The burgeoning intellectual spirit of Xavier is represented in the following pages . Unlike some literary magazines, this edition of Lexicon does not have a tangible theme that can be derived from its contents There is no aesthetic that we have chosen or abided by . This will be evident in the lack of continuity among the pieces . I think that's a great thing There’s an implicit undertone within the chaos of this edition, and if we put on our meta-analysis goggles we’ll find what makes this publication so incredible: the synthesis of countless stories, backgrounds, and attempts at each literary form compiled into one high school’s magazine .
As my fellow editor and I conclude our final year at Xavier, we’re looking towards what unifies our experience at Xavier The Lexicon, and more specifically, the 2026 permutation, embodies the chaos of vastly different people unified under the banner of one community In this year's Lexicon there are war stories, fantasy adventures, haikus, and sprawling meditations just as in Xavier there are people from Sunnyside, Tribeca, Flatbush, and Yonkers
First, special thanks to fellow editor and my friend, Jay Gress, for single handedly threading the needle by putting all of the pieces together with proficiency and grace on software he was learning how to on the job! Of course, without the administrative and literary stewardship of Ms Gannon and Dr Shapiro there is no Lexicon and no amount of wordsmithing can adequately thank them for their patient oversight Before you dive in, I’d like you to put your meta-analysis goggles on to ask: how do these pieces tell a story about our world, and more specifically, how does this publication reflect a side of Xavier life often unseen?
~ Thelonius Bennett, co-editor
FISHING FOR PEACE
ARCHIE CALTABIANO
While others are sleeping, my brother and I are making our way up Chambers Street The walk to the train stretches out in slow intervals at this early hour . Every step is a burden and going to bed would be easy When we finally arrive at the station we wait for what feels like an eternity for the train to arrive When we finally board, we get a seat pretty easily On the subway I sleep against the plastic seat while my brother wakes enough to keep count of the stops Then I feel a thud on my shoulder I know it is my brother waking me up and telling me that we have to get off at the next stop The rhythm is familiar to me now I wake quickly to my brother's touch and the voice over the intercom saying "81st Street Natural History Museum" and follow my brother out of the subway
When I walk up the subway steps, I get blinded by the sun The world changed while my eyes were closed After adjusting to the sun we walk through the busy streets in search of a food truck We enter Central Park and the city becomes muffled . Birds have replaced the honking of cars The wind blows through the trees Joggers pass us, early in their routines We stop at the
food truck to get water bottles before our climb to the castle On our walk through Central Park, we go around the rocks and through the thick shrubs until we reach the hill that stretches out before us that leads to the castle
Each step, the muscles in my calves tighten with an ache I stop to take in a slow, deep breath of air, trying to find my rhythm again . As we reach the top my legs ache, but the view is well worth it The pond is below us, steady and still Trees surround it, just beginning to bloom In the background, skyscrapers pierce the sky Once we get close enough to the ledge, we leap down, our feet hitting the dirt as we begin to climb down the lowest point We walk through the grass and brush until we reach the location closest to the water The water reflects the sky above so perfectly that it looks like a window to nothing at all
We cast out our lines, watching them fly through the air so elegantly I put my line in the water, watching the lures sail through the air landing with a plop, then we waited A lot of people don't like waiting But the silence is calming, it gives me the ability to feel a sense of relief from the outside world that can put so much pressure on us Fishing forces
patience It forces you to sit there with your own thoughts instead of running from them School assignments, expectations, social pressures, the constant comparison that comes with social media All of it seems to shrink beside the water Out here, none of that matters The fish do not care about grades or achievements The pond does not judge It simply exists Then, finally I feel the line jerk and wiggle My hands are sweating, waiting for the fish to yank it
Then, the line moves .
The rod bends, and my hands grasp the rod tightly The fish is biting, and I pull the line in My brother moves the net while I continue to bring the fish in The water splashes as the fish fights, and for a few minutes nothing else matters except the tug of war between me, my brother, and this fish My brother gets on his knees and scoops the fish out of the water My arms shake as we bring the fish in A quick photo, a quick weigh-in and the fish is gone, sliding through the water, the ripples calming the water's surface
After the fight we go right back to sitting in silence
That return to silence is what I love most The excitement goes away, but the
stillness remains The adrenaline from the fight puts me back on the path that I feel in every other aspect of my life: trying to get good grades, proving myself, feeling that rush It can also seem that the ambition I feel in the city doesn't go away It's still a part of me But sitting by the water helps me to see it more clearly When you're always chasing something, you burn out When you do nothing at all, that would be wrong too Fishing shows me that the two can occur at the same time
As we pack up to go back to the subway, the city erupts around us once again The pressure hasn't gone away My responsibilities are still there But they're manageable now Taking some hours to do nothing isn't me avoiding my ambitions; it's me allowing myself the space to think them through correctly
Most people think of a spring morning as a time to sleep in
Mine begins with waking up, not just waking up from bed, but waking up from the constant rush that's been filling my mind Sitting here on the quiet water in Manhattan, I've come to realize that stillness isn't about avoiding ambition; stillness is about taking a step back to understand ambition
SELF PORTRAITS
WILLEM GOEHL
PATRICK EARLS
STUDENT LANDSCAPES
JANISON SUACO ARYA RAJMOHAN
REVOLUTIONARY MEDITATIONS
THELONIOUS BENNETT
A dewy mist washed over my face: I had no blankets At first I thought it was an autumn breeze Instead, it was a ubiquitous flashing of snow Past the oscillating fogs down over the hill was a violent, maroon sun whose reflection painted my eyes with tears This part of the earth doesn’t usually get a lot of sun, its presence acted as a reminder Perhaps there was humanity so far north rather than just corpses of deer and other game The wooden planks that I assembled beneath me were creaking, begging for reprieve Their shouts were deafened by the wind My back and tendons brutally contorted as I lay awake under incessant storms and calamities
At least I’m alone now, no ignorance imbued with the most insidious grimaces and attempts at rhetoric The period of speech was over Silence rolled over my arms and over the back of my head into the pockets of my soul, an emptied canteen left to dry for unchecked seasons These were the powers of isolation This place is not real, the mountains are mirages of beauty, the freezing cold barracks are just a consensus of my mind to play hobgoblin tricks on me The winds are the only voices I hear; whispering of ceaseless decay and the inevitable end of this road I can’t run for this long and expect to find a red flag; especially not a white one Flags imply the presence of a post and where there are no dreams there are no posts There are no capitol buildings, no post offices, no white picket fences and barren ground only to be fertilized by the fervent spirit of naive dreamers The idea of the nation sings loudly to those whose eyes are mere postulators He questions and makes logical assertions from these structures of power He will never have power,
such things are passing and quietly whirling sighs out of the final holdouts of the conquest for humanity These are all things especially noticed in my place of residence, for the silence that clouds my canvas of experience highlights the absence of color Dreams on the other hand, are never in black and white, they protrude against the edges of the canvas and sharply assert their audacious presence The mist never allows for courage, at least not here Perhaps there's a place beyond where I can lay my head; maybe when I am in the twilight state between dream and wakefulness I will see color one last time Oh! How I would love to see red one last time
I am writing these meditations because I am a traitor For just a brief moment, between the planks of time where the whales and hummingbirds whisper furtive gossip, I questioned the validity of the revolution I abandoned the final defence As my unshaken fortress exerted its shadow over the sea and into the future, I left it to crumble into a cacophonous pit of despair It is now that I write from the mountains in an undisclosed region where even Cain dares not tread
Despite my efforts, my labors are often trivialized by the absurd timings and proclivities of nature She is both thesis and antithesis Her woods build my shack and her winds crash it down Her Together, we create a dialectic, a relation, but due to my treacherous history and burdensome nature she crushes my spirit and sometimes my shack with it I fled from the revolution in New York City and I ran as far north as I could I haven’t eaten anything except dry roots and rotten algae and if it's a particularly harsh night then I will nibble on the
final piece of bread that I have in my pocket I’ll never finish it because it is the last memory of our conquest, our liberation front Humanity began with bread and ever since the dawn of history its harvesters have tried to reclaim it
I keep the crumbs and the final piece of this rotten bread as a memento for that struggle for millennia It was to be the final struggle
