Our Words Can Hurt and Heal You by Lindsay Green

Our Words Can Hurt & Heal You

Volume 2 Fall 2018

Adviser Lindsay Green Co-President Isabel Scott Co-President Mona Jawad

Literary Magazine Submissions Google Classroom Code 8wjdc7 Please feel free to submit throughout the next semester. The next literary magazine will be published in May 2019. Creative Writing Club will meet every other Monday starting January 14, 2019 in room 203

Bring any of your own writing you might have. Contact Ms. Green for more details at greenli@u4sd.org

Poems “Dumpling” by Grace Zhu “The Rocking Chair,” “Surroundings,” “Demons,” “The Sun and the Darkness” by Leia Barton “This is just to say” by Jae “The Moon Waits for the Sun” by Hank Hill “where i’m from” by Fleeboy Tone “Loving Yourself Always ” by Nonnie “Car Confessions” by John Wick 10 “His Eyes” by Stephan Brodeur “Shards Of A Broken Heart,” “Invisible Demons” by Quinn Fisher “Mind of a Felon,” by Jeremy Hernandez “New World,” “Naive,” “Grief, “Anger” by Alyson Rice “Consider the Following” by Anonymous “Untitled #1,” “Unstoppable,” “Untitled #2” by AdoomyGang “Untitled” by Jamel Jones “Untitled” by Mona Jawad Stories STM Chapter One by Isabel Scott “Today, I Killed Someone” by Seth Tricy 33 - 35 “I Speak Portuguese,” by Ana Almeida Northern Fish, Chapter 11 by Maxwell Stefan Bennett “Townhome,” by Anonymous “Mercenary Tales,” by Fox “Pain,” by Kai “Two Single Dads Walk Into A Bar” by Quinn Fisher “Everything Hurts and I’m Dying” by Raven “Beautiful Sound” by Anonymous Whitechapel Chapter 1 by Gentleman Galileo Art “Flight” by Leia Barton “Sisterrrrrrrr” by Da’Vonne Elam “Untitled #1” by Jasminerose Ebes “Untitled #2” by Jasminerose Ebes “What is Your Story?” by Quinn Fisher “Art” by Quinn Fisher “Untitled” by Kasinda Williams “Untitled #2” by Haley Good “Crochet” by J akaela O'Neal

2 - 4 5 - 6 7 7 8 - 9 9

11 12 - 15 16 17 - 19 20 - 22 22 - 23 24 - 25 25

26 - 32

36 37 - 42 43 - 44 45 - 47 48 49 -57 58 - 59 60 61 - 62

6 7 7 9 11 13 17 20 23

“Untitled #1” by Haley Good “After Practice Face” by Da’Vonne Elam 48

“Dumpling” by Grace Zhu Grandmother works All day To prepare the dough, Kneaded for hours beneath palms caked in flour. I ask her If I can help. She swats me away Like a fly. (I tried, Mama. I tried to be polite). The next day Is dedicated to the filling, meat grounded Vegetables pounded And everything mixed together With sauce and spices. I ask her To tell me about herself. She tells me My Chinese Is terrible. (I’m trying, Mama, I really am). The final day Is dedicated To pressing the waiting dough Into fat moons And spooning Bits of filling onto them. I ask her If she wants anything. She tells me To become a doctor

And A lawyer And earn lots of money. (Have I tried enough, Mama?) Mama always makes me Go To that too-small apartment. She glares at me Like the blue dragon On our dinner plates When I ask why I have to. Grandmother loves you, she says. (But why don’t you go see her, Mama?) This love Is not enough For me to travel to The Cramped Tiny Overheated Home Of a stranger. (Mama, I need you.) I think love Is like grandmother’s dumplings. Too salty, too crunchy, And piled too heavily on my plate. I force myself to eat, And choke. I don’t think I want anymore. (Mama, it’s annoying).

When she closes her eyes, she is brought back across countries and oceans to her home. She remembers the school her mother pulled her out of when she was six. She remembers the taste of tree bark, stripped off to stave the bitter taste of hunger. She remembers how her mother taught her the only good thing she could do is to keep her mouth closed and her eyes down. Later, she has children of her own, three perfect little girls with dark hair and shining eyes. She does not want to pass down those ugly lessons her own mother taught her. But what could she pass down? She could not help them with their homework. She could not help them sort out their tangled emotions. She could only teach them the same things she had been taught: to work until your hands blistered, to bend to the will of others, to hold your emotions tight to your chest like secrets that must never be told. Her wish for them forms inside her, fed by prayers and desperation. She hopes they will be beautiful. She hopes they will be demure. She hopes they will be smart enough to let themselves bend instead of break. She hopes they will not have to learn the taste of tree bark. She hopes they will not have to ask their husbands to read to them. Did she go wrong, by first pushing them away, and then pulling them close too tightly? Do all mothers listen to their children argue over who has to visit her next? Do all children look at their mother like a burden, in a country whose language their mother cannot speak? Her first grandchild brought her relief. Like water that makes dough swell, her heart grows with tender love. This is another chance. But the look of complete and unconditional love she once receives crumbles as her grandchild gr. Too much water, and the dough becomes a sticky mess. The child recoils from her, now. She tries to say I love you in the only way she knows how. She keeps the house tidy, puts toys within easy reach. She asks her daughter to send over her children, so she can watch over them. She cooks for hours, to prepare food so they will not forget the taste of the land they came from. But she wonders if it is the fate of all grandmothers and mothers to be forgotten. For children to take advantage of their mothers, and for mothers to always be taken advantage of. If children will always take for granted the food on their plate and the roof over their head, and never question the hours of labor spent to put them there.

Love is a vast continent, with customs she struggles to learn. Maybe she will always be a foreigner on its shores. But she will do as she always do. She will cook. She will clean. She will carry on.

“The Rocking Chair” by Leia Barton An old rocking chair, rocks back and forth. It squeaks. But no one seems to notice. They look away from the chair as if it doesn't squeak. As if they don't hear the loud noise coming from it. It's only a chair right? Why should they care? Why should they even give it the time of day? “Surroundings” by Leia Barton Maybe it's not just people that speak. But objects and the environment as well. Telling stories of what happened. Showing what some can not tell. They speak and say "oh what a tragedy that that has happened an angel has left this world”. And I watch you cry. Tears falling on me. *The pavement speaks.* Saying " oh miss I know you are suffering, I know it hurts to see your child's blood drip of me. But know tomorrow is another day"

“Demons” by Leia Barton We all have are demons. But living threw the pain and standing instead of letting the demons win is what makes us strong. Show them that they can't win. Show them that your strong. Cause sometimes the demons don't live in your head, they live in your house. You see them everyday and you act like everything's okay, BUT ITS NOT! But you look at them, with hatred in your eye, and you scream. You scream inside, cause you know you have to act like everything's okay. Even though those demons make you scream. “The Sun and the Darkness” by Leia Barton The sun is surrounded by stars. Shining brighter than the others. For it is a star as well. Everyone wants to be around the sun. And so does the darkness. But the darkness feels like no one wants to be around the it. So it waits. In hopes that someone notices it. In hopes the sun notices it. For what is light without the dark. How can the sun shine without the dark being their? But still the darkness hopes for even a glimpse of the sun. To have even a moment of it's time. The darkness holds it's breath for it has to much to say and it doesn't wanna hurt the sun. Because the darkness is in love with the sun. But the sun does not love the darkness.

“This is just to say” by Jae I have eaten The cookies From the cookie jar That were in the cabinet The same cookies you were probably gonna eat at the On the the field trip tomorrow I’m so sorry they were delicious, crunchy and were my favorite type of cookies “The Moon Waits for the Sun” by Hank Hill The sun sets, as does my heart Sinking with the sun; I am alone. My only solace, the stars in the sky. Their gentle gaze comforting healing the fiery gaze of the sun. The sun rises once again; The burns anew. A never ending orbit around the earth. The moon brings a silver shroud of light; But I know as the moon waits, the stars fall once more; the sun rears it’s molten head . The rings of saturn sing in a lonely choir, a haunting melody; reminding the stars and moon their time is fleeting. Pluto orbits forgotten, Jupiter looms, and the sun burns; The moon waits for the sun, and I wait for the moon.

“where i’m from” by Fleeboy Tone i’m from how i used to sleep on the floor waiting for my mom to come back with nice things them nights when i use to cry about my sister and granny because they passed i used to stay up all night never slept and didn’t really pay attention to school didn’t really care about nun i was hard-headed always playing too much but i really care about people’s feelings and always looked out for people but i never asked them for nun always got what i wanted momma i was there never had a dad he passed when i was 5 my momma and granny and aunties what’s always there i remember moving house to house but i always had much but i saw my momma struggle with something i was always outspoken i always speak my mind never was careful never really felt loved because when my granny die i stopped i got a sister i never met at night i be scared but i never let people see me down i always kept a smile on my face i intend to go through the most mom always knew my problems she always helped me always broke her neck for me i got one sister and three lil brothers i always keep it real never folded always been the topic

always was chosen heart was broken but i'm good now i been blessed now my dreams come true nightmares what’s unfolded now i can change people's minds and thoughts i really got goals god was the truth life was a gift so for everybody be y’all play y’all be great love live in joy help people. “Loving Yourself Always ” by Nonnie Love Love Love Love yourself forever And always don't let anybody tells you otherwise Don't let the devil let you down even on your worst days God got you through it all even if you think he doesn’t Everyone isn’t for your heart Friendships, relationships

“Car Confessions” by John Wick I'm everywhere comfortable but I'm still attentive A young n---- with money will make n----s offended I ain't flashy, I'm classy but ain't stupid either Never show off to n----s that's hungry and eager My brother's keeper, I'm loyal, it's all in my demeanor A true believer, I believe when they didn't believe him That's why I don't let opinions affect me I do what I wanna do, if they do or they don't accept me They expect me to give up, I almost did Things went from moving fast, to slow motion I was, losing focus, stuck on that evil potion It was, smooth on the surface but underneath it was broken Hoping to find hope, in this hopeless world we live in What you give is what you're given Gotta make wise decisions, gotta stay tunnel vision Gotta avoid collision, keep scratching the surface, and keep yo palms itching Gotta pay moms a visit, damn it's been awhile I been working, she keep telling me, she miss her child I find myself passing her house then I spin around She say I'm always movin', ma I just can't sit around On my ass, 'cause the cash ain't gon' come to us When we was down who gave a dime or gave a f--- for us So instead of makin' it hard, I made it fun for us Make it easy so when you need it you just run to us But it's a lot of pressure, I'm tryna stick and move through this s--- Fixin these bumps on the road so I can just cruise through this s--- Livin' my life on the road I'm tryna get used to this s--- And when they throw dirt I just act like a broom to this s--- Tryna stay true to this shit even when they lie on me World on my shoulders my girl can't even cry on me God watching over me, the Devil probably spy on me I been going through some s---, Kenneth keep an eye on me

“His Eyes” by Stephan Brodeur Blue Like the Mediterranean Sea when the sun is rising Bright Like the North Star in the dark of the night Sparkling Like the glint on the snow in the midst of a winter day Loving Like the touch of a Mother to her child True Like the unwavering gaze of pure happiness In the dark of the winter night On the Mediterranean Sea The bright moon glints off of the unwavering, soft splashing sea on the shore Projecting the most beautiful Most pure Blue hue that warms the soft, pebbled sands This is the essence of love, in His eyes

“Shards Of A Broken Heart” by Quinn Fisher A human heart is a fragile thing All it takes is one hit to break And she was hit so many times Her wings were broken She forgot how to fly I remember a time when her smile was real She knew how to love She knew how to heal But soon it was too late And just like that her smile was gone The tears of an angel The shards of a broken heart The shadow of a smile The girl that we all lost No one say the pain in her eyes As the last of her friends died Her heart broke like a bullet to glass Bloody shards were all that was left She couldn’t help but feel that she wasn’t right When everyone left turned their backs away She cried herself to sleep Dreaming of her late family The cracking was to deep to mend She had lost all of her only friends Her father yelled “I wish you had never been born!” The sword plunged in deeper, her flesh was torn Her mother stood idly by As her baby girl screamed and cried The girl wished she had been the one that died The tears of an angel The shards of a broken heart The shadow of a smile

The girl that we all lost No one say the pain in her eyes As the last of her friends died Her heart broke like a bullet to glass Bloody shards were all that was left One knew the same pains as she A brother cast out and lost his family He held his tears behind a smile He said “I promise you, I’ll be by your side till the end. Oh darling I know how the pain, it grows But over time I promise you it slows Though I know how much you miss your family Promise, you’ll stay strong for me.” The tears of an angel The shards of a broken heart The girl that was lost The boy that had found her Her heart broke like a bullet to glass And was healed with the brotherly love she had lost Tears of an angel Shards of a broken heart.

