The Chill at The Fairgrounds

After a tiring day at school, I came back home to find the house feeling emptier than usual. No one was home and I felt a cold, icy feeling of emptiness all around me as if something was wrong but it always feels like this after my mom, and I get into an argument. As I sat alone in the living room, I couldn’t help but feel tired and frustrated. The house is so quiet that even the slightest sound seemed amplified. I find the silence to be unsettling, especially since my dad and brother are away for the weekend, who knows where my mom is after the fight we had last night, leaving me all alone in the house.

Standing in the kitchen brought me back to last night, my mom and I were arguing about me going to the carnival. “Mom why not?” I said with a louder tone, “Emily, I said no, I am supposed to inspect it this week and something fishy is happening there and I don’t want you there!!” she said with anger in her voice.

“Mom everyone else is going, why can’t you just let me go!” I said with urgency, walking towards my room. “Emily there is a ride there that has been seen as extremely dangerous I don’t want you going, I forbid you from going and that is the end of this discussion, you go it!” she said loudly, “Fine!” I yelled from my room as I slammed the door behind me.

 Suddenly, my phone rang, and I am startled by the sound and I snapped back into reality. It’s my best friend, Makayla. Answering the call, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. Finally, someone to talk to. “Oh my gosh, hi Makayla! What’s up?” I said eagerly.

“Hey Emily, I have an idea! Let’s go to the fairgrounds tonight!” Makayla exclaimed with excitement. I listened intently but hesitated, “I don’t know about that Makayla, my mom and I got into an argument about me going since she was supposed to an inspection. She said there was something going on there and she forbid me from going, especially since this one ride ‘The Ultimate…something’, seemed to be having complications and she said never to ride that specific one ever.”

“But the fairgrounds are so much fun, and we deserve a break from our boring routines. Let’s take a chance and experience it for ourselves tonight plus, come on,your moms not here she’ll never know!” “Fine, I’ll go with you!” I said with some excitement because I’ll finally be getting out of this quiet house.

After some time, I prepared to leave for the fairgrounds. I felt a bit nervous and wary because of my mom’s warning last night and with me sneaking out, but at the same time, I knew I wanted to go out and have some fun besides I’m sure my mom is just worrying to much. Makayla showed up a bit later, honking her horn, and I made my way outside. Once in her car, we started playing our favorite songs, and before we knew it, we arrived.

The bright lights of the fair could be seen from blocks away. As we walked towards the ticket booth, I felt a chill go across my body, as if something was warning me not to enter. “Maybe we should go see a movie or something instead of going to the fair tonight,” I suggested, starting to turn around.

“Come on, Emily! You used to be so much fun. Let’s go and have a good time,” Makayla pleaded, pulling me back towards the ticket booth.

“Fine,” I reluctantly agreed.

As I spent more time at the fairgrounds, I felt myself beginning to relax and start enjoying myself. The rush of adrenaline from each ride helped me relax and start having fun again.

 “Hey Emily, why don’t we give ‘The Ultimate Wind Coaster’ a chance. Let’s get on!!” Makayla says pulling me to the ride entrance.

“Wait, this is the ride my mom forbade me from riding. She was very adamant about it being fishy. I don’t think we should do it. Look, there are other rides to go on like the carousel, and you know that’s my favorite. Let’s go!” I said, pulling her away.

 “Emily, come on, why are you still listening to things your mom told you? She’s not here how would she be able to find out. You need to go back to living life like you used to and stop worrying about what she says. Let’s just have fun; just come on!” She said stopping me from going any further.

“Makayla, I still don’t think this is a good idea!” I said, raising my voice.

 “Emily, you’re no fun anymore. Let’s just do this one thing and then go on another ride. It’s only a few minutes, it’ll be over in no time,” Makayla replied with insistence.

 “Fine, I’ll go on this ride with you once, and that’s it. After that, we can do something else!” I said, slowly walking back to the ride with her. “Yes, thank you and come on you know you miss having fun with me!” said Makyla jokingly.

As Makayla and I approached the ride seats, the ride attendant stopped us and asked if we had anything that could slip off during the ride. We both replied that we didn’t have anything on us. The attendant allowed us to proceed, and we got on the ride.

As the lap bar came down, I felt that chilling sensation again. The attendant came over to check my bar, and although it seemed looser than Makayla’s, he nodded a yes to the other attendant to let us start the ride. The speaker began the countdown, and before they even finished it we were slingshotted forward into the ride.

We screamed as the ride went on, and when we reached the first loop, we lifted our arms. However, I suddenly felt that chilling feeling rushed over again. As we went through the loop, I began to feel loose in my seat, and all of a sudden I felt like I was falling out. I began to scream as loud as I could, but no one could help me in time, as I was suddenly thrown out of my seat. I continued to scream for help as loud as possible, but suddenly everything went dark, and the only sound I could hear was the repetitive loop of the fairground’s eerie music fading in the distance.

Written by: Amelia Ceccato

Image Credit

Flame of Christmas

Sparkling snow coats evergreens and all-around delight,

Colorful spheres and presents, in every shape and size.

Knitted stockings line the mantle, and lights on homes shine bright.

Flames spread a glow across the room, a special Christmas thing.

Smiling friends join hands together, a family knit over time;

Meals of fellowship unbroken, carolers gently sing.

Laughter flows in the winter air, silver bells sweetly chime,

Flames of endless hope burn brightly, joyous each Christmas night.

Remember events from the past and be thankful each day.

Happiness brings us together, a lovely winter sight.

Blessed by a grace undeserved, truth spread by what we say,

Flames of peace and love eternal, glorious Christmas time.

Written By: Marian Markley
Image Credit

Lost in a Daydream

Winter’s cold breath brushed against Eden’s cheeks, a chill that she drew down her throat and into her chest with every soft breath in and out. Dim street light’s illuminated her face, just barely catching the shimmer of gold in the back of her brown eyes. With one hand she twisted a loose curl of brown hair between two fingers delicately painted purple with a shimmering polish, and with the other, she tugged at her white sweater sleeve. Two nervous habits no one in the crowd surrounding her noticed. Excited chatter filled the air as people from all across town poured into a square far too small to house such a gathering. At the center stood a huge evergreen tree strung with lights that had yet to glimmer. In one corner, a countdown clock ticked down bold green numbers that the crowd kept commenting on, their words blending into a garbled background hum.   

It was the day before December, and triumphant Christmas music poured from the speakers surrounding the tree. “Jingle Bell Rock”, “What Child is This”, and the classic “Little Drummer Boy” added to the noise becoming little more than fuzz in the back of Eden’s mind. Her thoughts, as always, were elsewhere. To her right, she could see her friends posing for photos, and laughing with a few faces she didn’t recognize in the dim light of night. Friends new and old, from all across Williamston Falls annually gathered in the square for the Christmas tree lighting. In their small town, when there was little to celebrate, even the smallest of events gathered great amounts of attention. The events weren’t the only thing that caught prying eyes; newcomers always drew the sights of the townsfolk. Though an unfamiliar face may only be that of ones’ cousin visiting for the holidays, it always garnered attention. In the center of her friend’s circle, Eden noted one such unfamiliar face. There was a bashfulness to his expression, one that came from just a bit too much teasing. The tips of his ears burned red under a cap of wavy black hair, parted like ocean waves to the side. It seemed he was looking for a way out of the commotion, and Eden pitied the poor soul. He’d be stuck in the center of attention all night if her friends had anything to do with it. Yet, while he seemed mildly uncomfortable with the excessive teasing, he played it off as naturally as if he’d expected this all along.  

Eden’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, he served a small focal point among the chaos of the gathering crowds. Their laughter, words, and the dimly lit light blurred around her, creating a general fuzz that pulled at the corners of her mind. She knew she was spacing out, and didn’t care. A friend would come help her snap back into reality whenever she was needed again. A daydream flitted through her mind, images of shooting stars falling like snow and landing upon the tree like silver ornaments. Stars always filled her dreams, and she liked to imagine them as her companions. Perhaps each one was a guiding light, a symbol of hope, or a faraway friend. Eden smiled to herself, imagining she alone stood before the star-covered tree and that that crowd dissipated into nothingness. She had the entire scene to herself, the world was bright, and she was safe, but also… lonely.  

A single star fell far away from the tree, landing in a river at the base of the famed Williamston Falls the town was named after. It sank into the current and glistened under the frozen waters, lost, alone, and cold. A small ache formed in the pit of her stomach and Eden shook her head. She tried to restructure the vision, willing the illusion back into the order she asked for. She tried to imagine the lost star returning to the tree, rejoining its friends from the heavens, but it remained separated, stuck, alone. 

Whether surrounded by water or a crowd, they were both so close to company but still alone.  

A hand on her shoulder snapped her out of the fantasy. Eden blinked, as a roar of cheers sprung up from the townsfolk and the tree was suddenly illuminated in golden light. But her attention wasn’t drawn to the tree so much as the hand resting on her shoulder, and the new face glowing in the golden light.    

“Sorry, but I didn’t want you to miss the big moment,” the stranger apologized, removing his hand from Eden’s shoulder. “It can be lonely being lost in your own little world.”  

 “How did you-” Eden never finished the phrase, as her friend scurried between the two of them.  

“Eden! Did you meet Atlas?” her friend asked excitedly, gesturing to the newcomer as the same bashful grin she’d seen him wear before crossed over his face. In an instant, she recognized him as being the stranger her friends had surrounded in a giddy crowd. His dark hair had begun to lose its wave-like shape, but his eyes shone with intrigue, and were surprisingly quite fixated on her own. With a blush slowly crawling across Eden’s face, she realized she found him quite handsome.  

“Y-yeah, we just met,” Eden stuttered, her eyes quickly flickering away from Atlas’s as she realized she’d been staring for a few seconds too long.  

“Oh perfect!” her friend continued, oblivious to the unspoken exchange filling the space between them with a nervous tension. “Atlas was just telling us that he’s new here and apparently he’s looking for lost treasure in Williamston Falls. Tell her about the map you found, Atlas!”  

“It’s a real mystery, but I happened to stumble upon a map that appears to be one of Williamston Falls,” Atlas explained, rolling a gray backpack over his shoulder and pulling a faded piece of parchment from beneath the front zipper pocket. Unrolling it, he revealed an unlabeled map with dark shapes and grooves penned in black ink. A soft waterfall pouring from the edge of a mountain range was etched into the right corner near a compass rose, and in the center of the map lay a town with a wide square and a tall tree at its center. 

“This is where we are,” Eden mused, pointing to the tree at the map’s center before allowing her finger to brush down the familiar trail of the town’s streets to a mysterious star drawn at the town’s edge. It was a marker of sorts, though not the typical X that one would expect to mark the spot of lost treasure. The star fell in what looked to be a narrow body of water, perhaps a small stream or river directing run-off from the falls.  

Eden’s finger paused on the spot. “I know this place,” she whispered, the breath quickly fading from her lungs with astonishment. She’d seen the site just moments ago, felt the cold of the river, and imagined the exact stream.  

She’d thought it was just another daydream.  

“You really know where it is?” Atlas grinned wide, his eyes shining with a strangely familiar silver glow. “Could you take me there?”  

“Yes. Yeah. I-I’ll lead the way.” Eden nodded, struggling to find the words she wanted to say. Too close to be coincidence, she hesitated to believe these events and her daydream could be connected. Yet, it seemed to be more than a possibility.  

“Have fun, you two!” Eden’s friend called in a teasing, sing-song tone as the two of them began to trail down the familiar roads of Williamston Falls. Eden gave a wave back, before turning her gaze to Atlas’s map. The shape of the star reminded her of the familiar lonely ache she’d felt, like it was asking to be saved, perhaps even begging for help.  

“Where did you find this map anyway?” Eden asked, her gaze flickering between the paths they followed and the eyes of the strange treasure hunter.  

“I’m not sure you’d believe me even if I told you.” Atlas laughed, tugging at the sleeve of the navy blue coat he wore, a nervous habit Eden recognized all too well. “It’s a little crazy.”  

“I like crazy.”  

Atlas took a breath and smiled. “Well, it started with a daydream.”  

Atlas opened the map again and pointed to a little farm out in the distance, somewhere in the expansive suburbs around Williamston Falls. “My grandfather lives on a small plot of land over here. It’s a ranch that’s been in my family for generations and we always meet there for the holidays, but since my grandfather had some medical difficulties, I came to visit early this year. I was helping him fix a section of fence that had lost a few posts in a storm when I started spacing out. I had the strangest daydream, and imagined a star falling on this exact corner of my grandfather’s property.” He tapped on the edge of the map, emphasizing the position. “I decided to visit the spot later out of curiosity and found a marker with this map buried underneath.”  

“That’s not possible,” she breathed, hardly able to believe his tale. It was too precise, and matched her own daydream far too closely to be a coincidence.  

“I warned you it was crazy.”  

“In more ways than one.” Eden muttered under her breath, catching a questioning look from Atlas. Before she could elaborate, the two found themselves already outside of town and facing a small stream that ran under a short wooden bridge.  

“This is the spot, isn’t it?” Atlas asked, spotting a note of recognition in Eden’s eyes as she gazed upon the stream’s current bubbling over the smooth stones. The waters had yet to freeze, but just by the look of it, Eden could already tell it would be frigid.  

“It should be here somewhere,” Eden replied, following her instinct rather than the map. She recognized the winding curves of the stream from that of her daydream, and could practically envision the silver star that fell from the heavens laying under a cool current up around the next bend.  

Atlas followed her, map in hand, searching for the little star shape that dotted the parchment’s design, using a more logical approach than intuition. Eden could hear his soft mumbling behind her speaking of how the “bridge wasn’t on the map” and his pondering about the small inaccuracies he noted. She watched as he twisted and turned the map, holding it close to his face as if he needed to inspect every line and crevice. Strangely, the vision of Atlas’s began to blur as Eden noticed her concentration start to fade. She felt her head lighten and her body begin to slowly sway. Eden recognized the pull of a daydream before she unintentionally fell into it, her mind softly slipping away into a familiar haze. 

“Wait-” she breathed, casting a glance back at Atlas before the daydream overtook her, her thoughts unconsciously moving outside of her control. This experience differed from previous daydreams in which she chose when to slip in and out of her imagination. This feeling gripped her mind and drew her in, causing the faint light of night, the sound of the stream, and the vision of Atlas’s hands suddenly reaching for her to fade to black. 

“Eden!” Atlas’s panic laced voice was the last thing she heard as her imagination cleared the scene, the riverbank she once stood by turned to an endless night sky dotted with stars as even Atlas faded from her view. She was floating on air, feet dangling in inky space where there was neither up nor down. Her only directional cue was a gentle stream of starlight with something glowing within it, just around a bend. With startling clarity, Eden realized this was the stream they were looking for all along.  

“I found it.” Eden whispered in wonder, attempting to float her way over to the stream by propelling herself through the space with a swift forward stroke as if she were swimming. Though odd, the motion worked, and Eden soon found herself face-to-face with the shimmering object in the stream. Small enough to fit in the palm of her hand, a silver star shone a brilliant light as it twinkled all alone. 

“I know you,” Eden said, gazing down upon the lost star from her previous daydream. Reaching into the stream with gentle hands, she scooped the star up into her hands and cradled it close to her. Remembering the words Atlas first said to her, she smiled. “It can be lonely being lost in your own little world.”  

With those words, the vision faded, and Eden found herself gazing up at the sky once more. However, this time the stars were far away and out of focus, and a strong set of hands were lowering her slowly onto the grass next to a gentle stream. She was back in Williamston Falls once more.  

“Oh, thank God you’re awake.” Atlas’s worried face loomed over her own, his cheeks flushed with cold, turning redder as he seemed to notice their nearness. With awkward concern, he started rambling. 

 “I think you fainted. Did you eat today? I might have some ibuprofen in my backpack. Does that do anything for fainting? I don’t know what to do actually.” Atlas paused, his brow wrinkling with concern. “I guess what I mean to say is, are you okay?”  

“I’m fine.” Eden laughed, finding she was somewhat fond of this new side of Atlas. “I found the treasure, actually.” 

“You- what?”  

Eden opened her hand to reveal a shining silver fragment that immediately illuminated the night. “I’m not sure what it is, but I suspect that it didn’t want to be left alone this Christmas.”  

“How would you know that?” Atlas inquired. 

Eden felt a bashful smile creep up her face as she took Atlas’s hand. “Because I found it the same way you found me, lost in a daydream.”  

Written by: Naomi Hernandez

Image Credit: Naomi Hernandez

Life Flipped Upside-Down Chapter 3

Sophia’s POV:  

I’m sitting in the questioning room after Detective Clark showed me his laptop and the camera footage that my parents kept from me. It’s weird seeing myself in this kind of situation. have no idea what I’m doing; I don’t remember any of this.  

I keep looking at video as it continues to show me watching my parents sleep. The time on the footage shows it’s 3:45am I start walking out of the room into the kitchen. Then Detective Clark closes the laptop shut.  

“Why did you close it? I was about to do something I need to know the truth about what happened.”  

“I haven’t watched the rest yet, and honestly, we have no idea what comes after this. It may be too much for you to handle right now.”  

“Don’t tell me what I can handle, you don’t even know me at all. What makes you think you can boss me around like this?”  

“Sophia, listen to me, you just found your parents were brutally murdered in their own bed in your own home, and for all we know this footage shows what really happens I am not going to let you watch that after the emotional turmoil you just went through.”  

“Fine, then what the heck am I still doing here? Why do you need me here if you won’t even let me try and figure out what happened? If I’m so fragile, let me leave.”  

I watch as he studies me, wondering what flipped in me all of a sudden to be so cold to him. I mean if he really wants me to, I’ll be cold and mature for him. He thinks I’m a child; but I’m not. I just saw my lifeless parents less than four hours ago, and there’s no coming back from that. He can stop making it seem like I’ll fall apart at any moment.  

Finally, he opens his mouth. “Fine go, keep your phone next to you, though. I’ll most likely need to call you back in for questioning after I watch these tapes.”  

I didn’t think he was actually going to let me go. I was surprised to say the least, but I couldn’t let him know that. I kept my hard facial expression, got up, and left, slamming the door behind me. Walking out into the hall of the police station, I see Mads sitting on one of the chairs. The minute she sees me, she runs and gives me the biggest hug. Usually, I would hate this, but right now this is exactly what I needed. It’s not every day that you see your dead parents in your own house.   

“Mads, I think I killed them…”  

She pulls away slowly looking at me, studying me, probably trying to figure out if I’m playing some sick joke on her or something.  

“What do you mean you think you killed them? You’re joking right? I mean, this must be some sick joke because you would never kill your parents. Sophia you would never kill, your parents right?” 

I looked at her with a blank face; I didn’t know how to explain this to her. I don’t even really understand what I am supposed to say to myself. That on the 13^th I just decided to sleep murder my parents. But, I also don’t even know if this was the truth. Maybe I didn’t kill them, maybe someone else did. Detective Clark won’t tell me anything.  

I didn’t say anything, I walked straight past her, out of the police department, and ran to my car. Mads came out running after me, she got into the car with me. We sat in the car for about five minutes before she started asking more questions.  

“So, are you going to tell me what the heck happened in that room? Or are we just going to slide past it and act like you didn’t just basically confess to killing your parents?”  

“I- I don’t know if I killed them, but Detective Clark found cameras all around my house, and basically there’s footage of me walking around on the night that my parents were murdered.”  

“Okay? But doesn’t mean that you murdered them, Sophia.”  

“Well, I know, but who else would’ve done it. There was no evidence of a break-in.”  

“Okay, well did you watch the rest of the video to see who actually did it then?”  

“No, because Mr. Hot Shot wouldn’t let me do it until he watches the rest of the video. He basically said I was too fragile to watch it because of what I’ve been through.”  

“Wait, what? He wouldn’t let you watch a video of yourself because you are too fragile that makes no sense! Who does he think he is?”  

“Mads, I really don’t know. All I know is I am tired and just want to shower this night off of me.”  

“Okay, okay, fine. We can go to my house, because your house is probably covered in cops and police tape.”  

I nodded and pulled out of the police station parking lot; we didn’t say a word the whole drive to her house. When we got there, it was like her whole family knew exactly what happened. I mean it makes sense, Mads probably told them all about this. I just wanted someone to treat me like normal.  

“Mads, I can’t keep doing this. I can’t let people look at me as the girl who just lost her parents. I can’t look at one more person that looks at me like I am a lost puppy who just got ran over by a car, okay.”  

“I don’t understand what you’re saying, you don’t want people to have sympathy for you after you just lost your parents? I’m confused now”  

“Maddie, you don’t understand, it’s like no matter who looks at me or who I come into contact with, they look at me with sadness. You don’t think I know what happened is sad? I do okay, I do. But I don’t need everyone I know looking at me like they know too, and everyone looking at me like I’m not strong enough to handle this situation. I am not a child.”  

“Sophia, you just found your parents dead and you don’t want people to know that… Why?”  

“I knew you wouldn’t understand. I mean you still have your whole family sitting in your living room. Meanwhile, the only family I have ever had my entire life are dead and I am getting questioned left and right by the police, and everyone keeps looking at me and waiting for me to fall apart, news flash I’m not going to.”  

I couldn’t take it anymore, I grabbed my bag and left. I drove all the way back to the police station and set up to sleep in my car, thinking there’s nowhere else to go and assuming that I’d most likely be called back here soon enough.  

Detective Clark’s POV:  

This video footage is hours long, spanning all the way through Sophia’s entire day until she found her parents. She didn’t kill them; although, she did let the person who did it into the house. But who is it? They covered up their entire body and then covered up the cameras during the murders.  

“DANIEL!”  

“Yes, boss.”  

I watched as he ran into my office. “Get Sophia on the phone.”  

He nodded “Right away sir, and what do I tell her, exactly?”  

A couple minutes later, I saw Sophia walk into my office, she looked like she had just woken up and how did she get here so fast.  

“Hello, how did you get here in 5 minutes?” 

“I was sleeping in my car in the parking lot. Do you have a problem with that?”  

“Yes, I do. Why are you sleeping here instead of your friend’s house? And why does it have to be in front of my police station?”  

“I don’t think that is any of your business. Also, I am pretty sure this isn’t your station, so could you just talk to me about what you need; then, I can at least try to go get some more sleep before you call me back here again. Or should I just make camp right here in your office and wait for you to need me again?”  

Okay, so someone woke up on the wrong side of the car. Her attitude was starting to get on my nerves.  

“Alright, then, let me not waste any more of your time, then Miss Johnson. I finished watching the video and you didn’t kill your parents; although in your sleepwalking state, you did indeed let the person who did into your house. This person knew exactly where all the cameras were and covered up the one in your parents’ bedroom while they were murdered. Meaning there’s no evidence yet on how exactly they were murdered we won’t know until I get the autopsy reports back and finish tearing down the crime scene looking for the murder weapon.”  

“Okay, that’s what you had to call me in for? To tell me I didn’t murder them and that I know who it is? Do you not remember that I had no idea what I was doing in that video; I don’t remember letting anyone into my house that night at all.”  

I turn my laptop towards her so she can see where I stopped the video.  

“I know that you don’t remember, but maybe you can see something in the body shape of the killer, and we can possibly figure out who murdered your parents. Then we can close this case and both move on with our lives.”  

“That’s what you take my parents case as, just an obstacle to get over? You do realize I just lost the only family I have and am all alone now? I found my parents murdered in my own home and the first thing you did was try to say I murdered my own parents. For someone who graduated early and at the top of your class, you’re really arrogant and oblivious. Where’s your sympathy? Oh, sorry you’re a big hot shot detective I forgot your type doesn’t have sympathy.”  

“Okay, can you just look at the laptop, and tell me if you recognize the body of this person, so I can get you and your attitude out of my office?”  

She rolls her eyes at me and bends down to study the figure. This is the first time that I’m seeing the brown highlights in her blonde hair and that her eyes are blue with a dark green rim around them.  

“Honestly, the person looks like a woman maybe around my age eighteen to nineteen; she looks like any other girl I know.”  

“Do you think it could’ve been one of your classmates?”  

“You really think a teenage girl who I go to high school with killed my parents?”  

“You said it yourself: she looks to be around your age. Why would it be so surprising if a girl you went to school with killed your parents? I mean, three hours ago you thought you did it.”  

The way she stares at me drives me insane. She tries so hard to hate me, and it’s all because I said she wasn’t strong enough, what’s her problem?  

“Okay, fine. What if it is someone I go to school with? How do you plan on figuring out who killed my parents. That could be any girl in the whole district.”  

“Well, I need to fingerprint our house because the one thing this girl did wrong was taking her gloves off to cover the camera. So any girl with these nails and the same fingerprint is our murderer.”  

I fast forward, to the time frame where the suspect took her glove off to show Sophia the nails I return the camera back around to show her.  

I see the blood leave her face. She looks like she just saw her dead parents again and this is when I know. Sophia knows who killed her parents now, and it’s someone she knows.  

“So, you do know who she is, don’t you?”  

She doesn’t say anything; she just looks at me and then back at the computer, next thing I know she is falling to the ground. I ran to catch her right as she fell into my arms. She’s out and doesn’t look good.  

“DANIEL CALL AN ABULANCE!!!”  

Sophia’s POV:  

It’s like I’m in a daze. I’m in and out of consciousness: my eyes keep shutting without my control. I see lights skipping fast. Like I’m running but I’m laying down.  

“Wh- What’s happening?”  

I try to sit up but it’s like there’s a boulder weighing me down.  

“Hey, hey shhhh. It’s okay. You fainted, we are in the hospital, and you are very dehydrated and haven’t eaten in two days. No wonder you passed out in my office.”  

“Ethan, wait what is happening? Where are my parents?”  

“How do you know my first name? I never told you that. Sophia how do you know my name?”  

I heard him ask me questions, but I couldn’t respond, I was tired of explaining myself to people. The next thing I know I’m out again. it’s a comfortable sleep, nothing hurts anymore, and my parents are still alive, everything is still okay.  

I wake up in a hospital room; it’s cloudy and dark. I have no idea what day or time it is. Although it’s all hitting me again, I really am alone. Not only are my parents dead but… Maddie killed them.  

“Whe- Where am I?” 

“You’re awake?”  

I turn my head towards the chair to my right where Ethan Clark, the head detective on my parents’ case, is sitting next to my bed. Why is he here? Why am I here?  

“What am I doing here? Weren’t we just in your office?”  

“Yes, we were in my office two days ago. But you forgot to say that you hadn’t eaten for two days before finding your parents, which I’m guessing is something you’re used to. But with the case and the mystery of your parents’ murder, you forgot to eat?”  

I couldn’t think of a comeback because he’s right. I completely forgot to eat at the three-day mark. I’ve never forgotten, but finding my parents’ dead in my own house made me forget about anything and everything.  

“Tell me Sophia, why do you starve yourself?”  

“I don’t think that’s any of your business. Last time I checked, you’re just a detective who’s way too young to even be one.”  

“Now, Sophia how do you know that information? How do you know my first name, as well? I heard you say it while you were in and out of consciousness.”  

“I looked into you when I found out that you were the one looking into my parents’ case.”  

“Okay, and what did you find?” 

“Ethan Clark, only child, 20 years old, graduated two years early from high school, and a year early from college. Should I mention the connections you made while in school, which is how you’re lead detective a year into a career, or can we just skip that bit?”  

“Mmmmm okay you did do your research, although you missed a piece of key information. I went to your high school.”  

“Wait, that means you knew who I was before this, didn’t you?” 

“No, I didn’t Sophia, but I know that high school from the inside out, which means that I can ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,figure out who exactly did murder your parents. If only you told me who it was in the video that made pass out, which we will talk about after you tell me who it is who has those nails in the video.”  

“It’s Maddie, it’s her.” 

“Your friend? Are you sure?”  

“Yeah, I’m sure those are her nails; she got them done with me, and they are for her senior picture. So yeah, I’m sure it’s her in that video.”  

“Okay so why would she kill your parents? Any motive?”  

“No, I don’t know why she murdered them and I’d very much like to understand why just as much as you do.”  

“Alright then, you rest up and eat something because next time I need answers you. And for you not to on me.”  

He stands up and starts walking to the door. As dark and mysterious as he is, he stayed at my bedside until I woke up.  

“Wait. Why did you stay here, especially when you have an entire murder investigation on your hands?”  

“Because I realized you lost everyone you have ever known in the last seventy-two hours. You would’ve awakened alone. Even a hot shot like me who only cares about himself can’t let someone wake up alone in a hospital.”  

“Hmm, so you do have a heart after all, that’s weird.”  

He scoffed and walked out the door. Now I was really alone with my thoughts, with reality, and with the realization that life will never be the same. My parents are dead, and my best friend was the one to do it. Why? What does she have against me?  

Three days later 

I’m finally released from the hospital after five days for dehydration and malnourishment. I’m walking out getting an uber on the phone; I look up and there he is, Ethan Clark, leaning against his car looking like some dashing prince in a fairy tale: I don’t know if it pisses me off or makes my heart flutter.  

“What are you doing here?”  

“Thought you’d need a ride. Since your car is still sitting in the parking lot of the police station.”  

“Oh, well, that is nice; thank you.”  

I start walking towards the car and he opens the door for me. As I crawl into his car, it smells really nice and it’s oddly very clean, like a new car clean. He gets in and starts driving out of the parking lot; I’m thinking we are going straight to the police station, but he takes an exit off the freeway early. 

“Wait, where are you going? I thought there was still one more exit before we got off.”  

“I thought that maybe you would be hungry. You probably haven’t eaten a decent meal in the last five days while being in that place, and I know you didn’t eat the three days prior, to that so you need a meal.”  

“Oh, it’s fine really, I can get food after we get to the station. I’ll probably uber something plus I want to know what you found during the three days that I spent in the hospital. You have to know something.”  

“Don’t worry Sophia, I have all the files in my briefcase, and we can talk about everything while you eat.”  

I didn’t know what to say because, honestly, I wasn’t planning on eating like I said I was. I was just hoping to get him off my back. Now, I’m going to be eating with this man while he talks about my best friend brutally murdering my parents. Yay.  

We drive into the parking lot of a steakhouse and sit down when the server comes around asking for drinks and appetizers. We both ask for water and give our orders to the server. Once he’s gone, I’m ready to get down to business and figure out what happened while I have been out of commission. 

“So, what did you find about Maddie? Any motive?”  

“She’s in police custody now, we arrested her yesterday. After finding the murder weapon, her father’s hunting knife, in the locker. The motive was spit she wanted what you had and was mad because she couldn’t get it. She’s not sorry for what she did, either.”  

He stops talking when the waiter comes with our food. He if we need anything else before going back to his work. 

“Okay, so that’s it? She confessed to murdering them and gave you all the details?”  

“Well, not everything, she won’t tell us exactly how she did it without waking you up. She wants to see you first.”  

“No, absolutely not: I am not seeing her. She is psychotic and murdered my family; why would I want to see her?”  

“I mean I’m not going to drag you into that room to talk to her. All I can say is I will be there in the room with you. You’d be completely safe, and she wouldn’t be able to get to you at all. Like I said, I won’t force you in there, but unless you want to know what happened to your parents. Seeing her is the only way to do it.”  

“You’d be there? I wouldn’t be alone at all?”  

“No, you wouldn’t. I’m not letting you be alone in a room with someone who killed your parents and also wants your life. I would lose my job over that.”  

So, it’s just about him getting fired, not really my safety. I mean if he didn’t want to get fired, he could just send any one of the deputies in there with me; it doesn’t have to be him.  

“Fine I’ll talk to her. But once I’ve heard enough, I’m done. I’m leaving the room and once I leave, I will not ever look at her face again unless it’s for the trial.”  

“Okay, I respect that. I’ll call the station to get everything situated. Finish eating and then we will head out.”  

He walks off to make calls as I finish my plate. He was right, I needed some good food. The room finally comes, into perfect focus and my head stops pounding. I drank my water, and by the time he comes back, he paid the bill and we left. The rest of the ride back is silent, I couldn’t talk at all.  I was shaking and nervous; I was about the face the person I thought to be my best friend but who murdered my parents in cold blood out of jealousy.   

Detective Clark’s POV:  

I pull into the parking lot of the station; I look to my right to see she’s sitting there looking like she’s about to break down. The need to give her a hug is next level, but I’m in my work persona and I can’t do that. It’s not right; she just lost her parents and found out the killer was the person closest to her. If I tried to make any type of move it would look bad all around. She is shaking like she’s about to explode and I have no idea what to say.  

“You ready?”  

She turns to me with tears in her eyes, and all I can think about is scooping her up and comforting her, but business is business, and I can’t be labeled soft going into this room with her. 

“Yeah, I guess I am.”  

We get out of the car and walk into the station. I’m leading her to the room where Maddie sits awaiting our arrival. The door opens and it feels cold like something dark is here. That’s when Maddie starts smiling, looking like she’s proud of herself and makes me sick.  

“Oh, did you come with your boyfriend, Sophia? You couldn’t stand up to me alone! You just had to have back-up; you probably wish you had that sooner, don’t you?”  

I am about to say something but before I do,  Sophia walks past me and sits down at the table. It’s like she figured out what she wanted to do with this, and she realized she’s going to break it down with confidence instead of fear.  

“Oh, don’t act like that, Mads. Don’t you know I’m the one you want to be. In reality you’re the one that needs back-up.”  

“No, I don’t want to be you, Sophia I want to destroy you. But mister youngie over there stopped me before I could get to you. All because he called you soft, you left my house the night you found your parents. It ruined my whole plan. You were supposed to die that night with them, but you just had to leave because of your feelings him and what he said. And then you ran back to him and fainted.”  

“How did you know I fainted? You were in custody by the time I got out of the hospital.”  

“Yeah, I was but you spent two days passed out in the hospital. Hot shot here camped out at your bedside so I couldn’t get in the day he left. When you woke up I tried to get in and finish what I had planned but he caught me and took me into custody all because you ratted me out.” 

  
“I RATTED YOU OUT!!?? ARE YOU KIDDING ME MADDIE? YOU KILLED MY PARENTS YOU PSYCHO!!”  

There’s something seriously wrong with this girl; she’s not even fazed by Sophia yelling. She just starts laughing like she enjoys seeing Sophia in pain, like she’s getting a kick out of it.  

“Oh, honey, of course I killed them. There was no way for me to get to you if they were still alive. I should’ve been you, but no, you decided to take my spot instead with the perfect life and the perfect parents.”  

“What are you talking about Maddie? What do you mean you should’ve been me?”  

“You’re adopted and your parents were supposed to pick me until you showed up at the same foster house as me. You were younger and cuter, and they picked you instead of me.”  

“No, I am not adopted, and we are the same age. I have no idea what is happening.”  

“Yes, you are adopted and I’m two years older than you. When you were adopted, I was four and you were two; I remember Mr. and Mrs. Johnson saying the younger ones are easier to adopt because they don’t remember life before-hand and chose you instead, all because you were blonde with blue eyes. The perfect baby girl for the perfect couple.”  

“So, you kept a grudge against me for 16 years because my parents decided to adopt me instead of you?”  

“Wow, look at you using that 4.0 GPA of yours. The only thing I ever wanted was for you to understand that you aren’t perfect, and you simply don’t deserve the life you have. No matter how hard my life got, yours got better, and it should’ve been my life.”  

“You truly are psycho, and I am done with this conversation and with you too. I’ll see you in trial. When you get a life sentence. You’ll never have my life. Yours will be stripped away like you deserve.”  

The next thing I know, Maddie leaps across the table landing on top of Sophia within seconds. I run to grab her, but the has her handcuffs around Sophia’s throat and pulls harder every time I try to get her off of Sophia. Fear creeps into me, and I have no other option but to call for backup and pull my gun on her.  

“Let go of her or I shoot you; those are your options. I’m not compromising with you. Let go of her NOW.”  

“Is someone scared of me killing a girl they like? Awwww am I hurting your crush?”  

She tightens her grip around Sophia’s neck and I see the fear creep into her eyes as she looks at me. I’m no longer protecting her because of my job; I’m protecting her because she means something to me, and I can’t stand to lose her before I figure out what it is. I click my gun and point at Maddie. 

“Unfortunately for you, that just made me a lot madder than I was. Now you don’t get to choose an option: you will let go of her in the next five seconds, or I’m darting you and you’ll be taking a very long nap.”  

She just stares at me and starts smiling like she doesn’t care what happens to her anymore. That’s when her grip starts getting harder and when I signal the guys to dart her. She’s out within seconds and the grip on Sophia is released. She is coughing and crawling away from her, I put my gun away and fall to the floor to help her. She curls into my arms and starts sobbing against my chest. I was scared that I was going to lose her. Maddie wasn’t letting up on her grip and it scared me, that’s never going to happen again as long as I’m here.  

“Shhhh. it’s okay, you’re okay, I am so sorry that happened. It won’t happen again, I promise. Never again.”  

Day of the trial:  

Sophia’s POV:  

It’s the day of the trial for the murder of my parents. It’s also the day after my graduation. Thankfully, the judge pushed the trial so that I could graduate and not miss class. I’m getting ready in my bedroom, about to face Maddie again, the girl who tried to ruin my life because she, believes I stole hers. I take a deep breath and grab my bag as I head out of my house. Ethan waits for me to take me to the courthouse. As I walk out, I catch his eyes; ever since that day he promised that I would never get hurt again, he hasn’t let me out of his sight. I had police officers outside of my house, in front of my school, everywhere I went there was someone ready to protect me on his behalf. He would always use the excuse of it’s safety for the job because I’m still in danger in case Maddie had someone else in on the plan. But I didn’t believe him. That day in that room something snapped in him and he never let me be alone. I didn’t hate it either, I didn’t want to be alone I wanted to be with him.  

We start the drive to the courthouse in silence, but its comfortable silence. It’s a stressful day for me though. I bet he’s done this a million times by now. I just don’t want to see Maddie again or look into her eyes and know that she murdered my parents and then planned the same fate for me.  

“You doing, okay? It’s a big day; is it the nerves of the trial or seeing her?”  

“Mmm, I think both honestly. You said there’s no jury, just the judge and us and her?”  

“Yeah, she already confessed to the entire thing. This is so she can get sentencing and be put away for good.” 

“What do you think the sentencing will be? I mean, she murdered two people and then tried to kill me three times. That’s got be a lot right?” 

“Yeah, she’ll most likely get two charges for murder for your parents and then three charges for attempted murder for you.”  

“Okay, so it should be quick, right?” 

“Yes, most likely the judge already has the verdicts ready and will just annouce it.”  

“Okay, that’s good. That means I don’t have to be in a room with her for a long time.”  

“No, and don’t worry, she won’t get to you if I’m there. If anyone is getting to you, they will go through me first.”  

I turn to smile at him, but he’s already looking at me with the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen. It hits me I want him, but I’m sure it’s one sided. We arrive at the courthouse and walk in together. He moves to sit in the audience while I go sit next to my lawyer. Then the doors in the back of the courtroom open and Maddie walks in with handcuffs on and chains that go down to her ankles, I try not to look behind me and look at her, but I just can’t. I chose to act confident and not show her any fear. I look behind me and see her. She’s barely recognizable she looks scary and dark, like there’s no life to her anymore. She makes eye contact with me and smiles; I know she’s just trying to break me, but it’s not going to work this time. I stare her dead in her eyes until she sits down and the judge walks in.  

“Okay let’s get this started this trial between Sophia Johnson and Maddie West. The charges brought against Maddie West are as follows: two degrees of murder for Mr. and Mrs. Johnson; and three counts of attempted murder on Sophia Johnson. Defendant, how do you plead?”  

Maddie stands up and looks at me with no ounce of emotion: she seems cold and heartless and no longer the person I remember her to be.  

“Guilty, your honor. I plead guilty, and I would do it all over again but not get caught doing it.”  

“Alright then, for these crimes I give your life in prison with no chance of parole. Court adjourned.”  

The judge bangs her gavel and stands up to leave. That’s it. It’s done. Just like that Maddie will be in prison for the rest of her life. My parents are gone, and she’s gone. Again, I’m alone forever. I stand up as they escort Maddie out of the courtroom, and that’s the last time I see her. It feels like everything moves in slow motion. Ethan walks up to me, leading me out of the courtroom. Outside a bunch of people are lined on the sidewalk with cameras. Ethan guides me through the crowd, and his car. Once we are inside, we drive away. Fast I don’t remember how long we drove before we stopped in front of an apartment building.  

“Where are we?”  

“My apartment. I didn’t know where else to go.”  

“My house???”  

“Yeah, sure. Let’s just drive you back the eyes of the media. They know where you live. Did you forget that your parents were famous lawyers?” 

“Oh yeah, I guess you’re right. Well, what do we do then?” 

“We go inside and wait for the media to decide to leave you alone and leave your house.” 

“Okay.” 

We got out of the car and walked into his apartment. It’s clean like his car but also very black too. I walk into his living room and see that the wall with his computer is a dark blue. It’s beautiful but also the only colored thing in this dang apartment. 

“Hey, why do you only have one colored wall within your whole apartment. And why dark blue out of all the things you could’ve chosen?”  

“Well because that is the color of your eyes, which are beautiful. If I couldn’t be with you, I thought I’d think of you when I have to close this case.”  

I turned around to face him. I’m shocked and I’m sure my face shows it too. He has been interested in me this entire time? He came into my life six months ago, and I thought he was just doing his job, but he was really falling for me.  

“Wait what? You painted your wall the color of my eyes? When did you?” 

“The night that Maddie almost killed you something in me flipped when I realized that I couldn’t lose you, but then I also realized that you weren’t someone I was allowed to lose because I was doing my job. Protecting you became more of a need than a responsibility.”  

“Wait, but all the time you’d say mean things and be all cold. I thought you hated me.” 

“No, I could never hate you, I pushed and acted cold to make you hate me because if you hated me, it could be easier to let you go after the trail was done and the case was closed.”  

“Wait! So you were just going to let me go and not fight for me?” 

“I didn’t think you’d want a fight; I didn’t think you’d want me the. Plan wasn’t for you to ever see this wall. But I knew the media would be too much for you after the trial, so I accepted my fate and brought you here instead, and I was prepared for the consequences.”  

“Of course, I want you to fight for me. Because I’d fight for you to.” 

I closed the gap between us and kissed him for the first time. Somehow it felt like the most comfortable thing to do, like something I wanted do for the rest of my life. That’s exactly what happened he became my person and I found him the hardest part of my life. I hate that my parents died and that my best friend killed them, but at least I’m not alone anymore and I never will be again.  

Written by: Alexis Farino
Image Credit

Nameless Chapter 4

I needed strength. I forgot the goal that required achievement. I continued to think one day it would come back to me, but by the time I entered a neighboring village, the thought still never arrived. After the guards at the gate allowed me in, the village that greeted me felt so much more normal. The strangers that passed paid no mind to me and not a single person spoke a word. I felt more comfortable in this village that met my expectations: Dodasa.

I rested briefly on a bench as I ate the bread given to me. Then I carried on towards the military office, I observed how this different place opposed the place I woke up in. Clouds covered the sky. Tall fences guarded each establishment from the people beyond. No one outside did anything besides walk to their next destination. When I entered the military office, explaining that I would like to train and fight with them, they asked for my name. I knew I had to give an answer, so I gave them the only syllables that came to mind, “Hera.”

“And family name?” the intimidating woman asked.

I replied honestly this time, “I don’t have one.”

“Orphan?”
            I gave her a quick nod.

“Well, we will take anyone as long as you won’t hinder us,” she explained.

