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

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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

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The Love I Feel for You

I watch you every day. I watch you drink your morning coffee, watch you make breakfast, watch you brush your teeth while grumbling about it being Monday. I watch you make lunch, I watch you make dinner, I watch you make a snack and I silently hope that you’ll share it with me. I watch you live life.

            A couple of years ago, you stopped leaving every day. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t care. You stayed home all the time! You could love me all the time! You seemed stressed, though, and I did my best to comfort you. I didn’t want you to be sad, but I didn’t want you to leave either.

            I remember the first day I came here, but just barely. I think I had a life before you, but I can’t quite remember. It almost seems like I’ve lived in this house forever, slept on these floors forever, played in this backyard forever. I think I had brothers and sisters once, and sometimes I miss them. Then I see you reaching down absentmindedly to scratch my ears while you talk to the people in your computer, and I forget.

            I hope you know how much I love you. You must, right? I wait for you to wake up because my favorite thing is being with you. I don’t know what I did without you, and I know you feel the same way because you tell me all the time.

            I hardly remember life before you, and I think it’s because my life didn’t really begin until you brought me home. As I curl up beside you, kissing your face goodnight, I hope you know that this kiss means so much more. It means thank you. Thank you for being my world. I love you. Throw the ball more for me tomorrow. Goodnight.

Written by Caroline Johnson

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Excerpt from Deadwater

The hollow steps of the corridor echoed in Blaise’s ear. Swiftly, he followed his guide as if he would lose them in the dark expanse. Nothing but glossy darkness down the hallway, with only silence aside the footsteps. After endless paperwork and interviews, the world began closing in. He knew this was the last step in the process, where he would meet Lavinia, the executive. A powerful shadow spoken of in nothing but proper regard. Blaise felt heat around his ears. The guide slowed, and with panic in his stomach, he saw the door.

His accompaniment halted and turned to him. “She is waiting for you.”

“Thank you,” were the only words he whispered.

Since arriving, he felt the overwhelming urge to speak in nothing more than hushed tones. Each person he met inside Obsidian spoke directly and quietly. He followed suite. Pushing into the door, he entered her office, attempting confidence.

A small office. It was decorated minimally with the same black, glossy walls except for the back wall which looked to be foggy, black glass with a flat waterfall running down it. Her desk was situated in the center, near the back of the room, and her figure spoke for the space.

“Welcome, Blaise. Please, have a seat.”

She gestured to the chair in front of her desk. He complied, keeping his focus on her face. She appeared calm and lovely, dressed in sleek, dark garments and a strong posture.

“Thank you, Ms. Sparro. It is wonderful to finally make your acquaintance.”

She smiled, “I’m sure.”

Silence – but he wouldn’t let that shake him. Blaise knew his confidence and charm should never waver, and silence is powerful. One should use silence and embrace it. The nature of Obsidian is silence; the world needed it.

“The time has not been wasted by you, yet, and that I thank you for.” Her voice was cool and collected, with a tenderness to it.

“I’m glad,” he answered.

What to say next? Why did she not continue and ask questions? Blaise smiled but felt a spinning unresolve in his head as he felt the conversation stagnate. Did she want me to introduce myself and pitch to her my value? Why isn’t she speaking?

“I desire our time here together to be efficient and valuable to you, Ms. Sparro. And with the interviews and assessments I surmounted already I ask what it is you would like to know further?”

She listened well, gazing into him as he spoke. Blaise began to feel his clothes more – the tightness of his collar.

She said, “I know so much about you Mx. Ridley. I only appreciate the experience of listening to your presence as you sit before me in my office. You know the work you will be doing here, and I think you will succeed greatly.”

“Thank you,” Blaise nodded his head.

This is a test of will and patience I presume. I can sit here all day and speak pleasantries with you, Lavinia.

A harsh knock almost caused Blaise to visibly startle.

A muffled tone erupted from behind the door, “Lavinia, I won’t have this nonsense you’re scheming with Lana. She’s not going to that school!”

