this machine is broken.

Translation: I don’t know how to use this machine.

19. I prefer morning workouts.

Translation: I’ve never been here before noon.

20. I’m just going to stretch and go home.

Translation: I’ll be secretly judging everyone while pretending to stretch for the next 30 minutes.

Ferris Wheel

By: Cody Marconi-Quinones

“Wandering and Roaming”

By: Yuliang Feng

She plucked a leaf from a maple tree. Then took one more from the same tree. She put both leaves in one hand and put her other hand on top.

Like the first time, the wind picked up and swirled around the Goddess as she created the two new beings. Two beings formed in front of her. One female, one male. The Goddess returned to the heavens and watched the two Maple Leaf Beings for a good time. Soon the species started growing, and evolving. They developed speech and other skills. The Goddess was beaming with joy when she saw her creations doing as she wanted all along. She was so pleased with the progress the Maple Leaf Beings were making and decided to make more beings from different leaves. She took leaves from oak, mahogany, fir, ash, and spruce trees. She even took the needles from pine trees and made beings from them. After all of that, her planet was bustling with a new form of life.

Remembering You

By: Grace Duffy

The phone rings too loud, I jump, I hope it's not someone important with more bad news. The phone rang that night and I was awoken in a rush. I had school the next day. I was in bed early ready to go learn my numbers and letters. Dreaming about something that was replaced with fearful yells throughout the house. I ran to the car in my pajamas and asked a million questions no one had the answers to. No matter the speed we weren't getting there fast enough.

I was sleeping when mom got the call, I didn’t sleep for weeks after that. I still have trouble falling asleep because when I close my eyes the phone rings and I have lost someone else in my life. The nightmares don't help, nothing makes it easier, not even time.

Another sleep means another phone call, so I choose not to sleep. The sirens blaring from blocks away, I look up and say a prayer because I know how it feels to be the one waiting for those sirens, the tense moments of life or death. One second too late could be the end of a life. Thoughts run through my head, what if they were faster for you. So I hold my breath and look up to you. Hoping you are making them faster even though they were not fast enough for you.

Butterflies fly by and you wave your wings at me. Sending me a reminder to keep going. Taking care of your milkweed in the yard, putting the caterpillars into Mason jars. Watching you journal their progress until they were ready to be set free as butterflies. The yard where you kept your milkweed is no longer ours.

The big house at the end of Park Ave, it's no longer ours. Grandma got too lonely and it became too big for her without her companion. They cut down the milkweed and finally finished that paint job you never got to finish.

Creation Myth

By: Maddy Spires

At the beginning of time, there was a Goddess who looked over her world. At the time, all that lived on her planet were animals. Ranging anywhere from small rodents to big mammals. But one day the Goddess decided she wanted something new. New beings. So that evening as the sun began to set, she plucked a leaf from a tall, beautiful birch tree. The Goddess took the small leaf in one hand and covered it with the other. The wind picked up and swirled around the Goddess as she created the being.

A humanoid being was formed from what was just a small birch leaf. The being was small and weak but the Goddess thought nothing of it. She was pleased with her creation. She decided to return to the heavens to watch over and observe the being. After a few days and nights, the Leaf Being had formed a routine and followed it every day. The Goddess started to become dissatisfied with the outcome of her creation. The hope the Goddess had when creating the Leaf Being was that it would eventually reproduce and start a new race. But what she didn’t realize is that it could not do so on its own.

Only six months after its creation the Leaf Being died. It had been alone all this time and could not fend for itself any longer. The Goddess was sad, but not surprised. She was disappointed that her creation could not do as she wanted and create a new race to roam her planet. The Goddess started observing how other species on her planet worked. How they grew, how they ate, and most importantly how they reproduced to create more of their kind. She finally concluded that she would need more than one being. So an evening soon after she came down to her planet's surface and looked around to find another leaf. But this time she knew to try a different leaf that would create a stronger being that could easily fend for itself.

