Different Drummer 2021-2022 by Different Drummer

“If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.” - David Thoreau

TABLE OF CONTENTS SOLE by Olivia Zhao (Artwork) pg. 3 #982 by Waridi (Poem) pg. 4 BLINDED by Jordyn Viviers (Poem) pg. 8 IN THE TALL GRASS by River Confer (Short story) pg. 9 BIRDSEED by Lily Sharp (Short story) pg. 12 TIME by Jordyn Viviers (Poem) pg. 22 THEATER OF THE DOGS by River Confer (Short story) pg. 23 SPILT MILK by Lily Sharp (Poem) pg. 24 FOX RIVER’S PERSEPHONE by Lucy Mills (Short story) pg. 25 SCP-6650: THE DOOR TO REALITY by Jesse Thein (Short story) pg. 37 THE FLAME’S TONGUE by Elena Abuin (Poem) pg. 52 THE DARK FOREST by Ashley Harms (Short story) pg. 53 POTENTIA PETRAM (POWER ROCK) by Jordyna and Olivia Viviers (Poem and artwork) pg. 65 SANTA VS. KRAMPUS by Jesse Thein (Screenplay) pg. 68 THE KEY by Daniel Votto (Poem) pg. 83 ARTWORK by Jordyn Viviers (Artwork) pg. 86 THE QUIET TRAIN by Brooke Attaway (Short story) pg. 87 EIPURA by Abby Horrel (Short story) pg. 102 THIS I BELIEVE by Lucy Mills (Essay) pg. 107 2

SOLE by OLIVIA ZHAO

#982 by WARIDI I know This world ain’t meant for me But I still see heaven even as I walk through hell Feel like I fell from grace ‘cept I never had it Wipe away the tears Laugh o that old adage Go out in the garden to pick flowers at night Trying not to cry with all my might But I just might Feeling my skin dapple in moonlight I was raised to fight With all my might But I’ll work hard all day long just to prove you wrong Couldn’t find myself so I wrote my own songs Sometimes the cancer meds make my momma mean Some days I wake up and hope that it’s all a dream Cry and scream Try to remember she’s just as scared as me Sometimes my grip on reality is tenuous Sometimes keeping your head above water feels hella strenuous When you’re drowning in tears wondering if they’ll even be here tomorrow Easy to be su ocated by grief and sorrow Some days it seems my allergies are acting up Sorry y’all but I’m allergic to bullsh*t Hope you’ll see I ain’t nobody to mess with Yes, if you see me just call me Waridi You don’t need to know my real name Trust is a privilege not something I just give away And if you see me knee deep in a reverie just know I’m not mean Just an introvert with resting bitch face if you know what I mean Just so you know you don’t really know me Had to escape when people tried to control me Archandroid, archangel, shabby but elegant My two best friends be loneliness and eloquence They say if you’re lost in this world you’re meant to build a new one The weight is weighing down on us Can measure the pressure in Newtons

Sometimes at night when the sky is clear I go out alone just to see if I can hear The wind blowing through the trees, know the di erence between bare limbs and leaves Can feel the way it moves in before one of those summer thunderstorms Where it’s super dark and real warm and above you leave are dancing and it’s getting breezy Yea sometimes I wish that my life was that easy But after the sky opens up the sun comes back again See the red shouldered hawks circle above my head Feeling like some kind of secular messiah But I’m not tryna sound so silly The consequences of arrogance are much worse Than the risk of gaining a little bit of self conﬁdence Or at least that’s what that voice in my head says But my therapist says the opposite Like I should be proud of my accomplishments Couldn’t be me Don’t like poetry Feels too angsty and melodramatic to me Which is why it’s funny when it’s nice and sunny I ﬁnd myself sitting outside hiding my notebook and writing when I know no one will look

It took me only 6 years to ﬁll 23 of ‘em And when they ask me I say I don’t write songs But that laugh in the back of my eyes can tell you that’s wrong Yea I don’t write, not really, Only nine hundred eighty something since I took up guitar, that plus vocals, those are my weapon of choice Just a kid trying to ﬁnd her voice But music seeks you out it’s not like you have a choice If this is how I write when I’m 17 imagine how I’ll sound when I’m 23 I don't know where I’m going but I gotta leave home Sometimes the rhymes just won't leave me alone Ya know I can’t stop once I get in the zone Feel like I could write forever And I better I’ll make the puzzle pieces, you put them together Just trying to sleep but in my head the record’s playing Sampa The Great , Little Simz, Chika, Kaiit, or Amy,

maybe it’s my A.D.D Thinking of that boy with the baby blues eyes that’s drivin’ me crazy I ain’t never gonna tell him cuz that’s social sucide Gonna make sure My Tears Dry On Their Own Need to realize he don’t like me back and move on But it’s making me lovesick Have to sit with my feelings Go walk in the rain cuz I’m reeling from losing something I never had Just so hungry Guess I’m like Hagar Just need to take a break and listen to Lemonade And I only Kamikaze for important things anyways Not dumb high school love stories The movie industry’s gettin’ kinda boring Like, think of something new Write a new one, like I’m gonna do You can see me live it I got protagonist energy, so vibe with it We’ll see if I make it past my ﬁfteen minutes of fame Maybe I’m just insane But does it really matter? I'd rather look back and say that I blew it, than to never take that chance at all Like Andra says, cheers to the fall Sometimes I Iook down below me and I stall ‘Cuz in the aftermath I feel small Back to smashing pavement when I’m so mad I can’t contain it And it don’t look good no matter how you frame it Yea I come from a long line of magniﬁcent women Who spit bars at the stars ‘cuz nobody else will listen Daddy calls me a Prima Donna and it sticks in my mind But I just did what I had to do to survive Gotten closer to death than you ever hope to be in your life So I must be strong ‘cuz somehow I survived Started feelin’ real cold and saw the sun start to set And with the little strength that was left Yelled out “motherfucker I’m not done yet” Every beginning is weak That’s what Sissy told me It can be your Bildungsroman or your villain origin story My voice might shake

but I hold my ground when I speak even if I’m quiet or too weak to stand on my feet I look people in the eyes when I’m talkin’ Don’t care who they are Somedays I feel like a dead man walkin’ I sure got the scars There’s never enough time They call me an enigma ‘cuz I get back up every time Yea, that was a Kandy Muse kind of rhyme But I don’t care I’m doin’ just fine Still got demons to fight though Don’t matter how slow I go I’m still moving And if I got my guitar I’m still grooving Got a little o track a couple years back But I’m starting to find my way and I’m glowing Told me I got a gift, that I get to be the messenger And my eyes give a look that say “don’t mess with her” I walk where I know most people will never go And it’s okay that I live dreams they will never know And I feel alone even when I’m seen I can deny it like Erykah but my eyes are still green And it’s not “cuz I eat lots of vegetables.” “I’m insecure, but I can’t help it My mind says move on My heart lags behind.”

BLINDED by JORDYN VIVIERS Who are you but a soul inquiring the meaning of life I, good sir, know not the knowledge you seek Nor will I satisfy the hopes you speak For I am just a mere soul alike Trying to avoid that of which controls hearts and fights Alas, it is the one thing that you just hope to find But look in the wrong places, our kind I am not worthy of any reconciliation If not love I find Then I seek pleasures with in the hands of the fiend Selfish I am, in only seeking my own content I not only overlook a fellows same But poison their very own scent Oh ere I was an innocent infant But anon I was captured by the rueful world Is that the meaning of life? That of which we cannot have We use in spite And what we do, we use in strife? Oh lord above if ever did true be Why did you blind us if only we want to see?

IN THE TALL GRASS by RIVER CONFER “Shit!”, Sounded the sandlot chorus in unison. Overhead, our collective last ball soared, tracing a line for the sun and falling unceremoniously into the barley field owned by Mrs. Wentworth. “That’s the fifth one today!”, The first baseman called out. “I’ll go have a look.”, I said, running so that I could outrun the shades of their careless words. I slowed to a stop at the field's boundary and considered turning back. I searched my mind for an excuse but found none, and I could feel the pockmarks of their listless eyes boring holes into my shirt, letting in light where it oughtn’t be. Waiting a moment for a point su ciently between breaths and heartbeats, I closed my eyes and stepped into the haze of the golden field. The ball had gone far — its arc had carried it at least a dozen yards into the field, but already I could not tell where I was in relation to the ball's most recent landing. I receded into the murky memories of the last few minutes until I found in my mind the instant in which I had seen the ball flying overhead, over and over I replayed the scene looking for a clue of the ball's whereabouts. Finally, it came into my mind! Just before the ball crossed the horizon into the dense evening barley, it had been — for a moment — between the steeple of the church where everyone got dressed to weep, and the canopy of a Stoney Oak that lay somewhere just on the other side of the field. I traced the tops of the waving blades for a glimpse of either landmark, seeing nothing but the orange emptiness of a sky that promised stars; a sky that if I was not quick would follow me home where my parents would scorn me for inviting a night sky to their door. At the thought of a supperless evening, my footsteps quickened, my arms combed wide through the bowing stalks, and my head hung low and scrutinized the soil. The smell of flowers filled my nose, and I paused to find its source. Fifteen odd feet away from me, a girl in a blue sundress lay on a bed of cracked stems, her hair so well suited to the color of the field that at first I did not notice it, laying long beside her, accompanying her. “Hey,” I said, walking towards the girl and her hair. “What are you doing?” “I could ask the same of you.” She said, not looking away from the sky. “I’m looking for my ball,” I said. “Have you seen it?” “No,” she said, still looking up “I’ll help you find it if you lay with me a minute” at this proposition I hesitated, but my feet did not obey, and so by the time I had decided she might be pulling my leg I was standing over her bed of reeds. She turned to me and locked her midday opal eyes with mine, the color of soil, a color that would ruin her blue dress, her billowing hair. I looked away, feeling an uncertain shame. “Well, c’mon,” she said, “I won’t bite long as you listen better than those boys you was playin with.” I laid down beside her and looked up where she had been looking hoping that this solidarity would su ce for the lack of eye contact. “Do you know them?” I said. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.” “I don’t know them.” She said, “but they talk too loud to listen good. You seem di erent than them.” “How’s that?” I asked, pu ng my chest to fit better into her apparently charitable view of me. “Don’t know, I hardly known you a minute, but I get the feeling in my gut, and my gut ain’t a liar” she turned away from the sky again to look over at me “you calling my gut a liar?” She said and I could feel her breath was hot, but I shivered. I turned to meet her opal eyes and her big grin and found that I was smiling too “no I.. I guess not” “well good,” she said turning back to the sky. As she turned I saw a flash of silver and white hanging from her ear, a tulip earring

hanging from a chain that swung as she spoke. “Do you know what stars are made of?” She said. My heart sank as I looked back at the sky and it was dark, thousands of stars bejeweled an otherwise black sky. “Oh man, I didn’t realize the sun had set I'd better get going, my parents will be mad.” As I sat she put her hand on mine and once again I was frozen by her heat. “Now wait a minute, I asked you a question. It’s rude not to answer a lady when she asks you a question don’t you know that?” The coyness in her words brought a clarity that I realized had been lacking in everyone else up to this point. It also made me feel sick, high up in my stomach, a kind of sickness I hadn’t felt before. I laid back down, pushing images of belts and brimstone from my mind to make room for her question. “Fire?” I o ered, immediately biting my tongue at the suggestion. She graciously ignored the remark, “My daddy says that stars are tomorrow’s sky peeking in on today so it knows if it should be a rainy sky or a sunny sky” “that’s crazy,” I said, feigning authority that allowed me to dismiss thoughts I had not even considered, an authority I hoped would impress her. She paused for a moment “I told you I would only help you find your ball if you listened” she waited for my reply “I’m sorry” I said. And I was. “He says that the day the stars are black as the sky there won’t be a day after. He says that’s how you know tomorrow ain’t coming” I cocked my head to the side to see the stars from a di erent angle “tomorrow looks pretty” I said and she laughed. A laugh that sent my heart reeling all the way back to when I was in diapers, a memory covered in dust of me sitting by a pond somewhere, somewhere I don’t know where and the grass is so green it hurt my eyes and in the pond was a white bird. And I’m laughing harder than I ever remember laughing. And then she is laughing and it is nighttime and.. “Oh man, I really do have to get home,” I said, the panic flooding back in. “Let’s find your ball real quick,” she said “then I’ll let you go” she stood and pulled me with her. “Where'd you look?” She asked. “Well, I walked from the sandlot over that way and looked all around till I got here.” I said, pointing. She laughed again, but this time my heart turned to stone “the sandlot ain’t that way silly, it’s that way.” She said pointing the opposite way that I had. “Oh,” I said confused but too ashamed to say anything more. “Have you tried jumping?” She said, grabbing my other hand and turning to face me head-on. She was shorter than me, maybe a grade younger, but I still couldn’t recall having seen her before. “Jumping?” I asked cynically. “Yeah, well if you can’t find it looking around why don’t you try looking down?” Ain’t nothing to stand on here, so you’ll just have to jump” she said this so matter of factly that I cursed myself for not having thought of it sooner. “Here,” she said, letting go of one of my hands and facing the same direction as me. “We’ll jump at the same time. I’ll look left you look right. One of us is bound to see a white ball in a gray field.” “Ok,” I said. She bent her knees and so did I. “On three ok?” She squeezed my hand. “Ok”. “1..2…3!” On three we jumped, her looking left, me looking right but I did not see a ball, I did not even see the steeple of the church or the Stoney oak or even Mrs. Wentworth’s house. “Did you see it?” She asked when our feet had touched down again. “No, did you?” I returned. “No. let’s try again”. “1..2…3!” We lept once more, higher this time, so my stomach jumped up into my throat and the ground startled me when it was not there when I expected it to be. Nevertheless, we touched down a second later. “How about now?” she asked. “Still nothing,” I said. “Alright,” she said. “One more time and if we still don’t find it I’ll find it

tomorrow and bring it to you.” “How will you-“ “do you want to find it or not?” She asked, cutting me o . “Alright,” I said, and this time I counted. "1..2…3!” Then I lept, but she did not. She let go of my hand and the ground did not come back. Instead, I continued to rise higher and higher. I looked down and there she was waving, her opal eyes now glowed a bright yellow like the sun. I soared. Next to her, I saw an orange glow of fire, so close to where I had been standing that I should have been burned but I had not noticed it until now. “Look out!” I yelled, “there’s a fire!” But it was no use, I was too high up. I looked out to get my bearings, but in each direction, I only saw barley and patches of fire all over, some as big as football fields, others so small they looked like the stars I had so recently looked up at. Suddenly my direction began to change. I was no longer going up, I was slowing and slowing to a stop. Then I began to fall. I fell so fast that the colors and the sounds of the world blurred into a single color, a muddy blue. I continued to fall until I could see my house, getting larger as the wind passed. I closed my eyes as tightly as I possibly could and stuck my hands out in front of me. The howling stopped the roar of the wind reduced to a whisper between crickets. I felt the ground, cold, hard asphalt beneath my palms and slowly I opened my eyes. Below me was the street and before me was my house, a single light on in the living room. I rose to my feet and checked myself for injury “holy shit” I sighed. “Got to get inside it’s already so late” I attempted to swallow but the dryness of my wind-blown throat would not allow it. I bent my head and began to walk up the lead-spattered stairs to the door. As I mounted the final step I noticed a small package with a note addressed to me. Carefully, I picked up the note and peeled its seal open. “Hope you find what you are looking for” is all it said, I flipped the page looking for a name or postscript but there was none. Next, I lifted the package and opened it at the corners, inside lay a baseball, stained with clay, and a little tulip earring on a silver chain. I looked up at the house before me, silent, save the window of the living room which glared its blueish, noisy light, and then past the house, to the sky, black as molasses.