Lavinia never dropped her focus on Blaise, but her eyes narrowed slightly. She stood up, approached the door, and opened it slightly. The light scent of cedar wafted toward Blaise, and he didn’t dare turn his head to see who the guest was.

In a low tone he heard, “Cirrus, I will gladly discuss this with you later. Now, leave my office.”

“You have no right to delegate where she goes and who she lives with. She’s my daughter!” Blaise heard a tired desperation in the person’s voice.

“I hold every right to decide how family is treated and brought up in our house. You will soon learn this, despite your failure as a father.”

She closed the door and walked back over to her desk. Blaise heard footsteps recede from the door.

“Now Mx. Blaise, I believe you should see the facilities of Obsidian if you are to articulate what we do and acquire us the clients we deserve.”

As she walked to her place behind the desk, she tapped on the center of the desk’s surface. A divided playing board flipped open with pieces laid, ready to play.

“Let’s see our beautiful research center first.”

Lightly pressing on a piece, a doorway opened from behind the waterfall.

“Follow me, Blaise Ridley.”

Written by Kayla

Image credit

Welcome at the Well

            As I walked through the greenery towards the only entrance with my hand gliding along the circular stone wall, I saw the guard. She sleepily leaned against the front of the gate. My footsteps continued, avoiding any sound that might startle her. Suddenly, she spotted me and shouted, “Welcome!” with the biggest smile. After taking a few steps inside, many stares of confusion, mixed with excitement, greeted my figure. The fairy in front of me introduced herself as Ayesha, while others behind her waved. She served as the guardian of the Well, a fairy town hiding an artifact that grants wishes. Over the years, I had heard many stories and legends of this town, but never expected to find a welcome at the gate.

            “Why are they staring?” I inquired. Ayesha grabbed my hand, gave it a shake, and exclaimed, “Oh, we haven’t had a visitor in years! Let me show you around.” Within a minute passing, I made it beyond the gates, met the guard, and began touring the town. “Shouldn’t you stay at your post? Aren’t you worried about your defenses?” I questioned.

Ayesha stopped, mid-thought, and leveled her eyes with mine. “We have all the defenses we need. No need to worry,” she answered. After a bit more of her rambling about the town, I asked her the question that surged into my mind, “Why did you welcome me so quickly?”

            She extended her arm and pointed towards my back. “Your wings!” Ayesha remarked. “It’s rare to find a fairy outside of our town, and many here love hearing stories of the outside world.” She turned her back to me once again, explaining different aspects of the town while I followed. She must have forgotten to ask my name, what I came here for, or who I am. Her willing trust alarmed me with its unfamiliarity. I stayed silent and kept my guard up, while Ayesha blissfully guided me to the center of the Well.

            A crowd of fairies began to gather; all their heads angled upward. Suddenly, a huge circular shadow appeared on the ground. I immediately lifted my gaze. A few fairies leapt from the ground to fly towards the flying object. They extended their arms and stabilized it in the air. The fairies guided it to the center of the Well, and Ayesha prompted me to step back. Then they released it. A coin slammed face down in the middle of town.

            Ayesha prompted me to sit and watch the ritual. A few fairies gathered around the edges of the coin, placing petals to create distinctive marks on it. Then an old, frail lady walked towards the center carrying an excessively ornamented gold lamp. When she sat down and placed the lamp in front of her knees, everyone gathered closer. The lady spoke, “This one comes from a child. He wishes for his mother to recover from a terrible sickness.” In response everyone instantly raised their thumbs in acceptance of this wish. The lady nodded and proceeded to light a candle inside the ornate lamp.

            Silence covered the edges of the town as everyone slowly watched the wax drip down the candle. I copied their reactions to remain inconspicuous. The atmosphere changed after an hour when the flame abruptly formed into a purple smoke. I stood up. Everyone raised their heads, and the lady proclaimed the first break from silence, “The wish was granted!” As the fairies of the town cheered, I prepared my wings and lunged straight for the lamp. My arms collapsed around it. I propelled my body as fast as I could up towards the limits of the walls.