The woman told me to come back tomorrow for a fitness test. Realizing I had nowhere to rest, I halted penniless and alone asking if any strangers would open their doors to me, but I continued to be ignored. Eventually, I traveled outside the gates and camped out in the woods near the walls. In the morning, I ate the bread I had left. Then, I arrived at the office again determined to prove myself.

I followed the instructions given to me and performed as best I could to prove I would become a good warrior. After I completed every task, the examiner gave his verdict, “You’ll do.” Those were his only words. I left that day with a uniform, instructions, and a key for a room at the military training sight. I finally had a place to stay, but I could not call it my own.

Across from my bed stood another bed with a mid-aged woman laying on top. She introduced herself as Daphne and rarely spoke to me after. I woke up every morning and participated in training for Dodasa’s army. I listened to their instructions, put my upmost effort into gaining strength, and followed them into their battles. However, they looked down on me as an outsider with no family name. They hated it when I spoke or suggested alternative methods, so I spoke to no one. I looked up to no one. I grew stronger for no one.

Often, I sat alone at my desk trying to remember my goal, the reason I desired strength so much. Despite my persistence, my reason never revealed itself. Regardless of this, my will never dulled. I worked twice as hard as my peers and surpassed them. I pushed passed the physical tolls, so that I would no longer be looked at as weak. I always returned from the battles because I still needed to do something unforeseen to me. No longer would I be tossed aside, considered unworthy to fight.

I trained so hard every day, my whole body ached in pain, but it was worth it for the goal that was still hidden from me. I became known as one of the strongest warriors in Dodasa’s army, but that did not mean I would always be needed. When Daphne retired after years of service, I got a room to myself. Soon, my body started to imitate hers. I stopped improving, but instead started to decay. I got slower, weaker, and my bones crackled. I kept rejecting retirement, but one day they told me to pack my bags, saying “Go home, Hera.”

“Where?” I thought. As I packed my belongings, I found stuffed deep in my bag a mechanical toy. It surprised me and soon occupied my focus. I tore it apart and reassembled it with ease. I glanced at it every day wondering its origin. I began tinkering again as an old hobby that used to be a habit. I made more toys out of spare rubble, fixed the door hinges in the room I rented, and even made miniatures of weapons out of the images that that popped into my head. I filled my small apartment with a variety of inventions and at my desk existed a display of a walled off village across a bridge. However, every invention I made sat unused.

My mind haunted that room. I desired to get stronger, but I could no longer physically fulfill that request. The best I could do was create and innovate to improve what I could. However, Dodasa’s people saw me as a shut-in and refused to know any outsider. Even when I possessed the confidence to offer assistance with my inventions, they shouted at me to leave them alone. I grew more and more isolated, until a knock at my door intruded my ears.

I thought I heard wrong. Maybe something fell or the sound came from a ghost. I ignored it, but eventually another knock came louder than before. Then, the sound repeated until the door opened. The intruder was a tall, young woman with long black hair and a hood that covered her eyes. Her clothes were completely out of the ordinary, but she composed herself with confidence. She told me the story of a little girl who saved a hopeless village but ended it before the happy ending. I told her that the story needs a conclusion where the girl comes home to the village, and they celebrate the miracle. The young storyteller replied, “Then come with me,” she continued, “You have been gone from your home too long.”

I went with her out of curiosity and on the way, she slowly revealed more things about the girl. “She was an inventor. She lived with the blacksmith and his family. She wasn’t raised in the village but called it home. Just as she rescued the village from its oppressors so did the village for her. She considered everyone there her family!” Then she said, “Her name was Hera!”

We walked into a wilted, gloomy land. The stranger and I entered through an open space between large, cracked stone walls. There were many buildings but no people. With tears in my eyes I exclaimed, “I failed. I’m sorry. I failed to protect my home!” The hooded lady escaped my mind and the only thought left was an apology to a forgotten me.

We approached a small, fenced area with many engraved stone tablets on the ground. This place appeared to be the only maintained area within the walls. “Colin,” “Dimitris,” “Ajax,” “Eleni,” and “Evander,” all appeared on a plaque. I remembered Evander, my friend that took me in and who became like my father. In front of his grave, stood a family. A man looked at the two graves holding his children’s hands, telling them about their grandparents. Eventually, he turned around and faced me. His children stepping behind him. He told them in a soft voice, “Don’t be afraid. She is your aunt who saved my village.” He looked at me with a smile and tears in his eyes, “Hera?”

I still barely remembered any memories, but I knew that he was family. His children called out to me, “Auntie, where have you been?!” I stayed silent. Then, their father answered, “She’s been here, watching over the village even after everyone has gone!” He approached me and said, “You’re family, I grew up hearing my parents talk about the sister I had, and they knew you would return to see them.”

One of his children clutched my hand, “Come home with us!” she ordered. I answered, “I will. I promise I will never leave my family again.” We walked together past all the older buildings and through the entrance. Just before we left, I turned to the lady and comforted her, “You didn’t fail; here is your happy ending.”  Finally, I went home to meet my family once more with Helios.

Written by: Rachel Caña

Image Credit

All The World’s a Stage: Part 4

“All the world’s a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages.”

William Shakespeare, As You Like It.

Kessy

Of course Kessy knew the story. The High Court—or the Celestial Realm—was a glittering metropolis in the sky, fueled by the tale of its ruthless ruler: how King Olaris believed his wife, Thessaly, and younger brother Austore were plotting against him. How he banished Austore to the ground, or the Lower Court, forbidding him to return. How he threw Thessaly in prison, no matter how many times she told him they would never conspire to take his throne. How he had her killed and never remarried, ruling both the High and Lower Courts with an iron fist.

            Rightfully, Austore should have ruled the Lower Court, as was tradition. Instead Olaris, proclaiming his brother and wife’s supposed treason, usurped Austore’s power and now ruled both realms, locking travel between them with the Medial Court, that swirling mass of stars and nothingness that keeps the sunlight from reaching the Lower Court.

            Now, she listened in horrified silence as Olaris explained her own part in this story. Thessaly, innocent of treason, of course, had given birth in prison. Law and tradition forbade him from executing a pregnant woman, and as soon as Thessaly birthed their daughter, he swept in, ordering her execution. The young princess he also wished to kill, but tradition also forbade the murder of a child. Instead, Olaris bided his time, waiting until the little girl turned eighteen. Kassiopeia was raised in the palace, not quite a noble, not quite a commoner, completely unaware of her lineage.

            “And then she turned eighteen,” Kandor murmured, his voice hushed and horrified. “And you killed her.”

            Olaris huffed. “I tried to. She should not have survived the transformation. So I sent her away, through the Medial Realm. I thought surely that would kill her, and if not, she would have no way to return to the High Court.”

            “Except she did return,” Juna said, a little reverently. “We all passed through.”

            “Foolish boy,” Olaris spat. “You passed through because I let you pass through.”

            “You knew we were coming?” Kessy asked, her voice very, very small. I did this.

            “Of course. I know everything that happens and passes through the Medial Realm. I knew you were coming. I also knew that the most efficient way to end this was to finish it myself.”

            Out of the corner of her eye, Kessy saw Kandor squeeze Amily tighter, her little body trembling. “And how is that?” Kandor asked, his voice hard.

            Olaris smiled. “With the theater, of course.”

KANDOR

Amily’s hand in his felt clammy. He lifted it up absently to his lips and kissed it, wishing he could protect her from what was about to happen.

            The sounds of the amphitheater grew louder, an audience hungry for a show.

            A tragedy to rival Shakespeare’s, Olaris had said.

            The performance was indeed a tragedy. The end of the play saw its heroes vanquished, the heroine sacrificing herself for her friends only to watch them die regardless.

            Olaris had created a part for each of them.

            And the show was about to begin.

            Kandor looked down at his little sister, who had run out of tears hours ago. She didn’t know exactly what was going on, and Kandor wasn’t sure if he should tell her or not. His only consolation was that Amily’s character died relatively early on. She would not suffer like the other three would.

            His eyes panned to Juna, who Kandor knew was thinking of his wife. Kandor scooped up Amily and made his way to his best friend, resting his hand on Juna’s shoulder for a long moment.

            They said nothing. What was there to say?

            Amily reached for Juna and Kandor handed her over, looking over at Kessy. Her eyes seemed dull, sunken. Already lifeless, though she still breathed. Kandor went to her and took her hand.

            “You have a cut right here,” he murmured, touching her face.

            Kessy didn’t move. “It doesn’t matter now.”

            “Yes, it does.” Kandor inspected it. “Does it hurt?”

            Kessy shook her head. After a moment, he felt her small, trembling hand slide into his own. “I’m so sorry, Kandor,” she whispered.

            “Oh no…Kessy…why are you sorry?”

            A tear caught on her eyelashes, sparkling in the dim light of the coliseum just beyond them. “This is my fault.”

            “No.” Kandor put his hands on her shoulders. “This isn’t your fault. How could you have known?”

            “I—”

            “Right.” He flashed her a half smile. “You couldn’t have.”

            She looked down. “I’m sorry about Amily.”

            Kandor looked to his sister, still clinging to Juna. “She had so much life to live,” he murmured.

            Kessy swallowed an ill-contained sob, and before he quite realized it, Kandor took her in his arms and held her tightly. She sobbed into his chest, and Kandor stroked her blonde hair, overwhelmed with the amount of love he realized he had for her and the very little time he had left to tell her. He pulled back, taking her tearstained face in his hands.

            “Kessy—I wanted to—I need to tell you—”

            Kessy’s fingers gripped his wrists. “I know, I know,” she sobbed.

            Kandor kissed her suddenly, gently, tenderly. He had never kissed a girl before and he didn’t know if he did it right, but he also found that right now, it didn’t matter.

Kessy

Kessy remembered only bits and pieces of the performance: the firearm intended for Amily somehow wrested away by her brother, the blood pouring out of a wound from Juna’s shoulder, the flashing screen of lines, and the text that read: “I speak as my understanding instructs me and as mine honesty puts it to utterance.”

            Somehow, she felt life breathe into her. Her mother’s last gift. She heard a voice whisper, Speak, Kassiopeia.

            Kessy opened her mouth and spoke.

Kandor

“I am the rightful heir to a kingdom marked by violence and greed, and if that is to be my inheritance, then I want no part in it.”

            Kessy’s voice didn’t tremble. Kandor held Amily close and listened to her forego the lines Olaris wrote for them. Instead, she lobbied charge after charge against her father as she climbed to the top of the set laid out for them, at eye level with the king. “But if you take these innocent lives,” she said, the acoustics of the amphitheater carrying her voice to the ears of every listener, “how are you any better than the usurper you claimed my mother to be?” She held his gaze even as her father rose to meet her, standing nose to nose.

            “You will not give me orders in my own kingdom,” he said in a low voice, flanked on either side by his most powerful magicians.

            “No?” Kessy’s eyes held a strange glint. “I think you mean my kingdom.”

            Olaris laughed in her face. “Your kingdom? You stupid, foolish girl. You have more audacity than I thought.”

            The wind whipped around them both. “I spent a great many hours studying the royal texts,” Kessy said evenly, her voice unsettlingly calm. “In them, I learned every law that the Celestial Realm must adhere to. Everyone in the kingdom must follow these laws—including yourself, Your Majesty. The High Court leaves no room for criminals, especially not a criminal whose entire purpose is to lead our kingdom with wisdom, honor, and dignity.”

            A crack rang out; Olaris had slapped his daughter across the face. “How dare you insinuate such things about your king?”

            “Oh, but I’m not insinuating,” Kessy gasped, a hand to her cheek. “You said it yourself not three hours ago: the official age for public execution is eighteen years.” She pointed towards Kandor and Amily. “In sentencing this child to death, you have broken one of the Celestial Realm’s most sacred laws, and as such, are immediately disposed of your throne and all the rights that come with it.” She smiled faintly. “So, yes, I do mean ‘my kingdom,’ and you are no longer my king. Your reign is over, Father.”

            All was silent for a few moments. Kandor held his breath. Kessy lifted her chin a little bit higher. Olaris kept his gaze leveled on her as long as he dared, but he finally stepped back, acknowledging his defeat and his deposition. His part ended. Kessy’s was just beginning.

            Kessy’s shoulders slumped the tiniest bit, and Kandor could see the relief on her face. She turned to go, a princess descending her throne, when Amily suddenly screamed.

            “Kessy—look out!”

            Kessy whipped around just in time to see one of Olaris’ magicians fling a blinding spell at her. Kandor shoved Amily at Juna and ran to catch her body as it fell from the set and plummeted towards the ground.

Epilogue

There have been many stories about that day, passed down from mother to child and on and on and on. Some say Kandor made it to Kessy and caught her in his arms moments before impact. Others say she caught herself somehow. Still others swear they felt a breeze blow through the arena, buoying Kessy’s fall and setting her lightly on the ground.

            No one knows for sure.

            The only thing they do know is that following the deposition of King Olaris the Usurper, the Courts were once again split evenly. The Celestial Realm enjoyed many fruitful and prosperous years under the rule of a fair and kind queen. Minstrels spun sonnets about her flax-colored hair and sparkling blue eyes, cloudy as they were.

Kassiopeia didn’t need to see to be a good queen. She knew that simply being alive, surviving a curse that should have killed her, at the helm of the kingdom she was created to lead, was enough. Even more so, being alive with her family felt above and beyond enough.

Listening to Amily’s musical laugh or feeling Kandor’s gentle fingers run through her hair was more than she could have ever hoped for, and she thanked the stars every single day for the role she was blessed to play in this cosmic tale.

Written By: Caroline Johnson

Image Credit

Faint Memories and Present Illusions: Part 2

A harsh glint of metal meets my eyes as I turn a dagger over in my hand, inspecting the blade for nicks, scratches, and grime. I sheath the blade and secure the weapon inside my boot. Peering up at my darling, fiancėe, Vera, as she touches up her hair in front of the vanity. I hide six more daggers around my body. The metal’s weight brings a familiar calm to my mind as I remember crafting each blade for this night and any subsequent events of a similar nature. I straighten and step towards my darling before saying, “You look immaculate tonight, love.”

Vera stands and candlelight dances across her golden hair. She moves forward and her blue gown glides over the wooden floor. Her hands raise and sign, “You truly think so?”

I swiftly move and stand in front of her, my footsteps light from over a year of training and experience. Grasping her chilly hand in my own, I say, “But of course, my beautiful Vera. The blue dress you wear flatters your golden hair, even though you look stunning in every attire.” I pause to brush my other hand against her cheek before continuing. “Each strand on your head looks elegant but natural. Your smile lights up the depths of my soul. If anyone thinks otherwise, that individual has less taste than the swine of the farm.”

Vera blushes and signs, “You are too kind.”

Wrapping my arms around her, I thank the heavens above for her humble, innocent nature. She blesses my life with her sparkling smile, beauty, and generosity. My time at war changed my life, but the constant stream of letters overflowing with kind and lovely words helped me as I went on assignments. I returned with damaged hearing but watched my fiancėe’s face glow with excitement making every action worth the mental and physical pain. Her smile brings me joy. Her love brings me peace. Her naivetė brings me bliss. What else could I ask for in a fiancėe?

Tapping my arm, Vera signs, “Should we not leave soon if we are to make it to your friend’s manor before sundown?”

I sigh and step away from my darling, readjusting the collar of my jacket before saying, “I do believe you are right, my love.”

We move to the door and I grab my wooden cane as we leave. I close the door and lock it with a silver key. Grasping Vera’s hand, I guide her to our humble carriage. I detest the thing, but transportation is transportation. Sir Capulon ‘gifted’ it to me as a spoil of war. I help Vera catch her footing and climb into the seat before moving to check the horses. After inspecting the leather straps that secure the creatures in place, I circle the carriage making certain the wheels are properly oiled and bear no cracks. While a short journey, a timely arrival is necessary when dealing with the Capulons and the rest of their company.

I walk back to the box seat and see the ratty floor and blood-caked cushions inside the carriage. Thankfully Vera loved the outdoors and preferred to sit in the box seat with me. It would be most difficult to explain how that happened or why I possess such an item. Hoisting myself onto the seat, I accept the reigns from dearest Vera and flick the leather straps to start our journey into the copper autumn world.

---

We ride in pleasant silence over dirt paths surrounded by endless fields of grass waving in the breeze and vultures swarming in the distance. I enjoy the winding roads and cool autumn breeze, as I brace myself for the night ahead, a final callback to the war. A celebration. A memorial. A mission. The grey sky foretells the plans of the night while the sun emits a strange red glow and sinks below a broken horizon of dense forests and crumbled stone. This night either ends my political connection or deepens their need for my services.

 I jolt out of my thoughts when Vera leans on my shoulder and asks for the time. I reply, “Just a few more moments. It is just around this turn.”

The dirt roads change to cobbled paths closer to the mansion. We cross a small bridge over a creek before passing through rows of hedges and beds of snapdragons, begonias, and lavender. To our left, a broken well sits, waiting to be filled. Our carriage pulls into the main driveway, and I stop in front of the large oak doors. Stone walls welcome us to the main entrance and flickering candles illuminate the windows.

Vera holds out her silk blindfold, which serves no physical purpose but grants her mind ease, and I gently tie it around her head, making sure to avoid ruining her golden hair. I climb down and help Vera off. Her light blue gown and bright smile seem directly oppositional to my dark suit and the glinting knives tucked inside my outfit. How could one so happy and innocent love someone as misleading and destructive as me? I thank the heavens above that Vera will not understand what takes place tonight, should everything go according to plan.

 I turn to my fiancėe and say, “Thank you for coming with me tonight, my love. Your willingness to meet my colleagues means a great amount to me. I hope you find that Mr. Douglas’ hosting skills and my other acquaintances present an excellent representation of my work.”

She smiles, “Robin, dear, you are my eyes and I, your ears. Why would I waste such an opportunity to see your friend’s home?” After that, Vera links our arms together. “Introduce me to them.”

            “But of course.”

I guide her up the stairs and into the marbled foyer. The crystal chandelier glitters in the warm candles and dozens of plants with creeping vines line the walls and sit on tables. Turning to the left, we enter the main hosting room. People dressed in a variety of colors scatter the wide hall in little groups and a live string quartet plays in the corner. There are many tables along the walls with snacks, beverages, and other such pleasantries. Spotting the red uniform attire of my colleagues, Caleb and Elanor, I move over to them with Vera still attached to my arm.

            “Monsieur Caleb, I would like you to meet my darling fiancėe, Vera. Dear, this is Caleb Monte and his wife Elanor.”

            Vera smiles and extends her hand, saying, “It is a pleasure to meet you both. Robin wholly refuses to reveal details about his work. Naturally, I am curious. How did you all come to meet?”

            As Caleb and Elanor tell my fiancėe how we met in the blacksmith when they placed an order of weapons for the war, I scan the room and see each unsuspecting noble laugh and mingle with the very people plotting against them. Michael and I make eye contact and he nods to a corner where Monsieur Taylor drinks from his glass. I return the nod and finish my scan of the room, noting the entrances, windows, and movable objects. Taking a deep breath to anchor my mind, I press my hand against the dagger attached to my waist. The dawn of a new era will begin soon, and the world is not prepared for what this group plans to change.

            I notice Vera gesture towards me and turn my attention back to my darling, reading her lips, “What genre of books do you sell in your Braile collection? I consider myself a literature fanatic, when I have the proper books, of course.”

            I move my arm to grab her hand and say, “Yes, my little Vera has quite the knack for reading. Darling, Monsieur Caleb’s store is the place where I get your specially printed books. Though I do sometimes wonder what it is in those books that captures your attention so well.” Leaning to kiss her cheek, I continue, “Now, Miss Elanor, would you introduce my fiancėe to Lady Rowena? I do believe the three of you ladies will get along splendidly.”

            The group voices their agreement, and my fiancėe remains silent before tapping my arm to get my attention. Vera signs, “Are you sure? I would love to meet new acquaintances, yet to leave you is unfamiliar. Should we not be together before the dinner begins?”

            “It is alright, my love. Elanor is a sweet young lady who I suspect understands our situation. Is that correct, Miss?”

            Elanor nods. “Indeed it is. Vera, I agree with your fiancé. Lady Rowena will adore you. I can guide you to her.”

            Vera nods, resolving to meet new people. “Very well. Robin, dearest, will we sit together at dinner?” she asks.

            “I would dream of nothing else,” I say, unlocking my arm from hers. “Enjoy the night, my love.”

            Walking away with Caleb, we start to mingle with the variety of guests. Many nobles with secrets darker than a black dahlia sip on crystal glasses of punch. They smile their ignorant little smiles, unaware of our host’s intentions. Every one of the guests is here for a purpose, some because of power or money, others because they hinder future plans. The Capulons designed this event to finish what we started during the war. Something illegal, perhaps. Definitely immoral. But above all, intentional. This night will go down in silent history, unknown to the citizens, but whispered in halls of stone. Life and death will unravel like loose threads from an old sweater, uncontrollable unless cut off from the whole.

            We move to a familiar group of red-clad men by the windows overlooking Marilyn’s garden. Joining their circle and leaning against the wall, I greet them, saying, “Good evening, gentlemen. Delightful event, now, is it?”

            The man on my right, Taylor Wilkins, nods and says, “Indeed. Your wife did a lovely job planning this, Michael.”

            “Thank you, Monsieur Taylor. We all knew Marilyn had a knack for planning. But I did provide a few ideas of my own for dinner.” Michael responds while polishing his glasses on his maroon blazer.

            We continue talking and Michael grabs my arm before laughing. During this moment, he slips a paper into my hand, and I pass him two of the many daggers on my person. He moves back and wipes a tear from his cheek before saying, “Robin, my friend, how is life treating you? Do you need anything?”

            “No, I believe you have given me enough.” I have no desire to be further connected to this family, yet I suspect Vera will get attached enough for the both of us. One year ago, Michael gave me the carriage for helping him during the war. Quite an ironic present because it came from a noble he ordered me to assassinate.

            “Very well, Caleb; Taylor, make sure you get what you need before dinner begins. Marilyn is quite picky about timeliness.” With that final word, Michael leaves the three of us alone.

            I look around the room, making certain there are no wandering eyes, if any of these guests possess an inkling of suspicion about this event, our plans could fall apart. Seeing all the nobles engaged and distracted with conversations, Taylor moves closer and I pass him a dagger, which he hides under his coat. I sip from my glass and hand another two blades to Caleb. We talk for a few more minutes before separating to converse with the other invitees. I walk past vases filled with black dahlias, pink snapdragons, red begonias, and fragrant lavender. I see Vera talking to Rowena, Marilyn, and Elanor by the snack table.

            Later, we move into the dining room. A long, black oak table sits in the middle of the room with twenty pleated chairs with armrests lining the sides. Floral arrangements, just like those in the hall, decorate the center. A large stained glass window is behind the head of the table, and each wall has three sets of closed doors. I stand by Caleb while we wait for the rest of the guests. Vera enters with the other ladies and they guide her to our seats.            

I walk over to my fiancėe and say, “Here is your chair, my love,” I say, pulling out the pleated chair for her.

            “Thank you, Robin,” Vera says as she sits in the designated chair. I push her seat closer to the table, step to my right, and sit in my chair. I look around the table and see Marilyn and Michael at the front, side-by-side, Taylor to Michael’s right, then Vera, myself, and to Marilyn’s left Caleb, Elanor, and Rowena. The other sixteen guests follow on either side, each seated in the chair designed for them and marked by the card in front of the table setting.

            I catch part of Taylor’s words to my fiancėe  “…close friends. He told me a great deal about your musical talents and language skills. Taylor Wilkins, at your service, miss.”

            “It is lovely to meet you, Monsieur Taylor. Meeting his acquaintances is always interesting. How did the two of you meet?” Vera asks both of us. I press my arm against hers and clasp our hands together.

            “Vera, my love, I met Taylor during a strategy meeting. He and Michael leaned over a table covered in maps while drinking hot tea. When I entered, Taylor passed me a third cup without looking up. I joined them and the other advisors and listened to the group talk through the statistics of either side’s troops. I worked to train the soldiers into swordsmen.”

            “Quite skilled in that field, Robin is. I do believe his swordsmanship skills only improved over the year or two when he trained the soldiers. Many would find it difficult to disarm your fiancé unless they could distract him.”

            Vera looks at me, pursing her lips, a sign of confusion, and asks why I never told her I fought with blades, not just making them. I sigh and say, “Love, I did not want to dwell on the past. Dueling for sport and killing to survive are extremely different actions. I prefer to enjoy my time with you or work in the forge, not thinking about what I did during the most challenging time of my life.” I squeeze her hand reassuringly and continue, “Anyway, you never showed interest in my duels before. I want to plan for the future, not think about the past.”

            The conversations around the table fall silent, and Michael welcomes the guests. “I hope you enjoyed your night has gone smoothly thus far. My wife and I appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedules. Tonight, we dine on fresh baguettes with olive oil, a salad lightly tossed in a raspberry vinaigrette, followed by marvelous potato soup, which is Marilyn’s favorite, and a butterscotch soufflé for dessert.”

            Marilyn chimes in, “As always, we have tea, coffee, and fruit platters after the meal while we continue to fellowship and enjoy one another’s presence. But enough about our plans, let us eat!” With her final words, the doors lining the walls open, and multiple figures step out with plates of food balanced in their hands.

---

            After dinner, Vera leans over to ask me, “I wondered, my dear, if I could go see this garden I heard so much about from my new acquaintances. Simply sit in the moonlight and enjoy nature while you mingle with your friends.” 

            “I see no reason not to, my love, as long as Marilyn does not mind you venturing through her creation.” I smile and thank our luck that she decided to ask first. Otherwise, Marilyn planned to offer to show her the flowers.

Turning her face toward the head of the table, Vera repeats the question to Marilyn. She responds, “That sounds like a lovely idea, Vera. My hydrangeas and hyacinths are in full bloom, which is unusual for this time of year. The fruit trees bear harvests of sweet cherries, apples, and peaches. I will show you to my favorite bench and let you soak in the atmosphere.”

            Both stand and walk towards the manor’s exterior, and Marilyn looks back, nodding to the rest of the group, a nod that starts the unraveling. Caleb, Elanor, Taylor, Michael, Rowena, and I each draw our daggers, concealing them under the tablecloth. The other guests continue eating, unaware of the danger.

            Michael stands and says, “Now, I have a present for some of you.” He pulls out a little red button. “I want to thank you for coming here tonight, your trust is quite shocking, and unfortunately, we will not need you any longer. One might say, that we are restarting the little country we call home.” He pauses, “Too many stitches have fallen out and must be cut off. You must understand, business is business.”

He presses the button and metal snaps up from the armrests around each guest’s wrists. Caleb, Taylor, Elanor, and Rowena reveal their knives and show them off to the wide-eyed men and women who cry out from shock and fear. I see tears stream down some of the women’s faces as I stand. Part of me sees Vera in those tears, while the other half feels numb and knows how this will end. However, every project will end, and some get scrapped and reformed. The Capulons will reknit this sweater into a nation of their own. Drawing my blade, I move behind the first man. Time to cut loose strings.

---

Walking into the tall rows of hedges, I button up the coat that I borrowed from Michael. My own offers a dead giveaway if Vera felt the damp cloth. Rounding the corner, I see my fiancėe sitting on the stone bench. The moonlight reflects off her hair as I walk to her, grab her hands, and pull her to her feet. She stumbles before regaining her balance and signing, “Gracious, Robin! You startled me.”

            I chuckle. “Well, what did you expect? I cannot let a lady as beautiful as you sit alone. And you always liked dancing, so I thought we could live in the moment.” I slowly move and Vera follows, the two of us swaying and gliding across the soft grass. I spin Vera into my arms, and we stand together under the moonlight.

Leaning down, I whisper in her ear, “Love, how did you like our little trip?”

She smiles up at me and replies, “I found it splendid and enjoyable. Your friends sound so sweet and friendly. Later, I would love to connect with them more because they seem like good people.”

            I smile at her ignorant trust and hug her. “That sounds like an excellent plan, darling. I will set up a gathering between you and the other ladies.” I spin Vera out on my left hand before stepping closer. I kiss her hand and continue, “We should leave soon so we get back home before midnight, my love.”

            “Sounds good.”

            We link arms and walk back through the garden. Vera stoops and puts her shoes on before following me around the manor. As we walk past the beds of flowers, I pluck a little pink snapdragon and tuck it behind Vera’s ear. My darling would never understand the life we live. I never want her involved in the crimes we commit. Her ignorance brings me bliss. However, I do not miss the irony of her desire for a garden. She never learned the communication of flowers, something our hosts know themselves and taught me.

Each flower holds a meaning, some positive, but others warning the viewer of a danger. Marilyn loved languages and wanted her garden to represent herself: beautiful, cunning, wealthy, but above all, deceptive as a snapdragon. The Capulons planned this night for a year and started a process of reforming a country and molding it into a new nation, one with them as its leaders. A string unraveled and reknit. A blade formed of reclaimed metal. A country overthrown and reordered after new ideas. Each project requires work and maintenance, each taking what failed and restoring it to a purpose, a purpose set by the maker. Marilyn and Michael mastered their craft and did not hesitate to use it.

I help Vera into the carriage and climb up after. She leans against me and relaxes in her seat. She signs to me, “I like Marilyn’s garden; do you think I can make my garden similar?”

            “Of course, love, not the same, but similar. She has a little broken well that I doubt we can replicate, but any flowers you desire, I will find for you.”

She gasps. “Thank you, Robin! I cannot wait to add more to my garden.”

“Would you like to start with snapdragons?” I say.

Vera and I walk out of the main garden and past the broken well, unto which my closest colleagues toss dark forms to its depths, never to rise again. It is truly a shame that they did not see such an event coming when we invited them to the Capulon mansion. But alas, every garden contains secrets, and sometimes our perspectives blind us to the truth.

Written By: Marian Markley

Image Credit

How to Start Saving People: Parts 9 & 10 (Finale)

Inspired by the HBO Adaptation of The Last of Us

9 – A Mistake

            “To the building, just over there, keep running, hold her tightly, cover her ears, keep breathing.”

I must repeat it in order not to break down or look back or both. Ellie’s screams rattle my eardrums more than the echoing gunfire. I keep my vision on Tommy. He’s just ahead, carrying Stevie on his back, running toward the office building in front of us.

“Maya, watch my back!” Tommy says, setting Stevie down to break the barricades on the door. It’s been covered with wood panels and while only some remain intact, it’s not open enough for us to pass through. Tommy begins pulling at the boards but then starts to kick at them, breaking the doorway open. I keep my back to him, rocking Ellie. I hold her ears and head, scanning the surroundings.

            “Shhh, Ellie. It’s okay, baby girl. We’re almost in, then we can see the sky.” Tears start running down my face. This is cruel.

            The distant gunfire stops.

            “Tommy!”

            “I got it; come on!”

            “I can walk. Tommy, get her,” I hear Stevie say.

            His hands wrap around my shoulders, and he pulls me into his arms, walking me into the doorway, around corners, and to a stairwell.

            “Maya, look at me. Can you make the stairs? I need to help Stevie.”

            I look up at him. His eyes are alive; the glow almost hides the sadness behind them. But I still see it peeking through – a fear that quivers ever so softly behind the fire of adrenaline and reflex. I stand frozen. Where is my fire? Why won’t it cover the feeling that I’m always falling? I’m always curled up as small as I can get myself, scared of every flash of light or small sound. Where’s my adrenaline that makes me cold as stone, like Mar or Grif? All I do is panic and drop, falling endlessly until someone catches me. But, how many times will they catch me?

            “I got it. I’m sorry, Tommy.”

__________

            We see the skyline from the highest floor we could reach before the stairs were too ruined to climb.

            “Where were we?’

            “Over there?” Stevie points, leaning on the balcony ledge.

            “Yeah, that’s it. I don’t see nothing, though.” Tommy scans the scene.

            The building is not very tall and does not differ greatly in height from the other office buildings around, so seeing the area below is difficult.

            “I can’t believe I was that close.” My body recalls the chill I felt with the Infected practically at my back.

            “They must have come up through the rubble you were on. They didn’t come from anywhere else ’cause we would’ve seen ’em.”

            “That’s…concerning.”

            “They come up from underground?” Stevie raises an eyebrow at Tommy.

            “Like flowers.” I send a wicked smile at her.

            “I don’t know.” He sighs. “I’m guessing we wait for Mar…”

            “Shh! Guys, duck!” Stevie waves Tommy to silence, and we all drop to the ground.

            She looks over to us. “I saw a group of people. Not ours.”

            “I’ll check,” Tommy whispers and starts crawling his way over to the corner of the balcony. He raises his head just above the top.

            All I hear is my breath and my heart. I close my eyes, focusing my hearing down below, outside my body. My heartbeat starts to dull and so does my breathing until just a slight ringing remains. I hear the faint sounds of birds, the wind, and a car on gravel. We wait for so long. So long that my knees burn like crazy. I look over to Tommy, his gun is in his hands.

            It’s deadly silent. A forceful thud resurges in my chest and a soft warmth grows under my fingertips as I hold Ellie’s head close to me. Stevie and I keep our eyes locked on Tommy. Stevie sways subtly as she tries to keep her ragged breathing in check. I notice her wound is bleeding through it’s wrapping.

Wack!

            Stevie inhales sharply. A car door slams very close, right below us at the front of the building. Her face is pale with pain and anxiety. Tommy quickly snags a glance over the ledge. He descends to look back at me, his face pale, not from pain, but fear. We hear a muffled sound:

            “Get on…they must…”

            “In here.”

            “Careful, Will, I don’t…”

            There are people out there, and they are not our people. I guess they now stand too close to the building for Tommy to defend us from the balcony, as he signals us to stay while he stealthily moves back inside and out of sight. Yes, leave us won’t you, I think; my heart’s thuds feel like baseball bats hitting the inside of my chest.

            I expected the sounds, but they still sent shocks through my body. Quickly, a gunshot bursts through the building below; yelling, wood breaking, a loud metal sound, and rushing footsteps. Stevie and I move at the same time, a unified plan we don’t need to verbalize. I hand her Ellie as she slides out of the way of glass, where the building wall meets the balcony. I crouch forward, making my way into the room, still hearing shuffling down below. I hear a raspy sound, like a voice, behind me, but my mind is focused on the door ahead. My eyes move frantically around the disheveled space. A weapon? A weapon? I need a weapon. Behind a desk, I find a splintery wood panel. I frantically bolt toward the door to hide up against the wall.

More shuffling, a gunshot.

Tommy?

More steps.

Tommy, please.

They’re on our floor, now.

Tommy, c’mon.

A man enters the room. It’s not Tommy.

His movement slows slightly as a surge of panic leaps through my veins—I see a gun in his grasp. My hand is held high, and I barely feel the force I use to strike the back of his head with the panel. However, I assume it is enough for the splinters to pierce deep, because I feel friction in pulling the panel back. He cries out in pain, leaping to the side and bringing his gun up to my face. But his hand is limp, and his other hand holds the back of his head. I see blood flowing down his neck and shoulders.

            “You rotten—”

            “Shut up!” I blurt out. “Don’t kill me and I won’t kill you. Just leave.”

            “No, honey. See, I can’t do that.” His voice is rough.

            “Where’s Tommy?”

            “The fellow downstairs, huh?”

            “Leave, please!” I hold back the tears with words. I can’t show weakness.

            He staggers, clearly still in shock from my hit, “I’ll make it quick for ya, yea—”

            Bang!

            The man jolts, then turns toward the direction of the shot. I turn to see Stevie hunched up against the side of the glass door, a gun in her hand.

            “Stevie!”

            Bang!

            “Stevie!!”

10 – A Feeling

            That was it. I remember that day. The years have blurred since the breakout. And even before, those times are so dowsed in remorse and wanting that their color fades, too. But that day…it’s crystal. After that man shot Stevie, all the wheels came off the wagon. The tension between life and death seemed so real you could wave your hand out in front of you and feel its bite. We saved Ellie. That man didn’t last too long. A gang was traveling through the town as Marlene, Grif, and Mel fought off Infected. The fighting didn’t end when the last Infected dropped, however. Those greedy fools were ready to take and leave without a thought of humanity. We made it out of the building, though, and searched for our people, hoping they were still alive. Eventually, we found a trail marker from Grif near the south end.

            “They’re not far ahead, Maya.”

            “Yeah.”

            “Do you need me to take Ellie for a bit? Rest your arms?”

            “No, I’m good.”

            “Okay.”

            There was no healing from it, we both knew. You can’t just act normally after your friend dies right in front of you. Taken away without warning. Snatched up from a hellish world, true. But snatched up alone, leaving you behind in the flames to mourn.

            We walked for a ways, the abandoned suburban town center fading into an abandoned suburban outskirts. More houses, loosely spread apart. The others were nowhere in sight, and the mutual worry between us began to overshadow the silence of grief.

            “They must’ve died, Tommy.”

            “Nah, you saw that trail marker. That was Grif’s mark for sure.”

            “Yeah…”

            We stopped, facing each other. Our eyes were both watery, so full of doubt and grief and pain. The fire was broken, stomped on.

            “My eyes hurt.”

            “C’mere.”

            I didn’t realize it then, but that was the first hug I had in a long time. An emptiness filled my bones, like the strength I had been desperately gripping onto finally dispersed. Our bodies fell into each other’s embrace, with Ellie’s small form snugly wrapped up between us. I felt the soft thud of sobbing, and when we finally parted, both our faces were wet and flushed; we felt the tears from so many hours of hurt in that hug. I’ve never experienced a hug like it since.

            “Look there! Another marker!”

            “Good, my feet are melting off and Ellie is fussy.”

            The marker was on a road sign, telling us to keep going. Soon, the road curved a bit, and the trees began to thicken. A new town was in sight, though much smaller than the last. The sky bloomed soft oranges and pinks, summoning deeper shadows and dimmer landscapes.

            “Tommy, if I don’t see Grif lumbering around a corner soon I’m gonna call it. We can’t stay out past dark for too long. Ellie needs rest.”

            “I know. I wish…”

            “Hm?”

            “Okay, I just wish we knew where they’re hiding out. Safety in numbers, you know.”

            “What about that house over there.”

            We walked off the road toward what looked like an old house renovated to be a business.

            “Crampton Law?’”

            “Cozy.”

            We smiled at each other. There was not an inch between us painted in distrust or fear. Our fear resided everywhere else, outside of the warmth, the space we silently decided to make safe, as nothing else in the world could be that for us.

            The house didn’t take much work to break into, as it looked like people used it for shelter not long before us. The decision to take shelter seemed wise because the darkness of night fell thick and fast. We took turns on watch, holding out until the day we could enjoy a full night’s sleep again.

            That’s when I heard a sound coming from outside. It was probably 4a.m. A chilly breeze stirred the leaves and branches, the wood floor underneath my boots creaked as I shifted my weight, and the soft sounds of breathing from below me hummed in my ears. A small snap outside leaned in and struck me out of my half daze. The floorboards creaked louder as I crept over to the window, the frayed tarp covering it gently fluttered in the air. I knelt down, a stone chill spreading across my skin. My eyesight broke through the misty darkness out of pure stubbornness. I looked outside.

            Nothing.

            I exhaled.

            Snap!

            I raised my gun, ready.

            Snap!

            I searched the wooded lot feverishly.

            I looked down.

            An opossum scurried out of a bush and into another.

            Exhale.

            Snap!

            The chill leapt up to my skull. I peered to the right to see movement from behind the brush. My hand raised again, and I inched lower to the floor, taking cover underneath the window.

            And I heard that sound again.

            A figure caught the moonlight behind the brush, coming closer and closer. If it would just leave us unnoticed, I wouldn’t shoot. I held my breath.

            Click, click, click.

            What? I hadn’t heard that sound before. I scanned my sleeping companions, lingering on their faces, resting with a strength and tenderness I could never possess.

            Click, click, click.

            My heart raced as I gingerly lifted my eyes above the window seal to find it right there, not even a yard away from the side of the house. A horrid thing. A deformed, organic monster. My stomach lurched, and my gasp left my lungs before I could manage to stop it.

            Click, click, cl–

            I snapped below the window. Placing my hand over my mouth. My nose began to sting and my eyes watered. It had no eyes, no remnant of human features that I could see. It wasn’t like any Infected I had ever seen.

            I heard its footsteps in the grass, closer, closer, closer. Will it see them? Through the window? They may just be out of sight. When do I shoot? Once I shoot, it could alert more. What do I do?

            A dragging sound slowly sank into the side of the house. I swear it seemed to crawl inside my ears with an eerie low screech. Was it climbing? No, no, no. My chest pounded, my gun shook.

            Click, click, click.

            Thwack!

            I saw its shadow loom over the window and my gun soared upward. After that, the only clear thing I registered was the scream.

            The moments come back in flashes: the gun, the rough, putrid texture of the monster’s head, the cracking sound it made in what I can only imagine was pain, and how I sprinted toward them. I scooped up Ellie in no time, but its cold grasp sprawled up too fast and threw itself onto my back. I screamed. The feeling never goes away. And she dove forward, taking my gun.

            Thwack!

            Another hit. The cracking cry rang out and my gut told me there were more to come.

            “Move!” she screamed, holding up the gun, shaking.

            I dashed forward. I heard the quickness of her shot as soon as I ducked. She wasted no time. Maya never hesitated.

            “Tommy, take her!” Her last words.

            I saw what should never exist. The way the shot struck the monster and how its cracking recoil lashed back in agonizing, rapid hunger. It tore away at her. No speed could save her. That warmth snapped, broken. My warmth – Maya – fell away faster than I could save her.

            The only warmth left was the being in my arms, crying out in terrorizing belts. So, I followed instructions: I ran.

_________

I ran and didn’t stop. That’s just what I do best, isn’t it? I saw another trail marker on the other end of town directing me toward a farmhouse. I hit a dirt road and slowed to a walk, stopping to comfort Ellie, whose wails lessened and lessened slowly but surely. Soon enough, a farmhouse appeared two miles down that road where Marlene, Grif, and Mel were hiding out. Grif ran out the front door as soon as I got within eyeshot, and I saw his face change. I didn’t say anything, I didn’t need to. I didn’t say much for days, and no one asked me to take the night watch. I got a full night’s sleep, but it didn’t do a thing for me, so I just sat on the porch and stared down the street. Waiting? Thinking? I’m not sure. But I do remember Grif’s boot’s gently bowing the porch as he walked out from the house. He stopped off to the side of me, holding Ellie with one arm, not saying a thing. He held up a small boat made from bark and twigs, with a small pebble and white flower inside. He waited just a moment before continuing, heading toward the bank of a small stream on the south side of the house. My feet began to move, walking after Grif and Ellie, as the sound of memories flashed to my mind. Her laugh and my laugh, her voice, echoing:

“Everything’s got to feel a certain way, I guess.”

Written by: Kayla Harper

Image Credit

A Beautiful Day for Exploring

“It’s a beautiful day for exploring, Captain.”

Altha looked to the skies as the memory of her first mate’s words echoed in her mind. He’d spoken them on a day just like this one, a day beginning with clear skies and seas as smooth as glass, shining in the early morning light. Fin, had always been an early riser. He preferred to spend his mornings soaking in the sunrise before the rest of The Immobilis’s crew stirred from their slumber.

Altha, on the other hand, had never truly been fond of the mornings. Her wavy brown hair always worked itself into knots, and her blouses never ceased to find a way to wrinkle overnight. A tiny bedframe and rocking ship made her back constricted and stiff, and her waking mind was as muddled as gray fog. The only place the early morning fog seemed to clear was up in the crow’s nest, high atop the tallest mast, where the wind blew steady and the ocean spread high and wide.