BIRDSEED by LILY SHARP Winter in New York City used to be the happiest time of the year for Wren. But now, after her grandfather had passed away, something had changed— winter had lost its magic. The falling snow no longer shimmered in the late afternoon light the way it used to. The makeshift jazz band that played in the square across the street had lost its spunk, and was drowned out by the car horns and sirens that keep Wren awake at night. The little diner around the corner where she and her grandpa used to get wa

es and burnt co ee has closed

and has been replaced with an overpriced boutique she will never visit. The city itself seemed to have lost some of its brightness after her grandfather’s passing— a brightness Wren didn’t know if she would ever be able to find again. But still, Wren was finding ways to make life more tolerable. Taking it day by day. Wren finally rolled out of bed after her alarm screamed for the fifth time that morning. She poured herself a sludgy cup of room temperature co ee left over from yesterday's pot and trudged through her morning routine. At half past seven, Wren pulled a scarf around her neck and stepped out her door into the cold city. The streets were quiet at this time of day and Wren basked in the silent delight, savoring her last moments of peace before she got to work. It was a Saturday, usually the busiest day at The Last Chapter, the bookstore she worked at. It had been months since her grandfather’s passing, but Wren still saw him in everything. In the starlings in Central Park making scrappy nests on the heads of statues. She saw him among the tourists, snapping film photos with every street sign and skyscraper they saw. Even in the clouds that drifted past her apartment window, o ering solace and comfort, but just out of reach. Today, Wren decided to cut through one of the parks on her way to work; she had time to spare and thought she might appreciate a calming breath of nature to get her ready for the

day. About halfway around the park’s gravel walkway, she paused and approached a small fountain frozen over and glazed with ice crystals in the shapes of tiny snowﬂakes. When her grandpa was still here, he used to remind Wren every time it snowed that each and every snowﬂake was unique— just like her. She smiled then, and decided to sit for a moment, breathing in the freshness of the blisteringly cold air. Wren looked around the park: there was a toddler teetering o

the path towards a

muddy patch of half melted snow, parents in tow; she watched an older woman buying a newspaper from the vendor across the street; a couple embracing by the far end of the park, whispering words of a

rmation and savoring one another’s warmth. Finally, her eyes settled

on an old man directly across from her on one of the many wooden benches lining the pathways. He was wearing a plaid scarf, one that reminded Wren of something her mother gifted her grandfather for Christmas a few years prior. For a moment, Wren could not pry her eyes away from this old man; he seemed so familiar, so comforting. The man reached into the pocket of his oversized coat and pulled out a small paper bag. He let out a soft whistle and shook the bag gently. Wren watched as a flock of birds appeared as if from thin air and began to flutter around the man, who had begun sprinkling seeds from his paper bag in uneven circles around his bench. Once again, Wren found she could not stop watching the man; something about the chaos of the birds, with their frenzied flapping and fluttering, in contrast to the man’s undisturbed presence fascinated her. After many distracted moments, Wren realized herself, checked her watch, and rushed o

to work. She was already late and still had

nearly ﬁve blocks to walk to the bookstore. The whole morning, Wren was distracted and preoccupied; robotically placing books on shelves and ringing up customers.

“Wren, do you want to take your lunch break early? You seem distracted,” her coworker, Annalise, asked. “What?” Wren was startled back into reality. “No, sorry, I’m ﬁne. Just tired.” She responded. But Wren was not just tired. She could not stop thinking about the man, and where she must have met him before. Why did he seem so familiar? Perhaps he was a regular in the bookstore. Or maybe he lived in her apartment building and she had seen him in passing. She shook the thought out of her head; no use troubling herself with such a trivial matter. The following morning, Wren found herself walking through the park again. She approached the fountain, no longer frozen over, and took her seat on the concrete edge. The man was already spreading his seeds with a contented smile on his face. Wren cocked her head and studied him more closely. Today, he was wearing a beige cap that was slightly too big and tilted toward the left side of his face. Wren was suddenly confronted with a memory: her grandfather adorning a similar cap, teaching her how to catch crabs at the end of the dock at her grandparent’s house.

“Is the water cold?” She asked. It was late August and, although it was still summer, the weather had taken a turn and it had been chilly for the past few days. “Let’s ﬁnd out” he replied as he dipped his ﬁngertips into the salty water and splashed her face. He smiled his crooked smile and ru ed her hair. She beamed back at him. Wren cherished every moment spent at her grandparents house on the coast. The cool, salty breeze; the slight whooshing sound as the wake from a passing boat lapped at the shore; the rich smell of her Grandmother’s furniture— a unique blend that reminded her of an antique store mixed with citrus cleaner.

“Now, you pull up this line here,” her grandfather continued, explaining the complicated crab contraption. “And then we dump the crabs in here,” he said. He emptied three beautiful blueish-green crabs into the cooler. “And throw the trap back in the water. Easy as that.” He removed his salty brown gloves and wiped his hands on his overalls. He took o his beige cap and set it down on the rail of the bench. “Now, what do you say we head inside and ask your Grandma for some lemonade?” he asked. She grinned in response and nodded her head adamantly. Wren blinked herself back to reality. What was she doing? Letting herself fantasize about the past would only make her miss her grandfather more. She stood quickly, startling some of the birds from around the old man and causing a ﬂurry of gray and black feathers. Flustered, Wren made her hasty exit, hoping the man wouldn’t look at her as she passed, and she ran the rest of the way to the bookstore. Wren had the following day o

from work, and decided to take the morning to herself

and visit some of her favorite places around the city. She rose early with the sounds of the birds chirping outside and lazily made her way to the co ee shop around the corner. The sun shone brightly today, warming Wren’s insides and making her feel happier than she had in the months since her grandfather’s funeral. A grin spread across her face as she placed her headphones over her ears and directed herself toward the park. Wren already knew the man would be there. She had seen him every day the past week and he never failed to show up at 10am on the dot to feed the birds their breakfast, always leaving at eleven to begin his journey home. Today, the sun feeding her ambition, Wren walked up to the man and sat herself down on the bench adjacent to him, separated only by a sparse tree and the ﬂutter of the birds at the man’s feet. The old man turned to Wren, giving her a polite little wave and a

toothy smile that made his eyes squint into little lines behind his glasses. She was suddenly struck with another, equally painful memory of her grandfather.

They were in Wren’s childhood room at her parent’s house in upstate New York. Wren’s grandfather sat beside her in the bed reading from a Grimm’s fairytale book in his deep, calming voice. Wren shuddered next to him as the thunderstorm continued to roar outside her window. She had woken in the middle of the night with tears in her eyes as the storm shook her room, threatening to swallow her whole. Her grandfather found her moments later, wrapping her up in a blanket, and reading out loud to drown out the sounds of the storm. Another burst of lighting cracked through the midnight blue sky, sending a jolt of terror through Wren. “Don’t cry my darling”, her grandpa said, pulling her closer. “The sun will shine again, have no doubt.” he said with his signature ear to ear grin that made Wren feel suddenly comforted and protected. “The sun will shine again, my darling…” he repeated as Wren ﬁnally drifted o to sleep again. Wren was shaken from her sudden daydream by the ﬂutter of the birds as the man stood and began to walk out of the park, his cane dragging a steady line through the dirt path. Wren’s happiness at once faded away. It felt as if every lovely memory that popped into her mind was immediately stolen away from her as she was cruelly reminded of reality. Her grandfather was not here anymore and there was nothing Wren could do to bring him back. Wren hugged her knees to her chest on the park bench as the gray clouds started to roll in. The sun was gone and the rain was coming. She hadn’t even brought an umbrella. For the next week Wren could barely pull herself out of bed to walk to work, much less to go out of her way to visit the man in the park. After that one sunny day, the city seemed to suddenly be reminded that it was still winter and it had been below freezing with on and o snow every day since. In a normal winter— one not obstructed by Wren’s mourning— the snow

would bring her immense joy. She would venture outside bundled in her favorite hat and gloves and watch the children sledding in Central Park. But this week, the cold felt as though it penetrated Wren’s soul, no matter how many layers she wore. She doubted the old man would even be in the park with such cold weather. But, regardless of the city’s blistering temperatures, something about this particular day motivated Wren to look for the man anyway. Perhaps it was that the shops around Wren’s apartment had begun hanging twinkling lights, and the sound of jolly carols rang out across every street as it got closer and closer to the winter holidays. This semblance of normalcy reminded Wren that maybe there was joy to be had in these dark times, even if her grandfather could not enjoy them with her. Wren bundled up in her thickest jacket and made her way to the bodega across the street to grab a hot co ee. She walked to the park with a newfound determination— whether motivated by the ﬁercely cold weather or her desire to see the man, Wren wasn’t sure. She was determined to introduce herself today. She needed to know more about the man to explain why she felt so connected to him. Wren walked directly over to the man, this time sitting on the same bench as him but on the far opposite end so as not to startle him. Wren hesitated then, unsure what her next move was supposed to be. This is stupid, she thought.

He’s just an average man feeding the birds. He reminds you of your grandfather and that's why you want to be close to him. She scolded herself for not coming to this sad realization sooner. Just as she was about to stand up and walk away, she caught sight of a glimmer of yellow tinted light coming from the center of the park square. Wren’s heart swelled as she realized they had ﬁnally put the Christmas tree up. They used to have a tree lighting ceremony every year, for which Wren would invite her grandpa into the city to see. It appears Wren missed it while she was sulking alone in her apartment this winter.

“These lights always remind me of the galaxy.” Her grandfather said after the tree lighting last year. “The way they glimmer, you see. It reminds me of a portal into another world in which every living thing glows gold and luminescent. Such a beautiful thing. Don’t you agree, my Wren?” She nodded with a bright smile. Her grandfather spoke as if every sentence belonged to a poem by Robert Frost or Emily Dickinson. That was one of the many things Wren had admired most about him. Wren felt tears welling to her eyes at the sight of the tree along with her grandfather’s beautiful words. She rested her head on his shoulder— his frail, delicate shoulder, weakened by the chemotherapy he had endured over the past four months. Wren shuddered at the thought of losing her grandpa. She knew it was imminent, but she simply couldn’t bear the thought. Wren wiped the tears from her eyes and stood quickly, nearly tripping over the man's feet in her haste. He sat up straighter and stared at her for a moment, then held out his brown paper bag and shook it slightly. She took the bag from him, hesitantly, then began helping him spread the seeds around the bench. Wren looked at him then— a long, in-depth look that she had not yet permitted herself. The resemblance to her grandfather was uncanny. The subtle, soft curve of his jaw, his gentle blue eyes, and his tufty blondish white hair made Wren feel as if she was looking at a hologram of her deceased grandpa. She was startled, but reminded herself to check back into reality. This man was not her grandfather, and she needed to get over this fantasy before she hurt herself even more. “My name’s Wren.” She said suddenly, unsure of what prompted her to do such a thing. She waited a moment for the man to respond, but all she received was a polite nod and a gentle smile. “What’s your name?” She asked. The man still did not answer, but he removed his hand from the bag and placed it on the bench next to him. He repositioned himself so that his

body was facing hers, and looked at her with a warm smile. Wren took this as her cue to continue, and she rambled on about her life; she talked about her hectic job at the bookstore, her apartment that had become cluttered and unorganized, the lights on the Christmas tree, even her co ee that tasted a little more bitter than usual this morning. Wren wasn’t sure why she continued to talk and talk to the man, who only nodded along and smiled occasionally. Perhaps she had been so desperate to talk to someone— anyone— about all the things that had been troubling her in these last few months. Suddenly embarrassed by her long-winded monologue, Wren ﬂushed pink and started to gather her stu . “I’m sorry,” She muttered. “I really should be going, I’m late to work.” It was true, she had signed up for the afternoon shift which started in only ten minutes. The man regarded her with a proud smile. “I’ll be here, always.” He said ominously in a hollow breath, as if the sound wasn’t coming from his body. Wren was startled to stillness for a moment, stuttering on her words. “Thank you- I mean, um, bye”. She said hastily and stood from the bench. “It was very nice to talk to you”. She said, even though she was fully aware the conversation was one-sided. Wren smiled broadly at the man one last time then hurried o

in the opposite

direction toward The Last Chapter. She could not prevent the grin that spread across her face as she pushed open the door to the bookstore. Wren was so entranced in her magical, happy bubble that she didn’t even hear her coworker calling her name. “Hey Wren. Wren? Earth to Wren?” Annalise said as she waved her hands in front of her face. “Hey! Sorry.” Wren responded with a grin. Annalise had also just arrived for her shift, they would be working the afternoon together.

“I saw you in the park this morning,” Said Annalise. “I went down to your side of town to grab a co ee and cut through the park on my way to the store.” “Oh, really?” Responded Wren, already busy at work wheeling a cart down the ﬁction aisle to begin restocking shelves. “Were you on the phone or something?” Annalise asked. Wren paused where she was, reaching to shelf some book about the history of New York City. “What do you mean?” Wren asked inquisitively. Annalise must have seen someone else. “I just mean it looked like you were talking to yourself or something. That’s why I didn’t say hello— I assumed you were on the phone”. Annalise shrugged. She looked confused, but not as confused as Wren felt. After a pause, Wren let out a short laugh. She must be mistaken. “No, no. That must have been someone else you saw. I was talking to…” She trailed o . She didn’t know who she was talking to, he never gave her his name. “I was talking-” She said again, quieter this time. Reality came crashing down on Wren in a painful avalanche. No, no,

no, she thought. Annalise saw someone else. I was talking to the man this morning, so she must be mistaken. Wren rubbed her eyes, trying to shake her lack of sleep which had only just hit her. God, I’m delusional, she thought. Suddenly overwhelmed with confusion and panic, Wren said “I’m not feeling too well, I think I need to get some fresh air.” Before Annalise could respond, Wren was rushing out the door and sprinting down the block toward the park. The cold air caused her eyes to water, blurring her vision as she ran toward the fountain in the center of the square. She stopped there, leaning on the concrete ledge for support as she tried to catch her breath. Wren looked at the bench across the way: it was empty. Where is he? She thought. He has to be here. Wren checked her watch; it was quarter to eleven. The man should still be here— he never strayed from his schedule. But he

was nowhere to be found. She rubbed the tiredness out of her face, she could not allow her eyes to deceive her anymore. Wren sank to the ground with a hollow heart and watched as the birds chirped and pecked at the ground, undisturbed by her presence. Two birds, one black and one white, were positioned on the seat of the bench shoulder to shoulder as if holding hands. They chirped their beautiful songs and ﬂuttered their wings producing a purr-like sound as they lifted away from the bench in unison. Wren felt a tear begin to stream down her cheek; there was no one to feed the birds now, for the old man would never return.

TIME by JORDYN VIVIERS Time is a stagnant concept, It quickens when we have reached our exposition It runs steadily when we don’t think on it It slows when we hit rock bottom Why? Why make the pain last longer Why make the scars deepen Why make me regret every decision Why ﬁll my head with thoughts of despair and harm Why make happiness a memory A distant thought lost in the web of our past A time we can’t even remember A moment that we long for with all our hearts Time, it ages the young, kills the old, And takes our loved ones from us But yet it holds us accountable for every mistake Every bad decision Every risk we were too scared to take Ever shattered part of our minds, bodies, and hearts That break into smaller pieces Into many sharp daggers itching to puncture the skin To make us break even farther Time is said to heal the broken, But it doesn’t All our pain is just simply put back together and considered healed Even though every part is in the wrong place The wrong position Just wrong It will never be the same again Time gets to do what it wants to us And we deal with it Move on as if we aren’t questioning whether life is that important Whether we couldn’t just end the misery there Make the pain stop Make our bodies, minds, and hearts unable to feel Unable to bustle with the regret of everything we have done in our lives Time, It changes us, Why can’t we change it?

THEATER OF THE DOGS by RIVER CONFER Anything would go if the dogs knew it to be right. When they were outnumbered, it was easy to mistake them as fools, walking among reeds of linen and rubber unseen, unheard searching for scraps of food, scones on their way to broad street, bits of pizza and bread heading back to poplar. But that was how it was before, and now there was no one in the streets. There were no more cars in the boulevards and buildings full of lights. There were not even children at the corner of 9th street in the mornings waiting, dreading. Instead, there were dogs. At first, they occupied the streets in small numbers, waiting for the sea of noise and smells to wash over them, but it did not come. Then there were many of them, hungry and angry, searching for the next hour, waiting for things to resume. When the moon was small again, and the noise had still not come, the dogs began, in their restless way, to stand on hind legs and peer into the empty dark buildings holding rocks in their jaws and tapping on windows. After a few hours of this, when the windows were finally broken, the dogs climbed on top of each other into vacant homes and cars and banks and began to dress themselves. That night they ate well. They ate the food from the shelves of the stores and the pantries of their new homes and drank from glasses rimmed with gold, and then they slept. Waking early to pack all of the food they could fit into cars and trucks and rail cars until the shelves were empty and the vehicles sagged. And then they left for the noise, taking the transportation and leaving behind streets and stores and homes barren. And they have congregated here, in this great stadium standing shoulder to shoulder beer and bread in their clumsy paws. They might have heard the clicking of claws on concrete or the thump-thump of bodies swaying into each other like pines blown by the terrible winds of a violent storm if the air had not been filled with the howling of a billion dogs. The sea rose once again but not despite them, not without a one of them, today and for every day on, the sea rose and fell for them. And it was right.

