TWISTED V o l u m e 8 : S p r in g 2 0
TABLE OF
P23567891AGE TI LE CREATOR 1120367893 7348014579 14435679 512
Covers
Alone in the Balloon Graveyard
Yazmeena Bosch
10 Days Until Birthday
Camille Ruiz
Untitled
Ahmad Mazhabi
Uncertainty
Luz Garcia
Sheppard of the Darkness / Pentagram
Sheridan Mootoo / Zach S.
The Man of Milwaukee, & Rage
Lauren Omar, & Jeanna Crespo
Burnt
Kelsah King
The Girl of Beauty / Dysmorphia
Zoe Dasilva / Katherine Reed
A Nightmare
Haneen Abdo
The Dollhouse
Elizabeth Soto
Oversized Doll
Nicolette Louissaint
A Caplata's Fate
Maria Salcedo
Genometasizing of the Collective Subconcious
Gregory Kane
The Ode to Eternal Light
Samaiya Russel
Persona / Fighting For Life
Bianca Diaz Paredez / Andre Jablonowski
Autumn is Just Another Word for Fall, Honey
Abigail Wicenzick
Distored Crash
Zara Bosch
Dragon Slayer
Maya Kelly
Slay the Beast
Kate Lee
The Vacation
Elijah Rodriguez
Untitled
Andre Jablonowski
A Recurring Dream
Joy Xie
Eyes
Scott
Darkness / Who's There
Ianni Burroughs / Armani Garcia
Sweet Dreams / Suffocating Expectations
Katelyn Palmer / Armani Garcia
The Prisoner
Amantia Menalla
King / Inner Demons / No Brainer
Itzel Covarrubias / Haley Hernandez / Alexis Wyatt
Porcelain Perfection / Oh! I've Lost My Head
Megan Detore / Alexis Wyatt
Darling, It's Twisted / Apocalypse
Heleena Stamaris / Grace Batura
The Boy Who Wept
Gigi Diaz
Hallway No. 1
Andre Jablonowski
Witch of Symmetry
Alannis del Valle Berrios
Same But Different
Marianna Diaz
The Moment of Truth
Chloe Haw
CONTENTS
P5636701234AGE TI LE CREATOR
677012346 78801357909 19236
The Woman
Meghan Farmer
Sweet Dreams / Go Back to Sleep
Py / Armani Garcia
Bloodthirsty Revenge
Andre Hoofnagle
The Fool / Puppeteer
Katelyn Oakley / Nicolette Sangelo
Out Perfect Town
Aryssa Ebbeler
Blank
Miguel Maldonado
Tea Party
Scott
Innocence
Kelsey Acosta Garcia
Sweet Home Transylvania
Jaiden McBoss
Alive
Delilah Berrio
Like Everybody Else / Two Faced
Aurea Jimenez / Meghan Hodge
Little Red Werewolf
Anna Jennings
Trapped
Katherine Reed
The Files
Anya Stewart
Deserted
Jeanna Crepo
The Color Red
Sage Petrie
Family Visit
Ally Gribbin
Caving In
Celeste Coffey
Where Are You? / Darkest of Nights
Anya Stewart / Andre Stewart
Andy
Adrianna Rodriguez
Coulrophobia
Barbara Figueredo
Happily Ever After
Samaiya Russel
Illusion
Gwenevere Maynard
Big Eyes
Alexis Wyatt
Illusion or Tunnel Check / Call From Beyond
Gwenevere Maynard / Armani Garcia
A Robot's World
Hayley Colon
Truth About the World
Nils Sjoberg
The Great Oak
Anna Crites
Letter from the Staff and Staff Listing
10DayCsaumnilteiRluBzrhday
It is 10 days until my angelic daughter’s birthday. I see her in her pink fluffy pajamas with white lace around the arms and neck hole. Her mom was doing her long chestnut locks into braids with flowers in them. She looked so innocent, my treasure, the love of my life: Emily, my pride and joy. Her mom sat there doing her hair like the nuisance she is, ruining the perfect image of my beautiful girl. I see her from the bottom of the cheap apartment looking like it’s going to fall, the dark dimly lit street covering me from their sight, and I stay there for hours as the night passes by, watching my angel sleep. I almost get distracted from the real reason I came here. I take out a piece of paper stained brown due to coffee spills; the smell of coffee roams the scent around me, mixed in with the stench of manure and liquor. I read the scribbled mess that holds my plan to celebrate my girl’s birthday. Her birthday is in 10 days and I want to do many things until it comes. I have to do it in secret, because her mother won custody of her. She said I was weird for not feeling what she did and other stuff; she only knows how to run her mouth. My child is the only thing that gave me joy and light in this plain world. I tried to be there for her, I earned a job but never kept it, I gave up and that’s what lost me the most precious thing in the world… Emily. Ever since the day I held her in my arms and heard her loud cry, which is hard for any parent to bare, seeing her swollen eyes every night but then, always at the end of the day she would have a smile which I always just wanted to see one last time. I can’t see her anymore due to that witch. As I snapped out of my trance of thought from hearing people screaming by the end of the street, I continued to look at my plan. Today is day 10, so I decided to give her 10 special toys. As I drew on the crisp of the wrinkled coffee stained paper I wrote in graphite a plan to get inside my girls house. As I thought about it I finally figured it out. As I start climbing the sturdy pipes with the support of the old rustic brick. The security is not good, so I can sneak into my daughter window fairly easily. As I set up my plan in the obsidian colored room with the stench of toxics that reach through the air. I walk through the wooden floor making small creaks along the way. Ah, my daughter is sleeping like the fallen angel she is. Her beauty is indescribable, her long blonde eyelashes mixed in with her chestnut hair. I have to concentrate and start setting down my dolls. I don’t have a shower or water to clean, them so they have to smell like feces, but I just hope my daughter still appreciates them. I hear a loud honk outside making me considerate on my plan. I walk back the way I came, just keeping the window
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open. I wait until dusk to see my daughter wake up from her slumber. As I stare from the window, her eyes look tired at first. She runs her hand in one eye and then her eyes become wide open. All I can see from the window is a blank face, she has dead eyes just staring at the toys. One tear drops like a shooting star about to lose its light. She walks out of her bed, ignoring the gift. She grabs her trash can and throws away my gifts fiercely. I can hear her crying, throwing the gift into the trash like she is trying to cover up some regret, or trying to forget someone. She looks at the window seeming like she is trying to find something, and goes straight to bed, covering her face. My poor baby girl is scared... of my great gift? I want to go to her and cuddle her and say it's ok. I want to trap her in my cabin for nobody to see, just to keep her safe. I smile. I’m always happy when I think about her - even if she rejects all my offerings. At least this time she didn’t run scared to her mom’s room. She’s growing up so fast… I’ll try with cat corpses next time.
UNTITLED | AHMAD MAZHABI
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UnLcuzerGtaraciiy
The sun was setting, making the sky different shades of orange with pink like autumn leaves. Sam held me close to him, arms around my waist as we watched the sun hide behind the rolling hills. He brought me here, wanting to show me the beautiful sight of nature before the darkness took over at night. I looked up at him, admiring his beautiful features, his sharp and strong jaw, full pinkish lips, hazel twinkling eyes, lashes that fluttered when he blinked, the color rich, and his strong tall built. The hills were now cast in the shadows of the night, the sun not even visible anymore. It was as if the hills devoured the sun in that small moment of time. I still felt the feeling of the warm sun on my skin, but it was hard to tell if it was just Sam’s body heat wrapped around me. We never had moments like these because of school or work, and our families didn’t want us together. Always having to sneak out while the moon is out just to spend a few moments and rush back before the sun rose. The darkness was our time, it always had been, and this was our first time seeing the night transform together. The moon stood above us, illuminating the sky like a mystical crystal ball and we looked up at it as if it was going to reveal our future. “I hate that it has to be this way,” I said, breaking the peaceful silence between us, my voice coming out scratchy. The lump in my throat was starting to form as the thoughts of what was about to happen crawled my mind. “We have seen all our options, Lydia. It’s the only way,” said Sam, looking down at me this time, casting a dark shadow above my face. He stood taller than me by a lot. His frame could devour my petite one. “I know that, and I understand it, but I just feel like there is a better option,” I said, looking down at the beat-up converse that I had owned for years. The layers of dirt rested all along the sole that used to be white and not so black. “Lydia, I can’t even be around you some nights because of the—” “The curse. I know. You don’t have to remind me. We stood now in the awkward silence of debate between what was going to happen now. We had been waiting for so long, our minds decided on what we were going to do to solve our problems. I just don’t trust her, Sam,” I let out the lump in my throat. I knew the real reason why he wanted today to be so perfect, and I did not like it at all. I wanted him to take it as seriously as I did. This was a big decision to make and he was taking it so lightly. ““If you’re worried about the pain, I’ve already told you that you won’t feel a thing,” he assured me as my anxiety started to rise even, more especially around this time. “Just breathe, okay? She’ll be here any minute now, since the transition has to happen at night.”
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And in the cemetery as well. Yes, we were looking at the beautiful view of the hills and the sun at the cemetery. It was built in the middle of the hills that were in the formation of a circle. They were the only tall plots of land, and the rest was surrounded by flatness. There was a legend that had spread the small towns that the hills represented some vessel to keep whatever it was inside in and to never let it out. For this reason, the townspeople built the cemetery right in the middle of them, to keep the lost souls in. This occurred during their skeptical times of the spiritual world, but no one seems to actually believe this anymore. But I knew the truth. Not everything is what it seems. Sam might have seemed like the perfect boyfriend at the time, and in those few moments of life, but there was always something to him. He always wanted more. His conscience always lingered in my mind, guiding me viciously through everything, judging my decisions, but always when the night came he was as sweet as candy. He was warm and heartfelt. I just couldn’t leave him because of something he wasn’t in control of. “Do you really think she is going to help us?” I asked, still uncertain of the whole thing. “She will, I promise you sweetheart. I would never lie to you,” he said, pulling me into a full embrace. The wind started to pick up, shuffling the leaves from the ground and making them dance, swirling in the air. The fog started to fall from over the tall hills down to the open pit they caged. Despair and void filled my lungs, my heart started to race a mile, and all the hairs of my body suddenly became fully aware of the scene. I gasped for air but I couldn’t seem to inhale any. It started to feel dry, like I had forgotten how to breathe. II fell on my knees on the wet grass beneath me. The water soaked through my jeans and it was icy cold. It has seemed as if the water was glue, because I couldn’t move from the spot I had fallen. Sam’s black shiny coal shoes were the only thing I could focus on. Why wasn’t he trying to help me? His feet stood there, pointed towards me, no swing, no movement, still as a statue. I forced my whole body to slightly move my head up to view him. From this angle, he stood awkwardly lean and tall. The darkness on his face was hard to visualize. He could be mistaken as a shadow plastered on a wall. I tried to form words to cry for help, but nothing. This only pleased him more, making him form a wicked smile on his lips. His eyes turned a vibrant purple with cat-like, black slits as pupils. He stared into my eyes. I felt a pull from the bottom of my stomach and the feeling of being emptied started to fill every ounce of my body. There was no way of me fighting. He got me and I let him. My vision started to fade. He was nothing but a blurry picture by the time I saw someone else stand beside him: The Womon. Everything went black, just like he told me would happen when I first met him in the graveyard, dressed all in black with his old pale skin. I had changed him over time, making him beautiful, and now into the darkness of the shadows like we always stood in.
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SheparSdherofidatnhMeoDtarknes
A shepherd of the darkness, I long for more. I have lain down my defenses, I have succumbed to the wickedness. I have sold my soul, It guides me into the path of evil for the sake of its name. As I walk through the darkest valley, They will fear me. For they will all face death, And they will find no comfort among the chaos.
It prepares a table before me, In the presence of my enemies. It drowns me, I feel the tainted water flood my lungs. Surely this sin will follow me, All the days of my life. And I will dwell in the house of the darkness, Forever.
Pentagram | Zach S.
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TheMLanauroefnOMmirlwauke
When I first saw him on the news I couldn’t believe my eyes, His expression, dark, twisted, distorted, yet I found I could recognize. They referred to him by the name of Milwaukee and went to analyze, In his apartment, within the shadows, they found his hidden prize. It took me back to his young body, to his starting ties. It took me back to his odd behavior influenced by dark skies. It took me back, all the way back, to that one poor cat, it cries. It took me back to when adults would tell us we’re unwise. I just wonder how he did it, what were his supplies? When he chose his poor young victims, how’d he criticize? He didn’t seem to waste one bit, I guess he would reprise. And when his methods didn’t work, he’d find ways to revise.
RAGE | JEANNA CRESPO
They would say he wasn’t insane, they would humanize, This dark monster was shown in a way, people would empathize. It’s as if his environment growing up was a form of disguise. There’s no excuse for what he did, he shows how innocence dies.
