Wordsworth Magazine Spring 2018

Wordsworth

m a g a z i n e

rush hour

w o r d s w o r t h

Staff...

Kate Bias, Co-Editor Mady Martin, Co-Editor Tina Starks, Co-Editor

Ebie Katzenmeyer Faith Ahola Grace Korthuis Jody Bault Adams, Advisor Hailey Burdick Abby Steinke Isaac Wooten Angelo Luna Jaden Lindsey Aubree Radtke Jamie Norris Ayrton Yamaguchi Lucy Otto Bre Jones Maia Combs Cassady White Marilyn Ingalls Daniel Conway Melayna Campos Darus Poling Micky McCafferty

Murphy Bradshaw Nathan Keldsen Nora VanRees Remy Wilcox Riley LeCocq Rosemary Smith Ruby Landolt Samuel Edmundson Sarah Cowell-Wellborne Truly Rylander TJ DeSemple Vivi Winkley

[editor’s letter] Greetings readers!

We are so very glad that you decided to read another amazing edition showcasing our school’s literary and artistic talents. This year, the staff has had a phenomenal time reading your stories, poetry and gawking over your photography and visual works. You have astounded us all, and we anxiously await to see all that you have to offer next year!

As the school year approaches a close, I hope that you take an extra moment to appreciate the growth that we have all experienced. Many of the writers in this book have been submitting since the beginning of the school year, and even in such a small period of time, the quality of the stories has grown tremendously. In addition, we’ve had many new submitters who have dazzled us with their talent. We are so very appreciative of this community, and we hope you are too. May this edition be everything you hope for and more!

Until next year, Wordsworth Staff

It is with pleasure that we present the spring 2018 issue of Wordsworth:

RUSH HOUR

t a b l e o f c o n t e n t s

poetry Abby Steinke Adelaide J Waite Adelaide Waite Amy S.

Andrea F-H Angelo Luna Angelo Luna

Ashley Jones

Athena (Athy) Kuhner Athena (Athy) Kuhner Camille McClafferty Celia Stemm Conner Stubbs Daniel Conway Darus Poling

Darus Poling

Elana Shae Elana Shae Ella Vires Grace E.K. Grace Lahodny Hailey B Hailey Burdick Holland Havarah Elizabeth Jack Gonzales Jack Gonzales Jaden Lindsey Jamie Norris Jamie Norris

James Hurst Juice Julia Koeb k.d. k.m. k.m.

Louis

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m.m m.m

Mahle

Maia Elisabeth Marilyn md

Mia Maggio Mia Maggio Mia Veljacic Micky McCafferty

Home 1 My World 2 Running 2 Deep in the Ocean 3 A Photo Burned to Ashes 4 State Dependency 5 Captivating Love 7 Doodling You 8 Black Heart 9 Ponderings 10 Dreams 11 Mirror, Mirror 13 Secret 14 Throes 15 Titles for My Next Poem in No Particular Order 16 “How Many Clichés Can I Fit Into One Poem and Still Have it Sound Kind-of Unique” or “I’m Gay but I’m Embarrassed by It Sometimes” 17 NecRomantics 18 Nebula 20 Who Was She 21 For the overflow 22 Untitled 24 Eternal Gardens 25 Drive Downtown 26 Light the Darkness 27 These Words 28 Ice Rink 29 Burning 30 feelings & sleep deprivation 32 bittersweet things that I like to hold onto when the fear of moving becomes too much (among other ramblings) 34 I Forgot 36 Coffee Made Me Gay 37 Picture Me 38 Honey 39 Romance 42 Lavender 43 Tortilla chips 44 The beach 44 a marigold kind of life 46 I’m not quite sure what this is yet. 48 I am From 49 Untitled 54 Song of Shadows 49 Came 50 Cornflakes 51 Sinking In Thoughts 52 Go Back 53 Blooming Gold 55

Swam

so

the end 58 m o r n i n g s 59 our way to fall 60 untitled 63 for you 64 sill 65 i laugh too 66 Sing 67 Past Lives 69 o i c e s ...

Jonathon 70 rV u Two Sides of the Same Coin 71 I am a person 72 Sunset house 75 The orange trees have blossomed 77 Bubbles and Bumps 78 Searching for a Question for You 79 Untitled 82 The Unabridged Version of My Life 83 Jasmine tea 83 Another Illuminati one because I have no self control 84 The Sound of Rain 85 I am From 88 Little Ribs 89 Untitled 91 The Rich Pitch Named Mitch Parts 1 & 2 92 le d

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Mortiz Mortiz Murphy Bradshaw nora vanrees nora vanrees rain a. rain a.

r.w. r.w.

Sisi L.W

T. Corkill

Tj Truly Rylander

Truly Rylander

Walnut

Zach B

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Burbs 4: A Smooth Criminal Part 2 95 A Kitchen 98 Seasons 100 Seasons pt2 102 Civil War Sorrow 104 The Fall of 06 Prologue 107 The Fall of 06 Chapter 1 109 A Letter From La Conner 114 Spooky Story 119 Collars of Silver 120 Airline Peanuts 116 Untitled 124 Untitled 126

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Abbi Doddridge Andrea F-H

EMKR

EMKR

Elijah Thomas FlyingWolf_25 FlyingWolf_25

Maia Elisabeth Samuel Edmundson T. Corkill Anonymous Anonymous Anonymous

visual art Daniel C

Ryan Bittner Ryan Bittner Tj

Tori Moffett Trillian Vieira Truly Rylander

Join Your Voices in a Hellish Chorus to Mark the Precise Nature of Your Fear 19 Palm City 40 & cover Swamps of Valadir 56 Company 74 Untitled 86 Teddy Breads 113 Fairytale 45

POETRY

[Home] “What will you miss the most?”

“The view.”

Abby Steinke

“That’s the reason we bought this house” “The view is almost unreal” “What’s unreal is that the best view is from the toilet upstairs” “The best view is from the Grotto outside” “I’ll miss the Grotto the most” “And Thirsty Thursdays and covering our food when we heard a walnut fall just in case” “And the hill out back. That was good sledding” “We never built the waterslide we wanted to in the summer” “We never did a lot of things” “I still haven’t tasted a fig from the fig tree” “You have tasted the cherries from the cherry trees” “Yes. But we never made a good cherry pie” “At least you can back out the driveway now” “Yes, not many people who drive up can” “And the basement was all yours” “I’ll miss that too.”

“I’ll miss the bookshelf in the front hallway” “I won’t miss dusting it. Or vacuuming the wooden floors” “Those were your dance floors” “And your hardest project ever. It took you a week to finish them.”

“And there are still mistakes.”

“Through that project, you taught me I can do hard work and things still might not turn out perfect.”

“And it’s ok if it’s not perfect.”

“This house isn’t perfect. But it was perfect for us.”

1

[My World] Adelaide J. Waite

Kids shouting, Tires squealing, Dogs barking , Birds singing.

It all fades away As I open my book And become immersed in MY world.

A world full of villains and heroes, Dragons and sorcerers, Princes and princesses .

THIS is my world, My happy place, This is me.

[Running] Adelaide J. Waite Running, Panting.

I pause for a moment, Clutching my side.

Then I run on.

Away from the past.

Away from my home.

2

[Deep in the ocean] Amy S. Deep in the ocean, they wait for you Deep in the sea, they see you Deep deep down are monsters, don’t you know?

Deep below the light and the fun Below where divers can travel Deep down where you can’t see the floor Where you feel your blood pumping, it lives!

You see them in the books You see them in your nightmares but don’t get trapped Deep deep in the ocean, where they live

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[A Photo Burned to Ashes] Andrea F-H

white is Purity yet we are Impure through God’s Eyes comfort is seen as Destruction but that Burned photo DESTROYS me from inside out it’s a bit disheartening we are cigarettes we are Faggots our Bodies are aflame an iron scented liquid trickled down the cement Yet my LOVE, SHE saves me from internal damnation external damnation eternal damnation

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[State Dependency] Angelo Luna Step Step Step I walk that leather clad hall Painted By memories Of times so dear And interpreted in the present By good friends Who no longer feel as if they are “Present” Eventually, all staircases have to end The world Isn’t an early Nintendo game Please understand that Opening the door Is like opening a floodgate Luminescently dividing From the room beyond To the room before And back Why should there be a door there?

Step Step Step Now I realize they haven’t followed Not in a long time So I enter alone

5

Have you ever felt an atmosphere Physically hold you at a point in time?

This is more Than simple state dependency This isn’t a world In which we can live So I stay to learn But not to exist What is the form If not corrupted by reflection?

I certainly felt it Physical In all its watered down triumph In the room That ended the world There are places on earth In which the soul leaves the body And you are left to contemplate Utterly And completely Alone This is one such place But you will never know It is bound to a point in time A person A force of will Thus The nature of state dependency In Of And for itself

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Once I walk out The universe turns again And this

“Place” Ceases to exist Step Step Step

[Captivating Love]

Angelo Luna

Come here darling, let me write you a song.

Do you remember those sunny days in our yard, because I do, and I can confidently tell you I have never loved a single person or place more. Your voice is the song I hear when walking that sunny path. You know, the one where we used to have all those beautiful picnics? I’ve been riding the train almost every day since you left. I don’t blame you, I blame the passerbys who all look like you when traveling. I have fallen in love with them, one by one. Although I’ve only professed to a few, all felt the same, because they feel the love I hold. I’ve made beauty with some, unfortunate mistakes with others. But, no matter what predestined actions we perform, I’m only thinking of your face.

You hold my heart captive from your own captivity, and it baffles me.

Dear you, hold my heart at a distance unless you intend escape. I don’t think I could bear the prison break… sorry, I mean heartbreak. I will wait, but there is only so long my heart can hold you until you slip away. So please baby, let me write you a song.

Sincerely, The Captive Heart

(Inspired by “Care of Cell 44” by The Zombies) 7

[Do

ou] Y g n odli

Ashley Jones

It started off as a sketch of you. Your bright smile, the scrunching of your nose, and the cute tilt of your head. It was your warm eyes and breath taking laugh.

But then it became a sweet little teddy bear, one that reminds me of you. It had soft fur and sparkling eyes. With a cute little smile and button nose.

And from there it became a beautiful lakeside landscape, with swans and flowers that could never be as graceful or beautiful as you. The field of flowers was full of your favorite colors, and the water reflected bright stars that twinkle the same way your eyes do.

A landscape turned into the boots you always wear, with its mud splatters and too long laces. It still has the heart I drew on it with sharpie.

Boots into the fake flowers you let me tuck into your hair.

And from flowers into pebbles we tossed into the lake.

“Whatcha doin’?” you asked as you snuck up behind me, arms softly wrapping around my shoulders.

“I’m just doodling you,” I hum, twisting to rest my head on yours.

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Athena (Athy) Kuhner

[Bla

ck H eart ]

My face, my skin, the ever changing mask, Inhaling, exhaling, and pondering, Etched deeply in every line is apathy, tracing, The smallest smiles, the ugliest tears, the lack of blushing, And at the worst moments, it breaks apart.

With the blackest heart of inked in notes, Circles of the moon spiral and descend Through paper folds of starlit nights, Dreams tattoo every mari in my mind, never blurring, And day burns them with the cruelest fire.

But I love you with this ebony soul of mine, I spell your names over and over in cursive, Memories flow through me in clear river water, For my soul, of the darkest color, is still colorful, And beats, seconds, minutes, millenia, for you.

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Athena (Athy) Kuhner

[Ponderings]

Sometimes, sometimes, I wanna shave off half my hair To show that I truly am, The half the girl, her and them.

Today, today, I stress over unfinished thoughts And more appear with every breath But I never call for help.

Lines, to me Take up too much time, my time, Drowning in moonlight, faithless And thinking of rhymes and reasons.

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[Dreams] Camille McClafferty When our body rests, our mind is awake, exploring the world, our sleep will make.

Within our minds, a secret place, unknown and uncharted, different with every face.

Inside a gate, ready to tell a story untold, each persons unique, with doors of silver, bronze, or gold, laid with smiling gems, of any kind, but to see what’s inside, you must find, a key only found, deep inside, that darkness reveals, and the light hides.

Unlock the gate, to take a trip, to a new world where imagination is the ship, the roaring stormy sea, the things you fear, past, present, or future, impossible, far, or near.

It provides a chance, to test what you know, sometimes good, sometimes bad, giving you a chance to let go.

Spread your wings, up towards the sky,

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for when the sun will rise, the moon will lose its tie, you won’t remember, it will disappear, a shadow on the light, or a discovered dear.

When the this world becomes fuzzy, and you begin to see a gleam, among the scene you see, signaling its time to leave your dream.

You may not wish to leave, the comforting blanket of sleep, but it is one of the things, you can never keep, back to reality, where there’s work to do.

Know we will wait for you, in this world of imagination and fun, always there, but never here for long, a short comfort, like the birds morning song, a bridge to the real world, a reminder of the past, the night before the dawn, letting you let go at last.

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[Mirror, Mirror] Celia Stemm

People stare into me telling me their secrets I see the same thing, again and again Each morning, a new style the same face I’ve only moved once never again.

I wish to ask them how they’re feeling But that is not my job I only reflect their feelings I do not ask I do not say I do not tell All I do is stay Each day, over and over and over

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[Secret] Conner Stubbs

I have a secret, Can I trust you with my words?

Will you blab your mouth, or tell a soul, Will you betray me, and hurt?