“Invisible Demons” by Quinn Fisher I’m a little unwell It’s hard to tell Because my mind is crowded But all you see is a smile Once upon a time I was a child dreaming of happy endings Thinking I could live on forever Words the only thing unending So I speak And no one hears I write them down The papers are burned If no one hears, do you even speak at all? Emotions flowing like a broken pipe Into a jar I lock away Living each day like ball chain weight When I fall off the edge, it will have already been to late Though something keeps me going on each day I’m not sure what Maybe a voice in the back of my head It is slowly drowning in the whispers Of negative thoughts The anxiety grows worse as I slowly lose the things I love It further cements the fears that have grown. Hiding the scars that grow when I go home Not on my skin, but in my head A knife is mercy compared to this Though it has been considered Ran across flesh I always find myself putting it back The voice says “If words cannot me heard, actions may sifice” Yet silence is anything but gentil bliss Silence is something I cannot stand I don’t wish to be alone Loneliness is a fear I wish not to comprehend And they will tell you how positive and outgoing I am

When in my head, I am my own battering ram. As the darkness grows every day Nothing you do or say Can change How I feel The words are so real It’s hard to comprehend That no one else can hear them but me No one hears the silent screams Sees the invisible demons In my head In my vision Clouding my mind Drowning out the others Imprisoning me In chains of my own doing Weights I fashioned Funhouse mirrors I made Guards I built Walls I shaped Ceilings I contrived Doors sealed shut I did this to myself Not purposely But I did either way Because my mind is a prison built just for me And no amount of pills equal a key “I’m fine” She said She lied

“Mind of a Felon” by Jeremy Hernandez Jail was not in my plans, just look at me now Locked up behind bars with God holding me down It's hard to prosper when you're black or brown Your life revolves around, broken dreams, soles, and crown I´m undisputed when it comes to killing My life became a movie, it´s bone chilling I never meant to harm your son, ma´am It's been hard to sit behind the the sun, ma´am The weather is cold in this cell And that's ironic because I'm burning in hell I had some time to think, I know it's hard to tell You look into my eyes, remorse on your mind I know it's hard not to yell Crime opened my eyes, I hate this life I´d rather be with my- A lot of decisions I made don't make any sense Instead of telling you lies, I´d much rather confess As I watched him take his last breath I felt the touch of regret, and then he said: ¨What have you done? I hope you repent¨ I haven't talked to god in so long but it's my time to amend Tonight is the night, you can wipe the tears off your eyes momma I never meant to make you cry, momma This is the last letter that you´ll receive from me, I´ll see you on the other side momma

“Naive” by Alyson Rice A little girl in her little world. Her eyes bright with wonder, But not for what's under. No fears of the monsters Of teeth sharp as razors. Which have formed from neglect, That could strike her foundation with no detect. Her heart, No knowledge of the feeling pain, A fate which is quite seen plain. Holding tightly, Not too sharply, To something that could be nonexistent. Could it lead her astray? She wouldn’t know either way. Would she let go if she knew? Probably not, For the girl’s bliss and comfort is far better than knowing her tangled knot. “New World” by Alyson Rice Open the door, Little girl, Open the door. From her little world, That crumbled by truth. Heart beats fast, As she enters a Big, New World. Her loud voice, Is a whisper in a crowd. Pure heart, In a cruel spot. A journey to begin, For this little girl begs in. An adventure, Which she is not prepared for.

“Anger” by Alyson Rice This little girl, Has finally broke. She is disappointed in herself, That she had become to this. Frustration, Irritation, To hide the cracks that dig deep, Opens old wounds. The little girl curses at her loved ones, Trying something new to soothe the pain. Pushing them away, So they wouldn’t have their way. She didn’t mean to hurt them, She didn’t mean those words. So she would say sorry, To only have it thrown to the dirt. What’s the point? The little girl thinks. What’s the point of loving others, To only get hurt? She had tried over and over, And what does she get? Rejection, Intimidation, Loneliness, Stubbornness. I deserve more, She thinks. People should try, Try as hard as I do. Hostility takes a hold of her. She isn’t little anymore, She isn’t a girl anymore, She isn’t her anymore, She has changed, To something she didn't want. The bad monster growls,

Shows it’s shiny teeth. The little girl is no more, Instead, a shell of what was her. “Grief” by Alyson Rice Losing someone so dear, Brings pain so clear. Being left to die, Is what makes this little girl cry. People she loved, Left her because she’s too much work, Or that the little girl can’t give anymore. For she has given so much of her sanity and mental health, Just so people won’t leave her alone with death. What confusion, Of her not used to the feeling of rejection. The Little Girl’s Allusion, That someday, Someone would have her back. Her eyes full of tears, Because she just lost, A friend with no seers, Throwing the little girl away like a chewed up toy.

“Consider the Following” by Leyna Tran #1: My Apologies (a “Sorry not Sorry Poem”) Apologies For taking Your coloring sheet With the cartoon turkey on the front (And my name on the back) For your tears When I claimed it as mine Apparently, it wasn’t (That’s what mom told me to say) For Pretending And Lying And for my sins I Apologize #2: This Land Doesn’t Love You Do you ever wish you had never Traded tongue for coin Where Mom watched your sweat-stained back Clinging to a shirt more ancient than her oldest Hunched over weeds of this foreign soil This land doesn’t love you When I hear the quick click of the lock It could only be you Coming home from 16 hours of toil and strife And though I hate your temper Erratic as the waves Scorching as the sun I am ashamed but guilty but

grateful for your hard work all the time But this land doesn’t love you Can this really be home This ground whose tall cities are unpronounceable Your name is unpronounceable Can this really be home When spicy wafts of soup boiling And children frolicking on the streets Are replaced by eerie silence And a biting, freezing snow? This land doesn’t love you But someone does. #3: An Anti-Ode Angry red and ebony black Glossy, shiny Smooth as water Yet rough as the waves Long intricate strands Artfully laced ribbons Of pure Nasty The world is hard enough Repulsive enough Fake enough Without you there too “Strawberry” “Chocolate” “Grape” Blinding scarlet boxes and bags of yuck “I am definitely safe!” you scream You can’t fool me I know what’s behind Those masks Just a whole lot of gross “Candle wax” is much too kind You still taste like plastic and

Cardboard pulp Halloween was better without you Go sit in the bottom of Grandma’s purse And expire While I enjoy Real candy You vile rope Of crimson death.

“Untitled” by ADooMYGang I walked in the weight room, Confused and not sure what to do. The guys in there were like giants. I felt puny and insignificant. I was as nervous as a pregnant nun. Everyone knew what to do except me. I felt like an outsider. I picked up my backpack and was off like a shot.

“Unstoppable” by ADooMYGang I’m as wide as a mountain and tall as can be. I can fly higher than a bird and touch the sky. I’m as quiet as a statue while working and louder than a roaring lion while playing. Running faster than a cheetah, jumping higher than a frog, shooting basketballs, kicking soccer balls, and throwing footballs. I feel unstoppable. Then I go to school again smaller than an ant. Everybody goes so fast. I can’t keep up with them. I’m brainless and self doubting. In class, the teacher asks a question - “Wait!” I think I know the answer. I doubt myself. Somebody else answers the question. Then I go home. I’m free again. Unstoppable.

“Title” by ADooMYGang The smell of the food makes my mouth water. I want to sneak a piece, but I need to wait till nobody's watching. I feel like I'm in a room with 300 detectives. Finally! Nobody's watching. I grab a peice feeling like I just won the lottery. I turn around to find my brother laughing at me.

“Untitled” by Jamel Jones I’m a church boy, but I make mistakes like everyone else. I let my emotions get in the way of my success, I allow my random changes of mood to control my life, I allow people's opinions to control my faith. I have never had identity problems, but as I get older I realize, there is someone inside of me that wants to get out, why wont I let them? I know I sound young and confused But trust me i’m sophisticated But i've been manipulated by society, my eyes don’t see, that I'm the only one who is not careless about me But y’all couldn’t care less That's why the older I get, I’m fearless. Look into my eyes - cries from the battle of trying to rise… Success will be the best, I'm tired of feeling lifeless, people try to make me who they want me to be and I don’t like this… I know who I am here I am a ray of sunshine, pride? You can have mine The drought is over The me I want is finally out Rising is my ultimate goal… Rising from hatred... Rising from jealousy ... Rising from stupidity... Rising from ratchetness... Rising from toxic from toxic relationships... And I want to RISE to… Love… Greatness… Intelligence… Peace … Salvation … Happiness …

But what does it really mean to RISE? To come out of a difficult situation.. To reach my goals.. To come out of childish ways…

“Untitled” by Mona Jawad True love: a star's light Travels a million miles Just to kiss our skies Pride before the fall; Cardinal song greets the snow As do hungry hawks

Rain hushes quiet streets Fusing with earth's sweet fragrance That trickles to dreams A train's full-moon howl Scatters birds and fallen leaves Stillness in its wake

STM: CHAPTER ONE After a year, snow didn’t look much different. Still white. Still cold. Still up to his knees. He had been trudging through the white mess for what seemed like ages, a blue dot in the center of a stark and freezing landscape. To one not familiar with this kind of extreme weather, this cold would be hell — but for Polaris, the sight of snow was as familiar as breathing in and out. He didn’t know for sure where the whole traveling tradition came from, but what he did know that his parents did it before him, and his parent’s parents before them, and his parent’s parent’s parents before them, and on and on and on all the way up to the time the Eira-Taith tribe began. When had his tribe formed? He didn’t know that either. All that he could do was blindly follow the words of his grandparents — after all, it wasn’t like he knew better than them. They were his elders. They were his parents elders. So if they told him that he was going to follow tradition and travel alone for a year, wherever he wanted to go, so that everyone would think of him as the adult he was, then he would do it. Why would he want to be treated like a child for the rest of his life? ——————— They had been sitting outside their tent and sharpening their weapons in silence for the past hour, striking small rocks against the blades of daggers and the tips of arrows. Juniper had been with them for the first half hour of it — before getting bored watching and deciding to run off and play in the forest nearby the current camp. “Aren’t you going to go after him?” Gabriel asked. Polaris shook his head. “He’ll be fine.” “How do you know?” “Look,” Polaris replied, pointing the fletching of his arrow in the direction Juniper had gone. Two more kids had joined him as they began to climb one of the many evergreen trees that dotted the landscape. An adult was standing near them, encouraging one of the kids who was stuck on a limb. “He’s fine. He knows not to go too far up or too far in.” “He also ‘knows’ not to mess with my stuff,” Gabriel grumbled. “Did he get into your daggers again?” “Yes!” He struck the edge of the dagger he was currently holding with such force that part of the blade he’d been working so hard on for the past fifteen minutes snapped off and dropped into the shallow snow. “I keep telling him not to and he just keeps on messing around with it all! ‘You’re going to cut yourself! They’re sharp, don’t touch them,’ and he never! Listens!” He threw the dagger and the stone into the snow and let out an angry huff. “He never listens to me! And I’m seven years older than him! I always listened to you and you’re only five years older than me.” “You didn’t always listen to me. Especially not when you were around his age.”