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BKelsuahrKnitng
I wake up with an unbearable headache. In fact, my entire body hurts. Everything is out of focus. I hear muffled speaking, or perhaps yelling, next to where I am laying. The yelling makes my head hurt more. Wincing, I slowly bring my hands up to my head, as if my arms were moving through honey. Blearily, I open my eyes and blurry bright lights on the ceiling makes me squint, but I keep my eyes open. Turning my head, I see someone crying, wailing, into their hands. The person looks as if they climbed through a chimney. As the vision comes into focus and my memory comes back, I recognize my mom as the one crying. I try to ask her what’s wrong, but the only thing that comes out of my mouth is a cough. She pauses her wailing and looks up at me. “Oh, Mallory…” her shaky voice says. “Something awful has--” She can’t even finish her sentence before beginning to sob again. “Mom, what happened?” I croak out, innocent as ever. “Mal… there was a fire at home.” Her voice is merely a whisper. “The house is pretty-- it’s pretty much destroyed. You and your sister were inside while it happened.” “...is she okay?” I say with a quivery voice. I’m quite good at acting. “...I’m afraid not, love.” Mom is going to start sobbing again soon, I can tell. I look away and let tears fall down my face. My sister died and she, of course, just had to take my house with it. I am so mad. I planned on running out of the house and calling mom as soon as I started the fire in her room while she was sleeping, but of course, I tripped on one of her stuffed animals right outside her room, hit my head on the door frame hard, and apparently passed out. My selfish sister wouldn’t let me have one thing. Not friends in school, thanks to her ruining my reputation before I even got there. Not a phone, manipulating mom into thinking I’m too young. Not even the house I grew up in. And now she’s gone and made mom cry. But mom doesn’t need to cry over her. After a week, she won’t even miss her, I’m sure of it. She doesn’t need her. I certainly don’t. Mom breaks my thoughts by putting a comforting hand on my arm. “We’ll be okay, dear.” I don’t entirely believe her. I’m a bit upset about my house, but I’ll get along just fine. Mom will probably continue missing my sister. Like she’s got some sort of Stockholm syndrome. I’m not too worried about where we will live. I’m sure dad will let us move back in after such a tragedy. I’m just glad that I finally killed that demon of sister and that no one will have to deal with her anymore. I think I did the world a favor. Page 7
TheGZoierDlaoSfilvBeauty
She's the girl of the basement, Left broken and battered, The mystery goes on, Still not knowing what matters. Her body on the tiles, No more beautiful smiles, There is no one to blame, The killer runs free, The one who couldn't let her be. The little girl no longer on stage, The note left on the page, The beauty queen later found, She can no longer be crowned. The parents cry, Left to wonder why Their daughter was taken from them, She is not the girl of the basement, She is the girl of beauty.
DYSMORPHIA | KATHERINE REED Page 8
AHNanieghtAmbdaore
ﺳﻠﻤﻴﺔ A word which means peace A word which means offering those who have been through hardship, ease showing mercy to those begging on their knees, please meanwhile, mankind has failed to see That my country needs to be set free And mankind has failed to be what my country needs it to be, Supportive Understanding Willing to do whatever it takes to make my country a country again ﺳﻠﻤﻴﺔThe people of Sudan have been screaming this chant and the top of their lungs (flag) Because they know the only change they can make is by using their tongues Peacefully protesting to end the disaster that struck what they once called home Taken, raped, and killed with their bodies thrown Into the Nile river so the cruelty of the government won’t be known Freedom. Peace. Justice ﺣﺮﻳﺔ ﺳﻼم وﻋﺪاﻟﺔ All though it is what they plead to receive, My country hasn’t gotten any of these And I know it’s hard to believe But its really all that they need A 6-year-old being raped by 10 different men, is that what you call freedom? See these things really happen but no one wants to believe them. A hospital full of sick people being bombed, is that what you call peace? But no matter what, the Sudanese people stay strong They believe that they will fight through it no matter how long I am Sudanese and we have done nothing wrong But stay together and support each other all along See in Sudan it is normal to be nice It is normal to offer someone on the street a cup of water with ice It is normal to give a random person anything they need From the bread and the sugar to a simple good deed
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ThEelizDabeothlShouse
And if anyone asks for anything they give a warm smile as in yes indeed And because of all this, it is hard to believe that this is happening to my country Because the nightmare that took over Sudan has now taken over me And my heart aches when I remember what I have seen Because the people in Sudan have turned this into a crime scene But to the people in Sudan believe Believe that you will end the darkness and bring the light Believe that you will end this horror and win this fight Because I believe Because I believe that you will take this wrong and make it right
I put my earbuds in as I walk home from my shift at the coffeehouse, keeping my eyes ahead of me. The sky is dark, other than the few stars popping up to contrast the black canvas. I take a deep breath, breathing in the fresh air. I'm not far from my apartment, maybe a few blocks away. Looking down at my phone, I start to set up a text that I can send to my friend when I get home when someone comes up from behind me and puts a cloth over my mouth and nose. Toxins burn my trachea as I breathe in the chemicals soaked inside the cloth. I scream, trying to get out of the person’s death-like grip, flailing around and reaching for my purse where I keep my pepper spray. My eyelids get droopier with every second, and the more I move, the heavier I breathe, the more chemicals I take in. After what feels like an eternity, my muscles give out and everything goes black. I wake up, my breathing heavy. My eyes are wide as I look around me, trying to see where I am. When I stand up, a rush of blood enters my head and I stumble for a second, feeling for something to lean on. My hand feels a table of some sort, so I grab onto it and stabilize myself. When the spots behind my eyelids disappear, I open them once again to see a pink bedside table in front of me. My eyebrows furrow and I back up, lifting my gaze to the pink bed I was laying on before I woke. My eyes move from left to right and my legs move so that I can scan over the entirety of my surroundings. I see that I’m in a bedroom, but for some reason everything is pink.
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When I feel stable enough to walk, I quickly make my way to the door on the far left of the room and check to see if it’s unlocked. It easily slides open, the small golden doorknob not needing to be used. My eyebrows furrow at the weird mechanics, but I shrug it off and go through the door, trying to find a way out. So I was definitely kidnapped on my way home. I don’t know who it was or what they wanted, but they didn’t want me awake. Plus, I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep, Or where I am… The more I think about my situation, the more I panic. I start shaking as I make my way through the pink house, my heavy breathing never ceasing. After I go down two flights of pink stairs, my eyes focus on the hot pink door in front of me.
OVERSIZED DOLL| NICOLETTE LOUISSAINT
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It’s the front door. I haven’t run into anybody yet, and none of the doors I’ve gone through have been locked. Maybe this is all a puzzle. But this seems really easy for a puzzle. My feet start towards the door and I don’t fight them. When I make it to the door, my hands push it open and I take a step forward, a scream erupting from my lips as I begin falling. All around me is blurry as I fall more and more. After a few seconds, right before the blurry floor hits me, something comes out of nowhere and I land in it. “Well that was a close one, Dolly,” a voice comes from above me. I get onto my hands and knees on the squishy surface, regaining the breath in my lungs. I turn around when I feel like I’m breathing again, only for the wind to be knocked out of me as soon as I see what caught me. It’s a human, but he’s giant. His huge face smiles down at me and my entire body shivers in fear as he begins lifting me higher and higher. When I get to his desired height, he gently places me down in the doorway of the house I was just inside of. "I wouldn’t want my new doll to break, now would I?” he says gingerly, smiling down at me. I furrow my eyebrows, my eyes focusing on what’s behind him. It’s a huge table. As I look at everything else, I realize that everything is huge. Am I the small one? “Your new owners are going to love you, just like the rest of them loved my previous ones,” he says, smiling at me again. I go to speak, but nothing comes out. My hand comes up to my throat and I look up at him in confusion, only to see him smile that creepy smile once again. “Dollys can’t talk silly. Don’t worry, soon your body will give into the medicine,” he says, his large finger coming up and poking me. The sheer size of his finger knocks me backward, and he closes the front door after giving me a wave. I hear a loud thud as if he placed something in front of the door. I go to get up in order to try and escape once again, but my muscles fight me. It’s like the more I try, the harder it is to actually move. I go to scream once again, but nothing comes out. I try to move and scream and flail around, but nothing happens. A doorbell is heard, and the man’s footsteps slowly become quieter, before he opens the door. “Hello, we’re here to pick up the dollhouse?” I hear a woman’s voice say.
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ACapMlaritS'slcFedoate
Ashanti, in all her years as the tribe’s Caplata, has never committed a mistake. The tribe dependsedon her as the religious leader; the Gods trusted her with that task. She had to be the prophet, the Chief’s adviser, the religious teacher, the one to bless every meal and curse every enemy, the one who had to help women give birth. In her hands was the fate of the offspring. If they died, she had to bear responsibility—especially if it was related to one of the Chief’s many sons. It wasn't her fault if the baby died, but her life would still be at risk. She has been tempting her fate, because of his six sons, all of them have survived, but if the seventh one, the one that would to be born this month, were to die… She shuddered, thinking of her horrible fate. Since the day she was born, she never had the opportunity to decide what to do with her life, because she was born to be the Caplata, the tribe’s witch. Her existence was a sacrifice, a gift from the Gods. And even when she died, her afterlife would not be hers either. She wouldn't go to heaven or hell; instead, she’d become a star—like the previous Caplatas and Bokors, witches and wizards of the tribe—destined to ensure the security of her people. Forever. Even dead, she would have to be serving. Ashanti sighed, and with trembling hands tried to direct her cup of water to her lips. She stared at the water: she was anxious. It was the afternoon, and nothing had happened yet. Nobody had called her, not even the Chief, asking for her to bless his wife and future son. She had advised the woman about what she could and couldn’t do as the carrier of the seventh son, but Ashanti knew her words were falling on deaf ears. The wife was young, and even having birthed six children, she was still immature. She was deeply loved by the Chief, and the tribe protected her as if she was a princess. It was no surprise that she was spoiled. Ashanti didn’t like her. She could barely stand the childish behavior, but since the birth of her third son, the Chief’s wife had been surrounded by an arrogant aura that made her even more unbearable. She was referred as the blessed woman, the one that could always birth strong children—strong sons. The sons were no better. They seemed to have inherited more from their mother than from their father—and Ashanti hated to admit it, but she would have preferred it the other way. The sons had her curly, shiny black hair, and their faces were shaped the same as hers. The only thing that resembled their father was their large bodies, which inspired respect among the people.
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But to her eyes, the worst of them was the oldest son—Arko. He was only 12, but his cunning behavior was so developed he could manipulate anyone he wanted to. He already knew how the world worked, as if the fact that he was the oldest gave him infinite wisdom. His life was more valuable than anyone in the tribe, and he used this to his advantage. His intelligence was admired by all, even she was impressed. The child was gifted by the Gods. But even so, she still saw that gleam of egoism in his actions that made him indescribably dangerous—and that couldn’t be right. Ashanti herself had been the one that read his fate when he was born. Unless… No, that couldn’t be possible. Arko, despite being selfish and manipulative, was destined to become the great Chief of the tribe. One could not change the path the Gods have set upon you. Ashanti was the living example of that. However, the little needle of doubt pierced her heart. The boy was just too unpredictable. Some would even say she was afraid of him… Ashanti jumped the moment she heard the clean sound of the bell that was made to summon her. She expected the anxiety in her chest to fade away, but it only grew. The alerts in her head exploded when she went outside and saw the servants of the Chief’s wife, full of sweat, hands stained with blood, wailing inconsolably. “She’s giving birth!” one cried. Her blood boiled. She was disposed to go directly to the medic tent, but stopped when she saw the third son of the Chief between the group of women. Ashanti kneeled to get into his level, and trying her kindest voice, she asked, “You were with you mother when this happened?” The young boy blinked many times, fluttering his long eyelashes. He looked away, as if he didn’t care. Ashanti tried again, “What happened to Arko?” Her tone of voice was inevitably more demanding; the kid seemed unaffected by it. “He was the one that found mom. I think he saw all the blood stuff and maybe more, I dunno.” He started, “But he fell into the ground after that. Dad took him to your tent.” He made a pause, smirking wickedly. “I think you should be going there quickly. My dad will not be happy if one of us ends up dying today.” Ashanti bit her tongue and clenched her fists. She hated this family. Ashanti noticed the Chief staring at his successor. Ashanti had a bitter feeling watching. “Save him,” he said in a quiet voice that made her body get goosebumps; her leader speaking in a low voice was not okay. He took his child’s hand and continued, “He is special, I know it. I know he’s the leader the tribe needs.” He paused, and then looked at her severely. “My wife is worried sick about him, and might have complications because of it. Not only the life of the future chief is in your hands, Ashanti, but that of my wife and new son as well. You will make Arko wake up. It is an order.” His strong eyes told her the future she needed not a ritual to understand. She was dead if she failed. Page 14
Ashanti knew she was dead the moment she confirmed Arko’s dead pulse. She stared at the corpse, thinking about her fate. In her hands was the sacred book of Bokors and Caplatas, filled with knowledge passed down from generations. Nothing in the book could give her the tiniest bit of comfort. How would her new life as a star be? Just watching humans from above, serving them as she always did? She looked down at the book. A page painted black, red and bronze. Her eyes read the word zumbi and started to sweat cold. She would be the second witch in the history of the tribe to try that spell. She had nothing to lose. Ashanti made the potion as the page indicated and poured it inside Arko’s mouth. The effect was almost immediate: his eyes opened—they had no color anymore, they were deep white. From his mouth wafted a green and grey smoke that smelled like hell. The body got up by itself and began to levitate; his articulations started to move uncontrollably in all directions possible. The sound of bones breaking echoed in her ears, her heart—the cracking reverberated through all her body. She saw how his fingers, knees, elbows and even his neck started to turn purple—the internal bleeding was destroying the body. Ashanti yelled something in a language that only moths, bats, and ghosts understood. She didn’t know what she said, it was impossible by a human tongue to pronounce, but the meaning hummed in her heart: Stop moving. Arko’s body ceased all movement at once, but kept on levitating over the floor. His damaged limbs rested flaccid with his body, and with his infinite eyes stared at the nothingness. Ashanti opened her mouth and felt as if she was drooling honey, but nothing but smoke got out. Sit down. As if he was a puppet, he sat ungraciously on the carpet. Ashanti examined him and read many times the page of the book, looking for any kind of explanation. Then it hit her: she converted the Chief’ son into a zumbi. Ashanti sweated heavily as her terror grew. The only thing that remained was the hollow vessel of his body, mauled and bruised. Ashanti’s eyes became smaller as she bit her thumb’s nail, sniffing the smoke. Her stomach twisted. The words drooled out of her mouth without control again. Kill everyone in the tribe. “I’m going to make more of you.”