I walk into church and feel your presence. I don't go with grandma anymore, it's too painful. Gathered around you for the last time we prayed, with the pastor. He had rushed in and said a prayer, they let me hold your hand. I thought I could give you my young energy to power through. Leaving pieces of you with me. I never expected to feel more empty.

Baking cookies makes me cry. Sitting at the counter with my bowl of Cheerios watching you perfectly slice butter, and meticulously place them in the mixing bowl. I know nothing will ever compare to yours, and I didn’t get the recipe before you left me here, in this big world by myself. It’s been five years. I try at least once a year to recreate your amazing creation but the piece that is missing is you.

Mist

By: Khiem Nguyen

Touchstone

By: Lisa McNealus

and intellectual being. She started sprouting blades of grass bigger than ever before. They were malleable yet solid and durable. They went with the flow and were flexible not only physically but mentally as well. As the days passed, more and more extensive and complex blades of grass started sprouting up. Mother Of Earth grew more assertive. She started to give these blades of grass more shape and unique features. Roundheads and muscular, solid bodies, she made them stand on two feet instead of 4 to separate them from the animals. She allowed them to think as complexly as she did herself and gave them the strength to act on their thoughts. After all of this, Mother Of Earth created a beautiful and profoundly complex society, with the ability to think, feel, love, cry, and, most importantly, build themselves up as a society and be successful on their own. This gave Mother Of Earth a much-needed break. This doesn't mean the grass people just abandoned Mother of Earth. As they evolved into modern-day humans, they began to worship Mother Of Earth. They viewed her as the powerful being that she was. They worshiped her by painting their faces green, going to grass-woven temples, making jewelry out of the grass, and much more. This religion has fallen out of favor in today's society, but we must remember that we are all beautiful, sharp, luscious blades of grass at heart.

Abandoned Apple

By: Lisa McNealus

Creation Myth

By: Maya Carbone

Long ago, before the creation of humans, it was just gushing water and rugged rock. The ground was barren and worn, unable to sustain any life. Our planet was a sorrowful sphere of rock and water floating in space. The creator of our planet’s life is believed to live at the earth's center, deep below its crust. We call her Mother Of Earth. She is believed to be just a head, and her brain controls everything on our beautiful planet. Mother Of Earth was only a baby in our planet's early years. She didn’t have not much mental capacity, motor skills, or hair. This is why our planet was so barren, and it was only just developing. As the years went on, Mother Of Earth started to grow up. She became more intelligent and robust, and her brain grew significantly. Mother Of Earth knew that she had to do something with her planet, but it was still inhabitable for life. Soon, sharp green blades began to pop up from the earth's crust, sprouting from Mother Of Earth’s head! Finally, she was growing her hair. These spindly green lush blades were everywhere, and they were beautiful. Mother Of Earth was mature, with her luscious short green hair. Her hair's natural oils and nutrients created the perfect environment for her to grow. Soon, the natural process of evolution started. The grass cultured bacteria, which turned into many things, such as flowers, animals, trees, and life. The animals shared a consciousness with Mother Of Earth, understanding her core beliefs and values, but they could not seriously act on them. As time passed, Mother Of Earth noticed something was missing; although there was life, there was emotion. None of the creatures she created could express emotion in the way she could, and she was getting lonely. Mother Of Earth remembered how powerful her green grass hair could be and decided that this would be a perfect subject for a new emotionally complex

The Dirt Man

By: Elizabeth Thompson

A planet called Earth once burnt to the ground. Before then, Mother Nature watched over the humans and how they treated her land. They burned things and trashed the ocean, even cutting down most of her precious trees. The humans acted as if nothing they did hurt the planet. Mother Nature did everything she could to help the humans survive, but she was infuriated by their actions and decisions. One day, she couldn’t take it anymore. Her temper rained over the Earth through heat and fire. Flames engulfed the land in seconds, and soon enough, the world was nothing but dirt and ash. Mother Nature looked down upon the once-green planet and saw what she had done. She finally realized that not all humans were monsters. After all, it was she who had just killed them.