Despite the fact that the very fabrics of our material reality have become barren, the seeds of burning, pulpy, human revolutionary rage can rise and its harvesters can be fed Perhaps that day will come, but until I feel the vicious rays of a maroon sun over the horizon, over fortress zero, only then will I feel it to be justified to sigh To finally shut my eyes and indulge in dreams of flashing red and white polka dots across a barren sky Perhaps that day will come I hold onto a lingering reverie of Niagara Falls I was almost always there when it was winter and around the time of Thanksgiving My uncle had a quaint, compact but inviting house with eight rooms all fitting into one block in the vast anathema of suburban life The streets did not have street lamps, only tightly packed front lawns and sometimes unpaved roads with the rosy lights from windows unrequited with a distinct wind of long stretching out onto the concrete I remember my coat was never enough to toast me or lead me into a thaw from the freezing breeze of the waterfall outdoors When I would walk alone I’d have to hold onto the very muscle fibers of my chest to maintain warmth The breeze penetrated my heart like a saber, puncturing it until it was empty I always thought, this is a pleasant vacation but I could never find myself living here The winds were too loud and the people carried an invisible weight, a disposition of belittlement with pride only a sin instead of sensation However, the ambience of the falls was a constant stream of nature's life pouring into an otherwise asphalt
maze of boredom I never thought in such a brutally cold place people could smile without the creases snapping into thin pieces of ice
As I spent more Thanksgivings I found value in the cold, the geothermically desolate My body froze, my heart healed its wounds of alienation via the accompaniment of my family These were my first comrades, the ones who despite their apparent bourgeois ideology, were the first to shine the beaming sun in my face The cold is not merely a place of alienation but can revitalize the strength of our wills My family taught me this well as I ate, spoke, cursed, laughed and teared up when it was time to leave I hold these warm window’s lights which pierced into the most hidden compartments of my soul as lights to guide me through this harsh winter I may be alone this time with the rotten oak wood gradually infecting my hands with blisters, but in the first ever pages of my constitution is an ember unwilling to capitulate to the stabbing breeze The embers of my memory, of my first experience with the constants of nature, the waterfall or the morning dew of grassy meadows, left me with a hearth enshrined in the very fabrics of my existence
You may now be wondering what these collections of seemingly unrelated meditations are meant to signify Perhaps you’re asking: Who are you? These are questions I will answer at a later time However, I will provide that these meditations are the final extensions of my thoughts and regret I can’t bring myself to commit suicide despite how much I think I should . The very reason for my being, the final task I set out to complete, left in disarray while leaving little hope for the human race because of my colossal failure I was a revolutionary and I let the revolution die
So here I am out in the woods making my final contemplations I could have fled to a city and perhaps started a new life
Take on a disguise and mask my own humanity under a disposition of dreadful, bourgeois self hatred I could indulge in the spectacle, buy expensive wines and indiscriminately turn through romantic partners as I commodified their existence through my raging, socially acceptable fetishization of them Women could have been mere puppets to my own primordial urges and alcohol could have been the lubricant incubator to it all The grey hats and homogenous characters of bourgeois society could have taken me as one of their own; I could have been the final double agent against humanity and for the deepest pits of abyssal profit But, I chose not to At least I still hold the burning moral convictions of youth
My heart aches for the justice I used to feel, now I simply feel indifference which is why I sit here jotting against the backdrop of an ever encompassing black sky I led the IWA for five years in the greatest endeavor mankind has ever seen . Now I have joined the likes of Cain as a stranger to the earth . I was once one of her soldiers until I, for just one second, doubted the social relations man holds to nature and labor, and then I became one of the damned I doubted the historic role of the proletariat and the indisputable laws of historical materialism I doubted that humanity could be freed from its chains; it only took a second for history and ideology to crumble in on itself, leaving a battered corpse of humanity and the death of me
I hope that this piece in my final notebook can serve as a means for me to tackle the final quandaries of my life, my final contemplations as the blazing snow usurps the outline of my body With each meditation I will write a fragment of my philosophical thought for the dirt, maybe people will find these texts but that's not the reason for my attempts of literary prowess, which in itself contains a most idealist character When I was alive, I only published political or economic works I wrote or co-wrote all party documents,
posts, theoretical documents and analyses of modern day political economy Never in my life have I even tried to dedicate my life to poetry, until now I used to think it was a bourgeois accessory and an expression of bourgeois leisure The poetry I read as an impotent college student reeked of a stench of bourgeois ignorance and idealism It portrayed existence as this beautiful, gargantuan experience that through our capacity for a higher consciousness or “god” can the beguiling compartments of life be realized I quite frankly detested it all so I never took time to read any poetry unless it distinctly held proletarian qualities
Although in my more naive younger days I enjoyed Nietzsche and Camus; their gall and incredible analyses of the individual sparked my interest in philosophy and eventually led to my discovery of Marx There were periods where I would reject these thinkers as I was fully committed as a soldier to the class war, to the philosophical essence of Marxism and its incredible poignant and honest analysis of our increasingly despairing, duplicitous world But as I have aged I have little time for analysis My life and history has moved beyond the need for it The historical conditions for a revolution have passed and so has the need for analysis I have escaped the world that could be analyzed As I begin to dwell in the epitome of the median state of human existence, the time for my voice to be a voice for echoing material truths and critical observations has passed I don’t live in the city anymore I live in a shack where its wooden bed lies croaking in its decrepit misery, where the fist of the wind is my alarm and the night sky is my constant reminder that I am a dying creature whose only inevitability is to be food for the worms
I have no idea where I’m positioned geographically I’m vaguely north Similar to how for much of man’s history his life would take him either east or west Directions had economic implications embedded into them The language of directions used to hold endlessly encrypted messaging that eventually led right back to the beginning of the logical supposition But before the irrational end of the linguistic alleyways were met, every word carried a weight that directed you somewhere In the 16th century, west carried you to gold and silver while east carried you towards tea and spice Now when I say I am “north,” I mean I am at the edge of the earth I am beneath the sky but am above social realities Not to suggest I have ascended in a sophist or metaphysical sense but to suggest I am no longer living a human life I am not a relational creature, I am only in relation to the ground, the sky, and to pain I live alone, begrudged to wake up every day to the wind barraging my face with indecipherable messages except a pure natural state of rage In other words, no words I can say will help you find me because I am about to die not in any place on a map but simply “north "
This diary is the last expression of my dreams, my thoughts, any inquiries I never wrote or cared to contemplate because I am at the face of the shadow Capital can no longer privatize how I perceive reality and myself but its primordial brother can I face it down every day when I feel the urge of hunger or the dream of rushing the streets with M16s and Red Flags, rushing towards the stars as valkyries for essence itself
These are mere flashes of red under my tired eyes, just attempts at a crystalized image as it remains a fragmented memory I faced this shadow down
the barrel of a gun, under the fascist warships and now under my own shadow and reflection in the freezing lake It cannot be personified because it is the opposite of anything human Human life is the constant struggle against it It predates class because it is the fundamental basis of existence; it is survival itself It is the ember of our existence that is so deeply locked within our spirits that it is unbeknownst after we occupy ourselves with the accessories of life It is hidden within the vast, asphalt fortress of my mind and only as I have lost the layers of my humanity, has this grimy apparatus begun to fall, revealing the smallest ashes and only memory of inferno Soon it will take the very foundation of my being
The concave of the abyss is widening and I am slowly being dragged by its visceral, invisible hand, into ground and eventually underneath bedrock The hand takes the form of a child, I have seen it in my dreams It holds your pinkie and it never applies any force, it reminds me of walks with my father as a child as I would go to school . I only held on to the smallest portion of his hand but yet I was guided These walks were brisk but also patient in their multitudes of steps and conversation My father let me speak, my dysfunctional child voice allowed thoughts to gradually flow into the air as do butterflies It’s a slow yet beautiful process, I am consumed into the vast layers of my guilt and memory They are all I have left Before I was a man of action, of fiery tongue, of speech with a propensity to dream – a vast net that could cast the burning sun dredged into the corners of my mind Perhaps the abyss is my final liberation Liberation from the aching pain of fire and dreaming
BACK THEN
THOMAS MCGRATH
I used to laugh without a care, Running wild, no hesitation
The world felt light, like open air—
No stress, no fears, no expectations
Now I pause before I speak, Fix my hair in every reflection
Wonder what they really see Wish their thoughts could be inspected
Back then, life felt easy, Now everything has to mean something .
I miss being a kid, just having fun When “worry” was just a word, not a feeling .
TAUNTING PLEASURES
PAUL ESPOSITO
Taunting pleasures run off into Summer’s tranquil arms, tempted to follow and escape Winter’s harsh cell . Though requirements keep us chained to despondency . Together we yearn for Summer’s embrace, tolerant we stand throughout challenging days .
Times like these are yet temporary .