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GENOMETASIZING OF THE COLLECTIVE SUBCONSCIOUS l GREGORY KANE Page 16
TheOdSamtoiyERuserelnalLight
Eternal light from the darkest of nights Yearns me as I seek a path or a tunnel to Heaven. “O’ Lord help me so, so that I may bask in your Eternal Light” Succumbed in uncertainty, toward which path to take? One with an easy step or another with a fearsome climb,
“O’ Lord test me for how I shall endure? I will do absolutely anything To bask in the Eternal Light.” With a climb most grueling with terrible horrors I overcome A path of beautiful light guides me with a warm reddish glow, As I bathe in its heat I run toward it so. Unknowing of the many warnings warding me away. I lustfully sprint toward the Eternal Light, But unlucky for me, it was the Eternal Night. The screams of the damned send shivers down my spine I fearfully, desperately try to leave, But the door shut tight under a lock and key I screamed in agony, cursing the Lord, “O’ Why art thy here and not Heaven you boar” Then an intimidating voice creeps to my ear as it explains why what I sought disappeared. “O’ There were many a challenge as you have seen, But the Lord told you to be keen. The easiest path, that you were allowed to take, was a choice the Lord gave you to not hesitate. The Heavens is a place without pain, suffering or fear, with many warnings to help you steer clear. But you were ever so blinded by your greed, to be basked in that Eternal light. You have disregarded the warnings so now pay the price For you ever so wanting for that faithful Eternal Light.” I shiver in anguish as rage overwhelm, This can’t be right, I can’t be sent to Hell! I have been wronged, forsaken, and duped! For I am stuck in Eternal Night all thanks to you, Greed. Page 17
PBianceDrisazoPnaredz
Every day Tristian woke up in a 4-wall crammed room with a small glass-stained window in front of her bed. The chamber was black and smelled like rainfall. There was an antique clock that rang every day at 6 am. She would always wake up confused about how she got there, with no memory of the night before. By the time she learned who she was, she heard what sounded like a long fingernail tapping on the window. Slightly creeped out, she turned over to the window. There was a wide, hazy, figure with staggering eyes. Long black hair was covering the creature's face as it plunged through the window and into her room. Broken glass covered the floor, cutting her legs. She backed up to a wall when the alarm clock said, "Are you ready to try again?" Red lights flashed as a hovering rifle dropped into her hands. The creature screeched and grabbed her throat, restraining her. On the biting floor, she takes the rifle and beats it into its head. The shadowy figure shrieks and falls back, its hair scuffs away from its face. Tristian hurried to her feet and stopped. The clock states "Try again." Tristian was still frozen. She ignored the alarm's warning. It looks so afraid, she thought. She tried to help it when it jerked the gun and shot Tristian. The alarm blared "Please restart." repeatedly. It rang as her corpse was eaten by her shadow. Later on at 6 am, she woke up, in a small room not remembering anything from the night before, ready to try again.
FIGHTING FOR LIFE l ANDRE JABLONOWSKI
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Autmn isJutAAnbiogahl WerceWnziokdfrFal,Honey
A crisp chill had frozen over the dew on the once bright green grass and trees overnight.The plants and flowers that once beautifully bloomed under the warmth of the sun were now buried under seven inches of angelic snow. Snow bunnies carefully hopped along, trying to avoid predators. To Winter, an adventurous 16-year-old girl, this shift in the weather meant that it was the best time to go out and enjoy the fairytale-like scenery. Wanting to go out and have fun, she asked her friend Autumn to accompany her on her endeavors. People often did double-takes, due to their highly contrasted appearances. With her silver hair and icy blue eyes, Winter stood just over the six-foot mark. Unbothered by the cold, she donned a raven black long-sleeve and ripped jeans to match, brightening her already pale complexion. A couple of silver chains hung from the side of her pants, rattling as she wandered from place to place, tuning out the world around her. Autumn, however, wore many, many layers. Her long, burnt umber hair was sprinkled with snowflakes as she walked up to her best friend’s cottage. She extended a gloved hand, knocking on the mahogany door. Her face was rosy and a shaky breath escaped her chapped lips. She took little time to rush inside as soon as the door opened. "Well then, hello there.” Winter said, not surprised by her friend’s behavior, “Nice weather, isn’t it?” Autumn glared at her friend who kept the door open to admire the snow, “Oh my god, shut the damn door!” “But it’s not even that cold,” Winter whined, reluctantly closing the door. “Whatever,” Autumn said, moving over to the fireplace in the middle of the quaint house. The umber-haired girl took off her gloves, revealing beautiful caramel skin. She also took off her coats and sighed from the comfort of the fire’s warmth. So, I guess I should explain why I had you come over all the way from the other side of the street and almost freeze to death,” Winter said as she walked into the kitchen, taking a kettle and two mugs out of the cabinet.
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Autumn glared at Winter again, silently cursing her best friend. When she figured she wouldn’t get a response, Winter continued, “See, I was thinking that maybe we could go on a little adventure.” Perking up, Autumn pressed her friend for more information. Winter set the kettle on the stove and sat next to her friend, “So. I was thinking about going deep into the forest behind my house. We could go past the chain fence that’s blocking off most of it.” Autumn’s honey-colored eyes widened as she thought about the forest. Before she could open her mouth to reply, the door to a bedroom swung open and Winter's grandma pointed at the two. “You will not go into that cursed forest!” the old lady squawked. “Do you remember what happened to my best friend when we went in? Do you?” “Mom? Leave the kids alone, please,” Winter’s mom called from her home office. With a huff, she waddled back into the bedroom and slammed the door shut. Autumn’s face showed embarrassment while Winter looked indifferent. Winter leaned in close to her friend and whispered, “I’m still going. Meet me at my back door tomorrow morning if you wanna go, okay?” The kettle screamed in the kitchen and Winter stood up to take it off the stove. “You want any hot chocolate?” Autumn was still busy contemplating if she would go but nodded her head yes anyways. She was scared but her curiosity got the best of her and she gave in to her friend’s request, spending the rest of the night full of anxiety. When the next morning came, Autumn took shelter in her blankets from the freezing temperatures. She grabbed her phone off her nightstand, yelping at the cold that attacked her arm. She saw that Winter had called her and texted her to meet up in 10 minutes. Autumn groaned and took a deep breath before kicking off her blankets and running to her closet. She changed into the warmest clothes she could find and grabbed a small bag. She went downstairs and put a bottle of warm water, a couple of snacks, and hand warmers into the bag.
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Mentally preparing herself, she waddled over to the front door and put on her snow boots, leaving a note for her parents on the table. She put her hands on the doorknob and savored the last warm breath in her house. The almost 16-year-old opened the door and jumped back in surprise when she saw Winter sitting on her front porch. “Finally.” Winter said, standing up, "Let's go." Autumn shook her head, locking the door behind her, “How are you not freezing?” Winter shrugged and slung her small bag over her shoulders. She wore a black winter coat, black pants, and her infamous combat boots. She led the way past her house into the forest. The two didn’t talk much as they admired the surreal scenery that surrounded them. When the two had traveled about a mile into the forest, they came across a long barbed wire fence. Beyond the fence, there was a deep ravine with a frail wooden bridge as the only way to get across. Autumn’s eye caught a small hole in the fence towards her left. Before she could say anything about it, Winter pulled out wire cutters and cut a bigger hole. They crawled through the hole, realizing that the space between life and death was only about 2 feet wide. Autumn gulped as Winter braved on, grabbing the fence for support as she stood up. Her friend mimicked her, refusing to look down, and the two shuffled towards the old bridge. A sudden gust of wind caused the bridge to rock back and forth. Autumn noticed this and tapped Winter’s shoulder, “Uh, we’re not gonna cross that bridge, right? I just don’t think that that flimsy bridge is very safe and I kind of don’t wanna die so...” Autumn trailed off when she noticed that Winter was staring at something on the bridge in front of them. On the rotting wood sat a beautiful snow bunny who was staring into Winter’s eyes. The bunny’s nose twitched and Winter let go of the fence. As if in a trance, Winter closed her eyes and started walking towards the bunny who had was now hopping across the bridge. “Winter!” Autumn screamed, trying to grab her friend’s arm, “What are you doing?” Autumn felt her jacket get caught in the fence, forcing her back. She watched in fear as her friend stepped on to the bridge. She tried yelling for her to stop, but her throat felt frozen. Tears started falling from her eyes as she saw her friend cross the swaying path. Winter suddenly snapped out the trance and screamed when she couldn't open her eyes.
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She couldn’t breathe even though her body continued forward. Her hands moved to forcefully open her frozen eyelids, but it was no use. “Winter, NO!” Autumn screamed out as she saw the bridge snap and her friend plummet. She felt hysterical as her clothes finally became unstuck and she gripped the edge of the ground. Autumn screamed when she heard her friend’s body hit the bottom. Scrambling to get back from the edge, her feet and thoughts raced as she crawled back through the hole. She heard sirens and voices yelling for the two when she was on the other side, unable to hear them before. Her head became clouded and her limbs failed her. The last thing she saw before she blacked out was the sight of her friend’s mangled body on the floor beneath her. It had been almost a year since the incident and Autumn decided to take a walk over to her late friend’s old house. She sat on the porch, remembering the two's treasured friendship. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw a snow bunny hop next to her. The umber-haired girl leaned over and to pet the creature. The bunny jumped back and hopped over to the forest, stopping to look back at her before running into the darkness. As if under a spell, Autumn ran after the bunny and found herself at the wire fence again. The bunny disappeared through the hole in the fence, Autumn following close behind. She inched closer to the edge of the ravine and breathed in the crisp air. She looked over the edge and saw the image of her friend falling again. Unable to She looked over the edge and saw the image of her friend falling again. Unable to control herself, she crawled over the edge of the ravine fell, tears flying out of her eyes. Her voice screeching for Winter's attention as she tried to grasp her falling friend’s imaginary hand. The bottom of the ravine was approaching fast and Autumn continued screaming at the illusion. She saw the bunny sitting at the bottom of the ravine with its head tilted up at her. With her tears becoming ice and her throat burning, Autumn snapped out of the trance and screamed out one last time. Her mind became blank as she hit the same patch of ice where Winter’s body had laid less than a year ago.