And so, every morning before the break of dawn, Fin waited outside her chambers knocking twice to jar her from slumber. Once Altha managed to wrangle herself out of bed, he would took hand under the cover of the fading wisps of night, and escorted her to a ladder swaying in the wind. The ladder served as a rickety lifeline to The Immobilis’s crow’s nest, crafted from rapidly thinning rope ties, and anchored to the top with a bowline knot.

Fin always made her climb up first. He followed her closely, never outwardly admitting fear for her clumsy early-morning state. Occasionally, when she swayed in the wind, or lost her grip, she felt his firm hand resting on her back, holding her steady with a strength that only came from years of experience on the rough seas.

Crawling into the crow’s nest together, they sent the last sailor on night watch to bed. Altha still remembered hearing the sailor’s slight chuckle once he believed himself out of earshot. “The darn lovebirds are at it again,” he’d mumbled to himself, raising a flush of embarrassment in Altha’s cheeks.

“Watch your words or I’ll have your tongue,” she warned him, only for the sailor to turn with a shrug.

“You said that yesterday.”

As Captain of The Immobilis, a ship voyaging to explore the vast seas and whatever dangers lay within them, she needed to keep a reputation up among her crew. Their trust was paramount. Without their help, no exploration would take place, no treasure would be found, and no new worlds discovered. Stories told of her ship’s ferocity, courage, and unfailing resolve, so much so that The Immobilis was hailed as the ship that would never sink. Altha knew all the tales. Afterall, she’d perpetuated many of the myths herself. In her line of work, a reputation was the key to success.

But that reputation crumbled with Fin at her side.

Or perhaps it was she who crumbled.

Altha could still hear his ramblings, as he talked about a dream of finding a new world they could explore together. It was their shared dream, a belief that filled their waking minds with wonder as they theorized what it would look like when their ship finally crossed over to a new land. They’d vowed to explore whatever new sights they found together, always together. Altha still remembered how the corner of his mouth slanted into a smile as he told imaginary tales about what he theorized the new world would be like, sharing stories of tall gods that shook the earth, land stretching farther than the eye could see, and the two of them at the center of it all. He spoke of it with such clarity, she almost wondered if Fin really had seen the new world.

Every now and then, she remembered something that felt like a dream when Fin was telling his stories. Glimpses of an enormous wooden surface, carving tools, unfinished sails, and an unfamiliar voice speaking to her about her stories of ferocity, courage, and unfailing resolve, in soft tones that still managed to make her quiver. And each time, she’d shake off the hazy memories with thoughts of Fin. She remembered how his golden hair shone in dawn’s rising light as they huddled together in the crow’s nest, and how she lost track of time searching the ocean of his eyes. More than that, she pictured stolen moments, kisses hidden beneath the ship’s deck, love letters whisked away by the wind’s breath, and her terrible, terrible weakness.

His voice.

“It’s a beautiful day for exploring, Captain.”

His voice still called to her from the farthest shores of her mind. Rich and smooth, and as weighty as the ocean’s waves. When commanding the crew, there was a sharpness to it that demanded efficiency and respect, but when he spoke to her, the walls around his voice fell away into whispers of adoration every time he called her,“Captain.”  

He never said her name.

Perhaps it was out of respect for her, perhaps to hide the signs of their love from the rest of the crew, though everyone surely knew of it already.

Fin always addressed her as Captain.

Altha would have done anything to hear him say it again.

Staring into dawn’s rising light, she remembered how their last beautiful day had spiraled into skies as dark as night. Winds howled past, the seas turning on them as waves as tall as mountains crested over the bow of the ship. The Immobilis shook, sending sailors tumbling across the deck like drunken men unable to find their footing. Drenched in icy water, with salt stinging her eyes, Altha stood at the wheel, directing their course. She was responsible for keeping them steady.

She should have seen the wave coming.

Digging her nails into the wood of the ship’s wheel, Altha closed her eyes, letting the memory crash over her just like the wave.

“Brace yourselves!”

She remembered hearing Fin call to everyone, his voice especially loud at her ear level. He was at her side. He was always at her side.

Until…

For a moment, the entire ship was plunged underwater, the bow dipping under first before the rest of the body followed. Altha clung to the wheel with every muscle taunt, her breath caught in her chest, and her eyes squeezed shut. The water beat around her body, lifting her feet from under her, and threatening to pull her away before the ship emerged from under the current. The Immobilis, the ship that never sank, would live up to its legacy, but not without a cost.

The ship rose again, and Altha’s feet flew out from under her as her hands lost their grasp on the wheel. “Help!” She called, expecting to find a hand resting on her back, making sure that if she lost her grip she would not fall or fly away. 

But Fin wasn’t there.

The sharp sound of something shattering filled her ears, as The Immobilis was cast into uncharted territory. The sky fractured, pieces flying all around them in jagged shards, glassy shapes giving way to a new world. For a moment, as Altha glided in the air, her fear gave way to glory.

This was the world they’d been looking for. A new land across the sea. Altha watched as the glass ceiling she thought was the sky fell around her. Below, her ship lurched and tumbled, before coming to a standstill at last, on a smooth wooden surface. She too, collided with the hard surface, pain instantaneously spreading all across her body in furious waves.

Altha groaned as she tried to roll over, the shattered sky lay all around her ship, and the ocean spread farther than ever before, its waters mixing with small islands of dirt and dust bunnies on the floor of a new world.

Then came the tremors. Huge, bolder-like shoes shook the ground as the voice of a young god cried out above her. Tears spilled over the side of his mountainous face, like rivers joining with the ocean waters below. He stomped his feet, causing the ground to quake under his heavy stride, and shouting, “Oh no! I broke it!”

The feet of an older god appeared soon after, responding to his cries calmly. “Don’t worry, son. The ship is still intact, and I have another bottle I can put it in.”

Before Altha could comprehend what occurred, the hand of the older god picked her and the ship up. “It seems we almost lost our Captain too, hm?” he muttered, reaching for a bottle of what looked to be white paste on a wooden plateau. Too scared to move, Altha froze in his grip, her body still aching from the fall. She watched in immobile agony as he applied the paste to the bottom of her feet with his ever-so-cautious hands and planted her back at the wheel to her ship.

“A Captain has got to go down with her ship, you know,” The older god explained. “We can’t have the famous pirate, Captain Altha, known for her ferocity, courage, and unfailing resolve, getting separated from her ship.” 

While his tone teased, Altha felt her world shatter even farther with his words. His voice matched the one she’d heard whispers of in the hazy memories she dismissed as dreams. The words he spoke to her had been her stories, the ones she thought she’d crafted about herself weren’t hers after all. The world she’d lived and journeyed in hadn’t been hers either, but a construct created by someone else. And worst of all, she had let her ship sink. She’d let go, and sometime in the process, she’d lost Fin too. In that moment, it felt like she was drifting without any control, lost at sea without her anchor. Now, she was nothing but anchored. So secure that she would never drift away to explore new shores or fall into the arms of her love again.

The older god lowered the sails of the ship, bending it carefully to fit within the confines of a new sky, this one higher than the last, and the ocean wider as well. Altha would have been impressed if she’d never seen the world outside her own.

“I think one of the sailors broke,” She overheard the young god say. “The blond guy, he fell off the boat and snapped in half.”

Altha swore she felt her heart stop.

Fin.

He was talking about Fin.

Before she could hear the older god’s response, the sky was sealed off with a blot of porous wood. Silence overtook The Immobilis. Not even the sea breeze dared to breathe, or the ocean dare to sway. Everything returned to perfect stillness, just as it was before the storm.

Except for Altha.

Her heart felt like it had forgotten how to beat. Under the crushing news that Fin was no more, she wobbled and swayed, her body refusing to hold her weight, but she found that she could not fall to her knees. The glue on her feet would not allow her body to bend in such a way. Instead, she leaned against the ship’s wheel, her sobs echoing across the new world.

Fin was gone.

The day would never be beautiful again.

Altha opened her eyes, the memory receding to an ache she carried in her chest. The space at her side was still empty. Fin’s presence was still missing. Two full days had passed since the incident in which the sky shattered. Gradually, the crew had recovered from their shock. They soon began to mull about the ship once more, checking sails, mopping the deck, and taking shifts sleeping and keeping watch. Altha, however, found herself glued to her spot at the wheel with nothing to do but reminisce, watching the colors of dawn fade as time rolled by at a snail’s pace.

At last, she’d had enough.

“You there,” she called out her first order since the storm, pointing to a sailor meandering about. “Make yourself useful and help me remove the vile substance holding my feet hostage.”

“Yes, Cap’n,” The sailor replied with a quick salute, before shuffling off to grab a scraper and two other men. Together, the team of three sailors chipped away at the glue binding Altha to the ship deck, bit by bit. In what felt like an eternity later, Altha was freed.

“Well done. You’re a loyal crew indeed.” Altha congratulated her fellow sailors. “You will do well when I am gone.”

“Gone?” One of the sailors blinked up at her, his face scrunched up in confusion.

“Aye.” Altha nodded. “I’ve seen the new world we’ve all dreamed of reaching, and I don’t intend to stay in the confines of this one any longer. My goal is simple: I’m off to find Fin… or at least what remains of him. Should he truly be gone, he deserves a proper burial and send off. I cannot betray my dearest friend and give him any less.”

The crew nodded, each one understanding the weight of their Captain’s words. They knew her well enough to understand that she would go in search of her lost love until she either found him or lost herself.

“What are your orders?” a brave soul among them asked.

“Bring the ship forward, reach the porous wooden door that marks the end of the world, and ram The Immobilis against it. With luck, the force of such an action will fling it open.” Altha instructed, sending the crew into action immediately.

The Immobilis surged forward, following Altha’s commands. They raised the sails, straightened the rudder, and cast the ship into motion.

“Brace for impact!” Altha cried once more, her memory flashing back to the last time she’d exclaimed such similar words. She saw the fear in her crew’s eyes, as they doubtlessly imagined the same chain of events, the rocky storm that shattered their sky and sea, sending them tumbling into a world outside their own. A world Altha just pledged to return to. A world in which Fin still remained.

Altha gripped the wheel as The Immobilis crashed into the cork door, sending the blockade that sealed her inside the glass walled world flying out of place. A perfectly spherical exit opened up before her, raising a chorus of cheers from the crew. Altha felt she should cheer with them, to share in their joy of accomplishment, but all she could feel was a hollowness in her chest. Where a heart should beat, a hole remained, filled with the tension of looming anxiety.

 Now came the hard part: leaving.

Crossing over to the bow of the ship, Altha balanced on the ship’s end, and turned to face her crew. “Farewell, my loyal sailors. I leave The Immobilis to you now. Care for her as I have and sail bravely. Should fate be on my side, I may return to you. If not, live lives worthy of going down in history.”

“Aye, Aye, Captain!” The crew called back in unison, raising their hands to a salute as Altha climbed through the exit, squeezing her way through the narrow glass canal and back onto the wooden surface she recognized from before. It stretched as far and wide as a desert, before taking a steep drop off the sides. A variety of landmarks were scattered across its flat surface, each quite larger versions of things she recognized. A giant pen and pad of paper, a dried-up palette of paint, and a water glass. Then, a familiar set of colors, golden hair and ocean eyes walking, no running, towards her. His gait was sloppy, and he held a hand at his side, clutching his waist like he had a stitch in his side. A blue scarf was tied around his middle, a decorative ornament that likely served as more of a bandage than it did a fashion statement.

“Captain!” he shouted, his voice filled with all the tenderness she remembered, and a joy that matched the rapid beat that drummed in the heart Altha thought she’d lost.

She burst into tears.

Before she even realized what she was doing, Altha was running too. For once, she didn’t care if any eyes were watching, whether they be her crew or the gods of the new world. She threw herself at Fin, wrapping him in an embrace so tight she nearly knocked the breath out of him.

“You’re alive,” Altha breathed, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “How can it be? I thought I lost you. I heard that you…” She paused and looked down at the scarf around Fin’s waist, recalling the young god’s words about him snapping in half.

“It’s true.” Fin confirmed her suspicions. “But, I was healed by the young god that caused the storm to surge by shaking our world. It seems he felt rather bad about what he’d done and wanted to make amends. He pieced me back together and gave me a colorful accessory to cover the wounds.”

“I can’t believe it.” Altha muttered, looking him over once more, expecting her eyes to betray her, and for Fin to disappear once more. However, his steady arms remained looped around her, holding her tighter than ever before.

“I can’t either. I saw you fall and I feared I’d lost you as well,” Fin replied, and she felt him release a long breath, his shoulders relaxing as he drew her in a little closer still. Then, he tensed as a soft tremor shook the ground.

“Someone’s coming.” Fin whispered, his arm slipping around her waist to hurriedly escort her away. The two hid behind the water glass as the hand of the familiar older god picked up the cork The Immobilis had recently discarded.

“How peculiar. I must not have secured this as tightly as I thought.” He mumbled to himself, reinserting the cork into the jar and closing off Altha and Fin’s only return to The Immobilis. With a gentle walk that had slowed with age, the god snatched the dried palette of paint off the desk, murmuring something about how it needed to be cleaned before walking off again.

Altha breathed a sigh of relief, grateful they hadn’t been caught. Fin cursed under his breath.

“That was our only way back,” he grumbled, visible frustration clouding his face.

Altha looked back at the ship with a different set of eyes. She couldn’t see it the same as before. What she saw now were the confines of a familiar world, a prison disguised as a great adventure, when in reality The Immobilis was bound to a glass jar and it always had been. Everything about it, from the stories she thought she’d created for herself, to the world’s design, had been crafted by someone else. She knew that now. She knew that if they returned, they’d never be able to choose a fate for themselves. They’d never go on a real adventure.

Altha shook her head. “There are no more journeys for us to take back there. Fin, this is the new world we’ve been searching for. The Immobilis can’t take us any farther.”

Fin paused for a moment, a bit of uncertainty crossing his face before he reluctantly nodded in agreement. “Perhaps you’re right.” A smile gently crept across his face as he offered her a hand. “It is a beautiful day for exploring, Captain.”

“Altha,” She corrected him softly. “I’m no longer your Captain.”

“Altha,” Fin repeated, the name bringing a smile to his lips. The sound of it drew a small shiver down Altha’s spine. She liked the delicate inflection of his voice, and the softness in the way he said her name.

“It’s a beautiful day for exploring, Altha,” Fin said once more, as Altha took his hand, intertwining her fingers with his as they took their first steps across the outside world together.

Altha agreed, looking across skies that were finally unfamiliar to her. “Aye, it is.”

Written by: Naomi Hernandez

Image Credit

The Goodbye and The Hello – The New Beginning

“Hello, this is your Captain speaking! Switz Airlines welcomes you to Zürich, Switzerland. The local time is 1:00pm. For your safety and the safety of those around you, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened, and keep the aisle clear until we are parked at the gate. Thank you for flying Switz.” I slept the whole way here, but the captain’s short landing speech woke me up right before landing. I still had time to watch the outside world from the little window, 1,000 feet up in the air. I slowly opened my eyes, rubbing them with my hands trying to find focus. The 13-hour plane ride, with less than 2 square feet to myself, isolated with just me and my thoughts and it seemed sleep was my only escape from the emotions piling up inside me. Too many emotions, too many feelings, and too many thoughts, all too much for me to embrace or deal with.

            As the plane parked, the passengers waited row, by, row to exit. Then came my turn to get up and grab my suitcase from the overhead. I had played that moment in my head, reaching up and trying to get my suitcase in the most non-embarrassing way possible because something about not being able to bring my suitcase down brought so much anxiety. But I slowly got up, and with all the might my little arms had, I grabbed my overstuffed suitcase and swung it down trying not to smash anyone around me. I rolled my suitcase down the aisle, saying goodbye to the plane because who knew how long it would be ‘till I rode another one.

            I made it out to the airport, so confused about where to go and where to exit, hoping an angel would just come down to guide me to my new apartment. Following the crowd out into the lobby, I pulled out the Uber app, checking to see who my ride was going to be because, for a mere second, I thought I saw a glimpse of my parents arriving to pick me up. I looked around for a silver vehicle, not familiar with the brand of this Switz car, and I found a face that looked similar enough to the one assigned to me in the Uber app.

“Hi, what’s your name?” I asked her, trying to look and sound as friendly as possible because she was indeed the first person I would be interacting with in this new country.

“Sofia! Are you Rebecca?” she asked.

“Umm yeah, that’s me.” She opened her trunk for me as I put my luggage in and got into the backseat. We sat in silence, probably because Sofia could sense the tiredness oozing out of me. I scrolled through my phone, sending updates to friends and family and my fingers naturally made their way to his number as well. They almost finished typing out an “I arrived” message until I caught and pulled myself back into reality. He no longer needed updates about my life. It was probably around 7am back in the States. I could imagine my parents waking up for their morning coffee and my friends still asleep, enjoying the last few days of sleeping in. I also wondered about him too, no matter how much I tried to resist it. But did he even care? Did his mind wonder about me like mine did him?

The other POV:

Of course, I thought of her. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. It was now 7:24am, exactly a day after she took off. I experienced a heartache like no other yesterday, and my body felt so tired and drained because it took everything in me to not stop her from boarding that plane and beg her for another chance, but I know I screwed up, and I know I probably lost the one person I could never replace. I also know I would have to live with that mistake for the rest of my life, just hoping this guilt and pain would slowly dim as time passed by. Because of all the pain I caused her and all the time I spent so selfishly, and now it was time to let her go because I owed her at least a little bit of selflessness. She had just landed. I knew this because I had kept up with her flight, making sure she was okay from afar. I had to come to terms and accept the new reality of being there for her, from afar. She might not have felt it, but I still cared, and for however long into the future I could see, I knew I would always care. Maybe in time, our paths would cross again, and as delusional as it seemed, maybe fate would be on our side, after all.

Written By: Bawi Sung

Image Credit

Faint Memories and Present Illusions: Part 1

The cold presence of my ivory hairbrush leaves my palm as I set the ornate handle down upon the smooth vanity. I lean against the worn wooden surface, purely out of habit, and lift my hand to hover above my head. Anxious thoughts flit through my mind, and I pinch my lips together. Not seeing my reflection does little to help my perfectionist tendencies. How I wish I knew I worked not in vain. Yet, I still glide my fingers over the simple style, adjusting stray hairs with slight nudges. 

            “You look immaculate tonight, love.” A familiar voice emanates from behind me. A voice that brought comfort to the darkened abyss I entered.

            I lower my hands and smile at the kind words. My fiancé has always reassured me, even when I do not recognize my actions. Gently moving my stool back, I stand and face his voice. As I shuffle forward, my dress brushes against the floor. I tilt my head and raise my hands to sign, “You truly think so?”

            Light footsteps move closer, and I feel his warm hand pick up my own. “But of course, my beautiful Vera. The blue dress you wear flatters your golden hair, even though you look stunning in every attire. Each strand on your head looks elegant but natural. Your smile lights up the depths of my soul,” He crosses our fingers together and leans down to my ear before saying, “If anyone thinks otherwise, that individual has less taste than the swine of the farm.”

            My cheeks warm with blood, and I hold my hands into Robin’s sight, signing, “You are too kind.” He pulls me into a hug, and I relish the feeling of his warm arms and the sound of his steady breathing. We stand in a calm embrace for a few moments longer before I tap his arm. “Should we not leave soon if we are to make it to your friend’s manor before sundown?” 

I hear Robin sigh and feel him step away. My heart yearns for him to envelop me with his warmth again while my mind swirls, anticipating the night ahead. A desire to stay and enjoy the calm night or to meet the friends my finance speaks of in few details, except for their mutual business interests. Yet, a promise is a promise. And Robin and I have promised to live life together. Such a promise formed out of young love and reinforced by trials and affiliations. 

He says, “I do believe you are right, my love.” 

The door squeaks as Robin opens it. Following muscle memory from hours of trial-and-error, I move swiftly toward the hallway while avoiding the furniture throughout my bedroom. After I reach Robin, I extend my hand, and he grasps it firmly. We enter the foyer and exit our house into the sun’s warm light. A soft breeze brushes against my cheek, and I smile as we approach our modest carriage. Robin helps me onto the bench and moves to prepare the horses. He returns quickly, and I pass him the worn leather reigns. The material leaves my palm, and Robin presses a soft kiss to my hand before the sound of the straps cracking through the air starts our journey. 

---

            The clomp of hooves against the dirt road and the creaky wheels echo in the brisk air. I love the feeling of autumn with the cooling weather and softly falling rain while the sun still holds the Earth in its warm embrace. Leaning onto my fiancé’s shoulder, I tap my wrist twice, signing to ask Robin for the time left in our travel. 

            He responds with, “Just a few more moments. It is just around this turn.”

            I nod as the smooth dirt path transitions to a loud, cobbled street. I fold my dress’s fabric between my fingers and steady my breathing. This night will be nothing other than sweet memories and new connections. Our carriage stops, and I glide my hand into the pocket of my dress to take out the final piece of my wardrobe, a blindfold. Passing the silky cloth to Robin, I let him tie the material around my eyes. Then, he climbs down and helps me get off. 

            “Thank you for coming with me tonight, my love. Your willingness to meet my colleagues means a great amount to me. I hope you find that Mr. Douglas’ hosting skills and my other acquaintances present an excellent representation of my work.”

            I sign my response, “Robin, dear, you are my eyes and I, your ears. Why would I waste such an opportunity to see your friend’s home?” After that, I link our arms together. “Introduce me to them.”

            “But of course.” 

            With that final comment, he guides us up the steps and into the manor’s foyer. I hear my heels click against the floor; perhaps it is made of stone? Voices mingle in the distance, and Robin guides me through the unknown space. We enter a spacious room filled with soft music and pleasant smells. 

            “Monsieur Caleb, I would like you to meet my darling fianceé, Vera. Dear, this is Caleb Monte and his wife Elanor.”

            I smile and extend my hand, saying, “It is a pleasure to meet you both. Robin wholly refuses to reveal details about his work. Naturally, I am curious. How did you all come to meet?”

            “Hmmm…Caleb and I met Mister Robin about three years ago,” a light voice responds, “We run a little bookstore next to the smithy he worked at. During lunches, we would dine together for company. It was quite a travesty when Robin went off to war. When the officials collected the drafted members, Caleb had an illness and stayed home with me. I believe that sickness saved his life. Now, we spend our time printing and selling books. I am particularly proud of our philosophy and Braile collections.”

            I give her a bittersweet smile and say, “It thrills me to hear that you have such happy memories with Robin. What genre of books do you sell in your Braile collection? I consider myself a literature fanatic, when I have the proper books, of course.”

            Robin moves his arm to grab my hand. He says, “Yes, my little Vera has quite the knack for reading. Darling, Monsieur Caleb’s store is the place where I get your specially printed books. Though I do sometimes wonder what it is in those books that captures your attention so well.” Leaning to kiss my cheek, he continues, “Now, Miss Elanor, would you introduce my fianceé to Lady Rowena? I do believe the three of you ladies will get along splendidly.”

            I ponder how I shall make it across the room without my guide. Tapping Robin’s arm to get his attention, signing, “Are you sure? I would love to meet new acquaintances, yet to leave you is unfamiliar. Should we not be together before the dinner begins?”

            “It is alright, my love. Elanor is a sweet young lady who I suspect understands our situation. Is that correct, Miss?”

            “Indeed, it is. Vera, I agree with your fiancé. Lady Rowena will adore you. I can guide you to her.”

            I think for a moment. Seeing nothing amiss in the situation, I respond, “Very well. Robin, dearest, will we sit together at dinner?”

            “I would dream of nothing else,” he says, unlocking his arm from mine. “Enjoy the night, my love.”

            I hear his light footsteps walk away. Shortly after, nimble fingers rest on my arm. Elanor guides me, saying, “Rowena is just over here. Nothing is between us and her other than guests.”

            The two of us walk across the large room. Pleasant aromas of dinner waft out of the kitchen, making my mouth water. I hear snippets of conversations as we walk past. Mentions of a Capulon, laughter between friends, and admiration of the manor’s beauty. What I would give to see the chandelier, table paintings, or the other decor my fellow guests speak of fondly, especially the garden.

            Elanor puts gentle pressure against my arm as she smoothly stops. She says, “My friend Rowena, I want you to meet Vera. I find her delightful with her interest in books and…do you have any other hobbies?”

            “I like baking, dancing, and playing music, specifically violin. But nothing compares to walks in a garden. Recently, I took up gardening, so I do not have to travel far for a relaxing spot to sit.”

            A new voice answers, “That sounds lovely, Vera. I am a bit of a musician if I do say so myself, vocal performance mostly. But I could never figure out baking, it is too complicated. Forgive me if this is rude, but how on Earth do you bake without your sight?”

            The suddenness of the question throws me off. “Muscle memory, I suppose. I spent so much time baking when Robin was away that it feels natural to make bread or other delicacies. Even after I lost my vision, the movements stayed,” I say.

            “That is truly incredible, Vera! You have quite a skill there.” Elanor exclaims.

            Rowena agrees, saying, “Perhaps you could come over and play the violin while I sing. Afterward, you could teach me to bake if you would like. Elanor, you would be welcome to come over as well.”

            Smiling at the thought of a new friend, I nod. “That sounds incredible, Rowena.”

            Elanor places her hand back on mine. “We were hoping you would get along with us. Robin speaks fondly of you but refuses to tell us anything beyond his admiration of your beauty and kindness.”

             I open my mouth to speak when Rowena adds a thought. “That man loves you, Vera. The way he looks at you even now from across the room shows his adoration. I remember the day you both started learning sign language. Robin came to work so excited and rejuvenated; it was almost as though he had never seen war. He told us you had found an old book with basic signs in one of the little retail shops and wanted to learn the language with him. That gesture meant more to Robin than you can imagine.”

            I feel a slight blush arise on my face because I had not realized he spoke of me when with others. Hearing how excited Robin was when we learned sign language warms my heart almost as much as it did when he helped me learn Braille a year ago. So much has happened since the day Robin went to war, the day he told me we would marry when he returned. He proposed the day after we reunited and intend to wed in 3 months. 

            “Rowena, we must introduce Vera to Marilyn!”

            “My goodness! You are correct, Elanor, the two must meet.”

            I tilt my head in confusion. I recognize the name but cannot recall where I heard it. Perhaps Robin had mentioned her at some point? As much as I connect to these two ladies, I do not know who this Marilyn figure is, nor what she could or can do. 

            “Do not worry, Vera. Miss Marilyn is a gracious host. You will find her a lovely addition to our friendship.”

            “Marilyn loves reading and baking. But her reputation comes from her beautiful garden outside. I suspect she would give you a tour if you so wished.” Elanor says as she reassuringly pats my hand.

            “She sounds interesting.” 

The person on my right, Rowena, by the sound of it, grabs my hand and guides me across the room while Elanor follows us on my left. We move steadily, and I hear new voices grow louder. I remove my hands from my acquaintances’ grasp and slightly lean against the table we stand in front of. 

A woman speaks, “Hello, I do not recognize your face nor do I think you recognize my voice. My name is Marilyn Capulon, and my husband and I own this manor.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Capulon. I am Vera Frazier. Thank you for having me in your home.”

“Ah, my dear, do not feel the need to address me as Mrs. Capulon. I shall think my mother-in-law is behind my shoulder. By chance are you engaged to Robin Achart?” 

“Why yes, yes I am. Do you know him just as Elanor and Rowena do?” 

Marilyn moves beside us and says, “If my memory serves me right, Michael and I met Robin about two years ago before he went off to the war. Michael wanted to commission a sword and your fiancé is one of the best smiths in the area. We started having lunch together with the Montes. I believe the gentlemen met up for a friendly sparring match every once in a while.”

I remember the days when Robin returned with dirty clothes and scratches. He would change and then tell me about his victories. He always had nimble and intentional movements when walking about town or completing tasks around the house; these movements played a part in his skill as a swordsman. When combining Robin’s natural skills with his talents as a smithy, I am not surprised that the army quickly claimed him as a soldier. Even though he had the skills for the job, as far as I know, killing foes goes against Robin’s morals. The war drained him in two ways: mentally from living among death, and physically from the explosion that took his hearing. It is peculiar that these people know him so well, yet Robin scarcely mentioned them or his work to me. Maybe during dinner, I can uncover what my love does when he leaves our home.

“Miss Marilyn,” a servant walks up and says, “dinner is ready, and the other guests are entering the dining room.” 

“Thank you. Rowena, Elanor, Vera, and I shall join the others momentarily.” 

            Elanor says, “Marilyn, what have you prepared for us tonight?”

            “Hmm, I will not say what we have planned precisely, but it is my favorite category, soup.” Marilyn pauses before saying, “Ladies, let us not keep the gentlemen waiting any longer. Vera, may I direct you to your seat?”

            “I would appreciate that.”

            Our group moves away from the table towards the delicious aroma from a neighboring room. Marilyn places her hand on my arm and guides me around the dining table to an empty chair. I hear the recognizable steps of my fiancé draw closer to us. 

            Robin’s voice says, “Here is your chair, my love.”

            “Thank you, Robin,” I say as I sit in the designated chair. He pushes my seat closer to the table, and I rest my hands on the soft cloth surface. Robin steps to my right and sits down in his chair. I hear the figure to my left speak. 

            “Hello, Vera, your fiancé and I are close friends. He has told me a great deal about your musical talents and language skills. Taylor Wilkins, at your service, miss.”

            “It is lovely to meet you, Monsieur Taylor. Meeting his acquaintances is always interesting. How did the two of you meet?” I ask both of the men at my side. Robin presses his arm against mine and clasps our hands together.

            “Vera, my love, I met Taylor during a strategy meeting. He and Michael were leaning over a table covered in maps while drinking hot tea. When I entered, Taylor passed me a third cup without looking up. I joined them and the other advisors and listened to the group talk through the statistics of either side’s troops. I worked to train the soldiers into swordsmen.”

            “Quite skilled in that field, Robin is. I do believe his swordsmanship skills only improved over the year or two when he trained the soldiers. Many would find it difficult to disarm your fiancé unless they had a distraction.”

            This information surprises me; not Robin’s skill and ability, but rather the frequency it seems he participates. I ask him why he neglected to share this with me.

            Robin sighs and says, “Love, I did not want to dwell on the past. Dueling for sport and killing to survive are extremely different actions. I prefer to enjoy my time with you or work in the forge, not thinking about what I did during the most challenging time of my life.” He squeezes my hand reassuringly and continues. “Anyways, you never showed interest in my duels before. I want to plan for the future, not think about the past.”

            The conversations around the table fall silent, and a clear voice welcomes the guests. “I hope your night has gone smoothly thus far. My wife and I appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedules. Tonight, we dine on fresh baguettes with olive oil, a salad lightly tossed in a raspberry vinaigrette, followed by marvelous potato soup, which is Marilyn’s favorite, and a butterscotch soufflé for dessert.”

            Marilyn chimes in, “As always, we will have tea, coffee, and fruit mignardises after the meal while we continue to fellowship and enjoy one another’s presence. But enough about our plans, let us eat!” With her final words, I hear doors open, and multiple figures step out. Dinner begins.

---

            After dinner, I lean over to Robin and ask, “I was wondering, my dear, if I could go see this garden I have heard so much about from my new acquaintances. Simply sit in the moonlight and enjoy nature while you mingle with your friends.” It sounds like such a pleasant sight, but I will simply relish the cool air and fragrant scents. 

            “I see no reason not to, my love, as long as Marilyn does not mind you venturing through her creation.”

            Turning my face to the head of the table, I repeat my question to Marilyn. She responds, “That sounds like a lovely idea, Vera. My hydrangeas and hyacinths are in full bloom, which is unusual for this time of year. The fruit trees bear harvests of sweet cherries, apples, and peaches. I will show you to my favorite bench and let you soak in the atmosphere.”

            I thank her for her kindness, and we both stand and walk towards the manor’s exterior. Marilyn helps me down the stone staircase before guiding me across the courtyard to the aromatic garden. We remove our shoes and walk through the grass onto a stepping stone trail. After a moment, she steers us to the left.

 Marilyn stops before removing her hand, saying, “Directly behind you is the bench. I love this spot because the orchard surrounds the perimeter, and flowerbeds line the stone wall around the clearing. A little stream runs from this spot to the front entrance to the manor. I hope you enjoy the quiet and stillness of the world at night.”

“Thank you for sharing this with me. I will not hold you from your other guests longer, so if you must go, it was a pleasure to walk with you.” 

I hear her sigh and answer, “Unfortunately I cannot sit here with you for the rest of the night as I still have others to talk with. But I will find some other time to sit out here in the moonlight.” Marilyn steps away and walks back the way we entered. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Vera. You are a delight and I suspect we will get to meet again.”

I rest on the wooden bench and listen to the sounds of nature. A soft breeze rustles the leaves above my head, and chirps from crickets echo from the flowerbeds and grass. The fragrant scent of blossoms fills the air. I imagine the beautiful colors that decorate this spot. I think of purple hyacinths, classic red roses, a sunset of tulips, blue and white hydrangeas, deceptive pink snapdragons, and bright red apples and cherries nestling between leaves. Perhaps moths flit from flower to flower. Sitting in the calm of night brings a pleasant end to a lovely dinner.

            After about forty-five minutes of sitting in the moonlight, I hear Robin walk across the stepping stones into the clearing. He grabs my hands and pulls me to my feet. I sputter at the sudden movement and sign, “Gracious, Robin! You startled me.”

            He chuckles. “Well, what were you expecting? I cannot let a lady who is as beautiful as you sit alone. And you have always liked dancing, so I thought we could live in the moment.”

With that, he slowly moves, and I follow. My dress twirls as we spin around the clearing, our feet gliding to familiar steps. As we waltz, I reflect on the night and the people I met: Monsieur Caleb and his wife Elanor, a sweet couple whom I expect to spend more time with; Lady Rowena, a kind and passionate woman with a knack for politics and similar hobbies to mine; Monsieur Taylor, a charming young man who seems close with Robin, and our hosts, Michael and Marilyn, who appear generous and wise. Robin spins me into his arms, and we stand together under the moonlight. 

“Love, how did you like our little trip?”

I smile up at him, “I found it splendid and enjoyable. Your friends are so sweet and friendly. Later, I would love to connect with them more because they seem like good people.”

            Robin’s arms hug me. “That sounds like an excellent plan, darling. I will set up a gathering between you and the other ladies.” He spins me out on his left hand before stepping closer. He kisses my hand and continues, “We should leave soon so we get back home before midnight, my love.”

            “Sounds good.”

            We link arms and walk back through the garden. I stoop and put my shoes on before following Robin around the manor. He helps me into the carriage and climbs up after me. The cool night air keeps me awake while the carriage starts moving, and I lean against my fiancé and relax in my seat. I hold my hands out and sign to Robin, “I like Marilyn’s garden; do you think I can make my garden similar?”

            “Of course, love, not the same, but similar. She has a broken little well that I doubt we can replicate, but any flowers you desire, I will find for you.” 

I gasp. “Thank you, Robin! I cannot wait to add more to my garden.”

“Would you like to start with snapdragons?” He says with a smile.

Written By: Marian Markley

Image Credit:

Life Flipped Upside-Down Chapter Two

I haven’t moved from the doorway of their room, Deputy Williams just called for backup, and I can’t stop the tears from coming down my face. Noooo! They are gone, and I just didn’t realize that they’ve been here all day. Dead. And I just had no idea.

Oh man, that means I was probably here when they were murdered right? I mean I would have had to have been… but how did I not hear it? I mean yes, their bedrooms its on the other side of the house but it’s not that much of a distance from my room…

I slept in this house when someone murdered my parents, and I had no idea.

I started sobbing harder to the point where I lost control.

I feel someone move in front of me, I look up through the tears and see Mads, I can’t hold the tears back at all, I swear I never knew this much liquid can come out of a person. Yikes.

“Hey, Soph, why don’t we go to the living room? I don’t think sitting in here and seeing them this way…  I just think we should move you.”

All I could do was nod. I felt like my voice was literally taken from me. I don’t know what is happening, there are so many questions just spinning around in my head, and most of them unanswered.

I sit in the living room curled up in a ball; Mads sits next to me. I think she’s trying to comfort me, but I just don’t really feel it.

“Hey, you doing okay, Soph? Do you want some water or something to eat?”

“No… No thank you –  I just don’t know what to do anymore Mads, like, what’s next?”

“Oh, Sophia I have no idea, I’m so sorry this is happening to you.”

I started sobbing again. and Mads wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug; that’s when I see him. A lot of people come in and out of my house tonight, but he acted differently. He walked in like he owned everybody around him, and they let him do that.

He strolls straight up to me, and I know he’s here about my parents. I mean they all are; I’m just not ready to answer 10 million questions that I don’t have answers to. I barely know what’s happening.

“Hello, I’m Detective Clark. I’ll be the lead detective on your parents murder.”

I was busy studying him and trying to figure out how this man got in my house. I mean obviously, he’s here for the death of my parents, but he’s not someone I picture doing this partly because he looks very young . But I guess I took too long studying him, since Mads times in with her opinion right away.  

“Lead Detective? Aren’t you a tad bit young? I mean, no offensive,e but this is my best friend, and she just found her parents dead in their own home. That means someone got in their house and killed them and but left her completely unharmed, so my question is do you really think you can figure out who did that and make sure she stays safe?”

“Mads, goodness, the man barley got here and hasn’t even started his job yet, and you’re already questioning if he can do his job?”

“It’s no problem, Miss Johnson, and yes I am young. I graduated early and worked hard to get here. I assure you that I will be putting all my effort into this case to figure out who killed your friend’s parents, but to do that I do need to ask questions.”  

He turned his head towards me, as if asking my permission to start asking the questions. The thing is once the questions start, they will never stop, at least until they find the killer and maybe even past that, too. The questions will never stop chasing me, and I don’t know if I can handle it.

“Okay I’m ready to answer your questions, but please call me Sophia –  Miss Johnson seems way to formal.”

He nodded and sat down next to me and Mads on the couch.

“Alright, Sophia, we are going to start with some basic questions, just so I can get an idea for time of death on your parents. When was the last time you saw them?”

“The last time I saw my parents physically alive was 7 p.m. last night: my mom wasn’t feeling well, and my dad followed her. They both went to sleep, and then I went to bed around 8pm.”

“What time did you leave for school this morning?”

“8:30 a.m. to arrive there by 9 a.m. I wake up at 8.”

“You didn’t say “good morning” to your parents or go to their room this morning?”

“My parents leave at 6:45 to be at their office by 7, so they leave an hour before I even wake up. No, I didn’t say good morning or go anywhere near their room because they should’ve been at work. Do you think I killed them? These don’t sound like questions but more of an interrogation.” 

“Do I think you killed your own parents? No, I don’t think that at all, not in the slightest, but someone did. These questions are not going to be easy; however, you’re the closest person to them, as well as the last person who saw them alive. Therefore, unfortunately, you are our only suspect in this entire investigation. We have a lot more questions unanswered that you probably want answers to. Please allow me to do my job and ask them, so I can figure out who killed your parents. That would be appreciated.”

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to tell you how to do your job; what’s the next question?”

“No worries, let’s just continue. When did you get home this evening from school?”

“I got home around 5:15. It’s about a 25-minute drive, and I don’t get out of school until 4:45.”

“Mmmm, okay, is there anyone else who works in this house or anyone who knows personal information about your parents? Also, is there anyone who has a key to his house and has access to this house.”

“There’s no one who works in this house. My parents always said they never wanted me to be surrounded by that kind of thing, and the only other person that has a key to my house is my best friend Maddie.”

“Are there any cameras in this house or any other security measures?”

“No cameras that I know about and no security, except for the alarm system.”

“Alright, I am going to need to collect the pajamas you both wore last night, and Sophia is this the outfit you wore to school, or did you change when you got home?”

“Uh, this is what I wore when I went to school; why do you need our pajamas?”

“We need to test them for DNA and blood from your parents.”

“But why Maddie’s? Is it because she has a key?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“So, then she is a possible suspect in this case, and her clothes must be tested, as well. I also need you to change out of these clothes, as I need to take them, too. Finally, I need you both to come to the station with me for further questioning and fingerprinting.”

I agreed with everything he was saying, he’s probably not blaming us just needs to clear us, but of course Mads had to open her mouth and make everything look ten times more suspicious than it needed to be.

“You think I killed my best friend’s parents just because I have a key to her house. I wasn’t even here at all last night. I spent the entire night with my parents, and I don’t have to give you anything at all. I didn’t kill them.”

“I never said you did, but to clear both of you from the investigation, I need to collect all of this for evidence. We’ve already contacted your parents, Miss Hanson, and they will meet us at the station. So, if you two would just please cooperate with this investigation, I can clear both you faster and search for the real killer. That would be great.”

He stood up to go and talk to some of the other investigators and left me and Mads alone on the couch; I never saw her so mad and so quiet.

“Come on, let’s go get all this together for him so we can get to the station, I would like to wake up from this nightmare as soon as possible. I know you didn’t kill them, and neither did I, so what’s the big deal in just doing what they ask?”

“I guess there’s not anything wrong with it. I just don’t like how everyone is acting like you didn’t just find your parents murdered in your own home and treat you like the prime suspect in their murder. Anyone who saw your reaction would know there’s no way you did it; you broke the minute you saw it.”

“Mads, he wasn’t here when I found them, and I don’t think anyone forgot about it. Trust me, it sucks but I would rather they try and find out who did it instead of sitting on their butts doing nothing. If that means they have to DNA test me and ask 5 million questions, then fine.”

“Okay. Okay, I just wanted you to be okay and not freak out. It’s a lot to take in.”

I throw my clothes from last night and the outfit I had on into a bag and tie it off ; then, I grab everything I’m going to need, including some clothes and my school bag because there’s no way I’m sleeping in a house that my parents were killed in.

Mads and I walk back out into the living room where Detective Clark is still talking to, I’m guessing, his team. We stand off to the side and wait for the okay to head to the station. Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting in an empty room alone waiting for someone to come and talk to me. They took everything from me, my phone, my watch, and my laptop; then, they separated me and Maddie. About an hour goes by before anyone comes in, and it’s just someone to do my fingerprints. I ask how much longer I’m going to be here because it’s now already 1 a.m., but they have no answer.

It’s 1:30 when Detective Clark finally comes into the room; he sets a pile of folders in front of me and sits down across from me. I got a gut feeling that this isn’t a very good meeting we’re about to have.

“Sophia, when was the last time that you went into your parents’ bedroom?”

“I…don’t know maybe Wednesday.”

“What did you do in the room? Did you touch anything at all? Where exactly did you go in the room, and how often do your parents wash their sheets?”

“I don’t remember what I did exactly or what I touched. I know that I asked my mom for help on a paper, and I have no idea when they wash their sheets. What’s happening? What did you find?”

He just sits there and writes down every word that I say; he sets his pin down and looks at me, and it’s the kind of look that shows me he doesn’t want to tell me what’s coming next.  

Detective Clarks POV:

I got both Sophia and Maddie down at the station but once we get there, I’m called back to the scene almost immediately. My team found something that just couldn’t wait. I tell the deputies working to separate the girls into questioning rooms and take everything from them, especially electronics, and to have someone take both of their fingerprints.

I drive back to the scene, and once I enter, three men from my team meet me.

“What do you got, better be good or we will have problems?”

“Sir, we found the murder weapon and also 25 cameras all around the property.”

“Sophia said there weren’t any cameras, so how the heck did you find multiples?”

“She might not have known about them, they were hidden in and outside of the house, some even in her and the parents’ bedrooms.” 

“Are you saying that we may have solved this murder in less than 24 hours because the camera might’ve recorded the entire murder?”

“That’s exactly what we are saying, Sir.”