TWO HAIKU
ADEL ABED
As the pond rumbles
The sunshine is bright in the Sky Woosh! A melody in the air
Ring! Alarm is making sound
Wake up with a morning frown Depressed
WHISPERS OF THE TIDE
HUDSON DEW
Today my brother and I had turkey sandwiches on rye bread with swiss cheese and a little smear of mayonnaise Down the street, the large, rusted bronze bell mounted on the steeple of Union Church resounded, the wind carrying its commanding tune into the windows of surrounding houses Upon its majestic wings carried the promise of a delicious lunch, and a restless reprieve from the expansive beach and the bone-chilling cold of the sea The soft crashing of waves along the sandy shores was drowned out momentarily by the bell, quickly returning after the echoes of brass hurried swiftly across the tides A recent coastal storm had mucked up a legion of red seaweed, casting a crimson shadow over the waves After speedily downing our delicious sandwiches, my brother and I rushed down the stairs and burst out the front door, greeted by the salty August breeze and commotion from our friends outside on bicycles We sped down to the shore as fast as our pedals could spin, with the only thought in mind being the crashing waves and warm, shifting sands Boogie boards strapped to our wrists and bathing suits tied at the waist, we sprinted the seemingly endless distance from the dunes to the water's edge, each millisecond a year
Water has no memory The lapping waves and restless tides have seen many men come and go, and not uttered a word . Brave and valiant soldiers have lost their lives fighting for nations that cease to exist a decade later Seafarers and explorers have discovered new lands and conquered new territories, yet their wooden and iron monuments of achievement
sink to the bottoms of the vast seas, now relics of a forgotten era Empires have risen and fallen, and yet the dark azure fields of the Atlantic and Pacific remain Who’s to say what the seas think of us In the grand scheme of things, we are merely grains of sand in a vast desert, newborns only catching their first glimpse of life
My first memories of Biddeford Pool still remain in painstaking detail, tattooed into the very fabric of my mind I was five years old My grandfather and I scoured the beach for stranded crabs and mussels abandoned on the shore by the receding tides One particular crab still lingers in the caverns of memory, it was stunningly cerulean, with streaks of green and blue splattered along its back, mini galaxies in a greater universe In the background, the waves continued to crash, constant and consistent The next year I lost my grandfather to prostate cancer The sea stood silent anyway, unconcerned by the death of my grandfather who loved it so dearly One night when I sat at the rocky point on Orcutt Street, fishing late at night, I heard his voice calling to me My socks soaked, having caught maybe a porgy or two, he calmed me with a soothing lullaby, a reminder that his essence will always lie in the ocean and in the small beach town he left for us Each crash of waves, a step we took together along the beach that day Each lap of water kicking and careening off the craggy granite pillars of the point, a final piece of advice from beyond the grave I’d like to think each misty, salty breath I take while riding along the beachfront is one more breath I take with my grandfather
I am eleven years old Two weeks prior my father and mother sat my brother and I down to tell us important news I came out of it with a new PS4 and two “homes " Maine was different that summer My father was there for two weeks, my mother there for the next I vividly recall anxious phone calls, outbursts of anger, tears shed in the dead of night Yet, each grain of sand on the beach remained the same beige and yellow The towering green oaks and vivacious red roses bloomed Union Church still rang the bell at 1PM, and lunch was always prepared My friends still pedaled up to my doorstep, incessantly ringing and knocking on the door until I emerged from the house The sea still embraced me, chillingly cold on touch but comforting with time My problems at my new homes melted away, and all I was left with was an urge to explore the woods behind the golf course with my friends, to sneak out at night to visit the girls in the neighborhood, and to be one with my home
I am now seventeen years old I always found the expression “time flies” to be cliche, but sitting here now I can’t fathom where all those summer days ran off to I still go to Biddeford Pool every year, and those same friends that camped out on my stoop after lunch now pull into my driveway in new Fords and Kias We now know every inch of our town like the backs of our hands, but we still make efforts to explore Those same girls we snuck out to meet, we still sneak out to meet, building raging bonfires on the beach to keep away flies or driving down to Kennebunkport for ice cream and concerts Since I first arrived in Biddeford Pool, four different presidents have been at the helm of the government, the Chiefs and Patriots have each won three Super Bowls, and my Yankees have yet to win one Wars have been fought across the globe, pandemics have raged, who knows how many new Iphones have been launched, and yet, the same tides that deserted crabs on the sand
still recede each day Despite coming under new management, Goldthwaite's looks identical, and they still sell the same delicious chocolate muffins I ate for breakfast for the past decade Every Fourth of July fireworks ignite from inland, lighting up the night sky with reds, whites, and blues The ocean is still salty and silent
It is funny how we find solace and comfort in the small moments In a world where technology is ever-evolving, job searches and college applications demand our attention at all times, and social media has made life digital, certain constants give us stability A quiet lunch by the beachside, water caressing your toes while seagulls fly by A deep, calming breath taken in the comfort of bed after a long summer day Bells ringing Waves crashing In many ways, the smallest moments can be the most captivating Sure, memories of accomplishment and success bolster our confidence and inflate our egos, but the small, underappreciated flashes of family, friends, and simplicity seem to rise over the rest As I grow older, I realize how fleeting my moments truly are I know I am young, but I also know that as age grows so do problems I know not what lies in store for me in the future However, I know my world will look drastically different in ten years In twenty years . When I lie in my hospital bed, monitors beeping, an air conditioner purring in the top right corner, IVs running in and out of my arms like Twizzlers Yet, I am comforted by the notion that the crimson yellow sun will cast its warm embrace across the blue sea I am comforted that kids will ride their bicycles through the streets of Biddeford Pool, balancing ice cream in their right hand and yelling to their friends to slow down I am comforted that whenever I need to, I can return to my home and be with my grandfather one last time . So keeping this in mind, I try to take a moment every once in a while to smell that salty air . To curl my toes in the sand,
appreciating the warm comfort it brings To eat a turkey sandwich with my brother at 1 P M
One day I will not walk with the same youthful vigor I have now . I will amble around, debilitated by arthritis or back pains, watching my children run along the beach, searching for crabs and oysters One day I will no longer join my friends at the bonfire, rather staying home to focus on work I will watch with a tinge of sadness as my kids burst out through the front door, a world of adventure calling out their name One day I won’t drive my car to the Point to watch the sunset with my best friends, the expansive Atlantic wrapping from North to South The sea will silently observe, an omnipotent god bound by a pact of silence One day I will look out, and its serene eyes will gaze back at me, inscribed with the pale light of a full moon I look forward
to that day In that moment I will realize that getting rejected from my dream college, getting denied to that one job, breaking up with that one girl, were all momentary and trivial steps in a greater journey Every new apartment, president, parent or parent-in-law, a blink in time compared to the stagnant and everlasting divinity of the sea One day humans will be gone, the rowdy noise of kids and blaring ramble of speakers reduced to silence The sea will again be left in solitude, alone for the rest of eternity The tide will rise at four and recede at two, as it normally does in August . In the winter, a thin layer of ice will settle on its skin, collecting snow and enveloping it in a massive white blanket And when my footsteps fade, and the tides reclaim the shore, I will have lived knowing that the sea, eternal and unyielding, will carry my story forward, written in the whispers of its waves
NIGHT BEACH
RONAN HIGGINS
BROTHERS
DANIEL MARSHALL
STEEL AND SINEW
MAXIMILIAN ELIZAITIS
The bell rings, and I don’t head home . Home doesn’t feel like anything anymore
Instead, I trade hallways for city streets
Classrooms for the dirty rooftop
It’s not just sweat it’s survival
Push-ups, pull-ups, ruck runs I pour everything into them, every ounce of anger, every piece of sadness, every question with no answer
The weight bites into my palms, the pavement burns my legs raw, but it’s better than feeling nothing The strain drowns out the thoughts, the ache reminds me that I’m still here, still moving, still something
The others joke and laugh, but for me, this isn’t just a team
It’s the engine keeping me alive, a V8 roaring under a hollow frame, fueling a body that doesn’t know what else to do with itself
Out there, I’m empty
But here, I’m purpose
Here, I’m push-ups and sweat stains, mud-caked boots and pounding lungs
I’m part of the machine, and when it moves, I move
Push ups on concrete, until my arms shake, until my breath is ragged, until my body and my mind are too exhausted to think about anything else
Burpees until the world blurs, until the only thing that exists
is the next rep, the next movement, the next second where I don’t have to feel anything but this .
Steel and sinew, sweat and silence, grit in my teeth and fire in my chest I don’t pray, but I do run, and maybe that’s close enough .
I don’t know if this will save me or is it just keeping me from falling apart
Maybe it’s both
Maybe it doesn’t matter .
Because as long as I keep moving, I don’t have to stop and wonder what happens when I don’t
EYE WIDE OPEN
SAM RYLAND
LAST WAR OF EUROPE
JAY GRESS
Walking along the coast was a scavenger's best bet to find anything of value Supplies would wash up to the shore, and with that you’d be assured trinkets, food, and goodies galore I’d mostly look for the food aspect A dented can of English beans, or perhaps a salty fish brined by water along the stream But what I never expected to find along these dying shores were two Englishmen who were ready for war They had caught me off guard in this hellish scrap yard . I remember it exactly I was looking in a washed up can of tuna I was crouching on the floor, fixated on finding one morsel, when they approached me
“You there!” I heard a thunderous voice behind me His accent sounded like my mother’s, though quite a bit stronger I would say Power is the word I'd use to describe his voice
Not only his voice but his appearance as well His boots made him look taller and his long, woolen coat gave him a larger presence His hat looked like one of those you’d see plastered on marching soldiers in those posters from the old days Trimmed with bear fur, puffy, and as black as the night sky He also wore a gas mask, like the ones the soldiers from the old days had in the ditches and trenches that now serve as cemeteries
All this, compared to what rags I was wearing, was intimidating At this point in time I was just a lowly scavenger I had not known of nor seen anyone wearing something with such national bravado He was cloaked in an identity–no, spirit is a better word Spirit, the spirit of the Brit Now this man had pinned me down, forcing
me into submission with his bayoneted rifle
"Identify yourself to His Majestie’s nobility . ”
Right away, I had raised my hands in the air, not realizing it would soon cause more conflict
"Ah that’s what they all do – put their hands up to proclaim their innocence!” The man said in a rather mocking tone “Then the so-called innocent'll pull a knife on you and stab you right in the gut, why?!”
Then the man lowered the rifle and reached into his pocket He extended his gloved right hand to display a collection of golden rings with sparkling red, blue, and green stones Though I title myself a scavenger, I really only focused on finding foodstuff and other provisions that would help me survive the inhabitable lands of post war Europe This was the first time I'd seen gold, or other treasures like emeralds, rubies, and diamonds such as that And to be honest, I wasn't impressed . They look nice but what's the use of a metal like gold? Perhaps melt it down and turn it into bullets, I suppose? Even then, as I've learned later, it is too soft of a metal
From my reaction, the man was surprised
“How interesting,” he said in a surprised tone “You don't like my glory? won't stab me in the liver over it?”