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DistoZrare BdosCchash
She couldn't have been any older than five, small and fragile as a blooming daisy. But just like all delicate objects, she had her scars. It was the first day of school. All the children were with their parents as the orientation began. Everyone seemed to have friends while others, like Haze, were only sitting with their mothers. No more than a few months earlier, she would have been like all the other children her age, whining for another toy or for different food. In fact, at that time, she was trying to get her older brother to play with her. This wouldn't have been a problem, of course, if he had not been the one driving the car they were currently in. "Can we play now?" she pleaded and tugged at his jacket, impatient and in need of attention. "Not now, Hazey," he said, not taking his eyes off the road. It was rush hour and the highway was convoluted. Being a new driver himself, he was still nervous on the road. If anything went wrong, he would lose his concentration and easily crash. But I wanna play now!” Pouting and clearly unhappy, she sunk down in her seat and crossed her arms. “I won’t talk to you until you play.” She came to this conclusion and the car stayed silent for the next 15 seconds. "Keir?" She began, breaking what little pride she has left. "How long are you going to take?" "To do what?" He glanced over at her, remembering what their mother had said about eye contact. "Get home," she bluntly pointed out. He sighed. "As long as it takes." She glared at him, the best she could. "You sound like Mommy." He laughed and looked in the rearview mirror once again. "That I do." They sat in silence and at last, the road cleared bit by bit. Haze stared out the window and watched the shining yellow lights zoom past while the red moved at a similar pace. She didn't understand how they could be moving so slowly while others could move quicker. Page 23
"Go faster, Keir." "I’m going as fast as I can, okay? We’ll be home in fifteen minutes. Count to one million and we’ll be home.” Just as he instructed, she started counting the numbers, but ended up getting lost somewhere around nine. She tried the alphabet, but that ended up becoming monotonous, and she resorted to watching cars pass with the window down. Keir looked at her around three minutes later to find her eyes closed. Just as he looked back toward the road, a truck came from the stopped intersection and hit the side of their car. The driver had been dozing asleep and didn’t notice that the light had turned red. The car flipped over and the next thing Haze knew, she was laying on her side. Glass scattered on the ground with traces of blood on the seat in front of her. “Keir?” she called weakly and tried to move. A sharp pain tore at her arm and she looked down at her sides. Her right arm was stuck between the seat and door. She had never seen her arm in that form and she never planned to. Instead of being able to think about the predicament further, she felt pain. Worse than when she fell off her bike or got scolded for cutting her hair. Worse than any feeling she ever crossed. And like any normal child, she cried. She cried for the pain to stop. For the mangled deformity to be reversed. For her brother to wake from his slumber and take them home so they could play even if it was only for one last time. But it didn’t. Her doll was nowhere to be seen and she still felt the bone of her arm shift with her quivering breath. She stopped and looked at her arm in horror. If she could just get her arm out and shake her brother awake. With her left arm, she tried to move the other contorted limb. Pain seized her body and she yelped in surprise. “Keir?” She tried again. “Keir?”
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When she got no response, she turned back to her arm with a determination. Just like that, she yanked the flopped bone and muscle out and screamed in pain once again. She sucked in her breath and unbuckled her seat. Since the car was upside down, she had no choice but to crawl on the topside of the car. Moving as carefully as she could, she inched over to her brother. Reaching quickly, she saw his face. It was filled with small shards of glass and blood was all over his jacket. Contrasting to how she reacted to her arm, this was immediate. Her eyes pooled with water and she wrapped her arms around his hanging body. It felt like years had passed until the police officers came. Only caring about her shredded brother, she ignored the pain of her arm and people swarming her. They only time she let go was when she saw her mother. She had stood at the entrance of the hospital room and crumbled at the sight of her daughter’s arm. It had taken the form of a broken wing and seemed to hang limply at her side. Haze ran to her mother and molded herself into the crook of her neck. “Mommy, Keir- Keir is- He’s-” she pushed in between sniffles and knots in her throat. “Shh, it’s ok now, sweety. He’s going to be just fine, okay?” her mother assured her. In reality, Keir hadn’t woken up. His condition was stable, but he didn’t stir. All they could do was monitor him. Equally concerned about the state of her daughter, the mother asked the nurse the details of the situation. Though Haze was conscious and moving, they couldn’t be sure if she would stay that way. Her arm was in such a condition that it might stay that way her entire life while Keir might not wake up at all. Back in the present, Haze stayed at the back of her classroom. Her mother looked weary but masked it with beaming pride. Then her mother got a call. Haze looked at her mother while she was on the phone. Her brow furrowed and she looked at her. “Hey, sweetie. I’m going to step out for a bit, okay?” Haze nodded at her mother and she watched her mother scurry out the door.
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There were crafts on the table, and she picked up one of the papers and started folding it. A hand knocked on the table and she looked up. It was Keir. He was holding a flower bouquet and was grinning at her. Keir!” she beamed. “You made it!” He smiled at her. “Of course, why wouldn't I keep my promise?” She smiled and began to show him the folded masterpiece she made. She leaned over to hug him but her arm went through him. He looked down at her and smiled a heartbroken smile. “Hazey,” he began and Haze looked at her hand. “I know you’re going to do great and I want you to know that I love you very, very much.” Haze shook her head and tried to grab onto his hand, but it wisped through. “But why can’t I touch you?” She began to collect tears in her eyes. “Where- where are you going?” “I’m sorry, Haze,” he knelt down and lightly touched her arms. “I love you.” She sat down and looked him in the eyes. Then he left. Her mother came back into the room and held her in her arms, too worried to tell her of the news. In a split second, she lost her arm and her brother, at the age of five.
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DraMgaoynKSellayer
My name is Veymoune. I am a dragon slayer. My dad was one, so growing up I was influenced by him. I wanted to be just like him. On my 16th birthday, I asked him if he could take me on one of his trips. After much hesitation, he finally agreed. We traveled to a cave about an hour away from our home. We knew that there would be dragons there, we just didn't know what type. It turned out to be a fire dragon, one of the most dangerous dragons in The Village. My father did not want me to fight, but I told him that it was my one and only birthday wish. After my mom and brother had been killed, we haven't had many things. Birthdays were the one time when I could actually get a wish. He felt bad about this, so he finally agreed to let me fight. We should have just left, we should have turned around and gone home, but we didn't. It's all my fault. I watched him get burned alive by that dragon. It is now my mission to become just as good a dragon slayer as he was. It’s been a year since he died, and I am ready to start hunting. I’d have to pack my bag. I grabbed a canteen of water and shoved it into a bag. On top of that, I placed a loaf of bread. I’ll go to a market and buy food and water when necessary. I grabbed my dad’s bow, staff, and a shield that I could barely even hold. It repels fire. At this point, my bag weighed about the same as I did, so I thought that was enough. I grabbed some money and left. It got dark very quickly. I had to find a place to camp out. I went into The Woods, not far enough where I could get lost, but not where anyone could see me from the street. There was a nice patch of flat land, and I thought that it was the perfect place. It was starting to get chilly, so I scrambled around to try and find sticks and rocks and junk that would help me to make a fire. I have never done this before, so I didn't really know how long it should take me to make the fire. I kept rubbing the sticks together. It started smoking, which seemed to be a good sign. I laid down on the ground staring up at the stars. “This is for you Dad.” I took out the shield and laid it on top of my body. As I was dozing off, I heard a tapping on the shield. That’s odd, I thought. I thought that I was just imagining it, but then it happened again. I took the shield off of me and heard a shrieking. “What the--”
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“Oh hello!” I heard a voice say. It startled me. I wasn't expecting anyone to find me. But what startled me more, was that I couldn't see who it was or where they were. “I didn't mean to startle you,” the voice continued. “I'm Cynthia.” And then I saw her. She was a little thing, no bigger than my finger. She had a gorgeous flower crown that kept her wavy dark blonde hair out of her wishful brown eyes. A fairy. She was beautiful. “Hello, Cynthia. My name is Veymoune. I am a dragon slayer.” I heard her gasp. “Is everything okay?” “You slay dragons? As in kill them?!” She seemed shocked. I felt a bit bad. “Yeah. You have a problem with that?”
SLAY THE BEAST! | KATE LEE
“I don’t see why you must kill them! All living creatures can feel and think just as you and I do. So dragon’s lives don’t mean as much as ours?” She seemed really mad. I tried to talk, but she continued. “I mean, how would you feel if a dragon killed you?”
I don’t know, I guess I wouldn’t feel anything since I’d be… you know... dead.” “Okay, okay,” she continued, “what if a family member were killed by a dragon?” Silence filled those woods. It was almost unbearable. I wanted to punch her or step on heror something. She doesn’t know, I kept telling myself. “My dad” I began, “he, uh… he was a dragon slayer as well. Actually, he is the reason why I am a dragon slayer. My mom and brother were killed when I was a baby, so I only had my dad. He taught me everything I know about fighting dragons. I watched him get killed.”
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“Oh my god, I am so sorry. I-- I had no idea.” She looked very distraught. “That’s why I’m hunting for a dragon. I want to kill that dragon that killed my dad. I don’t care if its life means as much as mine, one of us is going to die in two days time, and it is not going to be me.” “Okay. I will come with you, but I will not watch you kill a creature that was defending itself.” I started to get mad, but I didn’t want to say anything. I could really use the company. “Alright,” I started, “We leave in the morning. Grab your things, pack your bag, because that dragon will soon be limp in my hands.” I woke up to a buzzing in my ear. The sun was beaming down on me. I sat up to find Cynthia gnawing on my loaf of bread. “What the heck Cynthia? Why didn’t you wake me up right at sunrise?” I was being a bit grumpy. That’s how I act every morning, but I don’t typically have someone to get my anger out on. “Sorry, Veymoune!” She seemed startled. “Bread?” “Yeah, okay.” I was grateful to have company. Since my dad died, I’ve had no one in the house but me, and you can only play rock-paper-scissors with yourself for so long before it gets boring. “You ready to go?” “I guess. I just don’t see what we could gain after this.” “Do you ever get so angry at something and feel the need for revenge?” “Um… I would have to say no.” I was shocked. How on earth could she stay so peaceful? I was starting to get frustrated. “Alright, let’s just go.” I grabbed the shield. God, I forgot how heavy that thing was. I shoved the shield in my bag, then placed the bread on top. “What’s that?” Cynthia asked, pointing at my bo Staff. “It was my dad’s. He gave it to me to fight with on the day that he was killed.” I had darkened the mood with that statement. I could see Cynthia turn melancholy. “I’m sorry.” “No, no that’s really sweet! I don’t have much from my mom. After she died, I’ve had to fend for myself.” I was shocked. I had no idea that she had lost her mother. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I had no idea." Page 29
“Of course you had no idea, I didn’t tell you. She was a single parent to me and my sister. One day, she went to go shopping and never returned. My sister and I got concerned, so we went out to find her. Sadly, we, uh… we did find her.” The way she said that sent chills down my spine. How could I be so selfish? I was talking about myself so much, I hadn’t even thought about her life. “Oh my gosh, I am so sorry.” I didn’t know what to say. “I know how hard that is to see. That’s awful, I am so so sorry.” “It’s alright!” She began, “We can’t control what’s in the past. And I get it; I wanted revenge on the world for a few years after it happened. But then I realized that she wouldn’t want me to be mad. She would want me to keep my peace. That is why I am against you killing those dragons.” I had an idea. “You can do magic and stuff, right?” “Yeah, why?” “We don’t have to kill the dragon.” Cynthia’s eyes lit up when I suggested this. I went on, “Perhaps we could just punish him.” Cynthia was glad to hear that we wouldn’t be killing the dragon. We began walking towards the cave. After a couple of hours of walking, we found the cave. We stood at the entrance of that cave. As we stood there, we discussed what we should do. Entering the cave gave me chills. I just kept remembering what had happened the last time I was here. After a couple of minutes of wandering around the cave and we stumbled upon a familiar place. Hearing loud footsteps in the background, Cynthia and I stood still. It was now or never. “Now!” I yelled at Cynthia. She pointed her hands towards the dragon. Intensely focused, you could see her hands trembling as they were running out of power. She kept fighting it. Longer and longer we waited until finally she was done. The dragon had spotted us. He tried to burn us but shrieked in agony as soon as he let out a gust of air. That’s when we knew that it had worked. From that point on, any time the dragon tried to burn anyone, the fire would go down his throat instead of up. Cynthia and I left the cave feeling relieved. I’m glad I didn’t kill the dragon. Cynthia, wishing me goodbye, flew off into the woods. I went home and tried to get some sleep. It has been a truly exhausting couple of days. Resting my eyes, I thought to myself, no more killing. I’m sure my father would be proud of me. I love you, dad.
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TEhlijeahVRaodcrigtuieozn
I do recall the day the Andersons arrived at my home. The vacation home seemed as ordinary as any other to them, and their excitement radiated from them like a lamp radiates light unto a room. My home was an exquisite Victorian home, and apparently a well-known vacation home, with a brick exterior and velvet wallpaper that lined the cozy interior. The Andersons visit wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, for my home has housed many guests. The Parkers, the Laughlins, and my personal favorite, Justin and his fraternity. Those boys were such a delight. Too bad they’re gone. The Andersons were a sweet family. Mrs. Anderson was a fair lady and had an obsession with avocados. She talked in quiet whispers that caressed my ears, my all-hearing, all-knowing ears. She sensed something was strange about the house as soon as her heels clicked and clacked down the corridor of the entryway. “Why must we stay here John, the color is dreadful and dark. I don’t know about this,” she questioned gently. “I just feel that we should find a nice countryside cabin instead.” “Nonsense dear,” John replied, “this home is exquisite. I’m sure we will have a pleasant stay and then we will leave.” “But dear, I urge you to see reason. I don’t have a good feeling about this John, I really don’t!” “Nonsense dear,” John replied, more aggravated now. “We’ve been planning this vacation, and we will see it through to the end.” Before Mrs. Anderson could protest further, John proceeded down the hallway with the luggage and found the master suite. My suite. It had been that way for quite some time and no matter how many guests used my bed or my utilities it was never going to change. Mr. Anderson, whom I fondly remember as just John, was also a fair man. His voice filled any space he stood in and his laughter boomed through my house, shaking the old walls. He was a nice man, and reminded me of my husband. I hadn’t seen him in a while, much like John hasn’t seen the world in a while. At least that’s what I’ve assumed. And then their son, oh yes, how I remember him. Soft-spoken like his mother, yet joyful like his father and now he was here, visiting me. I’ve always taken a liking to children, their innocence, their… purity. I’d always wanted a son, a boy to raise and love. Too bad my husband couldn’t stick around to make that a reality. Anyways, he was such a delight to have in my home, although I must admit I gave him some frights along the way.