All humans and other life forms are now deceased and remain trapped underneath the layers of debris. As time passes and land erodes, ancient fossils and small pieces of architecture break through the dark surface. After millions of years, Earth is flush with vegetation once again.

On this New Earth, the plants are no longer the same. The Plantae comprises black, red, and sometimes purple shrubs and trees. Mother Nature saw this. She felt liable and remorseful for her actions. She debated whether or not she deserved a second chance at serving the humans. She decided to give it a try. Only how would she create humans again? The resources are far more complex and different from before. She developed a plan. She dug a deep hole into the ground until she reached moist soil. She continued to search all around until she found what she was looking for: an ancient graveyard.

“Yellow Haze”

By: Yuliang Feng

She takes all the bones she can and places them accordingly into the shape of humans. Next, she shoves mud into all the crevices and casts a spell onto each one. The Dirt Men rise and work to create a new civilization. Mother Nature tries to take rule over the Dirt Men, but they don’t listen. One by one, they each jump into the hole Mother Nature created and dig deeper and deeper. They made underground tunnels worldwide for years until they eventually caved in and killed every last Dirt Man.

Mother Nature feels defeated. She does nothing but hurt Earth and everything living. She looks for any living soul on Earth and sees something move in the tallest tree. A baby Dirt Man jumps from the tree and into Mother Nature’s arms. She felt pride in this. After so much loss, there is still a chance to save the people. But that’s not what Mother Nature wants anymore. She and Little Dirt Man work long and hard to restore Earth. They will now wait until life naturally evolves into living creatures. For now, they keep each other company. Mother Nature finally realizes that all she’d ever wanted was a companion, and now she has made a best friend who will last until the end of time.

Super Blue Moon

By: Andy Darcy

Parallels

By: Mason Evans

Desperation

By: Andy Darcy

“Night of Tokyo”

By: Yuliang Feng

“That part was true you know, the Secret Sea was truly just the gullet of some monstrous thing. Whether it intended gifts alongside its meals, I don’t know,” Pildir shoulders his pack, “and I don’t really care.”

Without another word Pildir turns away and begins walking toward the highway. The Valelands take no note of his passing, gods and earth alike finding no interest in the trudge of a lonely traveler with no particular place to go.

Taco project week

By: Cole Allen

In seventh grade, I spent a week of my life eating nothing but tacos. I did this under the guise of a school project since at my middle school, all students were required to do a week-long project that was graded on a pass-fail basis. As a middle schooler, I did not enjoy putting in work, so I decided to join a group of students who were going to several taco trucks around Austin Texas as the loose structure of their projects. I halfheartedly decided to make my project presentation about the history of tacos and set out ready for a week of minimal work, minimal engagement, and much eating.

Towards the beginning of my taco project week, I viewed each day as a great way to not have to deal with classes or responsibilities. On the second day of taco week, a guest speaker came in to talk specifically to the taco group. The speaker was a professor and food critic who talked in depth about the origin of tacos which was perfect for my project. He was also a very engaging speaker who wove narrative effortlessly into his lecture. As I was sitting and listening to the guest speaker I noticed myself taking notes on much of what he said on a piece of paper which I had been idly twirling around just a moment prior. Many of the ideas that the guest speaker brought up were genuinely interesting to me and I wanted to include them in my project.

As the days went by I found myself gaining a new appreciation for the complexity of tacos despite their simple ingredient list. Prior to this week I had only really had bean and cheese or the occasional breakfast tacos. This forced exploration of tacos caused me to try a much wider breadth of flavors that tacos had to offer. I found myself trying new types of tacos every time I found them.

Pildir leaps up and batters the bottle out of Archivarium’s hands, free from the manacles that bound him. The shattered bottle eats into the earth like acid while the two figures grapple across the unlit fire.

With a great wrenching throw, Pildir hurls the Archivarium priest across the hollow, his body hammers the earth and his wind escapes. Pildir frantically retrieves his falchion and sets the tip against Archivarium’s chest.