Gabriel rested his head on his hands. “I hate eight year olds.” “Don’t we all,” Polaris said with a small smile. ——————— He had known Janus, who had failed three times and given up trying. Janus, who had lived with his parents for eleven years after finally deciding that he wasn’t up to the task and never bothered to try again. Janus, who became angry and resentful because his parents still had to look after him — all because he was still, in the eyes of everyone in their camp, a child. He had known Eira, who had failed once and fallen into a deep depression. Eira, who stayed in her family’s tent for hours that turned into days that turned into weeks. Eira, who had been found by her parents a few feet away from their tent with a dagger stuck in her side — blood oozing out onto the snow, staining it an angry scarlet red. He had known Olwen, who had died on the way back because she was caught in a snowstorm. Olwen, whose ravaged body was found by her own father, frozen and pale, one finger missing from her right hand. Olwen, who tried to cannibalize herself just to stay alive and see her family again — only to die with her own middle finger stuck in her throat. Polaris would not let himself end up like that. He knew the land. He knew the snow. Knew how it crunched beneath his boots and how it felt like he would be yanked down under the frozen depths if he didn’t keep moving, keep moving, keep moving. ——————— “Whatever,” Gabriel said, rolling his eyes and picking up the dagger and stone. Polaris nodded and continued sharpening with quick, assured strikes, a couple of sparks falling down and sizzling on top of the snow. Gabriel began striking the rock against the slightly broken dagger once more, his marks sloppy and unfocused. All of a sudden, he let out a small cry of pain and dropped his dagger back in the snow. A few droplets of blood appeared on the tip of his thumb, and he stuck his thumb in his mouth, grumbling angrily under his breath. “Alright,” Polaris said gently, placing his stone and arrow down in his lap. “Is there something bothering you?” Gabriel shot him a sour glare and turned his head in the opposite direction. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.” He picked his arrow and stone back up again and began to strike against the tip. “Can’t you wait one more year?” Gabriel suddenly exclaimed, breaking the steady sound of Polaris’ stone against his arrow. “Please?! I don’t want you to go!” “How come?” “Because once you go, I’m going to be the one responsible for everyone! I can’t take care of everyone like you can!”

Polaris frowned. “I’ve been helping to look after you and the rest of our siblings for nearly fifteen years. You’ll be okay for one. And you won’t be alone either. You’ll have our parents, and everyone else in the camp too; they won’t make you do everything alone.” At this, Gabriel shook his head and took his thumb out of his mouth. After wiping it on his pants, he began to pick at a small scar that ran from the first knuckle of his thumb to down near his wrist. “Stop,” Polaris said with a sigh, grabbing Gabriel’s left hand and pulling it down. “I keep telling you not to pick at that.” Gabriel yanked his hand away from his brother’s grip. “What if something happens? Like to Mom or Dad, or Alba, or Juniper, or Naya, or Phiney, or-“ “…Gabriel.” “-Or everyone else here! What if one of the twins gets hurt and I can’t do anything to help them?!” “Gabriel.” “I don’t know the first thing about medicine or anything like that! How am I supposed to look after everyone?! Juniper never listens to me and Alba always says I’m trying too hard to act like you and the twins like you way more than they like me anyway and-“ “Gabriel!” Polaris exclaimed, grabbing his younger brother by the shoulders. “That’s enough. I’m not leaving just yet, alright?” His tone softened as his grip on his brother’s shoulders relaxed. “I’ll still be here for you and everyone else. I don’t want you stressing yourself out this much over me leaving.” “And you’ll come back, right?” Gabriel asked, a small crack in his voice. “You’re not just going to leave us forever, right?” “Of course I will. If I didn’t come back, what would be the point of leaving?” ——————— Winds howled across the frozen land, whipping snow up in a frenzy. He pulled his scarf up higher to protect his face and kept on, a steady and reliable march that had served him so well during his journey. The lantern his father had given him was tightly fastened to a wooden stick, creaking as it swung back and forth, pulled by the force of the gale. Light from the lantern washed over his face and illuminated the path ahead of him, though unable to fully cut through the storms of wind and snow that were lashing him as he continued on back home. See, Gabriel, he said to himself. I ’m coming back like I said I would. How had Gabriel held up? The pressure to take care of four younger kids was something that could get to someone who was still a kid themselves. It had gotten to him before. Multiple times. But you get used to it — swallowing your own fears enough times to help someone else with their own fears makes you a little numb. Was he numb? Numb to his own frights and fears, numb to any sense of danger that directly related to him? He shook his

head, the tight ponytail of silver hair tied at the top of his head swinging back and forth. He wasn’t numb. He just worried about his siblings more than his own welfare, that’s all. And you won’t have to worry anymore. ——————— “You don’t know that for sure,” Gabriel said softly. “You don’t know if-“ The rest of his sentence cut off abruptly, caught up in his throat, tangled in his anxieties. He moved his mouth as if to speak for a few moments before finally summoning the strength to continue his thought. “You don’t know if you might die,” he finished, his voice a barely audible whisper. Polaris tightened his grip on Gabriel’s shoulders. “I don’t-“ He stopped. What could he say to that? What could he genuinely say to that to reassure Gabriel? I won’t die? But he didn’t know that for sure. I’ll be okay? Same problem. “I’ve been preparing,” Polaris said gently. “I’ll do my best, alright? And if-“ Now it was his turn to have his words tangle up in his throat. “If I don’t make it back,” Polaris continued, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Then you’ll be in charge.” Tears began to pool in the corners of Gabriel’s golden-star eyes. “I don’t want to be in charge!” he cried. Polaris’ heart sank. He’d made it worse. “But you never had any problems when you were helping me look after everyone. You-“ “That’s different! You were always there! And if something happened I could always just go to you and-“ A few stray tears trickled down his cheeks and he wiped them away hurriedly with the back of his hand. “And you’d know what to do every time!” “You don’t always have to know what to do.” “But you always do! I mean…” His sentence trailed off as he caught sight of Polaris shaking his head. “You don’t?” “Of course I don’t. No one does.” Polaris replied, taking his hands off Gabriel’s shoulders. “I’m sorry I gave you that impression. But no one expects you to have a handle on everything all the time. You’re only fourteen.” “Then how do you make it look like you do?” Gabriel asked with a sniff. “Just make it up as you go along. You keep trying things until they work. You’ll do fine once you get used to it.” Gabriel tucked his knees up to his chest. “I’m not good at making stuff up.” “Are you kidding? I’ve seen you lie to our parents’ faces plenty of times. Give yourself some more credit.” “How did you know I was lying?” “Maybe because I saw you do the things you were lying about?” Polaris replied, raising his eyebrows. “Like the time you went out at night to hunt even though you weren’t supposed to?” “You saw that?” “Of course I did. I followed you out to make sure nothing happened to you.”

“Oh,” Gabriel said in a small voice. “I didn’t think anyone did.” ——————— Treating the oldest kids like they were “third parents” was one of those other odd traditions. And just like the others, he didn’t know how it came about — though he wouldn’t be surprised if it just spawned out of necessity. Families had been getting bigger and bigger with each passing generation. His mother had been the third out of four kids; his father had been the second out of three. His grandma had been the first out of two; his grandpa had been an only child. And here he was, the first out of six kids. Were all of he and his siblings intentional? Probably not. ——————— “It’s okay,” Polaris said. “I’ve done things like that too. Everyone has. I just wanted to make sure that you were alright. You were eight, after all.” “Juniper’s age,” Gabriel grumbled. “You’ll warm up to him. I wasn’t too happy with you either when you were a baby.” “Huh?” “When you were born, I didn’t want to look after you. I was jealous of you, actually.” “I don’t remember you being jealous.” “Of course you don’t. You were a baby. But I didn’t want anything to do with you — you got all the attention from our parents, and I thought they didn’t love me anymore. Sometimes,” he said with a regretful smile, “I would go out and pick up as much snow as I could carry and bring it back inside our tent. Then I’d drop it on you, and you’d start to cry. And of course Mom would come in and check on you, but not on me — so that just made me madder.” “You did that?!” Gabriel exclaimed, his eyes wide. “That’s so petty, Polaris.” “I know, I know. I was five when you were born, so didn’t I understand how much work a baby was.” “It’s okay. I would’ve done that to Alba if I could.” “What’re you talking about? You still did.” “Oh yeah. I guess I did, didn’t I?” “You ‘guess?’” Polaris repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You threw a chunk of ice at her when you were ten.” Gabriel’s face lit up in realization. “I did do that! I can’t believe I almost forgot.” “Why are you so happy about it?”

“I’m not happy! I just kinda forgot, that’s all. That’s why her shoulder’s always sore, isn’t it? Huh…” He was quiet for a moment as he stared off at the horizon, a pensive expression on his face. “I should probably apologize.” ——————— Though in the grand scheme of it, whether he, or Gabriel, or Alba, or Juniper, or Naya, or Phinney, were really and truly meant to be in the world, alive, surrounded by ice and snow and blizzards, sleeping in tents two apiece and traveling to find food and survive, didn’t mean anything. They were just small specks in the snow, little flakes in a storm that would blanket the land with millions, even billions, of tiny, tiny little flakes. The six of them didn’t matter. Not when there were millions more. But the fact that they didn’t matter didn’t matter. His family was important in his life. Wasn’t that what mattered the most? ——————— “You mean you never said you were sorry?!” “Well, I did! I mean, I kind of did? I guess…” His sentence trailed off as his older brother began to furrow his brow. “I’m sorry…?” “I’m not Alba.” A shameful silence filled the air around them as Gabriel looked down at the snow-covered ground, wringing his hands nervously. He looked up at Polaris, then down at the ground, then up, then down, until Polaris broke the silence with a sharp sigh. “Gabriel-“ “I mean, does it even matter? It was four years ago, she’s probably forgotten by now, right…?” “Gabriel Eider, go apologize to your sister. Now.” With an ever-suffering sigh and roll of his eyes, Gabriel stood up from the log they’d been sitting on, dagger and stone in hand, shook the wrinkles out of his cloak, and traipsed off, turning around every so often to give Polaris, who was still sitting on the log, a sour look. Polaris motioned him off with a quick wave — trying and failing to keep his stern gaze from turning into a grin. ——————— The snow flurries thinned out as the sight of black smoke curling up into the crisp blue sky caught his eye. A feeling of relief and sentimentality welled up in Polaris’ chest — he was almost home. He was going to walk back into camp and prove to his parents that he was an adult now. He was going to find frost berries in the forests with Naya and Phinney. He was

going to teach Juniper how to shoot a bow. He was going to cook with Alba whenever she wanted to. He was going to give Gabriel the biggest hug he could and tell him how proud he was of him. With a tired smile and a slight spring in his step, Polaris quickened his pace in the direction of the smoke. Finally, after so long, he would be back home.