SPILT MILK by LILY SHARP daddy told me never forget don't cry over spilt milk but daddy, it’s gotten in my carpet and slipping between my toes like silk it’s dripping in my mouth, my nose like a wet worm dead on the cement clogs my throat thick white with my woes filling my eyes with such keen discontent i sputter, choke, drown if i refrain, daddy, will i earn your praise? i visualize your sour milk frown cowering in your disappointed gaze the tears soaking into my cheeks are the pure white of a swan i dare not corrupt the creamy streaks so my melancholy face frowns on i'm sorry daddy, believe me but i feel that i’ve wilted i could not be as good as she that good little flower you sculpted for i’ve watered my flowers with milk for so long the roots have lost their power and to the soil they no longer belong

FOX RIVER’S PERSEPHONE by LUCY MILLS The wealthy Andertons were envied and esteemed by the rest of high society, a family beﬁtting of the equally idyllic Fox River Estate. The elegant manor had a south facing parlor with lovely French doors that, when opened to let in the soft breeze and serene views of the grounds, created a perfect environment to host the ladies of the area for tea on days that allowed it. Unfortunately, the late August afternoon which would be so perfect for this kind of occasion was overshadowed by a somber mood. In the place of her usual guests, Lady Anderton was hosting two prestigious-looking men dressed in dull colors and serious expressions. To young Charlotte Anderton, known a ectionately by her family as Lottie, the worst part of all this was the absence of her sister’s comforting energy. An absence which was the very reason for the presence of the unfamiliar men in the lovely mansion’s parlor. “As I understand, your daughter’s disappearance was in the wake of preparations for her marriage, correct?” the lead private investigator droned. To Lottie, the man’s manner of speaking was frustrating, to say the least. She wanted more than anything to know more about the disappearance of her closest conﬁdant and friend, but the investigator’s slow explanations between long drags of his pipe made even this discussion mind numbing. Her mother always said impatience was her greatest vice; Lottie would argue that this could be avoided if her patience wasn’t constantly being tested. And while her mother may not agree, Lottie felt that she was doing a fairly commendable job of being patient as the investigator went through his questions for her family one by one. Being the youngest child following four brothers and a sister, she was accustomed to being considered last. Even forgotten at times, which is what she assumed had

happened when the private investigator concluded his questioning, and his partner closed his notebook. “Excuse me, sir,” Lottie blurted, “Am I to answer any questions?” “Charlotte, bite your tongue!” Lady Anderton hissed to her youngest, clearly exasperated by this common occurrence. “I’m only asking, Mother, since we were so close, and they seemed to have forgotten I was…” Lottie trailed o , having caught on to her mother’s stern warning look a few seconds too late. “I’m sure we have quite enough information, thank you,” the investigator said dismissively, barely even addressing Lottie. “Haven’t you told your daughter that a young lady doesn’t speak unless spoken to by company?” “Yes, of course,” Lady Anderton seemed utterly mortiﬁed. “I keep reminding her.” After much assurance to the private investigator and a scolding from her mother once the men left, Lottie glanced at the clock and became frustrated with how much time had passed doing basically nothing of importance. She longed to escape with her sister and go spill all her worries to her under her favorite willow tree by the pond, but Lottie felt like she was back where she had been just two years back, when Cordelia was away at ﬁnishing school, and she had no one. Longing for some sort of comfort and familiarity, Lottie decided to pay a visit to the willow tree anyway. She needed to escape, even if just for a moment. She hated how the house got all stu y in summer. It was a little more bearable as autumn took over, but the season had only just begun to set in. As if the cruel world longed to emphasize how truly trapped Lottie was, her escape to her one place of solace was intercepted by the last person she wanted to see. The narrow,

angular face of Cordelia’s ﬁance had always bothered Lottie, but now Bertram Rutherford’s presence at the manor felt like a special gut punch. Most would assume that Lottie’s dislike of her beloved older sister’s ﬁance was out of jealousy. And of course this was partly true. She had never liked the idea of her older sister being married o

and moving away to start a new

family with some man she barely knew. Lottie honestly considered her sister too good for any man she had ever come across, but Bertram was especially undeserving. Since the moment she met him, Lottie had never liked Bertram. Perhaps it was his condescending attitude, or the annoying mole on his face that seemed to be in a di erent place every time Lottie saw him. Whatever the case, Lottie never understood why Cordelia would choose him of all people to marry. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried asking before, either. One such encounter stood out in this moment, for whatever reason, the vividness of the memory catching the young girl o guard.

Lottie spent so much time in her older sister’s room that her mother liked to joke she was moving in. The two of them would sit and talk for hours, or even just sit nearby doing completely di erent things while enjoying the other’s company. As her older sister sat by the window writing and sketching in a journal, Lottie wrestled with her embroidery project while sprawled out on Cordelia’s bed. After a little while of frustrating work, Lottie set the embroidery down. “Mother says I’ll be hopeless to ﬁnd a husband if I don’t improve with my embroidery soon.” “Mother says that about everything,” Cordelia replied. “I wouldn’t worry.” Lottie laughed humorlessly. “I’m more worried about when someone DOES want to be my husband. They seem dreadfully boring.” The younger sister set her stitching down on the nightstand and looked at Cordelia. “I don’t like Bertram.” “I’m aware, Lottie.”

“What do you see in him?” Instead of responding, Cordelia just sighed. She looked out the window with an indistinguishable look in her eyes — contemplation? Longing? Whatever it was, it captivated the young woman for so long that Lottie thought it better not to pry any further. As she returned to her stitching, Lottie caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye of Cordelia writing something in her journal.

Cordelia’s journal. In a haze, Lottie quickly excused herself from Bertram’s presence and hurried upstairs. She was overtaken by the urge to get her hands on her sister’s beloved journal, which had been such a constant presence that she never really thought twice about it. But now, if nothing else, the journal would provide some connection to the person she missed the most. When she reached Cordelia’s dark bedroom, the curtains drawn over the windows that usually provided such generous light, the journal was in the same place Lottie had always known it to be. Cordelia kept it on the same shelf of her bookshelf, between the same two novels. Lottie settled with the precious book at the window seat Cordelia had occupied in her memory. When she pulled back the curtains, distant storm clouds lined the horizon of a familiar landscape. Across the Fox River for which the land was named lay the sprawling grounds of the Dunmore Estate, where Lottie used to play with the Dunmores’ only son before he was sent o

to a boarding school. Over the hill to the west, the sharp peaks of the Baudelaire

Manor could be spotted among thick forest. And if one were to look out a window on the other side of the manor, they would see the path into town, not often frequented by the wealthy estate residents who thought themselves too high class for such a place. And of

course on the estate grounds was the willow tree overlooking the pond Lottie and Cordelia had called their own. Disregarding the storm clouds and ﬁguring they were far too distant to be a concern, Lottie went downstairs intending to look at the journal under the safety of the tree. Before she made it out the door, though, her attention was snagged by the voices of the men from earlier. Lottie was an experienced expert in the art of eavesdropping, which for her often included discerning wider topics from snippets of conversation she could barely hear. She had gotten quite good at that, and it appears that this time she had come across the investigators in the middle of a discussion about the similar case of Lillith Baudelaire’s disappearance. The heiress, whose title had been acquired when she was orphaned at the age of thirteen and inherited her parents’ estate, was no less mysterious before her disappearance about a month ago. Nobody knew much about her, for she rarely attended events hosted by other wealthy families and preferred to keep to herself. She was most known for her peculiar aversion to marriage. At twenty years old she was no closer to ﬁnding a husband than Lottie was, and this was not due to lack of suitors. Lottie’s frequent eavesdropping on the house sta ’s gossip barely revealed more about the heiress, as they reported that even Lilith’s own estate’s servants claimed to know little about her. Thus, when Lillith Baudelaire mysteriously went missing, the lack of information made the case near impossible to investigate. But now Cordelia’s disappearance led the investigators to believe the disappearances of two unmarried young women of high society so close together was no coincidence. A moment of thought into this fact would have led Lottie to the conclusion that it was perhaps not wise to go o

on her own so often now, at least until this case was resolved. But

Lottie was not known for her patience.

Clutching the precious journal in her arms, Lottie ran to her tree as fast as her legs could carry her. The deafening wind gusting past her ears would distract her from her problems in the real world, just for a moment, before she had to take matters into her own hands and confront them. She settled under the tree to catch her breath, letting the curtain of foliage from the weeping willow protect her as she dug into her sister’s journal. At ﬁrst, all she focused on was her sister’s voice speaking so clearly through the pages. Cordelia’s writings in the beginning were nothing to note in particular; they sounded more like a conversation between the sisters, decompressing about the events of the day. Lottie was so focused on the catharsis of the moment that she began to forget the original reason she had done this. The only thing that broke her out of this trance was one journal entry that stood out. At ﬁrst glance it wasn’t much di erent from the others, just more ramblings about happenings of a day. But this particular day was an important one, as Lottie realized now. This was the page Cordelia had been writing on that day when they had their conversation. The date lined up, the sketches were of the landscape which she had been drawing from out the window, and the writings spoke of the conversation. There was a peculiar tone she wrote in. A tone Lottie recognized as the same mood she had seen in her sister’s melancholy expression.

I know she’s right. I could never tell her why, but oh how I wish she could understand how I could never love him. He may have my hand, but my heart has been another’s for far longer. Enclosed on the next page was a folded paper, which Lottie opened. It was torn from the last page of Romeo and Juliet.

Dreadful realization made her heart sink as the storm clouds finally bore down on the estate. With shaking hands, Lottie clutched the journal to her chest as she stared at the pond, now rapidly rising with the deposits of rain. The weather had been similar on the eve following the last morning Cordelia had spoken with her sister. Hurried memories of Cordelia’s particular tenderness that morning rushed back in a flurry as Lottie started to run back. She could no longer bear to watch the downpour fill the pond making the murky waters deep enough for a person to drown.

Romeo and Juliet. The week before her wedding. A heart belonging to another. It was all too much.

Lottie’s return to the manor was a blur. She stashed the journal in its place in the bookshelf, straining to see through bleary, clouded eyes. Once the book was safely nestled between Cordelia’s favorite collection of Emily Dickinson’s poetry and Wuthering Heights, Lottie’s hand lingered on the spine. She hadn’t noticed before, but the book to its right was di erent. Instead of Wuthering Heights, Lottie found herself holding an intricately illustrated collection of classic Greek myths. Puzzled, the young girl settled down in the window seat and carefully opened to the page marked by a violet silk ribbon. Not particularly surprising to Lottie was the page depicting the myth of Hades and Persephone. Cordelia was never the one too interested in Ancient Greek stories, and the book was more often in her sister’s room. But for whatever reason, the story of Persephone had always gripped the elder sister’s attention. She used to joke that maybe Persephone’s

kidnapping was really just an elaborate scheme to get away from her overbearing mother. Lottie suspected that the joke was a bit more than just that to Cordelia. What was surprising, though, was a small folded up paper tucked in the corner. The art on the paper was similar to the illustration on the page, at least in structure. Two figures in a chariot, one holding the other. Elegantly simple and drawn in soft watercolors, the two figures embracing looked more loving than anything. What most stood out was the appearance of the figures. Instead of Greek deities, they were two women dressed in simple, but modern dresses. One had flowing dark hair, and the other reminded Lottie of Cordelia, with flowing gentle golden curls. The painting was clearly done out of an abundance of love, which is how Lottie knew instantly that the heart to whom Cordelia’s belonged was the heart of the woman in the picture. It made so much sense why Cordelia let herself be stuck in a loveless engagement with a man like Bertram. The one she truly loved was one she could never be with, at least openly. It made even more sense when Lottie made the connection of the dark-haired woman in the picture to Lilith Baudelaire. The raven-haired heiress’s disappearance a month prior had been no coincidence. A pair of star crossed lovers. Romeo and Juliet. And yet…something didn’t add up. What did the parallel to the myth of Persephone mean to her sister, if she likened her love to Shakespeare’s tragic love story? Cordelia always had a habit of connecting literary references to her real life. There had to be a reason for all of this, and Lottie couldn’t help but hope that it was meant for her. There had to be something more here. If Cordelia was still alive, she wanted her sister to find her. She couldn’t drop any hints that could be traced by anyone else.

Anybody could understand the Romeo and Juliet allusion. It would point to a forbidden love that ended in tragedy, for the world could never accept them together. But to draw a comparison to Persephone and Hades wouldn’t make sense with the circumstances; Persephone was kidnapped, and Cordelia wouldn’t know this beforehand, enough to hint at it. Unless one were to take it as a planned escape. Cordelia had much more to escape than just an overbearing mother. The judging eyes of high class society were enough to make anyone crack under pressure. Lottie had realized a long time ago that she would never be considered perfect enough for the standards, so besides acting polite to appease her mother, she preferred to just be herself and not worry about what she was supposed to be. Lottie always thought Cordelia didn’t have to worry about that, but maybe she had to worry more than anyone. Lottie knew she had a tendency to jump to conclusions. But unless this conclusion was proven false, she didn’t want to let it go. She didn’t know where else to look, but she knew she had a lead. And a strong one. In her experience, there was nowhere better to ﬁnd evidence than listening to the gossiping sta . To Lottie’s luck, the servants were just coming back from the market in town when she got to the sta

houses. They trudged through the rain in heavy, soaking overcoats, and Lottie,

ignoring how dirty her dress was getting, ran across the muddy grounds to catch the returning sta

before they got inside.

“Wait!” she shouted, nearly tripping over herself as she approached the house. Before she closed the door, the cook Hilda, who had worked for the Andertons for as long as Lottie could remember, glanced at the young girl in surprise. “Miss Charlotte? What are you doing here?”

“Oh, it’s just Lottie,” the girl corrected her, smiling but a bit out of breath. “May I come in? I need to ask about something.”

Earlier in the summer, on a rainy day like this one, the sta were preparing to go out into town after a huge downpour had finally passed when an unexpected visitor approached. “Do you have room for one more?” Miss Cordelia o ered the matronly older woman a smile with warmth that was rarely seen by the house sta in her mother, the lady of the estate. After a short, hushed discussion between Hilda and Cordelia, the cook obliged and the young lady set o with the house sta into town. Lottie, who had been searching for her sister elsewhere, just barely saw her entering the carriage before it set o for town. It was unheard of for a person of Cordelia’s social standing to visit the town square. This was where poorer farmers would sell their wares and middle class merchants and artisans kept shop. Wealthy families would send their servants to town for resources for the manor, such as food and materials. Occasionally, a Lady of the house would accompany her servants if she was unsatisfied with their shopping, but this didn’t happen often and the task wouldn’t fall into the hands of an eldest daughter. Cordelia’s visitation was unusual, and it was clear that she wanted to keep a low profile. “But what was she doing there?” Hilda had invited Lottie in to dry o

and have tea, agreeing to answer her questions to

the best of her ability. Remembering that day, Lottie realized that her sister’s visit into town had to have had some signiﬁcance. “She wanted to visit with a shopkeeper. A seamstress, Miss Spencer.” Hilda’s German accent seemed stronger now that she was comfortable at home. “She came with us to visit many times after that, too.” “When was the last time she visited?” Lottie took a sip of her tea, then winced as it burned her tongue. She still hadn’t learned her lesson about waiting for tea to cool.