I remained mute I shifted my attention to the man accompanying him He was hunched
over from the bag he was carrying . It was absurdly large, almost twice the size of himself
The puffy hat man noticed my attention had shifted to the other man “Don't pay him much mind ” he scolded “He is a loyal soldier, that is all ” He paused for a brief moment “So where are you from, boy?” he said I still looked at him plainly
“What? You don't speak English, eh?” he questioned I still didn't respond I didn't know what had gotten into me, perhaps I was frozen with fear? “You must be a Frenchman then, after all, this is –” He paused for a second, and surveyed the land “–Normandie or something I suppose ”
Still, for whatever reason, I chose not to respond Now he seemed frustrated The first person he’d met after crossing the channel had no clue what he was rambling on about I could almost hear a slight sigh from under his mask Suddenly he raised his rifle at me again “So then you must be German!” he yelled
“No! No! Don’t shoot!” I yelled “Don’t shoot ” I repeated again, albeit more meekly
The man lowered his rifle and chuckled . “Heheheh, so you do speak English, and like a true Englishman too nonetheless ” I could tell that through the mask he was grinning at me “Tell me boy where are you from?” he questioned “Where are you from?”
Where are you from I realized I don't think I had ever been asked that question I had to think hard
“C'mon, boy, spit it out!” the man said, rather impatiently
Finally, I responded “My mother ” I paused “Yes, your mother ” the man then said, is free hand waving to encourage me to hurry up “My mother is from over there ”
“Over there?” he questioned “Over where?” I raised my arm and pointed straight ahead past the man, straight ahead to the shore He turned around quickly to glance at the coast, then turned again to look back at me “Past the English Channel?” he questioned
I supposed that that must be another way to refer to the coast I nodded
"Then my boy . ” “You must be an Englishman ” The man sounded delighted at his own revelation
An Englishman, I thought I had heard little about Englishmen “I-I’m not quite so sure sir” “Not sure!” the man interjected “You should be sure ”
“I couldn't say for sure sir, I’ve only ever”
“My boy, you speak English, quite well in fact ” he said interrupting me once again “And you don't have the accent of a Frenchman, nor that of a German . ” The man snarled when he spoke of the Germans I took note of that quickly, and avoided bringing them up in conversation
“Look, I know you were born in a strange time ” the man continued “The times of the death of nations, the death of Europe ” His tone was somber “When that smog of different gasses went up the channel, we knew London was done for . ” He looked down briefly at the ground “And for you my boy, I feel very sorry” He looked at me again “You didn't even get to experience the pride I felt Even despite the most chaotic and anarchic parts of war, we were united Under a flag, a commonwealth, a king…by the time you were born, the territory of nations turned to ash ”
The Englishman surveyed the land once more through the rubber eye sockets of his gas mask “Just sickly grey gravelish rock,” he remarked
Then, he looked at me, quite disapprovingly I'd say “The only men left are like you, ragged scavengers covered in filth No family, no faith, no sovereignty, no purpose! No nothing! Merely just a squabbling body, hardly a man! Half a man!”
There was a lengthy silence after his slew of insults I must admit I was quite worried I was naive then, sure, but I knew a madman when I saw one Considering the fact that this armed man disapproved of me so much, I was at the very least a little bit worried
But ” His tone changed, perhaps now he didn't see me as a mere half man?” “I-and Corporal Walker over there-” he briefly looked at the overencumbered corporal standing behind him, “have an incredible offer for you ”
He extended his gloved hand to me “I want to offer you the righteous opportunity to serve the British Commonwealth in what may be the last battle His Majesty's army partakes ”
I remained mute, completely puzzled by what this strange man was asking me to do
He pulled a gold coin from his side pocket I remember him looking at it closely, almost nostalgic about it I now have the opportunity to look a little more closely at this coin In fact, it's right here on the desk that I am writing this memoir on . The head, an ancient king, the tail, a mighty cavalryman from a time that is now long gone One pound sterling, representing how much this empire has fallen from its former glory
"I would offer you some sort of payment, but the Pound sterling isn't worth much at all Anymore ”
Slowly he put the coin back in his jacket pocket Then the buggy eyes of his gas mask looked directly down at me again “I will say you look rather peckish, so I have some provisions to offer you Perhaps some tinned meat, bread, maybe even a spoonful of jam?”
I was salivating from these enticements It had been forever since I had a good meal
He started to pull something else out of his pocket It was a biscuit My eyes must've widened a bit at the sight Then he lowered his arm down, his biscuit holding hand now leveled with my face He was offering it to me But as soon as I moved my arm to intercept that biscuit he pulled him away
“Tsk tsk tsk What did I say before?” He scolded me
“You get food FOR conscripting into his majesty's army” So first, you must shake my ha” Immediately I grabbed his hand , essentially completing my enlistment process Well then, welcome to his majesty’s army, conscript ”
He looked over his shoulder to look at the rest of his army, or I suppose just the corporal by his side “Corporal Walker, I must say enlistment has gotten quite a bit easier nowadays, am I right?” The corporal stayed silent
"Alright then, conscript,” the Englishman turned back to me “The Lance Corporal over here will have you uniformed and equipped to be a fine soldier of His Majesty’s army ”
"After that, we better get going We have a long journey ahead of us . ”
L E R
LIAM BADER
Lust arrives first, but lust doesn’t have to be defined as bodily sin It’s a period of intense love and attraction, the chaos of spring Who cares about order, who cares about work and obligations and responsibility when perfection is right in front of you? And it’s only a matter of time before he realizes that he’s in your path, and he won’t be able to resist you Go out of your way to be with him at all times, and fling selfawareness out the window Eat with him and follow him, he is your shepherd Eyes pink like arterial blood, splatter everywhere, it’s obvious to everyone but him Now is the time to obsess, while you still can .
Envy comes after . It’s calculating but wishful in jealousy, making up things that aren’t there for the sake of spite It’s the order after the chaos of attraction, and you gotta hide it My eyes are green? Well, you do know I’m vegetarian Yeah, I stopped eating meat after you talked to your friends . How is he so close with people he’s not in love with? I hate your chemistry because they aren’t bad people which makes me a jerk . And I hate that because you’re the jerk for being so slow to realize that you love me . I hate you because I love you so much . I’m right here, and you’ve made me open up, but now you’re closing off, and it’s not fair I hate how you care so much about politics but it doesn’t hurt because it makes you hurt You make me feel so cold and I hate you for it! I hate and hurt because I don’t know why you have to be so obsessed with something that’s not me! Everything I do, I do for you, an effort to show you how much better I am than the things you think about, the people you spend time with And it’s funny, because those people are my friends, and I think about those things you think about too But they’re mine to think about, and I should be the only painting in that pretty room of yours
Realization is last It’s a huge package that comes in several varieties . Experience it with shame, know that you’ve been selfish and unrealistic You should’ve seen yourself in him because you know exactly how it feels to sit by yourself at lunch, headphones set in, speak to nobody You hide your pain with your humor, like me, but you suck at it I should’ve taught you instead of spitting on you with my eyes . I’m so, so lost in love but there have been two clear paths in front of me this whole time, and the chaos was in my head . Two is an important number There are two things you can do, let the feeling fade and also your friendship, or step forward and stop being a stupid coward Do not let the blood crust on your knuckles from the cold dry air you thought he was breathing on your reaching hands . There are also two things that he can say when you ask And here two is an important number again, because that’s how many letters there were in what he said . Where’s my closure? I thought I would get it either way . Where is it? Where? He didn’t know and he felt indifferent .
WHERE WE FELL
ALEJANDRO PONCE
A campfire crackled in the center of the plateau, the embers bouncing on the only two people there for miles . One of them, a bulky armored fellow, was looking over his blade with a whetstone in hand, leaning on a travel pack The other, a much leaner man with long purple bangs, was reading a grimoire seated atop a stone .
They sat there for quite a long time, and eventually the one reading slammed his book shut and looked up, his bangs falling flat on his face .
“Krain, can we turn in? No one's moving ” He added, in a whispering voice, “I think they’re dead ”
Krain, a warrior more familiar with tracking than actual combat, stopped sharpening his blade and shook his head . “It’s unlikely he’ll stay here the remainder of the night . I wouldn’t want him to stumble upon us in our sleep anyhow” He briefly paused to think “We probably won’t get much sleep tonight, if at all ”
“C’monnnn Krainnnn,” the scholar said “It’s like…” he counted on his fingers, then continued, “two past the new moon I get they’re wights, but like… man…” He lost track of
his thoughts and trailed off Wights were armed and armored undead that could easily overpower the average soldier, but to the duo, they were nothing particularly notable - that is, when they were lone enemies
Krain shook his head “Must you be this way, Zephyr?”