Can I trust you, because I do, and I want to tell you, But I don’t know if I can.

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[Throes] Lift your head onward Look on till the morning The sun is still rising How miraculous this life can be We are one in trillions Spinning in unfathomable galaxy See faces on the bus Who make their own countenance Driving themselves into a trance You are not one of those You are one in billions Beating wrinkled hands upon ironic throes When I close my eyes I can still see But not the palpable Only what is thought to be unreachable What lies before you is a wonder For I am one in millions Now lift your head, it’s only thunder

Daniel Conway

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[Titles For My Latest Poem In No Particular Order] Darus Poling How Many Clichés Can I Fit Into One Poem and Still Have it Sound Kind-of Unique I'm Gay I'm Gay and Embarrassed I Totally Didn't Write This Because I'm Sad I DEFINITELY Didn't Write This to be Serious I Know How To Write Without Using Clichés What Are You Talking About I’m Gay and Embarrassed About it Sometimes How Many Clichés Can I Fit Into One Poem My Writing Revolves Around Two Concepts: Gay and Loneliness I Miss You To Be Read in a Similar Tune As “For Forever” from Dear Evan Hansen How Vague Can I Be While Still Being Personal I Spent Half an Hour on This For my Lover Stop Shaming Me Carol, Let Me Be Gay Come Home to Me When Will My Spouse Come Back from the War and The Poem With Too Many Titles

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[“How Many Clichés Can I Fit Into One Poem and Still Have it Sound Kind-of Unique” or “I’m Gay but I’m Embarrassed by It Sometimes”] Darus Poling Come home and count the clover with me Come look at the stars until the flowers bloom Then we can sit and watch them too Your hand in mine, love in our smiles Nowhere else I’d rather be right now Than next to you Come home and watch the hours fly away We’ll dance around in just our socks To the sound of our rising heartbeats And the neighbors vacuum at 2 AM Come home, I’ll pull you close while we’re Baking cookies and accidentally overdose on sweets Then we can fall asleep on the couch To the ambiance of our favorite shows Doing everything we can Just to keep each other close And we’ll wake up and do it all again Maybe with our closest friends And we’ll just talk and count the clovers Ill point out every tulip and peony And I’ll notice for the thousandth time Just what it was that made me fall in love With you

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[NecRomantics] Elana Shae Last night the sky tore open to gray, And from the rupture poured out the rain.

It was from my window that I did see Just how the sky Had mimicked the grief in me.

If this love is dead now, It is up to zombie antics.

The coffin lays bare and empty.

Are we both necRomantics?

Lately I can’t seem to find your eyes, And slowly but surely, we’re out of time.

The gravestones of fools will never hide.

I only wonder If one of them is mine.

If this love is dead now, It is up to zombie antics.

The coffin lays bare and empty.

Are we both necRomantics?

If this murder’s gruesome Darling you can take my hand.

We’ll take our place in the damned.

Oh this is so necRomantic.

If this love is dead now, It is up to zombie antics.

The coffin lays bare and empty.

Are we both necRomantics?

If this murder’s gruesome Darling you can take my hand.

We’ll take our place in the damned.

Oh this is so necRomantic.

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[Join Your Voices in a Hellish Chorus to Mark the Precise Nature of Your Fear] Daniel C.

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[Nebula]

I find myself amidst A cosmic nonpareil, Who’s outstretched limbs of An amalgamation of hues Seep through the charcoal void.

A cerulean core slumbers overtly, Encompassed by a halo Of lapis and sapphire mist.

Floating through interstellar medium, Irises locked on marigold and marmalade tendrils, I cease to be aware, cease to be touched By the labor of time.

And, as I drift alongside the giant, I close my eyes, Joining the nebula in the intricate defacement Of the universe’s shadows.

Elana Shae

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[Who Was She ] Ella Vires She liked to read, say the books that lined the shelf shoved against the wall.

And candles too, says the hunks of wax piled in a corner of her messy desk.

Her feet were often cold, say the fluffy slippers Sitting near the pearly white bed.

She disliked laundry, says the overflowing laundry basket tucked away in a dark corner.

But took good care of her pets, says the sparkling clean hamster cage. Stashed in the closet with no doors.

She had many late nights, says the small lamp by her bed.

And tried to be a good student, says the backpack near the desk.

She missed the days when life was simple, says the hanging pictures of a smiling child.

And reminisced often, says the nostalgic memorabilia scattered throughout the small room.

She didn’t have a good hand at music, says the folded up keyboard, stuffed in the corner.

Or photography, says the dusty Polaroid camera, almost untouched on the windowsill.

She thrashed about in her sleep, says the blankets sitting limp on the floor.

Who was she, they all ask, and where is she now?

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[For the overflow] Grace E.K. For the emotions That well within The ones that sink and rise And overflow For those that leave us With liquid eyes And burning faces With open hearts And gaping mouths For these, Words are too small Each one comes out feeble: Noisy, breathing representations That are inadequate symbols Of the confused heartaches We rarely remember To let loose Except in some private place Swept aside and submerged Without definition Acknowledgment becomes a riddle The cold, hard focus Of pain we struggle to delineate Melts into something softer And here’s where we’re left Swimming In a solvent we’ve created From a lack of vocabulary

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With notions that sometimes strike us But mostly float and surround When we ask to be peeled To be stripped away Layer by layer And to look down So that we might Have some way Of seeing inside Of defining these big and wordless feelings Of knowing ourselves In this way, We aspire to give name To the rise and fall And to christen Our own overflows

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[Untitled] Grace Lahodny

Appearance.

My long, blond, curly hair and green eyes are of the past.

My short, golden, tousled locks and hazel blue eyes make up my current looks.

Introverted.

I pretend to enjoy social settings, But the tight muscles in my mouth ache with sharp, shooting pain From the fake smiles and small talk.

Personable.

My glasses make me, me.

Taupe and gold tortoise shell frames fill the lenses that help me to see the world more clearly.

Curious.

My mind wanders like a leaf in the wind.

Cascading through the air until it hits the floor, leaving my mind at ease.

Content.

I see my past home in Happy Valley, Oregon.

4 stories, a sweet neighborhood.

The smell of lavender plants encasing the sturdy base.

Transparent.

To others I’m a glass of water.

Tranquil, calm, relaxed.

Inspired.

My mother has and always will persevere.

She is my inspiration for what I do.

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[Eternal Gardens] Hailey B Flowers sway In the field I built for you and I. I planted our love here.

But as life is, it was never eternal.

The new seed planted in the rich soil grew so big but As many plants do, it wilted.

Why couldn't we be a pine tree To stay forever in these eternal gardens

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[Drive Downtown] Hailey Burdick

Drive downtown Wind blowing through my hair The sun leaves its golden kiss upon my cheek.

The crystallized river acts as a mirror It reflects the sun To me it looks like diamonds.

The giant red park of my childhood is once again visited Not by me but by another I reflect just like the river.

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[Light The Darkness] Holland Havarah Elizabeth I walked down the cobblestone steps to see a world of color looking at me My stomach twisted as it turned to grey, my hopes and dreams were gone The darkness spread and consumed me, I was gone, drifting in space Wondering how I would get back to those I love, then I thought long and Hard of the happiest memory, and in an instant I was back Listening to the sound of my mother’s voice sing me to sleep in the warm Lit room and visions of my past floated back to a dreamy state I lay back

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[These

Words] Jack Gonzales

You shall not tell me how to act, Nor tell me what to say, You shall not tell me how to dress, Nor change the way I see the day.

These words you say can hurt me, These words you say, they hurt me.

28

[Ice Rink]

I open the doors to this freezing cold place, That sends shivers down my spine.

I hear hockey players skating back and fourth, Side to side.

Locker room one, I hear my coach optimistically yell.

Then I get dressed, I get ready for the game.

After five ecstatic minutes, The first period starts.

Nic takes the face off, And I take right wing.

I’m up against the boards, The defense high sticks me, I fall to the ground and, BOOM! My head starts throbbing, And the ref calls a penalty, And I’m out for three weeks concussed.

Jack Gonzales

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[Burning] Jaden Lindsey I Eyes ablaze, heart not.

Thump... thump...

It rolls, throbs in our chests, and yet, Where’s the human blood?

The blood, It’s staining red in a red roaring blaze, making, forming, the backdrop of our severed thoughts; Made by us, for us, We lit the match, and yet, perhaps... ...perhaps We belong to the licking blaze Rather than our blood.

II The Phoenix, born from flame, licking, breathing Fire, searing our eyes, scorching our minds.

We no longer belong to the Fire,

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nor does the flame belong to us.

We Are the Fire.

Forming every bloody wing of this Phoenix with our drenched Arms, One Drenched Arm. Born by fire, reborn by Fire: We breathe ash as one, and exhale words, watching every idea boil in the roaring Sun. Talons; our desires.

Beak; our lust.

Coat; our collectiveness.

And we slit every rat, strike every hawk, swallow every ember.

We are Phoenix.

I am Phoenix.

There is only Phoenix.

Only Flame.

Only Fire.

Only Are.

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[feelings & sleep deprivation] you know deep down it’ll never be. you’ll never be the one he spends his sleepless nights trying for; his mind in helpless retrograde wishing for the feeling of your warmth and your breath and your skin; wishing for the way you laugh and the way you hide under blankets during jumpscares even though you’ve seen them dozens of times before. his mind won’t be rattled with the vivid images of how you slept on his chest or the way the moon looked through the dashboard window— rain racing down it under the dark sky as you drove around an unfamiliar city at night. you know you’ll never be more than what he lusts for every other week. you’re not the one he wants to spend rainy Sundays with or family dinners or staying up on the phone with you because the nightmares won’t let you sleep. you’re just the one he thinks about when he has no one else: something easy and naive and way too forgiving. never anything more: no expectations, no feeling, no complications. you wish for more; you wish that the fantasy of him you can’t let go of was the reality. but it’s not— and even though you want it so bad— you can feel the ache in your bones and the longing in your fingertips,

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you know you’ll never be the one. but still you hope, and spend your sleepless nights waiting— waiting for the feeling in your chest to melt away, waiting for the outcome to change. you watch for hours as the grey twilight turns to black and the demure stars appear from their hiding places in the fabric of the sky, eager for the eyes and recipients of goosebumps as the feeling of being small starts to set in. it’s 4am and you are not the one. and maybe that’s okay.

Jamie Norris 33

[bittersweet things that I like to hold onto when the fear of moving becomes too much (among other ramblings)] Jamie Norris it’s time to leave again. you don’t want to, not really. but these are the way things go. home has become forgotten to you as quickly as it became real. you weren’t looking for the things you found here, yet now you hold them close to you in the palm of your hand, desperate to forget the small details that matter to you the most— like how you met. or what her favorite color is. or the first time you saw him truly smile. every place you pass by with the windows down as the sun filters through the Evergreens feels like it did when you first came here all those years ago. you remember every bittersweet moment; the ones that bite and the ones that are too good to forget. you want to remember everything about their faces and their names and laughs and every night you spent on the roof of his car under the moon, or staring up at the ceiling of her bedroom, searching for answers to questions neither of you knew in certainty. it all went by so fast. you wish you could stay. you wish you could stop time and you wish you had more of it. you spend your last few months here in good company you sit with her down at the waterfront on the edge of the dock and daydream about what it would feel like to slip beneath the

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waves and never stop swimming. you spend many nights with him in the passenger seat of his car, eating takeout and watching stupid videos that never fail to make you laugh. you spend so many hours on facetime talking about your dreams and memories until eventually you fall asleep with the time still running. you live every day with them as if you had all the time to be happy in the world, before it all inevitably changes. you spend late nights in Portland sitting at the bus stop and you listen to the sound of sirens and traffic and the sound of her laugh And you feel at home. you spend soft moments on a futon in a friend’s basement, watching the night grow darker and listening to the sound of him talking comforting nonsense in his sleep. you feel the things you had been waiting to feel for a long time. you spend your last nights in an empty room on the floor, stricken without color or familiarity. you listen to the songs that remind you what it was like to be fifteen again, and what it felt like to be deeply in love and how it felt to be hurt by him like you were. you remember the fear you felt when you first came here, and the newness of it all. the growing pains, the excitement and the terror and the mystery of it all. the bitter and the sweet. you watch all those lights pass you by— the ones that seemed so small all those years ago. you think of them. you think of how they’re changed you. and as you gradually move away from this home you’ve grown to know, and the people you’ve grown to love, you remember how it felt to begin again. you spend your window-watching time wondering for what could have been, and thanking them all for getting to know.

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[I Forgot] James Hurst Eyes. -The windows to the soul I saw the heavens and then I forgot I saw the thunderous mountains and then I forgot I saw the sea in all its plenteous glory and then I forgot Ears. -The doorways to information I heard shrieking pain and then I forgot I heard heart strings play their anecdotal melodies and then I forgot I heard corrupt recoverance in a seemingly confident voice and then I forgot Nose. -The floodgates of intuition I sniffed cold misery and then I forgot I sniffed rotting grotesque glutton and then I forgot I sniffed the very fragrance of love and then I forgot Mouth. -The tunnel of influence I spoke life and then I forgot I spoke unadulterated deceit and then I forgot I spoke genuine, young romance and then I forgot Brain. -The gateway to understanding I remembered three point six million I remembered six point six million I remembered ten seconds of every sixty seconds of every sixty minutes of every twenty four hours And then, I remembered That I, Forgot.