“Today, I Killed Someone” by Seth Tricy Part 1 Andrew :

Today, I killed someone. My name is Andrew, I am 17 years old, I am a senior in highschool, I live with my mom, her partner, and my little brother, I want to be a journalist, I want to write about the world. I want a lot of things. But there is absolutely one thing I don’t want, and that is to hurt people. And today I killed someone. Andrew tore out the lined paper out of his notebook. What he was doing was truly idiotic, and he knew it. If someone found that piece of paper everyone would know the truly brutal and inhumane actions Andrew had committed that day. How could he possibly think writing down his sins would end well? This would practically be a confession. “Andrew,” Jaylee called from the doorway. The boy jumped and gripped the crumpled piece of paper closer to his chest and looked over at the tall woman that stood just a few feet away. Her long box braids were in a loose ponytail and fell over one of her shoulders. “Yes?” He asks quickly, the rest of his fate in life fisted tightly in his palm. “Dinner is ready,” she paused before turning away and going back downstairs, “is everything okay, hun?” his mother’s girlfriend asked. She honestly really did care for Andrew and his little brother, and the both of them cared for her. Jaylee had been dating their mother a year after their father left three years ago. Now, she felt more like a parent figure than his father ever could be. “Yes, yes, everything’s good,” Andrew replied, maybe a little too quickly, “just stressed about school.” The woman nodded and turned away, her face still shaded with concern. Andrew needed to pull himself together. He uncrumpled the paper and tore it up into the tiniest pieces he could manage to make. He walked out of his bedroom, the pieces in hand. The boy went into the upstairs bathroom and dropped the pieces into the toilet and flushed it. He honestly did not know what he was going to do. He walked over to the mirror and washed his hands before looking up into the mirror and studying his reflexion. His green eyes glistened in the light, his grass green eyes was brought out by his dark hair which fell just below his ears. He really didn’t know what he was going to do.

The Journal:

first day of school sucked, a lot. i saw ash today with k.j.. i’m pretty sure that is the guy she messed around with before i found out. why else would they be together? and holding hands. i wanted to throw up when i saw them. she left me for him?! it’s so dumb. did i do something that made her do it? it can’t be obvious. girls are just complicated and it makes them break guy’s hearts.

Andrew: Seth was calling him. Andrew wasn’t going to pick up his phone anytime soon. He simply didn’t want to pretend right now. Andrew let the phone buzz in his jacket pocket and stepped outside. the frigid wind bit at his face, and he pulled the hood of his hoodie underneath the jacket over his head to block out the cold breeze. The sun was starting to get low, but it was warmer than it was that morning and it was slowly becoming more apparent that spring was waking from its year-long slumber. He swung his backpack onto his shoulder which held an old pair of shoes that were splattered with cold and drying blood. With spring, mud and damp earth followed, his foot prints would be seen at the crime scene. But that day, he wore an old pair of gym shoes, he was thankful that he could get rid of them with ease and not worry about getting new ones. He was never so grateful for being a chronic misplacer. Andrew made his way to the bus stop near his house. He had to be careful and get rid of everything. If anything connecting him with the murder was found, he was screwed. He needed an alibi, he needed a good one, nothing too elaborate or ridiculous. So, Andrew began to think: He got out of school at around 3:48 PM, he then walked with him and took the bus with him to his house - no, that would place him directly at the scene of the crime, and that could be messy. But there were people who saw them together, so he couldn’t just say that he wasn’t with the boy. Andrew finally arrived at the bus stop and stood at the edge of the sidewalk as he awaited the bus. There was no one else at the bus stop, just him and cloudy sky. He looked both ways and didn’t see the bus in sight, so he had some time to kill. He pulled out his phone to check the time and saw he had ten texts and two missed calls from Seth. He wasn’t sure how he was going to face him yet. The time was 7:42 pm. That meant almost three hours have past since the… event. Could they have found him already? Or were they still searching? If they were, then he was still lying on the ground by that stream, his fragile body crumbled on the beneath. His skull split open. They would instantly know it was a murder, they would instantly know that someone did that on purpose. The squealing of wet brakes brought Andrew from his thoughts as the bus came to a stop in front of him. He honestly wasn’t paying close attention to the road while he was thinking. He needed

to work on that. A group of people exited before he got onto the bus and seated himself by a window. Not many people were on the bus at that time and it was already getting dark, not as bad as earlier that month, but still dark. Andrew still had to think of a solid alibi. The LED lights on the bus buzzed indifferently to the people on the bus. It was like they knew everyone’s secrets, but they never judged or made comment. Andrew sat on the right side of the bus by a window towards the back. That’s always where he sat when he took a similar public bus to school. He took that bus with him everyday after school. The bus driver saw Andrew get off the bus with him, so he couldn’t just say he stayed on the bus the rest of the way home incase they questioned the bus driver. As the bus approached his stop he took a deep breath and pulled the yellow string signalling that he wanted to get off and the bus came to a slow stop. Andrew would walk the rest of the way here. He stepped off the bus, at first he hesitated before he began to walk. The park was empty at this time except for the few night joggers and teenagers getting high on the jungle gym. Andrew could hear them speaking among themselves, if they did take notice of the boy, they didn’t seem to car. This part of town was where people felt fairly safe, so that meant that not many people were on such high alert. He could slip in and do his business and leave to catch the next bus before people even took notice of him. Not that anyone would be in the park long enough to notice him doing anything suspicious in the first place, and those kids were probably getting too stoned to care. Andrew shivered as he quickly walked down a hill to a small lake. It was usually a place where people went on quiet boat rides and fishing trips, but now it was empty. Perfect. He walked up to the edge, the sounds of cicadas and crickets was surrounding the lake and filling his ears. There was a bridge that stretched across a small divide to another part of the park were there were sidewalks and random trees littering the area. Andrew took a look around before making his way to the bridge where he saw some decent sized rocks sitting untouched, it was honestly a surprise that none of the kids during the day had picked them up and thrown them into the pond. He slugged his backpack off his shoulders and began to fill it with rocks. After which he walked onto the bridge, the paved floor of the bridge was covered in some gravel and the boy’s boots scruffed against the surface. It made more noise than he had prefered. After he threw this bag into the lake, he should be in the clear. All he needed now was a reliable and believable alibi. Andrew threw his backpack out into the water with all the strength he could muster. A splash sounded into the night air and Andrew got the sudden uneasy feeling that he was being watched.

“I Speak Portuguese” by Ana Almeida I was grocery shopping with my mom. This is something that we would always do together. I loved the smell of fresh food, the aroma of all fruits and vegetables mixed. I loved to walk down the aisles and pick out foods I did not know. Then I would see whether they were scaly or soft and try to remember their names. Once, I came upon a dragon fruit, except I did not know it was called that. I remember touching it thorny sides which felt like littles needles pricking your skin. My mom and I would go every Saturday at around eleven in the morning, and it was a place that we knew very well and felt totally comfortable in. We spoke Portuguese because that is what we spoke at home, and my mom wanted me to be bilingual. One of these Sundays, in midst of whatever conversation we were having, we heard an old woman say, “Speak in English - you are in America.” My mom quickly turned around to look at her and said, “I speak English, but I am trying to raise my daughter bilingual” The older woman continued. “You are in my country. YOU have to speak in English.” I felt bad, and my mom had started to cry. In my head, I thought H ow could someone ever say such a thing? Did we do anything wrong? I had never been exposed to this. The old woman quickly trotted off, not even thinking about our feelings. We did not go back to that County Market for a long time. Really, I have not gone grocery shopping with my mom since. That lady made us more cautious of speaking Portuguese in public. Now, I feel more conscious and wonder about how people will or won’t accept my identity. It definitely changed the way I saw myself for a while. They made hurtful remarks about who I was. This experience challenged me and made me stronger. I am now more aware of who I am and proud to be Latina.

Northern Fish, Chapter 11 by Maxwell Stefan Bennett As the advent began, Mama busied herself lighting candles, hanging paper decorations, filling the apartment with the scent of gingerbread, and refusing to speak to me. Not that I had anything to say to her. And though the rest of the family went cold and anxious between us, Lykke alone seemed not to notice at all. She tied red ribbons into her hair and hummed songs all through the building, like nothing was different, and nothing was wrong. Esther came over with her after school one afternoon, near the beginning of Chanukah, with a Star of David around her neck and a dreidel in her pocket. Mama gave her one of the cookies that the rest of us weren’t allowed to eat yet, and then saw me, and asked Lykke, very gently, to “tell her brother to take his feet of the furniture.” Esther glanced from her to me with confusion, but Lykke only nodded, and passed on the message. What a good girl. The two of them played dreidel on the floor and spoke of holidays and traditions until Esther had to go. “And Mrs. Klausen?” She added at the door, as if she had only just remembered to ask, “May Lykke come for dinner tomorrow? And light candles with us?” “Of course she can,” Mama told her. Of course, of course, like I h ad ever gotten to miss dinner for my friends when I was her age. Though mine were never so polite. And soon Søren came home with nothing to say, hoping to play oblivious like Lykke, but betrayed again by the nervous glances, and the adjustment of his glasses, and his own silence. Finally in on the family secret- on my secret- and already he wanted out, it was infuriatingly predictable, and near-offensive to watch. And he must have been the one to tell her about Dmitri; who else? It had to be him, and that only made it all worse. I would have rathered being anywhere else in the world. Christmas wasn’t worth it. But Dmitri had promised he was coming soon and he was, so I could wait. I could hold out until then and that would be enough. He wouldn’t be long, now.

A week. Three days. Tomorrow. Today. Was this how he felt when he waited for me? Like tapping and pacing, counting each day, hour, minute until. Only Mama and Ida were home when I left to meet him on Sunday, and they both looked at me with a question, but neither asked it. Where are you g oing? I told them nothing as I slipped out the door. Outside, the afternoon sun had already begun to set, as it did earlier and earlier with Midwinter’s approach, and I hoped the light would last long enough to meet him. Though, on second thought, what would suit him better than a perfect blue darkness? I arrived at the station a few minutes before his train, and took my place with the others waiting on the platform. They carried suitcases and children and flowers for those coming home, all in woolen coats, with faces rosy from the cold, and I could not have looked especially out-of-place among them, but I felt it. Like a little boy in his father’s clothes, shifting around in my oversized shoes until finally the train rolled in, and from it, in the flock, that face I knew. He found me fast, one red head next to blonds and browns, and as he approached me it dawned on me that I didn’t know how to say hello. Danish law would not punish us for affection of course, unlike Norwegian, but law was never the whole problem. How many eyes were here? How many people to catch us? And even if I made myself not care what they thought, what would they say? What would they d o? Other couples- men and women- took each other in their hands like they were the greatest love story on Earth, kissing and crying all the way. Dmitri and I stopped before each other, an arm’s length apart. “Men can hug, right?” He asked. “I wouldn’t know,” I told him, and we pretended it was funny together. “I think if we’re not too queer about it, it’s okay.” That sounded right. I nodded, and in one motion his arms reached out to pull me in. He could have melted me in those arms. I would have gladly died there, wrapped up in the black of his coat, his face tucked safe in the crook of my neck and his every breath echoing in my chest.