Before Archivarium can devise a word to save himself, Pildir leans on the blade and it slides delicately through Archivarium's chest, pinning him to the earth like a needle through a wriggling insect.

“You were right of course,” says Pildir, twisting the blade until it snaps off a hand’s span from the hilt and leaving the steel embedded in the dying interrogator. “No one was immune to the Verge, including me.”

The Archivarium attempts to speak but only vomits blood and begins to choke.

“I saw the life I wanted,” says Pildir; the casual observer would be forgiven for assuming that he didn’t feel very strongly about his words, but they would be wrong.

“I saw a beautiful, infinitely kind wife, Candessa; I loved her more than you could know. I lived alongside a strong, righteous son, Rendir; he was better than any child of Autumn before. I raised an angelic daughter, Caria; she was the light of my life.”

As he spoke, Pildir rummaged unhurriedly through Archivarium’s belongings, procuring a new sword and some rations while tossing the clothes aside.

“And then I came back up out of the water, and lost it all. Candessa was brought to the Verge the following year, and whatever she saw, it wasn’t related to me. In reality, she married another, and I made designs on that which had taken everything from.”

Pildir turns to the Archivarium’s corpse, incuriously notes his demise, and continues to speak.

After a few days I decided to bring my DSLR camera with me. I had been taking a photography course that year but photography wasn’t really clicking with me yet. I decided to bring the camera as it seemed like a good idea to get some reference photos for my slideshow. As I started taking photos I noticed that it helped me remember the specifics of many of the trucks I stopped at and I paid closer attention to the smaller details.

By the time the latter days of the project rolled around, I was feeling rather bold so I decided that I would ask one of the taco chefs for an interview. The chef I talked to was relatively young and incredibly friendly. I asked him about his process of cooking various tacos. I was enthralled by the pure passion that oozed from him as he discussed the extremely slow method of smoking barbacoa in a giant hole in the ground. I eagerly ate up every word he said with a similar feverish hunger as I had when eating the very barbacoa we were discussing. That interview was one of the most fun experiences I had ever had gathering research.

When it was finally time to present, I felt an overwhelming sense of pride for the work I had put into making my project. By the end what I remembered most wasn’t every single tripas I had gotten throughout the week but rather the stand-out moments where I found myself enjoying the process of gaining new information for my project. At that point, I cared much more about the project itself than the passfail grade. To this day what has stuck with me most was how the subject of tacos allowed me to experiment with the way I approach learning and find a way of researching that caters to my specific interests and curiosities.

I hadn’t really expected it to work, but as soon as I entered the chamber the cavernous voice of the Verge thundered through my mind.

It made no promises, it held no temptations. It was simply hungry.

Hungry for us, hungry for the potential lives we could have lived.

The Archivarium thought that the gifts of the Secret Sea were memories, knowledge we wouldn’t otherwise have had.

But the cost, the cost of bringing your children into the gaping maw of a hungry creature, the cost was our future.

So I took Autumn’s future.

With the Translator and the Archivarium at my back, it was, again, easy to find the secret passes through the Valelands and tell the foreigners where to point their steam engines. I only made them promise to drain the Verge, the rest is a history you already know.

The Interrogator chuckled softly to himself, “What pitiful stuff.”

“Pardon?” says Pildir.

“You expect me to believe that you were both immune to the Verge and that the Secret Sea itself was living? And what’s more, you are the hero for saving all those future generations from the slaughterhouse? Come now.”

“Why would I lie?”

“An answer I fully intend to unravel,” says Archivarium, rising once again from his seat and unstopping the bottle holding the last of the Secret Sea inside.

“But you have not asked for the Translator’s location?” says Pildir through barely concealed panic.

“All in good time.”

Archivarium seems to relish the stretch in his muscles as he leans over Pildir and tilts the bottle.

“I warned you that the Translator was more powerful than you knew,” says Pildir. “It even understands your manacles.”