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[Coffee Made Me Gay] Juice When I met you I was no longer alone I no longer had to wait each night and count the stars I no longer had to half-heartedly work at my job with boredom in my eyes I saw you walk in and order an Americano Messy blonde hair with a random shirt and some lazy sweatpants We were, are, college students Too exhausted to notice how terrible each other looked Two lovesick students needing the warmth of someone close to them I had left my phone number on your cup Later that day, on my break, I got a text My heart exploded with happiness ‘Thank you for the coffee,’ you said ‘But I’d think it be better with a to-go of you’ And that’s how it started A cup of coffee and me being too exhausted to notice you were a guy I don’t regret a thing, though You made me happy and that’s all I wanted But ten years later, we have a child and a house No need for change, my world is already perfect

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[ Picture Me ] Julia Koeb Picture me My eyes full of the sky A smile a mile wide Sparkling like a glistening lake My hair tied back Its wild nature trapped inside a cage A wild flower tucked in On the left side of my head All eyes should draw to the smile My teeth as white as snow Chin lifted to the mountains So I can breath in the crisp fresh air A valley laid out behind me My back as straight as a pin Head looking straight at the camera Eyes full of unredeemed determination Picture me

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[honey] k.d.

can the sunlight thaw my frozen heart? undo the damage you have caused? it’s okay. i forgive you. my heart shivers a bit, and my hope rockets into the sky. i cry slightly, as i melt and turn to honey.

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[Palm City]

Ryan Bittner

[Romance] k.m.

Our romance is like a morning breeze, Fresh and rejuvenating.

You feel serene and comfortable.

But then the floral storm, Hits our wayward souls.

And I cannot love you anymore.

No more morning breeze, No more violet hued afternoons.

Gone are the days where honey bees danced around our heads.

No more lilac flowers in our hair.

But this romance will never end.

It’s only just beginning.

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[Lavender] k.m.

The cracked and faded walls of my childhood, The wildflowers drifting along the cold, Steel fence.

Dreams I wished had never started, But hoped would never end.

Calm and relaxed, Quiet on the outside, But inside there’s a storm.

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[ To r

tilla

chip

s]

Louis The most beautiful triangle in the world With its cascading ranges of flour, and freckles of cooked wheat Whether given to me from the hands of a waiter carefully prepared and seasoned from the back of a restaurant Or a plastic bag I love tortilla chips

[The beach] Louis The night is dark The light from the moon has died behind the cover of clouds Somehow the sharp sand gives a sense of warm comfort The piercing winds have finally become smooth With you on my back instead of my side I feel purpose in being yours You make the difficult become comfortable And I couldn’t be more grateful

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[Fairytale] Truly Rylander

[a marigold kind of life] m.m Somewhere in between western winds & soft rainfall I found you, waiting for a gentle memory that does not exist, to persuade you of the possibility that there can be more to this marigold life than wilting away, rotting from the roots up.

I found you, wishing for a view more than dirt encrusted fingernails, jagged, bitten nearly to the bone, reaching for the life that those who came before, ripped away from the earth, from you, calling it their own.

I found you, wanting

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better for yourself instead of what you were given. craving the high of brighter circumstances than what made you.

I left you, wasting this marigold life the life that is yours for the taking, the dreaming, the wanting; jagged views and all, somewhere in between western winds & soft rainfall.

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[I’m not quite sure what this is yet.] m.m I give to you what I can give for now, knowing full & well that this lackluster love is not what you seek yet you accept it anyway, with open arms & you say it’s enough.

You say it will always be enough.

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[I Am From] Mahle I am from television.

From summer barbecues in a golden neighborhood.

From easy meals and musicals.

The times I awoke to the vibrating strings of a piano.

I am from Scandinavian ancestors.

From tulips, wooden shoes and blue eyes.

I am from one home, the disconnected place where I lay every night.

I am from a distant twin, a strong mother and a father I have yet to forgive.

I am from always expecting, and rarely getting.

From “what is perfect?� and wanting it all.

From the lazy mornings spent drinking smooth, dark coffee, And six stairs aligned with fake memories.

[Songs of Shadows] Marilyn I hear of it in stories. In memories that refuse to die. I saw line after line of students clad in orange like armor. They were still like graves, which is really what they were. An artifact, telling the horror stories of truth because they refused to be silent. And I heard them, chanting war cries at the top of their lungs. Because what they said needed to be heard, and could not be forgotten.

I heard of roaring fires, flooding through more land than I can imagine. I heard their stories of shadows. But there can be no shadows without the light.

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[Came]

md

When oppression ruled, they came Here For religion, For opportunity Safety They came here fleeing My great great grandma came here Leaving terror and fear behind.

My great grandma was the first of her family born in the US She got the better life.

Stronger and healthier than her sibling because she was born in America With food, prosperity, Freedom.

They left because of broken promises Germans in Russia living separate from Russia.

Volga Germans But then came conflict and men were recruited a for war that was not theirs My great great grand parents fled by sled, in the dead of the Russian winter They faced possible death But arrived Here, lived.

But now people are fleeing.

They flee war and violence and all that my great great grandparents faced, More.

They want when my family found.

But they do not succeed They are enslaved, stranded, hungry and tired

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We came here fleeing They leave their homes Fleeing Why are they not here?

[Cornflakes] I am cornflakes, well actually, I’m just a simple cornflake.

Out of the millions that you pour into your bowl.

As you bathe us in milk, and stir us around with your spoon, every little cornflake is anticipating the meal.

Every one wants to be eaten, but for some weird reason, I DON’T! Who would?

It’s not like it’s everyone dream to be smashed in the tunnel of white blades.

Slurped down the tube of doom.

Then fall into the stomach of boiling acid!

I don’t know about you, but, I’d rather go to Tahiti.

But one day or another I will be eaten.

Every last one of us.

No point in arguing.

Open the tunnel, and slurp me down.

Who knows, I might even survive.

Mia Maggio

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[Sinking In Thoughts] Squish Squish Squash Squash Through the muddy swamp.

I feel the cold mud licking my feet.

But still.

I don’t dare stop.

I don’t think that my shoes will last my dirty boots are sinking fast.

The mud has swallowed them whole.

My shoes are gone in a flash.

I feel the mud in between my toes as I squish and squash along.

All I can hear is the noisy crows singing their screechy bird song.

I pick up a stone all muddy and gross.

And throw it into the lake.

I just want to skip a stone Please skip for my own sake.

The stone sinks to the bottom of the muddy swamp that day.

I am like that stone always getting away.

Squish Squish Squash Squash

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Mia Maggio

[Go Back] Mia Veljacic Have you ever thought about what you would do if you could go back?

Back, back in time.

What you would tell your past self?

How you might act?

If you could go back, would you fix mistakes you were too childish to realize were wrong?

Maybe you would tell yourself not to fall for the one person that would hurt you the most.

Maybe you would stop yourself from giggling at a snippy comment, or just say something to stand up for someone.

Would you stop and say hello to that person who might be gone the next day?

We don’t think about how our actions can hurt others.

We don’t think about how your happiness can cause the people who don’t share the feeling, so much pain.

Just stop for a moment, stop reading this poem Think about what you would fix, what you would say, what you would do, If you could...

Go Back.

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[ Untitled ] Maia Elisabeth You’ll find him smitten under an orange neon sign.

Brick on his back and a girl on his mind.

Tangerine hue pavement under his feet, and cigarette smoke slow dancing out of his teeth.

He drops a few coins at the payphone inside, where he’ll slur all his words as he calls for a ride.

His buddies will pull up in a bass bumping car.

They’ll go back to his basement, hang out, and play guitar.

The next morning he’ll wake up in a messy frizz.

Chug a half full glass of water that isn’t even his.

He leaves the house a mess, it’s a mess worth bearing, because when you’re 22 and never sober you begin to stop caring.

It’s cold in September, well at least in Detroit, and it’s cold in his basement, without the parties and the noise.

He’s still missing that girl, it’s been almost a year since he’s seen her, but while he’s treading snow she’s living an LA winter.

Should he call her, text her, and ask how she’s been?

Questions he’s been ignoring since she packed up last spring.

The thought of that conversation made his stomach shoot into his chest.

So to him, forgetting and moving on was best.

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[Blooming Gold] She was blooming Gold.

A daffodil on the precipice of spring Eager for the warm sunlight on a still frigid February morn’ Her petals to reach into the sky Like the outstretched hands of a child Yearning for the embrace of her incandescent father

Micky S. McCafferty

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[Swamps of Valadir]

56

Ryan Bittner 57

a life without death is not truly living the ones truly living have accepted it as will you long lonely roads empty of people, abandoned homes, buried cities lost to time death is the end of everything the world will combust, the Sun will go everything will disappear as will you an unknown void, an absence of knowing you will never fully accept this death is the end of everything

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Mortiz

foolish men thought there was a way to live forever but the wise have accepted that life is not eternal death is the end of everything

[the end]

death is the end of everything your friends and family will be dust as will you

[m o r n i n g s] Mortiz the sun rises over the trees the light flitters between houses through your muted blue curtains casting a soft glow and birds chat quietly outside your window no one stirs in the house.

This is why you love mornings. the sun had risen through the city the light filtering through windows through the dull grey curtains casts a sombre glow bus, cars, trains, ferries, birds, people all bustled, filled with life she walked down the stairs expecting to see her husband sleeping off the fun of last night she supposed it would be his last for awhile fatherhood was demanding and she reached the bottom she reached the basement her feet planted on the tile floor and there he laid in the middle too still even for slumber his brown skin far too washed even with the morning light no one stirred in the house.

And this is why she hated mornings.

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[our way to fall] Murphy Bradshaw tonight the moon fell into our hands and we looked at it and called it treasure. and yesterday the sky changed and shone in our faces and understood the difference between now and after. it didn’t take every word and turn them against us it didn’t hold me to somebody I couldn’t hold. tonight the snow fell too it escaped our dream ran through the cold ocean’s wishes and held a blue perfect hand. the sky understood every visible promise in a cloud of white which we longed for every time our sweaters were dry and it understood me understood how to find me a clear sound which could remind me in blueness that every day was not completely yours and I did not have to tell you I loved you like this snowed sky that I wanted to hold your hand as the earth curved because I won’t.

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but I did want to love you and I wanted to find a reason and I have one of those things and it is not love it is a reason to live that is all mine it is quiet and it smiles at me and it does not forget to ask me “how do you feel?� it wonders it hopes that I am well and knows that I am not ending because you do not feel the same wind anymore (and I do not know if you ever did). tonight when the moon fell it held me in bright light that failed to keep me warm but carefully kept me in love. in love with the sky and the cold which turned me red without hurt and the wonders which felt the same rain I could have sworn fell on me. and when the sky changed I understood every part of me those parts that couldn’t reach the top shelf but found someone else who could. it is in every white and quiet road every young eye and old hand that is where the sky changed that is where those parts of me are. and I wonder what it is that still ties me to you

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despite the lack of close words and a lack of the bluest truth despite the fact that you do not hold any part of me like they do although I have given it all to you and not them. it is theirs anyway (they are the clouds and the ends of every wave and the wind) I do not have to wrap it in pale blue paper for them to hold it. this is all I wanted when the moon fell when the sky changed I wanted you to know me. but then, like the sky, I changed too. and like the moon, I fell out of shades of blue and into a calm cold. and into this cold ache I remembered every small thing how the grass didn’t hold us or you how your sky never changes and I can see now in this new light that you are fine without me and now that the winds don’t push me now that your eyes are not a color I recall perhaps I am fine without you too.

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untitled honey drips from her cream bathed eyes running gently across her flushed porcelain face staining her heart shaped chin with a lasting residue that smells of fresh cut grass and cane sugar.

nora vanrees

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[for you] nora vanrees Watercolors paint the cerulean sky And I believe, if I fly I’ll probably end up in a place Where the loving light licks At our extended fingertips This is where we are Together, under the early rose stars You are my brightest light Shining in my inky nights I’d reach the shore for you As the lively waves Hold the lengthy days I’d reach the shore for you The sun dawns bleak Shining on my face On your rosy cheeks Our cold but seeking eyes Bagged with lack of sleep Though the salted wind Whispers through our hair Though home is so far away When I’m with you it is right there You are my brightest light Shining in my inky nights I’d reach the shore for you As the lively waves Hold the lengthy days I’d reach the shore for you (song written by nora and her thoughts)

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[sill] rain a. along the sill i sit, capturing the colors of the world. birds of cerulean and grass of basil, flowers of carmine and skies of honey, cotton candy and graphite. each day i spend, inside looking out, but one day i dare to get closer. so i lean towards the glass and press my hand against its cold skin. for a moment i could taste the sweet air and feel a breeze run through my hair, but my breath fogged up the glass and the world became hazy. i tear myself away and lock the window and rest along the sill once more.

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[i laugh too] rain a. you see the stillness of night and the silver blanket against my cheek. you hear the silence and speak its tongue. you feel the cold and the chills running up your spine but you are not like me. i see the crickets hopping amongst us and the trees arching in the breeze. i can see the fading embers rise and fall, and the curious black eyes looking at us from the dark i can see the shapes etched into the air around us, memories so rich i feel the gold pressed against my palm. they dance and laugh with us until they fade into the wind, treasured memories lost in time. i can see the indigos and violets of the vast ceiling above and the mist that stripes through them. i can see the way your eyes dart from star to star mapping out images i’ll never see. i can see the shape of you a silhouette against pale light i reach for you but you fall back and for a moment i see nothing, but then i hear your laugh ring out and i laugh too.

