Violet Neau, Age 13 Violet, age 13, lives on the beautifully strange planet Earth, in the town of Ypsilanti, Michigan. She’s had a habit of coming up with fantasy stories in her head for years, and writing them down tends to help her focus on other stuff when she needs to. She also likes to listen to music, whether it’s to help her focus on her work, or to drown out her surroundings and relax. (Sometimes it’s both.) She likes writing because it can show her view of the world, and it helps her try to understand the things around her. Inspired by the conflicts she sees in life, she tries to make other perspectives clearer.
Frozen Fence He could feel the ropes of fire wrapping around his body, burning through his clothing, searing his skin. He was probably screaming, but he couldn’t really hear that. He couldn’t hear much of anything. He just felt pain. Pain . . . so much pain. He was on his knees in front of a local officer, a pretty high ranking one if they were doing this kind of magic. That wasn’t normal fire they were summoning . . . . He tried to look up. He could see the officers eyes, hazel, with specks of red from the fire magic. Or was that his imagination? “Jeez, is she having a heart attack in her sleep or what?” “She’s not having a heart attack in her sleep, Iko. But at this rate, we’re gonna need to drop her off a cliff to wake her up.” Saoirse’s eyes flew open, her heart racing, her breathing ridiculously fast. She was drenched in sweat, but she wasn’t on fire anymore . . . “Hey, are you OK Saoirse?” Her brothers looked up at her, with worry in their eyes. “Heh, don’t worry guys. Just a bad dream. I’m fine,” Saoirse reassured her brothers. She tried to hide the fear in her voice. She didn’t see much they could do to help her, and there was no point in worrying them about this. “Alright! We’re going to eat dinner now,” Iko grinned, back to normal now that he thought his sister was alright. Sean, the older of the two, wasn’t convinced yet. “Are you sure you’re OK Saoirse? You seemed to be having a pretty bad dream. You’ve been having a lot of those lately. Do you know what that’s about?” “Don’t worry, I’m fine. Now, we should go cook dinner.” Mom and Dad weren’t home yet, they were still working, despite the fact that it was already dark. Winter was in full swing, having crept up on them once again, and that meant cold food, cold nights, and even colder guards. The winter chill made them grumpier, and they were a lot more likely to throw fire at you in this weather. Even during normal winters it was hard to forget that danger, but after what happened last week to the boy who'd been attacked . . . She was thinking about it more and more. The image of the fiery whip she'd seen still burned in her eyes. She still had nightmares about it, but they were very strange nightmares. She had them over and over, but the dream changed every night. It was like each time she had the dream, she was a different person. Usually she was just another person in the crowd, watching. But this time . . . she was on fire. Why did she keep dreaming about this, and why were the dreams so . . . unnatural? Normally, she didn’t dream in color, and she couldn’t smell, or feel much pain, but she could sense all those things in these weird dreams. Maybe it was just because she had such vivid memories of those things? But that didn’t explain the pain, because she wasn’t the one who was burned, not when it happened. It was like another person’s memories . . . She sat in thought for a few seconds. “Saoirse! Come help cook!” Iko insisted. "Don't worry! I'm coming!" Saoirse looked around at the room she had just woken up in. It was their basement, which served multiple purposes in the winter. Year round, it was the bedroom the family shared. Five mattresses filled with straw lay on the floor, with rough blankets laying on top. In the summer, they needed to sleep in this cool place, so they wouldn't overheat. However, it also doubled as a storage area. The walls were lined with rickety wooden shelves, nailed into the stoney wall. Some of the boxes held clothing, some held what little tools and supplies they had, and some help containers of food. In the summer, when forageable food was available, the shelves were not as full. But in winter, with their only source of food being the rations given to them by the officials, most of the shelves were lined with food gathered in the fall. There was no meat, as there were very few animals in the “forest” surrounding the village, but there was plenty of plant life, so smuggling food into your house wasn’t too hard. Most of the officials didn’t care enough to stop them anyway, and they rarely entered people’s houses, especially not to look through their pantries. WRITING A NEW WORLD | SUMMER 2021
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