“For once you don’t smell like brine,” he said, and I laughed. “Where does Karla go for the winter?” “She’s dry-docked in Hellebæk, where she used to live with my grandfather.” “That old lady,” he mumbled as he let me go again. Looking around it was clear we had overdone it, too many faces watching us like aliens. Heat crept up my neck. “Let’s get out of here,” -he picked his bag up off the ground with one hand and took my elbow with the other- “it’s too crowded.” Far t oo crowded. I let him lead me on a path through the throng until we reached the safety of the street outside. “So, what do you want to see first?” I asked. A smirk spread on his face and I elbowed him before he would speak whatever clever answer he was thinking of. “Stop that,” I said. “You’re so adorable.” “Where are we going?” He hummed as if he were weighing his options and then said, “Take me to the Little Mermaid.” Of every statue and attraction in this city, of course he chose the Little Mermaid. Of course he chose my favorite. I couldn’t help but smile. “We’ll have to walk awhile,” I warned, “do you want to find your hotel and leave your bag?” He shook his head. “I can carry it, just take me there.” That was easy, then. I knew the way so well, through this city that had raised me. Around a corner I led him, along this street, past the gates of Tivoli which fell so peacefully quiet with the winter. “I’ve seen this place in photographs,” he said, “I wanted to go so badly when I was younger, but my parents couldn’t be convinced.” “I got to go sometimes as a child, mostly when my grandparents were still alive,” I told him, rolling the memories of those summers over and over in my head. “They would come in from the country with Ida and Elin and coax us all out. And my brother was still so little then, Mama would carry him around the gardens and let Grandpa whisk Elin and me off on our own adventures. It all felt so wonderful back then, like magic.” I left out the rest of the story. How Ida took Eline away to Berlin soon after, only returning for Grandma, when she lay on her deathbed. How everything had

changed by the time Lykke was born, or Søren could remember, leaving little proof it had ever been any different. “This was the same grandfather that taught you to sail?” He asked. “He was.” He smiles, just a little. “That’s special,” he said, “I never had grandparents like that.” “Why not?” His mother’s parents could have been left in Russia, but his father was Norwegian, right? He paused for a moment like he wasn’t sure how much to tell me, before he finally settled, wearily, on, “Well it’s complicated, isn’t it?” And I saw the stiffness in his shoulders, so I nodded, and moved on. “Why did you come?” I asked instead, and then hated the sound of every word. “What?” “I mean that, I thought you were backing away and I was afraid I would never see you again, but now you’re here and- What happened?” The anxiety behind my voice was obvious, I knew, and I caught myself wondering if it was a mistake to bring it up at all, but leaving it to hang silently above us felt worse. “I-” he stopped, and reconsidered. “I missed you. More than I expected.” And he looked me right in the eye, so I could see that he was truthful. “I’m sorry.” We crossed the street, and soon he changed the subject, asked me something easy about the city, and how I’d grown up in it, and I answered him, but still I wondered. I had said before that he could tell me what was eating him, I hoped now that he knew that hadn’t been a lie. But we walked on, and I told him stories. How, here, I once lost Lykke when I was meant to be watching her, and there, my friends and I used to flock after school to stare in the windows, and just down that street was a bakery where my uncle worked, on my father’s side. He thought I never heard him when he argued with Papa about my upbringing, I was too effeminate for my age, something had to be done or else what would I grow up to be? Dmitri laughed at this, dryly, like only someone who truly knew it would. He was only the second person I’d ever told about that, and the first to laugh. What a relief. Soon, we passed a fountain knew, dry for the season but still lovely, crowned by the goddess, Gefjon, in her chariot. I was pushed into that fountain once, I told him.

Sometime after the truth got out, that I liked boys, when my face was still bruised, my nose swollen at the bridge as it tried to unbreak itself, I came here hoping and found Bendt, my second friend, the scrappy hero of all our stories. But for all the years we’d spent together, he didn’t want me anymore. He had words for me now, and assumptions, and when I couldn’t let him go they became hands on my chest that shoved me down over the ledge and into the water, and left me to fish myself out. As I finished recounting it all I realized I was clinging to Dmitri’s sleeve, like a child clings in a crowded place. I let go, mumbling an apology, but before I could even finish the words he snatched my loose hand up in his. “Is this okay?” He asked. I nodded. It was so much more than okay, really, feeling his fingers intertwine with mine, spreading warmth through my chest. And there was the Little Mermaid. I could see her now, blanketed in afternoon twilight. “She’s so small,” he said, with something like wonder, “she could be a real girl.” She was already real to me: this fairytale girl, who felt familiar the moment I met her, sitting on the floor of that old country house, narrated to me in my grandmother’s voice. Though, he was right; among statues that towered above she was so, so small. And if she was small then so was I. Just one fish staring out at a vast open sea. But I was not alone this time. “How long are you staying?” I asked. “A week,” he said, “If that’s not too long.” “It’s not.” Of course not. He could stay forever and I’d be glad. “I can’t believe your mother lets you run off so soon before Christmas.” “She’s Jewish,” he said quickly, without looking at me. He was Jewish. “Oh.” That… made sense. “Does this change anything?” I heard him ask, uneasy like I’d never seen him before, as if it were any kind of possibility. “Why would it?” I was not stupid, I knew by now of the hatred that shaped reality. In Norway. In Germany.

In Denmark. But w hy? He looked to me now, with fondness and melancholy in his eyes. “Good answer,” he said. And then, “Matthias, you know, I’ve wanted to kiss you all afternoon.” There were too many people, too many eyes. “Then kiss me,” I said, to spite them all. And he did, as the sea met the shore, and they must have stared, they must have whispered, but I heard none of it over the sound of my own pulse, and of the affirmation resounding in my head that they would not frighten me. That they could n ot frighten me. “Will you let me stay with you tonight, at your hotel?” I asked him as we broke apart. “Won’t your mother be angry when you don’t come home?” She would be, I knew, and she was, but what did I care? I left again, still, the next day, and the next, to show him every sight I knew, through the Christmas market, and the cemetary, and all along the waterfront, where we laughed and told stories and were merry, together, until finally he could stay no longer, and the season returned to normal. Lykke led us in carols. Mama gave me another book. The world passed into 1940.

“Townhome” by Anonymous I drive past my old house nearly every day; the memories are bittersweet. The location was nowhere near safe. That can be proven by the time I almost got hit by a speeding truck coming off the bus, the people making drug deals behind us, the same people’s kids throwing rocks over the fence at me, the ominous bullet sized holes in the sides of the house, the fact that a man died there (and haunted it). Even the squirrels were viscous: they did not squeak - they growled. Looking back on my thoughts, none of this I associated with the American Dream. However, I knew not every child went through this but, quite honestly, I don’t think I cared. I was just thrilled whenever someone wanted to be my friend, no matter where or what they came from. I did not care what they thought of me either. Only one person in my life did: the mom. My mother had taught me more about the meaning of setting in the context of the American Dream more than any person. She had the thought of making do with what we had. But with her, what we had had to be the best of them all. I’ll never ask my mom why she insists on being the 8.5 out of 8’s when no one but her cares. She won’t tell me or say something like “You’ve got to always look presentable.” I’d respond. “Presentable to who? Other people have dirtier houses!” “Ours will not be dirty because we are not dirty,” she would reply. Every time a person’s coming over: Vacuum! Buy food! Mop! Shower! Dress nice! “It’s a sleepover.” “The pajama set t hen!” I reduced this to whatever synonym my brain had for OCD at the time. Now I see that it has much more to do with my mom trying to put on a show and “hide” that we weren’t the most well-off. Extra money at the time went into us and our house. Justice and Nike were the it brands at the time, and my sibling and I were i t. Anything else went into that townhome looking like a mini mansion. My mom learned to landscape and garden herself. Square bushes and carefully planted white hydrangeas and orange daylilies, her favorite flowers, decorated the front and side of our house. The daylilies reminded me of the flower in Tangled. I’d sing to them, Rapunzel’s hair would glow, and my hair burned with chemical straighteners. The house was home, disjointed, but home. A suede couch, faux leather recliner, china cabinet, and a huge flat screen was all crammed into a bedroom-sized living room. We had the latest Playstation and the Wii as soon as it came out, but you had to use the box T.V. upstares to play the Wii, and the Playstation took a mechanic to connect. I know no one in

my family ever wanted me to feel like I could ever not do something because of our status. One of the most prominent ways my mother portrayed that was making sure I had everything she could give without having a ginormous lakeside house. I did understand this as a child. Though I complained sometimes of living in townhomes, I did know that both my parents were supplying for me as best as they could without a fortune. Giving me the best American Dream they could without feeling it for themselves yet. I know I understood this because I used to tell them: “Once I get rich and famous, I’ll buy you guys a beach house in Naples! And a maid! Dad, you’ll get into every basketball game for free! I’ll make you a coach!” I know I wanted them to feel the joy of having something so nice given to them. I wanted to give them the things they gave me to make sure that they never have to worry again. I knew my mom felt a sense of urgency to always appear like “everyone” else even though we can’t afford it. Both my parents wanted to live up the American Dream just to give it to us, so we never had to feel insecure or worried. It worked obviously. It worked, but not in the conventional “American” style. We were not a white family, not upper class, not the happiest family, and still aren’t. As a child, I gave the American Dream no thought simply because I was living my own dream, nearly the American one, given to me by my parents in the form of a townhome with palace-like decor. Though things got rough, or sometimes they were on the up and up, I never once felt too uncontent as to question my family's wealth. Perhaps I still have limited thoughts on the American Dream because of how and where I was raised. I was taught that it’s what you make it, not a goal like America makes it seem. I know it’s real now ( and much more real for those who desire it ), but I was brought up in a home that knew it didn’t fit the cookiecutter, but it tried and my mom so worked hard that she made me never doubt. She made our home become her own dream for her family and it reflected it. My townhome at the time did certainly not fit the American Dream, but my mom would be damned if you ever try to tell her it wasn’t worthy of an honorable mention.

“Mercenary Tales” by Fox I’m scared. I usually love missions that are in the dark, but once I heard about Niall’s potential transformation, I got really scared. I’ve heard rumors on what happens when he has transformed. I’ve heard a ton of rumors from, ‘He eats any food that is in his sight’ to ‘He will kill, de-limb or eat you when he is in that form.’ I am genuinely terrified about him going full werewolf. “All right, is everyone in position?” Lewis asks over the com. He sounds like he is ready for this battle that’s coming. Everyone says ‘yes’ or ‘yep’ except for me because I am still in my head thinking of all these bad situations that could happen. “George do you copy?” I snap out of it. “Yes sir, I am in position.” I say into the com. Now, we wait. It has been an hour since we got here and no dice. I’ve been carving drawings and words into a nearby tree. Suddenly, I hear something over the communication earpiece. “Yeah yeah yeah we’re on our wa-” I hear those words through static, I listen closely to the words. “Yeah we’re almost there. We’re taking the northernmost road through the forest.” Oh no. That’s where Niall is. “Yeah I’m sure no one’s there and just in case there is, we have a couple guns on the ready.” After the voice says that, it cuts off, and I hear our group in the middle of a discussion over what is the best way to move around a city. “I’m tellin ya, trains are the most superior mode of transportation,” Niall explains. “No way! Running everywhere is the best way!” Lewis says as we hear a tree branch snap. “Ouch.” They all bust out in laughter. “Niall, the truck is going down your road. My com picked up a conversation from the driver of the truck and who I am assuming is the person the shipment is going to.” “Wait, really? Shit. Can I get back up?” “Yeah I’ll be there shortly with Katrina. Lewis and George, go to the southernmost road to make sure they weren’t trying to trick us,” Quinn said as he ran to the north road. “Got it. All right, I’m shutting off my com to make sure the enemy doesn’t hear our conversation.” Lewis says as he heads to the southern road, and I am already there waiting for him.

It’s thirty minutes until Lewis finally gets here, and we watch the road to check for the truck. As Quinn predicted, they are coming down our road. I get my spear ready, and Lewis breathes and sets his hand on fire, one of the perks of being part dragon. As the truck is about to pass, Lewis and I ready ourselves to launch onto the truck. The truck is about to pass us in 3…. 2…. 1…. We jump towards the truck. I pierce the side of the truck with my lance, and Lewis punches it, melting a hole into the side. He starts breathing fire to get inside. I use my spear to get on the roof. Before I can get close to the front, a man opens the sunroof, pulls out a pistol, and starts firing it at me. “Guys, they’re at the southern road, come help!” I say into my com while defending myself from the bullets. Lewis finally makes a big enough hole to get in the truck. When he does so, he is greeted by a man with a shock stick, which is like a close-range taser. “Woah woah woah, take it easy bud. If you just stop the truck and hand it over to the authorities, then you won’t get hurt. Now drop the shock stick,” Lewis tries to convince the weapon dealer. “Shut it, dragon wannabe,” the dealer says. He then goes to hit Lewis with the stick, and Lewis blocks it with his arm. Normally, that would have shocked someone; however, Lewis has scales over parts of his body, and those scales easily take electric shocks. “Guess we aren’t playing a peaceful fight, huh? All right, you asked for it.” Lewis then hits the dealer with a right hook, having the dealer stumble backwards, and sets his hands on fire. “I hope you have some sunscreen, cuz your gonna get burned!” Lewis likes to come up with stupid one-liners during fights. He has used that one the most, but he gets the job done.. Lewis starts throwing a bunch of punches at the dealer, and he manages to dodge some at the beginning but then he tried to swing at Lewis and got hit in the face by a fiery fist. “Ugh… Grrr…. John! Drive faster. I need to teach this boy a lesson,” said the dealer that got punched in the face. He then pulls out a gun. Lewis goes behind a crate that has tons of guns, and Lewis was about to be shot through the crate when suddenly….BAM! The car is hit on it’s side and is forced onto its side. This sends Lewis out the hole he created, and it sends me off the roof. I look to see what hit the car and…… oh no…. Niall… transformed. Niall is now this ginormous wolf humanoid which is the tallest thing I’ve ever seen. Niall growls. Niall notices the enemies and lunges at them. “You guys should get out of there,” Quinn says over the com. “He’ll transform back once no one else is around after mauling these guys.”