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[Sing] r.w. [day 1] (Ah-ha honey honey) The drive was nice Nauseating, but nice The backseat was crowded and you didn’t know the lyrics to half the songs that played but You still sang Even though everything time you open your mouth your words slur Skip Stumble You sang (Ah-ha honey honey) Socked feet on wood floors Shrieking Giggling They’re having a great time You’re not But that’s not their fault And you simply adore the sound of their laughter (Ah-ha honey honey) [day 2] (When I come back, you’ll know, know, know) The skies are sobbing But you are wrapped in warmth Surrounded by those you Love(?)

You’ve never been in love You think about how you don’t need to be if you get to experience this This type of thought provoking contentedness Who needs love when you have trust (When I come back, you’ll know, know, know) Your hands hurt In a good way They’re sore and ink stained Evidence of your dedication Your participation Your notebook has gained new content today Sketches in your writing journal Writings in your writing journal (When I come back, you’ll know, know, know)

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You’re apprehensive Circles have never boded well for you And you’d really rather not cry in front of these people You don’t cry But somehow that’s worse than if you had Either way Your heart is full Filled with positive affirmations Beating Looking forward to the future (When I come back, you’ll know, know, know) [day 3] (You just can’t say goodbye) Early morning snow-induced excitement Frantic group photos Wishing desperately to somehow capture the emotion evoked in the last few days Through a flimsy photograph Knowing it won’t compare Doing it anyway (You just can’t say goodbye) The car ride back was bittersweet You didn’t sing this time But you took the time to look at the trees The clouds The people in the cars who passed You thought about where they were going Where they’d been Who they were leaving behind Who they were going to see You didn’t sing on the way home But you hummed a little tune to the sounds of Ozzy that blared from the car radio Listened to your chosen sister laugh with your little moon And your lips curled up into a smile (You just can’t say goodbye)

(Songs referenced: Honey Honey by ABBA, Rehab by Amy Winehouse, and Apocalypse by Cigarettes After Sex)

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[Past Lives] r.w.

You have been sleeping for years Then A boy Dancing alone in a Moonlit meadow, Everything looks silver.

Next A single wildflower Lost amongst hundreds Experiencing the first rain of the season, Filling the air with the sweet scent of Petrichor.

Next A girl Whispering little kindnesses into The night, Sending out love to No one in particular and Everyone at once.

Now In your dreams you have lived a thousand lives, Learned a thousand things And now you are ready to wake.

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[Jonathon] Sisi L.W

You’re the boy who died I can’t remember what you looked like, yet I love and miss you Cancer is a cruel and vicious battle Some win the fight but you couldn’t keep fighting Before you left I wouldn’t be able to tell this to anybody After being hurt I built a wall around me Nothing got in or out I would only allow two people in on the other side But now you’re gone You took the wall down My emotions crashing down All the sadness and hurt and loss was bottled up And now it was being let out Jonathon, let it out

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T. Corkill

Two Sides of the Same Coin

One is dry…

Anger There are two types of anger: And the other wet.

Wet anger…

Is when my eyes water, And my voice shakes.

When my legs tremble, Because I fear I can never explain everything enough.

Dry anger…

Is when my face turns to stone, And my voice is razor sharp.

When it snaps with such a force it leaves jagged edges to fuel my pain, Because everything is so completely splintered it can never be repaired.

I would take dry anger over anything else.

It means that I. Am. Done.

Because wet anger…

Means that I care too much.

That my heart is still open, And...

That you continue to break it.

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[I am a Person] Tj I am a person. I'm going to act like it.

I am a person, I'm going to act like it.

I am a person, and I am going to act like it.

There are those who will tell you how to act, what to do, what to say. They will take your clay head and smash it into a very unhappy, lopsided, upset square.

There are those who believe they know how to live life to the best efficiency. They'll tell you, "You're doing this whole life thing very wrong, you know," and they'll pull your hair out of your head and tell you it's an important step in human development.

There are those who will tell you corporation is a natural step in human civilization. They'll say, "No one's quite figured it out perfectly, but we know this is correct." They'll whisper their broken life to themselves in the dark corners of motel rooms three states away from home, hoping the repetition instills a sense of validity.

They'll say cities are normal. They'll say politics are a necessary evil. They'll say a community is worthless on the scale of a nation, three millions strong. They'll say anything else is uncivilized, inhumane, a folly of our great potential. They'll reach into

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your dreams and atomize the quicksilver of your heart. Their withered sense of forward will collapse your lungs and tell you it's the right thing to do. The regality of the starlight behind your eyes will deteriorate to dreck and florescent office light. They'll tell you this is better than galaxies in your head and satisfaction in your belly.

They'll tell you, cut your hair. Keep your gold, buy stocks, get a house, start a family, pay insurance, pay bills, keep a job you'll call a career.

They'll say living in the woods is a stupid waste of your mental capacity. That forgetting corporate run society is like forgetting about eating. It's a fatal mistake.

They'll say living like a Native is living like an animal, apart from worthy thought and fulfillment.

These are people who don't know that they live one of many ways to live. These are those who deny the chance they're wrong about you.

They speak to you, so reply: I am a person. I'm going to act like it.

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[Company] Tj

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[Sunset house] Truly Rylander There used to be a sunset song.

It sang every night And I loved the color pink It was laced through cotton candy words Screamed in magenta fights I hate the color orange It's the color of covered eyes The sound of a bruise And ears that see too much Yellow was my peace Off copper vases Honey voices would bounce and spin In circles they would swirl, Not silenced in the quiet Green was a mystery in my sunset house It wasn't seen very often Not in the plants lining every nook and cranny We pretended we were green But I could never hear it.

So I thought up blue.

It was in my friends’ voices, When they said the words I love you It was the year I met a piano My eyes stayed close As I hid in my sunset house But I saw it all the same Soon I danced to light blues And lilac tunes, And orange screams And yellow laughs And red cries And pink lies I think I even saw green.

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It hid, first in a blue tune of love It was murky And beautiful, Then it was everywhere.

Mossy and lively it grew In every song Every book It was in her voice And her laugh And her cries And her whispers And her screams Her words were green Until one day they turned pink Then orange, Then she was my sunset house I realized I was wrong, I didn't know green I didn't know any melodies I was just banging on keys No more blue Or lilac Or orange Or yellow Or red Or pink And never ever green Not in my sunset house So my world turned to grey.

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[The orange trees have blossomed] Truly Rylander She always smiles like she’s about to cry.

Her ears are filled with orange words Of house alarms Of silent children It was the summer of smiles Her heart was filled with golden rays Her ears were full of orange words Of cricket chirps Of car engines Tears traced orange lines on her golden heart.

They tasted too sweet, Those orange words Of white blossoms Of pollen and honey They filled her mind with sweet goodbyes She was leaving When they fell.

It was the summer of unseen smiles Her heart was full of sickly sweet orange songs Her ears were filled with honey.

And the floral sound of sunlight, Told her stories Of when orange tears met orange words, They hit ground Near a single green sprout Where dry soil meets hot cement And they cry a rain song For the orange trees have blossomed

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[Bubbles and Bumps] Walnut I watch small bubbles of water becoming hotter and hotter until it boils.

I lose myself in the unique pattern of circles surrounding the metal.

Thursday, is it?

Yeah. It’s Thursday.

I am thrown out of my personal galaxy when a familiar presence walks in.

My dad. I love him everyday of the week.

But...I’m still allowed to be frustrated, correct?

He giggles shamelessly with the freshly dyed hair of his.

My mood drops.

I go back to watching the water, waiting carefully.

He is talking to me and I nod, though I don’t listen.

The water is more appealing than his tipsy babbling.

My mood drops more. I go back to my personal galaxy and wonder, dream of interesting days.

He asks if I want to finish watching a scary movie.

I smile and nod. Though I don’t want to. I don’t want to be near him.

He’s giggling at random things, which, is better than stressing about work.

My water is ready. I put in my noodles and watch again. I’m numb.

I’m not happy. Nor sad. I am just wanting to be alone.

I don’t feel safe in my safe place. I feel trapped. The walls close in.

He’d never do such a thing, but I fear he’ll hurt the ones he loves.

Including me.

Thursday. Thursday is a good day. Why? Because the next day is Friday.

Then the weekend. I can relax. I can finally feel safe in my safe place.

I look up at the wall. Bumps. Many of them. The ceiling is interesting.

I get to thinking.

Tomorrow is another day.

Another day, another stress, and another weight added to my back.

But I’ll be fine. I have my bubbles and bumps to sooth me when my drunk dad can’t.

I’ll be fine.

We’ll be fine.

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[Searching for a Question for You] Zach B The is no easy question for this answer I want to have No easy way of getting through this tangled maze of paths and possibilities The walls of this place enclose me Arching higher and higher Until they cut out even the sunlight I don't know the question that will lead me to the end of this maze This question that will either free me or destroy me But either end is better then not knowing which way leads to it Why is it that the one thing I can do Even now after so many twists and turns and dead ends Is hope?

Why is it that I wander each day and night Lost in this labyrinth of corridors and questions And yet I still believe I can find my way out To the answer I need to hear For better or worse The true agony is not knowing how to ask Or which question to choose I don't know what is right anymore All I know is that if I don't ask a question soon I will wander Stuck here Forever in this place of darkness So help me Help me as I cry out to the world and wait for a question that may never come Help me find my way Through this maze of brambles and thorns woven with emotions That swirls around me Making it impossible to move on

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Help me find the question that will lead me to you At the end of this maze I know you are there Waiting If only I could find the question to ask Or the courage to ask it I do not fear the answer you will give I am not afraid of learning my fate I only fear because what if What if I ask the wrong question Or in the wrong way What if when I ask the question That will break these wall around me And send me back to you To the daylight What if it isn't the question I really needed to ask When I ask you this question I don't yet know For this answer I am still unsure of Will you reach out your hand and pull me up To the top of the world Or shove me away What if What if you don't answer at all When I ask this question I have spent so long trying to find Only to have it vanish And leave me back in this maze Searching for a way out Why After all this Do I still hope Why do I hold on to this spark That is my only chance And yet by holding onto it I am in turn held prisoner In this maze of second guessing and emotions This maze of my own mind

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This maze that I created And that I remain trapped inside of But if I were to let go Of this hope I carry with me And this maze were to fade away into nothing Would you not also be gone To give up this maze now Would be to give up you And I’m not ready to do that yet And so I stay Wandering Lost in this darkness Too afraid of knowing even to ask the question Waiting Waiting for a bolt of lightning to break down these walls around me For an angel to come from the sky And lead me to the end of the world To the end of the maze Waiting for you You whom I have never know exactly what question to ask You who know as little of this question as I do I wait for you Here in this darkness To reach out with your hand And take hold of my lost and wandering soul And be my guide Waiting for this question So impossibly difficult to ask But with an answer that hardly matters That will shatter these walls Break the lock on my mind Light up a path through this maze And lead me Out of the dark To you

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[Untitled] Anonymous It smiles Its wicked smile As the shells detonate all around, The noise is that of death cackling.

His breath, The flames of a flamethrower, scorching the earth.

The bleak black brick, battered from a blistering barrage The fiery flames, flowing from a man’s weapon The trenches, like the maze of the Minotaur Hulking metal behemoths, as strong as iron, push for the front lines Yet death continues his harvest Indiscriminate Absolute

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[The Unabridged Version of my Life] Anonymous I know why I like my birthday so much.

I pour out and out and finally, A day people acknowledge it.

[Jasmine tea] You’re as sweet as jasmine tea You’re always there for me When the smiles taunt When I can’t escape the haunt

Anonymous

You’re there by my side When I need to cry Your smile brights up my day It washes the tears away When you’re near I’m always filled with cheer You make the pain go away So if you will please stay You’re as sweet as jasmine tea You’re always there for me When the happiness fades When the pain won’t go away

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[Another Illuminati one because I have no self control] Anonymous

Lit mag.

Six letters.

Homestuck troll names have six letters.

Trolls. Internet trolls. The internet. The internet has conspiracy theories. The Illuminati is a conspiracy. The Illuminati is lit mag. Lit mag is on Earth. The earth is hollow. The moon is a hologram. Life is an illusion, reality is a hologram. Bill Cipher. Bill Cipher is a triangle with an eye. Sound familiar? Hollow earth is a conspiracy theory. So is the Illuminati. It all fits together. If the earth was hollow, it would be a sphere. Spheres are a shape. Triangles are a shape.

The Illuminati is a triangle. Lit mag is the Illuminati. The earth might also be flat. Flat earth society. Three words.

Three sides on a triangle.

The signs just keep coming.

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[The Sound of Rain] Anonymous I listen to the rain hit the roof, getting louder with each minute that passes. I listen to the leaves that sway in the trees, forced by the wind, and the dogs barking, waiting to go inside.

I will miss this. These days are my favorite, when the sound of rain is all I can hear. Once this is gone, what will fill my hours? I can’t leave this melody, or, at least, I can’t let myself forget it.

The rain slows, and I know it is not long before it stops altogether. I cherish these last few seconds before the sun comes out. Stupid sun. He is selfish, taking away my only source of joy in the precious time before the end. I realize my fate is inevitable, but I wish it wasn’t. I don’t know how I will be able to continue on with my life after it finally happens.

I wonder what it will be like, to see the droplets fall, but not hear them land. The sound of puddles splashing, or thunderstorms forming, or just the sweet, perfect sound of rain. I will miss it all so dearly.