“Okay, take all the camera’s down, pack them up in evidence, gather more evidence of Sophia’s room, as well, and I need every computer in this house packed up, too.”

“Sir, this isn’t the only thing we found.”

“What else did ya got?”

They look at me like I just asked them to solve this murder themselves, like I’m some kind of mad man.

“SPIT IT OUT NOW.”

“We found tapes.”

“Tapes? Like video tapes?”

“Yes sir, they were hidden in the parents’ bedroom, in a safe in their closet.”

“Okay pack them up, then; we’ll look at them with the rest of the evidence.”

They do nothing, not a single movement toward the orders I gave them. When did my team become so stupid?

“What is wrong with you? Why are you still standing there when two very important lawyers lie dead in their bed. We need to figure out who did it and why; get a move on.”

“Sir, we think the videos may be attached to the girl, Miss Johnson their daughter.”

“Why do you say that?”

“They date going back to when she was 6 and continue all the way up to exactly a month from last night. Each is marked for 13^th of every month, from when she was six to now.”

“Okay, why is this so important?”

“Last night was the 13^th of May, so last night must also have been recorded for some reason.”

“Okay. Put them in a special evidence box and give them to me; I’ll view them at the station.”

This time, they finally listen to me and get to work; I walk back to the crime scene and note that it’s taped up and in the full swing of the investigation. Wow, whoever did this made sure the other person wouldn’t hear a struggle: the weapon of choice was a garrote. The murderer clearly wanted it to be quick and quiet but as messy as possible. I grab a few more things for evidence and make sure that I get all the pictures from the scene faxed over to me for development. 

The tapes get packed into a special evidence box, along with the murder weapon and everything else in the safe where the tapes were found. I grab the box head out. I load up my car as the forensic pathologist arrives to retrieve the bodies. Hopefully, I can get a time of death in a few hours and discover who died first. I drive back to the station and go to my office as I glance through the box.

My team was right: these date all the way back to 2011, which lines up with Sophia’s date of birth. They start when she was the age of six. I keep going through the dates until I find one from when she was about 10, popping it into my computer to see what was so important about these tapes that they had to be locked in a safe.

The entire thing is about 12 hours long, and it looks like it’s the camera in Sophia’s bedroom recording. I fast forward the video 6 hours to about 3 a.m. Nothing happens, so I start going through the box again, but then, I catch movement on my screen. The timer shows 3:33 a.m., and she’s standing up in her room staring at the door. She then starts walking towards the living room of her house, the camera follows her movements, and I deduce she’s not sleep walking. She’s perfectly awake and knows exactly what and where she’s headed. I sift through a couple more videos, skipping two ages at a time, until I get to the last three months.  All of them show her waking up at exactly 3:33 a.m., and she’s planning something in each one. She appears to be a completely different person. This confuses me.

Around 1a.m., my team arrives with the other evidence, and I locate the computer found in Mr. and Mrs. Johnson’s room. I scroll through and find footage from last night’s camera; just as in the other videos, at 3:33 a.m., Sophia gets out of bed and walks around the house. This time, she goes back to her room and pulls a box from her closet, bringing it to her parents’ bedroom door; she then opens the door and walks. The camera shifts to the bedroom, too,  and she walks to her father’s side of the bed, puts the box on the ground and opens it.

“Dang it the bed is blocking the view; what’s in the box, Sophia?”

I pause the video and pick up my notepad and folders from the case, going straight to Sophia’s interrogation room. I set the folders down and sit down across from her.

“Sophia, when was the last time you went into your parents’ bedroom?”

“I-…. don’t know maybe Wednesday.”

“What did you do in the room? Did you touch anything at all? Where exactly did you go in the room, and how often do your parents wash their sheets?”

“I don’t remember exactly what I did or what I touched. I know that I asked my mom for help on a paper, and I have no idea when they wash their sheets. What’s happening? What did you find?”

I stare at her, she just lied to my face; she was there in their room last night. Does she think we are really that stupid?

“Sophia, we know that you were in their room last night, around 3:45 a.m.”

“No, I wasn’t, I was asleep, and how do you know that?”

I stood up and signaled for my computer, which I set right in front of her with the camera footage paused from last night. 

“Why do you have camera footage of my house?”

“I’m guessing you didn’t know that your parents had cameras all around the house, did you?”

“No, I had no idea; this is me last night? Are you sure? There’s no way, I was asleep, I don’t remember this at all!”

“Sophia, we recovered tapes, recorded on the 13^th of every month, every year since you were 6,  hidden in your parents’ house.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your parents recorded your behavior on the 13^th of every month. You have no idea what you are doing in this video?”

“No… no, I don’t? Did I kill my parents? Oh my! Did I do this to them?”

“That’s what we need to figure out.”

Written By: Alexis Farino

Image Credit

Nameless: Chapter 3

I awoke in a strange place. The first pain I felt continued as a searing headache. My body lay on a soft cushion, all my wounds covered. Then, I heard a cry. Across from me stood a toddler bouncing in his crib, pointing at me with tears in his eyes. Soon, a woman arrived. Upon seeing me, she yelled a name; “Evander!” The woman approached and hugged me before taking a seat by my side. “How are you feeling?” she asked. Talking to strangers scared me, so I remained silent, not wanting to provoke any anger. A tall, bearded man entered with the biggest smile. He proceeded to soothe the crying toddler in his arms and took a seat next to the woman who called him. She continued to interrogate me. For most of the questions, I did not know the answers.

            “Do you know where you are?”

            No idea.

            “Do you know who you are?

            That never mattered.

            “Your name?”

            I never had one.

            “Me?” the stranger concluded.

            I remained silent.

            Six pairs of eyes pierced mine with a faint look of horror. All but the toddler seemed to be holding back tears. The child tearfully extended his arms toward me waiting for a response. I stayed still, not wanting to do anything disallowed. At first, my mind confusingly wondered where my parents were. It took me too long to realize that they finally disowned me.

“Maybe she just needs some time, Eleni?” the man questioned.

            “Maybe,” the lady whispered.

            The man put his hand on my head and looked me in the eye. “You rest up well now, you hear?”

            Then, the three of them left me alone in the house, so they could share some news with the rest of this unusual village. It puzzled me as to why these two would care for me in their own home and not introduce themselves. Did this place not have a hospital, orphanage, or somewhere else I could be left to be forgotten.

It took me some time to move normally again. Surprisingly, the adults I stayed with allowed me to venture outside. Everywhere I wobbled, someone was there to lend me a hand, despite my silent protest. The people of this place, Aigaion, truly acted very oddly towards me.

            No one introduced themselves to me. They just stood there smiling and saying things like, “I’m so overjoyed that you are alright!” A few reached their arms out to me, but hesitated once they realized my indifferent reaction. The pair whose house I intruded never mentioned moving me elsewhere. I kept waiting for their patience with me to end, especially once I fully recovered, but that time never came.

            I did not mind sharing a room with their son. He seemed to like me, but I wondered why they trusted me so much with their child. He often ran up to me extending his arms forward with a little jump. The most I ever reacted toward him was to gently place my hand on his head. The child would not leave me alone most of the time. He often put his clearly custom-made toys in my lap and pointed. He started leaving them around the house in obvious spaces I would see, so I had to return them. He always gave me the biggest smile as I brought the toys back to his palms.

            Eventually, my caregivers hauled me to an Aigaion meeting. When the four of us entered, the villagers cheered. I guess those two must be some big shots in the community. After everyone gathered, a short measure of silence fell before a clear outsider arrived. Her long black hair dangled over her peculiar clothing that included a hood over her eyes which contrasted the rest of her clothes. The people of Aigaion hung on to every one of her words. Soon she approached me and took me by the hand. The stranger asked me similar questions to the ones I heard when I awoke.

            “Do you remember this village? Your home?” she probed.

            Aigaion did seem familiar. Maybe I visited a few times as a child, but I could not recall much. As for my home, I had no desire to return there. However, my response to her remained the same as always, not a single word left my tongue. The measure of silence resumed as she waited for me to answer anything. Her face painted a strong look of frustration. The stranger clenched her palms and broke the silence in a defeated voice as she turned to face the crowed, “’I’m sorry I failed you.” Then she stormed out and never appeared again to them.

            The man I walked in with approached me and said in a similar tone, “Do you remember me?”

What a weird stranger, I thought. I grew to know him better while staying at his house and looking after his child, but why would someone even ask that question of someone they recently met. Again, I had no intention of angering them, so I replied with silence. The people of Aigaion approached me afterward and reacted similarly. It made me uncomfortable how suddenly everyone around me wanted to help, listen, and spend time with me.

            Eventually, I ended that uncomfortableness. When my wounds left no impression on my body, and I returned to a normal state, I prepared to leave Aigaion. A strong desire dominated my mind. That vital urge begged me to act. I gathered my few belongings from under the bed and began to exit the house without a word. Then, the man stopped me and called for his wife. The thought of them preventing me from leaving frightened me. I sat down with them at the dining table as we shared our last meal. The couple went back and forth discussing my desire to leave. They never even considered a day like this would pass. Eventually, without needing any protest from me, they looked into my eyes and the woman answered, “It is your choice to leave. We will not force you to stay here.”

            “But please do not leave us without saying goodbye!” the man pleaded.

            For the first time since I woke up, I smiled at them. I had no idea such kind people existed. They treated strangers better than family. However, their reaction turned my face back to normal. Both of their facades finally broke and they began crying the same as their son. They tearfully asked, “Are you leaving now?” I nodded in return as I gathered my items. The lady left and returned with a bag of fresh loaves. Without asking she placed them in my bag. After, her husband handed her their son, and picked up my bag. I gestured that I could take it just fine and that he did not need to help.
            However he responded, “It is the least I can do for you.”

            A few others followed the family and me to the gate. When we arrived, I took my bag from the weird stranger. I decided to say something to them, “Thank you.” Then, I smiled out of a habit that escaped my memory and began to open the gate. He replied, “No, thank you for everything. Please come back soon.” After I exited, I heard a thud as he fell to the ground sobbing more than I ever could. His wife ran out to me after I had already stepped a decent distance away. She turned her son toward me, and he waved goodbye, tears swelling in his eyes.

            “Goodbye, Hera!” she screamed as I waved goodbye at a steady pace.

            Outside, the wall displayed a completely different scene than the inside. Many large weapons positioned near the stone walls guarded Aigaion. Unlike the pristine inner walls, the stone that framed the gate presented many streaks of red. I considered it another odd trait of that location. The inside seemed like a peaceful environment, but beyond the walls illustrated something more that remained unknown to me.

I no longer had anywhere I could return to, but a mission captivated my motives. I needed to get stronger, but I could not recollect why. That thought tainted my brain. As I continued to ignore it, the desire morphed into an order. At least I am no longer wandering directionless, I thought. I had a direction to move onward with, but still nowhere to call home. I continued forward past the bridge that pointed to the place behind me. That day, I left Aigaion.

Written By: Rachel Caña

Image Credit

Facing the Past

~A continuation of Mirror Mirror and Behind the Glass~

            The door to my bedroom swung open, prison bars peeling their way back as the exit cleared. My cell door opened. I felt a sense of freedom with it, and a choice. The option to move forward, to leave the dark confines I had made into a home. 

            A hazy image of a far off place lingered past the door. Warm tones and peachy skies painted by the setting sun flirted past my vision. I couldn’t remember the last time the world held colors like that. I heard voices too, the once familiar sound of laughter filled my ears from afar. Its sound grew warped and garbled as it reached my ears, like I had forgotten how to understand the noise. I knew this place, a distant memory of joy before the storm. A picturesque reality that failed to live up to its vision. A perfect scene bound to be ruined. A beautiful thing that could not last. 

            A day at its end, 152 days ago. 

“Why don’t you step through the door?” the dove beconded with a swoop of its golden wing. For a moment, I was so mesmerized by the scene ahead I nearly forgot I wasn’t alone. 

Peeling my eyes back from the doorway, I cast my vision upon the glowing image of the dove, hovering over the discarded mirror. It waited patiently, eyes expectantly searching my own for a response. I hesitated, wrapping my arms tight around myself. “Will you come along with me? I…don’t know if I can go alone.” 

“Wherever you go, I will follow,” the dove replied, its wings sweeping the creature into the air, to land upon my shoulder. “We can face this day together. Just put one foot in front of the other.”

  I took a step, but my legs felt like lead. The soles of my shoes turned into bouldering rocks, glued to the mountainside of the room’s carpeted floors. Barely able to move, I told myself the only lie that could make me move. 

I am a mountain climber, unafraid of the cliffs ahead of me. 

The room twisted and turned, the bounders on my feet shifting into steady climbing shoes, and the carpeted floors before the door turned into a rocky mountainside. The dove on my shoulder suddenly changed into a set of ropes holding me steady on my climb, as I put one foot in front of the other, making my way to the top. My hands grasped the rocky edge, pulling me up and over the stones, and sending me tumbling through the doorway into that day, 152 days in the past. 

Freefalling through the doorway was like tumbling over the cliff I just climbed. Rosy pink and orange skies swished around me, as I plummeted towards the sounds of laughter, gradually increasing in volume as I fell. Beneath me lay sand and shore, with 7 small figures dancing around the edge. People, I soon realized. People I once knew. 

It was only then that my fall sent me into panic. I flailed in the sky, the memory approaching far too fast, images speeding into my mind. My mother and father stood arm-in-arm, laughing with my aunt. Little cousins gathered around a past version of myself, begging for my attention as they showed me how they’d learned to dive for hermit crabs in the shallow ocean currents. But there was one more face. 

A small girl swam into the deep, unattended and alone. Her dark hair, skin tone, movements, and form matched mine far too closely. Too close, she couldn’t be real, she couldn’t be anyone but the little sister I hadn’t seen in the last 152 days. 

Martha.

I couldn’t stop the fall. 

Images of her passed through my vision. All the smiles I’d forgotten, every kind word, and every shared adventure. All the memories I tried to block out for so long. Everything I’d chosen to cross out of my mind. 

Joy, will you come play with me? 

The memory of her voice echoed in my head, so familiar and so fragile. The way she said my name felt like she was calling someone else. My name fit so much better then. Back when I remembered what it felt like to be joyful.

 Before Martha had…  

            My freefall cut back to the scene at hand. My past self sat in the shallows, surrounded by little laughing cousins, choosing to ignore the one person who asked for my attention. 

            Joy, will you come play with me? 

            I scanned the deep where Martha should be. She should have been swimming there. She never should have been alone. The adults should have noticed she was gone. 

            “Where’s Martha?” I heard my mother speak up. 

It was too late. 

She was too late and I knew it. I was too late to help. Emergency services would come too late. Flashing lights of red and blue, shouting, failing, dying. 

Dying. 

Dying. 

Drowning. 

            My freefall through the memory was cut by a surge of black water and ocean waves. Sunny skies rapidly vanished into tumultuous waves of swirling blue and black, marring my vision like a bilious bruise. And beneath it all sank the lithe form of the sister I had always known. A shadow from the past, being beaten by the waves, pulled by the current, and pulled down into the ocean depths. 

She gasped, and I did too. 

Together, we inhaled nothing but water into our lungs.        

The memory of her was like a weight tied to my feet, pulling me under the crashing waves. My heavy heart only helped me sink, as every tear I cried added to the ocean’s worth of pain pulling me down. Martha was drowning. No, she already drowned… and it was all my fault.

I started sinking faster. 

If only I had played with her. If only I had watched her. This may never have happened.

Another weight tied itself around my feet. 

I hated myself for what happened to her. I didn’t deserve to live a happy life when she’d lost hers. 

The waters pulled me down deeper. 

I should have died in her place.

“But you didn’t.”

Just when I thought the waves would steal the last breath from my lungs, a voice rose above the regrets terrorizing my mind. The dove appeared again, floating in the water in front of my eyes, drawing my attention back on it. “None of this was your fault. You don’t have to keep drowning in pain.” 

My lungs burned, failing to gasp for air. I wanted to believe I deserved this. I wanted to own the pain…but I needed to breathe. 

            It’s okay to hurt.

            The weight fell off my feet. 

            It’s okay to miss your sister. 

My body began to float upward. 

It’s okay to move on. You can choose to live again. 

            I surfaced, and breathed. 

Day 153

            I surfaced in my room. Water turned to bright yellow walls, floral bed sheets, and decorative pillows scattered across the floor. I was home again, and for the first time in forever, home felt like a safe place to be. Pulling back the curtains, I let the light in and enjoyed the feel of the sunlight on my face. 

It was a new day, and the world was bright. 

I loved it. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” the dove whispered, coming to land on the windowsill. 

“I’m glad I can see it that way now,” I replied, my eyes still adjusting to the light. 

“How do you feel?” 

I paused; there was an ache in my chest, but it had dulled. The loss no longer consumed me, rather the lingering ache served to heighten the colors, sharpen sounds, and bring out the details of my existence. It was the pain that made being alive so beautiful, I could accept it now. I had the option of revisiting the feeling if I wanted to, but I was no longer locked in the past. The door to my room was open. I was free. 

“I feel like myself again.” I smiled, even laughed a little bit. “I feel like Joy.” 

Picking up the mirror that lay on my bed, I examined myself. The image I saw wasn’t perfect, not even close. The scars were still there, and the glass cracked in places it shouldn’t have. But the girl was smiling. 

She was smiling and it felt as natural as breathing, as simple as counting the days, a hobby she might just stop doing. She figured she didn’t really need the tally anymore. 

Written by: Naomi Hernandez

Image Credit

All the World’s a Stage: Part 3

Kandor

“Juna, for Neptune’s sake, shut up,” Kandor snapped.

Juna laughed conspiratorially, hoisting Amily higher up on his back. “Just trying to get to know your girlfriend, Kan.”

            “JUNA.”

            Kessy laughed too. “Kandor, it’s okay, really.”

            “Yeah, you hear that? She said it was fine. Oof!” Amily kicked his ribs gently.

            “Go faster!”

            “Whatever you say, Princess Am.”

            Kandor rolled his eyes, falling in step beside Kessy. “So…how are you? How are you feeling?” He eyed her as discreetly as he could.

            She shrugged sadly. “All right, I guess…all things considered. Happy to be going home.” She glanced at him. “I mean, sorry to leave you all, but—”

            Kandor chuckled. “No, I understand. I just hope we can get you there.”

            They had set out that morning, the five of them. They formed no real plan before leaving, just set a final goal: get Kessy back to the High Court. Kandor resisted bringing his sister along, but Hadassy couldn’t be spared at work, and Kandor refused to let Amily stay home alone, so he recruited Juna to go with them and help with Amily. As always, Sassa padded along faithfully beside him, sometimes dropping back to gaze adoringly up at Juna and Amily.

            “Kandor?” Kessy said after a moment, and Kandor jumped, not expecting her to speak.

            “Yeah?”

            “What happens if we get to the Medial Court and I can’t…you know…get through? Or I get back home and they tell me I’m not supposed to be there?”

            Kandor sucked in a breath. “You mean like, banishment? You think you were banished?” A sudden awful thought crossed his mind: was Kessy a criminal? Was Amily safe?

            He shoved the thought away as quickly as it came. Look at her, he chided himself. Does she look like a criminal to you?

            Juna’s voice laughed at him in his mind. You think she’s cute, don’t you?

            “Shut up, Juna,” Kandor said aloud.

            “I didn’t even say anything!” Juna protested, extracting Amily from his waist, where she clung to him sideways like a vice.
            Kandor shrugged. “Force of habit, sorry. Amily, stop climbing on Uncle Juna.” Amily slid to the ground, apparently boneless. “Why are you doing that?” Kandor asked, watching his sister schlep fluidly along on all fours. Sassa snuffled her hair.

            “I’m being a slug,” came the cantankerous reply.

            “Well, can you be a slug with feet?”

            “No,” Amily said, with a twinge of irritated superiority. “Slugs don’t have feet.”

            “Can you be something else with feet?”

            “No.”

            “Can you—”

            “Slugs also don’t have ears. I can’t hear you.”

            Kandor cast an apologetic smile at Kessy, mouthing, Sorry, she’s sleepy. He could hear Juna suppressing a cackle.

            Kessy smiled back at him, and he noticed the way her upturned eyes crinkled as she did. They were a clear, sparkling blue; he could tell even in the darkness. Stop being an idiot, Kandor, he told himself. As soon as you get her to the Medial Court, you’ll never see her again.

            Juna, abandoning the slug to Sassa’s protective gaze, joined the other two. “So, do we have a plan?”

            “Nope,” Kandor said.

            “I guess we just like…shove her in?” Juna said. Doubtfully.

            No one really knew how the Medial Court worked. Very few were allowed to cross between the Courts, leaving the pathway as a mysterious, sparkling wasteland, filled only with speculation and age-old rumors that more likely than not weren’t even true. But Kessy obviously came from there, so surely, she could go back…right?

            Kandor felt a nagging fear that something else was at play here tugging at the back of Kandor’s mind. Who preserved her as a marble statue, and why? Did that pause her age? How old was she, truly? Did she get here a different way?

            Sassa barked. Kandor turned, noting with displeasure that the slug apparently decided to become simply a stationary blob, barely visible in the darkness. “Amily, come on!”

            “My feet hurt.”

            “I thought slugs didn’t have feet.”

            Amily huffed, annoyed enough by this accusation to stand and join the other three. “Can you carry me?” she asked, barely suppressing a yawn.

            Kandor hid a sigh, also exhausted. “Of course.” He hoisted her up, and she tucked her head onto his shoulder, under his jawbone, like she had a thousand times before.

            “I don’t think we’re too far,” Juna said. “All the maps said it was only about a four hour walk from here.”

            “And how long have we been walking?” Kandor asked, shifting Amily slightly.  

            “Forever,” she said sleepily.

            “Probably about three,” Juna amended, ever the mediator, when he wasn’t intentionally stirring the pot.

            “Only thirty minutes to go,” Kessy said brightly.

            Amily snored.

Nearly an hour later, Kandor felt a shift in the air, nearly tangible in nature. It felt almost cold, but from the inside out. Kessy shivered.

            “This is so strange,” she said, rubbing her arms.

            “I know,” Kandor said.

            Juna nudged him. “Give her your jacket, Kan.”

            “I don’t think that will work, Juna.”

            “Okay, well, when you end up lonely and single forever, don’t blame me.” He danced out of the way before Kandor could swat him.

            “Juna, just because you have a wife doesn’t mean you can—”

            Silence fell across the group. Kandor snapped his mouth closed, suddenly rendered unable to speak. He felt impossibly…empty. Any tiny semblance of color in the darkness faded away to a dull grey or black, swirling away with the energy that snaked around them all. Amily raised her little head.

            “What’s going on?”

            “I think…” Kandor spoke with difficulty, like his throat filled with molasses. “I think…this is the…the Medial Court.”

            Juna coughed, as though doing so would dislodge the thick feeling in his throat.

            “What do we do?” Kessy asked.

            Amily started to cry, haltingly. She buried her face in Kandor’s shoulder.

            “You four can go back,” Kessy gasped. “I never meant for you to—”

            Her voice cut off, and Kandor could just barely make out her form slumping to the ground. “KES—” he started, but black spots suddenly danced across his vision, and he retained just enough sense to set Amily on down before darkness overtook him completely, and he crumpled to the ground.

Kessy

Kessy’s eyes opened slowly, fluttering against a harsh light. She tried to sit up, but a pounding at her temples forced her to lie still. Where am I? she thought wildly.

            Next to her, Kandor groaned. Coughed. Somewhere, Amily started to cry.

            Kessy sat up slowly. “Is…is everyone all right?”

            She heard Kandor shift. “Amily?” he called, panic lacing his voice.

            “Kandor, my head hurts,” Amily wailed piteously, and started to cry. She crawled to him, curling up in his arms. Kessy listened to her soft sobs, her heart breaking for the tiny little soul who never signed up for this.

            Behind them, Juna gasped in pain. “What happened?”

            Kandor stroked Amily’s hair. “Did someone take us?”

            Glancing around the room, Kessy saw now windows, but she didn’t think they were in a cell. Lush, expensive furniture stood at attention throughout the space, and suddenly Kessy knew where she was.

            “This is the Celestial Palace,” she said. “The High Court. This is my home.”

            Juna blew out a sigh of relief. “Oh, well, then, you can tell your people that this was all a big misunders—”

            “I don’t have any people, not really,” Kessy said softly. “This has to be the king’s work. I don’t remember much…but I do remember we didn’t get along very well, there at the end.”

            “You mean, we’re in the king’s custody?” Kandor asked, aghast.

            Kessy nodded miserably. “That’s my best guess.”

            Juna sounded nonplussed. “Well, how do we—”

            The door opened. Two guards entered, followed by a broad, stately man Kessy knew to be Olaris, King of the High Court.

            He regarded her. She met his gaze.

            “Kassiopeia,” he said finally.

            “Your Majesty.”

            Amily cried on and on, and Kandor did his best to soothe her. One of the guards shot him a nasty look and made as if to stalk towards them, but Olaris put his hand on his arm. “At ease, my friend,” he said, his voice dripping with false kindness. “No need for that. They are our honored guests, after all.”

            Juna snorted. “You use ‘honored’ rather loosely around here, apparently.”

            Kessy watched Kandor shoot him an if you will ever shut up when I ask you to, now is the time look, but again, Olaris brushed it off.

            “No, I mean that quite sincerely, Juna Tulsi. Upon my word, you remain our honored guests, treated with the utmost—”

            “Where’s Sassa?” Kandor interrupted at the same time Juna said, “How do you know my name?”

Kandor looked around wildly. “Where is my dog?”

Amily wailed again. “You killed Sassa!”

Olaris held out his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Your dog is fine, my dear, I assure you. And as for your question, Juna, I know everything about you all. Especially our precious Kassiopeia here.”

Her blood ran cold. “Why are you doing this? Why did you send me away?” She became increasingly aware that Olaris caused her strange disappearance and was probably behind why she could barely remember anything.

“Why am I doing this? Well, I am nothing if not a showman, my dear, and you and your friends are about to take part of my greatest spectacle yet.”

“What does that mean?”

Olaris spread his arms wide. “Prepare yourself for the role of a lifetime, my dear. The show is about to begin.”

Written by: Caroline Johnson

Image Credit

The Goodbye and The Hello

            “Make sure you do double take to make sure you have everything. You can’t just drive across the ocean to grab that t shirt you forgot” my dad reminded me, trying to lighten the mood because my mom was an emotional wreck.

            “I have everything pops” I assured him. I knew I was set and had everything on my to pack lists but I couldn’t help wonder around the house I grew up in, the house I got to call “home” for the last 19 years. I knew everything I needed was in my overstuffed suitcase that weighed more than my little arms could carry but my mind wanted to have forgotten something so that I could slip in a few extra minutes before heading out the door for the last time in who knew how long.

            “Oh sweetie, this house is going to miss you more than you know” my mom whispered choking on her tears.

            “I’m gonna miss it more than it knows as well” I said, trying to put up a strong front for my mom and oddly my house even though I knew it was inanimate, it felt as if my house was mourning for me as well.

            I took one last glance around the house and let my body take over because my heart was in complete shambles. I finally was able to get myself out of the door, and into the car. It was a little before sunrise, so the sky was still dark, the moon still in sight, but the sun was peeking through. 

            “Alright, lets go” my dad said after he typed in the address for the airport.

            The car ride was silent, but I could feel the unsaid words of my parents. My dad giving me a list of “to-dos” in case I come across a mechanical issue. And my mom pleading her case as to why I shouldn’t be moving across the globe and trying to convince me that the uni across the street would give me the same experience.

I looked out the window at the dim-lit streetlights, the emptiness of the streets, and the sleeping neighborhood. I wondered if any of the houses we drove by were also going through a life changing day.

            “Park in the one-hour lot” My mom instructed my dad.

            “Honey, I don’t think we’ll take that long. Right Becca?”

“Well, just to be safe.” I answered, knowing my mom would need the extra minutes to send me off.”

We unloaded the car, and my dad wheeled the suitcase as I grabbed my tote with all my belongings that would keep me company for the next 11 hours in the clouds.

“We’re gonna miss you so much bud, but you go out there and you have fun alright? We are so proud of you.” My dad finally choked as tears started rolling down his face. We stood there in a little huddle just sobbing, as suitcases rolled by. I wanted to hold on to the last of what would feel comfortable for a while, for as long as I could. But I knew time wasn’t waiting for us. So, I grabbed my suitcase handle, wiped the tears off my eyes even though more were sprinkling down, and headed towards the gate to enter the deport station.

I made my way to my gate after finishing all the necessary security checks. I don’t remember boarding the plane or rolling down the aisle full of unfamiliar people all going to the same destination. It was as if my mind had completely detached from my body, and I was just going through the motions; numb to it all.

            But then it hit me. A sharp pain to my heart. One I was familiar with. I looked down at the world as the plane was taking off. I thought about my parents who were probably on their way to a now empty childless home. I thought about my friends who were probably now just waking up enjoying the last few weeks of their summer break. But my heart kept wandering back to someone else. I thought of him. He was the cause of this sharp pain I had despite being in the middle of following my dreams. He was what was holding me back because my heart was still with him. Where he was, my heart was. And who knows how long he will be the keeper of this scattered heart. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. I wasn’t ready to deal with this next chapter with his absence. But, despite not being ready, I knew time moved on. And, hopefully, so will I.

Written by: Bawi Sung
Image Credit

How to Start Saving People: Parts 7 & 8

Inspired by the HBO Adaptation of The Last of Us 

7 – A Loss 

“Come here! It’s okay, it’s okay!” 

“Tommy! Hand me that!” 

“STEVIE!” 

“Maya, be quiet! Tommy, stay with them.” 

“Where’s Grif?”  

“Saving our butts.” 

“Stevie. Stevie, relax.” 

“She can’t hear you.” 

“Where’s Mel?” 

“Maya, please. I need you right now.” 

My tears sting like poison down my face. The pounding of adrenaline in my chest and head almost bury Tommy’s voice completely. I see his eyes through my blurry vision. They speak, stars in the night. 

“Maya.” Tommy tore bits of cloth to make a tourniquet. “Keep applying pressure.” 

I look down. My hands grasp Stevie’s blooded thigh. They’re grimy, soaked in her blood. Nausea swept over me for a second before Tommy’s voice brought me back up. 

“Hand me the water. Maya, the water.” 

I hand the thermos to him. “You saw them, right?” 

“I saw a bunch. Let’s focus now.” 

“Tommy! Look at me please.” 

He looks up at me; I see tears, “They can’t win? We can’t. Right?” 

“Maya, we can’t—” 

“Please. Give me something. Let’s be realistic.” 

“What going to happen is this: we’re going to stabilize Stevie, meet Grif by the old gas station, and head to the next safe house.”  

My heart leapt. “Ellie! Where is she?” 

“Maya! Calm. Grif, remember.” 

“Grif…” 

I remember everything in flashes, in heartbeats. Every heartbeat making me step forward, run, duck, hide, not cry. The group came back running from the Infected that sensed them on their journey. We don’t know how they could. The old house they went to was covered in Infected material, but it had been abandoned. Now, we can never go back to the safe house we’d made home. All the barriers are closing. They’re suffocating. 

“Alright.” Tommy finishes the tourniquet. “Maya, help me get Stevie out to the road. We can’t stay here for long.” 

“They won’t be there.” 

“Yes, they will. Come on.” 

My mind is still at the house, flipping through the last hour like a photo reel as we walk through the woods carrying a barely conscious Stevie. The Infected overcame the house so quickly. I knew what to do, Marlene made us practice our emergency routine so many times. But when it happened, I couldn’t move. All I could recognize was Grif’s rough grasp around my waist, Ellie’s crying, Marlene’s gun, Tommy’s distant voice from outside, and Stevie. Her scream cut my brain, a sharp slice on the right side. The ringing of it fluttering at every step I took on the brush-covered forest floor.  

“The road will have Infected?” The question leaves my body, and I’m watching myself talk like in a movie. My voice sounds like a husky cry. It’s foreign. 

“No. It shouldn’t.” 

It shouldn’t. Okay, that’s a 50/50 chance. Where’s the car? Where’s Marlene? Where is Ellie? We don’t have her things. No time. No time.  

“Walk quietly now.” Tommy whispers. 

I look up, the gas station lies ahead just a couple of yards. We scan the perimeter before moving closer.  

“Let’s get inside. They’ll be here any minute, but we still need cover.” 

“The road is empty.”  

“Maya,” Tommy lays Stevie down on a bench inside, “Maya, look at me.” He places his hands on my shoulders, looking me in the eyes. 

“Your eyes are so warm. How are you still so warm? Alive.” 

“Maya, please stay with me. Please stay here. Don’t drift off.” 

“I’m…” My head spins and my hands tingle. 

_____ 

“She’s overwhelmed, Marlene.” 

I wake up to a jolt. We’re in a car. Grif and Marlene sit up front and Tommy and Mel sit in the back. I look around, blinking as my vision clears. I’m laying on towels in the very back, Stevie rests next to me. Her leg looks bad, but her eyes are slightly open. She’s watching the road out the front window.  

“Stevie.” My voice shakes. 

Her eyes shift to me, and she smiles softly. “Hey, you.” 

“Wait, wh—” 

“She’s not hurt.” Stevie nods toward Mel, who holds Ellie snug up against him, her little body wrapped in a towel.  

I look back at her. “I’m a bad aunt.” 

She chuckles stiffly, noticeably pained by the movement. “Your demons are real flesh-eating monsters not parties or boyfriends. You’re fine.” 

“She’s not.” I gesture to Ellie. 

“She’s like you and Anna. Resilient. Stubborn.” 

“Overdramatic.” Tommy leans back over to us. 

“Hey.” I halfway laugh. Moving hurts, too. 

“Yeah. You fell, so I had to carry both of you two out of the station and into this blessed vessel.” 

“An SUV, blessed? 

He smirks. “In our case, yes ma’am.” 

8 – A Lesson 

 My heart skips too many beats. The trees hang lower and lower until fallen trunks barricade the road. There are no more blessings the SUV can provide.  

“Come on!” Grif tugs the steering wheel, jolting us to a stop. 

“Let’s walk then. Guns ready, everyone,” Marlene says, kicking open the passenger door. 

“Yeah, sure. Except I don’t have a gun,” I moan. 

“I got you,” Tommy replies to my hushed complaining, helping Stevie and me out of the back. 

“The house isn’t far. Looks clear,” Marlene calls back to us. A short way of saying we need to hurry it up. 

Grif puts Stevie on his back, and I take Ellie. Marlene and Mel walk in front while Tommy walks behind us. The road is dark; rain must have come through not too long ago. The trees are a rich green and drenched in raindrops. It’s quiet. I’m okay with it. All I can focus on is carrying Ellie just right. Will a misstep make her uncomfortable? If I breathe too hard, will she cry? She’s been so good, just watching us and sleeping. I’m sure she cried hard when Grif saved her. She must have been so scared. I’m trying to piece together the schedule Stevie made for her in my head. What time for this or that? I’m so bad at this. I’m sorry, Ellie. 

“Maya, we should be able to take some cover and rest up ahead.” Tommy walks up to my left side. He peers down at Ellie and smiles. 

“Oh…yeah, cool. Ellie needs something soon, I think.” 

“She’ll let you know.” He smiles at me now. 

“Yeah, great.” Why do I always sound so pessimistic? Gosh, Maya.  

Between the raindrops that keep dramatically falling onto my head and Marlene’s endurance, I can feel a dense annoyance rising in my chest and behind my eyes. I want to cry, and it makes me even more peeved.  

“Marlene,” Tommy calls from behind me seemingly reading my mind. “Let’s find a place to stop.” 

“Let’s not give any Infected a chance to get a jump on us,” Marlene calls back. 

“Marlene! Let’s stop,” I yell, a little louder than I intend. 

“May—!” 

“Hey!” Grif tops all of our voices. “Marlene. Go ahead and check over that peak, yonder.” He points. “Let’s go under those leaning trees for a time out.” 

Grif’s stern instructions send chills down my spine, a reminder of how little I see him use his full voice. His tone with Marlene is satisfying, too. I know she’s huffing to herself right now. 

“Thanks, Griffy.” Mel eases himself down onto a splintery stump as the rest of us settle onto the wet gravel.  

It’s cool and rough, a nice feeling to offset the stinging in my feet.  

“How’s Ellie?” Stevie looks over to me, pale and slightly trembling.  

“She’s okay. I tried to feed her while we were walking but she’s fussy, I think.” 

“Let me take her for a bit.” Tommy leans, takes her from me, and rocks her gently in his lap.  

I realize how sore my arms are. “Thanks,” I sigh and try to smile. 

“Stevie, you don’t look so good, my girl.” Mel passes her some beef jerky. “Get some protein.” 

“She’s been shaking and breathing heavily.” Grif looks very concerned, which makes me even more anxious. 

“All right, it’s okay.” She shudders in an attempt to laugh off the concerns. 

“I don’t feel so good, but I think for being shot, I’m fairing great.” 

“Shot!?” My insights twist. “I thought you fell and got punctured? ‘Cause your leg…” I wave at the blood-soaked cloth wrapped around her thigh.  

“No. It was…a mistake, Maya. Don’t worry,” Stevie quickly clarifies, but I can see her mind teetering on more concerning information.  

“It was my mistake,” Grif says. “She got caught up in a crowd of Infected and I saw I was someone running towards Ellie.” 

“How did we let this happen?!” My head burns, and I can feel tears dripping down my face. 

“The safe house was perfect, it protected us. Marlene trusted in it. Marlene.” The burning starts to sting. “Marlene’s stupid conspiracy plan thing almost got Stevie killed! It almost got Ellie killed! It endangered all of us! And now we don’t have anywhere to go!”  

“Maya, please. She didn’t inten—” 

“Her intentions are a shell of what she claims!” I yell. “She just cares about getting more little foot solders and more little traumatized loners to treat her like a god!” 

“Maya! My sister cares about all of us. You know that.” Stevie’s voice is firm but hurt. 

“She cares ‘cause we’re obedient.” I stand up and march away. I can’t take it anymore, and I’m not even shouting at the right person.  

_________ 

I find a pile of rubble to sit on. I could make so many metaphors for how this pile of rubble with gross vines all over it and my insides are akin, but I’m too annoyed to deflect. The road cuts through the ghost of what was a suburban area. Houses and businesses and gas stations are scattered between the trees and vacant grassy lots. I can’t believe I miss the sight of a bustling suburban township, because the scenery does nothing but creep me out. I look back over to where the group sits, as I’m a couple yards away, just out of earshot. Marlene walks over. It looks like she’s giving them the rundown of what lies ahead and how we should make it to a suitable area before sundown. I’m just a hypocrite. I wanted to go on adventures and be a part of something, but I can’t even handle losing a safe house. I’m so anxious for Ellie and almost frustrated that she’s here, because now I need to find another safe house. But maybe she’s just an excuse. Maybe I would be homesick and an anxious wreck even if she never existed. I look up to see Marlene walking up to my holy pile of rubble.  

“You have a lot of reason to hate me, Maya. And I don’t expect that me recognizing that makes it any better either. I’m sorry for all this.” 

She’s good with her words, I’ll admit. 

“Yeah. I don’t hate you, Marlene. I just don’t agree with you a lot of the time. But I care about Ellie, so I gotta put up with it ‘cause you’re her best bet, ya’ know.” I hate being an adult. 

“Okay. We can rest on that.” 

“But we need to go slower. For Ellie and Stevie. Your sister isn’t doing so well.” 

“I see that; I’m sorry I haven’t been accommodating. We should be close to some safety.” 

Marlene stifles her emotions so well, I’m always impressed. 

“Cool.” I sniffle. “I give Stevie a lot of credit for toughing out a gunshot wound so well.” 

“Me too. Her body is lucky to have a mind as strong as hers. I almost wish she was more interested in missions; maybe yesterday’s debacle wouldn’t have gone like it did if she had been behind the reins.” 

“Why did it go so badly?’ 

“They just didn’t trust us. And when he learned about the Fireflies, it just—” 

“Wait, who’s they? Who are you talking about?” 

“Bill and Frank. Two survivors who have a very secure fortress several miles from here. I was going to offer…” Marlene shifts her weight. “I wanted to make a deal with them.” 

“Marlene, what kind of deal?” 

“We planned to smuggle supplies to them in return for your, Ellie, and Stevie’s safety. Through Tommy, we were able to get a good amount of medicine and other supplies. And they were this close to accepting it! But then…I let it slip. I couldn’t get anything past that man, Bill.” 

Marlene gazes off. I sit stunned. How am I supposed to process this? I don’t even know if I should be sad for losing the deal because why would I want to go live with two random men? 

“Marlene..I..how—” 

“MAYA, DOWN!” Marlene’s gaze snaps to behind me as she lunges toward me, grabbing my hand and thrusting me forward.  

“TOMMY, TAKE THEM!” I hear Grif shout from yards away before a shower of gunfire explodes my senses.  

I run, without thought, toward Tommy and Stevie, their faces stricken with fear. 

“Maya, take Ellie! I got Stevie.” Tommy says, tracking his aim across the scene behind me and pulling Stevie onto his back. 

Ellie wails as I frantically pick her up, when suddenly, my back shivers, gunfire rattles the gravel underneath my feet.  

The strangest sounds – something like a nest of snakes – whistle from behind me. The air is dull. I turn to see them: a swarm of Infected breaking up through my rubble.    

Written By: Kayla Harper

Image Credit

Accompanying Spotify Playlist: curated songs to listen to while reading How to Start Saving People.

Nameless : Chapter 2

“Leave!” the stranger uttered, “Since you have no ties to the village you can flee to safety.” I scoffed at her and said, “This village is not just their home, its mine too; I will never leave my home.” She smiled at me and said, “Then I will definitely need your help.” 

She appeared after the incident that dyed the outside stone walls red and covered my eyes. Her hands directed me back inside, where Eleni smothered me with a tearful hug. When I regained my composure, a tall woman wearing a white ornate cloak that shielded her eyes stood in front of me. Her black hair fell over a note that came from the other side of the gate in her hand. “We have five days,” she stated. Then, the stranger handed the note to Eleni as I remained in her arms. The note stated Dodasa would claim the land in 5 days and to prepare it for their taking. Upon reading, I clenched my hands in rage. 

“I can save you all!” The stranger promised. “But, not without Hera,” she spoke while turning to me. 

She referred to my inventions, the mechanisms I made for the village, the intricate toys I made for Helios, and the weapons Evander taught me how to forge. She called on me to create a defense for Aigaion. I smiled. That’s all I ever wanted to do. The next few days, I poured myself into my mechanisms. I crafted a variety of weapons that were deadly, yet easy to use. Some I had heard of before, like catapults, and others I imbued with my creativity. The violent intent of the weapons I created did not cross my mind, as I saw them as nothing more than defense measures. The stranger gathered the remaining able-bodied adults and trained them on how to use my creations.  

She trained everyone but the sick, elderly, and young to fight. She lumped me in with the young category, so I was useless to her. Because she viewed me as young and weak, I had to get on my knees and beg, “Let me fight with the others!” The outsider denied me, no matter how much I pleaded. Though, she allowed me to be there when training started to show them how everything worked. However, she pushed me away from her lessons after, my face tightened up in frustration. The object of my desire stood as the only action the village forbade me from pursuing. I wanted to fight. I wanted to get stronger. I wanted to protect my home. That desire stayed unfulfilled because Evander, Eleni, and this new outsider denied it. Knowing my wish, they put me under watch to ensure that it would never come to pass.  