“R-right away!” Lewis and I start running away when suddenly Niall, who has a enemy by the collar, notices us and throws the enemy against a tree and starts chasing us. He catches up with me and Lewis in no time. He opens his giant maw and is about to eat me when suddenly a net comes out of nowhere and entangles Niall. “Got em!” I hear a woman’s voice say. I look to where the net came out, and it is Katrina with what I assume is a net gun. “Nice shot, Katrina!” Lewis said as he soon fainted from the shock of Niall’s attack. “That was a close one wasn’t it?” I hear Quinn say as he emerges from the bushes. “You okay?” “Oh yeah perfectly fine, just was chased down by a giant werewolf after looking down the barrel of a gun. Perfectly fine,” I say. Sarcasm is my way of coping with traumatic experiences. “Oh geez, was it really that scary? You’re in coping mode right now.” Quinn says, sitting me down. “I’ll be right back. Gotta go get the dealers.” Quinn starts running back to the location where the dealers were knocked out. Quinn comes back in 30 minutes, hauling the unconscious dealers over to where we are. Niall sees the dealers and lets out a low growl at them. Katrina has a newspaper and smacks Niall’s maw with it, and he lets out a whimper. “Stop growling. You may be an animal right now, but you are still a person so act normal,” Katrina said. We spend the rest of the night around a campfire, sharing stories, relaxing, and just hanging out. Eventually, we headed back to the city and dropped off the truck and culprits at the police station. Niall is acting more human, though he’s still full werewolf. We head back to HQ, and we all fall asleep in the lobby.

“Pain” by Kai There is one thing we all fear that we never want to admit, and when we don’t, we cause ourselves more of it. This thing we fear, be it mental or physical, is one of the biggest and darkest thing in our minds and we let it control us since we bottle it up and hide it. Pain, this is the thing we are all afraid of. We will all suffer at some point. Like when we lose a loved one, either through death or a bad break up. Some people will grieve openly, and some will retreat to a dark corner and suffer alone. Pain will always be present in our lives, but don’t let it for one second take advantage of you. Don’t hide from it, don’t hide it from the ones that care about you. If you try and keep it down it will tear you down from the inside. You have to let your pain run its course, even if it takes weeks, maybe even months. You just have to be patient. If you rush it, you only prolong it, making you suffer for longer and maybe even for a different reason. You have to embrace it; this pain is a part of you, not an infection. The last thing you want to do is kill yourself. I know that there will be some pain that will push you into a state of depression, you’ll think “This world would be better without me in it...no one would notice…” And trust me when I say I’ve been through this and there are people that care about you, there are people that will notice that you’re gone. Those people will miss you so much and they will wonder why you didn’t and why they didn’t know. They will blame themselves for not helping or doing something about it. Now, this is not to guilt-trip you; it is to tell you that YOU MATTER. S o don’t you think for a second that people wouldn’t miss you or notice. You are important, whoever you are reading this, go find those people who care for you and never let go of them. They will be your friend for a lifetime. The last thing you need to do is, Smile. Just smile and that’s the first step to getting better.

“Two Single Dads Walk Into A Bar” by Quinn Fisher Author’s Note: This is the beginning of a story I’ve been writing for a while. I love these characters and it was heartbreaking to write some of this, this is a “What if” story I wrote for several characters I’ve been writing for years. In the regular universe Diana and Helen are Q and Bruce’s exes, but I challenged myself to write this and it almost made me cry several times.

An average day for Elle involved getting woken up loudly by her father, eating breakfast and carpooling to school with her best friend Jessie. Then he father would go to work and pick her up after school. Elle was two grades ahead of her age group so she was already in middle school. Jessie was 11 so they were in the same grade. They went to a prestigious uniform school in the center of the city, which was pretty far from where both of the girls lived because they were on the outskirts of town. Q walked into Elle’s bedroom and turned on the light. He pulled the cover off on her and hit her with a stuffed animal that sat at the end of her bed. “Get up Sugar Cube! Time for school!” He picked her up and spun her around. Elle opened her eyes and hugged him. “Morning daddy…” “I packed your lunch, get dressed and get going, you are going to be late.” “I've got it handled daddy…” “Dad! I'm going to be late!” Elle yelled as she shoved cereal in her mouth. Q was struggling with cramming all her textbooks into her backpack. “I'm going as fast as I can, Elle how many books do you have?!” A car horn honked. “Go faster! Jessie's dad is here!” Elle set her bowl in the sink and quickly laced up her shoes. Q finally zipped up her bag and handed it to her. She ran towards the door and waved to Q. “Bye dad! See you tonight! Love you!” She yelled from the doorway. “Love you too Elle! Have a good day! Tell Jessie's dad I say hi!” Elle left quickly. Q groaned and face palmed. “Why am I so bad at this…” Q turned around and walked through one of the long halls in Saundra Manor. The house was inherited from his late wife, Helen, who had inherited it from her father. Sometimes Q wondered in Helen’s Father would have approved of him, if he was a good husband while they were married and if he had done enough. He never thought he could do enough. Q messed with his hearing aid as he entered a large parlor filled with bookshelves and old furniture. It even had a fire place. Q sat down in an armchair and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, they met a black book on a shelf. He walked over and pulled it from the shelf. He flipped to the first page. It was a photo album, he began flipping through the pages, which were filled with pictures of he and

Helen’s wedding. He stopped on a picture of her shoving a slice of the cake into his face, he smiled and flipped to the next page, which was their kiss after the vows. Helen looked beautiful is her white gown. A tear dripped down his cheek and he wiped it away. He felt his hand move to the wedding ring on his other finger. He flipped to the next page, which showed the crowd of attendees at the banquet, in the crowd he saw Bruce and Diana standing in the crowd with their baby daughter, who they named Jessie. Bruce was smiling as Diana kissed his cheek. Q hadn’t seen Bruce that happy in a long time, ever since Diana died. He flipped to another part of the book, it was a picture of him and Helen sitting on the couch in front of a fireplace, the same fire place he was next to in fact. He used to love doing that, sitting by the fire on cold nights, but now it just made him lonely. The next page was a picture of them wearing winter coats and posing in front of an ice rink, Elle never knew why he cried when she asked him to teach her how to ice skate. Q flipped to the last page in the book, which was a picture of Helen holding Elle when she was a newborn baby. He was standing behind Helen kissing her cheek. He felt his tears begin to flow. He sighed and tucked the book under his arm, catching his breath and wiping the tears from his eyes. He walked over to the shelf and slid the book in between several textbooks. Q was very protective of Elle because he had lost his wife shortly after Elle was born, and didn't want to repeat history. Q didn't have a good family dynamic growing up and that it had effected how he raised Elle. He didn't want to repeat his parents mistakes. His father had died of cancer when he was young and his mother was abusive. He was taken from her when he was Elle’s age and placed into the foster system, Q always wanted Elle to know that he loved her. The media focuses on single moms but single dads have it just as hard. Elle sat in the back seat of the car talking to her best friend Jessie. Bruce glanced back at them as they pulled up to the school. “Have a good day at school girls. Love you Jessie.” He spoke with the british accent he’d had for as long as anyone could remember. He picked it up from his father, and Jessie had picked hers up from him but hers wasn’t as strong. Jessie waved as the car stopped in front of the school and they exited. Elle and Jessie walked up towards the school. Jessie was was tall and beautiful for being 11, tall she got from her mom and beautiful from both of her parents. Bruce had a sharp jawline, which Jessie did not inherit, but she did have his eyes and his dark brown hair. She was the most athletic and smartest person in the school other than Elle herself, which Jessie got from her dad. Elle had green eyes and red hair like her father but in the face she looked like a combination of both her dad and mom, having her mother’s eyes and several of her father’s other features like his dimples and her mothers light freckles. Elle got almost everything from her father, she was a bit shy like he was and obsessive like him. Both kids

had many things in common with their parents, and that was something they were very proud of. Q remembered how things were when Jessie was born. Bruce and Diana took care of her for a while together but after that things went back to his they were. A few times a week Q would watch Jessie for them because he had nothing better to do. That was 2 years before Diana died. Q remembered when he proposed to Helen, which was a little bit before the Jessie was born. They were in Italy for work and decided to spend a few extra days there. He proposed in front of the leaning tower of piazza and Helen immediately said yes. When they were married Bruce was the best men and Diana was the bridesmaid. He was so nervous he kept fumbling over his words and dropping things. “Oh god oh god oh god…” Q hyperventilated. Bruce grabbed his shoulder. “Q calm down.” “I can't what if something goes wrong what if the FBI shows up or the Girl Scouts of aglets or--” “Q oh my god none of that is going to happen, mate.” Bruce reassured him and fixed the flower on his suit jacket. Q continued hyperventilating. Diana walked over carrying Jessie, who was playing with a stuffed animal duck. “DUCKY!” Jessie babbled. Diana placed a hand on Q’s cheek. “Don't be nervous Q, if anything happens, you have an audience full of friends and family.” Diana smiled and handed Jessie to Bruce. Bruce kissed Jessie’s forehead, Jessie clapped her hands and giggled. Jessie always made Q calm down. Q placed a hand in his heart and felt the fast intense thumping, he slowed his breathing and closed his eyes. “Ok… ok… I’m good now…” Q wiped the sweat from his forehead and took a deep breath. Not soon after he was ushered towards the church’s nave, which was filled with people and decorations. An organ played across the room, he liked more up beat music but it was fine. He made his way to the end of the red carpet and stepped up to the podium. On the other side of the double doors, Helen was also panicking while Diana tried to calm her down. “Helen you will be fine.” “What if something goes wrong what if he says no what if--” “He won't say no, he proposed to you remember. Just go out there and fake that you are completely confident, that's what I did I was really nervous too.” “Hey.” Bruce cut in. “Bruce shouldn't you be up at the podium--”