Then, it starts again. Oh, the glorious sound! My heart fills with happiness and I run to the open window. The noise fills the air once more, and I stick my head out to hear better. By the time I bring my head back in, little white beads have covered my hair and shine like pieces of a shattered diamond.

This moment is bittersweet. The sound of rain, the happiness I feel, and the knowledge that I don’t have much longer.

I sit by the window, and I listen. And I listen. And I listen. And then... silence.

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[Untitled] Tori Moffett

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[I am From] Anonymous I am from hose water and water balloons Scattered along the street I am from a backyard filled with Bumble bees and a swing set I am from dandelions Watching our wishes float in the air From Christmas cookies and loud laughs I am from long plan trips to Arizona Surrounded by the dry air Unlike the rain I'm used to I am from cozy winter nights Sitting by the fireplace

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[Little Ribs] Anonymous Beep, Beep Eyes up, see a world dressed in white See green veins ooze down my arm Too many to count, too exhausted to try Beep, Beep Feet hit the floor, crisp, ceramic See a mirror on the wall "Think about it, Don't."

See charts on the right, Beep, Beep See a little poster of a cat hanging from a tree, See a mirror on the wall "Think about it," See a wobbly head, See stringy hair, See puffed eyes, See tight skin, See bone peaking out, Beep, Beep See twelve ribs on each side.

Beep, Beep "Count them" One Two Scars on the wrist Three Four Clenched fists Five Six

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"Stare through not at" Seven Eight "I feel dizzy" Nine Ten Sit down, on the floor, on the crisp white ceramic Eleven Twelve "Stop thinking" Beep, Beep Beep, Beep Beep, Beep

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[Untitled] Anonymous I am from the cool breeze blowing on my face while riding scooters.

I am from the black tire swing, and making lots of memories.

From the floral smell of purple and blue wisteria plants.

I am from reading the Christmas story before opening presents.

From Andrea and Craig I am from “buckle up buttercup” and “sassyfrass.”

From going to church most Sundays, eating goldfish and listening to worship while parents are in the service.

I’m from Vancouver, Washington as well as biscuits and gravy and pulled pork.

From going to Disneyland once every other year, seeing Mickey and feeling like a kid again.

I am from many siblings, lovely parents and a lot of love.

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[The Rich Pitch Named Mitch Parts 1 & 2] Anonymous and anonymous

Part 1 The Rich pitch named Mitch Who was a snitch Had an itch because he fell in a ditch So he went to the kitch to get a stitch Part 2 The rich pitch named Mitch Who was a snitch Had a light switch That was cursed by the green witch Who had a twitch that would pinch And she would never flinch

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PROSE 94

[The Burbs 4: A Smooth Criminal Part 2] Abbi Doddridge She dropped the jar to the ground, shattering it to little pieces and revealing...oh wait...back it up. It’s been a while, sorry. To sum things up, the girl last befriended an old lady and Rob, who run a smoothie cart. They were out of their special ingredient, so the girl volunteered to run back to the house and get it. Upon doing so the label peeled off, revealing the alarming ingredient. Not believing what she saw,she opened the jar, which led to screaming and dropping of glass. Now that we’re all caught up...

She dropped the jar to the ground, shattering it to little pieces and revealing...panda kidneys?! Why? Why does something always have to be wrong in this horrendous house? Maybe someone broke a mirror a long time ago, or they buried their black cat in the basement. That’s beside the point though.

How did that little old lady manage to obtain panda kidneys?

They’re going extinct! The bears, not the kidneys, although that probably applies as well.

Trying to refrain from gagging due to the smell, the girl examined the shards of glass to see if there was any other labels on the jar. She carefully picked up a piece that had a white label with small black print. It read, “Product of the Black Market. Home to all your illegal goods. Don’t tell anyone though, or we might have to kill you.”

“Why would they put labels on their products...” the girl trailed off, trying to figure out why the black market would give themselves away so easily.

“Well I guess if they’re selling rare panda kidneys they probably don’t have the best IQ,” she whispered to herself before setting the piece of glass back on the ground.

Maybe it wasn’t as bad as she thought, maybe the old lady didn’t know about the kidneys because Rob bought them. Okay, that’s still bad. Or maybe they didn’t know about them at all. Maybe someone heard about the smoothie business and offered them a secret

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ingredient, handing them the already labeled jar. That’s still kind of sketchy.

That’s it, the girl had no other choice but to confront them.

As the girl began to sprint out of the house, her eyes happened to catch sight of a picture hanging on the wall. It was of the family who originally lived in the house, probably left behind when they were arrested. A dramatic montage began to play of all the things that have occurred because of her unwise decisions. ...Little teenage girls who get curious and end up in our cooking chambers. Wandering eyes lead to bad decisions and even worse consequences. ...Tarts? ...I’ll make you my speciality.

She sighed to herself, realizing that confrontation hasn’t always been her best pursuit. Well, you know, other than successfully breaking into her neighbors basement on countless occasions. With her shoulders shrugged in defeat, the girl turned to walk back to the kitchen, figuring her best option was to clean up the mess and act like it never happened. That’s when her phone buzzed in her back pocket.

“Hello?” the girl answered, not checking the caller ID. “Hi deary, it’s me, the frail old lady. Is everything alright? You’ve been gone awhile.”

The girl’s eyes widened as she recognized the once sweet and gentle voice of the elderly woman. She knew she had to keep up her act of being oblivious, so she quickly came up with an excuse.

“Oh yeah, I just accidentally broke a jar of jam, I’m cleaning it up now and...” she trailed off as an idea suddenly popped into her head.

“Actually, I think it might be easier if you came and helped me. I can’t seem to find your secret ingredient.”

“Oh of course, I should have sent Rob in the first place. We’ll be right there!”

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The old lady hung up, and the girl’s plan sprang into action. She quickly called the cops, knowing that they would get there first. The girl explained the situation to them, and they had people on their way before she even hung up.

After a few minutes, there was an abrupt tapping on the front door. The girl opened the door to find a police officer, and two other cars in the drive way. She took him over to the shattered jar and violated panda organs that were scattered across the kitchen floor. As she was explaining how she discovered the kidneys, there was a large commotion outside. The two made their way back out front to find a chaotic mess in the driveway.

The old lady and Rob had made it home, and the old lady had sprayed one of the officers with pepper spray while in the midst of beating up another with her hand bag. Rob was on the top of one of the squad cars, rocking back and forth in a fetal position while sobbing.

Upon seeing the girl, the old lady calmed down and hobbled over to her. Before she could get close to her, another officer had her handcuffed and in custody.

“What is this?” the woman yelled, trying to free herself from the officers grasp.

“You’re under arrest for the purchase of illegal panda kidneys from the black market!” the officer next to the girl yelled, rushing forward to get the panicked Rob off the top of the squad car.

“I told you we should have taken off that label, Rob!” “I was afraid you would lose the kidneys like you lost the orangutan livers!” Rob defended as he was pushed into the back of one of the other squad cars.

The two then drove off into the sunset, the old lady yelling all the way, cursing the girl, her family, and her cow the whole way.

Well that was quite the semisweet ending. On the bright side at least nothing else could possibly happen to the girl...right?

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[A Kitchen] Andrea F-H

A boy waddled into a warm and golden kitchen after brushing fluffy snow off of his puffy jacket and clunky boots. In this room was the human form of a hug named Maria, and he loved Maria with all seven years of his life as she was his mama.

She looked at him with a tired smile and gestured Valentino over after tying her salt and pepper hair back.

She spoke to him in a gentle tone while cooing, “Hijo, I made arroz con pollo for lunch.” She laid her soft wrinkled hands over his flushed cheeks and nose.

“Can I please please please have hot chocolate with it mama?” Valentino begged while walking to sit on a tall stool in the counter. He loved that they swiveled.

“Yes sir you can… If you build me a snowman when you go back out. Dios mio, how long it's been since I've played in snow.” She chuckled and started the hot chocolate. Valentino was grateful for how much love his mama showered him with, and got a sour taste in his mouth thinking of his father pinching his belly fat between two fingers and talking about portions. Did his dad still love him? He didn't want to be sad because it's snowing right now and that is his favorite thing in the whole entire world, so he shrugged those thoughts off and proceeded to tell his mama about his snow angels. She nodded along while heating the milk for his hot chocolate.

Valentino then heard heavy footsteps as his dad walked into the kitchen with a newspaper in hand, towards the coffee pot. Once his dad poured his bitter beverage into an extra large mug, he started to go towards the fridge for half n half when he paused. The boy saw his father turn, and eye Valentino’s pot of hot chocolate, frowning.

“Honey,” the man addressed words towards his mother, “Valentino doesn't really need hot chocolate with how much chub he has on him. Why don't I just use that as creamer for my coffee?”

The man walked towards the pot with his mug and Valen-

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tino wanted to cry, but was blocked with a hip and a wooden spoon in his mom's hand.

“No Edward. He has been playing all day, and he can have a cup.” She said with a sharp tone. Valentino was confused about what was happening. Why can't he have hot chocolate? And is his dad really going to take it away?

The atmosphere was choking, and the only melody playing was the wood scraping against the metal of the pot. His dad shook his head and set down the coffee with a sigh. “He doesn't need it Maria.

His cousin Alex is way thinner than him. He needs to be put on a diet!” his voiced raised.

It scared Valentino, he wanted to go back to playing. He didn't like the look his parents are exchanging. It didn't feel like love….all he wished for was that it did as he felt his stomach lurch.

“Dear,” Maria forced out between her teeth, “why don't you sit in the living room and I'll bring your coffee to you. We can talk about this later.” She tilted her head towards Valentino and gave a thin lipped smile that looked molded by unhappy hands.

The man he calls father clenched his fingers into a fist and huffed. Suddenly the fingers relaxed, and he rolled his eyes, grumbling a retort, then strolled out to the living room with heavy feet.

The child then saw his mother shrink into herself and pull her fingers up to her damp eyes. Valentino didn't know what just happened. He only knew that he needed to comfort his personal sunshine. He hopped off the stool carefully and pulled his marshmallow jacket off for a comfortable hug. He stepped over to the shaking woman and wrapped his arms around her waist as best as he could.

She lowered into his hold, and Valentino found himself hopeful that his mother was going to be happy soon.

“Do you want your hot chocolate now?” his mother asked, trying to keep her voice even.

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[Seasons] EMKR

Summer: You arrived on a day swelling with heat. As we wait for your ship to dock, a drop of sweat rolls down my forehead, and I rush to wipe it away. When I look up again, you stand before us, the center of attention. As you and your mother(?) walk down to us, I can’t help but question why you would wear dark clothes on a sweltering day like today.

As we shake hands, you stare at me in an empty gaze. After I say I’m Castiel I ask your name, and I barely manage to catch a look of surprise before the mask returns and you reply Hilde. As you settle in and the days start to blur, I find that you have walls that guard you away from all. I wonder what you would need to hide yourself from. In these sunny days, you ease into these surroundings you have found yourself in, and we find a beginning.

Autumn: Leaves fall and crinkle to the ground, and logs crackle in the hearth.

At one point in the season, you join me and my sisters as we meander through the forest close to home. My sisters are content to make their presence well known to all beings, but I stay close to you so you aren’t left alone, and I notice you step carefully and pay attention to the light sparkling through the branches. It’s only when you pause for an almost unnatural amount of time and I look to where you watch that I see the deer. You and I are far enough apart that the deer pays me no attention as it approaches you. The two of you seem to be speaking in a wordless tongue only the deities of old knew. Then the deer bounds away, and you turn to me. The blank stare when we met has melted into glimmering softness, and I remember that you are just as human as me.

Winter: Nights get longer and the days become quieter. My siblings and I decide to have an evening together, and I invite you. You end up

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coming, and, for some reason unknown to me and perhaps you as well, we are drawn to each other. When we eat the two of us sit together and during a joking argument about whether some film is better, you agree with me. As our group begins a game afterwards, we are partners. And when we finish the evening with the movie we had the argument about, I find that my arm is around your shoulder, and as I run my fingers down your arm, you lean into me. I end up being the only one awake by the end of the movie, and at that point my fingers are brushing out your hair, and your head has nuzzled its way into the crook of my neck. Our legs are tangled under the blanket, and I can’t think of anywhere else I would rather be. My eyes close with the knowledge that we are safe.

Spring: Buds sprout on trees, and your eyes crinkle with happiness when you see birds building their nests. The first time your hair is long enough to put up you do so, and I am struck by how young and free you look. As soon as the first seasonal rains end, you break outside and dance gleefully in the still-wet grass from sunrise to set. Your light laughter fills the air, and you seem so happy whenever we are together, so I always make sure that you know I care for you as well. When we first met you seemed so distant, and now you are so alive, so vividly here that I can’t believe it took me this long to realize how deeply I, we, had fallen. We are both alive and so powerful on our own, and together we are so much more.

Seasons later: It has taken a while, but we have gotten better. The memories are not crystal, but the essence will remain. Late at night when all that exists is the two of us at the edge of slumber, we hold each other and are comforted by knowing we are here and this is real. For ourselves, for Shea and little August, we are enough.