Hilda slowly sipped her own tea before responding. “It was the afternoon just before she went missing. I remember because she didn’t come back with us.” “So Miss Spencer was the last person she talked to before disappearing?” Lottie leaned forward eagerly, tapping her finger quickly against the woven tablecloth as she often did when she was excited. “She may have been,” Hilda replied, “I only know she left a note with us. Asking not to tell anyone about the visits. Well, really her parents. And those investigators, though they didn’t ask us much.” “I knew she wanted me to figure it out!” Lottie stood up, already starting towards the door before she remembered her manners. “Thank you so much, Hilda.” Waiting the rest of the week until the servants’ next visit to town was excruciating. There was nothing more to investigate; the only step left to find the truth was to wait. And of course, this was a famous weakness of hers. The investigation went on, pursuing new leads that Lottie knew were all dead ends. And when the week was finally over, when she went with the servants into town and visited Miss Spencer’s shop, the seamstress finally told her everything. Cordelia had entrusted Lottie with the clues she needed to find the truth. She had told Miss Spencer that if Lottie came around, she deserved to know everything. As the date of Cordelia’s wedding approached, the young star crossed lovers had been growing increasingly desperate. Cordelia was tired of hiding, and Lilith was tired of her lonesome existence in her solemn estate. But Lilith, going against the conventions of high society, often visited the town square on her own whims, preferring the company of the shopkeepers and locals to the stu y aristocrats of neighboring estates. She had befriended the spinster seamstress, and through her was introduced to more townspeople who had to

love in secret, just like her. Miss Spencer heard of her desperation to escape, and through a network of allies in the tight-knit community, told the lovers of another option. Just north of the town lay a dense forest, which went overlooked by aristocrats who preferred to take their hunting trips elsewhere. Nestled in the heart of the forest was a small community of families and individuals who left more populated areas in favor of a peaceful dwelling in the woods. Cordelia and Lilith could make a life together there, and would always be welcome to visit town whenever they pleased. Before leaving, Cordelia made it clear that she wished for Lottie to visit her as well. One golden autumn afternoon, sunlight filtered through the dense foliage of the deep forest as a raven-haired woman in a muted green gown tended to the beginnings of her small garden. She had spent the past month making a home out of a quaint stone cottage covered in ivy. The sound of birds chirping and the gently babbling stream behind the house made the scene nearly perfect. Not far in the woods, a woman stopped along the vague footpath to pick wildflowers that grew alongside it. After staying with kindly neighbors along the way, her journey was finally coming to an end. Wrapping the bundle of flowers in a violet ribbon that previously bound her hair, she approached the house. As she realized who was approaching, a smile danced on the lips of the woman at the garden. In an instant, they were embracing, and as she melted into the arms of her beloved Lilith, Cordelia knew. She was home.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

SCP-6650: THE DOOR TO REALITY by JESSE THEIN

Prologue “How much further is it?” “It’s just up ahead, don’t worry.” “This better not be some kind of prank, dude.” “I swear it isn’t! You have to see this.” “You’ve been vague this whole time, what exactly are you trying to show me?” “Just wait and see for yourself.”

“You know I don’t like surprises.” “Trust me, this is legit.” The two young boys continue to walk through the forest. The towering oak trees block the sunlight and the wind blows slowly. The boy leading the way to the surprise urges his friend to follow hastily, his friend anxiously continues to follow. The deeper they move into the forest, the more shady it becomes. Eventually, they reach the other side of the forest and the sunlight beams bright. “Here we are!” “So, where is it?” “It’s right there, dummy!” In front of them, an old wooden green door can be seen. The door itself gives a sense of deja vu just by looking at it. “You brought me all the way out here to see a door…?” “It’s not just any door! Go over and open it.” “Dude, I have homework to do.” “Screw homework! Just open the door, c’mon!” “Alright, ﬁne.” The young boy, pressured by his friend, reluctantly approaches the door. As he stands in front of it, he observes the door and thinks to himself, where have I seen this before? On the door, the word “Reality” is written. He grabs the door handle and slowly opens the door. The other side is what any normal person would expect, just the other side of the door. However, there’s more to it. “I knew this was some kind of joke!” “No! Dude. You have to go through it.”

“Are you kidding me?” “I’m not kidding, just walk through the door.” The young boy by the door lets out a sigh of frustration and proceeds to walk through the door. “There, I walked through the door. Are you h--” The young boy interrupts himself. The moment he walked through the door and turned around, the door vanished. His friend could no longer be seen, but it seems as if he hadn’t moved from his original location at all. But where did his friend go? Where is the door? Where is… he? SCP - 6650 Object Classiﬁcation - Euclid Image of Object:

[Photograph taken by Field Agent [REDACTED] Special Containment Procedures: Due to unknown properties, SCP-6650 cannot physically be moved from its current location (undisclosed). Because of this, Site-6650 was constructed around the vicinity of SCP-6650. Site-6650 is sta ed with 8 security personnel, rotating shifts every 12 hours. No personnel are authorized to interact with SCP-6650, doing so will result in immediate termination. In the

event that a civilian attempts to enter Site-6650, by any means, lethal force is authorized. Due

to the unpredictability of SCP-6650, any further testing has been completely halted. Any requests to conduct testing will be denied (read more in incident report 6650-A). Description: SCP-6650 is a basil green door, around the same width and height as an average door (36 inches wide and 80 inches tall). The door itself is made of wood, the date of its construction is unknown. However, there is noticeable wood decay around the edges of the door and in the center. The door is surrounded by a wooden frame, which upon inspection looks poorly constructed. SCP-6650 cannot be moved from its original location due to unknown reasons. Research regarding this is still ongoing, however physically entering the door or opening the door is strictly forbidden. When SCP-6650 is observed from both sides, it looks completely normal. However, if SCP-6650 is opened and an individual enters, they will be instantly transported to some sort of alternate dimension. Attempting to bring video recording devices into SCP-6650 will cause the footage to become corrupted. However, photographing and audio recording devices still function properly. This dimension is referred to as SCP-6650-1. This dimension consists of [DATA EXPUNGED].

PROPERTIES OF SCP-6650-1 IS RESTRICTED LEVEL-3 CLEARANCE. IF YOU WISH TO PROCEED, PLEASE ENTER YOUR CLEARANCE. VERIFYING… APPROVED… YOU MAY PROCEED.

Expedition Log Entry 1A:

A small group of 4 Class-D (Death-row inmates who volunteered to be human test-subjects for one month in exchange for their freedom) were hand-picked for this expedition. Each of them was assigned a speciﬁc role for the team. Consistent communication between the team and Foundation sta must be maintained in order to ensure the security and proper functionality of the equipment. In the event that communication between the expedition team and Foundation sta is lost, a drone will be sent in to attempt to locate the team and re-establish a connection. Dr. Schrader is in charge of overseeing the whole operation. AUDIO LOG 1A: Dr. Schrader: It’s time for brieﬁng, line up against the wall and listen well. [Footsteps can be heard] Dr. Schrader: Each of you have already been assigned your roles. Upon entering SCP-6650, choose one amongst yourselves to keep track of the expedition logs. Do you have any questions? D-1624: Will our safety be guaranteed? Dr. Schrader: The equipment you all have received should be su

cient enough for this

expedition. We have provided you with enough rations to last for a few months and a variety of other tools necessary for this operation. Once you enter that door, the rest is on you. Are there any other questions? [There is silence for approximately 8 seconds] Dr. Schrader: Very well, we may proceed. [A door being opened can be heard, followed by multiple footsteps] Dr. Schrader: The security guards will escort you to the door. Stick close to them, do not wander o . Dr. Schrader: Once you’ve entered SCP-6650, pick which one of you will deal with writing data logs and entries. This chosen individual will also be given a camera to take photographs of your ﬁndings. Good luck. [Footsteps can be heard, a blast door can be heard opening] Dr. Schrader: Please, enter through SCP-6650 one at a time.

At this point, the expedition team is lined up single-ﬁle, ready to enter SCP-6650. The security guards present have them surrounded and the exits of the area blocked o . The test has now begun.

Expedition Log Entry 1B:

So, the team has picked me to write the entries for our expedition. My designation is D-4823, but for the sake of names just call me Lilah. You know, I’ve always wanted to be an author. But sometimes things don’t go as planned. I’m a former biologist, and, due to certain “events”, I’m no longer able to work in my ﬁeld. At least, not in society. One thing led to another, now I’m on death row. I’ll get into the details later, but for now I’ll just get back on topic. It’s been about 30-ish minutes since we’ve walked through that door, and we’ve seen some interesting things. First o , the room we were just in was completely empty, the security guards weren’t there, nor was that scientist person. D-1624, I think he said his name is Harper. Took charge of the team, apparently he’s pretty good at navigating. Ex-military or something. The weird thing is, the corridor we were escorted through changed completely. Originally it was just a bland concrete hallway with lights, but as soon as we went back to the hallway, it was di erent.

This is what the hallway looks like. We were confused for a moment, but we continued moving forward anyway. Every door we tried to open was locked. We didn’t have any keys or anything to open them. As of now, we’re still walking down the hallway, it feels like an eternity walking through here. I’ll write some more once something interesting happens.

AUDIO LOG 1B: [Footsteps can be heard as they continue down the hallway] Lilah: How much longer are we going to walk? Harper: However long it takes to ﬁnd some sort of exit. Lilah: It’s been like, half an hour dude… D-7582: Shit, I’m out of shape. I’m already out of breath. Lilah: I don’t think we’ve gotten your name yet. What’s your name? If you don’t mind me asking. D-7582: It’s Liam. Lilah: Cool. And you? D-5284: Me? Lilah: Yeah, you. Who else? D-5284: It’s Colt. Lilah: Awesome. From now on we should just call each other by our names. [The footsteps come to a halt] Lilah: Hey, what gives? Harper: This door looks di erent from the others. Lilah: Looks… older? At least compared to the other doors. Liam: Check to see if you can open it.

[D-1624, now referred to as “Harper,” proceeds to open the door] [Metallic creaking can be heard as it slowly opens] Colt: Well I’ll be. [END OF AUDIO LOG 1B] Expedition Log Entry 2A:

I have no idea where the hell we are or what’s going on, but this doesn’t seem right. As Harper opens the door, on the other side was another hallway, except it looks like it’s from a train station. The floor is flooded with water. We have no clue where the water came from, but I’m getting a bad feeling from this place. Nothing else seems out of the ordinary, except the lights sometimes flicker occasionally. There’s also an odd pungent smell, not too sure how to describe it, but it’s not a good smell. I’ll write more later. AUDIO LOG 2A: [Water splashing can be heard as the team maneuvers through the hallway] Lilah: This fucking sucks. Now my socks and shoes are all wet. Colt: Did these people really construct a train station down here? Liam: I’m pretty sure this wasn’t here before.

Lilah: How would you know? They blindfolded us on our way to the door-thing. The only thing we actually got to see was that hallway we were in before. Except, y’know, it looked di erent. Liam: Because of the material of the blindfolds and the lighting in the hall, I was able to see through it just a bit. I can recall that it didn’t look like this. Harper: Everyone, shut up for a second. [The splashing comes to a halt] Lilah: What is it now? Harper: I hear something. [Loud rumbling can be heard] Colt: That doesn’t sound good. Liam: Guys… looks behind us… [The lights in the hallway can be heard shattering] Harper: Run! [A loud burst can be heard] [The sounds are reminiscent of a waterfall] [Loud and fast splashing can be heard as the team continues to move forward] Lilah: Oh shit! What the fuck is going on?! Colt: Keep Running! [This continues for approximately 20 seconds] Lilah: We’re going to fucking die! Harper: Up ahead! There’s a door! [The splashing comes to a halt] [Loud metallic banging can be heard as Harper attempts to open the door] Lilah: What are you doing?! Open the door!

Harper: The door is blocked on the other side! Colt, get over here, and help me push it open! [The loud metallic banging continues as they try to force the door open] Lilah: Hurry! We don’t have much time left! [The loud clashing of water can be heard approaching closer] [The metallic banging comes to a halt as the door opens] Harper: It’s open! Everyone in! [As they enter through the door, a loud metallic bang can be heard as it slams shut behind them] Lilah: Jesus fucking Christ that was close! We almost died! [END OF AUDIO LOG 2A]

Expedition Log Entry 2B:

Well, we just went through literal hell. I don’t know what the fuck happened back there, but the entire hallway we were in just started ﬂooding like crazy. A large amount of water was rushing in behind us. It was like a scene out of some sort of action-horror movie! I’m fucking exhausted. I have no clue where the hell we are now, but this place looks oddly familiar.

Looks like some sort of abandoned mall? I’m starting to think the deeper we go into, whatever the hell you want to call this place, the weirder it gets. We were literally in a train station, and now we’re in a mall? Regardless, we need to find a spot to rest. This is fucking crazy. AUDIO LOG 2B: Lilah: Can we please just settle down somewhere for a short while? I’m still shaken up by what just happened. Harper: Fine with me. We can rest in one of these abandoned shops. [Footsteps can be heard reverberating throughout the hallway] Liam: Look! This one still has lights on. Colt: That’s odd. Shouldn’t they be o ? All the other ones are. Lilah: What if someone’s in there? Harper: Everyone stay behind me, I’ll take point. [Quiet footsteps can be heard as they stack behind each other] Harper: Don’t say or do anything. Just follow me. [At this point, Harper begins to sweep through the shop looking for any potential threats] [The lights in the shop can be heard flickering] [A door can be heard slowly creaking open] [A light switch being flicked can be heard] Harper: Doesn’t seem like there’s anyone else here. Lilah: What’s this room for? Liam: Probably just a backroom for whatever reason the shop owner needed it for. Colt: This seems like a good spot to rest. Don’t ya guys think? Lilah: Works for me. You guys got your sleeping bags right? [Rustling and zipping can be heard]

Harper: I’ve got mine. Liam: Same here. Colt: Yeah, I got mine. Lilah: Let’s hit the hay then, yeah? [The rustling of the sleeping bags can be heard as the team prepares to rest] [END OF AUDIO LOG 2B] Expedition Log Entry 3A:

We’re ﬁnally getting some rest. We haven’t technically been here all that long, but it’s felt like an eternity. Out of all the shops in this mall, this one shop in particular had lights on. Forgot to mention that, most if not all of the shops we came across before had fences covering them and we’re completely dark. I think now would be a good time to get some z’s. I’ll write more later.

AUDIO LOG 3A: [Loud snoring can be heard] [Approximately 5 minutes later, mu

ed laughing can be heard]

Colt: Do you guys hear that? [Colt starts whispering to the rest of the team] Harper: Yeah, I can hear it. Lilah: Who the hell is that? Liam: I don’t know, but they don’t sound too friendly. Harper: Everyone sit tight. Don’t make any noises or movements. [The room goes silent for approximately 30 seconds. The mu

ed laughing continues]

[Suddenly the laughing stops]

Lilah: Is it gone? Harper: I’ll go check the door, stay put. [Rustling can be heard as Harper gets up from his sleeping bag] [Quiet footsteps can be heard as Harper approaches the door] [As Harper opens the door, loud creaking can be heard] Lilah: Well? What do you see? [There’s silent for 8 seconds] Liam: Harper? Colt: Harper, you good? [There’s no response from Harper] Lilah: Harper, for fucks sake, say something! [Rusting can be heard as Lilah stands up from her sleeping bag. Loud footsteps can be heard as Lilah approaches Harper] Lilah: What the hell are you looking a-[There’s complete silence for a few seconds] Liam: Lilah? What are you doing? Colt: Hold on, let me grab her camera. [More rustling can be heard as Colt grabs Lilah’s camera by her sleeping bag. Quiet footsteps can be heard as Colt slowly approaches Harper and Lilah] Colt: What in God’s name is that? Liam: What is it? [At this point Colt slowly raises the camera and takes a picture of the “entity” in front of them]

[END OF AUDIO LOG 3A]

CONTINUING THE EXPEDITION LOGS ARE RESTRICTED LEVEL-5 CLEARANCE. IF YOU WISH TO PROCEED, PLEASE ENTER YOUR CLEARANCE. SCANNING… VERIFYING… ACCESS DENIED. ACTIVATING MEMETIC KILL AGENT.