“SHOOT!” Bruce handed Jessie to Diana and took off running. Jessie looked up at Diana and babbled nonsense. “Al-Alfwado!” She giggled. Diana hugged Helen with her free arm. “I promise you everything will be ok.” Diana whispered. Helen took a deep breath and nodded. “Ok… ok…” Helen pushed open the double doors and stepped into the room. Bruce took his place on the podium and brushed himself off. Q looked over at Helena and sucked in a breath. She was as beautiful as ever, he didn't see how nervous she was. She walked up to the podium and stood parallel to Q. She saw how nervous he was and began to feel nervous again herself. After a few minutes of the priest talking, he got to the vows. “Do you, Helen, take Charles to be your lawfully wedded husband?” “I do.” Helena nodded. “And do you, Charles, take Helena to be your lawfully wedded wife?” “I do.” Q nervously messed with his sleeve. “You may now kiss the--” Helen pulled him closer and kissed him. A cheer rang out through the church. That was the second happiest day of his life, the first being when Elle was born. Diana died shortly after, and then so did Helen, but Q didn't like talking about that. Bruce stormed into the house soaking wet as a storm raged on outside. Jessie looked up from her math workbook worriedly. “Dad are you ok--” “Not now!” Bruce slammed the bathroom door behind him. Jessie stood up and walked over to the door. She knocked on it once, she could hear him breathing on the other side. “Dad? Do you want to bake cookies or something?” Bruce slowly opened the door. There was something in his eyes that made him look heartbroken. “Yeah Princess that would be good.” Bruce and Jessie walked down the long hallway to the kitchen. Bruce’s attention turned to a picture frame on a shelf. It was a picture of Bruce and Diana together, Diana was holding up a peace sign and winking, Bruce was just smiling. They were standing in front of the Eiffel Tower. He picked up the frame as Jessie leaned against the wall behind him. Bruce stared at the picture for a few moments. He remembered it like it was yesterday, this was taken when he and Diana had first started dating. “Bruce! Look over there!” Diana pointed to a pidgin carrying away a piece of a baguette. Bruce gave Diana a confused look. “What the fu…” “Oh my god there is a poodle!” Diana squealed as a poodle walked past them on the sidewalk. It sniffed her hand and she giggled, which made Bruce smile. The poodle and it’s

owner continued their walk. Diana fixed her barei and looked over at Bruce, who was chewing on a piece of bubble gum. They made eye contact and were silent for a moment, they both glanced away blushing. Diana glanced over to the eiffel tower which was somewhat visible over the rooftops. She grabbed Bruce’s hand and pulled him that way. They ran through the streets towards the tower as Diana giggled and Bruce almost choked on his gum. They made it to the tower after a few minutes. Bruce collapsed onto a bench gasping for air. Diana pulled him to his feet and took out her cellphone. She put her phone in selfie mode and smiled at the camera, Bruce caught his breath and looked at the camera. He composed himself and smiled. Diana winked and held up a peace sign. She took one photo and he immediately leaned in and kissed her cheek. Diana giggled and almost dropped the cell phone. “Dad are you ok?’ Jessie asked as she walked over to him. “What is wrong with me…” Bruce mumbled and rubbed his eyes. Jessie gave him a confused look. “There is nothing wrong with you, why would there be?” Jessie asked, Bruce set the picture back on the shelf and turned it over. “I am fairly good at hiding my emotions… but for some reason now they are all flowing. “It's human to have emotions dad. I didn't know her but I bet mom was wonderful.” “She was…” Bruce sighed. “She was one of the greatest things to ever happen to me…” Jessie hugged him from behind. Bruce took a deep breath and turned around. “Ok, let’s not talk about this anymore, let’s make cookies.” “Yes!” She grabbed his hand and they ran up the stairs towards the kitchen. Bruce helped Jessie remove the tray of cookies from the oven. Bruce and Jessie began transferring the cookies to a cooking rack. “These look better than the first two burned batches.” Jessie wiped sweat from her forehead. “That’s what happens when you bloch it.” Bruce’s cell phone rang. He fished out of his pocket, the caller ID read Charles. Bruce looked up at Jessie. “I'm sorry, I have to take this.” Bruce left the room. Jessie could faintly hear him talking on the other side of the door. “What do you need? No I can… yes. No. Hmm… I’ll be there in an hour mate. Alright goodbye.” Bruce walked back in. “Sorry I had to take that--” Jessie shoved a cookie in his mouth, which startled him. He chewed and swallowed. “Yes, these are in fact better than the burned ones.” Bruce picked Jessie up and hugged her. “I love you sweet pea…”

“I love you to dad.” That night… Bruce, Q, Wally, Oliver and Clark sat around a table with a tray of shots. They sat talking about life and recent events. Wally kept going on about his girlfriend Linda. “I tell ya, she’s beautiful.” Wally laughed as he took a shot. Bruce smirked. “You say that about all women.” Bruce added. Q snorted trying to hold back a laugh. ‘You said that about our wives.” Q tipped his glass towards Wally. “They were, you can’t argue. They were smoking hot babes--” “Wally!” Clark elbowed him. “Stop it! You’re drunk!” Wally shrugged. “They were.” Q held up his hand with the wedding ring. “Back off Wally. Helen’s mine.” “Surprising she choose you--” “Codswallop!” Bruce slammed his hand down on the table. Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Bruce you're british is showing.” “What? She was hot and he’s not.” Wally argued. Q shifted uncomfortably. “He’s dishy.” Bruce argued back. “Your british slang confuses me.” Q took a shot and added. “It means hot.” “Oh. Why thank you.” Q smiled. Wally chuckled. “Shippable.” “I’m miffed with you Wally.” Bruce glared at him. “That means annoyed.” Oliver added. “I can’t be too mad, he’s just wankered and sloshed.” Bruce crossed his arms. “I don’t know what that one means.” Oliver finished. They talked for a few more minutes. Bruce looked down into his glass and was silent. Q rested a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “You ok Bro?” “Fine… I just miss her… a lot…” “I know.” Oliver chugged down a shot and looked over at Bruce. “Losing someone that close isn’t easy, you have the right to be upset.” Wally, who was a little drunk, tried to change the conversation. “Bruce, truth or dare?” Wally asked. Bruce rubbed his chin, thinking about it scientifically. “Dare.” He answered. Wally smiled mischievously. “Go hit on the girl at the bar over there.” Wally pointed to a woman in a blue dress sitting at the bar across the room. Bruce was silent for a moment. “I… no.” Bruce responded. Wally raised an eyebrow.

“You chose dare!” “I’m not looking for a relationship.” Bruce finished. “Why not?” Clark asked. “I just… you know…” Bruce messed with his wedding ring. “Bruce it’s been nine years.” Clark rested a hand on his shoulder, Bruce glanced away. “And it was a mistake the first time.” Q had his hand over his mouth trying to hide his current emotions. He felt his heart thumping in his chest, he felt terrible for Bruce, he had come to terms with Helen’s death, but Bruce never had gotten over Diana’s. “Fine, if you had to date one of us, who would you date?” Wally asked. Bruce chewed his lower lip. “I don’t want to date any of you, mate, but Q is the least intolerable.” Bruce shrugged. Q spit out his drink onto the table and started coughing. Oliver and Bruce helped wipe up the liquid as Q composed himself. “You ok there?” Bruce asked. “I’m the least intolerable?” Q coughed. They circled around the table for truth or dare and finally came back to Bruce. “Truth or—“ “I should be getting home, mates. I’m a bit knackered and legless.” Bruce pushed back his chair and stood up. “That means tired and drunk.” Oliver added. Bruce’s vision was slightly blurry and his head was foggy. “I’ll drive you home.” Q stood up, unlike everyone else, Q could never get drunk. “You aren’t in the condition to drive.” “That’s probably a good idea. I call bagsy.” They left together. The remaining men turned to each other. “I think we pushed Bruce a little to hard.” Q sat behind the wheel of his blue 1995 Toyota Camry as Bruce stared out the passenger window. Bruce hadn’t said a word since they got in the car. Q glanced over at him. “Are you ok Bruce?” Q asked. Bruce shook his head. “In a week it’ll be ten years since Diana died.” Bruce spoke, his voice cracking as he held back tears. “I’ve gone ten years without my wife raising a kid alone… and I don’t know how much longer I can go Q.” Bruce dried his tears on his sleeve. “I don’t really want to go home tonight… but I don’t want to be with any of the guys… they bring up emotions I don’t want to feel.” “Where do you want to go?” “I don’t know… I just want to skive today, you know?” “We can go to my house. I put Elle to bed before I left.” Q offered.

“That’s fine…” Q made a detour and started in another direction. After ten minutes of silence they pulled into the driveway of Saundra manor. Bruce opened his car door and stumbled out. Q walked around the car and hooked Bruce’s arm over his shoulder, helping him walk up the front steps. “I don’t need help.” “I’d rather help you then have you fall on your face.” Q rolled his eyes. They entered the house and walked down a long corridor, entering the parlor with the fireplace. Q let Bruce sit down on the rug, left and came back with two glasses of water. Bruce sipped his water slowly, which helped his vision and balance. Q started a fire in the fireplace and sat down on the rug next to Bruce. He took a sip of his water. “Better?” Q asked. “A little.” Bruce nodded off for a moment and then snapped back into consciousness. Q removed a cover from the couch and draped the cover over Bruce’s shoulders. “Better?” “Quite.” Bruce sipped his water slowly. “Thank you Q.” “That’s what friends are for.” Eventually when the water was gone and the fire had really gotten going. Bruce had dozed off to sleep and Q along with him. Bruce woke up about midnight, he glanced over at Q who was still fast asleep. Bruce stood up, he knew the house pretty well, even in the dark, so he found himself walking down the long corridor to the kitchen. Bruce opened the fridge and made himself a glass of milk. He chugged it down and glanced towards the doorway, where Q stood rubbing his eyes. “Are you ok Bruce?” Q asked as he stepped closer. “Did I wake you up?” Bruce asked. Q nodded. “Yes, but it’s fine. Do you want to talk?” “What do you want to talk about?” Bruce leaned against the table. “I just… well… I thought you might want to… We don’t talk about Diana again if you don’t want to.” Bruce glanced away, sighed and then looked back. “No, I should probably talk about it one of these days, eh mate?” Bruce brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. “I guess… I just… when she died… I took it hard… really hard… I became really depressed… my anxiety spiked up and… I just… I don’t want to lose anyone else. I loved her. She was the love of my life. She was irreplaceable. I don’t like the thought of replacing her. I never can. So when Clark, Wally and Oliver ask me to date someone else, I just can’t do that, because no one. No one can ever replace Diana. I don’t have time for a relationship anyway, I have work and I have Jessie.” Bruce crosses his arms. “I can come to terms with her death but I can never replace her.” Tears were leaking from Bruce’s eyes. Q leaned against the table next to him, he sighed and glanced back at Bruce. “Helen… was everything to me… I never thought someone like her could fall in love with someone like

me… she was I goddess and… she was hot I’m not.” Q glanced away from Bruce, who’s expression softened. “Q, Wally didn’t mean that…” “No, he was right. She was so great… so perfect... I was… I was just a man. We lost her so suddenly. In the beginning, I refused to believe my Helen was gone. She had been standing next to me smiling not to long before, and then, then she was just gone. It hurt. A lot. It messed with my sanity. And I was left to raise a daughter alone, me, the guy who never thought he could be a good parent, who feared ending up like his mother. The guy abused and placed in the foster system. I was terrified. Not just for me, for Elle, who had to grow up without a mom. And I guess to her that seems normal, but to me, well when I was a kid that was… that was a relief. Because my mother was an awful person, but Helen was perfect. I never knew what it was like to have a good mother till I saw Helen with Elle.” Q fell silent for a moment. He rubbed his temple and glanced up at the ceiling. “And after having that for such a little amount of time… I couldn’t believe I… lost it so suddenly.” Bruce grabbed Q’s hand and squeezed it tightly. Q turned to him and found himself hugging Bruce and holding back tears. “No child should have to grow up the way you did, mate, but I know Elle grew up much better, because she had you.” Bruce whispered. Q felt his tears flowing. “I hope so.” Q’s hand reached up to touch his hearing aid. “I don’t really want to talk about what my mother did to me…” “You don’t have to Q.” They broke out of their hug. There was a sniffle from across the room. Their heads turned to Elle who was sitting at a table eating a cookie. Q’s face went pale. “How long have you been there?!” “About ten minutes.” She responded. “So you…” “Yes I heard all of that.” She took a bite of her cookie. “Elle I’m so sorry…” he placed his head in his hands. “I’m so sorry you had to hear…” “It’s ok Daddy. You never talk about it, you need to get it off your chest.” She stood up and walked across the room to him. He picked her up and hugged her. “Now missy, why are you out of bed?” “You guys woke me up and I was hungry.” She rubbed her eyes. “Let’s put you back to bed.” Q carried Elle out of the room, leaving Bruce alone. Bruce sighed and picked up the landline off the wall. He typed in his home phone number. It rang for a moment before Jessie picked up. “Princess?” He asked. “Daddy it’s midnight…” Jessie groaned. Bruce sighed and leaned against the wall. “I want to talk to you for a minute.” “About what?” Jessie asked.