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[Seasons Pt2] EMKR

Summer: Insects flit by the windows while I wait to leave the ship. As I walk down the gangplank, I gauge you and your family, and as usual, her Highness and I are the most lethal ones here. She leaves and doesn’t acknowledge me. I hear the ship pull away from the dock as I inspect my surroundings. I’m Castiel, you say, and I look back to you. Your hand extends as you ask my name. Hilde, I state simply. We shake and you smile warmly at me. Dark curls are plastered to your forehead, and your hand is warm as you tug me towards the castle. I suddenly feel reality setting in. This is the beginning of my last year.

Autumn: Your parents have a party to celebrate their 30th anniversary. When the night came, I expected to be alone. Instead, your sisters eagerly take my hand and invite me. Cautiously I accept, and they give me a simple dress. I’m not used to wearing such an impractical thing, but I find the way it floats as I spin is, as they say, “nice”. The party has fully begun when we enter the ballroom, and I follow your sisters down the stairs to where you are. I pause at the last few steps to look around the room, then to you. Your mouth is open in a slight smile, and your hair is weighed down under a silver circlet. You look happy to see me. My cheeks feel warm as I step closer to you. Giggling, your sisters push us together before scattering into the crowd. You take my hand and ask, both nervously and confidently, Wanna dance? We both smile widely when I answer, Yes. Winter: Temperatures drop as snow begins to blanket the roofs of homes.

Whether out of sympathy or something more, you personally help me move out of my separate dwelling and into a room in the castle.

We get closer every day. It was just a little, until the evening I spent with you and your siblings. The next morning changes something between us. As I wake up I realize where I am, and make no move to get up. Then your eyes open, and our eyes meet. Heat rises on both our cheeks, and without thinking I smile shyly at you. You blink, then smile

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sleepily. I shift so that I lay on my side next to you. Under the blanket, you drape an arm over my waist and turn as well. We spend the rest of the morning in blissful silence as I run my fingers through your soft inky hair, and your fingers trace my scars.

Spring: I watch in amazement as leaves fill tree branches and plants bloom in puddles of slush. Bird calls flit through the air whenever I step outside, and the scent of flowers wafts across the grass. The sun filters through the foliage and dapples across my dress. Your jaw dropped the first time I wore it, and I twirled proudly. Something I was once taught long ago and re-learned here is to have confidence in myself. If people ever look at me strangely, I know to hold my head high and continue onward.

Days are more often spent outside and in the expansive gardens. You present me with a flower crown and blushingly give me the title “Queen of Nature�. I smile giddily as the sun warms my face and I press my lips to your cheek. We are happy.

Seasons later: The old weaved crown fell apart long ago, and now my circlet of immortal flowers rests atop our shared dresser, next to yours of silver and blue. Our children will have theirs as well, but for now they are content with daisy chains and shells strung on yarn for royal jewelry. Perhaps in time they will have their own titles too. For now, they are simply the little ones of the Valkyrie of Nature and the Angel of Water.

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[Civil War Sorrow] Elijah Thomas I was standing half asleep, staring at the sea when it happened.

The water was slowly rolling over itself making a serene hum that only the ocean could make, my eyes were tempted to close. I almost forgot about the heavy, new gun poking uncomfortably in my shoulder.

I sighed and as the frosty wind blew chills over my neck, I hesitantly continued pacing this building. As I looked forward, I saw a mile of stone floors. Every 20 feet, a guard was neatly pacing back and forth among the stone turrets. The sky was a swirl of pinkish magenta and icy blue, dotted here and there with wispy grey clouds. Down the giant, horrific building, there were sparkling new cannons peeking through the wall down in rows until they abruptly reached the crashing sea.

Yesterday, I was warned to watch out for any sign of a Confederate attack. I didn’t believe they would attack, Lincoln was just elected, but, Countries didn’t usually attack themselves, they were civil. I thought about what weapons the Confederates might have. I thought about our country, and if the north would be ready if the Confederates truly did attack. But they wouldn’t, they couldn’t, right?

I jerked my head back, snapping it into reality and looked around at the horizon. I hoped this job wasn’t chipping away at my sanity, and continued to pace. All these hours away from home spent walking back and forth between two turrets, what if I was turning insane, I had no one to talk to during these cold winter days protecting Fort Sumter, this was a scary thought, especially considering it could be true.

I yawned, and with my eyes blinking awake, I focused my vision on a large ship in the sea. I thought, that’s odd, for the few months I’d worked here I never once saw a ship come during this time. It had white sails and a sturdy looking wood base. The only thing off about it was a small flag waving steadily in the wind; on it was a blue “X” outlined in white with stars on it, the rest was red. Could it be a Confederate? I checked that my gun was loaded and walked on, careful that my weary vision was locked on the ship.

“Boom!” The deafening cry of a cannon was heard a mile away!

I was startled as all of my wandering thoughts straightened into

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one piercing instinct; survive. I dove towards the nearest wall and crouched. I heard blissful silence as everyone on the building, including me, stared wide eyed at the cannonball as it whirred at the very building their feet were clinging to. I looked to the left as the cannonball demolished the grey stone blocks 15 feet away from me.

This was definitely a Confederate attack. I breathed, trying to calm down and process what was happening. I jumped at every noise and my heart raced, I clenched my fist as a sudden rush of bravery ran over me. Though I was frightened, I was very vigilant, I heard every sound, I felt every brush of wind and my eyesight was still locked on the ship. My heart rate rose as I jumped up from behind the wall, and, with every thought and emotion focused toward attack, shot the giant, ominous, deadly ship.

The ship had now rolled out three cannons, and each one was constantly firing on Fort Sumter and taking out our cannons. Nevertheless I had been doing one thing; reloading and firing, reloading and firing, reloading and firing an uncountable amount of times, each time diving behind the wall to reload. What had earlier looked like a peacefully blue evening sky was now a dark grey eternity of smoke. It loomed over everyone and amplified fear.

We soldiers were still full of courage despite the horrible fact that we were being gradually taken out by the barrage of cannonballs and bullets, one by one. We were all doing one thing, reloading and firing, reloading and firing, reloading and firing.

I saw five other huge ships approaching Fort Sumter and with my fists clenched on my gun, I fired a bullet at each of them. Almost all of our cannons were destroyed by cannonballs and were definitely unusable. The air was clouded with gunpowder and cannonballs were flying left and right.

A feeling of dread came over me as the ships ambushed Fort Sumter with all they had. I had been pushing this thought away from my mind as I fought, but, as I fired my gun at a ship, it came out.

“We might not make it.”

The cannon’s blasts, the soldier’s yells-- everything was a blur as I considered this fact.

I looked over my shoulder and saw cold, waxy, dead men lying over the hard stone floors. I knew I shouldn’t have, but I looked on.

People were scattered around the stone floors, each one with the same cold, horrified face. As if they were trying to tell the few still alive something. Something that no matter how hard they tried or

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struggled, they knew, these despairing, cold faces knew, they could not.

As if I were moving through water, I slowly loaded, once more, my gun. I cocked the back and laid my finger on the trigger. With a lump swelling in my throat, I fired.

The bullet cut through the air like it was guided by fate. I watched it sink into the horizon towards the ship and disappear from view.

Everything was white noise as enemy cannons fired, destroying even more of Fort Sumter, everything but these things, sorrow, grief and pain. Not physical pain, but emotional pain as I watched my fellow human beings suffer a terrible fate. Sorrow is truly the strongest weapon that ever existed or ever will exist. Sorrow.

I thought of everything I had left at home, my wife, my wonderful wife, and my terrific children. I thought of running towards their smiling faces, and never running back, smelling the lush flowers I had so carefully nourished, and having the warm sun hit my face. I would fall to the grass and stare, stare at the bright blue sky, at the birds flying above the windy trees. The wind would brush my face and I would live, I would see the air and the life flowing through it. I would see my house, the one that made me think about my life and be thankful that it’s there.

I would smile, and as I felt the sharp jab of a bullet in my chest, I would see the velvet curtain drop and know that life had served me well.

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[The Fall of 06 Prologue] FlyingWolf_25 Loud cries had been coming from the den at the edge of the pack all morning, and all the wolves were full of energy. Some were tussling about the clearing while others paced around, ears perked towards the den. But one stood just outside the den, tail held high and ears turned forward. He was waiting to see his mate and newborn pups. His pups would carry on the legacy of the pack, he had no doubt in that. Though most of the pups would split off, they would still carry the future of the pack. In that, he was sure. As he came from his thoughts, his ears fell back. The whimpering from the den had stopped.

Eagerly, he nosed his way past the open roots and dove into the den. Through the dim light and musty earth, he could make out the forms of his mate’s pups. Damp and sticky, they wriggled around nearby his mate as she turned to lick them each.

“A fine bunch aren’t they?” Tired and exhausted, she still managed to flash a proud smile at her mate. They were so small, and she loved each of them dearly.

“This one has your slender form.” Gently, he nudged the pup his mate was licking with his nose. The pup let out a squeak, and moved its head towards his touch.

“I bet they’ll all have your fur,” she murmured, smiling as the pup moved its head around in confusion when it couldn’t find her mate’s nose. In the pile of wriggling bundles, one pup stood out. Tail thrashing, and nose wiggling, she pushed her way to her mother’s side.

“That one. She’s . . .” he cut off, not knowing how to put it. He’d never seen a female like her before. She was built almost like a male, and her legs rippled with power. She didn’t have the same color as the other ones and she adorned a raccoon-like chocolate marking around her eyes. Even with her eyes closed, she still turned towards him as if sensing his eyes on her.

“Oh, I see you’ve noticed Merda,” his mate laughed, flicking out a light red tongue. With a smile, she gently licked the back of the young wolf’s mane.

“Merda?” He met the pups closed eyes with his own. Merda seemed to be very interested in him, unlike the rest of the pups who

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were all cowering around their mother waiting for milk.

“Do you not like it? I can change her name,” his mate offered, rolling onto her side. All the pups yelped in excitement as they stumbled onto her. All except Merda who was still turned intently toward her father.

“No, it’s a perfect name.” Trying not to scrape the top of the den, he leaned his snout closer to Merda. “Merda, huh?” Gently, he bumped noses with the pup. “I have a feeling you’ll be a great leader one day.”

Merda reached a paw to his snout and kept it there, holding his gaze. The bold movement shocked him, but he remained there until Merda took away her paw. He surveyed the other pups that were now lying about, their bellies full of milk, and watched in interest as Merda scrambled on top her mother and began sucking.

“Smart too,” he observed as he watched Merda fill herself without having to battle her siblings.

His mate laughed at this and used her tail to curl the pups close to her. “I’m sure Huyung will be thrilled.”

It was his turn to laugh. “Doubtful. He’s planning on being leader you know.”

“I know.”

Silence fell upon the den as both wolves shared the same thought. If Huyung were to become leader, what would happen to them?

“But perhaps it won’t be as easy as he thinks,” his mate declared with a glance at Merda.

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[The Fall of 06 Chapter 1] FlyingWolf_25

Quickly, I dodged a bite aimed at my neck and rolled onto the thorny forest floor. Claws digging into the soft spring soil, I threw myself to my feet. With an open mouth, I reached out with closed eyes and snapped my jaw shut. A smile spread across my face as a yelp of pain rang through my ears.

“Sis, you fight too vicious! That’s the second scratch you’ve given me today!” The rust brown and cloud gray wolf I’d been fighting frowned as he moved his back paw into view. A scabbed cut was still evident near his heel. “This is play fighting, Merda.”

I sat down with a huff and slap of my tail. “You’re not fighting hard enough, Yinda, that’s the problem!” None of my cowardly brothers would actually fight me. Save that for the actual hunting, they’d say! Wound the actual prey, they’d say! How was I supposed to improve if I didn’t practice? How was I supposed to practice if my weakling brothers never fought me?

He furrowed his eyebrows in an expression I saw often from him. It was one of concern for me. I narrowed my eyes, studying my brother. Afraid you’ll get in trouble if you go too rough on me, Yinda? Afraid you’ll hurt me, Yinda? Afraid you’ll hurt a possible breeder, Yinda? I’m just as strong as you, if not more.

“Kids!” We both turned our heads to the sound of our father’s voice. It gave me a leap of pride to see that Yinda looked so scared. Our father, the pack leader, trotted softly across the frost-covered ground towards us. He stopped only when he was towering above our heads. I caught movement to the right of me and held in a snort of disgust at Yinda who was already cowering on the ground. Well, I’m not giving up that easy. I met my father’s cobalt gaze with narrowed eyes. I hope you don’t expect me to give up that easily, father.

“Yinda, Merda.” His voice was calm, but I noticed his eyes flash as I refused to kneel down before him. “Quit your bickering.

Wolves are trying to rest before the hunt. I suggest you follow their example and do the same.” He had directed the statement to-

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wards both of us, but he did not glance at my brother. It was clearly meant for me. Well, I wasn’t about to back down.

“Rest? Shouldn’t they be preparing for the hunt?” The clearing fell silent, and all ears turned towards us. Yinda’s eyes widened as he held back a yelp of shock. Nobody ever argued with the pack leader.

“What are you doing Merda?” Yinda hissed through his glistening white teeth. He was still crouching, but his tail was lashing back and forth violently. “You don’t argue with the leader!”

I ignored him and studied my father’s face. Surprisingly, he didn’t look upset or angry.

Instead, he smiled. “That’s a great observation, Merda.” His voice was full of praise, and try as I did, I could not pick up a hint of sarcasm. Still smiling, he turned to face the rest of the pack who were still watching us intently. “If you would like to prepare, as Merda has suggested, you are well to do so.”

I looked over at Yinda with a grin and raised eyebrows.