            No one followed. Not even Ayesha, the supposed guardian of this artifact. Once I flew over the walls, I continued to stay airborne until my feet plopped onto desolate sand. There, I continued my journey on foot, kicking the heavy sand away from my path. Eventually, I returned to the mostly empty cave I claimed as home. I placed the artifact on the table and stared. I searched in my mind for something to wish for, but I couldn’t imagine anything that would make me happy. I thought successfully obtaining such a rare artifact would at least let my face profit a smile, but nothing appeared.

            I sat at my desk intending to write a letter to my client informing him of my success. However, my drifting stares toward the artifact continually interrupted my focus. finally, I got up from my desk, approached the artifact, and thought of how Ayesha treated me followed in return with my betrayal. I clutched the artifact in my arms and headed out the door. I began the journey back to the Well wondering if they would accept me again or deal me a reasonable punishment. On my way, I prepared myself to face her.

            Once there, Ayesha’s eyes greeted mine. I froze in place as she walked toward me with her serious face. She grabbed the artifact and her face changed. She exclaimed, “It always works! Welcome home!” She gave me the same smile as before. I returned a confused and startled stare. She teased, “I told you we have all the defenses we need.” Ayesha paced back towards the gate and opened it wide. Then she turned to me and remarked, “Isn’t this what you wished for?”

Written by Rachel

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Love in Doing and in Being

Love in doing and in being

Little words with great, big meanings

Swimming, laughing, running, breathing

Understanding, loving, seeing

Quiet seconds hold everything

The greatest pleasure, harshest sting

If you knew what your purpose brings

You could accomplish anything

Yes, formed from dust but filled with light

A glorious and humbling sight

A unique, precious life to live

Enough without the additives

So, don’t buy the things to fill the void

Don’t unearth the things that you destroyed

In simple things, the here, the now

Is where your happiness be found

You’ll find it, love, I promise you

When you realize this simple truth

The little things seem much less fleeting

Love in doing and in being

Written by Gracie

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More Than Imagination

Created from the depths of a child’s imagination, I entered life in the shape my child gave me. With pink hair, a fuzzy tail, kitten ears, and a tiara, I was born from the culmination of a little girl’s childhood joys. Made for her and her alone, I became what adults call a silly fantasy, a make-believe image, an imaginary friend. 

I don’t care what they call me. The only name that matters to me is the one my creator gave me. I still remember the moment I first saw her, six years old and already remarkably brilliant. I awoke in the world to behold her beautiful sight. Dani stood before me with a wide smile, her hair twisted in delightful little pigtails. She dressed better than any princess, her wardrobe consisting of a spectacular purple tutu skirt, plastic beads, and matching purple polka-dot rain boots. I couldn’t help but smile brightly at the sight of her, as she raised a hand to wave to me. 

“Hi Bonnie!” I heard her call, and from that moment on, the name sealed itself inside my heart. On occasion it would change just slightly. Sometimes I was Princess Bonnie, other times ballerina Bonnie, or cowgirl Bonnie. Every game we played adjusted my name to fit the setting of our newest adventure. 

Oh, the adventures we shared! They never ended. Dani took me on the spaceship of her imagination as we visited castles, fought off bandits, sat at leisurely tea parties, and danced the night away. Each adventure cast us into spectacular whirlwinds of fun, but each one ended the same. We’d put on our tiaras, point to one another, and make a princess promise to be best friends forever. Day after day, I stayed by her side, and night after night I soothed her to sleep, assuring her I could keep the monsters under her bed at bay. 

However, Dani never knew about her parents’ worries. Her mother and father worked long, tiring jobs and had a troubled marriage that often ended in fits of shouting certain words I’d covered Dani’s ears for. Neither of them stayed around to support their daughter enough, and they knew it. Often at night, they sneaked into her bedroom to sit at her side with me, and I overheard their soft whispers of concern. 

“What if she doesn’t make any friends in kindergarten?” 

“I wish we didn’t have to leave her alone so much.” 

“She talks to herself all the time. Is that normal for a kid her age?” 

“I’m worried about her. The only friend she has is that weird imaginary creature, that Bonnie thing.” 