Zephyr shot Krain a look full of both mischievousness and tiredness, sliding up next to him
“Well, even if you’re not going to sleep, I will, so… g’night ” He leaned his head against Krain’s shoulder and, in an almost childlike manner, pouted and said, “it’s not comfortable ”
Krain smiled and finally put down his sword It was sharp enough to cut through a zombie’s flesh, but not sharp enough to chip easily Silver tended to chip easily in the heat of the moment “You know, typically the older you are, the more cautious you are,” Zephyr snidely replied “You’re the only one who knows I’m older than you, silly ” Krain couldn’t deny that
He grabbed his travel bag and pulled out a blanket from the side pocket Typically, parties such as his
would only have two roll-ups, but Zephyr was a bit of a needy man Krain fiddled with the blanket until it was fully open and wrapped it around Zephyr
"I swear, we need to take more day jobs You can’t keep falling apart every time we’re tailing something nocturnal ”
Krain put his arm around Zephyr and leaned his head against the blanket
Zephyr mumbled something about them not being able to choose this job It was true, they needed to get intel on what the wights were doing - it was unnatural to see so many together But sending a squad of two when there were nearly 50 of them was a strange choice Supposing they thought it was possible the Wights would suddenly attack, wouldn’t it be better to send a large squad with someone who could use magical long-distance communication and go for a pincer attack if they went on the move? Krain thought something was off
Still, they had already traveled the length of the Kazerian Plains Going back now after having not refuted earlier would be grounds for removal from the army considering the extenuating circumstances…
Krain mulled over his options for a bit, adjusting the buckler and pouch on his belt out of habit There was no good way to ensure their survival
He didn’t have the chance to do so for long before the wights finally started moving again Krain immediately stood up and froze, the sweat shining
on his face from the fire Zephyr fell over and confusedly looked around
Krain did a few hand-signals to Zephyr and he immediately went upright They both packed their bags - with some difficulty stuffing the blanket back in Krain’s - and looked at each other
They looked at each other for a bit, unblinking, an unspoken understanding between the two that this was their most dangerous assignment yet Zephyr was the first to break the silence “So, Krain… you’ve got a plan?”
Krain looked down for a little bit “Well, no, but this is why you’ve studied all those different types of magic, right?” He unsheathed his sword and twirled his buckler around a bit before sliding it onto his left arm “Considering these are plains, it’ll be a bit hard to defend ourselves, but a touch-and-go fight where we slowly move back while you sling spells at them from the backlines should work just as well as any of our more in-depth operations
Now, come on Zephyr ” Krain pointed his sword towards a mass of figures in the distance and imagined the fierce battle to come “We’ve got work to do ”
Dozens of wights marched forward in a robotic fashion, as if in formation
The dry grass crunched under their iron-clad boots, making for quite an annoying beat, but none of them paid it any attention The only armor they didn’t wear was headgear, making for quite an
intimidating, if grotesque, sight Pieces of their flesh occasionally fell off onto the floor, but their marching was ceaseless
Krain was a bit taken aback by the whole situation, but he had already snuck to the back of their formation, with Zephyr a ways back so as not to get caught by a stray sword or arrow
After positioning himself so that he could take the first wight down with a single well-aimed thrust, he raised his shield-arm up high to signal Zephyr he was moving Then, in an instant, he transitioned from crouching to thrusting his sword straight through the skull of a wight With the grace of a swan, he brought his sword back to his side and watched for half a second as the wight crumpled to the floor But he knew he couldn’t waste this window of opportunity, and before the formation completely turned around, he sent his sword down into the skull of another wight . Or at least, he thought he did, but the wight had already moved its sword into a counter position! His sword clanged off the wight’s and he forced himself to step back and situate himself The wights were already trying to encircle him, but Zephyr was one step ahead of them, erecting icy walls at the feet of the wights Cover for both sides, but far more valuable for the squad of two
Krain focused himself on the opponents ahead A line of wights slowly crept in He held up his sword like a rapier and thrust it towards the first, but the wight predicted it and punched his sword down A blade came from Krain’s side, but he deflected it with his buckler and used the
chance to cleave the wight’s head off with a well aimed slice
As soon as the wight fell, the one behind it jumped over the now unanimated corpse and tried to split Krain in half, but he was just barely able to bring his buckler up to redirect the strike, and he brought his blade straight down the back of the wight’s head
This process repeated for quite some time - lunges and thrusts and cleaves getting parried and re-parried until the wights inevitably lost their exchange, their undead might being no match for Krain’s skill
The wights stopped appearing after he had killed the twentieth or so, and Krain inched forward trying to hear signs of battle Embers flew in front of his face, likely from one of Zephyr’s spells
He walked out of the ice’s reach and saw Zephyr sitting on the dead body of a wight, with dozens of burned, frozen, and otherwise shredded monster bodies lying around, their guts strewn about haphazardly It smelled horrible He walked towards Zephyr, and was greeted by a sigh and a sharp voice
“Krain, I don’t think you followed the plan You were supposed to move backwards out of the ramparts and take some of the fire, remember? I even made a little ramp for you to just walk up on! You could’ve jumped onto a wight and killed it pretty easily there, and then I could’ve repeated to process or something, I just, come on man, what were you thinking???”
Krain sighed “You didn’t think of
any of this till after the battle, did you?” He looked around at the dead bodies “I hate to say it, but you probably didn’t even need me here I was over there having a tense battle and you probably just killed them all with four or five spells ”
Zephyr scoffed “How rude! It was eight spells, I’ll have you know, and I had to be very precise with my casting direction or else a meteor would’ve struck you And you still-“
Krain cut him off “A meteor? You can DO that?
“Uhhhh…” Zephyr sheepishly replied “It was a bit of an experimental spell, and I mean, it kind of worked, but it wasn’t exactly strong enough to take down all of them . ”
Krain walked up to and sat next to Zephyr, intending to lean on him and say something about how it would’ve been nice to know that before they had begun fighting, but the wight’s rusty armor crumbled under Krain’s weight and they both fell backwards
They were inches away from landing on the dirt beneath them when Zephyr caught both of them with magic and set them upright “Seriously, where would you be without me, huh, Krain?”
“Oh, you’re really telling me that?” Krain poked Zephyr “You couldn’t even stay up a couple more minutes to take care of these guys!”
“Well, I mean, how was I supposed they’d appear like two minutes after I went to bed!?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it ”
“Don’t ‘yeah, yeah, yeah’ me, Krain!”
They bickered for a few minutes, relieved to be alive after having fought the horde off themselves, when a third voice chimed in from behind them .
“Having fun there, aren‘t you?”
Krain immediately swung his blade back wildly Neither he nor Zephyr had noticed whatever was behind them until it spoke, so he determined it must have been a skilled assailant His blade hit nothing
Zephyr took a stand and desperately began weaving runes together, trying to cast a locate spell He drew rune after rune in the air and slotted them into place hoping he could cast the spell and find whatever was there, but it failed, the runes shattering before him; he didn’t know enough about whatever was there to be able to cast it
Krain was in a fighting position, looking wildly all around him, but he couldn’t find anything . His honed instincts told him he was far from safe
“Hmm. You two are somewhat competent. This may be interesting yet.”
Animosity oozed from the voice, and Krain winced It was nothing like his confrontation with the wights
An inhumanly large figure materialized in front of Zephyr and Krain Unlike the wights, it was fully clad in all black, plate armor, and its headpiece had
horns sprouting from it There weren’t any slits for its eyes, but Krain got the sense it could see everything around it perfectly
“Now. You two have made a mockery of my wight force. Admittedly, I did not train them; I only brainwashed as many as I could find and set them off. But to take care of a force of that many middle-tier undead just between the two of you, not even working together? It is almost disrespectful.”
Krain couldn’t see under its helmet, but felt like whatever was standing in front of him was smiling He clenched his sword’s grip Zephyr had gotten closer to Krain and was pale, but Krain tried not to focus on him
“As much as I want to ask for your names, I am in a bit of a hurry. My liege is attempting to summon me. But, I do have enough time to have a friendly duel with you two first. And do not worry, humans, only one side will make it out. I do not intend to retreat if you push me so far.”
Zephyr whispered in Krain’s eye, his voice shaky “W-we, um, I… that thing c-could level this entire plain in an instant…! N-nothing…” He stopped talking and gripped his chest, breathing in and out slowly
Krain was unable to rip his eyes off whatever was in front of him, even to look at Zephyr No, especially to look at Zephyr He couldn’t let him die here It was selfish of him, but deep down he hoped that at least Zephyr could make it out
“Zephyr I need you to build a wall
between you and me ”
“Krain, what are y -`-”
“ZEPHYR!!!” He looked scared out of his mind, but Krain couldn’t comfort him and lead him to his death “Please Listen to me I need you to build a wall between you and me If you have enough mana left over, try to build it all around me and that thing so that it’s contained . It probably won’t do much to deter him, but you need every second you can get I’ll fight this thing myself ”
Zephyr’s legs began to quiver, and tears welled up in his eyes “Krain, Krain, please, not you too…” The tears began to run down Zephyr’s face, and Krain couldn’t help but feel guilty
“At least one of us has to survive this, and you’re the only one that can escape on a moment’s notice You can use wind magic to propel you away, so please, Zephyr… for once, you can be the one to run away, so please… get out of here . ”
While Zephyr was struggling to make a decision, the being in front of the two grew impatient
“Well? I told you I haven’t much time. Are you going to confront me like the warriors you are, or will I have to strike you down like cowards? It always leaves a poor taste in my mouth when I have to take care of a coward myself.”
Krain stepped forward . “I'll be your opponent I don’t need the mage to be able to hold my own against you ” He
was bluffing hard, but the being seemed to buy it Zephyr stood behind Krain with a betrayed look underneath his still tearing eyes, but Krain paid it no heed He needed the being to give him its utmost attention
Zephyr began to move, slowly tracing out runes in the air “Krain… I’m so sorry I love you ”
Tears began to stream down Krain’s face as well “That isn’t fair, Zephyr I’m the one who should be saying sorry to you I… I lo-” Earthen walls sprouted from the ground, encircling him and his foe, and interrupting his statement
Krain looked down, then back up at the being “I’m ready . ”
The being got into a fighting stance and stared Krain down
“I will honor your wish, warrior.”