They forgot about the years of masterful evasion that brought me to them. Despite their restrictions, I disobeyed their cruel orders. I would not let them stop me from fulfilling my purpose. I trained due to my many memories of grief for the corpses we buried. I fondly reminisced about Dimitris reprimanding Colin for not following Ajax’s instructions closely and using me as an example for someone who earnestly listened to every lesson. Ajax used to praise my form and will to fight while forcefully pulling me back to Evander. They called my name and encouraged me, despite not wanting me to join their fight.  

“Hera, you are the most determined citizen of Aigaion, but you are not a warrior,” Ajax would repeat again and again.  

“I can fight. I can become a warrior like them. I will prove them wrong,” I whispered to myself. I continued to increase my strength whenever I could. I did not know if my tears came from reliving those memories or the searing pain from my fingers clutching the sword I swung for hours. Everyday before the next calamity, I worked the best I could no matter the toll. Despite my hand wanting to peel off, I continued with glee. I needed to get stronger. I needed to stop feeling defenseless. I needed to protect the family who named me.  

Eventually, Evander allowed me to exit the gate again. I brought an old stool to prop up next to the gate and just reminisce for a little bit. I placed my hand on the red stone walls, questioning where those two last stood. We already buried all the corpses but had yet to hold a ceremony or decorate graves. I wondered what their final thoughts might have been. The sound of Evander hauling over a couple of my heavier defense mechanisms ended my short break. In preparation for the Day of Calamity, the people of Aigaion equipped the walls with my weapons. 

Finally, the Day of Calamity arrived. Everyone stood ready to defend our home, even though death knocked at the door. Dodasa crossed the bridge, expecting us to sit defenseless while they carved their name into our land. The horns screamed the same as before. Our guardian, the stranger, directed everyone to their positions. I took Helios from Eleni as she left to fight with Evander. Before she left, she kissed both our foreheads and whispered, “Hera, Helios, my children, I love you. Everything will be okay. We will protect you.” I loved hearing my name. Of all the words she said, “Hera,” made me smile the most. I ran with Helios in my arms and left him with the elders as I again pursued the gate. I laid down the infant I had cared for as a brother for the last time and left the safe zone to fight. I fulfilled my task of getting everyone not fighting to safety, except me. 

No one stood in my way this time, as everyone who could fought outside the walls. I grabbed my sword and lunged to defend my home. I readied myself for this since the beginning of the conflict. I wished to stand with Colin and Dimitris at the gates of the village and guard it with them. That wish can never be granted now. Like Colin and Dimitris, I aimed to get stronger and stronger to protect our most valuable home. I think I understand what they must have thought on the day I last saw them; “Even if I die here, all my efforts were worth protecting this place.” 

Outside the gates existed a river of bloodshed. The weapons I created hit many of Dodasa’s men, and they contemplated retreat. I stood on the battlefield among our newly trained warriors. However, when Evander saw me, he attempted to bring me back to the gate once more, but I ran from him into the enemy. “Hera! Stay back!” he yelled. I smiled, “I will not!” as I finally got to protect Aigaion with my own hands.  

Upon my entry, I disrupted everyone’s rhythm with their shock of a child coming to the rescue. My eyes met those of our guardian. Her face showed a horrified expression, not the reaction I imagined. Evander and Eleni went hysterical. I continued to swing my blade at the enemies, forcing them away from the gate. Suddenly, a hand grabbed onto me and interrupted my movements. The hand belonged to Evander. He grabbed my shoulders and forced me to face him. He cried, “Hera! You don’t understand! We are not fighting to protect Aigaion or our land. We are protecting you.” The enemies surrounding us began to run away as the familiar sound of one of my projectiles played. I reacted. I pushed Evander as hard as I could and sent him flying a couple feet away from me. The last thing I heard was his scream, “Hera!” 

Battle’s End 

After Dodasa completely retreated, everyone regrouped and celebrated. I approached Evander and Eleni curled over the frame of Aigaion’s savior. Unfortunately, I failed as their guardian. Her eyes remained shut, but her heart still sang. Evander carried the girl back inside the walls for Eleni to address her wounds. They laid her in her bed waiting for her to smile again. As I followed them, I apologized, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t keep my promise.” Aigaion won at a cost. Surprisingly that cost was not life. Not even a single causality could be reported, but Hera was gone.  

Written By: Rachel Caña

Image Credit

Life Flipped Upside-Down: Chapter 1

“I didn’t mean to kill them…”  

“I didn’t even know what I was doing, I couldn’t have done this. No way. I’m not a monster.”  

Detective Clark stares at me; he remains quiet, and I can tell he knows I didn’t mean to hurt them. 

But he can’t do anything about it. I’m either headed for jail or the psych ward at this rate.  

I had a perfect life: two parents who loved me more than anything and who would give me the world. It’s senior year, one month ‘til graduation, and now I don’t know if I will ever walk that stage.  

48 hours before…. 

It’s eight am when my alarm starts blaring at me to wake up. I peek my eyes open and look around my room, making myself aware of my surroundings.  

“At least it’s Friday.”  

I roll out of bed and head for my bathroom to start a shower and start getting ready. Before I leave the house, I grab breakfast, then head to school; on the way I stop to get my usual coffee order. I swear, this is the only thing that gets me through the day. 

The morning goes by slowly; the first four periods are boring, as usual. Noon comes around, and I wait in the parking lot for Mads, my best friend, to come out so we can go for food.  

“It’s about time; what took you so long?”  

“Well, Dr. Markley wanted to talk my ear off for the entire passing period until her whole class sat down and was waiting for her, and that’s when she let me go,” Mads says. 

“Why didn’t you just walk away? I’m pretty sure if you said you had to go it would’ve been completely fine,” I respond as we get into my car. 

“Yeah, but I’m barely passing her class, Soph. I need to be nice to her so I can graduate it’s less than a month away,” Mads reminds me as she touches up her lip gloss.  

“Yeah, yeah whatever. Are we going to our regular place or somewhere different?” I ask pulling out of the parking lot. 

“I don’t care as long as I get food; I’m starved.”  

“Me too; my mom and dad went to bed early last night, so none of us really ate dinner.”  

Mads turns to me looking confused “What? Mr. and Mrs. Johnson didn’t cook their daughter dinner and went to bed early?”  

“It’s not that weird; my mom wasn’t feeling well. And I mean, it makes sense she does have a big day in court today. She’s trying that huge government case, and today they decide the verdict.”  

“Oooooh so you going to tell me all the juicy details after the trial’s done?” 

“Of course, I am, remember that no one can know, at least until it’s in the papers,” I say, turning into In-n-Out, our regular lunch place. 

“And who would I tell? My cat?”  

We both laugh as I pull up to the speaker to order.  

The rest of the day goes fast. I texted my mom to check if she needed anything from the store for dinner, but she didn’t reply neither and did my dad. Maybe they are both still at work and just too busy, at least that’s what I told myself all night as I waited for my parents to get back home.  

I finished all of my homework and even cleaned the house a bit, but they still weren’t home.  

It was about 9pm when I started to get scared.  

I texted my parents again, and there was still no response from either of them.   

I called Mads because if they were still in court, then there was no way I was going to call and make them lose their cases.  

It rang twice, and then she picked up.  

“Hey girl! Did you finish the Pre-Cal homework because I am completely lost-” 

“Mads…” I said shakily.  

“Oh gosh, what happened?”  

“My parents aren’t home yet, and neither of them are returning my texts.”  

“Okay, have you tried calling them? Maybe their ringer, is off who knows.”  

“Exactly. It means that they are still at work or something. There’s no other reason their ringer would be off.”  

“But it’s already almost 10pm Soph. Why wouldn’t they be home?”  

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m freaking out.”  

“Okay, maybe try calling their office and asking if they are still in court?”  

“Yeah, maybe I’ll call their assistant.” 

“Good, do that and I’m going to come over, too. I’ll be there in five.”  

“Okay, cool, cool. See you then.”  

I took a deep breath…Well, more like seven to steady my breathing before calling the office. If they are still in court, their assistant should still be in the office.  

I dial the number for their office and wait for the ringing to start.  

Ring…Ring…Ring… 

“Come on pick up the phone.”  

Ring…Ring…Ring…  

“You’ve reached the voicemail of Mr. and Mrs. Johnson’s Law Firm. Unfortunately, we are out of the office for the day and will return tomorrow at 7am. Thank you.”  

Click… 

This is when I start having a panic attack. Every possible problem goes through my head: maybe they are kidnapped; maybe they are completely gone forever.  

Tears start streaming down my face, and all I can think about is how they will never get to see the big moments in my life happen. 

I hear a jingle of keys at my front door, I get up and run to the door thinking it’s my parents. But to my disappointment; it’s just Mads…  

She sees me crying and immediately comes to my side and hugs me, asking what’s wrong.  

“The office is closed, which means they should be here, and they aren’t. Mads they are gone. What if something horrible happened to them?”  

“Oh, it’s going to be okay, let’s sit down and take a deep breath and go from here, okay?”  

All I could do was nod. No matter how many deep breaths I took, I knew there was still a possibility that my parents were gone.  

“Maybe we should call the police instead of trying to figure this out.”  

I nodded and dialed 911.  

“911, what’s your emergency?”  

“Hi, yes, my parents have gone missing.”  

“Okay, when was the last time you saw them?”  

“Last night at about 7pm.”  

“Okay, did you text and call to try and reach them.”  

“Yes, I did, and I even called their office and, there’s no response from anyone.”  

“Okay, I am sending a deputy to your address; stay on the line. I need to ask a few more questions.”  

“Of course.”  

“What are your parents’ names?”  

“Dawson and Amber Johnson.”  

“Okay, did you see them go to work this morning by any chance?”  

“No, I get up about 2 hours later than they do for school.”  

“Okay, any other information that you can give us that would help us figure out where they might be?”  

“Not really. All I know is that my mom was supposed to be in a huge government trial today and my dad was assisting.”  

“Okay great, you are giving good information. I will hang up now and the deputy should be at your address.”  

“Okay, thank you.”  

Right as I hung up, there was a knock on the door. 

When I opened the door, a police officer was standing there with his partner. 

“Hello, Miss Johnson, I am Deputy Williams, and this is my partner, Deputy Charles. We heard that your parents haven’t made it back home yet?”  

“Hello, and no they haven’t. I’ve tried to text them all day but no luck.”  

“Okay, have you tried to call either of them today?”  

“I didn’t want to because I thought they were still in court and so I didn’t know.”   

“Okay, why don’t you try to call them, while my partner and I take a look around?”  

I nodded as I looked down at my phone and pressed call on my mom’s contact. I watched them put gloves on and start looking around with flashlights.  

Ring…Ring…Ring… 

RING….  

On the fourth ring I heard a noise from my parents’ room, I started walking closer to their room and pressed my ear to the door.  

It was the sound of my mom’s phone ringing.  

I opened the door to their room and immediately fell to my knees sobbing.  

“This is Deputy Williams. I’m going to need back-up, a lot of it…”  

Written by: Alexis Farino  

Image Credit

All the World’s a Stage: Part 2

Kessy 

Her eyes opened slowly, fluttering, unused to the dark. Where am I? What happened? Where is the sun?  

“Are you okay?” She realized someone was addressing her, and she turned her head, focusing her gaze on the boy in front of her. 

“Where am I?” she asked before her legs collapsed beneath her.  

The boy lunged for her, unable to reach her in time. She hit the ground hard, the jolt somehow simultaneously waking her up and deadening her senses again. Blearily, she realized the boy was throwing himself down beside her, cradling her gently. “Hey, hey, you’re okay. I’ve got you—Sassa, down!”  

Something wet and fuzzy shoved itself in her face, and she realized a dog was snuffling at her, presumably making sure she wasn’t a danger to the boy who had saved her. Then the dog licked her gently, and she smiled.  

“Are you all right?” the boy asked. He had a nice face—square and angular with kind eyes. She couldn’t make out the color—she couldn’t make out much of anything in the dark. Was she in the Lower Court? How did she get here? 

“I…I don’t know,” she murmured.  

“Can you tell me your name?” His voice was gentle. Soothing. She found herself trusting him, even though she didn’t know if she should.  

“Kassiopeia—I mean, Kessy,” she said.  

The boy chuckled. “Which is it?” 

“I go by Kessy.” 

He helped her sit up a bit more. “Well, Kessy, my name is Kandor, and you’ve already met Sassa. She’s friendly, don’t worry.” 

Kessy rubbed Sassa’s silky ears absently, trying to remember back. What happened before? She knew she came from the High Court, but to her horror, she couldn’t remember why—or how—she left.  

Kandor must have noticed the fear in her eyes. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll help you. You’re safe here.”  

“I don’t think I’m supposed to be here,” Kessy said.  

“How did you get here?” 

“I don’t know.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I don’t remember anything.” She pushed herself to her feet. “I have to get home!” 

Kandor stood with her. “I’ll take you home, Kessy. Where…where is home?” 

She looked up, searching futilely for a sun she knew wasn’t there. “I’m…from the High Court, Kandor. I don’t belong here.” 

Kessy dared a look into Kandor’s eyes. He looked as surprised as she felt. “The High Court? You shouldn’t even be allowed to pass through the Medial Court to here.” 

“I know.” A tear dripped off of her cheek, and Kandor must have been able to see it, because he rested his hand on her shoulder. “We’ll fix this, Kessy.”  

She looked up at him gratefully. “How?” 

He gave her a lopsided smile. “Not sure yet. I’ll figure something out; I always do. For now, why don’t you come home with me? Get something to eat, maybe sleep for a while. Tomorrow, I promise, I’ll help bring you home.” 

Kessy hesitated. Every instinct she had told her not to follow a stranger in a strange land back to his house—not to eat his food or indulge in any kind of his hospitality. But Kandor seemed genuine. His hand on her shoulder was gentle and reassuring. And Sassa didn’t seem cautious with her at all.  

She relented. “Okay…thank you…”  

He winked at her. “Sure thing. Can you walk?” 

Kessy gingerly took a step forward, then another. Pain shot up her legs, the spidery kind of discomfort one feels after sitting on their foot for too long. She took a deep breath and tried again. The pain flared sharply, then diminished. “Yes.” 

“You sure?” 

Kessy nodded. “Let’s just…go slow.” 

Kandor clicked his tongue for Sassa, who had wandered off, sniffing along the leave-covered floor, no doubt looking for bugs to consume. “Come on, girl.” Sassa abandoned her hunt and padded faithfully back to Kandor, and he worried her head between his hands affectionately. “Keep your hand on Sassa’s head,” he told Kessy. “She’ll follow me.” 

Kessy let her fingers rest on Sassa’s golden head, scratching the soft fur gently. Kandor turned, and Sassa followed her boy, guiding Kessy out of the dark forest and into the deepness of the night beyond.  

Kandor, it turned out, lived in a small apartment on a university campus. “They pay for my housing while I’m a student here, because I care for my sister full-time,” he explained. “Sorry, it’s pretty tight.” 

“I don’t mind.” Kessy craned her neck, studying the towering spiers above her. “How old is your sister?” 

“She’s five,” Kandor said, and Kessy didn’t miss the love in his voice. “Our parents died when she was three, so it’s just the two of us.” He backtracked. “Well, that’s not entirely true. My best friend and his wife help a lot. They don’t technically live with us, but they might as well,” he added with a smirk.  

“What’s her name? Your sister, I mean.” 

“Amily.” He flashed her that crooked smile again. “And she’s a handful. Just letting you know. I’ll tell her to behave.” 

“No, I don’t mind,” Kessy said, a smile turning up her lips again.  

“All right, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Kandor knocked on the door, rapping a short beat that Kessy guessed was their special code. After a few minutes, the door unlocked and opened, and Amily stood there, frowning. 

“You’re late.”  

Kandor chuckled, scooping her up. “Sorry, Ami. I got a little distracted.”  

Amily glanced over his shoulder. “Who is that?” 

“Ah yes, the distraction in question. Amily, this is Kessy; Kessy, this is Amily. Say hi, Ami.” 

“Hi,” Amily said, “Your hair is pretty.”  

“Thank you,” Kessy said, blushing slightly. “So is yours.” 

Amily had the wispy curls of a toddler just growing into childhood, the same brown as her brother. Her eyes, huge and luminous, almost perfectly matched Kandor’s, grey and sparkling. She bore a contented air about her, probably due to a life with nothing more than her brother’s love and a tiny suite to grow up in. She didn’t know how to want more.  

“Where did you come from?” Amily asked, her face scrunched in confusion.  

“Amily, you can’t just ask that,” Kandor scolded, but Kessy laughed.  

“No, she’s fine. I came from the High Court.” 

Amily’s already round eyes grew even rounder. “Really? Where the sunshine is?” 

Kessy nodded, realizing just how much she took eternal daylight for granted.  

“What does it look like?” Amily’s voice was soft. Full of wonder. 

“Well…” How did one describe what they considered monotonous? Normal? “The colors are so bright, all the time. And it’s warm. The buildings sparkle. The water is so blue and so clear, you can see all of the fish swimming in it.” 

Amily’s mouth was open. “Wow. I want to go—Kandor, can I go back with her? When she leaves?” 

Kandor’s smile was sad. “I don’t think so, Ami girl. I’m sorry.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s not safe.” 

Amily sighed, resting her head down on her brother’s shoulder. “You say that about everything.” 

Kandor met Kessy’s gaze, and she could see how sad it made him to say no to his sister. “What’s the moon like, Amily?” Kessy asked, changing the subject, and Amily haltingly described a night with a full moon as Kandor led them all inside.  

The suite was small but cozy, with a door off to the side that Kessy supposed was the bedroom. Kandor set Amily up on the counter and busied himself with getting them dinner.  

“Can I help?” Kessy asked.  

Kandor smirked at her. “Nope.”  

She smiled back and leaned against the counter next to Amily, listening to the two of them chatter back and forth as Kandor prepped their meal.  

“What did you do today, Amily?” 

“Aunt Hadda came by today and made me lunch.” 

“That’s Hadassy, my best friend Juna’s wife,” Kandor explained to Kessy. 

“And she made me take a nap.” Amily wrinkled her nose. “Uncle Juna never makes me take a nap.” 

“It’s good for you. Don’t touch this, it’s hot.” He moved a pan off of the stove. 

“I’m too big for naps.” Amily stood up, wobbling slightly.  

“No one is too big for naps.” Expertly, he set the pan down with one hand and pulled her back down to a seated position with the other. “Sit.”  

Amily plopped back down dejectedly. “Are you?” 

“Stars, no. I could take a nap right now if I tried.” He smiled at Kessy.  

Remembering they had a guest, Amily turned to her. “How old are you? I’m five.” 

Kessy ruffled her curls. “I’m eighteen.” 

Amily thought for a moment. “Kandor is nineteen. Why are you down here instead of up where the sun is?” 

Kessy hesitated. “I…don’t know.” 

Kandor cut in here. “That’s what we’re going to find out. I…found her in the woods tonight.” 

“Can you not remember?” Amily slowed down on the word remember, and Kessy guessed it was a word she was learning.  

Kessy shook her head sadly. “No, I can’t.” 

“Oh.” Amily scooted a bit closer. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. I’m…sure I will, eventually.”  

Kandor helped his sister off of the counter. “Time to eat.” 

Amily clamored up into her chair and watched Kandor ladle soup into her bowl. “Blow on it first,” Kandor instructed.  

“Why?” 

“Remember how you burned your tongue last week?” 

“Oh, yes.” Amily blew loudly on her soup while Kandor served Kessy.  

“Careful, it’s hot,” he said, almost as an afterthought. Kessy supposed he said that to Amily at nearly every meal. He probably didn’t even realize he said it.  

“Thank you,” she said softly. Shyly. She felt her blush creep up again.  

“Sure.” Kandor sat down and ladled soup into his own bowl, only to be interrupted by the door opening again. “Stars’ sakes, Juna.” 

“Hi, all!” came a cheery voice, and then someone new strode into the room. He was tall, taller than Kandor, with light brown hair. He punched Kandor in the shoulder, dropped a kiss on Amily’s head, and paused when he saw Kessy. “Kandor, did you bring home a g—” 

Kandor smacked him. “No, I did not. Kessy, this is Juna. Juna, shut up.” He was beet red.  

“Hellewwww, Kessy,” Juna said, shaking her hand dramatically. “You should know that you are the first girl Kandor has ever brought home.” 

“Juna was just leaving,” Kandor said tightly. 

“Juna was not just leaving.” Juna pulled out a chair and sat beside Kessy. “Tell me everything about yourself, Kessy.” 

“Juna,” Kandor warned, raising his voice in pleading emphasis on the last syllable. Amily giggled, reaching over to smack him too.  

Juna clutched his heart. “Even Amily turns on me.” 

Kessy smiled, watching them all interact. “It’s really not what you think,” she said.  

Kandor jumped on this. “Hear that, Juna, you bonehead? It’s not what you think.” 

“It never is, is it?” Juna propped his chin on his fists, looking at Kessy intently. “Well? Details.” 

“I…wish I had details to give.” She really did. She liked Juna. “I’m from the High Court but I don’t know why I’m here.” 

Juna sucked in a breath. “What?” 

Kessy sighed, looking down at her bowl. “I’m just as confused as you are.” 

Kandor kicked Juna underneath the table. “That’s all we know.” She saw him give Juna a pointed look, like Not in front of the child.  

Juna paused, then cleared his throat. “Well then, Kessy from the High Court, let me be the first to say welcome to the void that is the Lower Court. I hope you enjoy your stay. Stars know the rest of us don’t.”  

Behind the Glass

~A continuation of Mirror Mirror~

It’s been 2 hours and I’ve decided that there’s nothing wrong with the mirror. I didn’t look that way. The glass couldn’t have shattered around my reflection only to mend itself perfectly again. It was merely a delusion concocted by my mind. A startled, silly reaction and nothing less. I’d been getting too little sleep and reading too many fantastical stories in my spare time, longing for a life of freedom and magic someplace else as someone other than myself. Clearly, my imagination had been running wild. 

With a quick step of courage, I reached for the mirror again, sweeping it off the ground. See? It was just an object…or so I thought, until I looked into it again. Placing the mirror at an angle meant to avoid my face, I surveyed my room cell through the mirror and found it to be quite different from what I could naturally perceive with my own eyes. The furniture was the same, everything a perfect reflection except… for the faces haunting the dark. Creatures of smokey black and gray with twisted smiles and filmy white eyes laughed at me through the mirror. They clung to the corners of the room with hands like a spider’s webs, attached to bubbling bodies of varying shapes and sizes that breathed with sulfurous yellow breath. 

“Look at your reflection,” One taunted, crawling up on my shoulder and squeezing its webbed fingers into my shoulder blade. “Oh, you’re an ugly one, aren’t you? An ugly body for an even uglier soul.” 

Another phantom creature laughed in response. “That’s right. We know what you’ve done. We know what happened that night. It must have been something like 152 days ago, wasn’t it?” It laughed maniacally. “I won’t let you forget.” 

“You’re to blame,” the phantoms whispered in unison. “Just look at yourself. See who you really are.” 

Forcing my eyes to peer into the glass surface of the mirror, I saw the same reflection as before. The face looking back at me was shattered, but the glass wasn’t broken, the girl was. 

No she wasn’t, no, no… 

She’s fine.
I’m fine.

But the mirror said otherwise. My heart caved in, shivering in misery, and before I knew it, my hands moved on their own and the mirror was thrown into the air. It twisted and turned, my broken reflection passing by once, then twice, the phantoms laughing with each spin before the handheld mirror shattered against the wall. Only then did it truly crack. A ripple spread across the glass, revealing a glowing light underneath the surface. For once, the light was golden, not gray. Something about it felt magnetic, and I found myself leaning into the glow, reaching for the light beneath the surface, the hope that lay behind the mess I’d made of myself. 

The light exploded outward, painting the walls of the room gold and bringing the world back into color. But along with the currents of gold came the world within the mirror. The glass shards flew at me, striking my face one by one with each palpitation of my heart. And in my heart I felt the sting of its pain as the pieces aligned themselves into a moon-like curve along my face, from the tip of my hairline to the bottom of my chin, covering the scars that textured my face. It felt no different from when the surgeries were taking place, a silent pain gone unnoticed, stitching together my imperfections to mirror the shattered reflection I had once seen. The floating phantoms laughed even as they were pushed back by the light of the mirror’s day. 

“This is who she is,” they jeered. “See her shattered face! See the monster she made herself into!” They called as they dissolved into the currents of gold, the last of the mirror’s strength pushing them away. Each word felt like yet another jab to the heart, and as my hand rose to feel the newly textured side of my face, I couldn’t help but believe they were right. Sharp fragments pushed against the fragile skin of my fingers, drawing a single drop of blood from my pointer finger. This part of me hurt everything it touched. It was cursed. I was cursed.  

Maybe that’s why I couldn’t save her that night. 

A voice cut through the thoughts circling around my head. “You shouldn’t listen to that.” 

Looking over to where the remnants of the mirror lay, I saw a spirit like that of a golden dove resting atop of the mirror’s face. Small enough to fit in the palm of my hand, it glowed with light brighter than day. With wings like sunbeams and eyes as bright as the moon, it didn’t take me long to realize where the golden glow of light within the mirror came from. This spirit hid behind the glass the entire time, and its glow now basked my room in light. With a flutter of its wings, it raised its small body into the air and came to rest on my shoulder where it plucked a thin, wormlike phantom from behind my ear. 

“This one nearly escaped,” it said, before swallowing the creature whole. Strangely, once the phantom was gone, I felt like a weight lifted off of me. I was suddenly far more comfortable than I remembered ever being, and in this moment, my heart felt like it was at peace. 

“What is all of this? And what are you?” I whispered to the dove, astonished by all I saw, and hardly able to make sense of it. 

The dove titled it’s head and looked at me with gentle eyes. “Calm your heart; looking into the Beyond takes everyone by surprise when they first see it.” 

“The Beyond?” 

The dove nodded at my exclamation. “Yes, it’s a plane of existence beyond what your eyes can naturally see. Some would call it a spirit realm, others an alternate dimension within your own. The mirror your grandmother gave you allowed you to gaze into this realm, and now it is a part of you. You will continue to be able to see into this realm until each piece of glass falls from your face and you allow yourself to heal.” It replied, raising a gentle wing to grace the side of my face where the glass still lay in fragmented shards. Two pieces fell off into its wing, shining like mosaic tiles. 

“It looks like you’re healing already, now that those dark phantoms you saw are gone,” the dove explained. “The ones you saw earlier are what we in the Beyond call Shrouds. They are dark creatures that feed off of the worst of human emotions. They taunt people by keeping them in a cycle of misery where they continue reliving their worst fears, worries, and despairs. The more you hate yourself, the worse you feel, and the harder it becomes to distinguish your own thoughts from their words, the better the Shrouds feel.” The dove explained. “As for me, think of me like a guide. My purpose is to help you, just as I have done for generations before you.” 

“Help me with what?” I asked, feeling my voice fill with emotion. “You want to help me heal? Well, I’ve been trying and nothing has worked. Nothing can fix what happened to me.” 

“I know what happened 152 days ago,” the dove stated with a boldness I didn’t expect. “The question is, are you willing to face it?” 

I wavered. I didn’t want to face it. I wanted to avoid it for the rest of time. The guilt of what happened, of the blood on my hands, was too much. Yet, away from the presence of the Shrouds, I felt like I finally stood a chance. “Sure,” I whispered, barely able to say any more. My eyes surveyed the walls around me, trying to remember the last time I stepped outside of them, the last time I tried to face my fears. I kept count of everything, everything but that. It was shameful to think of how long I’d been there. Trapped. Cornered. Locked in. So maybe, just maybe, it could be nice, learning to live again. 

~To be continued~

Written By: Naomi Hernandez
Image Credit

How to Start Saving People

Inspired by the HBO Adaptation of The Last of Us 

5 – A Time 3 Months Later 

The world looks about the same as it did 3 months ago. It’s still cold and gross outside, but a bit of green is starting to come back; I don’t look forward to the pollen that will grace the woods around us in the weeks to come. By some miracle, I’m still alive and so is Ellie. She’s growing fast, and I owe everything to Stevie. She has the sort of patience I simply don’t possess. Children are not my forte, but I love Ellie. She’s Anna’s blessing.  

Marlene is happy these days. Her little smuggler man does her dirty work, and with more intel on the happenings inside the QZ, she created more connections and initiated more people into the Fireflies. I do hate how many more visitors we have at the safehouse. I feel almost useless amidst the coming and going of men and women who apparently do good work or something. It’s mid-morning and I’m going to try to pitch an idea to Marlene…..again. 

“So,” I say as I sip some nasty coffee, “you seem good, huh?” 

“What?” Marlene barely glances my way; she’s deep into studying a map. 

“Like, you seem in a good enough mood to take on a suggestion.” 

“Goodness, Maya. What is it?” 

Not a bad start. 

“Well, I don’t know what you need to like make the Fireflies better and all. However, you know how sneaky and well-equipped I am, and—“ 

“No, Maya.” 

“I did not finish, actually.” 

“You did. You’re not doing anything besides staying here and helping Stevie take care of Ellie.”  

“And that’s fun and all! But…” 

She looks up at me with an unamused stare. 

“Maya, I cannot lose you too,” 

Oh. 

“Or deal with the headache of putting you on a team.” 

Ah. 

“Wow. So touching.” I take another sip. Still gross.  

“I’m serious.” She puts down her pencil. “We have plenty of people who are willing to put aside their lives for our mission. You shouldn’t put yourself in danger with all you have to at stake.” 

“I—“ 

Dang. I hate when she makes good points. Or more so, I hate the fact that she has that point to make.  

“I love Ellie, and I want to take care of her. I want to protect her. Wouldn’t being a part of this help her? Help her have a life outside of hiding? Outside FEDRA? Plus, I’m not the only one with someone to take care of. I’m not so special.” 

Marlene pauses. She pushes back some papers. I can tell this means she’s actually listening to me.  

“Maya.” She sighs. “I agree with you. I agree that you should be a part of this and help build a better future for Ellie. I do not, however, want to throw you into danger.” 

She cuts me off before I can retort. “So, let’s do this. You can stay here in the safehouse and help me and the others strategize. You can see what all this encompasses. You can see men and women walk through that door after a mission with a broken leg, a broken rib, a missing partner. You can see the reality of this.” 

I chew the inside of my lip and start to taste metal. I look back up at Marlene, as she gazes at me with a severe face of worry mixed with care; a parent giving their child a task they know will challenge them but will show them the reality of life. I don’t like how I see her as a parent. 

“You make a hard bargain, ma’am, but I must comply.” 

She’s unamused. 

“Okay, sounds good. Thanks,” I say, cringing inside.  

So, the afternoon comes, and she calls me into the kitchen to listen in on a meeting. I’m sitting in the corner on a wobbly bar stool. Grif walks in, seeing me out of his peripheral.  

“Howdy, lil’ terrorist.” 

“Howdy, humongous terrorist.” I pretend to tip a hat. 

“Cut it,” Marlene snaps.  

We both hold in laughter. This will be fun.  

People begin to enter, some of them in pairs and some of them alone. It’s a mixed bag of individuals: about 10 of them. Most of them are men, but all of them look rough.  

“Let’s get started, people,” Marlene calls out. 

Everyone quickly hushes and directs their attention to her. 

“Let’s get this straight. The demonstrations are strictly demonstrations, not riots. Yesterday exemplifies why I feel the need to clarify this…again. Joseph,” she turns to a 30-something-year-old man with very round eyes (he looks like if a pug was a person), “I’m sorry about Andrea.” He nods in quiet thankfulness. Oh gosh, maybe he has pug-like eyes cause he’s been crying? Was Andrea his wife? Oh shoot, I’m a terrible person. 

“Despite this, we are seeing success with our paths through the border and some morale within the QZ—“ 

“Heh ha!” Everyone shifts their attention to me. Me and my awful, snorty laugh and my little wobbly bar stool.  

“Sorry,” I say, my face is definitely red. Just the thought of “morale” inside the QZ made me laugh…I’m sure she just means people are scowling less.  

Marlene doesn’t skip a beat. “So, we are going to keep doing what we’re doing, except for a couple of you. I need a few people to meet up with an individual who I know for a fact has major connections. These connections will bridge a source to supplies. I would give you more details as usual, but in order for this deal to be done, the other party needs anonymity.” 

A couple of people scoff or make faces of disapproval.  

“I know, I know,” she says with calming gestures. “It sounds stupid, but I need your trust. Who is willing to give me that?” 

The silence rests heavily. Honestly, I would not volunteer even if she let me. This is not typical Marlene behavior, which means this job in particular is either really important or someone outsmarted her.  

“I’m in.” 

A voice speaks up, and it’s oddly familiar. I look over to match Marlene’s gaze. 

“Thank you, Tommy.” She smiles.  

“You, Grif?” Tommy raises an eyebrow at the largest man in the room. 

“Oh, well, I figured my inclusion was implied?”  

The group chuckles, and for a moment, something seemed normal. So normal that it felt weird, like the uneasy moment before a terrible accident. And Tommy – well, I finally see his face fully. He comes to the house every so often to check in with Marlene, but I have never really met him or seen him up close. He’s tall and well-built, with messy black hair and facial hair. He’s wearing dirty jeans and a flannel over an even dirtier shirt. We all seem like cartoon characters, wearing the same thing every day. Tommy looks like the main character of an action movie; a normal guy who discovers he has superpowers and goes on to save something or someone or yada yada. Anyways, he looks nice.  

“I’ll go along, I guess, to keep these hippies in line,” another voice says, catching my attention.  

It’s Mel, a regular visitor of the safehouse who’s around sixty and is a pretty cool dude.  

“Alright. Thank you, Mel. I would send some of my guys with you, but the nature of the job will make more people more of a hassle.”  

The meeting seems to go on forever. The first bit was the only part worth listening in on, but I couldn’t escape the kitchen without shoving my way past a handful of grimy Fireflies. I really don’t know if Marlene has a showering protocol, but she should add one.  

6 – A Barn 

An hour later and the kitchen is finally clear of strangers, so Stevie and Ellie come down to get some fresh air and food. Marlene’s super-secret-mission volunteers remain in the house, talking with serious tones in the living room. Stevie and I sit on the porch, Ellie lays on a mat with some makeshift toys.  

“Do you have any idea what Mar’s mission is for the supplies? Like, she was super vague about it during the meeting.” 

“So, it wasn’t all you hoped it to be? Firefly business.” 

“Well, kind of. I know I shouldn’t complain of boredom because we could be running for our lives from infected right now, but it’s so dull!” 

“Yep! I tried to listen in, too. It just goes over my head, honestly.” 

Stevie looks down with the last sentence. I can’t tell if it’s out of some shame or because the sun is in our eyes.  

“I think you were born to help other people. But not through fighting or politics. Through caring for and healing others. You look after us all.” 

“Thanks.” She smiles. “We all have a special role to play in life, and each one is integral to the whole. I’m glad I can live out my role in some way…even in this world.” 

I hear footsteps from behind, and as I turn, Tommy walks out to the porch. He closes the screen door softly, looking at Ellie with a smile.  

He looks up at us, “She’s real cute.” 

“Yeah. But she bites.” 

“Maya!” Stevie starts laughing. 

“Oh, wow,” Tommy holds his hands up in surrender, still looking down at Ellie, “I ain’t no communist, ma’am.” 

“’Cause that’s the biggest threat.” Stevie snorts. 

We all snicker. Again, it feels like normality. After every casual conversation, my heart pounds, waiting for the monster to jump out from around the corner, because my happiness distracted me. Tommy nods at us with a smile and hops off the porch, heading toward the barn to the right of the house. Stevie and I watch him as he goes. 

“That’s a fine man right there.” 

“Oh my gosh!” I bust out laughing, again. 

“What!? It’s true, Maya!” 

“I mean….” She raises an eyebrow at me. “Yeah, okay you’re right.” 

Stevie and I enjoy our porch time for a while longer, but the pollen starts to get to us. So, we head inside. I get Ellie ready for a nap a little earlier than usual. It’s okay because Stevie is in the room across the hall, and I’ll be right back. I pop my head into the room where she’s reading by the window. 

“Hey! Ellie’s napping, and I’m going downstairs for a hot minute. Just so you know.” 

“Okay,” she nods with a smile. 

I head downstairs and take a quick look around the common room on my way to the kitchen. Smooth, I think. Everyone but Tommy is inside. He must still be in the barn. I go into the utility room connected to the kitchen and quietly out the back door. I’ve only ever been in the barn a handful of times. I hated it every time though. It’s a hot spot for bugs to lurk and randomly fall on you. It’s nasty.  

After a brief moment of hyping myself up, I gingerly open the barn door. To my great displeasure, I’m greeted by the squeakiest door sound I’ve ever encountered.  

“Frick!” I whisper. 

“Hi.” 

I look up and there he is. 

“Oh, hi.” I give my best smile, meaning it’s the fakest smile imaginable.  

“You need anything?” 

“Uhhh.” I look around at the piles of supplies, all sorted and protected against the elements. He’s been busy. 

“I actually don’t know what I’m looking for…” I say this absolute falsity with a rise in my tone; a dead giveaway that I’m lying. 

“Um, well does-“ 

“Are you southern?” I ask. Oh my gosh, I want to dissolve right now. 

“I-. Uh, yes I am.” He chuckles. “Did the accent give it away?” 

“Yeah. I mean! Well, yes it did.” Someone kill me. 

“Well, you’d be correct. I’m from Texas.” He smiles the curtesy smile you throw at people you make eye contact with on the street. 

“Okay.” I attempt to reset myself. “I actually wanted to ask you something. I don’t need anything. Marlene would kill me if I touched anything in here.” I close the door behind me.  

He raises his eyebrows and folds his arms, but in an intrigued way. So, I continue. 

“You volunteered for that job. The one she won’t really give details about. I don’t know if you know how Marlene is, but she always gives a good amount of detail about things. I’m just unsure if she told you guys more about it.” 

“And you need to know?” 

“Oh. Uh, yes actually. I’m, what you’d call a concerned party.” Maybe being sarcastic will help me return to my former glory of chill? 

“Right.” He looks amused, but not willing to tell me squat. 

“C’mon, man. Marlene is the only reason I’m alive right now.” This is kind of an overstatement, but it’ll do the job. “I’ll admit I’m a little paranoid about all this Firefly stuff and I’d like a little peace of mind that her plan isn’t stupid or something.” 

“Don’t you trust her?” He asks genuinely. 

“I do. I don’t always agree with her. But I trust her intentions and her strength, a lot. I just don’t trust that the world is not bigger or badder than her.” I pause. “I know badder isn’t a word, just by the way.” 

He looks at me silently. A little longer than I’d like because I start to notice his deep brown eyes and his arms.  

“I don’t know why I trust her. She doesn’t always make sense to me. But, I’m not goin’ back to where I was before her. I’m with you on that feeling. Like,” he lingers, “the world will crumble if you step outside of the light from her torch.” 

“Yeah.” I’m distant now. Thinking about everything he said and starting to feel emotions rumble in my throat. I push them down. 

“So, Tommy. Do you know anything? Does this mission sound too compromising?” 

He sighs, “Listen Maya—“ 

“You know my name?’ I butt in. 

“Yes, you’re always here. I’ve been around for months, ya’ know.” 

“Yeah I know I know. We just haven’t met properly, so…” 

“No, I get you.” 

“Proceed, sorry.” I move over to a post and sit on it, focusing on the space between his eyes to distract myself from Stevie’s voice in my head calling him fine. 

“Well, I don’t know much I admit. I know we’re leaving at sunrise tomorrow and headed to a mid-point between the border and the closer safehouse. The old one that no one stays at. We’re meeting a lady who might have some info on people farther out from the city. People who have some sort of fortress. Marlene wants to create connections. Relationships. She’s not asking for anything from anyone. She just wants good favor with people. And you know how important information can be in and of itself.” 

“Right.” 

“It’ll be short and doesn’t sound too dangerous either. It’s just infected we might have to be concerned about.” 

“Why’d she ask for volunteers? Would she have let Pug-Man go? He just joined us not long after you. Like, it’s weird to me.” 

“Pug-Man?” 

“Oh. It’s the guy who-. You know, don’t worry about it.” 

“No. I wanna know who Pug-Man is!” 

“No! I misspoke” 

“Come on!” He laughs. 

“No! I have to set an example for a child!” I protest dramatically, but my face is lit up with a smile.  

“Is it Ron?” 

“No.” 

“So, Steve?” 

“I will not confirm or deny anyone.” I push my face up. This is the battle of wits and sarcasm I love. 

“Oh, it’s got to be…Oh! I know! It’s Joseph!” 

I close my eyes and cross my arms, trying not to burst out laughing. 

“It is! It is! I knew it!” 

“I have neither confirmed nor denied!!” I say in a snobbish accent.  

“But you know why I know, huh?” He says, eyes bright. 

“Why?” I ask, with a guise of disinterest. 

“He really does look like one. And to make it worse, I met him during a job where we got attacked by a big dog, and he looked so scared after. His eyes were bulging so bad I thought they’d pop!” Tommy had a big grin on his face.  

“What the heck!?” I laugh now. A long laugh. And Tommy joins. We laugh and laugh, with teary eyes.  

“My stomach!” I hold my side, almost falling off the post while Tommy lowers himself the floor, giving up on trying to keep his balance. 

He wipes tears from his eyes, and rests his arms on his legs, “Ohhh my goodness! I don’t remember laughing hurtin’ so much.” 

I catch my breath. “Yeah, everything’s got to feel a certain way I guess.” 

He looks up at me, and I fold my hands together on my legs, leaning on the post and forgetting how to engage in conversation. But he says what I think. 

“I honestly don’t remember what I was saying or what you were sayin’. I’m worn out, dang!” He stares off, still a smile on his face.  

Written by: Kayla Harper

Image Credit

Nameless

Chapter 1 

“Come home!” the woman demanded as her hand gripped my wrist, attempting to pull me off the bridge. The place she ignorantly labeled as home restricted any sound produced from my lips. There, I slumbered in the closet to remain unseen from the public eye. A small, miscalculated movement garnered severe punishment. On every window and wall supporting that house, I often imagined steel bars, the only thing that the prison lacked.  

“Hand over our daughter!” the woman’s husband screamed in Atlas’ face. As he turned to me, I tugged my wrist out of the woman’s claws and returned to the center of the bridge. I clutched my wrist as it throbbed. Atlas stood two heads taller than the couple and planted himself between us. “How dare you join a village in war! At home, you’re safe away from all this conflict,” they repeated. I remained silent, but they refused to stand by while the property stolen from them walked away. The couple dashed behind Atlas and reached out their hands to get any hold on me. However, Evander pulled my hood from the other end of the bridge. My body dropped into Eleni’s arms, as Dimitris and Colin forcefully pushed the couple away.  

Eleni propped me up and gently took my hand. We followed Evander away from the commotion at the bridge. When my head tugged back, I saw Ajax dragging the aggressors away from the bridge. “They are right, you know. If you go with them, you won’t get slaughtered with us.” I kept silent as I responded with a simple nod. My prison escape succeeded, and the three of us peacefully returned to my true home. 

The first time I escaped from my birthplace, I ran until I hit a sign on a stone wall that bordered a beautiful pasture. “Welcome to Aigaion!” the sign celebrated. Outside stood two guards laughing with each other until they spotted my stunted frame shivering. Before I fled, they approached me with concern written on their faces. “Where are your parents?” they interrogated. A word never left my lips, yet the taller one, Dimitris, hauled a stool over and propped it up in front of their station.  

“You can sit here if you like,” the other guard, Colin, added. Eventually, I accepted after standing at a distance for a while. They tried to involve me in their conversation, but I stayed silent. When the sun dimmed orange, Colin brought food for the three of us. They placed a soft round loaf in my hands. I sunk my teeth into the freshest bread I had ever eaten as they continued to discuss the matters of Aigaion.  