“About your mother.” Jessie was silent for a moment. “You never talk about mom…” He trailed off. He nodded. “I know, it’s time I started.”

“Everything Hurts and I’m Dying” by Raven “Look, there is an annual cross country race for 2nd-5th graders. You should do this, it looks like it would be a lot of fun!” My mom’s enthusiasm would convince me to run that race, but that race would not just be a race. My first cross country race would lead to a decade long cross country career. One that is still continuing today, nine years after that race. I did not win that race, but somehow that didn’t matter, because I would participate in every cross country race until I moved on to middle school. This race, would change the rest of my life. I would go on to do cross country in middle school for all three years and another 4 years in high school. My high school journey has yet to be completed, but even so my story is still 9 years in the making and even without my Senior year of cross country in the books, I still have many stories to tell. Cross country has given me some of the best, worst, and strangest experiences. There have been so many benefits, challenges and ups and downs.There have been some days or even weeks where I have wanted to quit, and other days where I had so much fun that I could not even imagine this not being a daily part of my life. I have met so many people along the way, been mentored by quite a few coaches and have overcome so many obstacles in my life. My coach tells us that Cross Country teammates are people you can call friends forever, because no matter how far away you are, we will always have one thing in common, running. I could see most of the friends I have made during Cross Country as lifetime friends. I would casually run with almost anyone of my teammates. There have been a few teammates during the years that have made Cross Country a little difficult to enjoy, but the amount of girls I have met that do make running worth it, exceed the ones who have made it difficult. Chapter 1: Where it all began I went to Kenwood Elementary School for grades K-5th. I remember when I was in Kindergarten and 1st grade and we spent an hour of our day towards the beginning of the year watching all the 2nd-5th graders run in the girls and boys Cross Country race. I never knew any of the girls or boys running in it so I just watched and cheered everyone on as they passed. I didn’t think much of it and never thought I would ever run it. I liked to play tag or kickball at recess like any other kid, but I never found running for no purpose any fun. It just looked like extra work for no return, unless you were fast enough to get in the top 10 and win a ribbon. Even then, the only other reward was for the top two girls and boys in the 2nd-3rd race. They got to run with the 4th and 5th graders during their race. The only reward was getting to run in another race, I didn’t understand it at all, but I was happy we got to miss another hour watching the 4th and 5th grade events the next day. Then I went into the 2nd grade, where everything changed. One day during morning announcements they mentioned the race and how it was coming up in a few weeks and if we wanted to join we had to sign up soon. I just quietly laughed to myself thinking there was no way I was ever going to do that and just went on with my day. When I got home, I gave my mom the mail I found in my classroom mailbox and was about to go to my room to do homework.

Then the unexpected happened: my mom saw the flyer about the race and looked really excited about it and told my I had to sign up. I argued with her about it and told her I didn’t want to do it, but it didn’t matter. I went up to my P.E. teacher the next day and signed up for the race. I wanted to get out of that race, but I was happy that everyone still had to run the course for the race in P.E class. There was a few fast people in my class that also signed up, but I still didn’t want to do it. In fact that made me want to do it even less, because that meant I had even less of a chance of getting anything out of this race. My dad even made me train with him after school by running around a loop in my neighborhood that was about the same distance as the course I would be running. I didn’t even know why I was training for this race, I was going to lose so it didn’t even matter. A few weeks later it was the day of the race and my mom couldn’t take off work to see, so my dad had to come and film me during my race. When it was almost time for my race, I was terrified and really nervous. All my classmates and friends were watching me, including my dad and my little brother. I just had to shake off that feeling and get this race over with, and never run another one again. My P.E. teacher, Mr. Tee, blew the whistle and told us how the race was going to work and where we would finish, and started the race. I ran as fast as I could at the beginning and continued to run as fast as possible as I heard all the students, families, and teachers cheer as we all ran. I just tried to run at a fast pace, but it was hard for me to keep. I did not know how to pace myself back then during the race and used most of my energy at the start, but I managed to get 9th place and my family was still really proud of me. I wanted to win, but I was still proud of myself. I pretended I didn’t like running that race, but it was actually a lot of fun. I got to be competitive, but it was more about the mental challenge than the physical challenge. I told myself I wouldn't run that race again, and that is what I kept telling myself until the next year came. Everytime the sign up time came, I signed up, and everytime race day came and went, I was proud of what I achieved. I never won a single race, the closest I ever got was 4th place, but that was not what the race was about. It was about having fun and challenging myself. When I ran my last race I thought that would be my last race. I would run when I felt like it or when my mom made my dad and I go out running together, but that was it. Then the summer before I started middle school came, and I would be quickly pulled out of my premature retirement from Cross Country.

“Beautiful Sound” by Anonymous The first note pierced the silence. A high C. It prolonged for what seemed liked minutes, ringing throughout the room. Tears were slowly trekking down my cheeks, but the sound of the piano comforted me. Things started to slow down and memories started filling my head. Like the time my family stayed at his house. I didn’t know him as well, then. Even though he had been in my life before, I didn’t really know him. He was a shadow in my past. “Here you go!” He chuckled as he handed me a long stick. Then I didn’t know the value it would eventually be to me, the sentiment it would hold.. I remember using it all weekend, pretending to be a superhero, saving my big sisters from monsters and bad guys! I was younger then; naive and innocent. The memory faded and so did the chord. Silence. Once again pierced by beautiful sound. Another time fluttered into my mind. My great grandma limply talks to us on the hospital bed. A nurse wheeled my grandpa in on a creaky wheelchair. He looked miserable. I hated seeing him like that; on the verge of death. I remember that conversation. His sunken eyes looking off as if he was in a different universe. It was discouraging to me how away from everything he was. Hurtful almost. As my sisters chatted away with my grandma, I was locked in on my grandpa. I couldn’t look away from him. His last few years were not his best. In the decades before, he was a lively person, chatting away. It made my stomach churn just knowing that I would never know that part of him.“Ok, well, we have to go. It’s getting late.” we all gave grandma and grandpa hugs. When it was my turn, I remembered to hug like it was the last time I ever would. Because I knew it would be. The pain of memory was like a dart hitting a bullseye right into my heart. I was hitting the keys so hard, I was scared the piano was going to break. So, I slowed down. Calmly pressing them down, the little hammers banging at the strings. “There’s nothing I can do.” I whispered. I had to accept the fact that I won’t see him again. I won’t see him again. And once again, silence. A rather appropriate sound to conclude an 80 year streak of life. An 80 year span of happiness that is now over. It’s over.

Whitechapel by Gentleman Galileo

Chapter l Rain poured down hard from the darkened clouds. Typical Whitechapel. I gobbled down me drink in a heartbeat. Me chest hurt. Some powerful rum, eh, perfect for a rainy evening in this run-down, so-called district, yeah. Though I wished it was a bit smoother like whiskey. After finishing two to three barrels of the thing, I was starting to see blurs. Me vision was already bad, now worse. Stupid rum, can’t function properly no more. I rested me head on the wood counter of the pub. Not sure what happened to me self after that in all sincerity. Just remember seeing the bartender’s whiskery old beard and the pub’s broken sign outside being drenched in raindrops. I woke up to a chilly breeze. I assumed it was dawn because I could see the sun starting to rise from the horizon, just barely though. I was lying on a cold steel park bench. That old geezer left me here to freeze. Woozy and on unsteady legs. I tried to sit up straight on the bench. My head was aching like mad. How many shots of rum did I have last night? One too many probably. I sat in my loneliness on the bench staring at the trees in the distance. The morning was still with thick white fog, devouring the whole Whitechapel district in a mist of silence. I’ve seen this fog countless times growing up in Whitechapel, but it never ceases to amaze me, the uneasy feeling it brought whenever I lay me eyes upon it. With my eyes flickering still half asleep, I manage to make out something hovering above the trees. Something small, something black. I try to focus me sight on it, but it was difficult. My vision was already blurry due to past injuries I acquired from me younger days; the fact I wasn’t fully awake didn’t help me see any better either. I gave up on the little black thing and lay back against the cold steel bench. Maybe this would help me get me to me senses. I then leaned my head back and looked up at the now cloudy, dusky, greyish sky. It had just rained last evening, but it looked like it was about to pour again. Typical Whitechapel. That was okay, though, I’ve always felt the rain as something close to me; it’s weird. While lying there spacing out, looking up at the heavens, I saw something. Something similar or rather almost identical to what I saw earlier hovering above the trees. Then I saw another one, and another one, and another one. Soon, I saw flocks of those tiny black pieces of matter all around the park. Birds, I thought, H ow odd. Why so many this early in the morning on a rainy day? Before I could even react, the objects in the sky started to fly away. My curiosity renewed, I followed them. I grabbed my cane and started to hobble in the direction of the flying objects. They were all circling above something in the between a few trees. I finally caught up to those annoying little rascals after about twenty longs steps away from my bench. I was exhausted; though I was still relatively young, me injuries from when I was a lad were still etched in me body forever. Scars that would never heal. I looked at the flying objects that were now sitting on a post close by the trees. I could see them a bit better now. They were ravens. If I had to guess, I would assume there was about thirty or more ravens all lined up on the post. They were screeching in the most irritating and aggravating way possible. I knew for a fact that raven was a sign of misfortune and death, so something bad must’ve of happened

to have such a large numbers of ravens in one place. It was then I noticed the wet substance under me feet. I looked down and touched it. It was wet but a bit hard as well, I couldn’t really tell because it was still quite dark outside. I lifted up me fingers to where the sun was rising in hopes of seeing what the substance was exactly. I wish I hadn’t. It was a mixture of the colors red and black, wet and crusty, and it smelled like blood. Blood. Drying blood, but still fresh. There was quite a lot of blood on the ground as well. I scanned the canvas more closely and saw something else. I moved closer to what looked like a human body on the canvas of the hard ground. I bent down and was within inches of it; it was no doubt a human. I couldn’t see the face of the person, so I decided to turn the body. I put down me cane and tried to turn the body. It felt like the person had been in the rain all night. When I finally turned the body, I wish I hadn’t. It was the face of a woman, soaked in blood. Her body and clothing were also soaked in blood. There were also squishy things on her body. Organs. She looked like she was a very beautiful woman before whatever happened to her. Her long blond hair was now stained with a gruesome color. Her whole appearance was ripped open. I took me hands off of her and rubbed them against a nearby tree trying to get the blood off a little. I picked up me cane and stood slowly. The ravens in the distance were screeching and chirping even louder. There appeared to be even more of them now. I took one final look at the woman on the bloody canvas. I spoke in a low, soft voice and said to no one, “Poor soul.” Then, I turned my back and slowly walked away, leaving the lifeless body behind. The ravens took off from the post as soon as I did, flocking in a circle just above the dead corpse. Poor soul, I thought. She was murdered, no question about it. And there was no question about who would do such a cruel, inhuman thing. The whole of Whitechapel knew the answer to that. The man who only appeared after dusk, the man who expertly destroyed the interior organs of his victims, the man who only targeted beautiful women, the man who had no morals or regard for human life, the man Death itself fears, who else. The most wanted man in the whole world. The man in the black cloak and top hat. The sky started to pour on down. “Yes,” I said, breathing heavily. Who else could it be besides him, the Whitechapel murderer. “Jack the Ripper.”