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It was their third day staying in my home, and their presence was such an aggravation. Mrs. Anderson was always skeptical, John always loud, but their son never seemed to bother me. He was the perfect person to reveal myself to; maybe he could help me escape this place. I started simple: I slid his water bottle across the nightstand. Nothing too dangerous, right? He was frightened and called for his parents, as I expected, but when they arrived, I did nothing but watch. “Mom, I swear to God that bottle moved.” the boy said frantically. “See John, I told you there was something wrong with this place!” Mrs. Anderson exclaimed, a little louder than her previous hushed whispers. “You both are losing your minds,” John said with a chuckle. “You mean to tell me that a bottle just moved on its own?” “I promise it did dad, just watch and maybe it’ll happen again!” the boy said. And so there they stood, very still, watching the bottle. A minute passed, and then another, and soon John grew impatient. “There is nothing going on here! As I suspected, you two are just going crazy without those electronics constantly in your face.” John stated. “But dad, I’m not lyi-” the boy began to say, but John wasn’t hesitant to cut him off. “Please Justin, I’m tired. Just get some sleep.” Taking Mrs. Anderson by the hand, John led her out of the room and back down the hallway to my suite. Justin sat in amazement. He couldn’t believe that his parents couldn’t believe him. It truly gave me a laugh that transmitted through the television screen, but only briefly so nobody would catch on to my antics. Soon the third day turned into the fourth, and the fourth into fifth. I was still reluctant to reveal myself, to the Anderson’s so on the sixth day I decided I needed to get Justin’s attention again. I waited for a moment when Justin was by himself. He was sitting on the bed when I thought of a way to remind him I was still there. After all, it was my home and I was always there, bound to the walls, bound to the furniture, bound to this empty shell. I needed to get out and the only way to do so would be to take his body and use it to be free.
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Slowly I began to unscrew the lightbulb above his head. The metal sliding across the metal as it pulled away from the socket filled the room with a screech. Justin looked up in horror. His fear was so strong that I knew this was my moment, it was now or never. Suddenly a loud scream tore from his lips as the lightbulb fell and broke on his forehead, rendering the young boy unconscious. I heard the footsteps of John and Mrs. Anderson approaching swiftly so I knew now was my time to be free of this house. I sent my spirit into the young boy who lay flat on the bed and seized his body as my own. John and Mrs. Anderson ran into the room astonished to find their son (or so they believed) lying still on the bed. John approached me now, concerned as he brushed the glass off of my forehead. “Get some alcohol and a large band-aid Jessica, now!” He said frantically. Jessica ran down the hallway which gave me my opening. “How did this happen, Justin? What games were you up to?” John said in a hushed tone. I sat straight up and turned the head of my host to see John directly. It has been a long time since I had a physical form and this one was so young and vibrant. I moved my arms around and wiggled my toes. Then I lurched at John and firmly grasped his neck. I rose to a standing position and lifted his feet off the ground. “Justi-... What are y-... Please sto-” John said in quick short gasps. I squeezed tighter, firming my grip and digging my fingers into his warm neck. Swiftly I snapped his neck and dropped his body. Not wasting any time I hopped off the bed and proceeded toward the door. Jessica was standing at the end of the hallway with a bottle of green alcohol and a large bandaid occupying her hands. I flew down the hallway and threw Jessica into the wall. She had always been extremely annoying to me so her death would be satisfying, she didn’t deserve to stay at my house, in my room. She looked up in utter shock and horror as she lay faced upwards on the floor. She seemed to be attempting to slide back towards my room but it didn’t take me long to stop her. I kneeled down and grabbed her head then proceeded to smash it into the wooden floor until her aggravating crying and screaming stopped. Finally, I was free, truly free. Free from the walls, free from the furniture. Free from this shell of a home that had trapped me for more than one-hundred years. I walked down the hallway and to the door which I opened. The doorknob felt smooth and warm and a tingling sensation coursed through my new body. I was ready to walk out, ready to leave this place behind, but then suddenly a thoughtdawned on me. Whether I was trapped in a house or a body I would still be trapped.
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I was only trading the shell of a house for a shell of a body and an identity that wasn’t mine. Freedom is all I wanted but somehow I could never be free. I closed the door and reached for cell-phone in Justin’s pocket. Simply dialing the three digits 9-1-1 and confessing to what I, well Justin had done. As soon as I hung up I left his body which sent him to the ground. When the police arrived they took him, body bagged his parents and boarded up my house as a crime scene. Now I was alone again, no light, no one, and yet I was freer than I had ever been.
UNTITLED | ANDRE JABLONOWSKI
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ARecurJoyinXgieDream
You know it’s a dream when you see the telltale teapot sitting on the lacquered tabletop in front of you. You know it’s a dream when you turn your head to take in your surroundings, remembering the sight of teacups scattered on the table, to the numerous paintings on the wall, to the stack of paper next to you. Brushes are lined up neatly to your other side, next to the clean inkstones. The sticks of ink are nowhere to be seen; you make a mental note to retrieve them later. There is an odd sense of melancholy that fills your very being, but you decisively choose to ignore it. You aren't sure why, but you feel relatively good about this dream. It’s peaceful, it’s quiet, it’s calm, and it’s everything that you could’ve asked for. “No,” something inside you fights back. It tells you no, tries to warn you, tries to get you to turn back because it knows something that you don’t. You ignore the voice, too. A feeling of warmth washes over you, and the world turns black shortly after. When you come around again, there’s a girl standing in front of you. She plays with her fingers nervously as you blink at her inquisitively. You don’t know why she’s here, so you decide to ask. “What do you want?” “Truthfully, you know,” the voice says. “You know what she wants.” Like always, you push the voice to the back of your mind. There is a time and place for everything, and this isn't it. You inhale deeply, and the voice disappears. You smile again, ready to take on the world. The girl eyes you uncertainly before lifting a finger to point towards the teapot. Your smile only brightens as you hurry to pour the tea. When you hand the delicate cup to the other girl, she smiles back at you. "Come to me if you need help!” you say. She nods before accepting the cup and turning away. The voice in your head reminds you once again how much of a fool you are. The dream continues in such a manner. More and more people enter the little room where you’re situated and request various things. You are kind and benevolent, and you give them whatever they desire.
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They leave with content smiles and light, tinkling laughs. It fills you with a sense of happiness and foreboding. Why foreboding? Everything is going well, is it not? The voice merely sneers at you. “You’ve been blinded once again,” it says. “Must you tread down the same path and make the same mistakes each time?” You dismiss the voice yet again. The voice is starting to grate on your nerves, and you only want the little dream to progress happily. It should be fine as things currently are, right? You were wrong. Soon, almost too soon, the last drops of tea trickled from the teapot, and you’re left with no more. The stack of paper by your side dwindles, with more and more people grabbing at your delicate brushes and spilling the ink. An ugly black stains the shiny ground and the tips of your snow-white sleeves, but no one notices. “Where’s the tea? Give us the tea!” “Do you have any brushes left?” “Hey, I thought you had paper? Where is it?” “Useless! And here I thought you were a kind, hospitable person. How we’ve all been played for fools!” You want to shout back to declare your innocence, but the roar of the crowd drowns out your pitifully small voice. You try to fight back, but it’s like fighting back against a murky wave that wishes for nothing more than to submerge you and consume you.You just wanted to be a good person, to give what people wanted. It made you happy to see other people smile. When did others become so dependent on you? When did providing for everyone become your job? "I told you so,” the voice whispers. It sounds almost morose .“You let them take advantage of you again, didn’t you? Now they’re angry because you’ve outlived your purpose.” You try to argue back. “No,” you say. “Just give me time! I can still produce results.” You try to make them understand, but the more you attempt to placate them, the angrier they become. They yell, scream, shout; call you scum, call you vermin, call you a piece of garbage that had no place in the world. Everything they say is like a stab to your gut, but there is nothing you can do to refute it, because they simply won't believe you. Page 36
Suddenly, you feel weary. You want to lie down, except there are puddles of spilled ink everywhere. The ink surround you, tainting the edges of your robes, dying the strands of your hair. The ink caresses you gently, spreading with every little movement you make. It’s a deep and rich black. It’s a black that’s not easily erased, and it’s a stain that continues to exist. It reminds you much of a scar. Finally, you push back. You snap, and you hurl a cup against the wall. It shatters as expected, and the crowd goes silent as you breath and fume heavily. The tiny shards of porcelain fall towards the ground, the chips clicking against each other and against the tiled floors. ou’ve had enough. “Leave.” They don’t. If anything, they seem to multiply. Their voices grow and rise, and you clutch desperately at your ears. “Leave!” Tears are streaming down your face. You rub at your face with your sleeves, and you paus as you stare down at the fabric. A deep crimson blooms on your soiled sleeves, blending and mixing with the black, further painting the white. You don’t own any red ink, and the tea isn't red. Red. It is a color that you’ve never really liked, but it most accurately depicts how you feel in this moment. “Leave, and don’t come back!”
37
EYES | SCOTT
Page
They whisper amongst themselves. They disapprove of your words, frowns slipping onto their faces faster than it took for them to smile. And they think it's all your fault. It doesn’t matter. This is your dream. You wave a hand, and they disappear. Then, you wake up in darkness, surrounded by messy stacks of paper and puddles of midnightcolored ink. Your hair is tangled in knots, and your chest heaves with every breath you take, almost as though you are remembering how everyone has despised you for being inadequate. You push yourself into an upright position and try to salvage as much paper as you can. For the sheets that have been blotted with black, you merely crumple them into a ball and toss them to the other side of the room. You’ll clean up the mess later; if not you, then who else? You only have yourself in this world. There is no one here to help you. Being awake is disorienting. You bury your face in one of your hands as you stagger your way to your desk. How did you end up on the ground? You can’t remember. Your hands shake as they reach for the medicine bottle. Two pills land in the center of your palm. They are white, pristine, and nothing like the murky ink that you’ve sullied yourself with. Even though you have no water, you swallow the pills with a practiced ease, feeling the way they slide down your throat. You are well practiced in the art of dry swallowing, and sometimes, you almost wish you weren’t. What madman would dare to swallow pills without water? You, apparently. It doesn't take very long for the medicine to kick in. Your breathing evens out and slows down as usual, and your eyes droop lower and lower. You are now holding the sides of the desk for support, because you know that if you let go, you’d surely tumble towards the ground in an ungraceful heap. Maybe that isn't such a bad thing, though. Only you are in this space, and if you managed to hit your head during the descent, then that’d merely speed up the process of returning to the teapot, to the lacquered table, the paper, the brushes, the ink. You’d give anything to relive that dream. It was beautifully painful, and it reminds you of the times when people actually loved and depended on you. It reminds you of those better times, until the dream inevitably morphs into a nightmare. It is time to live again, in the falseness of your dream, in your warped reality, in nothingness and everything meaningless.
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DIanairBkurnoesghs
I don’t know why people are scared of the dark Is it because you can’t see? Well that doesn’t bother me You can hide in the shadows Quiet and sneaky Acting like a predator hunting its prey The dark is where you can get away, With the most violent crimes Screaming, scratching, and screeching is what fills the dark Banging, clawing, shouting Oh! How these beautiful sounds fill my ears Hiding in plain sight No one can put up a fight Darkness, Darkness, Darkness Darkness is my friend We go hand in hand The dark consumes you like a dog eating a bone Darkness is my home
WHO'S THERE| ARMANI GARCIA Page 39
Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. Keep and guide me through the night And take away this night time fright.
SwKeatetlynDParmaerms
Take away the monster beneath, The one that grabs at my exposed feet. The demon that laughs as I shake with fear, My Lord, please take him far from here.
I can hear his dark laughter as I wait for sunrise, I know he smiles as he plans my demise. He’ll do his worst, break apart all my flesh, And be merry after I’ve been put eternal to rest. So again, my God, show Your care. Show me You are truly there ,Because all I feel are his deadly teeth, And I hear him whisper, “Sweet, sweet dreams.”