“Rumor is negotiations aren’t going so well,” Colin stated.  

“There are no negotiations to be made,” Dimitris replied sternly. “Dodasa’s insane, if they think heavily overstepping like this is acceptable.”  

The two of them briefly glanced at me as I scarfed down their gift.  

“Time for you to go home, little one. Our shift’s over now.” Dimitris informed as he gestured for me to get up. Colin grabbed the stool and the two of them disappeared inside the walls. I dared not follow them then, but the next time I tumbled into those pristine cream stones, they invited me inside. Each building faced inward and welcomed passersby through their doors. Dimitris and Colin continued their conversations as I followed behind them.  

“War? Where are you hearing these ridiculous rumors? I refuse to believe Ajax suggested that,” Dimitris scoffed. 

“He did not suggest it. Dodasa declared war on us! It’s official news,” Colin clarified.  

Their words reached my ears, but the lush beauty of the meadow which Aigaion sat on stole my focus. The buildings never intruded on the rich nature that the villagers cultivated inside their walls. Still, time barely passed before I met Ajax. An intimidating man with a foreboding presence interrupted the guard’s conversation. “Who’s this girl with you?” he inquired, pointing to me. 

“No clue, sir.” Colin answered. 

“She may be mute,” Dimitris jested.  

Ajax kneeled next to me and asked, “What’s your name, child?” 

I just shook my head in response.  

Ajax chuckled. Then, he extended his hand and properly introduced himself, “Welcome to my Aigaion! Enjoy your stay; just don’t make trouble, you hear?” I shook his hand and enthusiastically nodded. Soon everyone knew of me. The time between my visits grew shorter and shorter. No one in the village yelled at me to go away, and some even gave me spare items to make toys out of. They fed me, sometimes clothed me. Best of all they gave me a name. 

“Hera!” Evander proudly announced, while sharpening a sword. 
“Hera?” I questioned. 

Evander, the blacksmith, shocked, replied to my first words, “Do you like it? It kills me that no one refers to you by name. Even if it’s not your real name, can I call you Hera?” 

“Mhmm.” I nodded as I tried to forge a sword like him.  

On the days I sneaked off to that beautiful pasture, I tinkered with my stash of objects at Evander’s establishment, then watched over Dimitris and Colin as they joined the rest of the warriors to train with Ajax. Occasionally, I ran down to them with the sword I made and insisted on inclusion. “I can do that too!” I shouted. 

“Hera, this is very important. We need to prepare and not be distracted. Please go back to Evander for the day,” Ajax pleaded.   

The last time I appeared at Aigaion’s gate, the skin around my eye turned black and swollen. Dried blood stained my shirt. I shivered again. Before I entered, I composed myself and made sure no trace of tears imprinted my face. I never knew when returning to the village would end, so I made the most of every day. I walked up to the gate and smiled. “Hi Colin! Where’s Dimitris?” 

“Woah! Are you okay?” Colin reacted.  

“I’m fine, as always,” I replied. 

He knelt in front of me and asked, “Did a bully get you again?” 

I nodded yes. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 
I shook my head no.  

Eventually, Colin could not ignore it. Again, I cleaned up as best I could, but the confrontation from the night prior violently painted itself on my canvas. That day progressed with a greater amount of interrogation, “What happened? Who did this to you? Why won’t you say anything?” I grew quiet like before. Colin asked Dimitris to escort me home safely. Dimitris accompanied me home despite my insistence that he return. When we arrived, I asked him to stand a decent distance away from the house. He watched as I crawled into the back window and remained silent. The next time I approached them Colin exclaimed, “Stay with us!” 

Dimitris interjected, “Idiot, she’s better off not involved with our conflict.”  

“I’d like to,” I replied with my eyes shining at them. 

“No, you don’t understand,” Dimitris continued. “All of us could be gone tomorrow.” 

“She’s just a child!” Colin expressed. 

“She’s old enough to make an informed decision!” Dimitris shouted. 

He knelt next to me, put his hand on my shoulder, and looked me in the eye. “Dodasa’s coming any day now to take our land. You should not get involved in that stupid mess, but…” He resumed. “But it’s your choice, kid. We’ll stand by whatever you decide. However, know that Aigaion could be gone the next time you visit, and you’d be safe.” 

“I understand,” I affirmed. 

The day I joined Aigaion could never be described as pretty. The homeowner of my previous residence bent my nose in as I tried to leave. Both the adults ran after me as I crossed the river to Aigaion. After the altercation, Evander’s wife, Eleni, attended to my wounds as usual, except this was the last time she would treat me for insignificant black eyes. After she finished, I went and played with Helios, Evander’s new son. We shared a room, and I assisted in any way I could, to show my gratefulness to Evander and Eleni.  

In my new home, I beamed. I brought Helios with me everywhere. I made toys for him out of my tinker box. Together, the four of us, Evander, Eleni, Helios, and I, ate dinner every night, where I got time to show Evander everything I made that day. Since living in the village, I did everything I could to help. I repaired flower beds, installed new door hinges, entertained the little ones, and tried to give advice to Colin and Dimitris’s training. However, Ajax often had to pull me away for being “distracting.” I wanted my home to stand strong.  

As I observed it every day, it surprised me how tight-knit and friendly Aigaion seemed, since two thirds of the population formed the militia. My life completely flipped after finding my home. They gave me a name. They welcomed me. They allowed me to lay peacefully in the flower fields without worry of being yelled at. They provided me freedom to pursue inventing and improve the village with my ideas. Colin and Dimitris often helped find places for my inventions to shine throughout the village. Then, I would explain how they worked to Helios even though he could not form words. They valued me. A stupid war could not make me lose that.  

Unfortunately, that day came. The modified horns I installed sounded louder than ever before, and all the women and children fled to the central hall, except for me. Despite Ajax screaming at me to go with them, I grabbed my sword and followed Colin to the gate. Dimitris waited for Colin there, and he prevented me from going further. I was no match for him, and Evander dragged me with them to safety. Eleni watched over me with hawk eyes and attempted to distract me by playing games with Helios. Evander periodically left the hall and returned with whispers he only gave to the elders.  

The door opened again slowly, as Evander fell to the floor forming a puddle of tears. “We lost,” he whispered. I charged for the gate. Eleni chased after me leaving Helios screaming in tears. She begged me to stay put. She could not stop me. Upon opening the gate, my eyes met the corpses of Colin, Dimitris, Ajax, and the rest of my friends.

Written By: Rachel Caña

Image Credit

All the World’s a Stage

PROLOGUE

Power demands sacrifice.  

Sacrifice demands power.  

And at the end of the day, she was just a girl, and he was just a boy. The moon and the sun.  

And a vast expanse of stars between them. 

PART 1 

Kandor 

The Lower Court 

Kandor trudged through the dark, swampy nightmare of the forest. He was used to the dark, obviously, but in the middle of the woods, caged in on every side by trees and strange animals who wanted him dead, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit afraid.  

His faithful dog, Sassa, walked beside him. Her constant, panting breath soothed him, but even then, Kandor found himself speaking aloud to her when the darkness began to feel as if it pressed down on him.  

“Bad night for hunting, isn’t it, girl?” he murmured, resting his hand on Sassa’s soft head. She licked his hand, and then kept licking, no doubt cleaning off any remaining evidence of the rabbit he had roasted earlier. Kandor chuckled, wiping his hand on his shirt. “You little freeloader.”  

Sassa wagged her tail cheerfully. Yup. That’s me.  

They kept walking, Kandor keeping his fingers lightly on Sassa’s head. Soon, he knew, he would have to give up. He peered up at the dark sky, just barely making out the sliver of the moon. Tomorrow, there would be no moon. He gritted his teeth. No moon meant no light at all. And he hadn’t caught anything to tide them over. Stars confound it.  

Kandor was just about to head home—it was starting to rain and both he and Sassa shivered—when something caught his eye. Sassa noticed it too, for her ears pricked up and she gave a short bark, under her breath. Even she knew not to scare away potential game.  

Kandor removed his hand from her head, her signal to go, and she took off, her big feet expertly landing with such softness Kandor could barely hear them. He jogged after her, knowing Sassa would hold the creature there until he reached them.  

Most people weren’t so lucky. They had to hunt on their own. Kandor had found Sassa when she was just a baby, nursing a broken leg, caught in another hunter’s traps. Kandor freed her, took care of her, and then kept her, the two of them bound by some unspoken oath that turned into love. His mother had been less than thrilled—“Kandor, she’s just one more mouth to feed”—but Sassa, sensing how badly she was needed, starting showing up at their back door with rabbits and squirrels, no doubt slain by the creatures of the wood. Kandor had originally thought the dog killed them, but after witnessing Sassa’s hunting prowess firsthand, he knew she never killed for food. Her tracking skills remained unmatched, however, and the two of them made an excellent team, Sassa sniffing out prey and keeping them in place, Kandor making the final kill. He always positioned himself between Sassa and her prize, never wanting her to see the blow that would kill them.  

The first time he killed an animal, he had thrown up. The second time, he cried. The third time, he took a deep breath and got to work skinning it, because this was food for his family, and stars take him, he was not going to be the one responsible for his little sister starving to death. 

Amily. His pride and joy. When their father died, Kandor stepped up to help his mother raise her. Fifteen years younger than he, little Amily was a surprise to everyone. At just fifteen himself, Kandor knew nothing about raising a child, but when his mother died the following year, he found himself the sole provider for a one-year-old baby girl, a stray dog with a limp, and himself. Amily was five now, and he hated leaving her alone, but he couldn’t bring a virtual toddler with him to hunt. His best friend, Juna, and his wife Hadassy, usually took care of her during the day, and in exchange, Kandor would give him a third of his game. It worked out well; Amily adored Juna and Kandor kept them all fed.  

Kandor worked a real job, of course. Technically. The same job his father had, and his father’s father, and his father’s father’s father. “Protector of the Sanctioned,” they called it. Most people just called him the Handler. The Lower Court had been waiting on the so-called “Sanctioned” for years. Kandor had no faith that she would come while he was the Handler.  

His official job description read, “Protector, mentor, and guide for the Sanctioned of the Light, the willing, able, and chosen sacrifice set aside to appease the tyranny of the High Court in exchange for their sun’s light and warmth.”  

Kandor shivered. Light and warmth, indeed. 

Realistically, he knew that “light and warmth” meant that the overlords of the High Court, that glittering, celestial city in the sky, allowed them to dwell on the lands of the Lower Court, the light of the sun above providing moonlight below. He also knew that his job title mandated that if the “Sanctioned” were to appear, the sacrifice to keep the High Court appeased, he would have to drop everything and prepare her for her service to the celestial realm.  

The service was her life, of course. The Handlers had to be ready to guide the Sanctioned every step of the way, right up until the ritual killing that supposedly placated their overlords.  

Kandor’s father never groomed a Sanctioned, and neither had his father. Word on the street said that his great-grandfather was the last one to prep a Sanctioned for sacrifice. Kandor knew that the Lower Court would appoint one when they saw fit, but as years turned to decades, he felt less and less inclined to think that he would be the next one to take up the mantle. 

Kandor picked up the pace when he realized Sassa had run out of his line of vision. When he finally caught up with her, he paused, surveying her catch with both confusion and irritation.  

Sassa hadn’t found an animal at all, but a white marble statue of a girl, almost phosphorescent in the snip of moonlight. Stars confound it, Sassa, Kandor thought, but he would never scold her like that out loud. Besides, it was an honest mistake. The statue looked almost human, perfectly clean and sculpted. Kandor might have been fooled if she—it—wasn’t clearly carved out of the finest marble he had ever seen.  

What on earth was a statue doing in the middle of the woods? He was positive he had been in this sector of the forest many times, and he surely had never seen it before. Had someone left it? Refugees, perhaps? The creatures of the wood rarely attacked humans, but in recent years they had grown more and more restless, and some of the deep wood’s inhabitants had fled for more urban areas, leaving most of their things behind.  

“Good girl, Sassa,” Kandor murmured, resting his hand on her head in thanks. He reached the statue, wondering who in their right mind would try to haul a marble statue through the woods before they got their wits about them and left it.  

One good thing though, he mused, running his fingers along the statue’s arm, he could sell it and make himself and Amily quite a bit of— 

The cold stone underneath his fingers suddenly turned warm and pliable. He yanked his hand back, staring at the marble in confusion. You’re dreaming this, he told himself.  

Because there was no way. Truly no way he was seeing this right now.  

Sassa barked.  

Kandor watched the life breathe into the statue, watched the cold, unfeeling marble transform into the living, breathing flesh of a girl.  

The girl turned her head to look at him, her blue eyes piercing through his very soul.  

“Where am I?” she asked, and her voice was celestial and sparkling and a million other things, and Kandor didn’t answer for a moment, only moving when her legs gave out and she collapsed onto the forest floor.  

Written by: Caroline Johnson

Image Credit

Mirror Mirror

I’ve been locked up for 134 days. 

Each day the room grows smaller. 

I don’t have the strength to leave. 

4 walls surround me, painted bright yellow, a cheerful color for a prison cell. 1 bed rests behind me, with floral sheets and decorative pillows. It should be comfy. It’s not. 2 windows can be found in my tiny prison space, each drawn shut and covered with blackout curtains. The sunlight cannot reach me in my cell. The windows might as well be cinderblock walls. My world exists within 224 square feet of space, 24 unbearable hours, and the pages of 1 notebook torn and brittle from the rage of my own thoughts. 

It’s the only thing keeping me together. 

And it’s running out of pages. 

A voice calls to me from afar, and I can hear soft footsteps drawing nearer. It says a name I don’t quite remember, one I can’t identify with. “Joy! I have something for you.” 

A gentle hand opens my bedroom cell door, and a face peeks inside. 1 smile reaches me, 2 eyes mimic the smile’s warm curve, and 5 buttons run down the center of her white collared shirt. 

“A package arrived for my beautiful baby girl,” Mom says, sitting down on the side of my bed. “It’s from your grandmother. She said it helped her find her way when she was younger, whatever that means. Maybe it’ll brighten your mood. You need to do something other than study online and read books. You can’t lock yourself away in your room forever.” 

Yes, I can, I think to myself. I’ve been attending school online for the past 130 days. It’s best this way. I couldn’t make it into a classroom if I wanted to. I watch as Mom sets the package down next to me and opens the window, beginning to spin her usual narrative of telling me that I should go for a walk to just “get outside.” She said she’d help me walk if I wanted her to. 

I don’t want her to, and I say so. 

She smiled understandingly before leaving. “At least keep the window open then. The sunlight is good for you.” 

I nod, but the light is gray and the trees are too. I’m told the world has color. That it’s vibrant and beautiful, and that I should enjoy it while I’m young and free to explore. I have faint memories of that world. Glimpses of a time in which the sun smiled down on me with brilliant warm rays, the wind whispered secrets, and everything about the world was full of wonder from the tiniest blades of grass to the wild forests surrounding my home cell. It wasn’t long ago when the world felt like that. It was just before… 

No.

I turned my attention to the box left at my side, a welcome distraction. It’s already been opened, the thick cardboard panels spread wide like the petals of a flower. Like the designs on my floral bedsheets, like something I remembered being beautiful before they turned ashy and gray, wilting with the rest of the world around me. Or maybe wilting with myself. 

Inside the box lies an antique vanity set with 3 items wrapped in a silky blue cloth. Uncovering the items feels like finding lost treasure sunken to the bottom of an icy blue sea. The first piece falls into my hand, a silver comb with delicate edges and soft roses engraved in its sides. It’s missing 2 of its 20 teeth, but something about that subtle imperfection makes it seem all the more valuable. The following item is a brush, one with a matching rose design, a sturdy handle, and a weighty grip. Lastly, a silver mirror falls into my hands. For a moment, the glass shines, its round frame and rose petal handle sparkling till my face came into view. 

Then the glass cracked.

A disrupted visual corrupts the screen. Messy brown hair hung down around a distorted face like an angry cloud, hiding the scars along the right side of a cheek stitched together by many surgeries. It was painful to look at. A pitiful sight. A wounded girl destroyed by the tragedies of her life. Worst of all were her eyes. Though splintered by a long streak of shattered glass, I could still see a pair of terrified, brown eyes drowning in an ocean looking right back at me. 

I wish I could have helped that reflection. 

She looked so afraid of herself. 

I looked… 

With frantic hands and a speeding heart rate, I tossed the mirror aside. It landed in the corner of the room, its glass shining up at the ceiling, perfectly intact. The beautiful horrid relic couldn’t harm me there, couldn’t haut me, couldn’t make me remember what happened that night 152 days ago. 

~To be continued~

Written By: Naomi Hernandez

Image Credit:

A Father’s Love

Do you know the warm circulating feeling that you get when you drink hot chocolate or eat a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie?

This is what a father’s love feels like.  

It’s the type of warm feeling that hugs your chest.

It makes you feel safe, like nothing can hurt you, because your dad is there to protect you, always.

He’s the one there teaching you how to ride a bike. And when you fall, he’s there to wipe the tears away, and say it’s okay. He’s there telling you to be safe while kissing you on the forehead as you drive out of the driveway for the first time.

He’s there for you whenever you need him, when you need to rant about an assignment you hate or when your heart gets broken. And he’ll also be there when your heart is full and fixed, to give you away to the person you love.

This type of love is an unchangeable and forgiving love that will forever be there.

It’s an unbreakable bond between a father and his child.

Unbreakable…

That is, until the day it does break into a million pieces and the love is gone.

 No one can or will prepare you for the day you say goodbye to the man who raised you to always be strong. The hardest part is, you break your promise to always be strong when you see him there, lifeless.

 Everything comes crashing down, he’s a lifetime away and not coming back.  no longer a phone call away.

He’s no longer a phone call away.

The phone calls are gone.

The “you’re okays” are gone.

And the “I’m so proud of you” are gone.

While you stand there in black saying goodbye, all the unanswered questions remain.

Throwing the one dark red rose down is like throwing your whole heart down. It’s like throwing the warm feeling down. I,s throwing the forever unchanged and forgivable love down, and it will never surface again.

Walking away with your mother in your arms you realize your childhood just ended and it’s not coming back.

The horrible thing about this cycle is that it doesn’t end.

So, soak up that warm feeling for as long as you can, before you lose it and realize it’s not coming back.

Written by: Alexis Farino
Image Credit

Jack and the Beansprout

The best and worst day of my life happened when my mother finally let me get rid of our family cow. I hate cows, but Rosalina Rosalina meant everything to my mom. She really wanted a daughter named Rosalina, so she stole Rosalina Rosalina as a calf after she gave birth to me, Jack. She treated that cow like a first born and kept her in pristine condition. Because of that, now we are on the verge of homelessness. All our investment and value weighs on that foul creature that only my mother could love. Today, my mom came to me with tearful eyes, apologizing for being a bad mother and putting Rosalina Rosalina above our livelihood. I remained unresponsive to her remarks, until she mentioned possibly selling that useless pile of beef. I victoriously convinced her to sell the cow to prevent our eviction.  

Mother wanted no part in the transaction. For the first time ever, she left Rosalina Rosalina to me. My mother saw Rosalina Rosalina off at the door giving her many hugs and tears of farewell. Her only instruction to me was to fetch the best price for her cow. I affirmed to mother I would get what Rosalina Rosalina was worth. Then, I ventured off to the market with my mother’s golden child. She attracted quite the attention. I turned down many outrageous offers of gold. Obviously, these merchants knew nothing of Rosalina Rosalina’s true worth as a spoiled rotten, fat, ugly lass. Finally, a likeminded merchant approached me with an offer of magical beans. Obvious baloney, but the perfect trade for that land crawling behemoth. I left Rosalina Rosalina with him without a second thought and joyously returned home. Freedom, pure joy, and fulfillment blessed me on that journey. The pure bliss carried me to the doorstep of my now peaceful home, but that peace did not last. “What’s in the bag, Jack?” my mother interrupted.  

“Magical beans,” I mockingly replied. 

“Where’s the gold!?” She squealed. 

“What gold? That old thing could never be worth even a sliver of silver!” 

“How dare you speak of Rosalina Rosalina that way!”  

I rolled my eyes and stepped inside. “No gold?” My mother questioned in a quieter voice.  

“No, just beans,” I answered.  

“NO GOLD!?” She repeated. 

“NO!” I repeated. 

“No gold, no home!” My mother exclaimed as she grabbed my ear and dragged me outside. She slammed me in the dirt and began bawling. She tore the bag of beans out of my hand and threw them on the ground. Then my mother screamed, “I’m sorry, Rosalina Rosalina! I should have never abandoned you for this oaf!”  

I did not apologize. I just sat there waiting for her tantrum to end. She huffed off towards the market. I raised the beans toward her. “You wanna return these?” I questioned. 

“KEEP THE BEANS!” she shrieked, then took a deep breath. “Take them as your last meal. When you see me next, I’ll be back with Rosalina Rosalina.”  

I did not exchange any more words with the old hag. After her figure escaped my view, I looked down to find the beans already sprouting. I gathered all I could find and placed them back in the bag. I contemplated what I should do with my newfound wealth. But, my stomach made demands. I accepted its request. I picked a freshly plucked beansprout and popped it in my mouth.  

My vision blurred and suddenly the ground left my feet. Then, gravity tugged on my collar, and I tumbled down into a hole imprinted near the beansprouts. The cave displayed large clumps of soil that surrounded everything.  

“Fum-Fo-Fi-Fee!” A voice echoed. “I smell blood for bread,” it summarized. I prepared for battle as the voice drew near.  “Fo-Fum-Fee-Fi,” it whispered. The figure belonging to the voice appeared ahead. Before me stood an intimidatingly short oaf. He stood at half my size and grasped a cherry stem in the shape of a sword. He lunged at me, but I dodged. “Whoa there! I mean no harm.” I explained.  

“But I do!” He retorted as he prepared another swing. In a flash, a giant green root burst out from the dirt and interrupted our skirmish. “Oh no! Someone has dropped one of my beans!” He exclaimed.    

“These?” I gestured to my bag of wealth.  

“You!” He lunged again. 
“Me!?” I squeaked as I dodged. 

“You stole my beans!” He exclaimed. 

“I did no such thing,” I defended. “I purchased these beans for a very cheap sum from a skeptical fellow.” 

“Give them to me!” the oaf demanded. 

“Eh,” I remarked, glaring at him.  

“Those beans are dangerous,” he warned.  

“I figured, but I ain’t handing them over for free,” I warned. 

He sheathed his cherry stem sword and approached me. “Name your price.” 

“2 gold!” I demanded. 

He exchanged a confused grin “That’s it?” 

“I care for these beans as I do for cows, absolutely nothing, so 2-gold for silence,” I explained.  

The oaf plucked two gold coins from his pouch and practically threw them at me. He forcefully retrieved the beans from my hand. “Do one more thing for me, please; I can give you more spare change,” he exasperatedly spat.  

“Weren’t you gonna turn me into bread?” 
“I was just copying my neighbor,” he replied while pointing upwards. “Speaking of him, I hate and wanna be free from him. Can you cut down the beanstalk when you’re on the surface?”  

“Sure thing, man,  

anything to help a fellow freedom fighter!”  

“That’s great,” he begrudgingly muttered. Then, he shoved a small bag of gold into my palm along with a single bean. “Eat it and never come back! I’m done dealing with trespassers.”  

I did as he commanded and ate the bean. My vision blurred once more. The next time I opened my eyes, I appeared back on the surface shaded by a giant beanstalk. I admired it briefly before hauling my tools over and dismembering it. Eventually, it came tumbling down.  

“Jack!” I trembled at the old, familiar voice. I turned around to the unfortunate greeting from my mother and Rosalina Rosalina. Before she could speak another word, I began walking away from the house and told her, “Keep the beanstalk. Feed it to your daughter, or something. I’m done with this place.” As I passed her, I tossed her the two gold coins and began my life without those nuisances. Truly the best, the worst, and strangest of days.  
“Jack!” I trembled at the old, familiar voice. I turned around to the unfortunate greeting from my mother and Rosalina Rosalina. Before she could speak another word, I began walking away from the house and told her, “Keep the beanstalk. Feed it to your daughter, or something. I’m done with this place.” As I passed her, I tossed her the two gold coins and began my life without those nuisances. Truly the best, the worst, and strangest of days.  

Written By: Rachel Caña
Image Credit

How to Start Saving People

Inspired by the HBO Adaptation of The Last of Us

1 – A Head Injury

A friend sat in front of me. Cold, hard ground above and below. Dripping faucet, creaking chairs, eerie motion blurring from all sides.

            “Maya,” she called; her voice firm yet hushed.

            “It’s not gone.” I’m so cool, so aloof. Stupid.

            “Breathe ju-.” Her hand drifts to my knee.

            “Don’t touch,” I snap.

Everything is gross, and my sister is dead. I need something, but I don’t know what. It’s all restlessness; horrid, foul heartbeats. And for what? Why does it all keep going?

            “Maya. Please tell us you’re okay.”

Marlene means well. I’ve looked up to her for so long, I feel every motion before she makes it. I know her like a sister. Like the one she took.

            “How’s your head?” She asks.

I fell down the stairs trying to kill her. She shot my sister, and my body jumped at her before I could think. I almost don’t regret it. Yet, I hate the blurred vision and killer headache that’s been here for what seems like forever.

            “I’ll be fine…physically.”

Marlene looks down, a quiet gesture of recognition and compliance. She stands. I’m okay, so she can go back to work; do her duty, slay dragons.

            “Where’s Ellie?” I ask.

            “Stevie’s got her. She’s okay.”

            “She’s traumatized.”

            “Yeah, and so are the rest of us.”

            “Mhm.”

The room spins again as I try to get up. The flight of stairs I ate doesn’t want me to forget my poor coordination. However, I have a funeral to prepare and a kid to raise.

            “Why don’t you go relax.” Marlene turns. “Grif, help Maya to Stevie, please.”

            “Yes, Grif. Carry me there and get me a strawberry daiquiri while you’re at it. So kind, so kind.” My eyes squint at the floor, trying to find balance.

            Grif sighs himself up from the putrid couch, “You’re about as close to an idiot as a bear in a beehive.”

            “Think of that one yourself?”

2 – A Family

Stevie is like Marlene: powerful, clever, quick-minded, loyal. But she has softer edges and warmer hugs than Marlene. We were fated to be best friends. With Anna and Marlene so close, it only made sense that their younger sisters would click. Before the outbreak, I didn’t mind her, but she was too soft for me. I thought it was her weakness, and I felt better than her because I flinched less. I didn’t really flinch less though; I just internalized it. She felt things openly. She spoke and listened. Now, after everything, she makes me feel guilty. What she’s done so beautifully, I don’t know how to do, and I feel trapped inside myself; like a shell of strength that I must appease.

            Grif didn’t carry me, but he let me lean on him as we walked up the stairs to where Stevie was feeding and caring for Ellie. Grif was a giant – not literally – but he more or less could count as one. He looked like a biker from a movie: buff, tan, covered in tattoos with graying hair and fading jeans. He always held a pistol on his side and kept a greasy bandana in his pocket. What a man.

            “She’s doing well. Sleeping now.”

Stevie welcomed us with this good news as we entered the dusty room that served as our common space and bedroom. Pale light streamed through the plastic covering the window, making it seem dream-like. Stevie’s smile immediately relaxed me, making me feel at home.

            “Are you okay, Maya? You look-”

            “Yeah, I’m good. Just took a tumble…as I do.”

            “She went off on Marlene when she found out,” Grif clarified.

            “Oh.” Stevie looked down in the same way Marlene had – a silent recognition. A condolence.

            “Obviously, I didn’t succeed. But it’d take a madman to get her.” I shrugged. So awkward. What a gem I am.

            “Come sit and rest. You can meet your niece.”

There she goes, resolving tension like a pro. I sit down and bid Grif a sarcastic adieu. He saunters off in his typical chill yet overlording fashion. Ellie sleeps in Stevie’s arms. Just four days ago, she was inside my sister, and my sister was here talking to me. She sat here where Stevie is, telling me she wants her kid – if a girl – to be named Ellie. A burning sensation blooms in my throat. I distract myself by admiring Ellie’s little hands, little feet, little everything. She’s small and she seems to glow.

            “Her skin is so perfect,” I blurt out.

Stevie chuckles, “Yeah it is.”

I hate all this. My eyes start to hurt as I try not to cry or yell or scream. I hate how Ellie makes me think of Anna and how that makes me feel anxious, because now I can’t brush off death. I’m not free to die. I have Ellie.

“I don’t know what to do.” I can’t believe I said it.

Stevie doesn’t bring her gaze up from Ellie (neither do I). “No one expects you to know. But the good thing is, you don’t have to figure it out by yourself. We’re all here to protect each other, and Ellie falls right into what we’ve built.”

“But it won’t last. I was going to die. Like, I was probably going to die soon, but now I can’t.” I pause, my chest fills up like a balloon, “I can’t believe Anna just…like…left me here to do all this. Like, come on! I have to take care of her frickin’ spawn. So rude.”

Apparently, humor is my way of coping.

Stevie just smiles faintly, and says, “I think you have a lot of good reasons to feel how you’re feeling; to be overwhelmed. I’m sorry, Maya.”

“Yeah, well. Thanks.” I say, trying to make my tone sincere, because I do mean it. I just can’t imagine how it will be all right. I can’t see a way forward.

3 – A Funeral

            I smell like a farm, braiding long blades of grass into a small nest. I collected a couple of pebbles and a ribbon of Anna’s for the nest. I place them in a dried piece of bark; perfect for a little boat.

            “We don’t have time for this, Maya. Are you really going to go out into danger for-”

            “For my dead sister? Yes, Marlene, I am.”

            “There. Perfect.” I hold up the little vessel to Ellie, in Stevie’s arms.

Ellie gazes at the boat with sparkling baby eyes. Stevie smiles softly, gently rocking my niece in her arms.

            “Pure brilliance of aquatic machinery, huh?” I smile at Ellie. This feels dumb and useless. But the act of something stupid and wholesome is just…nice. I haven’t done useless stuff in so long.

            “Let’s do it quickly, please.”

Marlene tries her best to hide her anxiety with an encouraging tone. She’s like a mom who’s late for work, watching her kid tie his shoes painfully slowly.

            I jump up. “Let’s bounce!”

The outside fashions a snow-less winter: grey, damp, cold. My feet and fingers feel numb. The wooded expanse around our safehouse probably looked pretty in the summertime and when infected weren’t browsing the foliage. A stream lay to the right, not too deep into the woods. Stevie and I guilted everyone into taking a quick trip to it for Anna. This little boat will take the place of the sendoff I couldn’t get. This is the closing act, the thing that will heal me. I will be sad, sure. But, after this, I don’t need to worry about grief getting in the way. Things can’t get in the way. You die if they do.

The brisk air and deadness really create the best funeral ambiance. Marlene keeps a hand on her gun and Grif looks around like a dog sniffing the breeze, like he can sense infected from a mile away. Stevie still carries Ellie, but as we approach, I look over to her.

            “Can I take her?”

            “Of course.” Stevie gently places Ellie into my arms, helping me keep the boat intact.

I can feel my breath in my head and my heart beating, a dull and haunting sensation. Ellie’s little hands hold onto my arms, and I lay the boat into her lap.

            “Alrighty, Ellie.” I lean down to the stream’s edge. “You knew your mom like none of us ever did. We knew her out here, in this stupid, messed up world. She was the best sister, and I know she would have been the best mom. She was hurt, but excited. You were her blessing.”

I adjust my footing, sniffling. I refuse to cry. I must finish this and send Anna off properly.

“I bet she’s watching over you, Ellie. That’s what people say. And…you know, she didn’t lose her mind. She’s still out there, kicking butt and taking names, ya’ know.”

Ellie fiddles with the boat, intrigued by the ribbon. The ribbon from her mother’s dress. She doesn’t even know it.

            “Well, Ellie. We have decency here. So, we need to send her off and let her rest. Then, her memory can exist peacefully within us.”

            “Okay, Maya. Finish it up.”

            “Right, hear that, Ellie? Marlene knows best, mhm.”

I can feel Marlene’s eyes roll behind my back, but I know she will grieve later…on her own. However, the thing that does slightly unease me is Grif’s shifting stance.

            “Okay.” I breath. “Goodbye, Anna.”

I set the boat on the water and take Ellie’s hand to push it out to the current. We watch it go. It drifts, bouncing from side to side, sailing pleasantly down the stream.

Time to go, time to watch, time to live, time to sail, time to kill. All this, yet time will never heal. I already know that.

4 – A Meeting

I feel blurry, but Grif’s gravelly voice rumbles amid the white noise. It’s like I’m in a glass box and am scared it will break.

            “Maya, let’s go.”

I feel Stevie take Ellie from my arms, Marlene’s retreating footsteps, the sunlight falling between the crevices of the trees, and Grif’s large boots shifting in the sod. He lays a hand on my shoulder. I’m watching the boat dance in the reflections on the water, now just a tiny dot in the distance.

            “Let’s go, kid. Marlene’s got business.”

            “Grif.”

            “Hm?”

            “Will I live long enough to not feel like this?”

            “Time doesn’t heal smack.” His voice is sincere. I know he’s as acquainted with loss as the rest of us. Loss is a spec on all our timelines in this world. It’s a broken leg, a car accident, a lost wallet.

            “Then, I don’t want any more time.”

He’s silent, his hand still on my shoulder. The feeling allows me some balance as I stand. My knees tingle with cold, mud soaked through my jeans. Grif walks slowly beside me back through the wood. Somehow, he’s still warm after his loss. He still has life in him, and he seems to want it.

We make it back to the safehouse where we eat and prepare for the night-watch. Stevie stays with me in the second-story common room. Now, the moonlight fades into the space like a milky haze. It’s cold, always cold. We decide to both take the one mattress, keeping Ellie warm between us. I hate being so close to other people, but I would honestly sob myself sick if left alone. So, I try to sleep. I try.

            Morning comes like a silent dream interrupted by hushed voices and shuffling feet. Grif coughs his morning coughs. Marlene writes and plans. But I hear something different, I hear more voices. I guess this business Grif mentioned arrived, but Marlene never holds meetings at this safehouse. I turn to hear better and see Stevie and Ellie still asleep. The sun streams into the room quite thinly, so it must still be early.

            “Yeah, this guy somehow gets through them.”

            “Oh yeah, he stocks up the guards for sure.”

            “Or just shoots their heads off.”

            “What a sicko.”

            “What luck to catch him, though. He almost got killed.”

            “I’d hate to be in debt to her.”

            “And it ain’t just cause she’s sober.”

Men laugh. Strange men. They’re outside our door that sits slightly ajar due to a busted door handle. I hate their laughs.

            “Embodying gentlemanliness, I see?”

It’s Marlene’s voice. She’s not my favorite, but I love her way of shutting down a man’s audacity, cold water to a match.

            “It’ll be good to have more bodies in the QZ.”

Grif says this. I could hear his weight make the floorboards squeak on his way up the stairs.

            “We’re ready.”

            “Thanks, Grif. Alright, we need you two down here. They’ll be fine. Just stand by the stairs. There’s no other way up.”

The men follow Marlene and Grif downstairs.

Someone’s in debt to Marlene. I bet she’s in a good mood. Part of me feels repulsed by the idea of lurking down to gawk at a bunch of gross men with big guns. Another part of me hates how close they were to us, to Ellie. Why is Marlene acting so carelessly? What debt?

I give in to curiosity quite quickly. A new record.

The stairs turn a corner, blocking the first half from the lower. I sneak down to listen in on the gathering in the living room area just below. I hear the voices of strange men, familiar men (ones who regular the safehouse), and Marlene and Grif. They settle down and Marlene speaks.

            “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about what you do? I know you already told these men and Grif. But I don’t need hearsay.”

A man’s voice I don’t recognize replies, “I do a lot of things.” He sounds tired, almost sad. “I typically run jobs for people in the QZ. Sometimes that takes me outside and sometimes it doesn’t.”

            “But you’re familiar with the immediate area. You obviously were not just prancing about the QZ’s border.”

            “Yeah, I’m fairly familiar with it.”

            “And does that familiarity come with some help?”

            “How so?”

            “We know some guards don’t always follow, you could say, procedure.”

            “Don’t be ambiguous with me, ma’am.”

            “You have something they like, something that will help you evade persecution at the border.”

            “Mhm. Right.”

His voice is deep and rich, but with a scratchy film over it from the typical QZ smuggler life. Brutal. Marlene goes on,

            “I hope you understand. After my friend Grif here saved your behind, we’ll need a little help from you in return.”

            “You wanna deal with FEDRA trash?”

I could hear a slight smirk in his voice. What an idiot.

            “Do you want your routes compromised by lawful FEDRA guards?”

Aw snap, she’s deep in cold-shoulder Marlene mode now. I can only imagine Grif’s smug little face (and by little I mean big…he’s huge).

            “Wow, a terrorist tipping off FEDRA to get back at a rat like me? You hold grudges for people who cut in lines you’re not even in, lady.”

He’s got a point. Why would Marlene be so dead set on getting compensation from a smuggler? So much so that she’d tip off FEDRA to do it.

            “Who do you deal to?”

Grif breaks the brief silence. I can tell Marlene is thinking, brewing.

            “Anyone with, as you say, compensation,” replies the unknown man.

Marlene cuts in. “This guy is so low on the totem pole, Grif, he’s useless to us. The dealers above him probably don’t even know what they carry.”

I hear her take out her pistol. I feel my heartbeat quicken. She’s gonna wake up Ellie.

            “I heard guards aren’t even taking it anymore. That stuff will kill ya’. Just another kill for cash.”

It’s a bit. Grif plays around, but not with people he intends to kill or allow someone else to kill. He’s not sadistic. They know how to get him, and Marlene is bluffing her way out. She must take this guy as regretful.

            “You really don’t know anything, do you?”

The man smirks, but he’s not at ease.

            “Get him out of here,” says Marlene.

I hear Grif’s gun click.

            “You want drugs or something? I can get you them, jeez!”

The man’s panicked voice comes through.

            Marlene’s reply, smooth and bitter, makes my skin tingle. “No, thank you. I just need someone to stop killing people with dirty drugs, so we can take back our lives from FEDRA.”

I can only imagine her face. Her eyes piercing into his like icepicks. The rage in her voice is sincere, too. It’s backed by all the loss we’ve dealt with at the hands of FEDRA.

            “I don’t want to kill people! I’m just making money, surviving. I don’t know what happens to them after. I can’t take responsibility for the stupid stuff they do when they’re out of their mind high!” He almost yells this.

They really found the most traumatized smuggler to interrogate.

            “Tommy,” her voice becomes tender. “I might know how you can start saving people.”

Maya’s story will return this summer.

Written By: Kayla Harper

Image Credit:

In Case I Don’t See Ya

Every day is the same. I get up, get dressed, brush my teeth, eat breakfast, walk out the door, and get on the bus at exactly 7:27 each morning. I feel the safest in my home, of course. When I signed the contract, I made sure to let them know that no cameras would be allowed past my front door. Or I was out. I needed the money and the stability of a home prepaid-for by someone else.

But I laid out a few ground rules:

1. No cameras in my home. The show stays out of my personal life. This is a job, and I don’t need to take it home.
2. Minimal screentime. I signed up to be an extra, not a crowd favorite.
3. I will never, ever, directly interact with Truman in any way. Period. Or no deal.

I do watch the show. Occasionally. If I know for sure I’m not going to be featured. It feels wrong to watch, but it also feels wrong to ignore the fact that I have a small part to play in this stupid little charade. Sometimes I see myself onscreen, maybe catching a glimpse of a shock of red hair just barely in the frame.

When I heard about Sylvia, I felt a glimmer of hope. Watching her and Truman on the beach, hearing her frantic warnings, I remember thinking that maybe, just maybe, he could get out of here after all.

When nothing happened, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I hear my alarm go off this morning an hour earlier than it normally does. I groan but rise, knowing that this next hour is absolutely critical and that I, under any circumstances, cannot be seen.

I creep out of my house, heading up towards Truman’s neighborhood. As I walk, I crane my neck upwards, looking for the hidden alcoves and towers that house the camera crews and their equipment. There.

I did my research ahead of time. I knew that none of the crew operated cameras or even worked from this specific tower until the afternoon. They wanted to get shots of Truman walking out of his house, sure, but not from this angle. Only his back or side profile would be visible from this side. They use this tower for capturing his drive back to his house. 5:18 p.m. on the dot. 5:20 if he takes his time leaving the office. Most of the actors there are pretty good about getting him out the door at a reasonable time though.

I veer off the sidewalk and make my way to the door hidden in the trees, hoisting myself up onto the ladder and scaling the rungs all the way to the top. Once there, I take a moment to gather myself.

Are you really going to do this? I think. This could get you fired. This could get you ARRESTED. At the very least, you’ll be out of a job. At the very worst, you throw your whole life away. Is it worth it? Is one person worth it?

            Sylvia thought so.

            I want to think so, too.

            I do think so.

            I shake my head and push on. This is for Truman.

            I study the mass of cords, plugs, and equipment. Where do I even start? I’m not even sure what exactly I came here to do.

            You came here for him, I tell myself firmly. To help him. It’s not like it matters what I do. What I destroy. The whole point is that to break something.

            Actually, the whole point is to give Truman a reason to believe that something is wrong here. That he lives a lie and this stupid beach community is nothing more than a soundstage and some glaring floodlights.

I survey the room again, my eyes catching on spare camera lenses, stray pens, and empty chip bags.

And a list of cues lying on the floor, outlining Truman’s daily life.

            That’s it.

            I’m just about to scoop up the list, intending to bring it to Truman’s house—maybe I’ll leave it in his mailbox or, if I’m early enough, I can give it to him when he leaves for work—when I hear pounding footsteps coming up the stairs behind me. No. No, no, no!

            I lunge forward, trying to grab at least an edge of the paper, and someone grabs my ankle, yanking me back. I hit the ground hard, my nose slamming into the metal of the floor. I gasp in pain, feeling blood already pooling in my nostrils. Ow.

            “You need to come with us, ma’am,” I hear someone say.

“NO!” I kick out frantically, trying to catch something, anything, hoping that would be enough.

More people grab me, dragging me away. I can’t bear the thought of being so close to warning Truman and failing now. Somehow, by some miracle, I pull out of their hands, racing for the walkway encircling the tower.

Stumbling, I throw myself against the railing, scanning below me as if something there can help me. Nothing around me either—except—

A plan forms in my head as someone grabs me again. I flail my legs frantically, feeling the bones of my foot snap as I make contact with one of the floodlights hanging over the edge.

I kick again and again, and finally I’m yanked away, back inside. I grab the doorframe and watch with relief as the floodlight tips over the railing and falls.

I allow myself to smile as I hear the light crash onto the street below, knowing that Truman’s house lies just beneath us and that he should be leaving for work right about now.

In case I don’t see you, Truman, I think as they drag me away, Good afternoon, good evening, and goodnight.

Written By: Caroline Johnson

Image Credit

CT-6983

The first thing he saw were blaring white lights and a square patterned ceiling. Beneath him lay a hard, cold metal table covered in a sheet as a guise of comfort. It was a standard medical bay, one designed for clones, made to be simple, sterile, and efficient.

“How are you doing there, Scratch?” 

Hearing his name, Scratch looked up to see a face identical to his, looking down at him. Tan skin, cropped black hair, a prominent nose, and a helmet tucked under his arm. Though his features were remarkably similar, Scratch had come to pick out the subtle differences in each of his clone brother’s faces. While impossible to notice at first, the trooper’s right eye held a slight squint to it. Since birth, it had never been quite as open as the left. The tiniest defect had become his commander’s key feature. 