Often their words hurt, but hurtful words come from hurting people. I knew they missed their daughter. They loved her but feared they couldn’t be enough. That’s where I came in. When they filed the divorce papers, and her father moved out, I held heartbroken Dani. When it seemed impossible to learn the alphabet, I helped her practice. Finally, when her mother missed her first school show, I appeared to congratulate her. 

I remember tucking Dani into bed the night after that show, purple glitter still glistening in her hair from her bedazzled costume. She held onto my hand so tight, rehearsing her two lines from the performance over and over so she could perform them for her mother the next day. Her resilient heart remained undeterred by the lack of her mother’s presence. How I wished she wasn’t so used to disappointment. 

When midnight rolled around, her mother finally pried open the door to Dani’s room. Pushing aside the barricade of stuffed animals, she took a seat on the side of her daughter’s bed. Deep purple bags lingered under her eyes, nearly brimming over with tears. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, repeating the phrase till the tears finally broke loose. “I’m sorry I missed your show. I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you. I’m sorry for failing you as a mother,” she sobbed. 

My heart couldn’t help but take pity on her. Dani made me into a compassionate being, and the love of my little girl’s heart overflowed into my own. I placed a still hand on her mother’s shoulder, wishing she could see through the eyes of her child. If only she could see me, if only she could hear me, I’d tell her how much her daughter adored her. 

For a moment, her mother stilled under my hand. For a second, she drew close to finding that childlike belief that allows you to see the impossible. But she fell just short of it. With a whisper, she looked into the air on the other side of Dani’s bed, right where I stood. “Bonnie?” she called softly, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe what she was saying. “Bonnie, if you’re there…if you’re real… I need you to look after my little girl. Be her invisible angel, be her friend, be whatever she needs when I’m not enough.” 

“I will,” I whispered back, knowing she couldn’t hear me. I put my tiara on and pointed at her the same way Dani and I would whenever we ended an adventure. “It’s a princess promise.” 

From that moment on, I took it upon myself to give Dani the best childhood imaginable. Our adventures became increasingly wild and fun-filled as her mother grew more distant, my hugs became tighter the more disappointment came her way, and our princess promises gradually grew more and more elaborate the more she needed me. For a while, I thought I’d be with her forever. I thought she’d need me for all of eternity… but that was until she made a friend. 

Dani met Ethan on the playground at the end of kindergarten. We’d been swinging back and forth on the swing set, pretending to be little fairies flying though the sky. What I never predicted was the possibility of there being another child doing the same thing with their own invisible friend. Ethan hopped on the swing next to Dani, followed by a boy just like me with bright blue hair in a space suit.

“Come on, Max! We’re going to the moon!” he shouted, waving his invisible friend along as he pretended to strap into the rocket that the swing set became. 

I remember Dani looking over at me, her invisible fairy wings fading away as she whispered to me. “I want to go to the moon too.” 

I smiled and pointed to Ethan. “Then ask him if you can come.” 

Dani stood and tapped on Ethan’s shoulder. “Uh, hello,” she mumbled, still quite shy and wary of new people. “Can I join you on your spaceship?” 

Ethan looked to Max, and the blue haired astronaut gave him a nod. “You’re going to need a copilot, kiddo.” 

With Max’s approval, Ethan flashed Dani a smile, shouting, “Welcome aboard!” 

From there, the two of them flew to the moon and directed their spacecraft to soar off to a long-lasting friendship. Designed to play the role of a loyal friend, I found no greater honor than to watch Dani learn to befriend Ethan, love others, and grow. We journeyed through elementary, middle, and high school together, time dashing by as we turned our thoughts to the stars. Soon, purple tutus and tea sets began to vanish, and her stuffed animal collection diminished, all to be replaced with star charts and prints of the Hubble telescope. Dani and Ethan no longer played astronauts together. Now they went stargazing, and spent time talking about their futures as aerospace engineers.  