Self Portrait

By: Cole Allen

So I joined the Archivarium at my eighteenth birthday and I withstood the monotony of rote services and memorized the minutiae of hundreds of unlived lives. As if any could form profound lessons from false lives experienced in a moment. Our vestments and chants are quite useful for hiding jealousy, fear, loathing….fury.

By the rank of twilight I could visit the Verge whenever I chose, discreetly of course. I swam in the waters, I dove underneath the waves and hoped until my lungs were near to bursting, hoping and praying to see what others had seen. Nothing.

When I had given up hope, I told tales of unknown technology that I had witnessed at my first projection. It was easy to convince the order to give me access to the Mechanicharium with vague inferences of defense weapons to hide and shield Autumn. Especially considering the newly stirring words of the modern war that would eventually consume everything we knew.

* * * * *

“I assume you already know that particular device that was missing from the Mechanicharium when Autumn fell?” says Pildir. “The Translator?”

“Indeed.”

“Why take the Translator?”

* * * * *

It was a hopeless lark really. If I could use the Translator to ask a valemouse for the time of day, why not ask the Verge why it deemed me unworthy? It seemed appropriate through a twisted sort of logic. If the Translator only existed because someone saw it in a projected life, then it only existed because of the Verge. Surely it could explain its own origin?

The Translator was more than the Archivarium knew. As I made my way confidently through the blue passageways back to the Verge, the mosaics were all colored with new meaning. I saw, I read, thousands of unlived lives on those walls.

“Times”

By: Yuliang Feng

The passageways and chambers were much the same two years later when my own time of sacrifice came. The mosaics held new meaning after our preparatory lessons. When Mildar was submerged I only knew that he would become an adult in a vague, ceremonial way. But now I knew, as clarity washed over my mind while the Secret Sea’s waters washed over my feet and ankles, that I would live a whole new life in the space of a second. A whole, potential version of myself projected out into the future; this was why Mildar became a stranger, because he wasn’t fourteen, he was thrice that age and with as much experience in a fourteen year old’s body.

But I was disappointed. As the briny cold purple water enveloped me, I felt…nothing. I emerged from the water, not bewildered by a whole life lived, but struck dumb by the lack of experience. Could the whole ceremony be false, our religion a grand lie? But no, how then did Mildar age so much in a moment, how did he speak of things that hadn’t happened like he’d seen them with his own eyes? Was I immune, unworthy, or did I simply have no possible futures? Perhaps I would simply die that night?

Luckily, my shock masked my lack of a projection, and my fear was enough to let me know that I should not share this failure.

* * * * *

“Impossible,” begins Archivarium, “there has never been a case in the long history of Autumn of an individual being immune or unaffected by the Verge.”

“I don’t really care if you believe it, Gregori, you asked for the story.”

“You know me?”

“Of course, did I not become a member of your Order?” “Indeed, but why?”

* * * * *

How else would I gain access to the Verge? I needed to know, why, of all the people who had lived and lived and lived in and underneath Autumn, why was I rejected?

Creation Story

By: Hale Hurwitz

In the beginning, there was a Creator, The Creator had powers beyond the bindings of the universe. The Creator had made a world, filled with green grass, brown trees, gray rock, and blue sky. The Creator loved his planet but felt that something was missing. Even with all the animals The Creator wanted something in his image, something that could represent him in this new world. He thought long and hard about how he would represent himself for he didn't want to create something so powerful that it could eventually destroy the world altogether. The Creator finally came to a conclusion. He took his favorite parts of his world to create his image. Each aspect of his creation was to have a blessing and a burden. Sticks for bones to be a frame, but to break; bark for skin to shield, but to tear; Water for blood to nourish, but to leak out; Fire for organs to warm, but the smoke to suffocate; and the sun for eyes, but the light to blind.

The final aspect of his creation was the blessing of life but the burden of death. The Creator after watching his creation for centuries and centuries and became almost envious of mortality. Simultaneously the people who roamed earth wished for immortality dreading the day they lost someone they loved, and eventually their own life. One day a man after losing his daughter became angry at the creator for giving the humans the burden of death. The Creator came to the man in his sleep that night. The man spoke to the creator about his desire for eternal life and how badly he missed his daughter. The Creator thought about the man's statement and then told him that all he, the creator, desired was to live a mortal life. The man and The Creator then understood to be thankful for their blessings of life whether mortal or immortal.