THE FLAME’S TONGUE by ELENA ABUIN

THE DARK FOREST by ASHLEY HARMS Chapter 1 Matthew Gallagher would be the first to admit that he didn’t have the best memory. It wasn’t unusual for him to forget his homework existed or to lose his things and have no idea where they could be. He had constant reminders set up on his phone to prevent him from forgetting meet ups and test dates, and his parents had long since gotten used to putting his things on the counter when they were found. But this? This was taking it a bit far. He stood in the middle of a forest filled with thick, leafy trees and clouds of fog along the ground. He did not recognize the scenery. Not that that was unusual. He hadn't been in any forests other than the one behind his house. Also, he wore a hospital gown. The shirt was pale blue with tiny, dark blue squares, and the fabric hung down to his knees. He knew had never been to a hospital; that he was sure of. His pants were regular jeans, thankfully, though the pockets were empty. At the very least his phone should have been in there. Hopefully his parents wouldn’t be too mad that he had lost it? Though they would probably be more mad that he had somehow gotten lost in a forest when he was supposed to be…. Hold on, where was he supposed to be? Matt remembered going to school that morning -- what he thought was that morning -- but as soon as the lunch bell rang everything became a blur. He sighed, ran a hand through his sandy-blond hair, and felt around the base of the tree near him for sticks or rocks. If he made an obvious marker, he could walk around and try to find… something. Civilization was probably too much to hope for, but maybe these were camping grounds? He could only hope. After he picked up a single rock, he heard something echo in the distance. Were those really footsteps he heard, or was he imagining the sound? They were real. He could hear the leaves crunching. Quietly, he picked up a large rock with a sharp point. It probably wouldn’t do much good against a bear, but he could at least throw it as a distraction if nothing else.

The sound of crunching leaves came closer and closer until a face popped out from behind another tree. The figure stepped to the side and looked at him curiously. She had reddish-brown hair, freckles across the bridge of her nose, and looked to be about his age, seventeen. She was not wearing a hospital gown. Instead, she wore a red t-shirt and pale blue jeans. “Where’d you come from?” she asked, sounding surprised. In her right hand was a long stick that had one end sharpened to a point. He must have been staring because she continued talking. “That’s my spear. I mean, it’s not my spear, it belongs to the group, but they didn’t want me out here hunting without a weapon. That’d be pretty stupid, huh?” “...Yeah,” he said, having no idea how to respond. “Oh, I’m Kaylie.” She tilted her head to the side. “Why are you dressed like that?” She didn’t sound accusing, or rude, just curious. “No clue. I’m Matt, I just woke up here.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Oh,” she said, sounding surprised again. “I didn’t think they were sending anyone else.” She shook her head. “Follow me, I’ll show you to the camp.” She turned to the right -- his left -- and carved a path through the trees. He blinked and followed her. Who did she mean by ‘they?’ And ‘sending?’ Wouldn’t he remember being sent someplace? It didn’t take long before he saw the light of a fire. Kaylie whistled, and three people whistled back with di erent tunes. He also heard someone blowing air, like they had tried to whistle and couldn’t get the hang of it. “Hi, I’m back,” Kaylie said. Matt stepped out from behind a tree and paused. Four teenagers sat around a firepit, wearing torn and dirty clothing. The tallest one had some kind of meat speared on another sharpened stick and looked to be roasting it over the fire. He looked a little older than Matt. Next to him sat a girl who couldn’t have been more than thirteen. “This is Matt,” Kaylie said. “I found him by the tree.” Apparently that made some kind of sense to the others, because they started nodding. Matt blinked. “Uh, hi. What exactly is going on here?”

“What’s with the hospital gown?” one of the other kids asked. Her black hair was cut jaggedly, like she’d tried to do it herself. The ends had streaks of purple in them. “No idea,” he said. “I just woke up like this. An explanation would be nice, though.” He probably sounded a little too aggressive there. Oh well. “Dude, we have no idea what’s going on,” the guy with the meat said, sounding defensive. “We all showed up in this forest at the tree you ‘woke up’ by, really confused.” He sighed. “There used to be more of us, but Jake got lost yesterday and didn’t make it back to camp,” he added. “We didn’t think whoever put us here would send someone else so soon,” the girl with the purple streaks said. She looked maybe fourteen? He wasn’t great at guessing ages. “I’m going back out to hunt,” Kaylie commented. She patted him on the shoulder as she passed. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. “Oh, sorry… Matt, was it?” a boy with dirt smeared on his glasses asked. Matt nodded. “I’m Ben. Sit down, there’s room.” He moved over, leaving an empty spot between him and the oldest teen there. Matt sat down, glancing at the spears over the fire curiously. “Call me Bryan,” the guy cooking over the fire said, noticing his gaze. “The forest has some weird animals, and Kaylie’s pretty good at gutting them. She doesn't remember why, though.” Now that was a weird thing to say. “Why not?” “No clue,” Ben said. “None of us really remember what we were doing before we got here. What our lives were like, who our families are…” he trailed o . “We aren’t even sure if our names are correct.” “Call me Jay,” the girl with the jaggedly cut, purple-streaked hair said. “It’s what I’ve been going by since I got here because there was a bluejay in the tree when I appeared.” “Does everyone appear by the same tree?” Matt asked. “So far, yeah,” Bryan said. “Same clearing, same tree, same lack of recall.” He rotated the sticks, turning the meat to the other side. “Huh.” Matt stared into the flames. This… was not what he meant when he said he hoped the woods were camping grounds. He had been hoping for some kind of adult, maybe a phone…

though now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember his parents’ numbers. Or their faces. He knew who they were, he still had vague memories of them, but all the detailed information about them had been taken away somehow. “Oh, d’you have anything in your pockets?” the youngest girl spoke up quietly. Matt turned the pockets inside out. “No, sorry.” She nodded sadly. “Did other kids have stu with them?” “Sometimes,” Ben said. “It wasn’t useful stu , though.” Matt nodded silently, thinking. Something about this was bugging him. Aside from, well, the obvious. “How many kids have been stuck here?” Bryan, Jay, and the boy with glasses shared an indecipherable look while the youngest girl winced. “We don’t know,” Bryan said quietly. “There haven’t been more than six people here at once, but I’ve seen ten kids come and go in the last few months.” Matt stared. “How long have you been here?” Bryan snorted. “Since winter.” Matt winced. It was at least April now, maybe May. “By ‘come and go’ do you mean…?” he trailed o , too nervous to actually say the words, to acknowledge that it could happen to him. The answer came from Jay. “Yeah, we believe that when someone gets lost in a forest full of thick fog and giant, carnivorous animals that they don’t survive,” she said dryly. “I never liked Jack much, but I didn’t want him to go away.” “You’re the first new kid we’ve had in three weeks,” Ben said. Matt turned to stare into the fire. As they sat and watched the flames dance inside the fire pit, the light grew dimmer and dimmer around them. Night had fallen in the forest. “What are sleeping arrangements like?” Matt asked curiously. Bryan handed him a piece of speared meat. “Climb a tree and hope it doesn’t rain. Are you allergic to seafood?”

Matt furrowed his eyebrows. “No?” “Then you should be fine to eat this,” Bryan said. Noticing Matt’s confused look, he elaborated. “Kaylie caught some kind of giant fish around lunch time. One of the other kids was allergic to something she found before.” Matt nodded and nibbled on the meat. It tasted salty, which was strange, as he was pretty sure any streams running through the forest would be freshwater. Oh, well. It was food, and he had a sinking feeling it wasn’t very common to make such a big catch and actually have this much to eat. How the hell did Bryan manage to survive here during winter? He curled up under a tree and closed his eyes. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be stuck here that long. Chapter 2 A long corridor stretched out before Matt. The walls and ceiling were pure white, the floors pale gray and tiled. Wooden doors lined the hallway, with di erent colored lights shining from the gaps beneath them. Someone screamed. Matt opened the door on his left, where he thought the sound had come from. A hospital bed sat in the center of the room, with cabinets along the walls and a sink in the back left corner. The sound stopped. Tied to the bed was Jay. The girl had long black hair with much longer purple streaks, and stared up at someone dressed in a lab coat and face mask. She looked horrified. Matt took a step inside. “-- and send subject 1-1-5 to testing site L,” the person in the lab coat said. Their voice was deep. Matt thought it sounded familiar but couldn’t think of why. “No! What are you doing!” Jay shouted as she twisted in her bindings. A white light flashed before Matt’s eyes, and he blinked to clear his vision. When the spots disappeared, the room was empty. Matt frowned and stepped backward into the hallway. He turned and opened the door across the hall, seeing a room identical to the one he had just been in. Only this time, a much younger kid he didn’t recognize was tied to the hospital bed, crying.

“-- to testing site K,” the figure in the lab coat said. Matt wondered just how many ‘testing sites’ there were. “Lemme go! I want mom!” The little boy screamed. The figure in the lab coat leaned down and injected something into the boy’s arm. He went limp. What the hell was going on? Matt stepped forward, but no matter how far he walked, he couldn’t get any closer. It was like watching a movie. He couldn’t interact with anything behind the ‘screen’ even though he wanted to. This time, the white flash shoved him out of the room, and he fell backwards. Then he realized the kids had been wearing the same hospital gowns as he wore. He had been here, probably just before he woke up. But then… what had happened? He made his way to a third room, not knowing what else to do. Inside was Bryan. Shouting, screaming, kicking up a fuss. A figure in a black coat and what looked like a gas mask held him down. Matt watched as the ‘doctor’ injected him with something, and Bryan fell limp like the other kid had. But Matt was still in the room. The ‘doctor’ nodded to the other figure, who released Bryan. They then pulled over a light -the kind you would see at the dentist -- and shone it onto Bryan’s head. Matt didn’t dare move a muscle. He wanted to see what was going to happen. But he didn’t seem to have much control over anything, as the light flashed and threw him back into the hallway. He shook his head and picked himself up, walking to another door. Before he could reach the handle, the hallway began to shrink. Everything flashed black. Blinking, Matt stared up at the tree canopy above him. That was one hell of a dream. But the hospital gowns… did that mean that had really happened? “Hey Matt,” Kaylie said brightly. Matt jolted up from the ground, breathing heavily. “Woah, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Oh, you’re-- you’re fine,” he said, waving it o . He tried to catch his breath. “Say,” he paused. Should he tell a complete stranger about his weird dream? They would probably think he was crazy. “What?” Bryan said, across the circle from him. “Uh, this is probably gonna sound stupid, but did you guys ever have weird dreams about hospitals while you were here?” Matt winced after he finished. It sounded nuts, even to him. But that didn’t explain why Kaylie and Bryan both froze. “...Yeah,” Bryan said, sounding hesitant. “We have. Once or twice. What did you see?” Matt relayed the strange figures and white flashes. Kaylie looked pale. “And that’s all you saw?” she asked. “Yeah, I woke up right after,” Matt said, confused. “Why?” “Just wondering if you saw me,” she said. “But since you didn’t, it doesn’t matter.” She stood. “I’m gonna go fish. See you guys later.” She stepped over a log and left camp. Matt turned to Bryan for an explanation. Bryan sighed. “We have no idea what the dreams mean, and they’re never as detailed as yours. I always thought they were just our minds trying to make sense of what was going on, but your clothes….” He rubbed at his forehead. “I need to show you something.” He stood, and Matt followed suit. Bryan made some strange hand-sign to Ben, who looked at Jay and repeated it before nodding. Matt blinked, confused, and followed Bryan out of the camp. They wove through tree trunks and ducked under low-lying branches. Eventually, they came to an area fenced in by thick brush. Bryan waved a spear in front of him to dissipate the thick fog. “It’s here,” he said. Bryan pointed with the spear at a black cube hidden in the foliage of a very large tree. Eyes squinted, Matt tried to see what it was. But all it looked like was a black cube. “Can you get it out of the tree, or is it stuck?” Bryan opened his mouth as if to ask something, shut it again, and poked the strange object with the spear.

A camera hit the ground. Matt picked it up, turned it this way and that, looking for some kind of cord. “Do you see anything else up there?” he asked Bryan. “Hold this,” Bryan said, shoving the spear into his arms. Matt took it, startled, and watched as Bryan scaled the tree like a lizard. The branches rustled, and several leaves ﬂuttered to the ground. “Aha!” Bryan exclaimed. “Found a cable.” He slid down the trunk, severed cord in hand, and hit the ground with a loud thump. “Great,” Matt said, smiling. “Now all we have to do is follow it.” He handed the spear back. Bryan hesitated. “What?” Matt asked. “We can get the others, you know. I’m not saying we should go alone.” He frowned as Bryan shook his head. “Dude, what are we gonna ﬁnd there?” Bryan asked. “We don’t know who we are. We have no idea what’s at the other end of that camera, or who’s watching us, or anything. I don’t want to get anyone killed.” Matt felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. Right. This wasn’t a game. This wasn’t a scavenger hunt, where once they found all the pieces they would receive a prize and get to go home. This was a dangerous thing. At least ten kids had died in this forest, and the six more of them could easily face the same end if something went wrong. But if his dream was correct, this wasn’t the only place kids were dying. That camera could lead them to whoever was orchestrating this, and they could stop it. Or whoever was running this could kill them all. Matt swallowed. “Good… good point,” he said, and he hoped his voice didn’t sound as strained as it had felt. “Maybe… let's tell the others and see what they think?” He looked at Bryan questioningly. Bryan took a breath and nodded. “Yeah. Take the camera with you; we need proof.” He nodded, and they started the trek back to camp.

Chapter 3 “Is Kaylie back yet?” Bryan asked Jay when they reached the fire pit. The flames had long gone out; they didn’t keep fire going during the day lest they run out of materials. “Not yet, why?” she asked. Ben looked up at them curiously, as did the other girl -- whose name Matt still didn’t know. Bryan sighed. “We found something.” “I’ll go get her,” Ben immediately announced. He took o zig-zagging so as not to run into anything.

running through the trees,

“What kind of something?” Jay asked. “You wouldn’t be so excited if it were food… is it clothing? A phone?” Her eyes suddenly widened. “A way out of here?” “Uh, not exactly,” Matt said nervously, regretting the words as soon as they came out of his mouth. Why had he spoken up? He hadn't meant to, the words had just kind of come out. He always had been a horrible liar, but he wished it wasn’t so obvious. Jay looked at him with suspicion, but Bryan was there to smooth things over. Thankfully. “We’ll talk about it when Kaylie and Ben get back,” he said, in a tone of voice that said no one was to argue. Jay nodded, annoyed, and turned to the other girl. Kaylie and Ben came sprinting out of the woods a minute or two later. Kaylie skidded to a stop, kicking up dirt, while Ben dropped to the ground. He panted and futilely tried to catch his breath. Bryan raised his eyebrows. “I didn't say it was an emergency.” Kaylie gasped for breath and shook her head. “Giant. Animal,” she wheezed. “Run.” Ben looked at Bryan for guidance, while Jay and the other girl jumped up from the forest ﬂoor, worried. “I guess we’re going to the edge of the forest,” Bryan said. “Come on.” A loud roar echoed through the trees from behind Kaylie and Ben. Bryan took o running in the direction he and Matt had just come from, with the other kids following closely behind. When they got to the tree, they paused to catch their breath and heard another ear-splitting roar.

“Okay,” Bryan said, breathing heavily. “I found something in this tree a while ago. It turned out to be a camera.” He gestured to the black cube in Matt’s hands. “There’s a cord in the tree, that lets whoever set it up see us through it.” Another roar came from the trees, sounding much closer. “If we follow the cord,” Matt said, still panting, “we can ﬁnd the people who put us here. Maybe get our memories back.” “Let's get on with it then,” Jay said impatiently. “And I’m not just saying that because we’re being chased by some weird, gigantic, technicolor animal.” Matt looked at her, confused. “Technicolor?” Another roar. The creature was approaching. “Doesn’t matter,” Kaylie said, gasping slightly. “We-- we need to run. Where-- where’s the cord?” She looked at Bryan anxiously. Bryan hurried around the back of the tree, the kids following, and pointed out the long, black cord coming down the trunk that looked a bit like a thin drain pipe. “This is it. See how it goes along the ground, there?” He pointed to where the cord disappeared into the undergrowth. “Follow that.” The girl Matt still didn’t know the name of followed the cord into the brush, pushing the plants aside for the others to follow. Heavy footsteps shook the ground beneath them. They rushed through the sharp, spiney plants that covered the soil, moving in one big blob. Leafy limbs reached out to tear their clothing and split their skin, but they kept going. As soon as the brush ended, Jay took o follow.

sprinting after the cord. The others were quick to

They could hear the footsteps and growling of the creature approaching from behind but couldn’t stop to think about it lest they get attacked by a fanged, drooling mouth. Shoes crushed brittle grass and stray ﬂowers into the dirt as they rushed across the ﬂat landscape. No one had verbalized it, but they all knew they had left the trees behind. No more deep, rolling fog clouds or thick trunks to get in their way. They were out of the forest.