For he looms over me the second night falls, Waiting for me to make that call. To get up and run straight to a helpful soul So he can drag into the darkness, with just us alone.
SUFFOCATING EXPECTATIONS | ARMANI GARCIA
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TAhmeantPirMiesnoalne
The walls are white. I don’t know how I know that. I don’t know how I know that the color that is no color is white and that the sides of the room that I am in are walls. I don’t know if it is really a room, but what else could it be? There is a top and a bottom and four sides all around. Sometimes I think it is a box and not a room, for there are no windows or doors or even furniture, nothing at all except me and whiteness, but I’m not sure, because I don’t know what a room or a box looks like, only what it is supposed to look like. I don’t remember anything. I don’t remember how I came to be in this room that is not a room, I’ve been here very little time and yet I’ve been here forever. The room is neither big nor small, and neither dark nor bright. The lights come from nowhere, and dim when I begin to fall asleep. It gets warmer when I am cold and cooler when I am hot. When I am hungry, food pops perkly out of the wall in a panel. Another emerges when I need to relieve myself, and one holds plain, pristine white clothes when I dirty the ones I am wearing. I do not know how the room knows my every need. I wish it would send me a person, or a blanket, or something with which to amuse myself. But for now I am left to curl of on the soft floor and press my fingers against the wall, and then watch as the small holes I leave slowly rise and fill up again, over and over again. I study my body, sometimes, when my arms are already red and I’ve grown weary of gouging lines and pressing handprints into the floor. My skin is brown, not very light and not very dark, and clear and smooth. I often stare at my hands, marveling at the lines of my palms and the knobs of my knuckles and how the color of my skin slowly grows paler at the palms. I play with my hair. It is wavy and brown, and I often run my fingers through it and twist it into braids and tails. My limbs are long, and I think I am tall and fit, my body more strength than softness, but I have no one with which to compare myself to. I don’t know what my face looks like. Even the dishes my food is served in is nonreflective. I run my hands over my hands over and over again, feeling the shape of my features, and try to guess what I may look like. But I don’t know what anyone’s face looks like, I only know how they should look. I don’t know how old I am. I know I am young, my limbs yet supple and my skin yet smooth. But I am full grown, not a child. I only have one hazy memory that is not of the room. It was a long time ago, I think, but I was tired and I couldn’t move, my eyes wouldn’t close and there were lights in my eyes and images and words and a dull voice giving instructions. I do not know what that memory is of, or if it was real or just a dream, but I relish the memory of the sound of that voice. I haven’t heard a sound since, except one coming from my own throat. Sometimes I speak
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aloud, nonsense words, to remind myself that I have a voice, I can hear, I am still here. Sometimes I whisper to myself and sometimes I rage and scream and hurl myself at the walls until I am tired out and curl up on the floor to sleep. I wonder, sometimes, what there was before this. Before the whiteness. If there was anything before this. I must have been someone. Or was it always like this? Will it always be like this? I don’t know how long I have been in the room. It could have been days or years. Time has no meaning here. There are no scheduled meals, no mornings and evenings, no days and nights. No clocks hang on the walls to mark minutes and hours. So I am left to keep sitting against the white, every passing moment just the same as the next. I sit on the floor, leaning against the wall, my fingers twisting in my hair, same as always. Only it is now different, because while I am lost in thought blankly staring at the wall, I hear a sound. My heart begins to beat faster when I hear it, and I slowly stand up. I have not heard a sound not of my own in so long… Have I ever? I don’t know. I turn my head towards the noise. It’s coming from one of the walls. The walls have never made sounds before. But there it is, a whooshing sound, and then a beep, and then a rectangle of blue light glows on the wall. Blue. A color, a color that is not the white of the walls of the brown of my skin and hair. The panel slides forward slightly, and then slides sideways and out of the way. A door. And at the door stands a girl. She is young. Her clothes, a dark armored jacket and cargo pants, are clean and shiny, her hair is twisted into a bun at the back of her head, and guns hang at her belt and over her back. I stare at her. I haven’t ever seen another person, not as long as I can remember. I think she is pretty, her face round, her hair hark, her eyes wide and blue. But even if she were ugly, she would still be the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen because she is here and real and suddenly, I’m not alone. The girl’s features have gone slack, her eyes wide and glistening with tears. Is she sad? Am I making her sad? “Kietra?” she whispers, and before I can marvel at her voice, so grounded and human and real, she rushes forward and traps me in a crushing embrace… She’s touching me, holding me. Another human is touching me. It feels strange, at first, but then I hug her back, instinctively, and for the first time nothing is missing, and I don’t need to scream proof my existence or carve it into my skin. For the first time, I’m wholly here.
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KItzelCoivnargubis
NAoleBxisrWaiynate
Your mother said “I do not want him. Let him be a devil.” And so you were; Grew wings and horns too big To fit inside the smallest of human rituals. You were cast from eden pre-birth. You scare with your grieving cry, Your one-only mating calls in the night. Townsfolk lock their doors and clog their chimneys.
Your mother said “I do not want him. Let him be a devil.” And the prophecy was self-fulfilling, You heard her rejection and became rejected. You did not exist until you were named And when you were named The mass hysteria followed.
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INNER DEMONS | HALEY HERNANDEZ
I’ve lost my head! I’m a deer, So frail and scared, Running for my life Because I’ve lost my head.
Should I run, Should I hide? I feel like a ghost Running around With nothing inside.
I’m horrified Of what I’ve become. So anxious So paranoid No thinking for me!
Oh! Where is my head, Grounded and rational? I’ve lost my head, I’ve lost my head! Why am I Without my head?
PorceMlaegiannPDtorrfeection
She sat on the rugged carpet, which scraped her skin despite her lack of movement. Her eyes were closed as she tried to analyze the sensations in her body. She focused on her hands. They were smooth and fair. A light porcelain doll she was. She altered her point of focus to her clothes. She could feel the soft silk of her dress glide over her legs. She felt the feeling of her shoes hold her feet secure. She felt the laces tied so tightly it left indents on the surface of her skin. She moved her focus to her breathing. The air flooded her lungs as she inhaled deeper than ever before. As she exhaled, she felt her body shake slightly. She kept exhaling, desiring the shaking to increase. She hoped her fragile porcelain skin would shatter; she desired to feel imperfect. She opened her eyes. Nothing. It was now she realized she could physically not inhale. Her chest felt heavy as if it was slowly forcing her down to the ground. She disregarded the urge to collapse to the floor. The strain this force exerted amongst her forced her to stand strong. The force grew stronger and stronger until it broke her. Pieces of the porcelain glass fractured all over the floor hit the light at a perfect angle. The light from outside the window shined on her broken self in just the right way. She glistened now brighter than ever before; for it was her breaking that truly made her beautiful
OH! I'VE LOST MY HEAD| ALEXIS WYATT
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Darling, it’s twisted We were young and naive,
DarlinHgel,InatS'stTmarwisited
Had no care for how our future would be. We smiled, we laughed, To know if we were happy, Nobody had to ask. The smiles we once had Have been twisted into frowns.
Tears of joy have become tears of sorrow. Darling, it’s twisted. Do you see a tomorrow? We grow and we grow As we do, we begin to know How cruel the world truly is... We see the truth, we see the lies How the negativity pollutes the skies...
Those tears of joy have become tears of sorrow Darling, it’s twisted I don’t see a tomorrow.
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APOCALYPSE SPACE| GRACE BATURA
We see it, darling, we see it with our own eyes
“You sound like my mom.” Which o-“... the nurse.” She was a nurse? “Yeah, like you.” Was she good?
TheBoGyigWDhaz ept
Damien nodded lightly. “She was the best. She took me to her office and always remembered to bring grapes as a snack for me and my sister.” You like grapes? “Yeah, we’d play games where we’d toss ‘em into the air and see who could catch them in their mouth.” Damien hummed. “Sometimes if we were quiet and we snuck out of bed at just the right time, we got to see her dancing with Ima.”
“No, she was a lawyer. A damn good lawyer." Was she? “Yep. Mamae would take us to her office when she was filing paperwork or if she was having a slow day. We’d run around her office until she got up from her chair and chased us.” Did she win her cases? “A hundred percent. All the time. That woman knows the law like she knows how to breathe.” Damien hummed. Knew. You said knows, Damien. “Knows what?” Nevermind “Whatever you say, dude.” Dude? Did you just call me that?
They danced?
“What do you want me to call you?”
“Mhm. Almost every night. They’d do it in the kitchen… there would be no music too, just her humming a tune and them just… swaying. I don’t really… think I remember the song…”
Silence.
How long has it been since she danced? He pondered, huffing lightly. “...too long.” That’s a long time then? “Yeah, it is.” He muttered quietly. What about this Ima? What was she like? “She was big and tough. She had to be, everyone else in the family was sweet as sugar, we needed something salty to balance it out.” He chuckled. Was she a nurse too?
"Well?" Silence. Damien sighed. You already know my name, Damien “You’re not her, though.” Perhaps “Again with the formal speaking!” Damien groaned. “God, you sound just like my m--” He stopped abruptly. Finish your sentence. "No."
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HALLWAY NO. 1 | ANDRE JABLONOWSKI Page 47
Why?
Listen to me
“You know why--”
"Shut up!”
Language
Damien, you have to move on from this
“I didn’t finish my sentence.”
He panted.
You were going to say something vulgar
Damien, honey, breathe for me
“I wasn’t--”
He gasped for breath, falling to his knees.
Don’t lie to me. I know my so--
Deep breath in
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”
He looked toward the coffee table near him.
Silence.
And out
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
A gun sat in the table’s center, surrounded by envelopes of overdue bills and return papers.
Damien “Be quiet.” Damien "Shut up. I'm not dealing with you right now." Damien Hymundo Skarsgard.
Damien? He placed his hands on the floor in front of him and began crawling towards the item of attraction. Damien, breathe in.
"...you don't get to call me that."
rembling hands reached for the resting firearm.
Will you just listen to me?
Damien, what are you doing?
You. Don’t. Get. To. Call. Me. That.”
He gripped the body of the weapon, bringing it up from the table.
Darling “No! Just… Just stop! You don’t get to call me that! You don’t get to say my name now or ever again! Y-You left me! You all left me!” Tears caked his eyes and trailed down his cheeks rapidly. Damien "Shut. Up."
Damien. He turned it towards him, the front sight of the glock facing his temple as he pressed it there. Damien, no! He pulled the trigger. Damien?... I’m here...
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WAitlacnhisodfelSVaymBereitosry
The moon slowly shined down onto the small city of Bire, helping illuminate the path of a group of three. The group consisted of a small girl, about seven years old, maybe on the verge of eight. The other two were both males, one of them much older than the other boy and little girl. Their ages had hopped around consisting of seven, fourteen and twenty years old. The older boy-- he was more of a man than a boy-- lead the way, gripping the fourteen-year-old’s forearm. “Terrance, let go of me!” The fourteen-year-old screeched, attempting to free his arm, but stumbled from the force of being pulled forward. “Not a chance, you mess with my collection, I get to mess with you, Kendall,” Terrance muttered, forcing the boy forward. “This isn’t funny anymore! Mama’s gonna be super upset if we aren’t home by dinner!” The sevenyear-old said, moving over to her older brother’s side. She hugged his arm slightly, a scared expression written on her face as it was almost a carbon copy of Kendall’s. “Then scramble back to the house Marie, this is between me and him,” Terrance said, moving over and grabbing Kendall bye his ankles before dragging him away. Kendall let out a loud cry as he kicked around, trying to set himself free. Marie scrambled after them quickly, following as the three slowly continued their descent into the woods. Kendall was soon forced down into the dirt, as he was sitting on the doormat of a small house. His eyes shrank as he moved back off the mat. “Why is there a house out here? I wouldn’t wanna live alone. Can we go now?” Marie asked, moving back to Kendall as she completely ignored the older man. She hugged Kendall’s arm as her small eyes glanced up at the home. The home stood with two stories, almost creeping down at the three of them. Its two windows were illuminated with candlelight on the inside, flickering slightly before suddenly going out for no distinguishable reason. Its garden along the front of the home had perished, being all dried up or having been ripped up straight from the ground. And of course, its most unnerving feature was the sign on the front door, which clearly stated in red, “Do Not Knock Three Times.” “You know what this place is don’t you, Kendall? You're looking a bit pale you know,” Terrance joked, a sly smirk on his face as he playfully pushed Kendall; which soon caused him to knock into the door. A loud drumbeat sounded in the three sets of ears near the home.