I was only twelve when I first saw the Verge. My older brother, Mildar, had just turned fourteen and he was led down into the catacomb-like paths underneath the village as a lamb to slaughter. I know because I was made to come and watch. Stone passageways lit by sputtering blue sconces, the mosaics of projected, unreal lives covering every surface of the labyrinthine halls. Incomprehensible to a child, but unerringly terrifying nonetheless.

Mildar was a good older brother, for what it's worth. He certainly defended me more often than he bullied me himself. I followed him and my mother into the darkened chamber and saw the purple water lapping gently on the stone shore, I saw the glow wash away my youthful sense of normality as it added new angles to the faces of the other sacrifices in tow.

But Mildar’s eyes were still his. I know because he looked back at me with familiarity and fear, he was still my brother even in that strange place with those strange far away scents.

They led five children to the shore and their bare feet broke the surf. Mildar turned back and looked at our mother. It was still Mildar, but in the throes of what I would later recognize as epiphany. The Archivarium priests then took them, one by one, and submerged them in the Verge. It was only a moment, but the Mildar that resurfaced had an older face, and stranger’s eyes. He looked at me as if he didn’t recognize me, like he’d been away for years and couldn’t believe I was still here.

* * * * *

“Your brother’s projection has already been recorded, our agreement was for your projection,” says the interrogator.

“I suppose you would fault a man for trying to gain a few more minutes of life.”

“You sit where you do because you owe a debt of many lives.”

“And yet still fewer than your Order.”

“Proceed this time, with your own experiences.”

Lily Flower

By: Andy darcy

“Records-keeping? You helped lord over a society that took my first life from me out of hand, now you promise to take the second near the root but insist I relive the first as well? Yes, that is indeed too much.”

The Archivarium eagerly produces a plain brown bottle, firmly corked, and rises from his bench. He seems to forget the unlit fire as his heavy boots crack through piled branches. He proffers the bottle to Pildir and wrenches the cork free. A dull purple light issues from the narrow mouth and the smell of drifting mountaintop mists suffuses Pildir’s nose, the smell of distance and time.

“It holds no power over me!’ exclaims Pildir; he rears backward in his seat away from the bottle as if from a poisonous beast.

“You will speak or you will drink of the Verge, even if only this remnant,” says Archivarium.

“I will not speak,” says Pildir, but even as he says it he slides backward off his seat and the manacles hold him perfectly still with his back in the dirt.

“Very well.”

“No!”

A droplet of faintly glowing purple liquid tumbles onto Pildir’s unshaven jaw. He shakes in agitation and the drop springs from his face to a nearby strand of grass. The strand of grass waves oddly, briefly ephemeral and translucent, before it returns to its normal state.

“Alright!” screams Pildir, “Just promise me a quick death and no more of that cursed thing.”

“Agreed,” Archivarium re-corks the bottle and returns to his seat opposite Pildir, his back rigid and his shadowed visage unmoving. In a pathetic show of powerlessness, Pildir struggles, unaided, back to a seated position. He watches the sunlight bead across the opposite side of the hollow as he begins:

Red Eft

By: Andy Darcy

“Do you stand ready to proceed?”

“Proceed? The proceedings ended when the Archivarium was burned to cinders by the Eastern Alliance, there’s nothing left to…” Pildir pauses in mid-sentence as his soaked, aching form pulls against his restraints.

“Do you stand ready to proceed?” asks the cloaked figure again.

“What are these bonds? Projection-tech?”

“Do you stand ready to proceed?”

“The Archivarium is gone! Autumn burned! The Verge washed away!”

“Do you stand ready to proceed?”

“Gods! Yes, fine, proceed,” Pildir slumps back onto the stone bench.

“The Archivarium has accused you, Pildir Unum, of high treason.”