Had it been that easy, all along? If they went through the undergrowth sooner, could they have gotten out? A large, white building came into view. The kids sped up -- had they? It felt like it -- and sprinted through the grass, stumbling over pebbles and stray twigs. Kaylie tripped and skinned her knee but popped back up and kept running. They reached the doors. Bryan pulled at the handle, Jay pushed against the metal, but the doors did not budge. “Use the spear!” Matt exclaimed. Jay looked at him like he was nuts, but Kaylie and Bryan jabbed their sharpened sticks under the doorframe. They poked and shoved at the hinges, hands trembling. One of the doors shifted. Kaylie moved over and shoved her spear right next to Bryan’s. They shoved forward, and the door fell back. Quickly, the kids made their way inside. Bryan propped the door back up and then led the charge farther into the -- so far -- eerily empty building. Their footsteps echoed as they walked down the hall, but they weren’t nearly as loud as those of the animal from the forest. Bryan took a right, and Matt stopped in his tracks at the view. “What?” Kaylie asked, looking worried. “This is the hallway I saw,” Matt said. He swallowed and rushed up to one of the doors. Inside lay an empty version of the rooms from his dream. Except for one small di erence. “A cell phone!” Jay called out. She snatched it o the counter and hurriedly pressed the buttons for 9-1-1. “Hello?” she asked. The answer was mu ed. “I don’t know where we are, but there’s a giant animal coming our way. Maybe a bear.” Another mu ed answer. “There’s six of us. Look, can you just trace the call and get on with it?” The creature roared from outside. Matt ushered the other kids in, shut the door, and shifted the hospital bed to barricade the room. Bryan and Ben helped him.

“Yes! Thank you,” Jay set the phone down on the counter and turned to them, smiling in relief. “The police will be here in a few minutes. They’re gonna look for Jack and the others, too.” Ben whooped. “We get to go home,” he said, breathless with relief. “Yeah,” Bryan said. He sounded disbelieving. “We… we do.” He slumped against the wall, laughing quietly. “I didn’t think I ever would, you know?” He looked at Matt and smiled brightly. “I totally get that,” Matt agreed. A few minutes later, they heard shouting. Someone knocked on the door. “Hello? Is Jay in there? It’s Bryce, we talked on the phone.” “Yes!” Jay said. “We’re in here!” She moved the barricade away, Kaylie and Matt helping. The man’s eyes widened. “So that’s where you all got to,” he said, sounding surprised. At everyone's confused looks, he elaborated. “You six have been reported missing for months. Your parents are all frantic.” “Can you give us our memories back?” the youngest girl asked nervously. “Yes, Lacy,” he said. “We can.” Matt breathed deeply for what felt like the ﬁrst time since he had appeared in the forest. It was over.

POTENTIA PETRAM (POWER ROCK) by JORDYN and CHLOE VIVIERS Long ago, before your time Before the feet of the living treaded the earth Before the green of plantae peppered the land Where the only thing for miles and miles Was the dusty gray of barren rock and the common explosion of light and heat from under the earth A star so bright Converged with another forging a product of pure light A crystal, a gift from the Gods far above A beauty that could create and destroy An object that would be the destruction of love It fell to earth within a ﬁery meteorite Lodging itself deep within the earth For millions of years it stayed undiscovered It’s beauty never uncovered But one day, when the earth shuddered and tore A hand reached out for it It’s grimy ﬁngers reaching into the newly formed pit Dirty smudges smeared on the crystals now imperfect face It’s founder is that of the most unworthy A human, greedy, and untrustworthy … -Jordyn Viviers

From barren rock he built a town Which attracted much renown Soon did travelers collect To glimpse the famed object Now jewels encrusted on his crown Once did a bard write a tale That near wound him up in jail He misled for a kick Called the founder sick All the while in stolen chain mail

-Chloe Viviers For many years the king did rule With his stolen chain mail upon his aging frame But the bard wasn’t a fool when he called the man a tool For while the reign long Prosperous and great it was not. All around was spread a song Of how the ruler did not belong A rebellion had formed in the kingdom As a path of death was walked along. It was the king’s fault for haven welcome The very thing that would be the problem In humans hand of little wisdom Being not their antidote But instead, their only venom. Potentia Petram save us all. -Jordyn Viviers

POTENTIA PETRAM by JORDYN VIVIERS 67

SANTA VS KRAMPUS by JESSE THEIN INT. SNOWY FOREST - SUNSET As the scene fades in, footprints in the snow can be seen. The camera slowly follows the footprints before it slowly pans up to reveal Santa Claus. Santa is limping through the forest, blood can be seen dripping from his left arm. Suddenly Santa stops moving. A deep and eerie laugh can be heard. The scene shows Santa’s face and the camera slowly pans to the right to reveal Krampus standing menacingly behind him.

KRAMPUS (Laughs) You can’t run.

SANTA (Sighs) I think this is far enough now.

Santa, with the snap of his ﬁngers, immediately heals his wound and the bleeding stops.

KRAMPUS (Sco s) So you were only pretending to be hurt?

SANTA

Didn’t want there to be any collateral damage. There were children nearby, Krampus.

KRAMPUS And? Once I’m done with you, I’ll go back and ﬁnish the rest.

SANTA I’m afraid you won’t be going anywhere.

A menacing aura can be seen emitting from Santa. Santa clenches his ﬁst and looks Krampus dead on.

SANTA At least, not in one piece you won’t.

Krampus smiles, he’s been waiting for this for a long time. The scene shows both characters facing each other from a distance before suddenly cutting to a black screen.

INT. TOWN - MORNING Text on the screen appears reading: “A FEW HOURS EARLIER.” It fades into a town, people can be seen shopping, walking, driving, and enjoying their lives. It then cuts to a character named Billy.

Billy, a little boy with a troubled past, is walking in town with his mother. His mother, Cassandra, is a middle-aged, cranky, alcoholic mom who smokes like 50 packs a day.

BILLY Where are we going mother?

CASSANDRA Billy shut the hell up. God hearing you talk is like (cough) torture. Please just don’t say anything.

BILLY Yes, mother.

CASSANDRA I’m just gonna buy some cigars and beer. Keep your (cough) mouth shut.

Billy remains quiet while he follows his mother. Billy was always curious about why his mother is the way she is. He wants to ﬁnd a way to make her happy.

They walk up to a convenience store. The convenience store is near the outskirts of the town, bordering a large forest. Because of the weather, it was really foggy and the snow began to fall intensely.

CASSANDRA Okay, wait outside here. I’m going (cough) inside to get my shit.

BILLY Mother, may I come inside with you? It’s really cold out h-

CASSANDRA (sco s) Hell no! It’s already embarrassing enough to be seen with you (cough) in public. Stay. Here.

BILLY Yes, mother. Billy stands alone outside the store. The snow falls even faster and the fog becomes more dense. Billy can’t even feel his ﬁngers anymore. He really wants to go inside where it’s warm, but he doesn’t want to make his mother upset.

There’s a fenced o

area near the convenience store, it blocks o

a trail into the forest. Billy

looked past the fence and noticed someone standing in the distance. A dark ﬁgure, completely still.

BILLY (Shouts) Hello!

Billy waves at the ﬁgure.

No one responded.

BILLY (Shouts) I’m Billy! What’s your name?

The ﬁgure suddenly turned around and ran into the forest. Disappearing completely into the fog. BILLY Hey, wait!

Billy notices a small opening on the fence, someone must have broken through the fence to get into the forest.

Billy crawls through the opening and runs into the forest. Billy began to pursue the ﬁgure, thinking it might have been someone who needed help.

INT. SNOWY FOREST - MORNING The scene shows Billy walking through the dense forest. He squints as he continues to move forward, the snow falling even faster. Billy’s skin begins to turn pale and he starts to stumble around before falling on the ground.

The scene shows Billy’s perspective as he slowly fades into unconsciousness.

As the screen begins to darken, he can see the tall dark ﬁgure standing right next to him, looking down on him. Billy then becomes unconscious.

INT. UNKNOWN LOCATION. SUNSET Billy wakes up in a strange location. As he wakes up, he can see other children surrounding him, looking at him. Billy shrieks in fear and crawls back away from the other kids.

BILLY Where am I?! Who are you guys?

CHILD #1 Don’t be afraid, we’re not going to hurt you.

CHILD #2

He brought us here too.

BILLY He? Who’s he?

CHILD #3 (points behind Billy) Him…

Billy looks confused, he turns around quickly to see a tall, dark ﬁgure standing there, menacingly.

KRAMPUS (Laughs) Hello, my child.

Billy locks eyes with Krampus, Krampus’ eerie green eyes glow as if he’s looking right into Billy’s soul. Billy looks upon him with horror, intimidated by his menacing appearance.

BILLY (Shaky-voice) W-w-w-who-

KRAMPUS I am Krampus. Do not be afraid, I know I’m quite a sight. But please acknowledge my intentions are not to harm you!

BILLY H-how do I know I can trust you?

Krampus smiles creepily at Billy.

KRAMPUS

Because I have a special gift for you! For all of you!

All the other children in the room gather around and face Krampus.

KRAMPUS (Laughs) You’ve all been so good this year, you all deserve a special gift, each of you.

CHILD #1 What’s the gift?

KRAMPUS You will ﬁnd out soon. Just follow me!

All the other children get up and follow Krampus. Billy sits there for a few moments, hesitant to follow.

CHILD #2 C’mon! Don’t you want your gift?

BILLY I have a really bad feeling about this…

CHILD #2 All the other kids are following him, we should go too!

BILLY I don’t know-

Krampus turns out and interrupts Billy.

KRAMPUS Come along now! You don’t want to fall behind now!

Krampus gestures with his ﬁnger to the both of them to follow him.

Billy hesitantly follows behind Krampus. Krampus leads all of the children to a dark room with a large pentagram on the ﬂoor. The room is only lit by a few candles, the pentagram on the ﬂoor looks as if it was drawn with blood.

KRAMPUS (Giggles) C’mon now children, take a seat around the star.

All of the children sit in a circle around the pentagram. Billy, however, doesn’t sit down.

Krampus looks at Billy with a smile.

KRAMPUS Go on! Please, sit down!

BILLY Mr. Krampus, I don’t feel comfortable here.

All the other kids look at Billy with distaste.

KRAMPUS There’s nothing to be afraid of, my child. Please. Take. A. Seat.

Billy looks at Krampus and shakes his head.

KRAMPUS You’re not being a very good boy, Billy. Do you want to be on the naughty list?

BILLY I-I… I want to go home…

KRAMPUS I won’t say it again, Billy. Take a seat around the star.

Billy shakes his head again.

KRAMPUS (Laughs) Very well then.

Krampus lunges toward Billy at an incredible speed, Billy couldn’t even comprehend what had just happened. Krampus grabs Billy and lifts him up.

KRAMPUS I guess you don’t want your gift then… It’s a shame, truly.

BILLY (Gasping) L-let m-me g-go!

KRAMPUS (Laughs maniacally) You’ve been a naughty boy!

Krampus’ eyes turn a bright red as he opens his mouth to reveal multiple rows of sharp teeth, his mouth enlarging to gross and inhuman lengths.

Billy screams as Krampus slowly begins to move Billy into his mouth. Suddenly, a ﬂash of light illuminates the room. Krampus looks confused, Billy is no longer in his hands. Krampus turns around to see Santa, holding Billy in his arms.

KRAMPUS W-what?!

SANTA It’s okay, my child. You’re safe now.

Billy looks up at Santa, completely bewildered.

BILLY Y-you’re-

SANTA There’s no time, you need to leave. You and the other children, go through that door and run!

Santa points to a door in the back corner of the room, the door apparently leads to the outside so the children can escape. BILLY What about you?

SANTA

Don’t worry about me-

Krampus lunges toward Santa and slashes his left arm. Santa’s left arm is cut open, immediately bleeding.

BILLY Santa!

SANTA (Gasps) Run!

All the other children and Billy gather together and run through the back door.

KRAMPUS You fool! You don’t know what you’re doing! (Krampus clenches his ﬁsts)

Santa and Krampus lock eyes. Santa dashes out through the front door of the room and runs outside leading to the forest. Krampus follows behind. INT. SNOWY FOREST - SUNSET The scene cuts to the original scene from the beginning, text on the bottom left says “PRESENT” resuming from where it started. Both Santa and Krampus are staring at each other. The snow falls heavy, suddenly they both vanish.

They’re moving at incredible speeds, emphasized with dash marks when they disappear.

Like a scene out of DBZ, they clash in one area then another, one always blocking the other.

Krampus unleashes a war cry as he attacks. Santa maintains a calm demeanor, carefully anticipating the right moment to block or attack.

KRAMPUS Take this!

Krampus lunges straight toward Santa head on. Unleashing a barrage of punches. Santa, defending himself, barrages back. Both of them clash with each other at unfathomable speeds.

KRAMPUS (Laughs) Useless! Useless! Useless!

SANTA Is that all you’ve got?!

They continue to clash, suddenly Santa within a split second manages to get the upper hand and punch Krampus right in his lower jaw. An X-Ray scene can be shown, Santa completely fractured his lower jaw.

Krampus lets out a shriek of agony. His lower jaw is crooked, he faces Santa with an expression of pure rage.

KRAMPUS (Laughs intensely) YOU’RE GOING TO REGRET THAT!

Krampus assumes a front stance. His horns grow grossly long and his eyes glow a ﬁery red. An intense aura emits from him, so powerful that it can be felt by Santa.

SANTA Very well then, let’s do this.

Santa performs a crane stance, perfectly balancing himself. He emits an aura just as powerful as Krampus.

THE KEY by DANIEL VOTTO

I found my front door locked And for the life of me I scrambled through my pockets But I couldn’t ﬁnd the key

I headed towards the forest And I made a poor decision I decided I’d embark On a winter expedition

My hike was going swimmingly But little did I know I fell victim to the system Nature laid out long ago

I passed a wicked pine When a fox came into sight It ran around my legs Like a hurricane of white

I sprinted through the woods Though it wasn’t for the best

Through some luckless happenstance I became winter’s hopeless guest

I was stabbed by an icicle I tumbled down a hole I fought to survive But my body took the toll

Now exhausted, I constructed A camp from tired logs And I hoped when this was over I’d enjoy a glass of nog

I took o

my woolen gloves

And my heart ﬁlled with regret My hands were pink and freezing And my feet felt colder yet

When I walked out of the forest By which I had been scarred I came to the realization It was next to my backyard

At last I made it home

And I’m blinder than a bat Because I found my key resting Underneath the doormat

by JORDYN VIVIERS

THE QUIET TRAIN by BROOKE ATTAWAY Xishuangbanna, 1874. Adelaide Chen sipped lemon water from a crystalline glass, listening to the chatter of adults behind the shoji screen in the car. Thick foliage and bright flowers whizzed past the window faster than Adelaide could recognize them, drawing in and leaving pleasant smells in its wake. The train’s noisy movements were oddly soothing and rhythmic, and counting the amount of times the ‘bumps’ fluctuated from its pattern helped her to pass the time. Underneath the perfume of the foreign flowers, Adelaide could smell the familiar fishy scent of oysters being prepared for lunch. She had grown up in Great Britain with her mother, who was a well known and very rich investor. She had fought her way through the men and found her place on the top, and Adelaide was (unadmittedly) proud of her. Her father, a man her mother had met on a business trip, lived in China. He too was a small investor, but preferred using his fame to manipulate the government for the better of the country. No one knew (nor cared) where his money had come from, but he lived in a lavish house with a stream cleverly cutting through the center of the first floor. Every spring and fall she would spend a few weeks in China with her father, staying in touch with the culture and seeing if she still knew Cantonese proficiently (she practiced it more than her father would believe). Her parents were still married, just not in touch as much as other long distance relationships. A few letters were exchanged every month with a family trip every few years. Adelaide was an only child, thankfully, and appreciated her parents’ separation sometimes. She knew what having two (should be divorced) parents in the house meant for so many children in her school, and while she was certain her father would never think about raising a hand to her, she’d prefer not to be the outlet to the pressure of society.