“It’s good to see you, Commander Shadow,” Scratch answered, itching at the thin line drawn from the corner of his mouth to his ear. His scar, no larger than the line of loath cat’s scratch, had been the trait for which he was named by his brothers. “Looks like I’m in the med bay again. What idiotic mistake did I make to earn myself a stay here?” 

Commander Shadow laughed. “You saved our operation, that’s what you did. But in the process you got a bit banged up by the Hydroid Medusa we were trying to disarm. Biological weapons like that are real terrors. I’m just thankful all you received was a bump on the head and a brief nap.” 

“That’s it, huh? Then I guess I’m cleared for duty.” 

“Incorrect,” a medical droid declared in a pre-recorded, monotone voice as it rolled over to his bedside. “CT-6983 has not been cleared for active duty. He sustained an injury to the head and must be kept for a brain scan.” 

“I’m afraid we don’t have time for that,” Commander Shadow replied. “We just received another mission. The galaxy is in a state of high tension currently, and new battlegrounds between the Separatists and the Republic are breaking out every day. Some are saying the war is nearing its end, and if that’s true, we need to be doing our part to finish it.” 

“If CT-6983 leaves, he will be going against medical recommendation.” Came the droid’s automatic reply. 

“Do you feel well enough, Scratch?” Commander Shadow asked, a knowing look in his eye. They had spent their entire lives together and knew each other’s actions by heart. He didn’t have to ask to know how Scratch would respond. 

“Yep, let’s go.” 

“CT-6983 is scheduled for a brain scan in room 21B in an hour…” the medical droid started, but Scratch was already donning his armor. A small sense of pride glowed in his heart as he studied the gray plates, each designed to be a little different from a regular trooper’s armor. The design was sleeker and lighter, and the coloring helped him blend into the shadows. That was after all, what a stealth trooper was created for. Blending in, acting behind the scenes, and striking quickly to take down entire operations without notice. 

Scratch smiled just a hair as he noticed his armor had been cleaned since their last operation. He had reason to suspect that one of his brothers had done it themselves. Perhaps another member of his squad decided to help out in silent appreciation. Reme or Shade would be the most likely candidates. They’d been stealth troopers before Scratch had earned the pale blue markings of lieutenant on his armor. Though he was younger than the two of them, he had garnered their full respect, and they cared for one another like what Scratch assumed a family would. 

“I’m glad you’re up for the mission. I don’t know what I would have done without my second in command.” Commander Shadow spoke the closest thing to a compliment Scratch had heard from him in a long time. As he and Scratch left the medbay, winding their way through the uniform corridors of a Republic light cruiser, his commander began detailing their mission to come. “Our next mission is an odd one. We’ll be paired with Jedi master Ja-feri and his Padawan Luline Dumi on a scouting mission to the outer rim territory of Sy Myrth. Apparently, it’s Padawan Dumi’s first mission, so try not to give the kid too hard a time.”   

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Scratch replied sarcastically, planning on messing with the kid anyhow. Suddenly, he felt a tug on the back of his head as his helmet was mysteriously pulled off. The force of it gave him whiplash and left his head spinning as he stumbled around to see the grinning face of a small, green Twi’lek behind him. His helmet drifted into the girl’s hands, suspended in the air by the force. 

“If you’re going to mess with me, you better be prepared for me to do the same,” she laughed, only to receive a disapproving frown from her master as he rounded the corner. 

“Luline, what have I told you about using the force for tricks?” Master Ja-feri, a tall, graying Lassat asked, his cat-like eyes narrowing in on his apprentice. 

Luline suddenly appeared quite interested in the shine of her boots. “I’m sorry, Master,” she mumbled, her eyes slowly rising to meet those of Scratch as she extended his helmet to him. “Here’s your helmet, Lieutenant.” 

“You can call me Scratch,” he winked, taking his helmet back, “I like someone who’s got a sense of humor. I think you and I could be good friends.” 

“I would like that.” Luline giggled, happily running ahead of the clones. “Come on, I’ll show you to our ship!” 

Scratch matched the young Twi’lek’s fast pace, surprised by how effortlessly quick she moved on her feet. As he followed her, a certain heaviness sunk into his heart. This was her first mission, and despite knowing she had likely trained for war her whole life at the Jedi temple, there was something different about experiencing it for the first time. Though this was only supposed to be a simple scouting mission, one could never be certain what types of risks a mission could entail. There was always danger, and if this mission were to be anything like his first one…anything could happen. 

Scratch recalled the sounds of blaster fire, and it felt as if the shots were still ringing out in the back of his mind. The memory brought a series of battle scars with it, as he remembered a red flare of pain striking the back of his leg. The pain caused him to stumble and fall as his helmet flew off his head, and a rock cut into the side of his face, drawing a permanent scratch from his lip to his ear. His first mission gave him his nickname, but it also taught him how painfully ill-prepared he was for the realities of war. 

He didn’t want that for Luline, or anyone for that matter. But he was a clone, not a senator. He held no say in such matters. His fate, like the fate of Luline, had been decided for them the day he was born a clone, and she a Jedi. 

At last, Luline lead them to the fourth docking bay where a VCX-100 light freighter waited for them. It was painted with the red symbol of the republic on the door and lined with red and gray stripes along the wings. Two clones stood outside waiting with sly grins on their faces, Reme and Shade, the last two troopers in his unit. 

“Look who’s back!” Reme called out to Scratch, slapping a hand on his back. “Did you have a good nap, or did the medroid wake you up?” 

“I slept just fine, thank you.” Scratch laughed. “I’m glad to see you guys missed me.”
“I didn’t miss you,” Shade grumbled, messing with his fluffy black hair that certainly grew out past regulation standards. “I hoped you’d be out longer so I could use your blaster. The safety on yours doesn’t get stuck like mine.” He huffed, but Scratch could see right through him, he only pretended not to care. 

He wasn’t the only one who saw through Shade’s cold demeanor. Luline watched the clones with happy wonder. “I hope I have friends as good as you guys someday,” she whispered to Scratch once they boarded the ship. She took a seat next to him in the cockpit and strapped herself into the chair, double checking to make sure the seat-belt was tight before continuing. “Master Ja-feri says that attachments are not good. He says they are burdens we place on ourselves. But I think that living a life without anyone to care about sounds lonely.” 

“I agree with you, kid. You need friends to both laugh with and watch your back.” Scratch nodded, but quieted himself when Master Ja-feri boarded the ship, the two of them falling in line like children caught sharing secrets in the dark. 

“Everything alright?” Master Ja-feri asked, taking a seat next to his Padawan. 

“Yes sir,” Scratch answered a little too quickly. “We’re prepared for takeoff.” 

*** 

It wasn’t long before the troop landed on Sy Myrth. Dust stirred in the air as the ship touched down, fogging up the windshield and coating the whole ship in a thin layer of yellow sand. The outer rim planet, a little known location that fell under the territory of the Hutts, currently held allegiance to the Separatists, protecting their resources with battle droids.   

“We made it.” Luline grinned, anxiously crowding the dirtied window for a chance to look out upon the desert planet. 

“We have,” Master Ja-feri confirmed, gently taking his Padawan’s hand in one of his fluffy claws and pulling her away from the window to meet with the clones who had gathered in the aircraft’s cockpit. “Listen closely, everyone; these are the mission details. We are to explore and observe the residence of former senator Toonbuck Toora who recently fled to this system after being accused of participating in illegal spice trade.” 

“Sounds simple enough,” Commander Shadow replied. “I would advise we split into two groups to avoid detection, with one Jedi and two clones per group. Scratch, you and Luline seem to have taken a liking to one another. I’ll trust you to lead a team with her and Shade. I’ll travel with Master Ja-feri and Reme.”  

“We’ll communicate via comm, everyone stay attentive, listen for orders, and report in if you see any sign of trouble. Especially you, Luline,” Master Ja-feri instructed before lowering the hatch to the ship and following the entrance ramp down to the sandy ground below, his Padawan close beside him. 

“Master, I don’t want to leave you,” Luline whispered to him in confidence before the groups split. 

Overhearing her words, Scratch appeared at her side and gave the girl a small pat on the head. “You don’t have anything to worry about, kiddo. You’ve got me watching your back while your master is gone.” 

“And you’ve got me watching Scratch to make sure he doesn’t come back with any more scratches than he already has.” Shade teased, earning a small bout of giggles from the Padawan and an angry glare from his Lieutenant.

The two parties trekked through sand and strom for several miles, resting on the dunes and using them as cover as they made their approach. Just as the pointed spires of Toonbuck Toora’s residence appeared on the horizon, a blue indicator light flashed in the corner of Scratch’s vision. 

“Incoming transmission,” Shade said aloud, apparently seeing the indicator light too, before following through and listening to it. 

A gravelly voice sounded in Scratch’s helmet as the transition came through. He recognized it instantly as not belonging to any of his party’s members, but to that of Chancellor Palpatine. “Execute order 66…” 

“Something’s wrong,” Luline whispered before the transmission in Scratch’s helmet even concluded, her deep connection to the force alerting her before anything even happened. She unsheathed her blade, her emerald green lightsaber’s light cutting through the monochromatic color of the surrounding sands. 

For an instant, it felt like time stopped. Scratch’s head spun with the message he’d just received. Order 66 branded all Jedi traitors to the Republic and called for their execution. How could this be possible? Like them, the Jedi were only following orders… 

 Shade raised his blaster. With what could only be described as mindless mechanics, he pivoted to face Luline. 

“No!” Scratch reached for his brother, attempting to pull the blaster from his hands. 

Click.  

The blaster should have fired. But it seemed the Force was with them more than they knew. The faulty safety had gotten stuck yet again on Shade’s weapon, and Scratch was able to pull the blaster from his hands. 

“What do you think you’re doing? Stand down, soldier!” Scratch ordered as Shade dove for his blaster. 

“I’m following orders,” Shade answered, his voice distant and removed. But all Scratch could stand to think was that this wasn’t like him. Something had come over his brother, his movements were mechanical, his eyes focused only on the blaster Scratch held, so intent on doing one thing. He was programmed, just like a droid. 

“What are you waiting for?” Shade yelled. “You have to follow orders, Lieutenant! I’m on your side! We’re brothers! Give me the blaster and let’s finish this together.”

 “If we were brothers, you would have called me by my name,” Scratch whispered, flicking a switch on the blaster and setting it to stun. “Don’t do this, Shade. It’s all in your head. We don’t have to follow that order…Luline is only a padawan. We can’t kill her. This has to be a misunderstanding.” 

“If you support the Jedi, you’ll be branded a traitor too,” Shade replied coldly. “Which means I need to do what has to be done!” He called before diving for the blaster in Scratch’s hands one last time, before Luline reached forward with the Force and pushed him into a sand dune. 

With tears in his eyes, Scratch raised the blaster and stunned his brother. As Shade’s body sank into the sand, unconscious, Scratch kneeled next to him. Hands shaking, he removed the helmet from Shade’s face. “What happened to you?” he whispered, emotion swelling inside his chest. The Shade he knew would never do this. Sure he was cold, aloof, and a tease…but he would never, ever, attempt to harm a child. 

A hand on his shoulder surprised him, and he found Luline at his side. Her lightsaber was sheathed and she appeared surprisingly calm. “You protected me,” she whispered.

“What we were ordered to do was wrong,” Scratch began to say, before he was cut off by another blue light flaring in the corner of his vision. A comm, this time from his commander, Shadow. 

“Has the Jedi been neutralized?” 

Scratch froze. There was no doubt the voice coming across the comm transmission was the one of his commander, but it felt cold and distant… like Shade’s had. 

“Yes,” he lied, trying to keep his composure. 

“Any losses?” 

“No.” 

“Excellent. We succeeded as well. Rendezvous at the ship when clean up is complete.”  

The blue light went dim as the comm was cut off, and the realization hit Scratch. He couldn’t go back to his brothers. He couldn’t return to the friends he had trusted his life with, fought beside, and considered akin to family. They weren’t the same anymore. Nothing would be the same anymore. 

With a heart heavily weighted with grief, he turned to Luline and found her sitting in the sands. Fresh tears sprang from her eyes as she held a hand out as if to reach for the Force. “My master is dead… isn’t he?” She breathed, her arms coming to wrap around herself. “He’s dead…so many are dead…I can feel them in the Force. It’s like the world is screaming.” 

Scratch looked down at his helmet, wondering if the screaming voices she heard were the ones at war in his head. The ones begging him to return to his brothers, to all return to the ship and just follow orders. If only he could leave his conscience behind. If only he could hit his head and cause whatever programming allowed them to go numb to the idea of killing those they swore to support to kick in. 

Hit his head… 

Suddenly Scratch realized why the medical droid claimed it was ill advised to leave without a brain scan. He wasn’t supposed to be behaving like this. Yet, as painful as it was, perhaps he was all the better for it. Perhaps this was as the force willed it. 

Because someone needed him. 

With heavy steps, Scratch trudged toward Luline, lifting the girl from the sands and into his arms. Her head fell against his armor, her tears turning the sand sprinkled across her pale green face to mud. 

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Scratch whispered, knowing he would mean the words to his last breath. Luline was all he had left, and he would do everything in his power to ensure a future for her. A safe place she could grow up, away from war, and away from the fear of being hunted for being a Jedi. He was already in the Outer Rim, a place few would search, and as a stealth trooper he practically spent his whole life learning the art of how to disappear. 

“Thanks, Scratch,” Luline whimpered, her fingers grasping at his armor and holding on tight. “You’re a good friend.” 

“You too,” Scratch replied, forcing down the emotion that welled in the back of his throat. “I’ve got your back, remember?” 

With a long look to Shade, Luline whispered, “No one has your back anymore though.” 

“I guess you’re going to have to watch out for me.”

“I can do that,” the young Jedi promised. “But I’m going to miss all of them.” 

With one last look at the dunes, Shade, and his brothers Scratch knew lay waiting behind the piles of sand, he whispered, “me too.”

Written By: Naomi Hernandez

Image Credit: Ashton Jenson & Midjourney software

Victims

I don’t know what to really feel anymore; it’s weird but I feel all numb now.

There’s nothing anymore;

No happiness.

No stress.

No tiredness.

No grieving.

No anxiety.

Nothing but anger and sadness.

It’s like a black hole that’s surrounding my cold heart. Just somewhere new to call my home.

What is there to say about it?

It won’t change anything for me to go back to when I was that happy kid.

Do I wish I could erase the last 14 years of my life?

Sure. But what can I do?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing…

But I won’t go the easy way out. I was raised to fight my battles. But, when do I stop fighting?

Is it when it consumes me to the point I look in the mirror and don’t know who I see? Or is it when I’ve lost everyone…

One

By

One

— until I’m alone with my thoughts in the dark?

When do the questions end?

When does the wondering end?

When does the darkness clear?

No one has an answer.

Why?

Because no one makes it out alive. It consumes me. I can fight, I can turn it off, I can turn away from it.

But it doesn’t change the fact that once I’ve been kissed by the darkness, I’m its property until I fully lose.

Once I grasp, I’ve ended up there, I’m too far down the hole to comprehend and there’s no coming back up.

There’s no light, only the dark agony of the inner most haunting thoughts of the human mind remains.

The big question, what is the human mind capable of?

This.

You want to know what it can do to you? You want to know what it feels like?

 Stop asking.

Stop looking.

Stop wondering.

You want to know so badly, don’t you?

You want to be the one who can fix people, that takes them out of that hole.

Stop.

You’ll end up there too.

Why?

Because once it sees a new victim, it takes.

No of course not, the previous victim never left its grasp.

They never got out.  

It’s a lifetime in the hole alone and scared, fighting for the light to return. Before the darkness appears again to take what they claimed to be theirs.

No other options.

Not even the strongest powers can bring them back.

Love?

No.

Joy?

No.

Friends?

No.

Think again, think over and over again.

Once you enter the hole, you’re gone for life.

However long that lasts the victims always get claimed.

They do.

You want to remake this into a fantasy of love always wins in the end because of course that always works right?

Oh, I know what about distractions?

Those work, right?

Maybe.

But for how long?

How long can, the numb blank-stare victim fake it?

Until they fall back into the comfort of the darkness, of the pale feeling of their feeling of their own skin?

I’ll tell you 3 months; they act like the perfect body for you for 3 months and make you believe.

Then without notice, they fall back.

But, because they are so used to being in the numb skin you trained them to be in, it’s like they are there. Don’t be fooled, they left long before you tried to save them.

No one can stop the mind from its own darkness. It’s always there watching, never leaving.

You think the weak fall first?

No.

That’s too easy.

What’s the reason for the catch if it falls into the trap?

No.

No.

No.

It’s all or nothing. The strong fall so that the weak have no one to follow. The weak are then forced into the position of the strong.

It’s the chase all over again.

A never-ending cycle.

Of what, you may ask?

Defeat.

But the way you get there is like no other. You pick apart all the things that make you who you are, all the things that make your emotions exist.

All until you can’t remember what it feels like to lift the sides of your mouth.

Of course, you do it though; you need to be able to fool other people.

The people on the outside, the people that think they want you to stay.

But in reality, if you just stopped showing up, they’d soon stop wondering.

They’d soon leave behind all the worries about you. They don’t have to take care of you.

They don’t have to worry about making you happy or keep you smiling.

Keep you alive.

Don’t worry, it’s not that hard.

It’s not your fault.

Or is it?

Written by: Alexis Farino

Image Credit:

The Last Swan in Swan Lake

            Nalee witnessed the grief-stricken swan remove the broken eggshells from her nest upon her return from hiding. The swan froze. She hastily repaired some of the nest then left to search for the rest of her kin. Nalee curiously swam by the nest and observed a single intact egg buried under the rubble. The small egg displayed many scratches on the surface yet remained enclosed. Upon the lonely swan’s return, she hesitantly laid atop the disheveled nest. She held her neck low, barely moved, and occasionally stared at the once populous lake. Nalee kept her distance despite her desire to intercede. For the first time as she returned to her family that night, she never uttered a single “quack.”

            One morning, Nalee noticed a change in the statue-like swan. She no longer slouched over her nest with a blank stare. Now, she stood tall, casting a shadow of discontent on the remaining embryo. A few more days, the swan impatiently waited by the nest until she took action. Nalee turned when she heard the splat. The swan gripped the egg in her beak, lifted her head, and dropped the egg on the dirt. She moved the crushed shards away from her last of kin. Finally, she stared into the eyes of her child. However, the mother already classified the cygnet chirping at her as dead.

            His size measured half the average. The mother’s eyes communicated, “Weak, unfit for survival, and a waste” as her son cried out for her embrace. Seeing an empty home, the mother retreated to a distant place. Nalee responded to the tears of the nest dweller unable to stand. As she approached, his soft sobs deafened. He turned away from her to bury his head in the dirt. Nalee placed a couple small plants around him then distanced herself again. She continued to leave food around the nest daily, even when he hid from her.

One day, Nalee’s nieces and nephews quacked about an odd duckling, who called himself Spyro. His feathers appeared grey, and he stood a head shorter than the others. He attempted to play with the other ducklings, but they could not take his boastfulness. Spyro constantly talked down to them, calling them “weak” and “unnecessary.” He took every opportunity to prove his superiority to them. One of Nalee’s nephews told her that Spyro made fun of him for crying. Spyro made it clear to them that displaying emotions was a useless endeavor. Unfortunately, his arrogant façade left him alone again.

Nalee soon left to search for him in the deeper parts of the lake. When the nest decayed, Nalee ventured to these edges of the lake less and less often. Yet today, she found him in the spot they first met. Spyro still turned away from her, ignoring her presence. Nalee swam closer to offer help. Suddenly, Spyro turned to her and growled, “The strong need no aid.” Nalee moved back to give him more space.

“Are you still waiting for her?” she inquired.

Spyro stayed silent but eventually answered, “Anyone who looks down at their creation and identifies them as an abomination means nothing to me.”

Despite his aggressive remarks, Nalee stayed and made a request. “If you refuse my help so strongly, why don’t I give you a task to help me instead?” she offered.

Spyro faced her. “You want my help?” he heavily inquired.

“Of course. You know this lake better than anyone, and I need help finding information.”

“On what?”

“The incident that left you in my care. I need to know if it could happen again.”

He sighed, “You don’t need to concern yourself with me, but I will help you.”

Spyro left shortly after that to investigate the areas of the lake Nalee’s family never dared to venture. He came across the usual bullet casings, nets, and lures, but today, a child frolicked along the edges of the lake. Spyro observed the human from afar. However, soon the human child excitedly spotted the small bird. Suddenly, the child stretched out his arms and rushed towards the bird. Spyro tried to flee the scene, but quickly he was in the arms of a child heading home. The child strocked Spyro’s feathers and sang to him. The annoyed bird kept trying to struggle free but could not escape the grip.

Soon, Spyro experienced a human village for the first time. He described the place as loud, busy, and stressful, the complete opposite of the lake. The child proudly displayed him to everyone they passed. Eventually, the child placed Spyro in the hands of a lady wearing an elaborate dress of white feathers. He observed the humans’ reactions of exasperated praise towards him. Luckily, Spyro broke the lady’s grasp while she posed for a photo. He stretched his wings and flew as far away as he could. On the way out of the village, he noted their worship of swan feathers.

Spyro flew in the opposite direction of the lake and failed to locate Nalee. He stopped to rest at a very secluded lake. There, he recognized a figure surrounded by an entire flock of swans. Spyro froze. He hesitantly began to approach with the intent to ask for aid. However, he stopped. The swan he gazed at approached a nest with new hatchlings. She coddled them, fed them, and looked at them with a smile on her face. Her children looked at her as their mother, but Spyro turned to continue his search for Nalee. He left the swan to be with his replacements.

Eventually, Nalee welcomed Spyro home after his long journey back. However, at first, she did not recognize him. He became a little taller, and his feathers appeared white, no longer grey. Nalee expressed her concern that he might never return. Instead of comforting her, he responded in his same arrogant way, “You don’t need to concern yourself with me; I just took some time for myself.” After reuniting, Spyro told Nalee about the dangerous humans that lurked near by in search of swan feathers. Nalee quietly listened as he informed her about the rest of his investigation. Then, Nalee asked, “Are you going to leave the lake? It is not safe for you here. Maybe you could find another lake with more swans to live with.” Spyro paused and gave no answer.

He replied, “What will you do?” Nalee responded that it would be up to her family after she informed them of the danger. Then, Spyro finally answered, “I guess my answer is the same. It is up to you if I stay or go, but either way I want to be with family.”

Written by Rachel Caña

Image Credit

I don’t know what to say

Have fun, survive, and maintain the smoke signal.

In the years during the war, there was news of a plane that crashed on a remote island somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. The only survivors, a group of preadolescent boys. Eventually rescued by a naval cruiser that spotted their smoke signal, what the boys became on the island was near monstrous. How easily they surrendered their innocence, or perhaps, how sad it was to witness the robbery of it.

As the boys readjusted to life in proper civilization–one filled with many outbursts of frustration, relief, and fear of what had become foreign to them–and word of their experiences traveled ‘round and was met with grand displays of distant empathy, little regard was given toward news of a girl who also found herself on that remote island somewhere in the Pacific ocean, surrounded by boys. That detail, though, the girl would never realize.

            Like field observations, much was researched and concluded of the psyche of boys–most notably, their susceptibility to paranoia and seemingly instinctual draw to disorganization and chaos–due to the events on the island that each of them reported. How sound a retelling, professionals could only hope for the best, but they are strangers to their own desperation of evidence for their agendas. The mind is quick to scrape up proof of what we want to be true.

“We need to leave, now.” Ralph stormed out of the forest to see The girl was laying on the shore, eyes to the sky, focused on the sound of her breathing. It was a clear day. She closed her eyes.

“And go where?” She laughed. She heard his feet move close to her, felt him grab her wrist and drag her to her feet. Sand falling from her clothes, she stumbled forward and gasped, eyes flying to Ralph’s. His were bloodshot and wide. He was manic, and that made her scared. A beat passed. The girl’s eyes searched his.  Her brow furrowed, “What’s happened?”

“They’re coming after me, Jack and his hunters.” He replied. She looked around, finally realizing Ralph was alone.

Taking a step back, she asked, “Where are Simon and Piggy?”

Have fun. Ralph’s gaze dropped. His eyes were no longer manic, like he had finally remembered something he had had no time to process. “Dead.”

She snatched her hand out of his, suddenly fearful of him. “Dead? No, that doesn’t make sense. They were just with you.”

“They thought Simon was the beast.” He started. The girl laughed again, this time out of anger. She reached out a hand, preparing to shove Ralph because of the ludicrousy of his statement.

“The beast? Ralph, there is no beast–”

“I know that, but they don’t!” He shouted, his lips tight. The Girl’s smile dropped. She looked down and stepped away from him, suddenly untrusting of his nearness to her. A few moments passed, neither of them wanting to solidify with their words what had happened to their friend. Quietly, he added, “At least, I don’t think they do. Part of me hopes they don’t. They beat him.” He finished. The Girl looked up at him again, hearing his voice crack, and softened at the heartbreak on his face.

“And Piggy?”

“Caught in a trap. They wanted his–”

“Glasses.” she finished, for him. Ralph nodded, and the Girl rolled her eyes, now too irritated to be sad. Them and their stupid fire. She thought. She moved back toward the water, her back to Ralph.

The girl couldn’t wrap her head around how far the game had gone. How quickly they transitioned from one reality to the next worried her. Just then, a tree fell to the ground. Ralph reached for the girl’s arm, again, begging her to move. They could smell the fire before they could see it, no doubt in their mind this was Jack’s doing. They were going to burn the island down to find them.

“Please, we need to go,” he repeated. The Girl looked at him, studying his worry in his face, and then looked back toward the trees. She didn’t know what he meant. They had nowhere to go. They could run circles around the island, over and over, but Jack would eventually catch up with them. It was either him or the flames. She kept these truths to herself, though, seeing Ralph’s desperation. She would cling to the hope he had deluded himself into having. She nodded, and they ran.

Survive. Ralph led them back through the forest. Their feet blistered and covered in blood. To their right, they heard shouts followed by feet crunching on debris, running toward them. Ralph ran faster, and tightened his grip on the girl’s wrist. She was beginning to slip through, her legs not quite as long as his.

“We’re almost there.” He said. Just up ahead, Ralph had spotted the opening to the other shore of the island. Then, the girl screamed. Another pair of hands pulled her out of his grasp and back towards the forest—Jack’s. Ralph whipped around and made moves to tug her back to him, but the girl’s face had paled. Her mouth agape and her eyes glazing. Ralph’s eyes frantically surveyed her body, confused. It was too quick, there was no way—

There, on her left side, just below her ribs a spot of crimson started to bloom. Ralph heard the sound of a knife exiting her body, and Jack let her collapse to the ground. Funny how in that moment, the girl had every belief that Ralph would save her. A self defense mechanism, those later would conclude. When she looked ahead, though, she saw Ralph mouth “I’m sorry,” and run away. A tear rolled down her cheek onto the forest ground. She thought back to the crash, to the way she always woke to the smell of fire, and she hoped death would take her before the flames did.

Death on the island had become an expectation. Ralph could not linger on the girl dying; he could not linger on the emptiness that now clouded him. He knew Jack would not give him time to. He was right behind him, and Ralph could practically hear his grin, feel the frenzy that radiated off him. This was a game, and Jack was the most competitive person on the island. A few more strides and he would be through the trees, but then what? Ralph choked down a sob. It was eerily silent, just the sound of the two boys’ pants and burning trees. Ralph wished Jack would taunt him, wished that he would talk to him. Too late for that, though, Ralph supposed. He needed to stop wishing for things that could no longer happen, and focus on what could. Just make it to the ocean. He told himself. Then, with the open world to witness, he would accept Jack’s victory. When he saw the expanse of the sea, he let himself fall.

“Are you okay?” Ralph had collapsed into someone’s arms. They were firm and clean. He looked up, and backlit by the sun, Ralph made out a man’s face, a stranger. Maintain the smoke signal. Ralph turned his head back towards the forest, toward Jack and his hunters. The boys stood and faced ahead of them, and then they started to cry. Ralph hadn’t seen them cry since they all awoke that first night, scared and hopeless. He didn’t think he could handle any more fear, he had grown tired of it–by it. If another threat waited for them, Ralph prepared to finally surrender. He studied their faces again, and out of curiosity, he followed their direction, and out just a swim away from shore was a boat.  He looked back up at the mysterious figure, his brain starting to piece it all together. The boys crying, as if out of relief, not fear. The naval officer was still looking at him, and with concern on his face, he said, “We saw the smoke.”

Written by: Gaylemarie Badrina

Image Credit:

I Hardly Know What to Say

It had been two months since Darcy had admitted that he had confessed to Elizabeth how she bewitched him, body, and soul, and how he wished not to be parted from her from that day on. After months and months of agony, she finally told him that she loved him. They were the happiest people alive.

But Mrs. Bennet was anything but discreet, and Lady Catherine de Bourgh was anything but amicable to their marriage. The happy couple decided that the best thing to do for the moment was to keep their romance quiet until a better time arose.

“Elizabeth,” Darcy whispered. No reply.

“Lizzie!” He whispered again, a little louder and more impatiently.

“Hush, not so loud!” Came an equally fiery murmur from the other side of the wall as he began to hear the sounds of climbing. The unstable pieces of stone crumbled under her feet as she used the tangled vines to hoist herself up. Her head poked above the wall, and Darcy gave her a soft smile as he held up his arms to catch her. Gravel crunched under her feet as she was deposited onto the road behind the Bennet estate.

Darcy quietly broke the silence. “Elizabeth, I insist that we conceive some way of seeing each other that does not involve your scrambling over a dirty wall like a thief.”

Elizabeth looked down at her dress, now roughed up and muddied, and grinned up at him.

“Do you remember how I appeared when I first came to Pemberley? Have you considered that I am perhaps deliberately attempting to reenact it?”

“I did not consider that,” he smiled, taking her arm in his. “Did you not waken Jane?”

Elizabeth laughed heartily, then more quietly, remembering the proximity to her house.

“She is much too busy dreaming of her Bingley to notice her uncivilized sister climbing out the window.”

They walked this way for some time under the light of the moon, stepping over fences and trudging through the grass until Pemberly appeared over the hill.

“What about Georgiana?” Elizabeth inquired with notes of worry. “Will she not be disturbed?”

“She is fast asleep,” Darcy reassured her as he guided her through the ornate front doors, “and if she wakes, I am sure she will be delighted to see you, regardless the time of night.” Darcy paused in the foyer with a contemplative expression.

“Lizzie,” he asked. “When will we tell your parents we are in love? When will we tell Lady Catherine de…”

“Ideally,” Elizabeth interrupted mischievously, “never!”

They entered the room where Elizabeth had first marveled at the bust of Darcy’s handsome face. The room was dark, and the moonbeams filtered softly through the windows, playing with the shadows and dancing around the various statues and paintings. Elizabeth leaned down to stare at a bust of Lady Catherine de Bourgh and made faces at it.

“Come now, Lizzie, I want to marry you,” Darcy exclaimed in frustration. Elizabeth did a tour around the statue to come to his side.

Pressing her hand against his, she said, “I absolutely, positively, and without a doubt want to marry you Fitzwilliam Darcy, and I’ll make you a wager.”

Darcy raised his eyebrows and smiled at the twinkle in her eyes. “I am listening.”

“I am going to start running at the count of three, and if you can catch me before your lake, I will deal with my mother’s insufferable squealing and your aunt’s melodramatic protestations.”

Darcy accepted, unhooking their arms and taking a step back. Elizabeth began counting.

“One… two…” And off she went before uttering “Three.”

Darcy was prepared for a deception like this, of course. However, he had made a fatal mistake to contest a nobleman and a countrywoman in a running match.

Through the statue rooms they flew. Darcy noticed mid-flight that somehow Elizabeth had snuck her shoes off before the race. “Cheater.”

They ran through the drawing room, around the piano, up the stairs, back down the stairs, tripping over carpet corners and crashing into chairs until they ran pell-mell outside towards the lake. Darcy could see defeat ahead and mustered up one final burst of energy. Lunging forth he wrapped his arms around her torso just as they both found themselves sprinting head-long past the rushes and into the lake.

They emerged from the water winded and no longer cautious to keep their tones down for the time of night.

“Fitz…William… Darcy…!” Elizabeth exclaimed as she burst from the water; her pride hurt from losing the match.

“I have won,” Darcy laughed jovially, wading nearer in order to taunt her. Few people ever got to see him like this besides Elizabeth. “Which means you must hold up your end of the bargain.”

“I hardly know what to say,” she beamed as he pulled her closer.

“Say you will marry me, Lizzie,” Darcy uttered desperately, searching her eyes for an answer.

“Ardently.”

Written by: Gracie Hatley

Image Credit

Hyde & Seek

A Stone

            Just as her hand was about to press down the lever to deliver the shock, the window broke. An ugly, jagged stone rolled in front of her feet with a crudely written, “Play?” etched onto it with what looked like charcoal. Wednesday sighed in annoyance, she wouldn’t be electrocuting Pugsley today…another failed attempt.

            “He’s here,” she stated dryly, unbinding her brother from the chair.

            “Amazing! It’s still early, so maybe we can go to the woods!” Pugsley shot for the door the moment he was loose like a wiggly pig.

The children were welcomed on their doorstep by a scrawny young figure about their age. This was Hyde Foundry. His curly black hair set shaggy on his pale face. He always wore the same thing: brown trousers, a matching brown blazer that looked slightly too big and twice his age, and a toad skull pin on his lapel.

            “Aren’t we headed to the woods, then? It’ll be a full moon tonight.” He grinned. His pleasant, freckled face and pale skin were dreadfully offset by the sheer vigor always reeling behind his dark eyes. The Addams children met Hyde early in their lives. As neighbors, the Addams and Foundry families endured each other’s company with wicked delight. They often went golfing together, the winner (the one who broke the most windows) would buy the rest hatchets, hound dogs, and Hitlerszalonna. Now, as crudely independent, and earnestly rotten, Wednesday, Pugsley, and Hyde played together quite often, much to the neighborhood’s dismay. Not many days past between when hordes of cockroaches or murderous hawks rained down terror upon the little community—all due to the poke, pry, and play of these three.

            “I brought lead, and salt, and bones to bury,” Hyde said, leading the way over dry sod toward the woods. “I also sewed black thread into my trousers and stamped a note with my own blood!” He listed his preparations for the full moon voyage.

            “Yeah, that’s nice and all. Mother gave me dead rose stems and a sediment pebble from trout brains.” Pugsley tipped his nose up, ignoring his slight trip in the tall, twisted grass.

            “What did you bring, Wens?” Hyde looked back at the eldest of the three.

            “Don’t call me that, Foundry.” Wednesday stared him down sternly.

Pugsley chuckled, but quickly averted his cheer upon meeting his sister’s cold look. The children trod through the grass and small rocky paths, finally making it to the edge of the woods. The dark trees loomed tall and large up close, and a sense of chill swept over the eager group.

            “What a beautiful night,” Wednesday said, watching the sun’s tinge fade away to the growing expanse of dark blues, greys, and blacks.

            “Shall we?” Hyde grinned wide, his eyes reeling reeling reeling.

A Chill

            The three friends started down the beaten trail of the woods. As regular visitors to the dim landscape, they knew exactly how long to follow the path before veering off into the underbrush. The call of crows, crunch of dry grass and sticks, and the children’s breathing were the only sounds in the woody silence; all seemed eerily loud in the expanse.

            “The underbrush seems taller each time, yet it’s dead each time as well,” Pugsley heaved, lifting his stubby legs high to break down the obstacles Hyde neglected to clear.

            “It will be a good night.” Wednesday marched in front of her brother. She did not seem to notice the sharp grass cutting away at her bare legs.

            Hyde stopped. “Sh!” His arms spread out, signaling a halt.

            “What?” Pugsley whispered, quite loudly.

            “Shut up!” Hyde snapped.

The children stood still as stone, a chilly breeze rustling the tall, grey foliage surrounding them. After many dead minutes, Hyde’s head turned slowly to his accompaniment, a wicked smile plastered his face, his eyes ripe with excitement.

            “It’s Seek.”

On his word, the breeze picked up to a brisk cold. The leaves swirled and the trees swayed.

            Pugsley, “who’s that?”

Wednesday, “nice.”

Their voices were lost in the looming sound of wind and the creaking of trees. Hyde started forward, with only a simple hand gesture to alert his friends. Wednesday and Pugsley followed him swiftly, and as they followed, they noticed the sky disappearing with deeper tree coverage. The dark branches sucked the grey light away more and more. Soon, a charcoal atmosphere stretched across the children’s vision, only dark shadows and slivers of misty light swayed sparsely. They continued to trek, soon feeling the underbrush lighten and a chill space spread out.

            “A glade,” said Wednesday.

            “A stage,” said Hyde, standing beside her.

A Fall

            “This is it?” Pugsley asked in underwhelm, scratching the side of his leg and dusting leaves off his messy hair.

            “The light will shine, and the wind will settle, so long as we stay quiet and walk softly.” Hyde’s voice turned low and smooth. Eagerness exuded from him, causing Wednesday to shiver in anxiousness. They walked slowly into the forest opening, eyes sharply jumping from shadow to shadow. The overbearing wind and trembling of the trees died instantly as they entered the glade.

            “Into the center,” Hyde whispered.

They stood still, waiting. The atmosphere seemed dull, like a dome covered the glade, muffling any sounds coming from the woods beyond. Hyde began pulling out his lead, and salt, and bones, laying them gently in from of him. He placed his blood-sealed note in front of the parcels ever so delicately. Wednesday and Pugsley followed along, placing their items in from of them neatly.

            “Now,” Hyde said, breaking the silence, “we need the sacrifice.”

            “A rabbit or mouse?” Pugsley peered over at Hyde.

            “That’ll never do.” Hyde studied the ground.

            “Pugsley,” Wednesday stated.

            “What?” Both boys asked, each with very different tones.

            “Pugsley should do,” she repeated.

            Hyde smiled, “Ah yes. Genius.”

            “Are you sure?” Pugsley hid the tremble in his voice.

            “No, it’s perfect actually!” Hyde reached for the bowie knife attached to his trousers.

            “Okay, I guess…” Pugsley turned to his companions with apprehension.

Hyde and Wednesday stood over Pugsley. “Lay down Pugs.” Hyde gestured to the open space in the center of the offerings.

“Will it hurt?” asked Pugsley.

“Of course,” Hyde responded.

“It will be horrific,” said Wednesday.

Pugsley laid in the chill grass, looking up as Hyde began straddling over him, adjusting the position of his knife and practicing his swings.

            “Tell me when?”

            “No, it should be a surprise.” Hyde said flatly, assessing his grip.

Wednesday stepped aside to observe, pressing her cold fingers between her arms.

Hyde studied his trajectory, correcting as he went and managing his foot placement carefully. After what seemed an eternity of adjusting to Pugsley, Hyde whispered, “okay,” to himself, smiling softly in his acquisition of the perfect angle. He slowly brought his hand up, steading his frame when…

Swoosh!!

A Muse 

            “Ahhggggg!”

Hyde let out a jagged cry, tripping over Pugsley and falling into the grass. His knife fell, sticking in the ground next to Pugsley’s head.

            “Ah!” Pugsley started, then opened his eyes to find his chest still intact.

Wednesday whirled around to the source of the flying object that struck Hyde. A small figure hid behind the dark shadows, evading the dim, grey light. She ran over, intent to trap the assailant. Within the opaque shadow, Wednesday stood, focusing on her other senses to locate her prey.

Swoosh!!

Another flying object flew, only skimming past Wednesday. Immediately, she heard the assailant’s step in the dry grass and lurched toward the sound.

            “Owww!”

            “Wednesday!” Pugsley yelled, watching his sister disappear into the shadow.

            “Stop Seek!” Hyde shouted firmly, as he sat on the ground where he fell rubbing his head.

Out from the shadow, Wednesday pulled a young girl by her leg as she thrashed around, a slingshot in her hand.

            “You stole my slingshot, you dull!” Hyde’s wild eyes fizzled with annoyance, “I didn’t get to stab Pug.”

            “I was supposed to!” The girl’s voice rustled the glade, her pitch shrill and fiery.

            “Who is this?” Wednesday dropped the girl’s leg, also sharing an annoyed expression.

            “It’s Seek, she ruined the whole thing…the performance was going so well.” Hyde pulled his knees to his chest, pouting.

            “She was going to sacrifice me?” Pugsley looked betrayed by the possibility this girl would do such a sacred task.

            “The next full moon is far away,” Hyde groaned, still holding his legs close to him.

            “This is stupid, I’m going home.” Wednesday brushed off her skirt and began strutting away, Pugsley promptly stood to follow her.

            “Wait! What about the feast?” Seek wined.

            “Feast?” said Pugsley.

            “Oh yes, I brought a basket of pig rind, squid soup, and fungal tarts.” She grinned.

            “I’m not in the mood for squid soup…I want to sacrifice Pugs.” Hyde rubbed his eyes, smearing more grass and dirt on his face.

            “I could go for some fungal tarts.” Wednesday walked back, “But please don’t talk and don’t look at me.” She looked down at Seek, a frail girl dressed in dirty stockings and a shaggy plaid dress.

            “Deal!” She raced back into the shadowy outline of the glade to bring back a black picnic basket and a jug.

The children set aside their offerings, laid a blanket, and began sorting through the picnic niblets. Hyde sat dejected, picking up a slice of rye, but eventually he began talking and gesturing and telling the others about his grand plans for the next full moon and his experiments in his parents’ basement and the way his dog was growing a third ear. The night waned on, a breeze blew through the homely glade and the shadows shifted with the sway of the trees. The woods were quiet, and the children sat in soft agony. As the rye and tarts began to turn into crumbs, Pugsley looked up at Seek.

            “So, which house do you live in?”

            “What?” She said through a mouthful of squid.

            “In the neighborhood. Do you live in the ugly yellow house or the horrid brick one?”

            “Or the beautiful eyesore that is the colonial style one at the end?” Wednesday added.

            “I don’t live out there. I stay here.” She continued munching.

            “Oh?” Pugsley said, confused.

            “Hyde,” Wednesday turned to him, “where did you find this girl?”

            Hyde sat back, a smirk running across his face.

            “I didn’t necessarily find her.”

            The Addams children stared at their friend. “Huh?” Pugsley said.

            “She’s me.”

            Silence.

            “He’s me,” Seek said.

            “We’re the same.” Both children stated in unison.

            “I found her here in the woods, and gave her back a consciousness,” Hyde added.

            “Curious,” said Wednesday.

            “Wednesday!”

The Addams children turned their head toward the shout.

            “Wednesday!”

The glade grew dark.

            “Wednesday, don’t turn around.”

Pugsley shrieked.

            “Wednesday, go!”

Wednesday felt a chill behind her, and a small crunching sound echoed at her back.

            “…Wens?” resonated Hyde’s smooth voice.

Reeling, reeling, reeling.

 “Hyde?” Wednesday asked, shivering.

Reeling, reeling, reeling.

“Yes?” Hyde’s voice calmly responded.

Reeling, reeling, reeling.

“Turn around.” His voice whispered, closely in Wednesday’s ear.

“Hy—”

She turned.

Written by: Kayla Harper

Image Credit

A Collector’s Piece, Indeed

There is something to be said, I suppose, of those who fill their houses with things that remind them of love. Those who dedicate their lives to finding those items that fill them with joy. Those collectors do have the best of intentions, I assume. But he was not like them.