Max vanished years ago; his spacesuit lost to the whims of time as Ethan’s imagination slowly lost sight of his old friend. Yet, I remained. Dani’s heart still needed me. My mission still needed fulfilling. I remained her friend and companion, her invisible angel staying by her side until her heart was full enough for her to live on her own. By now, my body had grown frail and thin. I’d lost the tail, kitten ears, and tiara she had once bestowed upon me. Now, I appear completely human to her, my pink hair the only remaining piece of my original design. Most of the time, I haunt her room like a ghost, barely existing, forgotten, only getting called upon in a rare moment of need. 

College admissions proved a difficult time, and testing for SAT’s and ACT’s brought Dani an extreme amount of stress. Every now and then, I’d come to comfort her during those times, but my support typically ended up short lived. I held her in my arms, whispering encouragement that went unheard as she reached for her phone to dial Ethan. Every time she pushed me away, I felt my heart and body fade. A part of me died each time, and another part of me soared because each time she didn’t need me, it meant my little girl was growing up. Each time she picked herself up, reached out for a friend, and solved her own problems meant that my princess promise to her mother was coming true. Dani didn’t need me anymore. She grew up.

As soon as the thought passed through my head, I felt my arms and legs begin to tingle and fade. I reached my end. Vanishing slowly, I savored the very last sight of my beloved little girl. Dani had grown into a lovely young woman. While polka-dot rain boots and costume jewelry had been exchanged for jeans and comfy star patterned sweatshirts, she still wore her beautiful smile. From the moment I first saw Dani, I loved her, and as I faded away from this plane of existence, reduced to little more than an image sent adrift, I know one thing would never change. I will always love her.

Written by Naomi

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the minstrel

i met a man along the road 

a minstrel, i think he said. 

he wore a guitar across his back 

and a hat upon his head.  

his voice felt soft like summer rain 

but rich, like sweet perfume.  

he sang a song that touched my soul 

and kissed me with its tune.  

i couldn’t sing it for you now 

not even if i tried.  

i only know it broke my heart 

then cast my grief aside.  

he knew everything i’ve ever known 

it’s like he read my mind. 

and looking back, i guess he did. 

his words stayed sweet and kind. 

he left me shortly after 

and i haven’t seen him since.  

i hardly know the song he sang 

but won’t forget it hence. 

someone asked me, after that day,  

do you think you saw God? 

who else could touch your soul like that 

and trod the road you trod? 

i thought about the question 

and finally agreed 

that yes, i must have seen the Lord 

and His voice, it sang to me. 

how else could He slip in my mind 

in the saddest, gladdest way, 

if He had not known all its thoughts 

and loved it anyway? 

Written by Caroline

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Lucky’s Cookies

Boredom overcame the hotel employees as 3am approached. The midnight crowd turned out lighter than usual; Lester greatly appreciated this. Monica fostered the bad habit of snacking on the job. Even though she worked behind the giant front desk, hiding her from common view, her image needed to remain impeccable; the fudge chocolate cookies did not help.

Lester’s feet dragged the short carpet hallway. He heard the lights buzzing and ice machine churning every so often. His stomach also churned. “Chocolate fudge cookies will not fulfill me, so don’t eat them.” His inner monologue became a dialogue when a voice from his stomach replied, “well, it’s something.” Lester paused. Blinking a of couple times for good measure and popping his wrist, he continued down the hallway unphased. “These carpets need cleaning!” He directed this complaint to Monica as he arrived at the front desk. Looking over to his silent coworker, he found a tablet propped up against the computer, cookies in her hand, and half-dazed eyes watching a crime show. “Monica.” He repeated with a tired attempt at sternness. Her face turned towards his direction; her eyes still stuck to the screen. “Mhm?” “You can’t be serious. You’re not even going to try and hide it now, are you?” Lester experienced no shock at his coworker’s unprofessional conduct. He technically stood over her in authority, but he held no intention of dealing out consequences today. Consequences do not exist past 1am. “Well, could you at least write a note to get the carpet cleaner down here in the coming week?” Monica’s wizardry at multitasking manifested through a slow raise of the hand, sloppy scribble on a sticky note, and the crooked pasting of the note on the computer, all without her eyes leaving the screen.