“Yes well…”

“You need not answer this charge as you have already been found guilty.”

“I made sure the town burned, if that’s what you mean.”

“That statement, and any future statements in this interview prior to your execution will be entered into the Archivarium minute record.”

“The Archivarium minute record is already in ashes.”

“In order to maintain public records, the condemned are ordered to surrender the content of their first projection through the Verge. Given that the content of this particular projection most likely has immediate bearing on the subsequent destruction of Autumn and the displacement of the Verge, the Archivarium must insist upon candor. You will be compelled if you should attempt to resist this order.”

The casual observer would be forgiven for assuming the Archivarium interrogator relished the prospect of resistance.

“That is too much,” says Pildir.

“Interesting,” begins the Archivarium, “you raise no cries against execution but you pause at records-keeping?”

Only Small Town Thing

By: Sofia Bianconi

1) Really long grocery store trips.

It takes fifteen minutes just to get to the nearest grocery store. You will then see at least two people that you know in the store, who expect a whole conversation. You get to the understaffed checkout and wait for everyone ahead. Here, you can either talk to the cashier that you went to school with and know their cousin well, or you can stand there in silence while they glare at you wondering what they recognize you from. You get in your car with all of your groceries and drive fifteen minutes home.

2) The school commute.

You could never take a bus from your house because you live so far down a dirt road. You luckily have a parent or sister to drive you to school, because even if you had your license, you don’t have a car to use. You drive down the road and stop at two different spots to let the chickens get out of the road. Maybe you have bad luck and get stuck behind a tractor or the town trucks that are grating. That is going to take forever, but your teachers will understand, because at least two of them take that same road to work everyday.

3) Small town pride.

You go to the local schools football game. The dads are more invested in it than their sons playing on the field. They yell to the coach, who is their old teammate and highschool best friend. Meanwhile the mothers gossip to each other, about who are the ‘weakest players’ hoping they will get subbed out for their sons. Their daughters hold posters for their friends that they have grown up with since they were five. The lights shine on the field and the stands scream louder than the NFL.

Out on the Verge

By: Andrew Liss-Noda

The roads through the Valelands had never been truly safe, and a decade of increasingly steam-powered war had certainly not done much to ameliorate the threat of violence to the lone traveler. It would have surprised none, therefore, to hear that a weary traveler, even an armed, vigilant young man, would fall prey to the flash of star-glinting steel in the rain. On the other hand, they would have been surprised to hear that the proffered weapon cut neither hide nor purse, but only fell, pommel side earthward, on the young mans’ unprotected head. The young, not quite so vigilant traveler was spared the weight of his own weapon and dragged, with some ceremony, off the high road and into the shallow gully prepared by the aggressor earlier that day.

Two rudimentary stone benches had been arranged, again with some ceremony, facing one another across an unlit fire. The unconscious young man was laid carefully along one stone seat, and his ankles and wrists were manacled with a curious ceramic device of uncertain design. The would-be highwayman produced a magnificent night-blue cloak which, when he donned it, swaddled the dirt underneath his feet when he sat, and waited for his unwilling companion to awaken.

The slowly enlarging late-Spring sun crests the nearby hill just a few minutes before the manacled man begins to stir.

“Wha….” he begins.

“Pildir Unum,” says the cloaked figure. “Hells.”

“Pildir Unum, you stand accused of high treason against Autumn and the Verge, I am charged by writ with your interview and execution.”

“Hells…I had no idea any of you survived.”

“Do you stand ready to proceed?”

4) Total privacy does not exist.

When driving in town you know where at least half of your teachers live. Some of them are neighbors with your friends, while the others live down the street from the big houses you used to trick or treat at. Sometimes, you know the names of everyone in a family you have never met, just because they live in that ugly green house. The idea of not knowing everyone on your hall of an apartment in the city someday, just doesn’t exist to you. Because that would mean you would leave this town.

5) The friend groups.