Immediately after finishing its statement, it lunged forward at him and sent its fist straight down onto him Krain just barely rolled out of the way, but it lifted its arm up and he didn’t have the opportunity to attack It brought both its arms into a fist and slammed down onto Krain’s new location, but he was able to roll out of the way of that strike just as he did the first
“Hmm. I suppose I should’ve expected you would avoid unarmed blows rather easily.” Krain was sweating hard, his breath ragged -- it wasn’t easy at all - but he tried to keep himself composed The being in front of Krain lifted both its arms
in front of itself and brought a unique flail into existence, with 3 hexagonal spiked heads attached to its shaft “This should make things a bit more interesting..."
The being spun its flail in a circular motion, moving the weapon so quickly the grass under Krain began to fly off towards the earthen walls behind him
It slowly stepped forward, perhaps intending to flush Krain out of his position and make him do something Krain couldn’t counter considering how much weaker he directly was, and so he desperately looked through his pouch for anything he could use against it Flint and steel, needle and thread, whetstone, a mirror, and a few other random objects clinked against his gauntlet before he pulled out the only thing that could’ve maybe saved him: a scroll infused with one of Zephyr’s spells He tossed it into the air and watched as the text on the scroll peeled from the parchment onto the air, encircling the being and kicking into effect It shrunk into a normal size person
“Ah, THIS I can handle no trouble!” Krain felt a little more at ease now that he could engage in a normal sword duel
“Unexpected, human. I commend your creativity!” The being’s voice lacked the boom it had before, but it was still dripping with animosity, power, and unbridled confidence It threw away its flail and summoned another weapon, this time a crimson scimitar Aereshkan in design “I’ve always liked dueling opponents of equivalent size.”
The creature walked forward with its scimitar pointed straight down Krain was on high-alert, his feet planted on the ground and his sword pulled back as if he was preparing to drive it through the being’s heart
The battle began in earnest The creature’s blade flew through the air, a blur of crimson steel heading straight for Krain’s head Krain parried, the impact pushing his entire body backwards He used the newfound space to jab at his enemy’s chest, but it effortlessly angled its entire body just to the right of the blade, slashing at Krain’s left arm . He spun his entire body to try and minimize the damage, but he could no longer grip his buckler Blood as crimson as his opponent’s blade dripped downward on his hand .
Krain cut the sash of his buckler and let it fall to the floor; he couldn’t let it impede his movement The creature cocked his head at Krain “You don’t want to defend yourself?” It got no response
Krain kicked the shield upward towards his armor-clad foe and began to dash at it, looking desperately for an opening The shield pointlessly clanked against its breastplate . Karin decided to try and target the space between the central breastplate and the plates around it .
He went back into his foe’s attack radius and feinted a thrust at its helmet, hoping his foe would counter it, but it saw through and kicked him in the stomach He didn’t fall down though, and instead immediately counterattacked with a low sweeping slash Krain finally thought a blow
would connect, but his foe slammed one of his greaves directly onto his blade and split it!
“A pitiful blade. I sure do hope you brought a second one. I can only be entertained for so long, after all.”
Krain back-stepped so many times in a row he hit the earth walls surrounding them
The battlefield felt far too small for the opponent he was facing
The pillar of absolute strength in front of him picked up Krain’s sword and examined it It then dropped the blade and recreated it in its hand
“I quite like your sword. I take back my comment on it being pitiful. The way it’s been maintained is a sign of good character.” It threw the new sword straight at Krain, embedding it in the wall next to his head
Krain drew the sword from the wall, feelings of hope and dread bubbling up inside him . If he could keep this going longer, Zephyr could escape But he knew his opponent’s confidence was well-placed; he could only keep this going as long as his opponent was entertained
His opponent put one of its gauntlets to its face and sighed “Someone is trying to interfere in our bout. No matter. Perhaps the playing field will be a little more even now.”
Krain didn’t question his opponent Though he doubted the existence of this
unknown benefactor, he doubted more the prospect of his opponent lying Just by exchanging blows with it and listening to it speak, he knew his opponent wasn’t that sort of person, if it could be called that
Krain eyed his opponent It didn’t particularly seem weaker or more sluggish, but only another round of blows could confirm that He took two steps forward and, this time, his opponent engaged The crimson blade whirled around towards Krain’s stomach, but this time, he could parry it normally! He redirected the blade to his right and thrusted straight at his opponent, but it used its thick gauntlet to punch the blade just away from its chest! It brought its sword back its side and swiped at Krain, but he intercepted this blow with a swipe of his own!
Their swords clashed against each other at the halfway point numerous times Up, left, right, right again, a sweep under Krain, an overhead swing just above his foe’s helmet; unlike before, they were almost on equal footing! Almost
Krain slashed downward against his opponent’s head with all his might, but it used the horns on its helmet to redirect his sword and thrusted straight at his stomach! The crimson blade inched closer and closer, but then, something strange happened The blade tumbled sloppily out of his opponent’s hands Krain took advantage of the opportunity to decapitate his opponent, or at least slit its throat, but it grabbed Krain’s blade as hard as possible, cutting into its own hand, and used its free arm to stab
Krain in the stomach with a dagger!
“If you didn’t realize already, warrior, I can summon weapons. You should have known by now that this wasn’t an opportunity.” It pushed Krain away from him, but left the dagger in his stomach “As long as you keep that in your stomach, it shouldn’t be fatal.”
As soon as it finished its sentence, a giant thunderbolt came from above and struck the warrior! Then wind encircled it, and the wind burst aflame, followed immediately after by earthen spires erupting from the earth to pierce it But it did not yield
It walked out of the flame, armor melting from the heat and dented by the earth It twitched erratically from the thunder It walked up to a random piece of the earth wall that surrounded them and summoned a large maul It wound up a strike, and sent the maul flying through the wall It walked through the hole and grabbed a figure that had been casting spells just behind the wall It had grabbed Zephyr
Krain’s eyes widened “ZEPHYR! I TOLD YOU TO RUN! WHY…?”
Neither Zephyr nor the one holding him said anything . Zephyr’s throat was burnt from the intense heat of the gauntlet, still melting from the firestorm he had cast on it
“So you were the one interfering in our bout. I must commend you, twisting the blood inside my body and producing water on my gauntlets is something no-
one's ever tried before! If your beloved companion had been just a wee bit smarter, you may have won. But you interfered in our duel.” Krain could see its grip tightening on Zephyr’s throat “You rendered your companion’s sacrifice meaningless. I may have actually spared you, given the bravery of the warrior. The general wouldn’t care if I left one insignificant human alive. Although...you’re quite powerful, aren’t you? Perhaps it is a good thing that you are a dishonorable little urchin. Goodbye... Zephyr.” Its grip tightened even further Krain was locked into place, one arm unusable and a dagger still stuck in his stomach Zephyr writhed and flailed violently, his mouth wide open but no words coming out Eventually, he let out a feeble, singular word “Krain?” And his throat was then crushed
His body crumpled to the ground It walked away from the body, back into the circular area where it fought with Krain Krain remained unmoving, his eyes fixated upon Zephyr He didn’t blink He didn’t speak He didn’t breathe He didn’t think He couldn’t
The armored warrior walked to Krain and looked down at him Krain didn’t react He didn’t move
His foe moved its sword up to lop off Krain’s head He didn’t move
It spoke to him He didn’t hear what was said Its sword began to fall towards his neck
He didn’t move
His head did Alone Separated
COMPRESSED STATE
GAEL GUADARRAMA
A LAND ENGULFED BY FLAME
SEBASTIAN GOMEZ
A land engulfed by flame, A pond entered by dive . To have stayed–burned, To have gone – yearned, I now yearn for a challenge . Conquer the flame, Control the rain, Comfort comes to the soul . Souls seek peace, But how does one find peace with constant chaos? Perhaps at a time, one must cause chaos . Perhaps through strenuous soul-searching, One discovers a world…
When do we find a flame that survives in a pond? When how we view a world becomes it
STUDENT HAIKU
ROHAN SIHOTA
One eye open, Both feet up, Have to go off .