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“W-Why the hell did you bring us here, Terrance?” Kendall asked, moving back as he pushed him back. Marie watched as the two rumbled with each other, fists swinging back and forth as there was a lot of force being used. Soon enough Terrance had the upper hand and he shoved Kendall into the door frame, another loud drumbeat echoing inside their ears, Except this time it was louder and sounded for much longer. “You dummies need to stop! It’s dark! Mama’s already angry that we missed dinner! It’s cold! And you already knocked twice! Can you two dummies just stop it so we can go!?” Marie yelled out in a panic, attempting to get the older brother away from her much sweeter brother. “Turn back then! This doesn’t involve you, I’m here for him,” Terrance growled, keeping his grip securely on Kendall’s hoodie. He made sure to keep the smaller boy pressed against the door. Kendall did his best to keep his eyes open, a bit of blood trickling down the side of his head into his eyes. He was completely defenseless as his older brother kept him against the door, the sign digging slightly into his spine due to its old age and sharp edges. Marie could only watch in fear as she had known what Terrance was capable of, and she knew she wouldn’t have stood much of a chance due to his size and strength, even if she still liked to try from time to time. I-I said I’m sorry,” Kendall choked out, his breathing still heavy from the little tussle they just had. “Sorry isn’t gonna cut it, little brother…” Terrance growled, anger clear in his voice and his movements as he shoved him against the door. Soon the drumming commenced once again, each of the three growing frantic, each expressing it in their own way. Marie let out loud whimpers, tears leaking out of her eyes slowly as the noise soon became numbing inside her small ears. Kendall kept his ears covered before falling back to the ground as Terrance moved away from him, fear being very evident on his facial features. ““Y-You actually knocked you...w-what are you a psycho?” Terrance barely managed to stutter out, turning his body in a way of showing that he was ready to abandon his siblings. The door of the home suddenly opened, a large carpet stretching out. It wrapped up Terrance in a tight embrace before the household swallowed him whole; leaving Kendall and Marie alone to scream out into the night. Terrance soon found himself inside the home, beads of sweat running down his forehead slowly as he attempted to leave through the door he just came in through. However, its black door frame disappeared into the walls, its door knob falling to the ground with a loud clunk. His sharp blue eyes slowly glanced around the home, scared of its single feature. It was completely symmetrical, but not with different items. It was symmetrical with the fact that every single wall was painted in black and white zigzags. There was no furniture, the windows had long disappeared, there was no clear
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pathway to any other room, even if the outside showed that it was two stories tall. It was as if Terrance had been trapped inside an asymmetrical black and white zig zag box. The pattern itself was almost hypnotizing. A soft hum soon caught his attention, a shadow slowly appearing on the ground over his own. Terrance was too afraid to move his gaze, tears soon spilling out his own eyes just like his little sister; as he soon started to beg for his life. His once angry and mean demeanor had shifted into a meek sobbing one. The hum soon became louder as a song soon came into place. “The Witch of Symmetry is who you are here to seek. Knock three times and you will soon get a treat. I do not play favorites, but I can see. You don’t play fairly, and that sickens me…”
Same but Different | Mariana Diaz
A figure suddenly appeared in front of Terrance, the gaze almost an unnerving sight. There she stood, the Witch of Symmetry, her skin pale but not completely white. Save for her symmetrical makeup, one eye with white while the other had black. A hat associated with witches resting on her head, her lips divided in half with once again the two very familiar colors that matched the decor of her home. A wide smile was spread on her face as she stared deeply into his blue eyes.
“You do not play fairly, do you, Terrance? I do not like cheaters…” That was all she could say, as Terrance’s screams echoed out of the home. Kendall had been attempting to open the door however he soon stopped when hearing his older brother’s screams. He backed away, cradling his little sister close as the door opened. A very familiar head soon rolled out, Terrance’s blue eyes having been reverted to black and white, his expression blank as his face was tear-stained. The two siblings let out a heartbreaking cry as they quickly scrambled back into their town. Their older brother’s head soon shrank out of existence, the witch peering out of the house as she used her magic to cradle the disembodied head. “I warned you.” Page 51
TheMoCmhlonetHawfTruth,
(an excerpt from Enchanter, Broken Trust)
They kissed. Enchanter could feel the power surging through his body and the magic pumping through his veins as he took what was hers. He didn’t mean for this to happen. He didn’t mean to get attached. This was his least favorite part... not the kiss, or the fact that he was killing, but the part right after the kiss and right before the killing. The part where the girl would open her eyes and see his. The part where they screamed and yelled at him, called him evil, called him a monster. He stole their hearts, and he stole their magic, you would think he deserved it. After a long moment, Hope felt weak and dizzy. She pulled back and opened her eyes, looking into his. At first, she didn't know what she was looking at, but she saw something amazing... she saw the universe. Galaxies, stars, clouds of dust, planets, moons, everything. Then suddenly Hope remembered where she was, what she was doing, who she was with, and what she was looking at. She backed away slowly. “You…” she said with a shaky voice, not recognizing the eyes she had been staring into almost every day for months. She turned her head slightly and her old broken mirror caught her eye. She looked into it, not recognizing her own reflection for a moment. Her hair had turned from jet black to a light honey brown and her pale lavender eyes turned as green as the ivy that climbed up the side of the building. She was turning human. “How could you?!” Hope shrieked at the man she had realized she barely even knew. She thought of every moment she had spent with him and cursed herself for believing that he could ever really care for her. She felt he was hiding something before, but she had no idea that it could possibly be this bad. She was blinded by love. Her hands began to shake and she felt most of the warmth leave her body as if he had sucked the life out of her. She began to stumble backward, wanting to get away from this stranger that had tricked her, but tripped, falling to the floor in tears, pain gripping her heart and emotions. “Hope…” Enchanter said, his voice shaking as much as hers. He walked toward her, his hand reaching out for her, hoping that she could see past his true eyes and what he had just taken from her mistakenly. He watched as she fell unconscious and fall limp on the floor, her eyes fluttering shut as her body slowly grew weaker. He knelt down and lifted her, pulling her close to his warm body, handling her with care as though she were a precious porcelain doll. He stared at her peaceful face, regretting coming into her home that evening. “Why did you have to kiss me...” he whispered to her when he knew she couldn’t hear. When Hope woke, she was greeted with the same empty eyes that held the universe within them. She couldn’t help but sob and scream out when she saw a dagger in his shaking hands. She tried to move but found that she was paralyzed from shock. He had pretended to love her, he had stolen her magic, and now he was going to kill her. It made sense. He had gotten what he wanted out of her, he didn’t need her anymore. She saw it coming, yet she wasn’t prepared. She couldn’t believe that the man she had fallen in love with, had taken everything from her. The Enchanter stared at the terrified girl, feeling slightly terrified himself. “I… I can’t…” he said, his voice cracking slightly. He dropped the dagger and let it clatter to the ground, his heart beating wildly with fear and pressure. “I can’t do this…” he said, staring at the dagger where it lay, hoping to never use it. Page 52 He had killed hundreds of girls and women, but he had finally met one he couldn’t. He had fallen in love.
TMehgheanWFormmean
I wake up screaming. Another nightmare. I can still see her falling down, staring at me with bright blue eyes that were dulled by tears. I tried to catch her, to pull her up, but she slipped away. I still see her body splattered on the pavement below. The vivid image of blood surrounding her dead body will never leave my mind. It’s been exactly one year since she died, and it haunts me to this day. I wake up to the same screams almost every morning. Her face as she steps off the edge of the building constantly replays in my head. I sit straight up on my bed. I catch myself staring off into nothing and shake my head. I continue my routine of waking up and getting ready for work just like any other day. As I place my hand on the doorknob I see a picture. The picture is placed inside a gold frame with a unique design. The picture is of us, me and my wife Abigail, on the beach happy and joyful. This was from 5 years ago, before everything happened. The thoughts of why she left fill my head once again and I turn away from the door. I walk towards the fridge where a bottle of tequila waits patiently for me. Today is an exception. I repeat this three more times in my head as I take the top off of the bottle and drink until I had no breath. I can barely keep my head up as I work. I regret working here. On the computer all day and for what? Nothing. All I do it sit here and type codes. I continue typing nonsense to fool my co-workers into thinking I am busy doing my job. The day ends quickly and I find myself driving home. I arrive at an intersection. One way is to the plaza and the other way is to my house. I take a deep breath and weigh the options that lie ahead of me. The noise of a car honking pushes me to make a decision. I turn left. The perfect parking spot is open like it was waiting for me to pull in, as if it knew, somehow, that I was coming here. The bar isn’t empty, but isn’t crowded like it usually is. I walk up to the bar, greet the barista, and order a drink. Then I order another, then another, and a few more. Suddenly I’m more than five drinks in and I catch the eye of a beautiful woman from across the room. Being in the wrong headspace, I approach her. She looks oddly familiar but I can’t quite figure out who she looks like. She sees me. “Hey there,” I say, losing my balance and leaning on the table. “Hi,” she replies giggling. "I look her up and down and smile. "So."
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“So,” she says. “My name is Jay,” I say holding out my hand. “Jay,” she holds out her hand and shakes mine, “Nice to see you. I knew a Jay once." “Knew?” I asked. “Yeah.” She tilts her head down. “He’s not the same anymore” “Well, you still know him then, right?” “Sure,” she said. “So, you don’t have a name,” I tried changing the subject. She giggles again. “No, I don’t have a name.” She walks away, towards stairs that lead to the rooftop. Her eyes say to follow her, and I do. I get to the rooftop and see her sitting down on the edge. I join her, but she doesn’t say anything until a few moments later. “You’re following me now,” she said with a smile. “Maybe I am,” I said, smiling back. She stares into my eyes, “You don’t remember me, Jay,” she said. “We’ve met before? I don’t think so. I’d remember you,” “But you do remember me, you just have to clear your head,” she said certainly. I stare blankly at her, waiting for more explanations. "Every day was an exception to you." She pauses and looks at me. "Remember that?" “Abby?” My throat tightens. “Yes, Jay it’s me.” She places her hand on my cheek and a tear falls from her eye. “What- how are you here?” I can feel a tear roll off my cheek. I’m here for you,” she takes a deep breath, “ You need to know it wasn’t your fault, not all of it."
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“Why? Why did you leave me, Abby?” The tears seemed to be rushing out of my eyes faster now. “You left first. After the miscarriage.” Her voice breaks, “ You were, still are, a drunk,” “It was my fault,” I say. “You can fix it, Jay.” ‘How, please tell me how.” “I know you, this isn’t it. You need to stop making your life go to waste. You need to do this for me, Jay.” “I will, just please come back. I miss you.” “I can’t come back. Promise me you’ll change for the better.” She stares intensely into my eyes. “I promise, Abigail,” I say. She leans into me and our lips meet. She stands up onto the edge of the roof. She faces me and says, “ I love you. Never forget.” She falls back. My body jolts up and I reach my hands out for her but she continues to fall until her body engraves into the concrete below. My heart sinks to my feet and I head back into the bar and leave. My car smells like her. My house smells like her. The pillow I lay my head on as I drift asleep smells like her. I remember everything from the bar. I was happy seeing Abby, making a promise, kissing her. Then she told me I was the reason for her suicide. Then she died again right in front of me. My head pounds as I walk to the fridge. Thoughts scramble in my head as I stare off the picture of the happy couple. I open the fridge and hold the bottle of tequila in my hand. I weigh the options that lie ahead of me. I open the cap and chug what is left inside. I stare at the picture of Abigail as the rest of the tequila slips down my throat. I let the bottle fall from my hand’s ad break into pieces as it hits the floor. Today is an exception.
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SwetPDyrams
Close your eyes, in a deep sleep. Allow yourself to enter the world of many mysteries. Open the portal for us to seep inside your head. You scream.
You now wake up, lifting your head off your soft bed. Looking around, searching if such horror was real. But don’t worry. We will always be inside your head.
Go Back to Sleep | Armani GarciaI
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BlodA tnhdrierHsoyfnRagleevng
Mos and Quito were waiting for the sun to set, wanting to be able to take a bite at the neck of their soon-to-be victim. “Quito, why did you have to squeeze into the same hiding spot as me? There’s plenty of room around here!” Mos said. “Shhh! You’re going to grab their attention, Quito! Just be quiet until we get our dose of blood and get out of here,” Quito replied. Mos rolled his eyes, as he always did when Quito dodged his questions. Quito was quite a scaredy cat, frightened both of being caught at some point by the victims and being alone when going on these missions. As Mos started reassessing the situation and why he still decided to stick with Quito on the bloodseeking missions, their victim got out of the comfort of his bed and headed towards a rocking chair just as the sun went away. “Now’s our time to strike,” Mos announced. “Shhh! How many times do I have to tell you to be quiet?! He’s going to hear you!” Quito exclaimed. Mos just shook his head; if anything, Quito was the one hissing loudly. Mos decided to just ignore it and head closer to their victim. “Mos, wait for me!” Quito buzzed his way towards Mos, and when he reached him, his eyes grew wide. “You picked the right victim today, Mos. I can smell the high quantity and high quality of blood in this one!” Quito, blinded by his bloodthirstiness, started to make his way across the room towards the victim as if there was a magnetic pull between them. “Quito, get back here! That’s not how you get the blood unnoticed!”