A voice barely audible over the churn of the wheels called Adelaide's attention from her lemon water. “The other guests are already in the dining car. Would you like to join them?” a young girl, perhaps a few years older than 15-year-old Adelaide, asked her. Adelaide stood, her legs sti

from sitting too long, and dusted o

her neatly patterned

cheongsam. She nodded, “I would also like to inquire about our time of arrival? And will this same train be waiting for my return in three weeks time?” “This is the last train heading to this station until then, yes. This is a very rare trip we make.” “And how much further?” Adelaide curled a strand of her short black hair with her finger. The woman thought for a moment, “Another few hours. You should be there by late afternoon… tea time, you would say.” Adelaide bowed to her, thanked her, and watched as she turned heel to head to the dining car. Adelaide straightened the wrinkles in her clothes, something she had put on just a few hours before the train ride. It was something her mother had brought back from her last trip, but it was far too big the first time Adelaide had worn it. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as she expected for it to be, but it fit awkwardly on her body nonetheless. Her fathers tailors would take care of it for her, though, free of charge. Adelaide walked in the opposite direction of the dining car, feeling the train’s vibrations through her feet. She walked through car after car, the rooms empty with the exception of pristine luggage resting neatly on one another. The train's vibrations progressively became more aggressive as she walked down the aisles, the conductor’s car leading the train. She

would just go for a peek, the conductor knew her father after all. She imagined him humming songs as she neared, only to hear silence. She tilted her head, walking down the narrowing corridor to the door that led to the conductor's cabin. Things inside whistled and grumbled with e ort, but nothing moved at the sound of her knocking. As she rapped her knuckle on the door, it creaked open, revealing no one inside. She raised her eyebrows. Trains could be left unattended, but not for long. "Mr. Huang?" Adelaide's voice was barely audible over the engine. She stepped through the doorway, looking around the corner to her left. A single stool sat, littered with various papers covered in markings and sketches. She turned to her right, and there he was. Dead, blue in the face. She made a strangled noise, frozen in fear. He had clearly had an allergic reaction to something, his body covered in hives and his neck was swollen severely. A platter of oysters had fallen to the ﬂoor, a delicate white sauce staining the ﬂoor. Adelaide gave a high pitched shriek, backtracking immediately, racing down the way she came. She did not hesitate to leave the train unattended -- there was nothing a 15 year old could do. Someone who knew the train better than her, or at least how to stop it, could take control while Adelaide could try to erase the dead man's face from her brain. She ran faster than she had ever run before, the clear aisles of people preventing her from tripping. She slammed into every door, knocked over luggages, and did not stop to look at the beautiful scenery outside the windows. As she crossed the second cabin from the dining car, she heard a loud 'bang' noise. She slowed to a stop, noting her racing breath and shaking hands. She felt the vibrations of the

train in her feet, feeling something being scraped inside of it. She turned around slowly, listening as something terrifyingly loud came closer and closer to her. Adelaide took a deep breath, feeling the train car shake with intensity. More scraping noises resounded, and Adelaide felt the car tilt. She ran towards the opposite window, her hands fumbling to move luggage out the way. The train cars ahead of her were, one by one, derailing themselves and plummeting into the jungle below from the elevated tracks. Adelaide tried to brace herself, looking for something to hold onto, but her car had already started to fall. She felt herself slam into the opposite side, luggage ﬂying at her face. She felt a sense of weightlessness, before something heavy hit her head and left her unconscious.

************

Chen Tai checked his pocket watch, waiting patiently at the station. Delays had been prevalent as of recently. He sipped pu erh tea by himself, watching families rejoice with every train that came in. He knew the workers were busy, but a small inquiry about time of arrival would not hurt. He stood and hailed the nearest train attendant. A short, cheerful young man made his way over in a patterned gown that was much too big for him. "When will the afternoon train from Zhejiang arrive? It is nearly sunset." Tai stared down at him, hoping to ward the attendant from saying anything unnecessarily cheerful. It did not work in the slightest, and the man said, "Our workers are doing their best, sir. We can only guarantee we will tell you updates as soon as we get them. In the meantime, can I get you some complimentary-"

Tai held up a hand, "I've already received complimentary tea. Twice. I just want to know if my daughter is safe and when she will get here. Inform me the moment you learn anything." He left without another word, returning to his seat where he stared threateningly at the train tracks curving around the forest ahead of him. *************

The ﬁrst thing Adelaide noticed was she was hanging upside down. The second thing she noticed was how her throat felt like she swallowed glass. Her head was throbbing so dramatically she couldn't do anything but hand upside down and let relieving tears leak out of her eyes. She could not move or process anything until it went away. Then again, she subconsciously thought, it would not go away until she moved. She blinked tears out of her eyes from upside down, looking at her surroundings. She was in some sort of slim building, hanging upside down from her ankle that was smushed between two chairs that had collapsed on one another. She was in the crushed train car, the metal folding in on itself and a nearby smashed window showed she was on the ground in grassy terrain. She let out a pained noise, trying to twist her way out. Every movement sent tingles throughout her body, like painful needles were being consecutively poked through her every nerve. She hung upside down a moment, letting the sensation fade. What had happened? How had the train so quickly gotten out of control? Did the conductor not know he was allergic to oysters? Adelaide felt sick, thinking about the man's face. She took a few deep breaths, before looking back down (or back up?) at her ankle she was being suspended by.

"Aaaaah-" Adelaide winced as she grabbed onto a chair leg, attempting to pull her ankle out. Minutes of wiggling, pausing, breathing, and pulling went by, before her red, swollen ankle was free. She lowered herself to the ground carefully, wincing at every muscle that flexed. She sat, breathing heavily, for what felt like hours. Her body tingled as blood rushed back to her legs, her headache clearing somewhat. She closed her eyes, listening to her heart pound. Noises of nature filled her ears as she calmed, the chirping of birds and strange bugs fading in and out. The air was humid but not terribly hot, and an unfamiliar sweet scent perfumed the air. The sun seemed to be just waking, the sky still smoky gray and thick with fog. Adelaide scooted towards the broken window, wincing as something shifted in her ribs, but she had to get up. She had the advantage of daytime approaching -- she could find other survivors and check her surroundings. She experimentally crawled past broken glass, feeling muddy but soft ground as she weaved through the shards of the window. As she pulled herself out, her body threatened to give. The fall had definitely banged her up quite a bit -but nothing felt too broken. Adelaide laid on her back on the ground, watching the world spin around her. The gray sky swirled into view, mist floating through the air. The dew covered grass cooled Adelaide's bare neck and soaked her cheongsam, but the feeling was grounding. She counted to 60, and then 60 again. Two minutes she would allow herself to rest, then work was imperative. She slowly sat, feeling her water soaked back. “Eurgh,” she muttered, wiping o

the warm liquid from her neck.

She experimentally sat on her knees, her head spinning lightly. Then, she crouched. Then, she stood. Her legs shook slightly with e ort, her ankle bruised and cut.

She turned back around towards the train, walking as fast as her body would let her. All of the cars were slightly scattered, smashed brutally by the impact of the ground. Her car seemed to have hit a tree on the way down, thick, mossy branches were piled on top of it. “Is there anyone there?” Adelaide’s throat croaked out, the noise quieting a few chirping bugs as they listened. She repeated it once more, hearing nothing in response. Survivors were unlikely, it was a miracle she had survived. The sun’s rays sprinkled through the mist, blinding Adelaide unexpectedly every few steps. She paced up and down the train cars, checking in smashed windows and torn out pieces of metal. Steam swirled into the mist o

of the dewy tops of the train, dirt and

shattered branches littering the scene. Adelaide thought of the girl she had talked to, probably a year or so older than her. Her heart sank, she had most of her life ahead of her, ripped away by a train crash. How did it derail? Adelaide pondered the question again. It was strange how quickly the train got out of control. The man’s face ﬂashed in her mind once more, and she gave a small sigh. “Anyone?” Adelaide called out once more, before stopping all together. She had been on her own plenty of times. She was old enough to know how to care for herself, but she didn’t know how long it would be. Tall, mossy trees shrouded her vision through the forest, various bugs zipping through, unorganized. Her stomach rumbled, and she was happy to listen. She did not eat lunch, and she did not know how long she had been unconscious for. Food would be tucked away on the train, perhaps survivors would be left over as well.

She walked until she recognized the dining car, its windows smashed into the ground with no clear way of entry. The front had folded into a nearby tree, so the only entryway would have to be the door that typically connects between the cars. She stepped carefully, her simple shoes o ering protection from mud and shattered glass. The door was ajar, dirt marks scoring the inside of it. Adelaide carefully stepped into it, the ﬂoor at a slight angle that threatened for her to slip onto glass shards. Inside, tables of white cloth had been thrown around, some sticking half out windows and some splintered halves were laying on the ﬂoor. Something sounded, a faint dripping noise, perhaps from a surviving bottle of wine. Adelaide made her way carefully to the back where she knew the kitchen and food was kept. The door was also open, swinging o

its

hinges and creaking gently. The ﬂoor was covered with dirt and varying leaves and branches. Ladles, pots, and unknown crumbs were strewn across the counters, and as Adelaide neared the back something smelled bitterly sour. Adelaide opened a compartment, and mounds of untouched and spoiled cheese were rotting. She nearly threw up, quickly slamming the lid down. She turned to another compartment. Handfuls of grapes and pears and other fruits were also moldy, and the same for the meats (she would not even think of how to describe how awful the sight was). Tins of crackers and nuts, used for snacking, were stored in a smaller compartment, and Adelaide hastily piled them all together. Cans of vegetables and questionable ﬁsh were also stacked on top of each other in the mound. She munched on a handful of nuts as she walked through, her stomach quieting. The nuts were good, a mix of cashews and almonds, something that was never in the house because of her mother’s allergy. They were salty, however, and Adelaide’s mouth soon craved water. Adelaide knew for certain there was wine somewhere -- and wine was usually

accompanied by water. This would be in the dining car, hopefully not already drained or spilled. Adelaide backtracked, reentering the main dining area and following the noise of dripping. A table was awkwardly positioned on some compartments, ﬂipped on its side with its tablecloth covering the handle. She leaned down and pulled away the tablecloth, letting out a shriek. A woman’s body lay, crumpled and horribly misshapen. Her body twisted in ways it shouldn’t, dried blood and dirt mixing into a muddy brown, caking her body and face. Her face was impaled by a metal pole, going through one end of her head to the other, the face unrecognizable. Adelaide quickly put the tablecloth back down, turning around to vomit. She let out a cry, closing her eyes and trying to forget what she had just saw. The smell of blood wafted through the air, threatening to make her puke once more. She stood, shakily, stumbling back into the dining car where she grabbed her food, or as much of it as she could, tripping over herself and running out of the car. She cried as she ran, the shock of everything catching up to her. Who knew how long she’d have to be out here, with rotting corpses and unknown dangers in every tree. Adelaide slowed down, but kept walking until she reached the farthest car from the one with the dead woman. The sickening scent ﬁnally left her, replaced again by the jungle’s sweet perfume. She would have to return again to grab the food that was left behind, but she didn’t want to think about it. It would be there another day for her. She let out another sob as she realized, so would the woman. The sleeping car was not on its side, fortunately, but part of it was bashed in. It would provide shelter from weather, but maybe not cold nights or animals. It would do.

Adelaide set the food down, sni

ing and thinking to herself. She had to get materials

for a fire in the night, it would keep bugs and creatures away and keep her warm (not that she would need it, it barely dipped below 70 degrees in the evenings). It would be hot during the day, she would have to find a water source or she would quickly become dehydrated. The work would keep her busy, and pass the time. She took a minute to organize what she had on herself, before going out to find resources. Through the luggage on the train, she found two containers of water (she drank one greedily), a mostly decorative pocket knife, clothes, toiletries, and a very new lighter. It would work well with making fires, and last quite a while as well. Adelaide stored her new things back into the sleeping car, taking the knife and empty water container with her. She gave herself a moment to listen. The sun was creeping up, and sounds of birds and bugs were louder than ever in the woods. She experimentally held up her pocket knife, holding it out in front of her shakily. “Clean water and dry wood.” She murmured to herself, repeating it once more as she stepped into the woods, as confidently as she could.

************

“Mr. Chen if you could please seat yourself so we could talk-”. “Do not interrupt me! The train has yet to arrive and it has been a full day. I do not want accommodations or payment, I want my daughter.” Tai snapped, slamming a ﬁst on the table. The attendants looked at each other, nodding their heads. “We are sure your daughter is safe. Search patrols are already out. If they have not returned by dusk, we will accompany you to ﬁnd her tonight.”

Tai took a deep breath, taking a moment to glance between the two attendants. “You both are merely doing the job you were asked to do. If my daughter lives and leaves uninjured with nothing but a tale to tell, I am certain the way you handled the situation will be recognized. But if there is even one injury or death, I assure you, your punishments will extend much further than a job loss,” he ﬁnished, his voice a harsh whisper by the end of his threat. “W-we understand sir,” the attendant on the left muttered. “Leave me. And I will take more… complimentary tea.” Tai remained focused on them as they bustled out.

************

Adelaide nearly screamed again as a snake slithered by, ignoring her footsteps. She knew every living creature in this jungle would be wondering why a stranger was traversing through it, and she had no right to be there. She would, however, prefer to leave unbitten. She had found a river, clear and quickly running, and some dry wood from a splintered tree that had fallen onto a sunny rock. She formed a little sled from a big leaf that she ripped o

of a nearby plant (infested with ants) and towed the wood on top of it. She was now trying

to make her way back, following the ﬂattened leaves and grass she had walked through. Adelaide counted the species of birds she had heard so far. Barbets, sunbirds, bulbuls, she had counted over 20. Their somber melodies cut through the croaking and grumbling of the other animals, setting Adelaide on edge from time to time.

She had also counted every step she made. Roughly 367 steps west to the spring, and 63 steps east to the sunny rock. The counting helped calm her ever increasing nervousness as she remembered everything that could swallow her in one bite. “Mmmmrrrr…” something grumbled, stopping Adelaide in her counting. Turning, she saw the eyes of something glaring at her from behind two trees. A large, horrifyingly beautiful indochinese tiger stood, frozen, its tail gently twitching from side to side. Its orange and black pelt was clean of dirt and leaves, and its mouth was open very slightly. Its wide eyes locked on to hers, its muscles visibly tensed. Adelaide inhaled sharply, turning back around and refraining herself from sprinting as fast as she could. She felt her heart rate quicken and she quickly began thinking. Cats love to chase things, her father had one of his own. He chased anything that moved, pouncing on it and kicking at it with his hind legs. Running away would initiate the tiger’s hunting instincts, a typical predator-prey scenario, so walking away carefully and sizing herself would be her best chance. She turned back around, the tiger still frozen in its place, curiously. She straightened her back, trying to seem as intimidating as possible, biting back panic as she slowly backed away. She prayed she didn’t trip on a root, or worse, a snake. It watched her without moving anything but its eyes, before sni

ng the air and turning the other way, leaving her alone.

Adelaide let out a strangled noise, her adrenaline skyrocketing as she spun back around, pulling her supplies behind her in a brisk walk as she neared the train car. Her legs quivered with nervousness. Tigers are nocturnal creatures, that was originally Adelaide’s biggest concern, but the fact that she had encountered one in the daylight was both a gift and a terrifying memory.