DYLAN PIOTROWSKI
The sky is silent A fish swims in the ocean A shark fin rises
TAEHOON KWON
Loud, crowded school hallway
Exhausted during the last period Time to start my day
NOVEMBER
YVAN KRASNIKOV
MANY LIVES ONE MOMENT
JONAH GUINAN
Dear late wife Margaret,
I miss you as I sit here on another one of those nights The old fog paints over the rural skies of Nevada The stars float across the sky like fireflies I walk the worn-out roads of concrete Every step I feel the loose slabs of rock slip under my feet . I pass the freshly painted benches The colors of green and red decorate the wooden seats I meander past the new areas of Montgomery Park and I enter the old area near the back . I now pass through the old greens and flaking paint As I look at the old Montgomery Park I notice it looks no different than the day we met I continue onwards My cane, as you might recall, always gets those flakes stuck to it and this stroll was no different . I stopped for a moment and thought about our restaurant as I picked off the flakes from my cane And now I pierce deeper and deeper through the park The fog too gets worse blurring my aged eyes I can no longer see as I once could As I stretch onwards and onwards I near my favorite part of Montgomery Park As I see our old spot I get the rush of memories . Memories of days long behind, days I may never have again I remember Lil Rob digging up the flowers for Father’s Day He was so proud of it too Do you remember that? And look at the old fountain Remember that's where I proposed to you, Margret Of course, how could you forget? We were so young . I used to frolic around these roads but now I walk here, cane in hand, barely making it through the walk I sit at our favorite bench You remember–the one with the… oh never mind you remember . It’s as if you were still here with us Margaret . I still come here to read the paper . Every morning I sit at our bench and have a cup of coffee before work and every afternoon I come here once I close the restaurant I still remember those long nights we spent here laughing at this world We live among the dumbest geniuses, is what you called it Those were different times Now we can’t do anything . We got old, the world continued spinning, as it always does, and it just left us behind But when I sit here I see our story in the eyes of many There’s new Margarets every day and new ‘me’s all over our world
—Mr McGillicutty
Dear Diary, It’s Julia, the day is March 15 and today’s like the day I’ve been waiting for all week. So as you might recall the other week me, Raechel, and Sara went out to get our dresses and stuff for prom. I wanted to go to Rebe’s because their dresses were on sale but Sara wanted to go to some random place next to her house. So we let Raechel vote but guess what. Raechel agreed with Sara. So now we're off over to Sara’s house to go to some random store. Luckily when we got there the dresses were not too expensive. So I decided to get this really nice blue dress that I liked but I mean come on why did we have to go to the middle of nowhere. And now skip ahead to today I just got a text that Daniel’s not prepared for prom. This kid apparently doesn’t have his suit ready so I’m heading to his house an hour later. I feel like this kid’s messing with me. But anyway I left the house and let me tell you I was a mess. I was so nervous, like what am I supposed to say when I see him? And what if he truly isn’t ready? What if he shows up and looks like Weird Al dressed him? Or worse of all he’s sick. Whatever. I'll just have to figure it out once I get there.
-Julia
What?
Texts of Daniel (The day of prom):
I forgot today’s prom
Idiot! Well, what’ll you do?
I don’t know! I’m screwed
Tell me something I don’t know
All I have is a button-down that hasn’t fit in years
Well either invent time travel
Or wear something else
Do you have any clothes that no longer fit?
You can use your brother’s shirt
Will that fit?
Do you have any better ideas
No
I’ll tell Julia to come later
Why?
We need more time
Smart move
You need a Suit or Sports Jacket
Oh right I’ll pick one up on my way home
Julia’s internal monologue:
As Julia walks to Daniel’s house this is what plagues her mind: What on Earth is he doing? Is he messing with me? Does he even have a suit? Is he going to just show up in a school uniform? Or worse? Oh no… No! He’s not going to do that…right? Think! So what do I say when I meet him? All I know is that I shouldn't comment on him not being ready. What do I do when I see his parents? What do I say… what do I not say? Should I talk about… No, that's too random? Oh, I don’t know. Ok... Ok... I’ve got this, I’ve got this. I mean how can I possibly mess it up. I won’t embarrass myself. I hope. Ok just think of… what do I do if…. No that’ll never happen… Or… (Deep Breath). Ok, I’m fine… I’m ready. Just walk
Daniel’s father left his phone on voice memos . The recording contains the following interaction:
Father: Ok, you’ve got these 3 Suits and one Sports Jacket to try on
Father: How’s this one fit?
Daniel: Huh . Nope, it’s way too small I’m gonna try the size up
Father: Um
Daniel: What?
Father: This is a Tuxedo, not a sports jacket
Daniel: What’s the difference?
Father: I mean it's not a huge difference but see this shiny part right there?
Daniel: Yeah
Father: Well see this sports jacket it's not shiny
Daniel: So barely any difference to a kid
Father: Well see how this one works
Daniel: Ok yeah I think this one fits
Father: Wow this morning you forgot about prom and now you're wearing a tux
Daniel: HaHaHa, yeah you're right
Father: And now you need an undershirt
Daniel: Why?
Father: White’s practically transparent And no one wants that
Father: Just grab a random white shirt It doesn’t matter how well it fits
Father: No one will see it
Daniel: Do you have a belt?
Father: Don’t you have a belt for school?
Daniel: Yeah but it’s bright brown and it’ll stick out
Father: Ok here take one of my belts
Daniel: It’s way too big Do you have any smaller ones?
Father: Here watch this (BANG BANG BANG) there we go now its got an extra hole
Daniel: Guess that’ll work
The following day Julia’s mom tells the story to her friends:
Mom: Ok guys did I tell you about Julia’s Prom last week?
Friend #1: No, why?
Mom: No? Really? Ok well, first thing’s first Julia was so nervous when she left that she nearly made me nervous.
Friend #2: She go with anyone?
Mom: Yeah this kid… Dylan?…Drex?? No No Daniel. The kid’s name was Daniel.
Friend #3: How was the kid?
Mom: From what I’ve heard the kid’s decent. And I didn’t realize it at the time but the kid lives like 3 minutes from here.
Friend #2: Oh that’s nice.
Mom: Yeah. So Julia went over to the kids house, all up in her head, but she was alright.
Friend #1: Never heard of her this nervous before, bless her soul.
Mom: Yeah, apparently she kept running through possibilities in her head.
Friend #2: Oh I still do that, no good ever comes of it though.
Friend #3: What happened when she got there?
Friend # 1: That’s good.
Mom: Yeah, and if anyone embarrassed themselves it was Daniel.
Friend # 3: Oh?
Mom: Apparently when Julia got there she could see him and his father through the window. The father laid out a belt on the table and stabbed it through with a screwdriver.
Friend # 2: Did she say anything?
Mom: No! No, of course not. Julia just pretended she didn’t see anything and they all went off on their merry way and had a great time.
Friend # 3: That’s nice. Were they late?
Mom: No, actually they had so much time they apparently went to get something to eat first. They went to this place it’s called…uh…I think It’s called Mr. McGillicutty's Diner. It’s up on I think Pine Street.
As Julia and Daniel enter the diner a paper reads the following:
Mr . McGillicutty’s Diner
-564 Pine-Wood Drive
My father opened this diner in 1953 and since then the family business has hit highs and lows Now these old walls have been mine for the better part of a lifetime I have celebrated every birthday here except my 9th–the one I had at the zoo–and I celebrated graduation in these booths
I became a proud father here . I had my son Rob at age 36 and my grandson Billy at 75 Back in the day, Rob used to pretend this old place was from whatever his new favorite movie of the week was But that was almost 50 years ago Now I have hired Rob to wait tables as I cook in the back
We serve:
Back in 1950, these seats were packed but now we’re lucky to break even Back in the 60s we had some wonderful construction workers coming in for a sandwich or a side of fries, which I had just learned to make . And then ten years later, the 70s, Ms . Flips and her children came in every Saturday morning . She had two sweet kids, Johnny and Jacob . I remember these two kids always had random facts of the day I loved the joy in the children's eyes when I gave lollipops but now sadly we can no longer afford this Ever since the Grillber’s moved in next door we have been losing business
If you wish to help you can donate to the diner at the following link: https://please don-ate
Cameras of the diner:
The waiter walks over to Julia and Daniel’s table.
Waiter: “So folks, what are you gonna get?”
Julia: “I think I’ll get the eggs sunny side up.”
The waiter (Rob) asks the same to Daniel Daniel: “I think I’ll have the same thing.” Rob: ”All right. That’ll be right out.”
Rob leaves their table and heads out of the camera’s sight (into the kitchen). When he returns he carries out a stack of pancakes and walks over to a family with a toddler. He lays the pancakes on the table and soon returns with the rest of the meal.
The table next to Julia and Daniel was a mother and a toddler who was just beginning to speak .
Here’s the mind of the toddler:
Toddler: Momma! Momma!
She’s not answering. Huh? I’ll try louder
Toddler: MOOOOOOMMMMMMMAAAAAAAA!!!!!!
Mother: What! I’m on the phone!
Oh, there that worked.
Toddler: Where dadda
Mother: He’s working sweetheart
Toddler: Ok
I go back to recreating a mountain out of my fries. Like that one movie Momma watched. But sadly gravity was mean and knocked it all onto the floor when I punched it.
Mother: Ugh. Hold on a sec (she hangs up the phone and gets napkins to clean up my fries).
Two strangers (Julia and Daniel) come over and help clean up the mess
Mother: Thank you guys so much
Daniel and Julia: No problem I’ll throw it out
Toddler: NO!
Mother: Shoosh sweety you can’t eat it of the floor
Toddler: Yes I can
Mother: No you can’t
Toddler: Yes I can
Mother: No you can’t
Toddler: Yes I can
Mother: No you can’t
The toddler and his mother return home after the diner . The father face-times them on his walk home from catering prom:
Hey little buddy, how was the night out with Mom? That’s great Hey, hand Mom the phone I’ve got to tell Mom something Oh ok see you later buddy
(To his wife) Love you Laura, the night went great . Yeah, no issues and I think the kids loved it Yeah, we ran out of the pasta but I don’t think anyone cared Yeah, this year we made a rule that they had to stay for the first 2 hours and after that, they were allowed to leave . The issue of that was by 2 hours and 3 minutes there were only like 10 kids left . Yeah anyway, I’ll talk to you in a bit I’m at the car now But when they were all there so many were dancing . I’ve never seen so many guys in suits doing group dances together I think the kids had a wonderful night .