Look who’s incorrect now! He glared back at me.

After that, the pack seemed to disperse, and faces turned away from the three of us. My father sighed as soon as ears turned away and he lowered his hind feet to the ground to sit before us. I was awed by his height and size once again, and on instinct I bowed my head. All the grown ups were so disciplined and all knew their places. I couldn’t wait until I found mine! I looked over at Yinda’s face and choked down a laugh. He looked utterly horrified.

“Now, during the hunt you are not to get anywhere near the elk, understood?” I nodded along with Yinda. “You are the future generation, I will not have you killing yourselves off before you can grown to at least thirty nine moons of age.” It made sense, why he was being cautious, but running on the sidelines wasn’t even close to the action. “You’ll stay behind the elder wolves, you will not cross in front of them.” He turned those cryptic marine eyes to me as I huffed. “Understand?”

“I understand,” Yinda and I mumbled with ducked heads.

“Good. I’m going to organize the hunters. You’re to come exactly when I tell you to, not a second later.” He parted from us with a whisk of his gloomy cloud gray tail and lopped over to the edge of the clearing where several male wolves were gathered.

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With a smile I turned and pranced away with my tail held high. My observation had been great, mine! Perhaps my father would allow me more freedoms next time if he saw how valuable I was. As soon as I reached the edge of the resting area, my older brother flew out of the trees and shoved my shoulder to the dirt. I opened my mouth to bite back the force on my side but he pressed my muzzle into the ground.

“Look at the all powerful Merda struggling beneath her attacker! What a miraculous fighter she is, with her face in the dirt!” he sneered, pushing off me with a shove.

I spat out the foul tasting ground and wiped my tongue on my paw. “You didn’t give me time to react, you just came from nowhere!” I barked indignantly as I sat down. He looked down at me, as he was much bigger in size. About two years older than me, Huyung was much more powerful then I was.

“Mhmm ‘nowhere’ is clearly the meat cache.” Now that I looked my brother over, I noticed the red blood smeared along his muzzle. He had been gorging on meat right before the big event.

“You should eat something too, you don’t want to be without energy on the hunt. It wouldn’t be a good first impression if you collapsed while trekking behind the elders.”

“Some hunt, I’m not even allowed past the elders! I thought you said the first hunt was thrilling!” I pawed the ground in frustration, digging deep scars into the earth with my smoky black claws.

Something flashed in my brother’s eyes as he smiled. “It is thrilling, watching the hunt! You get to observe the way the pack works as one to bring down the prey! Then the thud of the giant beast hitting the snow, the shower it sends up!” His eyes glazed over as he re-lived his first hunt. “You definitely won’t think it’s a bore afterwards.”

A round howl rocked the clearing and wolves scrambled to their feet. The whole forest seemed to be alive now with excitement, and I noticed flurries of black feathers in the trees. No doubt the ravens were flocking for the highly anticipated carcass, as they got what scraps we could not finish.

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“I doubt that.” Tossing my head, I got to my feet swiftly.

Everyone has gathered so quickly, and I wasn’t about to disobey my father’s orders. I fastened my pace and easily arrived just as my father surveyed the hunters.

“Where’s Huyung?”

“Here.” Huyung flicked his tail as he climbed onto the rock, obviously in no rush. My father narrowed his eyes, sensing Huyung’s careless attitude as the rest of us did.

He let it rest however, and turned to address the wolves gathered. “Today is one to remember, for we have five new wolves joining us in our hunt.” At this, all the wolves howled in excitement and appreciation. The leader waited for the noise to die down then continued on. “As you know, these five pups Merda, Yinda, Hiru, Luang, and Rulan are the surviving pups from Shinda’s litter.” He couldn’t help but raise his tail in pride at this, and his mate Shinda gave a proud smile at her pups.

I smiled back at my mother and wagged my tail excitedly.

Don’t worry mother, I won’t let you down!

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[ Te d d y B r e a d s ]

Trillian Vieira

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[A Letter From La Conner] Maia Elisabeth

La Conner, Washington is a small town that lines a quiet river not too far from the Canadian border. It is most well known for the fields of tulips that bloom every April stretching for miles and look like the vibrant quilt patches on old blankets. The town itself is only consisting of one five block long street and leads to a old arched bridge that is the color of roses in July. Small coffee shops, boutiques, and other little dusty stores are what surround this street, and the kindest people with the kindest smiles are what you will find inside them.

It is beautiful here, and whenever I make the drive to visit my aunt I am always excited to stay in her river home. She makes me lovely food and lets me play the grand piano that sounds through the whole house. I sleep with her three very chubby cats under a white weighted blanket that she always sets out for me, well knowing I will struggle every morning to get out from under it.

She is a lovely lady, my aunt. Long and lanky like I am with a large mop of blonde hair and a personality that of a sunflower. Yes, I love it here. It is wonderful here, but this time there is a bitterness to this trip.

I have always found it interesting that whenever I leave home it brings out who means most to me, the people I will miss intensely during the course of the entire vacation. In a way, just their absence makes everything I do feel slightly empty. I could be doing my favorite activity, or just anything truly pleasant, but the experience would has a grey hue to it because I wasn’t with them.

“What if you were with me? What would we be talking about?

Would you love this just as much as I would?� are just a few of the thoughts that came to my mind while in lovely little La Conner. I could spend an entire day imagining what it would have only been like if you there. I could write the whole thing, act it out even. This visit was meant to be relaxing but all it gave me was a yearning to be home and with your smile and laugh. The weighted blanket in the guest bedroom felt like a cheap substitute for your embrace rather than a comfortable place to sleep. Every song I play on the grand piano sounds somber without your voice to accompany it. The tulip fields almost appeared wilted even though they were in full bloom.

I made an effort, though, to try and see the sweet where

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there was bitter. I still was very happy to stay up late with my aunt and talk about our lives, and of course I told her all about you. I smiled at the shop owners and bought gifts for you while I was in town. I sat on the edge of the river and watched the Canadian geese fly just inches above the still water.

I suppose this is just a rather in depth and glorified way of saying, “I miss you and I can’t wait to be home and see you again” but it is rare that I feel something and don’t take the opportunity to write about it in great lengths. Nonetheless, although this trip to my favorite little town has been ever so melancholy, I hope one day you can come with me. I can show you the cats and the tulips and the little shops. My aunt says she cannot wait to meet you. I hope we can walk under the skies of another April in La Conner together, my love.

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Airline Peanuts

Anonymous

Jackelyn Reef looked in the mirror. Her green eyes shimmered in the green light. She sighed and turned away from the rectangular mirror. She walked over neatly cleaned carpet to her neatly polished desk. She sat pouring over piles of papers.

Would anyone think it was funny? Would anyone laugh?

She picked up a stack of sheets barely bound together by a paper clip. Various charts and diagrams sprawled through the pages, each one teaching the same thing: how to write the perfect joke.

Her fingers brushed through her light brown waves of hair as she read through studies of humor and the psychology behind jokes. She squinted her eyes through the black frames of her glasses, rereading Aristotle’s study on human reaction to humor, and his brilliant diagrams for formatting. Her head ached as she deciphered minuscule lines of text, with only the light of her dim lamp to guide her.

Her eyes stung and her eyelids grew heavy, but she continued to read. She had to make people laugh. She had to tell the perfect joke. She studied for what was probably hours, writing pages and pages of drafts, each joke slightly funnier than the last.

“Jackie!” a muffled voice called from beyond her bedroom door. Jackelyn blinked her stinging eyes. She looked around for a clock, and realized she didn’t have one in her room.

“Jackie!” the voice called again, louder.

“Coming, Mom!” she shouted. Jackelyn ran down her carpeted staircase to the kitchen. She sat down at her wooden dining table and waited patiently. Her dad walked in slowly, and smiled at her, sitting down. Her mother carried in a steaming pot of mashed potatoes. Jackelyn hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

She dug into her potatoes, eating half the pot. Her parents looked at her strangely.

“Jackie, why so hungry?” asked her mom. Jackelyn

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wiped her mouth.

“Studying for the open mic night tonight. It’s a piece I have to get right.”

Her dad cleared his throat and looked away. Her mom smiled.

“Honey-” Jackelyn cut her off.

“Mom, I know. But I’ve been working on some new material, want to hear it?”

Her mother shifted uncomfortably in her chair, and exchanged a look with her father, who nodded carefully.

“What do you call a legislator with no legs?”

Her parents were silent.

“An islator!” Jackelyn burst into tears with laughter, slamming her fist on the table, unable to breathe. She nearly choked on a lumpy potato. Her parents stared, silent still.

Jackelyn, still chuckling, finished her glass of Crystal Pepsi. Her mom opened her mouth to say something, but Jackelyn cut her off again.

“Mom, I know. I’ve heard it a million times. But I’ve studied this time. It’s a piece I have down. I know how to make people laugh. I can do it. Speaking of which...” The clock showed 6:47. “Fifteen minutes!” shouted Jackelyn. She ran from the table towards the living room, threw on her blue coat, silently rehearsing bits and jokes in her head. She brushed her hair in the mirror, and checked her watch. She had seven minutes. She reached to open the door, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see her father’s grim expression.

“Dad, it’s time for a piece called open mic night.”

Her dad nodded. “Honey, I’ve got to tell you-” “I know. But I have to go! I need to be there at 6:45, like I always am. I’m never late.”

He grimaced. “This’ll be hard to hear, but humor can’t be taught scientifically. It’s like creative writing, it’s not something you can plot on a chart or diagram. It’s… not that simple.

Especially writing jokes. I just don’t think some people have it

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naturally. I really don’t.”

She studied her father. His frame took up the whole doorway. His head almost touched the ceiling. He stared, sullen from his sunken eyes. He scratched his grey-brown stubble. Jackelyn rolled her eyes.

“Dad, you’re not even a real writer. You listen to music while you write, something that’s scientifically impossible to do.

You don’t follow charts, and most importantly of all, you don’t use a diagram.” And with that, she walked out of the house, strolling angrily down the driveway, going as fast as she could towards her school. The cold night air bit at her, but she was warm underneath the blue jacket. She sighed angrily, walking away from the setting sun.

“I don’t have to take this,” she said to herself. “I’m funnier than they know. Funnier than anyone knows. They’ll see. They’ll understand.”

With these thoughts in mind, she crossed the street without looking. The semi-truck hit her head on. As her head cracked against the ground, her mind going blank, she thought, “How can I turn this into a bit?”

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[Spooky Story]

I remember it like it was yesterday… which it was. The sky loomed grey and heavy with rain, the trees were naked without their leaves, and the air was bitterly cold to the taste. I was walking home from my midnight pilates class, yeah you heard me… midnight pilates.

Because it was a night heavy in rain, I buried myself in my coat and hurried along the moonlit city sidewalks. The walk was lonely with no one in sight, and about a third of the way home, I started to get that “you’re walking home at midnight through the dangerous part of town where a homicide happens every other Tuesday” nervous feeling… but I didn’t quite know why. Then it hit me! I was walking home at midnight through the dangerous part of town where a homicide happens every other Tuesday! And as of 12:01… it was Tuesday.

I started into a manic run, screaming and flailing my way home. Bolting past the flickering street lights, over the plentiful puddles, and directly into the back of a man in the middle of the sidewalk who I didn’t see in my desperate flight home. We went tumbling to the ground, me on top of him. I panicked, finding myself stumbling to my feet and apologizing frantically. The man got up and I was horrified as my eyes met the hockey mask that stared back at me.

I let out the manliest high pitched little girl shriek I could before my flight or fight response kicked in. It was fight. I started whaling on the hockey masked man, utilizing the training I had from my three months at midnight pilates. It was an epic and momentous battle!... Which I immediately lost.

He pinned me to the ground, and as I awaited to meet the sweet kiss of death, I heard a voice: “You idiot.”

Blinded by the street light above, I responded shakily “G-God?”

“No!” the voice responded.

Before I knew it, I went from pinned to the ground to the backseat of a police cruiser blaring its red white and blue. And that’s the story of how I got arrested assaulting a trick or treater on Halloween.

Samuel Edmundson (Eddy) 119

[ Collars of Silver

]

It is dangerous to travel the northern road with a troubled heart. Just south of the Andres river is a break in the trees, a place where no bird sings and the shadows hang from the branches with strange weight. On this lonely mile, travelers stay close to their companions, they sing loud songs and beat the drum, for if you are lost to your own thoughts, you may find yourself stepping off the path and into the dark woods. And if you continue, ignoring the shouts of your companions, your feet may carry you to the silent streets and abandoned houses of Aldaran, the cursed city.

The woods that surrounded the small city had been there, long before its inhabitants, and as the first people crossed under the cool branches and leaves scattered across the forest floor, stories emerged. Tales that told of monsters tucking their tails when dusk came out to play and animals that disappeared only to be seen the next day slaughtered.

The city was built on superstition. The buildings themselves were mundane, stone manors for the rich and wooden for those less fortunate. Dirt paths that led through and around; a single cobblestone road that led from Bardugo’s Square past the tree line and onto the next village. But for those who traveled long enough to reach this place, they would glimpse at the strange comings and goings of its people, the thick air steeped in suspicion.

Small lines of salt on windows that got touched up before they went to bed, dried herbs hung from doorframes, a pungent smell of burnt sage that mixed with every breeze that wandered by, umbrellas that had their own special locks in the atrium to make sure not even the slight whisper of breath would allow them to burst free. Mirrors safeguarded like diamonds for their possibility of shattering.