Those collectors, they devote themselves to finding materialistic pleasures that can only remind them of what they really want.

He would rather bypass the material and go straight for the actual thing.

He remembered when he first heard the girl sing. She was young—most of the people who were willing to make a transaction with him were—but he was immediately struck by the beauty of her voice, the power and raw emotion behind it. This was something so rare—so truly exquisite—that he knew he would never, ever, encounter another voice like hers. A collector’s piece, indeed.

He had to have it.

When he brought her to his catacombic lair the first time, she was frightened. Most of them were. He had learned how to behave around them, how to dance around the issue like one might dance around a skittish animal, and how to carefully toe the line until they were ready to hear what he had to say. This girl, she seemed cleverer than most, and while she was afraid, he saw intrigue written rather boldly across her face, framed by curly brown hair and the glittering headpiece she hadn’t had time to remove.

“The rumors are true, then,” she said finally. Her voice quivered, but he saw that she staunchly refused to show any fear. A caged bird frantically beating her wings.

“Rumors?” he said, sweeping off his cape.

“Of the ghost.”

“Do I look like a ghost to you?” he asked, spreading his arms out wide. Like an eagle facing a sparrow.

            “No,” she said. “You look like a man.”

            He let his arms fall slowly, taking one step closer to her. “I can assure you, Miss Daaé, I am no man.”

            The girl faltered for a moment. “How do you know my name?”

            “I know everything about you, Christine.”

            Christine’s already pale face went even whiter. “No.” She took one step backwards, then another.

            “You can’t run, Christine.”

            “What do you want from me?”

            He reached out, grabbed her arm. “Just one thing.”

            She tried to wrest her arm free. “Let go of me! I want to leave. Let me leave!”

            He squeezed, just tight enough for her to fall silent. He stared at her, gazing into her clear blue eyes, tears trembling on her lashes. They said nothing for a long moment, Christine too afraid to speak and he waiting for the right time to strike.

            “I’m a collector,” he said finally.

            Christine’s eyes went from fearful to confused. “What?”

            He let go of her arm, satisfied that she wouldn’t run away. Where would she go?

            “I’m a collector,” he repeated, turning away from her and making his way to the organ.

            “What do you collect?” she asked, her voice wary.

            “My collections don’t consist of physical things, my dear, nothing as frivolous as that. No, Christine, I’m a collector of something much deeper. “Only things you can experience, nothing you can touch.”

            “What does that mean?” the girl asked, the tremor in her voice returning. “What could I possibly give you?”

            He sat, his fingers trailing over the ivory keys. “Your voice.”

            Her hand went to her throat. “My voice? How can you do that?”

            “I told you, Christine, I am not a mere man. Such primitive human constraints do not bind me to the same rules that you must follow.”

            Christine trembled, her eyes wide, resembling a baby bird shivering in the wind. “Please let me go,” she whispered.

            The man—the Phantom—stood suddenly. “You will not leave this place until you give me what I ask.”

            “I don’t know how to do that!”

            “I ask nothing of you except your voice. All you must do is stand before me. The extraction will take moments and you will not feel any pain.” Sometimes it was better to lie to them. If they knew the truth, they would beat their wings even harder.

            “I don’t believe you.” He could hear the panic in her voice.

            “I cannot make you believe me,” he said evenly. “I cannot even make you do this for me. But I can keep you here with me until you comply.”

            “No, you cannot—unhand her!”

            The Phantom looked up as Christine whipped around, watching two figures suddenly fly into the room. One of them was a young man—tall, strapping, dark—and the other was a girl about Christine’s age.

            “Raoul!” Christine yelped, running to him, and in his shock, the Phantom didn’t even stop her. She threw her arms around him and he held her close, murmuring to her. The other girl, dressed in the traditional white of the ballet rats, eyed the lair nervously. Unable to help himself, the Phantom studied her pointe shoes, already wondering what it would take to siphon her ability to use them.

            “Meg,” Christine said, pulling her into a hug too.

            “Christine, what’s going on?” Raoul demanded, holding her at arms’ length. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

            “I’m all right, Raoul, really.”

            Raoul turned to the Phantom then, sweeping both girls behind him. “Let her go!”

            The Phantom studied him coolly, trying to assess if there was anything about him worth taking. His love for Christine, perhaps. “I can’t do that.”

            “Take me instead, then,” the boy insisted.

            “NO—” Christine started.

            Admirable. Pathetic, but admirable. Perhaps he’d take his courage.

            He watched the three people before him. Christine, defiant but terrified. Raoul, protective but inept, really. Meg, fiery, but hardly a threat.

            “Did you not hear me?” Raoul repeated, his voice harsh. “Take. Me. Instead!”

            The Phantom, skilled at assessing his prey, watched Raoul’s eyes, then slid his gaze to Christine’s and then Meg’s. It stayed there, reading her thoughts without needing to pry.

            “Don’t take him,” she said finally. “Take me.”

            “Meg!” Christine protested.

            “Christine, let me do this,” Meg said, her little hands shaking. “I won’t let either of you lose any of part the other. Or yourselves.”

            The Phantom heard the footsteps of the mob above him. Not much time. His window was closing.

            Christine’s voice was, of course, preferable. Nothing could compare. Raoul, frankly, was useless to him. Meg’s skill was impressive, he supposed. It would be a priceless addition to his collection, nothing like Christine’s voice, but he could always take that another time. He would find her, he always could.

            “Fine,” he conceded, dismissing the other two with a wave of his hand. “Follow me, child.”

            “No!” Christine lurched forward, reaching for her friend.

            The Phantom slapped her hand away. “She’s made her choice, Miss Daaé. You and your fiancé are free to leave.”

            “I’m not leaving her!”

            The Phantom flicked his hand again, sending Christine and Raoul staggering backwards a few steps. “You may stay if you wish, but only if you are silent.”

            “I’m not going to be—”

            He snapped his fingers and Christine’s voice cut off like someone had switched off a radio. “What did you do?” Raoul yelled, taking her face in her hands.

            “I silenced her voice temporarily. She’ll be fine. If you don’t shut up, I’ll silence yours too.” How he wished he could have taken her voice right then and there, but it wasn’t that simple. He turned back to Meg.

            Her small form trembled, but she said nothing. He rested his hand on her head for a moment, closing his eyes in concentration.

            Meg was silent for a moment, and then she screamed once, a horrible, bloodcurdling scream.

            Then nothing.

            She collapsed onto her hands and knees, sobbing. The Phantom backed up, away from her, feeling the power he took from her coursing through him. He turned towards his collection then, selecting a small vial, and he watched Meg’s power settle inside.

            “What did you do to her?” Raoul asked, starting forward. “Is she all right?”

            “She will be. You need to leave.” He took Meg roughly by the arm and heaved her up, thrusting her towards Raoul. “You might have to carry her.”

            Christine found her voice finally. “What’s wrong with her?”

            “I can’t dance anymore,” Meg said suddenly, her voice tiny.

            Christine stared at her. “How do you know?”

            “He took it. That’s what he does. I wasn’t going to let him take anything from either of you.”

            “I don’t understand,” Christine wept. “Meg, I’m so sorry.”

            The Phantom could tell that Meg didn’t quite understand either. The simplest way to explain it was that he had taken that talent from her, bottled it up, and kept it for himself. He had left her passion but took her ability.

            The mob grew closer. Raoul scooped up Meg, who was swaying on her feet, and turned to go, his motive clearly only to get them to safety. Christine turned to follow him, but not before pinning the Phantom with such a withering glare that he stepped back. “I will find a way to reverse this,” she hissed, her voice hard with resolve. “And I will return. Meg’s sacrifice for us will not be in vain. You won’t win. I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care where you are; I will find you.”

            She left, and the air hang heavy with the weight of her promise.

            She was just a girl. He was more powerful than any human on this earth.

            And yet, somehow, he knew she meant it.

            And he was afraid.

By Caroline Johnson

Image Credit

Little Soul

In darkness, she waits. A lone soul long dead, a girl stripped of everything from a tender age. She remembers little of her life, but clings to one memory of something called “light.” She recalls it being warm and bright, golden or white, a welcoming sight. But she has not seen nor heard of anything like that for years, you see, not here, not in Hades. 

Day in and day out, souls drift through a canyon of black, across a glossy dark river. Styx is an unforgiving stream, and her waters take everything. Names, memories, one’s very being, until all that remains is a lifeless husk, the empty soul of someone who once was. Only the strongest of souls are said to retain any thoughts from their past lives. Perhaps this was why King Hades sought her out as a useful device. 

“Little Soul,” he called her, “How do you remember such things? You surrendered your life to me when you were only three.”

Little Soul paused, calculating her reply. “Perhaps I am like Achilles who still remembers his name. I could have been a great hero if it weren’t for the Fates.” 

“Is that so?” Hades laughed as he approached, his ominous figure coming in close. Curling an arm around Little Soul’s side, he swept his dark cloak open wide so as to cover her shoulders and take her under his wing. “Tell me more of who you think you could be.” 

“Perhaps I am like the king who never forgot his epic journey, the one he calls his odyssey. Or maybe my soul is like that of the muse who still sways and hums to her unforgettable tune.”
          

“Fine then, I have a job for you,” Hades declared, giving Little Soul a scare. She couldn’t imagine what he would require of her, a tragic being who’d barely spent any time on Earth. Though she longed to have spent her life as a hero, a poet, or a princess, the Fates had something else in store: death. If there was one thing she knew for certain, the fates were as cruel as a serpent. 

“I have someone I want you to meet,” Hades began, sweeping Little Soul up off her feet and carrying her to Styx’s beach. “A new soul came in this morning, one with memories. She goes by the name of Eurydice.” 

True as it can be, the soul of a beautiful young woman stood looking longingly over her shoulder on the beach. Her eyes searched the waters past the river Styx, as if waiting for someone or something. 

“What are you looking for?” Hades inquired, setting Little Soul down next to Eurydice. 

“My lover,” Eurydice whispered, eyes still searching the waves. 

A wry grin crossed Hades’s face. “Your lover isn’t here. He’s up in the world above. Eurydice, you’re separated from your love.” 

“Then he will come find me. I know he will,” she replied with total certainty, shocking the watching Little Soul. 

But Hades just laughed and laughed. “Mortal! You’re dead! Would you wish the same fate on Orpheus?” 

“So you know his name.” Eurydice smiled, unintimidated by the god of the underworld. “Hades, are you perhaps afraid?”  

The dark god shook with rage, trapped by his own words. Little Soul could tell that he knew about Orpheus, and by the smile on Eurydice’s lips, she knew that the stranger had full confidence her love would come. 

“What was he like?” Little Soul whispered, moving from the shadows to face Eurydice. She found something in the girl’s eyes intriguing. It almost reminded her of…light. 

“Orpheus could sing the world into motion. His words moved my heart and I fell in love.” Eurydice explained. “He’s soft and gentle, a tenderhearted man with a strong soul. For he was the son of a muse, and his voice could soothe even the hearts of the gods.” 

Little Soul felt her heart warm as Eurydice went on telling the story of her love, how they’d met, where they’d fallen for one another, and how they’d married. Much to Hades’s disturbance, she remembered it all, for their love was so strong. And much to his dismay, Orpheus would come for Eurydice that very day. 

Eurydice waited by the river, Little Soul with her, when the waters parted with the sound of music. A lyre’s strings strummed, and a heavenly voice hummed a tune above it all. The ghosts of the departed startled and bowed at the feet of a young man with a gentle face, bright eyes, and a glowing voice so warm and welcoming…it reminded her of light. 

“Eurydice,” he called, wrapping his arms around his love. “Remember me? It’s Orpheus. I’ve come for you. You don’t belong here in this land of night; return with me to the light.” 

“Not so fast!” Hades’s voice boomed, the dark god’s presence looming over the two. “What are you doing here boy? You’re trespassing in my kingdom.” 

Orpheus strung his lyre and a silky tune filled everyone’s ears. His melody sang so pure and smooth that the very air shivered with his words. The waters shook, and every soul turned to look as Orpheus begged Hades to set them free. Little Soul felt her heart melt with Oprheus’ words. His honey-sweet melodies drew her in and filled her mind with greater beauty than she’d ever known. 

“Stop it! Enough!” Hades chose to interrupt, pointing a finger back to whence the couple had come. “Leave, before you remind these dead souls of what they’re missing. But beware Orpheus, there’s only one way out. Walk single file and don’t look back. If you turn before you enter the land of the living, if you look back at Eurydice, I’ll claim her soul for eternity.” 

Little Soul’s heart lurched, watching them go. Who were these two, and how were they blessed enough to know one another? It wasn’t fair. When all she could cling to was the slightest memory of light…they remembered each other. She envied Eurydice. All this talk of life and love made her stomach churn with jealousy. She never got to experience those things. She never got to grow up, never got to experience love. The only life she’d ever known was a life in Hades, a slave to the dark, a useless puppet taunted with a single glimmering memory of light. 

Hades leaned down by her side. “Remember how I had a job for you?” 

Little Soul looked up at him with wide eyes. “Yes?” 

“I know what you long for; they are the very things you will never find here, my dear,” Hades told her. “But make a deal with me, and I will set you free.”

Little Soul gasped. “I’ll do anything.” 

“Don’t allow Eurydice to escape. Her soul is mine, and I won’t let it be stolen from me by an ambitious young boy and his musical strings.” Hades huffed. “Follow them, and when Eurydice falls, you can take her place in the land of the living.” 

“Really?” Little Soul whispered, amazed by the offer. 

“Yes, now go!” Hades declared, pushing her forward. So, off she went, following behind Orpheus and his wife. Though they could not see one another, the couple communicated beautifully. Orpheus would sing warnings as he led the way, his gentle words calming Eurydice. 

“Careful now, my love, this ledge would be terrible to fall off of.” 

“Be wary now my flower, the cave is narrow; so cower low and let me sing you home.” 

At last they reached a great door, one Orpheus claimed he’d walked through before. He swung it open wide and walked his way inside. But something caused little soul to pause, as what she knew to always be true spilled out through the door. Her dream, her vision, the hope she clung to. 

“Light!” she exclaimed, gasping at a sunny day. 

It was spring, and flowers were blooming with the wonder of Persephone. A gust of wind caught the sides of her face in a chilly embrace, as bluebirds caught hold of the same breeze, using it to fly with ease. Grass peeked through the melting snow, like the little squirrels buried in a hollow. This was nothing like the world below… this was a world of light. 

With every ounce of her little soul, the girl longed to know what it felt like to live a life in the world of light. But with her exclamation of joy, Orpheus turned to look back once more, before his wife could walk through the door. 

She saw the brokenness in his eyes as he contemplated his wife’s demise. He reacted a second too soon, a second so unfortunate that he would lose everything to it. Little Soul saw Orpheus’s eyes grow dark, as he realized they would be forced to part. 

On the line between death and day, Eurydice gave a final wave as the ground beneath her feet gave way. 

“No!” Little Soul sang, pushing Eurydice into the day and taking her place. She never saw the lover’s expressions, but as she fell she saw the light again, streaming down into the cave of the grave she’d dug. Painful as it was to leave the world above, she couldn’t help but smile as she was whisked away. 

She’d saved the light. 

Not the one streaming from the skies above…no, the one that existed in love. A new kind of light she would cherish, knowing that because of her, Eurydice didn’t perish.

Written by: Naomi Hernandez

Image Credit

The Auction

            Dark and weary – dreary even – our dear Roane became. He slipped his sturdy olive-green trench on before pushing open his hallow home door. It’s birch. Birch and pine and cedar. His home smelled of the finest woods, as you know he cut and carved them himself last summer in preparation for a winter such as this one. It was the first winter he endured that year he moved to Shadow Creek. This little alcove of meadow, wood, and creek sat north of the “human” village of Potsfield. The loveliness of the creek was the way it sat so far from any village or city. The animals who lived there and fellows who passed through kept it a sanctuary of simple natures. Roane enjoyed his new home as a haven from his last abode. Poor Red House, he called it, burnt down due to a debacle including a fox, a wren, and a curious pumpkin. But we won’t dwell on such things now. Roane grinned his heart wide, for the wind carried him smartly as he skated down the frozen creek toward his dear friend’s home: Mortly.

            “Timber of clove dear friend!” Mortly exclaimed, opening the door in a rush.

            “What’s taken over that soul to draw that body out into the cold? You rascal!”

Roane unwound his scarf and hung his trench on the rack beside the door. His scruffy squirrel face beaming.

            “Oh, you know how I miss ya’ Mortly. This awful weather has me down like it do. Someone’s got to keep you company, too.” He made himself comfortable by the fireplace, feathering his tail in the olive-green easy chair.

            “Someone has.” Mortly sat in his wine-red chair on the other side of the blaze. He pulled out a handsome leather book. “I’ve found love my ‘venturous friend.” He winked.

            Roane laughed, “Oh now, so you’ve cheated? Ain’t this the fifteenth of January? I’m only half-way through Bab-Squeak’s Folktales. Don’t tell me you finished it already?”

            “Oh no, no. I’m not done with it. I just started this beauty last night as an additional.” He gestured to the leather gem.

            “Well, I’ll be rotten. Port side, hawk trodden, rotten!”

            “Tell me about this love, then. If you’ve gone ahead and tossed my affection out ye’ door.”

The gentlemen hooted their tails twitchy. Their book-reading companionship began in their younger years, when their mothers gabbed on about their jumping and hollering over tea and biscuits. All the while they set out on Mallard Stream looking for turtles to torment and rabbits to gamble with. In these years, they continued the tradition, always a new book to strike their fancies, and always a fire blaze to accompany their talks.

            Mortly sang on and on about his new book. He received it in the mail. A lovely note accompanied the parcel, piquing his interest. It said, simply:

            Mortly,

                                I came across this book at an auction and its lovely leather binding and

unusual motif struck a chord with me. I know your romantic heart will enjoy

 such fine work. I hope it pleases you and brings you some warmth this winter

season,

                                                                                                                                Lovingly, Aunt Wailing

Shortly, his soft heart would pang with every page. The book itself was a narrative written through a series of love letters between two characters. The ebb and flow of passion and turmoil ached across their transactions, and our dear grey squirrel fell victim to its rhythmic woes. Mortly told Roane,

            “I stayed up ‘til dawn reading it! The longing it describes, the lowliness of their lives, it brings me to tears, my dear Roane!”

His eyes shone with brimming tears. Roane shifted in his seat, noticing Mortly’s vigor with an ounce of discomfort. He had never seen his stoic friend so impassioned.

            “Well, well friend. What a seemingly brilliant book! I don’t recall the name Wailing in your kin, have I met her?”

            “Oh no! She’s quite a wanderer, a philosopher. My mother’s estranged sister.” Mortly seemed content with this information, to Roane’s brewing concern.

            “Oh, I’m sorry! What a figure indeed.” Roane gave a slight chuckle.

Mortly’s gaze went stagnant, as he stared into the shelves beside the fireplace. Roane sat thoughtfully, resting his eyes on the book firmly grasped in his companion’s paw.

            Mortly started, “Oh my! Look at the time! It will be dark soon friend, you best beat the flurries!” Standing up, he tucked the book snuggly on his chair and began gathering Roane’s outerwear by the door.

            “Oh, I suppose yes.” Roane slowly turned his mind to the room and his jittery friend. “I am getting quite hungry, as well.”

            “Right, right. Best not keep those hunger pains waiting!” Mortly smiled, holding out the olive-green trench.

            “Right, yes.”

Roane wrapped himself snug, dawning his trench and scarf. Before he could say anything further, his back was to Mortly’s closed front door, cold air whipping across his face. So strange. He’s in a fit for sure. He always insists I stay for supper. Roane started out to his home, carrying his skates by his side. He was not in a skating mood. Who in rotten bark is Aunt Wailing? How could a book take such a hold on him? It did not take long for our troubled friend to stop in aching curiosity, wanting to go home but feeling too full of thoughts to not peek through Mortly’s window.

            Roane became keenly aware of the squeaking snow as he snuck to the outside of the parlor window. The orange blaze glowed through the glass and a soft humming came from inside. He crouched down underneath the window. My blasted knee. Why am I doing this? Raising his head cautiously, his vision opened to the same room he sat in just a couple minutes earlier. Mortly sat in his chair, the book open in his hands, and wine and cheese beside him. I want wine and cheese. Roane wined to himself, bracing his body up on the cold uneven ground. His ear perked to Mortly’s humming. As it came into focus, the sound became soft singing.

            “Oh, the yuletide awnings float gently,

lovers touching

soft and sweet.

Silk and cream and wintergreen,

filling up our tidings.

Blessings from our woodland charms

and winter secrets,

falling stars.

Spinning

Spinning

Softly

Softly

Open yuletide

awnings gift.”

Crash!

            Roane’s nose ran red blood in the snow. His eyes opened to a dark, wintery sky, his head spinning as he lay on his back on the ground. Looking up, his friend’s home loomed over him, the parlor window dark. Gracious gourd. What happened? Roane sat up to rub his running nose. Blood? Did I hit my nose on the house siding? The wind stung his face, and the flurries began to fly harder. Roane felt disheveled and haunted. Something was not right. Standing to his full height and brushing off his tail, he peered inside the window to find a dim, vacant room. No blaze filled the hearth, no Mortly in his easy chair. Roane’s stomach lurched and he quickly ran to the front door, trying the handle to find it open. Without thought he rushed inside.

            “Mortly? Mortly, good fellow?” He called out to the absence.

No reply. Walking over to the chairs and fireplace, a handsome leather book sat finely on the wine-colored easy chair. Dread, dread, dread. Roane felt ill. A minute of internal self-quarreling past, but finally he delicately picked up the book. He examined it, finding no inscription on the outside, just a plain dark leather binding. He flipped it open to the first page, a prelude laid plane and ordinary before him. He began to read:

            My heart aches to read such a devout piece of contemporary literature. I’ve left my family in sickness and squalor to pursue such fancies that lie within the later pages. My thesis will never fulfill its purpose in telling you, dear reader, the world may break and crack under hardship, but the honest goodness of love breaks us deeper. To what end will I perish in hopeless fantasy? The art of this book looks to the mystique to entrance, to alure, to humble. No, I will never allude to its contents. That is a burden you must bear. However, I will leave you with one final phrase: winter melts, and yuletide fades.

            “Well, that’s not much of a prelude.” Roane looked around once more. His companion was gone. His heart stung slightly. His excitement from earlier that day drowned in Mortly’s impassioned turmoil. An unease crept in on Roane’s mind and stomach, and guilt for his bitterness. Why must I always save the day? Why must I be the smart one? Yet, a pang of worry overwhelmed the bitterness. I’m going to wait right here until Mortly comes back, and when it is day, I will search outside. Then, I will send letters and go to the village to ask around. He lit the fire and sat down in his olive-green easy chair. The snow flew fast out in the dark expanse. And after snooping around the small cottage for clues or snacks, Roane sat and waited by the blaze. His mind whirling like the frozen wind outside. Looking down, brushing off the crumbs from the successes of his snooping, the leather book laid on the table beside him. I wonder what nonsense this book must spew. He opened it up to chapter one: “Roane & Delilah.” What is this? My name?

So, our dear friend read with his wine and cheese, and he read as the fire embers cracked and shifted, and he read most earnestly for the story quickened and drew long like honey, and he read like he’d never read before, forgetting the snow outside, the sting of his nose, the creaking of the house, and the absence of his friend.

Written by: Kayla Harper

Image Credit

Playlist created by the author inspired by The Auction: https://open.spotify.com/embed/playlist/2PUnzamKi1Jqa9S5Dp11dh?utm_source=generator

Flight

                You might be wondering why I brought you here. And no, you’re not dreaming, at least not in the literal sense. But you’re not quite awake, either.

                My name? No, no, that’s not important.

                Your name? No, I already know that. I know all about you.

                Come.

                Don’t be scared. I shall not hurt you. 

                Take my hand. It’s cold, I know. I want to show you something.

                Yes. We’re flying. Well, I’m flying. You’re holding on for dear life. Silly goose, I won’t drop you.

                Where are we going? If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise anymore, now, would it? Just keep hold of my hand.

                What now? Oh, yes, that’s you below us. Your body, at least. No, you’re not dead; don’t become hysterical. Now, stop asking questions.

                Why can’t you move? Why, I told you. You’re partly asleep. You make too much noise; if you don’t stop protesting, I will drop you.

                Some part of your subconscious is still dreaming. About what, I’m not sure. Perhaps you’re riding a bike or peering over the edge of the Grand Canyon. The specifics remain unimportant. Keep a tight hold of my hand, now. This is the difficult part.

                Why is it difficult? Oh, this is the part where they usually start struggling.

                Oh dear, now I’ve done it. Stop fighting me, child. It’s better this way. I said stop fighting me! Your hand is slipping out of mine. If you don’t stop squirming, I’m going to lose my grip on you.

                I know, I know. This is the part where you look down, see your old life drifting away. You’re probably struggling to hold onto the feeling of lying comfortably in bed, probably wrapped in a warm blanket and snuggled deep into your pillow. I know. Are you trying to cling to the last remnants of your physical self, trying to keep hold of the faintest whispers of the dream some other part of you still experiences? Shh. It will all end soon.

                Your fingers are sweaty. I’m losing my grip on you. I can’t lose another one, I refuse to lose another one—

                You’re falling. Back into your physical self. Your dream is coming to an end. Even now, your bicycle wobbles. You lean out too far over the Canyon. And you fall.

                I hear the impact you make as you slam back into yourself, waking you up with a jolt. You survived. I failed.

                You’ll probably shake it off as a strange dream. After all, it’s not the first time you’ve been startled awake by your own subconscious. Probably won’t be the last, either.

                Still, I hope you remember me.

                Because the next time I come to visit you, you might not be so lucky.

Written by: Caroline Johnson

Image Credit

The Universe and I

I’m still in awe of the mysteries you left
How with soft whispers of breath
You explained the infinite

Once the words came off your lips
Galaxies and stars were commanded to exist
Each images of your greatness

To think that collisions of sparks
Would be perfectly positioned pieces of art
That in an array of patterned lights
Cold became heat and dust life

What a wonder to behold:
Burning gas and dusty planets growing as told
To see how the universe yearned to unfold

How amazing it would be:
To watch the first stars sparkle into being
Seeing your wonder spread across galaxies,
Knowing that in all this… you dreamed of me

A small life, an invisible soul
Nothing in comparison to creation’s whole
Yet one for whom you’d pay the highest toll

For while still unbeknownst to me,
The stars and galaxies proclaimed your glory
No, a love story

A tale of how you so adored
Someone so tiny and obscure
That you placed a million lights in the sky
Without a single reason why
Other than to be beheld by my eye

Written by: Naomi Hernandez

Image Credit

Candy Contradiction

“Sweet.” The name identifies with candy. However, candymakers seldom describe the candy making process as “sweet.” First, copious amounts of sugar must be procured and refined. The distressed sugar then forcefully contorts into a viscous syrup capable of giving anyone type five diabetes. Candymakers seize this sugary liquid substance for the purpose of fashioning mouthwatering morsels.

In a large metal cauldron, the candymakers abruptly pour the syrup down to the very last drizzle. Slowly and stately, the syrup waits in agony as the temperature soars. Suddenly, as the syrup gazes up at the bright lights, its skin begins to summon tiny bubbles that violently expand. These bubbles rapidly stretch the syrup’s flesh until it brutally bursts. The sugary torpedoes splash into the syrup’s surface returning to the boiling misery.

At the end of the torture, the cauldron frees the traumatized syrup onto a flat counter. The candymakers declare chemical warfare on the syrup by throwing citric acid, food coloring reminiscent of vibrant frogs, and various substances designed to ease the morsel’s flavor. The candymakers’ hands then pulverize these foreign substances into the now concatenated syrup. This new creation binds itself together as it cools to relieve stress. The candymakers quickly transfer the thick ooze into molds, form it into a string, or stab it with a lollipop stick.

Every candymaker claims ignorance of these horrors of candy making, but I stand as witness to these crimes. As their adversary, I appeal to the high courts to cease the description of “sweet” pertaining to candy. These rituals produce a vile product that elevates hyper activeness and creates addicts that defend its creators. Hear my plea to end today’s celebration, National Hard Candy Day.  

Written by: Rachel Caña

Image Credit

Matches, Matches, Matches

            Wesley had waited ages for a chance to ask Evie out. He had had a crush on her since middle school. Of course, the opportunity occurred when the power went out in Homer, Alaska. He felt his heart pound in his chest the moment she knocked on the door. Wesley and his father operated a small logging business selling local firewood. Evie came for her monthly supply. Her family liked to help small businesses, especially when the son of the owner used to go to school with her.

            Wesley helped her with her warm winter coat when all the lights in the cabin flickered, dimmed, and quickly vanished into total darkness. “Oh,” was all Evie said.

            He planned dinner! He prepared for a warm cozy house to greet her after the Alaskan chill! Now, he felt the cold begin to seep into his limbs as Evie reached for her coat again. in the darkness. “I can head on home if it’s too much trouble,” Evie whispered softly.

No! He would not let a power outage defeat him. This was his chance, and he had saved a box just for this reason!

            “Hold on just a minute, Evie, I’ve got just the thing. I can’t imagine you walking all the way home in that cold.”

            Wesley stumbled his way into the kitchen and felt for a box in the top shelf. Now where are the matches? Matches, matches, matches, hmmmm. Aha!

            A swift scratch and then there was light, a piercing orange blaze in the pitch black dark. Evie’s dark eyes captivated him entirely in that bright flash before it dimmed down to equilibrium. Wesley set about lighting the candles, lanterns, and the gas stove. Shy Evie told him he didn’t have to make her dinner, but he insisted. Sitting down to eat, Wesley could hardly concentrate on his hot soup with those dark eyes flashing up at him between bites in the warm candlelight.

            After the meal, she put on her scarf and coat again to leave. “You all warmed up now?” Wesley asked her, in front of the roaring fireplace.

            “Yes, all cozy and warm,” she said quietly, looking up at him. They stood there staring at each other for a moment longer when she said thank you and headed out. Wesley’s nerve froze the moment she opened the door, and the Alaskan air sent little flurries of chill all over the room. He opened his mouth but couldn’t get the words out. He wanted to say “Would you like to go out sometime? I think you’re sweet. I’ve liked you since we were kids. You’re beautiful and smart.” Evie turned around.

            “By the way, your face betrays you.” She smiled warmly. “I like you too.” The door shut, and the room was still again. She left Wesley mouth agape in a candle-lit room with nothing but handfuls of matches, matches, matches.

Written by: Gracie Hatley

Image Credit

I Dreamed of a Red Planet

Say now, 
why do walls walk by so fast, so wild? 
They smile at me. 
Tell me why the pulsing noises of space 
spill over the walls and push into my skin – 
crawling through my blood, peering into my brain. 

The mind of humans…what a wonder. 
What? 
Maybe I was meant for something beyond 
rather than a life that…pulses. 
Overwhelming.

The walls walk past me as I lay in the hallway 
sending shadows across my vision. 
The view does not allow much light in 
as I float and shudder. 
The cold feels fiery, 
the warmth chills me. Again, 
I watch them pass by, looming over me, 
they march so swiftly – they know their plan. 
They understand an objective 
and only that takes up their vision. 

It’s clear. 
I could never understand a vision so crisp, 
unaffected by the fog of doubts and pain that sear
through me every inch I exist. 
Over and over, they leap, 
now soaring higher. They do not look at me. 
These shadows pelt into the floor 
as their cold touch almost leaves me. 
My head heavy and sore, I drift through space 
with almost no agency. 
My body detached. 
My mind, the only material thing I recognize. 

Yet, I see my form lift. 
Redness and yellow fog surround me. 
The walls, now taking form, 
they pass by like a stop motion camera. 
I still shudder, unable to hold my head up. 
So, I must watch what is to come. 
The sky above fills lungs like molasses, 
starry syrup with heat and ice so 
sharply intertwined. 
Slowly, slowly, slowly. 

I remember dreaming so vividly. 
When I sat up in the morning – it was so clear. 
I grabbed my phone and wrote down my visions. 
The words came easily but the hope to craft beauty from them failed. 
They seemed less magnificent when seen in daylight, 
as words on a screen. 
My habit did not last, my dreams blurred and faded, 
my mind sunk and sunk and sunk. 
I remember some of them still: 
I died slowly, becoming a ghost, left to eternity with no notion of purpose or direction; 
I swam so far in an icy river, following the sway of wonders and running from dangers; 
my body was touched so rudely by strangers, and I wondered each morning 
why my conscious did not flinch. 

I feel my hands now. 
So cold and numb, but 
I notice them by my side. 
The redness of the world opens and swirls before me,
so low is the sound of a breaking and crashing space, 
organic and alarming; the expanse of all that makes up reality 
does not care for me.
It does not notice me like I notice 
my hands by my side. 
It merely hears the minute sound 
and feels the miniscule shudder of my form – 
as I drift and drift and wonder how 
the fog swirls and light curls upwards and beyond. 

I approach a desert looming large to me. 
Saddening to think, 
I cannot be confined to the vacancy of floating forever into space, 
for my body always calls to a ground, 
a planet, 
a wild. 
For what?
To bind me.


Written By Kayla Harper

Image Credit

Girlhood

When I was young,

My sister and I would play for hours

Slipping on those plastic high heels

And donning sparkly Disney princess costumes.

We’d run around the backyard all afternoon

Fighting battles on Narnian soil

Wielding sticks as weapons and taking council behind a bush that’s no longer there.

When I was in middle school,

I wore a uniform

But I dressed it up with bright colors

Accessories probably too outlandish for my private school theme.

Bold shades to match the bands on my braces

Braces I wore ‘til I was sixteen.

When I was in high school,

I went to dances in fancy dresses

Scanning the sea of bodies for outfits I liked better than mine

Sprinkling my eyelids with glitter and painting my lips red.

I donned the blue and gold colors of my school and fixed a bow to my ponytail

The lights of the football stadiums reflecting off the whites of my shoes.

Now I am in college

Learning new things about myself

Changing things about myself

Coming into my own in ways I never did before

A girl turning into a woman.

A woman not quite ready to grow up.

Written by: Caroline Johnson

Image Credit

Chocolate With Almonds

The tree’s vast shadow covered a woman’s entire figure. She heard no noise. Her eyes angled down towards her palms filled with almonds. Her mind wondering back to the first time she visited this spot. A mother held her tiny hand from the base of the hill to the top. The peak of the hill presented the young girl a bright open untouched field. The girl’s mom continued to fill the air with encouraging words as she placed a single almond in the girl’s palms. Together, they walked towards the center. Then, the mom guided the girl’s hand to tuck the sweet almond under the earth.

With much anticipation, the girl repeatedly took her mother by the hand to visit the sapling on the hill. Her mother constantly reminded her,

“One day there will be a great big tree on that hill, but today a small sapling takes its place. You need to be more patient.”

When that one day arrived, the tree blossomed alone. Plenty of almonds hugged its branches, but not even the wind had any interest in taking any. The girl, now a woman, neglected to recall the almond tree. Her patience turned into avoidance and left the tree isolated. Instead of sweet almonds, bitter dark chocolate bought her attention as she progressed in her life alone. Eventually, she found herself staring in the familiar direction of the hill.

Alone, the woman ventured up the hill. She expected to also find bitterness at the top, either a dead or stunted tree with no almonds. However, these expectations turned out false. Before her eyes, the scene planted a thriving, blossoming, and sweet tree. A nostalgic smile awakened as she raised her palms to the tree to place almonds on them. Soon, she sat underneath the tree’s comforting shadow, with her palms full of almonds.

The woman welcomed the unfamiliar taste of the sweet almonds, but the flavor alone failed to comfort her completely. She raised her head to gaze at the many almonds as she pondered a way to bring others to enjoy these almonds gifted to her. The next day, she gathered as many almonds as she could and melted her remaining stock of dark chocolate. She took one almond and dipped it into the chocolate. She loved the bittersweet flavor of the combination. The taste best fit her.

During that day, a woman brought a new dessert to her neighbors and invited them to keep the almond tree company. The dessert offered a bittersweet taste, unlike anything the neighbors had tried before. In time, this dessert became well known as the first chocolate recipe recorded. Even as the tree gained several more years, it still attracted visitors to fill their palms with almonds for the purpose of making that bittersweet treat. A few centuries later, the people of the world celebrate National Bittersweet Chocolate with Almonds Day on November 7^th every year.

Written by: Rachel Caña

Image Credit

The Tempest Coming Nigh

The jagged shapes of mountains

Set against a darkling sky

The blue and blackest omen

For the tempest coming nigh

The moon shines pale and sparsely

Over hills of bristled grass

The common loon wails softly

Of the hillside’s requiem mass

The owls and creatures shudder

And they crawl back to their dens

The clouds above creep idly

As the reaper midnight sends

The willows creak and stiffen

And then bend against their will

And all life takes a moment

To be silent, anxious, still

The crickets cease their singing

And the wind lets out a sigh

They await the hour coming

Of the tempest coming nigh

Written by: Gracie Hatley

Image Credit

Tupperware Lunches

When I was younger and my parents asked me to clean my room

I’d stick a plastic spoon in my mouth

and shove everything—

crumbled up pieces of unfinished poetry,

dried up markers with lost lids,

garments of clothes I refused to clean,

Tupperware of school lunches I refused to eat—

under my bed.

A lover of instant gratification.

I have a bad habit of befriending bad habits.

Of building homes within them,

and feeling foreign without them.

Always cold, always tired, always hungry.

These, I etched into my DNA:

            brown eyes,

            straight hair,

            and chronically starving

            pretty.

But I am older now,

and there are other things to clean.

I am older now, and I realize there are other things to be:

intelligent,

loving,

            to myself, especially,

curious.

I am older now, and how good it feels to be alive and warm,

and fed.

Written by Gayle Badrina

Image Credit

A Collection of Original Poems for World Trauma Day

The Ache

In and out went the motion,

leaving her mind spent.

Always the ache of the note,

Playing harsh, pounding sullen oak.

So flat, the speech of his high nights.

Lips among the crowd — shouting.

Fighting ‘til morning.

And she wakes to vacant cold.

His blood-stained sink.

Her, tired of the burden.

Him, the voice of dread.

So, she sooths the bruises,

to save the life she left.

Let go this ache.

Know, her ache was dread.

Her Whirl

On a cold night, I found the world at peace. Underneath warm blankets, I felt the calmness of her whirl in me. The outside, the unknown, it took my hand pleasantly. The touch rough and strong. Such lovely souls to feel the words once given to me. They cry out for comfort in her woods and seas. They need her strength in weakness. Why, our bones grow slow, and her grace builds swiftly. I took her example to heart in longing for purpose. Whatever am I to be but at peace in the wild, where neither pretense nor arrogance find.

And the ache I felt, oh it took me.

Toward the ocean crest, the white end that soared brightly before me.

Why were the waves so high? The roar swept away each whim,

the fleeting longings and thoughts that kept me.

I knew the path ahead surely.

As the day lay dying, I knew

my end toward the sea.

Wherever my body leapt

she would take me

So, in surety, she led way

So, in my own haste, I set the pace

Forward marching

Toward the waves

In honest truth

I died that day.

Lake House

Time began passing faster and more fiercely

I looked forward to moments planned

I preferred to plan

But, as they came, they sank beneath expectation

Passing quickly as I grew

Summer sweltered the skin, winter sucked the green from the yard,

spring painted grimy pollen over cars, and fall never brought its promised colors.

I wished to move.

Those childhood times

Wandering ‘round the back lawn

Drawing lines in the grass, in repetition, nodding off to music

Behind my eyes, keeping farms and cities: fantastical quests

Hoping my parents would sit me down, me and my brother, and tell us the plan

For I loved plans

To clean out, pack up, and move away to the lake

The lake had the tree swing, the dock, and a spooky shed

I pretended the 70s style panel walls held treasures;

Just nudge the right one loose, it’ll show its secrets.

The velvet brown spinning chair held the best view

Beyond the glass sliding door wall,

spinning me ‘round until dinner graced the table,

only five steps away where we ate on the same plates enduring years

beyond my own.

The small house needed repair, but it needed people first.

It needed me there for my quests, my lines in the lawn, my tree swing.

The lake lapping the homemade dock, rocking on the waves swirling among the cypress knees

They needed my swimming and singing and catching fish,

And I needed that plan

So time would pass slowly once again.

Written by: Kayla Harper

Image Credit

In Honor of World Homeless Day: A Tale of Two Artists

A paper shred rests in my hand, smelling of secondhand cigarette smoke and marked with sloppy handwriting. Anyone else who caught sight of the note would think nothing of it. A scribbled message, likely nothing more than a quick reminder or thought, trash to be lost and found, nothing of importance.

But the eye betrays the true meaning behind everything. I know the value of this note. Worth can be found on this scribble of a page. It reads: “April 6th, 2022, West End Church, Robert the performing artist and Christian the poet.”

Can you see the value of my note yet? Likely not.

What if I told you of the notebook it came from? A small black sleeve no larger than the length and width of a hand, yet it was the most valuable possession Christian owned. Within its thin, small pages lay a collection of scattered words. Fragments of poetry, thoughts, and the breath of his life. The spirit of a man rested within those pages, his heart bleeding out on each one. Christian and Robert, struggling artists, both found themselves down on their luck for the time being. Now alone and homeless, the streets of West End Dallas found themselves guarding two masters of prose.

Christian conducted himself with a soft demeanor, a gentle and intelligent soul quite suited for his talent of poetry. Despite his worn-down attire and weary features, his passion shone through, and we spoke for several minutes of the struggles that come with being an aspiring writer. Robert, however, was a rapper. He too wrote his own work, and it could not have been more different from that of Christian. He sported a laid-back attitude, with a loud and somewhat sour disposition that rivaled that of Christian’s kind optimism. While Robert often rapped about the struggles of drug addiction, lust, and hangovers, Christian actively searched out the beauty in the world.

But more than that, there remained another stark difference between the two young men. Christian became a devout follower of the Lord several years ago. Robert however still refused to come to know the saving power of Christ. Perhaps this indicates why their view of the world appeared as if looking though two different lenses. Either way, that scrap of paper I now hold in my hand remains one of the few left in Christian’s notebook. He offered to write both his name and that of his friend’s on the page so I wouldn’t forget them.

Christian seemed to hold a great sense of weight to the idea of not being forgotten. He told me that writing things down marks a moment, and notes something of importance. So what he did for me I decided to do in return.

Christian and Robert, should I ever lose the note given to me, this page will stand as a testament to the moment I met you. I won’t forget you. And should I ever see you again, I promise I’ll always remember your names.

Written by: Naomi Hernandez

Image Credit: Naomi Hernandez

butterflies

they weave a path around me
darting out and in
they settle on my shoulders
i’m accepted as their friend.

it’s almost like they’re greeting me
saying welcome to our garden
but I smile somewhat sadly, knowing
summer’s at its end.

they’ll fly away from here too soon
when their flowers wilt and die
they’ll find someplace warm, i hope

somewhere peaceful and dry.

when at last it’s time for spring
the butterflies will come home

and weave their way ‘round me again
and through their garden roam.

but now, at least, when autumn’s kiss
is creeping through the trees
I say goodbye to my tiny friends

and watch them take their leave.

they swoop unsteadily away
they don’t return my goodbye
but i don’t mind, because I know
the blessing they leave behind.

they granted me permission
to enjoy their flowery realm

and i promised them before they left
i’d keep it safe for them

so as i wait for their return
their kingdom i will tend
and plant new seeds to welcome them
when they come home again.

Written by: Caroline Johnson

Image Credit