Julia and Daniel each return to their homes and tell their parents about the whole story of that night:
Julia:
So Mom, Daniel and I had a great night I mean he did worry me when we first got there, he was making holes so his belt would fit…
Daniel: … and then we went to eat at McGillicutty’s Diner…
Julia:
…when we got there the place was still almost empty but within 10 minutes it was packed…
Daniel: …I didn’t know all of the songs but I…
Julia: …Danced to them anyway…
Daniel: …It was great and even after most people left…
Julia: …we stayed (the last 10 of us) .
Daniel: …and had a great night . -The End
STUDENT HAIKU
STEFANO PAPPAS
The ear is here . No one can hear . I have no fear
PATRICK LEONARD
Waves crash down
The grumpy man frowns The towns are down
HIC RHODUS, HIC SALTA
THELONIOUS BENNETT
“As for the individual, every one is a son of his time; so philosophy also is its time apprehended in thoughts It is just as foolish to fancy that any philosophy can transcend its present world, as that an individual could leap out of his time or jump over Rhodes If a theory transgresses its time, and builds up a world as it ought to be, it has an existence merely in the unstable element of opinion, which gives room to every wandering fancy With little change, the above saying would read: Here is the rose, here dance ” –
G W.F Hegel, The Philosophy of Right
Damn the mausoleum of all Hope and Desire .
May its innate negation
Eat away inverted, Like the beast it is,
Crawling into
Man’s interior to subject the undefeatable, Unmountable, veracity in the face
Of the unspeakable
The dead and the whirling black fog
That elaborates
On misery’s final rumination
In the heart of swirling terror
Inertia generates impressions of dread in the Most targeted, acute form
Only of rouge origins
Begotten is the puncturing of The organic flux
Of resolute vectorhood is Driven by fire
Resignation’s insidious smirk is hidden beneath
A sloping branch on a February evening
Laugh under the dusty street lamps, Bolt to the corner with dionysian audacity
You are not your father’s last name .
You are not the sum of generational misfortune,
Those whose minds you will never know,
The static image only in black and white
Absent of the symphonic cacophony of electric shocks that Is characteristic of man in motion
Don’t rest on the battlefield
The invisible shadow, inverted
In its only wallowing, Will seek to turn every last
Press of the rear of your sole
Into another leap towards a battle
Whose very concept Is born from the rotting
Mental cords
Within the womb
Of anxiety ridden antitheticals
Of doubt and potential
Damn the reducto absurdum of All human experience which Can fit your human needs
No better than it did your father
And his!
Absurdum takes on no character except that which The bellowing and screams paint it
Red and thrashing bleeding flail marks
This tale is not told by a fool, Because the essence of a tale
Is the grave presumption of its own end!
But wait!
The lead man is strolling
On the empty stage!
The lights are dimmed,
With only the solemn implication Of silence: What do we have?
Here:
An overcrowded mud pit of apes
Duking it out for invisible space, Ideas including but not limited to:
Epistemological humility, moral superiority, Reduction of matter, modes of social organizing
With the end of
Fetishization and its brother transience: Saturn's ring as a boy .
Damn the self imposed, Bewildering theatrics of Deadmen walking Whose rusting toxins
Create the drowning Impressions of ash
The battle is fought for space On the stage to exclaim Yet, the null and void nature
Of the conscious nostalgia dwellers
Ensures that those genuine cries Are only intercepted As screams With fury endlessly abound
Duplicitous, the lights flicker
The show isn’t over yet Non fui
Now, Sum
The chatter of the furies Has died down into ash
The log foundation of the stage Has shaken in tandem
With the peripheral tundra
Of sleepless dreams
In the vast expanse of the Intermediary
The situation is impossible: Silent chatter
Ay, the sum of Generation’s strife is the Rouge embellishment
To a vast, incomprehensible stream of Contenders, recoiling constantly From the indefinite colossalness of Dashing, stray embers
Here we stand:
Beneath the mausoleum
The shadows call out: Hic Rhodus, Hic Salta!
THE WINNER
MICHAEL KOMNEY
I remember standing in the infield for a track meet in Boston as I watched our relay team move quickly as they went around the curve The baton transferred smoothly from one runner to the next I cheered I couldn't help it This wasn't my event; however, watching runners who appear to have a natural ability to make speed appear effortless created a sensation in my chest, somewhere between admiration and pain I wouldn't describe what I felt as jealousy; even though it's close to describing how I felt, it isn't perfect What I felt was a hunger I wanted to be the person other people watch in a similar manner .
The thing about track is that everyone knows who can run fast . Track has a way of eliminating excuses — "potential," "heart," "effort," — and only leaves the results of competition . The laser shows the truth in a matter of hundredths of a second Some people are naturally closer to the truth than others Take Sid, for example He hadn't run competitively in a year Yet, when he stepped onto the track for the 55-meter dash, I knew — everybody knew — he was going to run very fast When the gun fired, he exploded
down the track His time? Under seven seconds I cheered Not because I cared for him I didn't Sid viewed me as something stuck to his shoe, which only further illustrated the unfairness of the world because I was allowed to occupy the same space as he was "Rolled" was Sid's favorite term to describe me It was his way of saying I had no business being on the same team as him It was always stated with that unique tone that converts a simple description into a judgment And yet I cheered
I'd love to claim that I didn't, that I had enough pride to remain silent, to allow Sid to compete without anyone watching But when he crossed the finish line, my voice became a part of the chorus of cheers . I couldn't deny what I had witnessed Speed, such as Sid exhibited, is incapable of caring about the type of person you are All it cares about is the fact that it exists, and witnessing it requires acknowledging its existence in the same way witnessing lightning requires you to acknowledge the flash
Todd, however, was both similar and dissimilar . He didn't hate me, or if he did, he hid it much better But he spoke in ways that inflicted sharp,
tiny cuts While they didn't leave open wounds, they still stung nonetheless When Todd's heat for the 300-meter dash came around, once again I found myself standing by the fence The gun fired, and I cheered as Todd emerged from the turn I cheered as his form remained consistent through the stretch I cheered as he crossed the finish line and the time displayed — a new personal record I cheered and cheered and cheered until my throat began to hurt
Maybe I'm just a fan Yet, that word also fits poorly Fans typically pick the athletes they support based upon a common thread — personality, loyalty, shared history I had none of those qualities in common with Sid or Todd What I had was a team, and teammates cheer for each other, regardless of whether or not the athlete creates feelings of inadequacy in us Regardless of whether or not we are capable of achieving the exact same level of success as the athlete I told myself I was a good teammate, that this is what teammates were supposed to do We show up We support We create noise
Beneath that justification, though, existed a harder question: what was I really cheering for?
Track is often referred to as an individual sport You run individually Your time belongs to you No other runner's step will either enhance or detract from your pace But remove the spectators, the teammates standing along the fence, the voices of encouragement as you emerge from the final turn — remove
everything and all that remains is motion Body Track Clock You can achieve the best time of your life during practice, and it means nothing No witness No record that matters The crowd The noise The cheering does not cause you to run faster But the cheering causes the act of running to mean something
I believe this is what I was searching for when I was watching Sid and Todd run in Boston Not their abilities, though I desired that as well I was looking for the experience of being observed, of the voices of others investing their energy in my performance . When you cheer for an athlete, you offer them more than mere support You are telling them that their efforts are worthy of investment That you are willing to invest your energy into theirs You are transforming their race into a joint venture And when they reach the finish line and win, in whatever capacity winning takes place, you are able to taste the victory Not to the same degree, not with the same intensity, not with the same sense of ownership as the athlete But you gain a share; you become a victor as well
The way this works is like a machine This is how track works (maybe how all sports work), and probably how anything that is difficult to accomplish works when people are watching Each cog fits into each other; each turn depends on the last turn When a person stops running towards their goal and stops trying to achieve their objective, the wheel slows down People can still keep the machine going, still move, but there will be no forward progress
What I'm learning is that you don't have to be bitter when you can't do what you want to do When you want something badly enough — speed, success, that effortless self-confidence — you begin to admire those who possess these qualities That is why student athletes fill stadiums That is why we wear jerseys with the name of someone we admire on our back Whether our team wins or loses, we celebrate (or mourn) The results are ours too, even though we never touched the ball or ran one step Feeling happy for someone you admire when they do well at something you want to do isn't a sign of weakness It is preparation for the time when you can celebrate with them and for the time when you will be able to celebrate alone .
That feeling of euphoria when your team wins the championships or when your favorite athlete hits the game winner at a buzzer — you feel it because you have invested in that performance You are a part of their victory That is the exact feeling I was chasing in Boston I was standing in the infield watching runners who are faster than me, and many of those runners did not even notice me, and I screamed myself hoarse . I took the successes of others and
made them a little bit mine I took the jealousy that I had for others who were faster than me, and I used it as a chance to rehearse what it is going to take for me to be successful A recognition that we are all running the same race, but at a different pace And that running doesn’t matter unless someone is watching you do it And beyond that, the act of watching is teaching me how to be watched . The act of cheering is teaching me how to earn cheers .
I'm learning to both be the runner and the spectator, the competitor and the supporter, the individual who wants to be observed and the individual willing to observe others Every time I cheer on Sid, Todd, or anyone else running faster than I am, I am not conceding defeat I am acknowledging victory beforehand I am recognizing the feelings that I will experience, so that when it is my turn (and it will come) and I am in the blocks with all eyes upon me, I will feel that I have earned my place
The moment you realize you are a winner, no matter how much this realization comes from those whom you admire, you cannot help but become one