Lester sat down at his desk in the back office. He began sorting papers but found himself so overwhelmed he fidgeted with miscellaneous office supplies instead. His head buzzed in tandem with the florescent lights. The clock read 3:15am. “This is going to be such a long night.” He groaned. “Let’s have some cookies!” His stomach chimed in at this moment of sober silence. “What!?” He halfway called towards the door. He assumed Monica saw his wretched state and spoke out a suggestion. “I’m not eating those darn cookies, Monica!” He replied. Silence followed, and he opened his laptop with the intention of playing solitaire. However, his feet held different ideas. The restlessness that overcame him ached from his feet to his face. No amount of fidgeting could sustain his body in his position on the cracking leather swivel chair. In an effort to aid the static flowing through his veins, he stood up and made his way down the other first floor hallway.

The hotel’s yellow lighting and long, horseshoe hallway made a great racetrack for slow, dissociative pacing. Lester walked and walked, swinging his legs as he strode down the vacant hotel corridor. “Monica will surely eat all the cookies. Turn around you fool.” Lester paused. “Who’s that?” He asked, glancing around him. No one occupied the hallway beside him, no door was ajar, and no phone call was in session. “I suppose a snack wouldn’t hurt, but not cookies.” He thought it best to entertain the voice rather than argue with it, for he did not like arguing. “No. Cookies or bust!” replied his stomach. “I have some almonds in the office, would that work?” Lester tried to negotiate. “Absolutely not!” His stomach seemed as stubborn as appropriate. As passive a person as Lester, some part of his vessel needed to store the firmness his consciousness lacked. Lester’s legs drug him onward down the hall and an almost endless, dizzy feeling started emerging through his hunger pains. Nausea rippled through his head much like dense desert heat waves. He walked on and on and on. “What a wonderful time to eat cookies with gooey fudge baked inside and perhaps a bit of chocolate frosting to dress it,” said his stomach in sarcastic reprimand. “No, no…” Lester said as his knees bent and buckled. He caught himself and the nausea fled, just for a moment. He blinked to clear his tunnel-like vision. “Just need to clean these blasted carpets,” he muttered under a ragged breath. His legs carried him farther down the hallway until he delivered his dizzy skull to the other side, back at the front desk. Lester sat in one of the lime-green lobby chairs. For the first time, the usually rough fabric of the cushions felt dull to the touch. Inside his mind, a place that felt to hover just above his limp body, he heard a small noise from the front desk. The sound of Monica’s crime show wafted to his ear. “Now you will die in these horrid chairs” said his stomach with a shooting pain to accompany the sentence. “You’ll have to listen to her awful shows forever more.” “What about the almonds?” Lester barely whispered to himself. “Forget the almonds, you’re dying, Lester!”

Monica tasted the chocolate fudge cookies from Lucky’s Cookies for the first time at her little niece’s ninth birthday two weeks ago. They immediately became her new favorite. She started her show promptly at 1am and began enjoying them, attempting to spread them out across the night. She had brought a batch of her second favorite cookies (previously first favorite) a while back and finished them within an hour. This night, she set out to enjoy them slowly throughout her shift, savoring every bite. With Lester’s usual pacing and the hotel’s quiet night shift, she anticipated an enjoyable evening. Sitting cozy behind the large front desk, she continued binging the next episodes of her crime show. By the 3:30am hour, she felt like the show’s writers relied a little too much on basic serial killer villains. So, she switched to a spooky thriller instead. Half the batch gone. She set a timer on her phone for the next time she could grab one. She failed to comply. Peering over the desk, she saw Lester slouched in the lime-green lobby chairs. “Want a cookie?” Monica inquired, her eyes squinting from the lights as she hadn’t looked up in over an hour. “Lester?” Monica called once more before returning to her cookies and show. What a weird guy.

“Do you know the benefits of chocolate, Lester?” “Stop talking to me please.” Lester had energy only for internal speech. “Kings ate chocolate by the barrel you know?” His stomach reflected. “That’s probably not true.” Lester’s eyes rolled up into his head. His world went dark.