She wheezed with e ort between her panic and the pulled weight behind her, dropping it the moment she neared where the train lay. She squeaked as she practically slammed into the door of her sleeping area, closing it behind her. She breathed heavily, looking out a cracked window. The tiger had not followed her, nor had anything else. She was safe, or so she hoped, but still felt her heart racing and head pounding. She took several deep breaths, pacing back and forth along the floor. “Thank you for leaving me to live,” she sighed to no one in particular. Her stomach grumbled, the vomit from earlier completely emptying her stomach of anything to do. She would make a fire, then eat. A flat spot where the train had hit once before, right next to the elevated tracks, would be perfect. She hesitantly cracked open the door, listening to the forest. No tigers there, and a fire would certainly scare o

anything else hungry enough to be curious. She felt her hands

shaking as she opened the door, walking over as dignifiedly as possible to her wood stack and began choosing the lightest and smallest pieces. Her lighter was helpful, but she would never get a fire if she didn’t do it properly. She knew how to make a fire, she had lit the grand fireplace in her mother’s home plenty of times in the winter. She went to work, stopping periodically at every noise she heard. Cutting, lighting, adding, stoking. Before she knew it, dusk was nearing and smoke wafted through the air, giving o

a comforting smell. She admired her work as a ﬂame turned into a ﬁre, the wood

slowly being consumed by the tongues of heat. There was no threat of a forest ﬁre, and it was far enough from the train that she could enjoy the outdoors and not fear she could encounter a dead body any minute. She sat on the ground, holding a kettle she had found and a broken teabag. She poured some of the spring water into the tin kettle, the water making a pleasant ‘sploosh’

sound. She would make herself tea, eat some food, and go to bed. She would leave the ﬁre throughout the night, thinking the smoke signal would alert any search parties to her location. She hummed a Chinese tune about two tigers that ruled a forest, restarting every time she forgot the words. She counted the amount of times the tea bubbled, losing track and making up a number to only continue again. The gray sky became covered in clouds, allowing the rising moon to peek every so often. She watched the woodline as she ﬁnally poured her tea into the bottle she had put the spring water in, swirling it in her hand. “To my father, who I pray is not stressing too much about my wellbeing.” Adelaide murmured to herself, taking a sip. ************

The search party had returned. They had fumbled over each other, o ering their most pathetic excuses they could come up with Chen Tai would not hear any of it, and took the soonest opportunity to look for Adelaide he could. He walked along the tracks, two policemen walking alongside him. Incoming trains had been canceled for the search -- multiple other complaints from families had surfaced that day so the hunt was imperative. Chen Tai was not a stressed man. His hair did not gray, he did not spend hours of the day worrying. But his daughter was the most important thing to him, and he did not know what he would do if she had disappeared… or worse. The policemen that accompanied him had not spoken a word. They knew Tai was a formidable man, one who could get them ﬁred for as much as a “hello”. They followed silently, unknowingly marching in step while looking at the woods below.

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Tai held up a hand, stopping. The jungle was quiet below them. Something was o , something was not supposed to be there. Tai looked below, something orange flickered in the trees. Something bright that illuminated some of the bushes surrounding it, almost unnoticeably. Tai did not hesitate to trample down a slope in his disheveled suit, his years of learning how to control his body in stress taking over as he made his way on the rainforest floor, running, pushing through towards the sight of fire. Someone sat by it, drinking tea, unaware of his existence. Her cheongsam was tattered and her short black hair had clearly not been properly brushed out in a while. “Adelaide?” he called out. The girl turned towards the woods, frowning. She saw him, then, smiling, “Father.”

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EIPURA by ABBY HORRELL Footsteps thundered across the forest floor as Eipura fled on her horse. Her ragged breaths matched the snorting of her horse, Cyclone. Hands clenched tightly on the reins, Ei begged Cyclone to go faster. She didn’t know where they were going. They just had to escape. They had to get away. Ei counted her Cyclone’s strides in her head, a way to calm her mind. "One two, one two..." She trailed o . Ei patted Cyclone’s neck to calm him down and reassure him. She knew they would have to stop soon, so they wouldn’t get too exhausted. Eipura decided they would stop in the next town for the night. After getting supplies and a couple of hours of rest, they would continue on. Cyclone’s shiny gray coat glistened in the sunlight of the setting sun, clumps of grass flying through the air with every step. His muscles flexed as he ran at full speed towards their next destination. He whinnied when he saw the large stone wall come into view. As the two suns began to set along the horizon, making the sky bleed pink, yellow, and orange, they made it to the edge of town. She slowed her Cyclone to a walk and pulled her hood over her head. Ei walked Cyclone through the town, weaving through the centaurs, elves, and merchant humans. She sighed in relief when she saw a motel with a small stable connected to it. Her horse could have a place to rest. It wasn’t ideal; normally Cyclone preferred to be in a pasture, but it would have to be just for the night. Ei tied Cyclone to a post outside the motel and walked to the door. The bell on the door jingled as she opened it, and a small sprite greeted her, zipping around her head. Sprites didn’t speak, so this one dragged her to what seemed to be the front desk of the hotel. The

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sprite motioned Ei to wait there, and it ﬂew behind the desk, coming out seconds later with a giantess who was around 7 feet tall. "Hello, welcome to the Winged Hotel. How may I help you?" The giantess spoke in a deep voice, making the sprite plug her ears. "Can I get a room for myself and a stall for my horse for the night?" Eipura asked, pulling her sack of coins out of her satchel. "We do have a few stalls open. Those are 50 gold for the night, and a single room is 45 for the night." The lady spoke. "I can give you Room 26 for yourself and stall 7 for your horse. Just one night? What is your name?" "Yes, just for the night. Put the name down as Aeryn. Do you have a dining area for dinner and breakfast? What about my horse?" Ei asked. She had lied about her name since she didn’t know who she could trust. She was being chased by the royal guard and could not a ord to get caught. After ﬁguring out the details of the hotel and purchasing a room and a stall for the night, Ei and Cyclone went to look around town. They viewed di erent shops to see what supplies they needed, as they didn’t know how long they would have to run for. Ei ended up buying some apples for Cyclone and feeding them to him as they continued on their search for supplies. "Have you seen this elf?" Ei’s head shot up when she heard a man ask that question. Had she been caught? She snuck over to see who the man was talking about. Her heart was beating out of her chest, and she begged that the ogre was not looking for her. She felt herself sigh in relief when she looked over and saw it was just a little elf the ogre was

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looking for. She found out that the ogre had been babysitting the elf and he had lost the child when they were playing hide-and-seek. Although she did feel bad for the ogre and hoped he would ﬁnd the little elf soon, she couldn't distract herself further. She quickly went back to the streets, continuing on their hunt for supplies. After about an hour, Eipura and Cyclone had gathered all their needed supplies and had even stopped by a small tavern to eat, so they headed back to the hotel. She stuck Cyclone in the stall for the night and made sure he was comfortable but wouldn’t be caught. Once Ei got back to her own room, she ﬂopped on the bed, her hood falling down, and she sighed loudly. She honestly didn’t know how she had gotten into this situation, but she hoped she could get out of it soon. Before she knew it, Ei had drifted o

to sleep, clutching her

satchel in her arms, knowing she might have to make a quick departure in the morning. As soon as the two bright suns started rising, Eipura was ready to go. She grabbed a quick breakfast at the inn’s restaurant and gave Cyclone a bucket of hay. She turned in her keys once she took Cyclone out of the stall. Once she got back outside, she made sure Cyclone’s saddle was put on properly. She ensured the girth was tight enough, so the saddle wouldn’t slide. She sighed as she pulled on his bridle and put the reins over Cyclone’s head. She hopped up on the saddle, ﬁxing her hood to make sure it stayed on, and she was o . Cyclone didn’t start galloping until they were outside the village, far enough away that, if her hood fell, the village folks wouldn’t recognize her.

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Cyclone’s large hooves once again thundered along the dirt path, leaving a cloud of dust behind them, the two suns shining down upon them. Eipura ﬁxed her cloth over her face, covering it to prevent dust from getting into her mouth or nose and also to hide her identity. "You there! We see you’re an elf. Could you tell us about this elf we are looking for?" a deep voice yelled. Eipura felt her heart rate rise when she heard the voice, and she quickly pulled her hood over her head. "Halt, in the name of the King, we demand you halt!" another voice commanded. "Shit," Eipura mumbled to herself, and turned to see a team of royal guards chasing after her. She knew she could receive the death penalty if she refused one of the King’s orders, so she slowed Cyclone down. She purposefully made him take longer to slow down than usual as she fumbled through her bag. "Thank you for stopping, '' the captain said, “I apologize for our inconvenience, but we are looking for this elf and were hoping you had seen her." The men rode up on their horses, all of the men wearing the King’s crest on their crisp uniforms. Eipura knew she would be brought back to the palace and placed on trial in front of the King if she was recognized, so she quickly drank a potion before the soldiers saw her face. "If you could, please pull the fabric on your face down, so we can conﬁrm you are not the elf we are looking for," the royal guard captain said. He motioned to another guard, who handed him a piece of parchment, which he unrolled, revealing Eipura’s face. On the parchment was Eipura glaring, her brown hair wild in two braids.

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Eipura pulled down her mask, hoping her potion had worked. Normally she specialized in di erent types of potions, not ones in appearance, so she hoped the soldiers would be tricked. "Hmm, you look quite di erent from this image,” the captain shrugged, “apart from the fact that you're an elf, I don't see any similarities. " He readied his team to leave. "Wait, Captain! Can’t you see?” One of the other soldiers spoke up, making the captain stop and immediately turn towards Eipura. “That's exactly how the king described her horse. He also said that she was good at potion-making. Don’t you think it would be a little strange that the horse is exactly like the King described it?" The captain frowned and nodded in agreement. "W-what are you talking about?” Ei laughed nervously, “I just have a gray horse, which is quite common in the elf region. I have to go back to the academy." She had pulled the fabric across her face, knowing that the potion was meant to only last a few minutes. Considering it was her ﬁrst appearance changing potion, she didn’t know how long it would take before it wore o , blowing her cover. "Now wait one minute. We will take you back to the castle to see if you are the elf the king is searching for." The captain waved the scroll in Ei’s direction. Eipura tried to get Cyclone to escape, but she was surrounded by other guards. Cyclone snorted and tossed his head. She knew she couldn’t go back to the castle. She contemplated if she could get Cyclone to jump over the shorter horses, but she was soon cut o

as a cloth was

placed over her mouth and everything faded to black. She had failed her escape. "Sorry Lyari, I couldn’t escape. I failed you," She muttered as her body went limp, the images of her best friend ﬂashed through her mind, and Cyclones' whinny faded in her ears.

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THIS I BELIEVE by LUCY MILLS Sensitive is such a loaded word. Maybe it’s because I’ve heard it used so often in insults throughout my life. Nobody uses the phrase “you’re so sensitive” as a compliment. It’s not a neutral observation, either; it’s a scolding way of telling me o

for having feelings that are too

big, too intrusive, too dramatic. I naturally express my feelings more than most people, because that’s just how I’m wired. I don’t think I feel particularly more than others; but then again, I guess I wouldn’t know, would I? I only know what’s in my mind and what other people show me, and most other people are better at hiding that.

Better? That’s another loaded word. Better at hiding - that implies that it’s a strength to be able to do so, and a personal failure on my behalf that I can’t do the same. I’m still learning to view my own vulnerability as a strength. I have a feeling I’ll be doing that for the rest of my life.

But vulnerability as a strength sounds like an oxymoron. Vulnerability is nearly synonymous with weakness in many cases and from many perspectives. And after so long of being encouraged to believe this, I began to wonder: if vulnerability is such a weakness, why does it take so much courage to openly display? This made me realize that the people making me believe this were struggling with how to express their emotions, and rather than admit that, it was easier to put up a stoic front and continue to suppress. And this is why I believe that letting yourself be vulnerable is a strength.

I had these seeds of realization for years before they were really allowed to grow and blossom into a predominant understanding of mine. Unhealthy friendships and exterior stress cast a shadow over the sapling reaching for sunlight, and I felt stuck even when I caught glimpses of

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that sunlight because I didn’t have the nutrients to grow. Nutrients being brain chemicals. I guess what I’m trying to say is, in this plant analogy, getting prescribed antidepressants was…fertilizer? Anyway, the hardest person to be vulnerable with is yourself. Finally managing to do that forced me to come to terms with the reality of how I was doing last winter. I wasn’t okay, and hadn’t been for a long time. I wasn’t going to get better if I denied that I wanted to be better.

Some of that denial was subconscious. For so long, I had been used to ignoring my needs for the sake of other people that I lost sight of how to recognize them. I didn’t know how to just look at myself in a moment and understand that I needed to take a break. My friend Sage did.

This past summer, I went to an overnight camp that I had attended previously in 2019. My experience that year was tumultuous, but I met my dear friend Sage during that experience, and reconnecting with them was ultimately the reason I went again. Meeting them for the ﬁrst time had a huge impact on me already, but the second summer at camp with them facilitated even more growth than the summer before.

It’s funny how small moments can have such an impact. With Sage, it was a simple decision: the decision to sit out of the evening activity on the second day of camp. They had expressed to me feelings of being overwhelmed and burnt out from the constant social activity, something that most of us have trouble with after nearly two years of living in a pandemic. Not to mention that my ADHD, something Sage and I have in common, tends to make that kind of thing an issue anyway. Seeing Sage acknowledge these feelings and needs and choosing to rest in the nurse’s o

ce for the evening struck me with the sudden realization

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that I needed that too. I hadn’t taken a moment to slow down and consider my own feelings too deeply yet, but whatever subconscious barrier was keeping these unnoticed was knocked down and opened the ﬂoodgates to express the feelings I’d been hiding through tears.

I cried a lot during those two weeks at camp. It was a little embarrassing, actually; it was often over abstract things like that. And I’ll admit - being vulnerable doesn’t often FEEL strong. It can make you feel weak. I’m sure it’s got something to do with instinct. But being vulnerable when I needed to be gave me the strength to do things I hadn’t been able to before. I stood up for things I felt were unfair at the camp, like the dress code that prevented girls from wearing two piece swimsuits. Despite insistence from my peers that it wasn’t worth making a big deal about, my counselors told me that it wouldn’t hurt to try. And it didn’t. My advocacy was heard by the right person at the right time, and because I spoke up, I encouraged the camp director to change this policy in the future. It may have been a small victory, but it meant the world to me.

Triumphs like that didn’t come to me when I didn’t grant myself grace for the things I was feeling. Letting myself have those moments of weakness made me strong when I needed to be. Back when I felt ashamed of my vulnerability, when I felt like it was a weakness, I tended to come o

as extremely negative. I didn’t have the space to acknowledge my feelings in a

healthy way, so I’d dwell on them at all times and it showed.

I have a healthier relationship with myself now; that taught me how to have healthy relationships with others. I don’t hide from my sensitive nature, and I have friends who help

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me to feel comfortable being vulnerable with them. I can do this because I’m vulnerable with myself.

And the connotation of vulnerability has taken on a new meaning in my eyes. Now it doesn’t only mean moments of weakness where I crack and can’t help but pour out everything negative that I’m feeling. I can feel good things too. I can feel love for my friends, and I can express that now more than ever. “I love you” is the vulnerable phrase that I used to have more trouble with than anything, and now I love to remind my friends. “I love you” is almost always followed up by “I love you too;” it’s like the phrase grants silent permission to express a feeling that carries so much more weight when said alone. Just like when my friend Sage, who allowed themselves to slow down and feel their feelings, unknowingly reminded me with that action that I was allowed to do the same. I want the people I love to treat themselves well, and eventually I realized that I needed to do the same for myself. Being vulnerable when it’s most di

cult taught me to value and love myself, every part of

myself, and it’s made me stronger than I’ve ever been. My vulnerability is the greatest strength I have; this I believe.

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2022 Special thank you to Mr. Schrader for supporting our creative writing class in this magazine’s production and being a great teacher :)

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Different Drummer 2021-2022

Articles inside

EIPURA by Abby Horrel (Short story

THE QUIET TRAIN by Brooke Attaway (Short story

POTENTIA PETRAM (POWER ROCK) by Jordyna and Olivia Viviers (Poem and artwork

THIS I BELIEVE by Lucy Mills (Essay

THE DARK FOREST by Ashley Harms (Short story

BLINDED by Jordyn Viviers (Poem

BIRDSEED by Lily Sharp (Short story

FOX RIVER’S PERSEPHONE by Lucy Mills (Short story

IN THE TALL GRASS by River Confer (Short story

THEATER OF THE DOGS by River Confer (Short story

SPILT MILK by Lily Sharp (Poem

TIME by Jordyn Viviers (Poem

982 by Waridi (Poem