You don’t mix friend groups like you do in college. Each town stays within themselves. That is because you went to the same middle school, the same elementary school, and probably the same day care.m Your mothers went to the same highschool together; your dads played football there. You stay in your town, your group, your people. It’s not close minded or comfortable, it's called loyalty.

6) Generations of Alumni

You don’t go far from home. You come back to town a lot to be with your parents and your old friends. You relive your highschool years through watching seventeen year olds play football; don’t forget to wear purple. We bleed purple. You can’t go far from home because what if you miss alumni weekend? Other towns can’t have the same soul as this one, can they? We’re different. There is a reason people don’t leave. We love this small town.

Chalice of Fall

By: Khiem Nguyen

Breakfast Jar

By: Sydney Palmiotto

The Community.

I don’t understand the community in Saxtons River. Everyone is nice but they seem to always have something more important waiting for them at home. There are no events or places for the community to come together to unite. Everyone just has their own thing, their own life to worry about. Everyone knows everyone so there would not be much of getting to know each other if it wasn’t for the school’s diversity. In District One everyone is a stranger, everyone is busy all the time, but they always have small conversations with others, whether it's greeting, asking for directions, or a chat or story with the vendor. Because of how packed the area is always, even though I don’t know everyone I felt a sense of belonging surrounded by the same people, speaking the same mother tongue language.

Saxtons River is not a city and barely a town. There are more trees than people, there are more trees than there are buildings. The area looks almost abandoned most of the time. There are so few events and human activities that it deserted. As someone who has lived in a city my entire life maybe my definition of what being a city or a town is different from someone local. Perhaps being so far away from home made me realize how much I miss my hometown. Perhaps it is the reason I don’t feel quite at home in this place. It is a good place, a peaceful place, but too quiet for me, I want to bathe myself in the shimmering light of the city nightlife, I want to emerge into storytelling and chit-chats over a hotpot. I want to feel included and not just a guest passing by.

Shallow

By: Khiem Nguyen

The shops.

There are no shops, only a local market, and a new restaurant. There are not enough people to have many services. And even so, most residents have no such need for services and facilities.

There are countless shops and restaurants, markets, and there are public parks. Shops that sell clothes and jewelry. Restaurants with various cuisines are almost guaranteed to be crowded every day. The street food vendors coat the street with delicious and tempting smells, a wondrous place to hang out and connect with people. Markets and malls are so massive they have everything and anything one could think of. Public parks are packed with people running, exercising, dancing, and practicing taichi. At night the area wrapped herself in a cloak of lights.

The river.

The river is peaceful, there is not even a soul most of the time. Just oneself with nature, with the rippling water, the shackling leaves, and the soothing sound of the wind. It is so calm, it is so tranquil, it is so quiet as if no human has ever set foot on this land.

The river is vast, but it is not as peaceful. There are always activities like fishing and swimming, or releasing lanterns on special occasions. The bridges that cut across the river are always overflowing with traffic. It is not quite enough that one can listen to the song of nature, rather the beeping and honking noise, yelling, and screaming.

Shade Reciprocation

By: Khiem Nguyen

Saxtons River is not a city and barely a town

By: Khiem Nguyen

The road.

The roads in Saxtons River are wide, they are quiet. They feel brand new as if everyone is too scared to even walk on it. There are cracks here and there but they don’t feel like deterioration, but more like cracks caused by pain, from being alone for so long.

The roads of District One, Pasture, are narrow, they are busy. They are old, there are cracks because of all the vehicles and people passing by. Even with maintenance, it is clear that this road has been through a lot. The conversation he listened to, all the laughter of discussion and gossip he endured.

The houses.

The houses are nice, but each is different. Each has its own backyard, its own front yard, and its own porch. The houses are so wide, that each resident has their own pot of land. The land is vast, it is enormous, with so much room for so much unseen potential that might never be given a chance.

There are no houses in District One. But there are buildings, skyscrapers, piercing through the clouds, rippling through the sky. They made the area narrow, tall, and tight. There are apartments instead of houses, with each having at least twenty floors. Every building section is packed together leaving almost no room to breathe.