Back in elementary school, your mom packed you a cookie with your lunch every day, remember Lester? She didn’t know the way she loved you never fit right in your head. Maybe you just didn’t know how to receive love, like you tried so hard to function outside your bedroom you didn’t know how to eat. Do you know how to eat, Lester? You’re an adult now. You should know. Every hug she gave you your body went rigid. No one, not even your mother, could give you the love you wanted. Why are you so particular? Why can’t you eat? Why can’t you just feel grateful for a mother who hugged you and packed you lunch every day, with cookies no less.

Lester, not by his own volition, took a nap in the lime-green lobby chair. He woke up to even greater hunger pains but a softened fuzziness in his head. He carefully walked back to the office behind the front desk. Sitting in the cracked leather swivel chair, he nibbled on some almonds. His eyes caught part of Monica’s tablet as her thriller show played. His blank staring subsided as he began to watch it more intently. The almonds tasted like nothing, but the fuzziness in his head started to clear as he slowly took bites. He only heard his deep breaths and the crinkling of the almond bag. The clock read 3:45am. He looked a bit closer at the tablet: a couple of characters franticly dug in a graveyard. He shook his head, amused, “these shows – all the same.” Nevertheless, he continued watching. “Don’t watch that show, Lester,” remarked his eyeballs.

Written by Kayla

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Walter Mitty

Once, I met a boy, who tried building an electric longboard to travel the perimeter road of Iceland; a new-age Walter Mitty. He knew exactly what he wanted.

Miles into the wilderness, in Larue, Texas, sits a ziplining park, where a person can get hooked up to a series of cords allowing them to fly several hundred feet on a wire. The owner’s mop dog with black dreadlocks lumbers behind each employee, and even he wears a ziplining harness. Mason, an employee of the establishment, worked every day helping people get over their fear of heights, and when he went home at night, he changed from a zip-lining guide to a mechanic. The perimeter road of Iceland spans 828 miles, and this whirring two-by-four would make it the whole way if he could control it. With an average max speed of 15mph and a prayer for good weather, he could make it around the entire ring in less than a month. He told me that one day he decided on becoming Walter Mitty, soaring down the rocky and volcanic roads of Iceland on a borrowed longboard. So, he described how he built at his little machine, getting grease on his hands and plugging away at a makeshift engine. I asked him if he was so inspired by the part in the movie that he would play the song where Walter Mitty skates down the slope of the nearly unpronounceable Seyðisfjarðarvegur mountain. He laughed and showed me an entire playlist of José Gonzáles, the writer of many of the songs in the movie.

There remains a part of me that wants adventure, and it battles with the part of me that wants to grow a garden, that I may develop roots like one. I would miss the little comforts of my own comfy chair next to the precious books I have collected over time, the mason jar I drink from, the notes from loved ones on the wall, the kaleidoscope I bought in Jerome, the stuffed animals passed down from my mother, the stray pencil markings on the table where I do my homework, the spray setting of my own shower, the squirrel I must keep away from the tulip bulbs every year, my favorite bench in the park, and the guarantee that wherever I go, the mug that my friend Aidan gave me for my  birthday still sits in the second shelf of the cupboard. I would miss those things were I to chance it on my own. Mason knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted to cut ties and fly down mountains, feeling rain on his skin and cold numbing his fingers. He planned on a new hostel every night, new faces every day, and a new sunset every evening. He found thrill in the form of discovering himself in the lonely wasteland, harking to the wind and crashing seas on the towering cliffs. I want to feel a similar adventure, to find a lake somewhere and sit for a while, or to see a flower I have never laid eyes on before. I would love to roll the dice and take what chance offers in the way of unexpected friends, rainstorms, late nights under the stars, forgetting my toothbrush in the last motel, and gas station snacks. But oh, how I would miss the comfort of home.

“Time to step outside. House on fire, leave it all behind you. Dark as night, let the lightning guide you.” -“Step Out” by José Gonzáles

Written by Gracie

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