The people held their own superstitions too, about why the summer had passed without a single drop of water, why the wolves only howled during a waning moon, why the wind died after it passed the first couple trees. Most importantly, why they held slivers of silver around their throats.

They were small, delicate looking things, like a piece of silk ribbon wrapped around their necks; and nearly seamless, the latch almost impossible to see. It was what protected them from the things that lurked inside the forest, things that darted across their vision like hummingbirds. Their keen eyes watching‌waiting, to see the crack

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in the collar of silver.

For many years the city held onto their suspicion that is was this metal that protected their people when they entered the woods.

Settling the hearts of hunters who bravely ventured in to gather supplies and heard the snap of twigs behind them or whispers in their ears. And when they left, it was what lifted the oppressiveness that lingered in the dark canopy and slowly ebbed the closer they got to town. It was their circlet of silver that protected them from the unseen devil that slithered behind trees and caressed their bodies with nefarious hands.

And so, the town kept their self-made charms on, placing them on the necks of newborns as their mothers held them in their arms.

But as the days got shorter and nights grew longer a damper fell over the place. Men would go outside only long enough to chop wood or to tend to the livestock, cringing when the swine would squeal too loud. Women rushed from house to house, tucking their shawls tighter around their bodices as they felt the bruised bark of the gnarled branches encroach. Children would avoid the looming shadows when they played. At night when the dogs barked and snarled at the starless sky they curled up next to each other to hold back the whimpers.

Eventually, the salt began to disappear. The neat white lines from windows and doors scattered by a mysterious wind that no one could feel. The dried herbs hanging from entryways vanishing entirely, making wives doubt if they had been hung up at all, but the subtle aroma of chamomile in the air mocking them. Neighbors forbid their families to go out alone and kept the curtains closed to try and staunch the feeling of being watched. Their conversations slowly died, feeling that even a breathy whisper sounded like blaring church bells.

This is how they went; lives steeped in cracking superstitions until the day Cheryl Ann disappeared.

Her friends were found at the edge of the forest, with angry tears streaked down their faces, limp bodies resting against the base of a tree, their vacant eyes displaying their empty souls. The collars of silver scratched and dented.

People asked them questions—questions about why they were outside, why they decided to go near the forest, what had they seen, where was Cheryl Ann? They never answered.

When the girls were brought back to the village, doors were bolted, windows closed, the ample fires in the hearths hushed.

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It was weeks later, the evening glow that seemed to radiate from the clouds when everyone heard the scream. Running from their houses, men carried guns to the copse of trees only to find the lovely blue ribbons that had been in Cheryl Ann’s hair ripped to shreds. At that moment, the forest seemed to come alive, growing tall with the shadows. The little breeze that had tousled their hair, died as a haunting stillness seemed to consume everything like a fog.

The poor girl was somehow alive and screaming for help. Taking what little defense the men had, they marched into the forest.

They walked for hours, watching the sun grow heavy. The search party would have to return soon—they couldn’t risk staying here during the night. They had begun to turn around until the faint snap of a twig made them whirl...then another, and another. It was as if someone was walking towards them, but there were no broken twigs, no movement, no anything. The sound picked up, gradually at first and then thunderous as it charged straight for them. But how could they hide from things they couldn’t see?

Whipping around, none of the men could spot what was going on, dropping their guns to clutch the silver around their throats. It was still day, they still had time—they just had to get out of these damned woods.

It was then that they saw her, standing alone in a glade of shadows as the sickly-sweet smell of fear fermented the air, their hearts crashing against their chests like hammers. They wanted to reach out and grab her slender wrist, but the subtle twinkle of a broken circle at her feet had them freezing. The silver had been removed delicately, as if whoever took it off knew what they were looking for—had watched them put it on countless times before.

But that meant whoever, whatever, had done it knew what they were doing when they watched. Had an intent when it lurked in the darkness, infesting their lives. It meant that if it was smart enough to snatch one girl—they needed to head back to town, now. The thought that everyone was no longer safe seized control of their bodies, gripping them in paralyzing panic that as the dried leaves turned aflame in the sunset did they finally see what hunted them like sheep.

Its black, hulking figure towered over Cheryl Ann—something that should have never been able to exist. A single, shredded talon under her chin raising her head to meet its own blacker than night eyes; and when the last wisps of sunlight fell from the sky, it turned, and grinned, as everything was drowned in nothingness.

The city no more than the superstitions they once believe in.

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Now, if you have been foolish enough to wander from the path, it is up to you to make your way back to the road. Follow the voices of your worried companions and perhaps this time your feet will lead you past the crumbled stone buildings and strange piles of untouched salt. If you are lucky, you will find your friends again. They will pat you on the back and soothe you with their laughter. But as you leave that dark gap in the trees behind, remember that while you may not see it, it does not mean that it does not exist. And should you ever choose to believe in the unknown, count your blessings. For in them you may hear what you have started but also what you cannot finish.

T. Corkill 123

[Untitled] Anonymous There are two types of summers: light and dark. They differ in many ways, and I have had the fortune to have met them both.

Light summers are just as they are named. The air smells of fresh lemonade, and families flock to the ocean as if it was being drained the following day. Colours dance through the misty air, and children in bright tank tops race to be the first to receive an ice cream cone. It is foolish to think that these magical days come often, for they only show their blessed face when they are absolutely sure that the dark summers are far, far away. They are enemies, you see, a well- known fact that you all must keep in mind. The dark summers dictate the light summer’s ability to share its wonder. Every so often, the people wake to see the truly magnificent world the light summers bring.

But, to their despair, this does not happen much anymore.

Dark summers are evil. They drown out the sun and bring in clouds that rain so strong, no child can afford to risk going outside. The air is so thick with fog that nothing is seen unless it is held inches away from your eyes. The melancholy sights send people into a feeling of despair and the sense that they will be trapped forever. It is rather paradoxical that it has been given the right to be called “summer�, for there is no reason to let it accept that title. It is a hated, ugly, and depressing time, where fear takes over the hearts of all who have been cursed to live where they rule.

These summers are unlike each other, opposites, different in an abundance of ways. Be that as it may, they both are equally important. They show the power held within Mother Earth, with the strength to withhold the evil or shine in the darkness. She is a magnificent being, with all we may want, and all we cannot have. She has everything, and at the same time, nothing. She has no ability to experience the wonders she brings to us, no body for the sun to warm, no tongue to taste ice cream. She has no ears to hear the rain, no feet to splash the puddles, no hair for the rain to wet. She is a spirit, an essence, a ghost. She can only see us enjoy her gifts, only watch us rejoice in her beauty.

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As we live within this beauty, let us not forget to appreciate the little things. Let us not take them for granted, but instead embrace them. Light and dark, black and white. They are the same, if you really think. They both encourage the thought of the other, because one cannot exist without its opposite.

And this is where I leave you, to ponder these postulations, to wonder about the things you cannot quite see. These can be the most important things in the world, if you are willing to understand them.

Grow and blossom, because only then can you find the truth.

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[Untitled] Anonymous

The first time in my life I really thought about dying was when I first realized I was lost. I stared out over the ice that stretched to the horizon, wondering how I could end up in this situation.

I tried retracing my steps at first, over the rocks that led down the steep mountain. Luckily, my footprints remained frozen in the snow. Most of the mountain slope was made up of steep rock and large boulders, but every few minutes I would spot a footprint leading in the opposite direction, and I knew I was on the right path. My legs ached, and my gloved hands were blistered from gripping the sharp surfaces, essential for not falling to my death. No one out here would find me. Most people at the station didn’t even know I was here, so they probably wouldn’t even come looking. Reckless explorers went missing out here all the time, I was certain. Just never thought I’d be one of them.

After hours of climbing, I wasn’t sure if I was on the right path. I hadn’t seen any footprints for a while, but there wasn’t much snow. I figured if I kept on climbing down to the base of the mountain, I’d get back to McMurdo.

I stopped to catch my breath, pulling my scarf down from my mouth, warming my face with my hands. My breath made puffs of steam in the air, and I could barely feel my feet underneath the layers of socks. My hands cramped and when I took off my gloves, I saw they were covered in bruises and cuts from the ruthless rocks. I pulled my goggles off to clean the smudges, and looked up, squinting.

I was almost at the bottom of the mountain.

McMurdo station was nowhere in sight.

I scrambled to pull my map from my backpack, which showed in great detail, the area of the frozen land. I traced my finger over the lines, struggling to figure out how I followed the “trail” and ended up nowhere. I squinted at the map, just now realizing how dark it was. I folded it hastily and jammed it into my

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coat pocket, deciding to circle back again to higher ground. I pulled the scarf over my mouth and nose, and the goggles over my eyes. I pulled on my third layer of gloves, and looked up.

Nothing.

Nothing out there, beyond the base of the mountain. It wasn’t the usual sort of nothing I had gotten used to during my first few months at the station; the nothing that was ice, spanning far beyond the horizon, more ice than I could possibly imagine. It was a different nothing. Just darkness, a wall.

I realized then that it was December and that the sun doesn’t set at all. The only reason for the growing darkness was if the sun was being blotted out. A storm.

I stood there staring at it for a while. It was almost enchanting -- a swirling black wall in the distance, that carried with it howling winds. It sounded like wolves in the distance. It would take many wolves to make that much noise, though.

I didn’t know what to do. The storm would be on me in maybe ten or fifteen minutes. I could already feel sharp winds biting at my face, one breeze almost knocked me off my feet. I couldn’t pitch my tent, the ground was too uneven, and the snow would bury me alive within hours. There was no shelter nearby, so I did the only thing I could. I ran.

I scrambled up the jagged rocks, not looking back. I thought to myself, maybe, just maybe if I made it to higher ground the storm will go below me. I knew this was stupid thinking. That's not how storms work, but at least the thought kept me going. I slipped once, my hand sliding off of a wet rock. My knee hit the ground and I cried out in pain. Tears stung my eyes, but it felt as if they froze to my face the moment they appeared. I kept going.

The howling was louder now, all around me, swirling with the snow. I could barely see anything through the darkness. The snow had gotten inside my clothes, freezing me to the core. My fingers felt numb and heavy, and I collapsed. I curled up into a ball on the ground, the snow piling around me, burying me in a frozen blanket. I closed my eyes.

A skeleton stared at me. “James,” it said. “A hundred feet to your right.”

I blinked. My eyelids had been frozen shut, but I slowly stood, shaking the layers of snow off of my coat. A gust of wind nearly knocked me down, but I caught myself and turned to the right.

I started walking. I limped along the ridge, shielding myself from the

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wind with my arms. Chunks of ice were now flying through the air in flurries, attacking me every chance they got. I kept moving. I fell once, and pulled myself up. To my right was a sheer drop, leading down to the base of the mountain. The winds twisted around me, threatening to throw me off the edge.

I saw something ahead of me, carved in the rocky face of the mountain. An opening. I ran for it. I crouched, and rolled into the cave, lying down on the hard, rocky ground, breathing heavily.

The opening to the cave was small, and I could barely hear the wind outside howling. It was pitch dark, but I didn't mind. I must have laid there for an hour, listening to the wind.

I finally sat up, nearly hitting my head on the rocky ceiling. I dug through my damp backpack, pulling out various items that were of no use to me until I found the box of waterproof matches. I lit one, and screamed, dropping it to the ground. The match went out. Slowly, I lit another one.

The skeleton in front of me said nothing. He wore a faded red uniform, with dull, brass buttons and a moth-eaten hat. A silver cross hung around his neck. A British explorer. The empty eye sockets stared blankly at me, and I stared back.

I pulled out a spare sweater from my bag, and cut one of the sleeves off with my knife. I poured a bit of kerosene over it, and figured it would be the best makeshift light I could ask for. I set it on the ground and inspected my surroundings.

The cave was small, with a ceiling just high enough to sit comfortably. The ground was cold and hard, but flat. The only thing of note was the skeleton, who looked as if something had been chewing on his bones. Luckily, that thing seemed to be gone now. The skeleton had a few copper coins in his coat pocket, and a rusted musket.

I figured I could take the musket as a sweet souvenir, but I decided against disturbing the dead. After all, he did save my life.

I chewed on some beef jerky that I had packed, wishing I’d brought more water. I drank the majority of it on my way up the mountain, and I only had a few sips left. It wasn't enough to dull my pounding headache, but it was enough to keep me alive. I unrolled my sleeping bag on the cold floor and quickly drifted to sleep, listening to the howls of the storm in the distance.

The skeleton stared at me. His teeth chattered unnaturally fast. He raised a bony finger and pointed. I hesitantly turned and looked. I saw the ocean, cold and unmoving. Above it, a great wall of ice, towering hundreds of feet. A massive boat slowly moved along-

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side the wall. I stared for a few minutes, nodding. I turned back to the skeleton, but he was gone.

I woke up, drank a sip of water, and rolled up my sleeping bag. I was a bit numb, but my body felt relatively normal, just a bit dehydrated. I packed up a few of my things, glancing toward the dead man. I pulled on my wet boots over layers of fresh socks from my backpack, and started out the entrance. I turned back to the skeleton.

“Thank you,� I said.

He said nothing.

I stood in the snow that engulfed my legs and stretched. The sun was shining brightly, and the sky was blue and cloudless. I looked toward where the skeleton pointed -- the endless flat ice.

I started walking.

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Cover Art “Palm City” by Ryan Bittner Wordsworth Literary Magazine Spring 2018