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Quito did not stop though; he kept gliding his way through the room until he reached the victim. Mos, not sure what to do and how to stop him, followed Quito further behind. Just as Quito reached the victim, the victim grabbed a bottle full of some sort of red fluid out of a drawer next to his chair. Quito moved towards one side of the victim’s head, and he put his hands on the victim’s ear. “The blood is smelling even stronger now! Mos, come over here and join me,” Quito said. Mos thought how much of a hypocrite Quito was: here Quito was complaining about him being loud, and then decides to talk right on top of their prey. Still, Mos decided to come closer to the victim to see if Quito was right about the blood. Just as Mos found that it had the smell of fine blood, the victim hissed and slapped the back of his neck. Quito dodged the hazard just in time, and Mos started yelling. “Quito, fly!” The victim got up and started screaming. “Ahhh! What’s this thing that’s sucking my blood?! Only vampires are supposed to be able to do that! Whatever sort of monster you are, stop at this very moment!” the victim cried. Quito still crawled across the skin of the victim and made his way to a spot that looked to be a tasty place to continue his supper. “Mos, this human is not as smart as our usual dinner! Plus, it has a bigger dose of blood we can get!” Quito hollered in joy. Mos looked at the victim. Something seemed off about it, and that’s when Mos noticed the pointy dog-like ears, pale goose-white skin, and sharp snake-like fangs. “Qu-Quito, I don’t think that’s a human! It’s a v-vampire!” Mos shrieked. Quito screeched as he now realized the horrific truth, and it formed a synchronized harmony with the vampire’s scream. Nonetheless, his mission was still focused on trying to down as much blood as he could. “Stop taking my blood, you scoundrel! Only I’m supposed to do that!” the vampire wailed.
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Quito held on for his life, scared that the vampire would end his delicious meal and shoo him away. However, the vampire was more concerned with just trying to get rid of the blood-sucking monster, slapping the back of his neck for his dear life. The vampire was becoming weaker by the second, though, his blood supply he had stored up for years in his body draining significantly quickly. He kept running and slapping nevertheless, and he was able to make his way to a door to try and escape. As he proceeded through the entryway, automatic lights went on in the room ahead of him. “What is this monstrosity?! I can’t see! I need this creature off of me!” the vampire exclaimed. Mos watched the chaos, bewildered by the event. Before he could think any further on how to save Quito, he saw the vampire stumble through the room blindly and eventually reach a silver, cylindrical can. “Quito, watch out!” It was too late. The vampire diffused a bug killing spray onto his neck, dropping Quito down on the floor. “Quito, nooo!” Mos yelled. Mos was furious at the vampire, even with all his frustrations he had with Quito over the years. He buzzed through the entryway himself and charged right into the vampire’s hand that caused Quito’s death. He sucked as much blood as he could with his little mouth, and the vampire howled in pain. “Oww, why is the pain continuing?!” the vampire screeched. Mos did one last gulp of blood, and the vampire dropped dead. The body slumped down onto the floor, all shriveled up. Mos crawled across the vampire’s face, saddened about his loss of his friend. He lurked towards the eyes of the vampire, where they were burned out by the light of the room. Mos decided to bury Quito in the left eye, and he crawled himself into the right. Together they were supposed to be mosquito, the duo that can’t be broke, but now Mos alone was nothing but a bloodthirsty creature, just like the vampire.
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When fire meets flood, none but a fool faces the steam. It's far thicker than family blood which will carry you upstream.
TKatehlyen OFaoklely
When in the trenches of war, none but a fool looks at the enemy in kind. You'll only be stabbed in the back, you can't satisfy both sides. When running away from a gator, none but a fool will stay in one line. You must sway from side to side, if you wish to survive. When the tides drift you both in and out, switching between his and her house, None but a fool squeaks a word, none but a fool more than a mouse. The fool will scream As the string gets twisted Into knots by their bickering A puppet pulled onto each side. When her fire meets his flood, there's unimaginable steam Some can take it while others get twisted upstream.
PUPPETEER | NICOLETTE SANTANGELO
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OurAPryesafEcbtelTrown
We lived in a perfect town. A perfect, peaceful, beautiful town.
We grew up together. We made bonds and friendships that would last us a lifetime. We knew one another inside and out. We trusted each other.
When a mysterious, hooded man moved into our neighborhood, we were already wary. We didn’t know him. We had been made a perfect little bubble around ourselves, and he had popped the bubble. We had to have been skeptical of him. Why did he pop our perfect little bubble of perfection? Together we watched him. Oh, how well we watched him. We carefully analyzed every one of his movements. We followed in the shadows and knew his routine. When a murder arose in our neighborhood, our thoughts went straight to him. The victim was a woman. A mother, a wife, a friend. A member of our community. She was the one person that always spoke up about our community. She was the one to declare our community perfect. She was the one to declare who was perfect enough for our perfect, peaceful, beautiful town. Our town was left in shock. We were in disbelief. We thought that it had to have been that man. It could not have been anyone else. He argued on the stand that it was not he who murdered the woman. We did not believe him. “You’re a murderer,” we screamed. “a murderer! You sneakily came into our town and murdered this woman! How dare you think we would ever trust you! We know it was you!” We trusted each other. It didn’t matter how well we watched him. We were never going to trust him. We were never going to believe he was innocent. We were such a bonded community that we would never suspect each other. Page 61
He pleaded. Oh, how hard he tried. How hard he tried to convince us it was not he who murdered the woman. It did not matter. He was found guilty for the murder. He was brutally tortured. We believed he deserved it. We thought about justice for the woman. We thought about how unfair it was for him to do this to her, to us. He interrupted our perfect town. Our perfect, peaceful, beautiful town. We did not deserve this. He was beaten and bruised. We watched as he cried out in pain. We watched as he screamed and hollered for help. We watched with no sense of guilt or sympathy. We watched the piles of heavy water, fall from his face. “I didn't do it. I didn't do it.” he continued to exclaim. As we slowly heard his voice fade, we realized what we had done. We smiled. We thought about the justice we got. We thought about going back to our lives. Our perfect lives in our perfect town. Our perfect, peaceful, beautiful town. As I looked around at our town, I couldn't help but laugh.
BLANK | MIGUEL MALDONADO
I couldn’t help but laugh at their smiles, their happiness. I couldn’t help but laugh at their blindness. Oh, how blind they had been. How blind they had been for years.
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TeaScPotrty
“Are you ready, Mr. Bear?” Molly asked, lifting her teapot over her head, and then down to the brown stuffed bear, who nodded at her. “Yes, please,” he said, though his mouth never moved, stitched together with thick ropes of black thread, forcing it into a constant smile. Molly never cared; she loved Mr. Bear nonetheless. She tipped the teapot to his cup, watching the tea pour out into the cup, staining the dainty surface with clumpy, black liquid, splashing onto the lace tablecloth around the cup. Molly smiled and set the teapot down soon after, satisfied with the amount. “Is that enough?” she asked, opening a small platter to reveal cookies, rotten and old, with roaches crawling through the cracks in the old bread. “Enough tea, yes. But I’ll gladly take a cookie,” he said back, Molly giggling. “Okay, but only one. You have to meet with Daisy after this, y’know,” she said, picking up one of the crumbling cookies, unresponsive to the roach that crawled onto her finger with it. She set it on the plate, and took two for herself, biting into the cookie. It was filled with black goop, Molly’s gleeful face contorting into a grimace, the girl spitting the piece out on the table, the goop spilling from her mouth. It seemed to multiply, stringing and dripping onto the table, soaking through the cloth, all while Mr. Bear watched. “Oh, dear Molly, are you sick? Are you vomiting?” Mr. Bear asked, the cookies on his plate untouched. Molly shook her head, tears streaking down her cheeks, while she drooled onto her lap, the goop falling onto her dress. “My clothes, my table! My tea party, it’s ruined, Mr. Bear, why does this always happen?” she asked, looking at the bear, and watching the stitches over his embroidered mouth come loose. He opened his mouth, slow, a river of goo spewing from his mouth, splattering over the table and over half Molly’s body that face him. The girl sobbed, all while Mr. Bear continued, the liquid coloring his honey fur black.
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Innocence | Kelsey Acosta Garcia
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“Molly,” he said, sounding garbled and uncomfortably raspy. “Molly, this was never a tea party, Molly. I told you, before. Listen to me, Molly.” “I don’t want to listen!” Molly screamed, shaking her head. “It’s not a tea party, Molly,” Mr. Bear said again, the bear’s skin being pushed against, pitch black, dripping legs bursting from the inside, his stuffing falling onto the floor in piles. Arms burst through the toy’s neck, grabbing at the table cloths, yanking at them feverishly. “It’s not a party, Molly!” Molly could only cry, choking and gagging on the goo that filled up her throat, gushing out of her mouth and over her lap, her once beautiful dress a mess of awful black stuff. Mr. Bear and his new limbs found their way onto the table, and they ran at Molly, the black hands grabbing the girl’s throat, digging the stained, green nails into her flesh. It shook her, and Molly wanted to scream, but she could only puke, her shaking hands clawing at the wet arms to no avail. She began to see black drip across her vision, streaking further down and clouding out the light, the goo clogging her ears, plunging her inside deafening silence. It felt like forever before Molly gasped, and opened her eyes again, staring at her lap. It was clean. She looked at her lacy gloves, her clean, frilly socks, and at the table. Her tea party was back. The table cloth was still fine, and the cups were all empty. The teapot whistled quietly in front of it. It wasn’t on any heat. Molly looked to her left, Mr. Bear sat in silence in the kiddie chair, his crooked hat placed perfectly over one ear, his eyes staring silently at Molly, and his mouth sewn up all right again. Molly stared at him in silence, the event from before leaving a boiling feeling in her stomach, nausea making her sway. She swallowed hard, but there was no point keeping it back. Her tea party had always been ruined.
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SwetHJoamideenMTcBrosansylvia
The spooky house around the block The party starts at 9-o-clock But all the guests always show up early.
The bottle spun and it landed on Damien On the other end, beautiful Ambrosia Blane He was so happy, and now this isn’t just a game
With plenty of boo’s and all the beers And the wretched cries of children’s tears This is what made the guests come back yearly
But to his ultimate demise And quite frankly a rude surprise To what he’d see before him
The Orpheusmorte family were almost never late Because older brother Damien could hardly waitFor the girl he liked was coming
He pressed his lips up against her, Opened his eyes, to find it was instead his sister The eyes of strangers were never so grim
With beautiful long hair and crystal white teeth But the girl was dangerous, she carried a sheath Because something would send everyone running
“What are you doing step-bro?” Celeste replied Damien stuttered and almost went cross-eyed.
Was it, blood diseased humans, or silver bullets aplenty Or did Starbucks run out of plasma frappuccino, size Venti This makes everyone think and pause, So Damien went up the stairs to find his friends But what happened up there, he cannot possibly mendThe uproar that he has caused
He touched his lips and started to panic The people he thought were his ‘friends’ went all satanic They crowded around him with their fangs unveiled The love of his life Amborosa, how did he miss her And still upset he lost his first kiss to his sister His friends wasted no time taking him to jail
It all started with a simple game of spin the bottle Cause his poor mind was not in full throttle He ended up taking all of the blame
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ADelialhivBeerio
Penny’s eyebrows furrowed as she stumbled out of the bus, her feet dragging across the dirt as she did her best to approach the building. Her knees locked in place as she walked and incoherent babbling and groans fell from her lips every few seconds. She felt sicker than she had ever before, and she wanted nothing more than to just collapse in her bed at home and watch cartoons. She barely processed the media gathered around the entrance to the hospital, blinking in confusion. Her vision was strange and blurry. She stared blankly as lights went off in her face and reporters shoved cameras and microphones towards her. A man who wore a military uniform shoved the reporters back. He made eye contact with Penny. He didn’t seem to like that one bit, turning away as soon as he had looked. Once they stepped through the automatic doors and entered the hospital lobby, she felt something cold around her neck. There was a bit of ruckus from the rest of the people she was with, noises of protest coming from them. She lifted her hands, fingers brushing lightly across what was put around her neck. It was metal, cold and heavy, and looking up showed her that it connected her to the person standing in front of her with a chain. She grumbled in protest, but she couldn’t do much else. Suddenly they were being led somewhere else, the rattling of chains being heard as they all shuffled slowly through the pristine halls of the hospital. They were ushered into a big elevator, and it miraculously managed to fit all of them. In her head, she counted twenty-three of them as they descended downwards. The next few minutes were a blur. The next thing she knows, she’s naked and water is being rained down on her. She looks around slowly. It’s a shower. There’s a window in front of her, and there’s a group of people supervising. They wear blindingly white lab coats. Penny would think she should feel embarrassed, but the only thing she feels is the cold water of the shower hitting her body Her eyes travel downwards, and she watches as wads of rotting, peeling flesh slide off of her body as they get wet, landing on the floor in clumps and gathering around the drain. They soon let her out, and she’s dressed in something that looks like a mix between a prison uniform and a hospital gown. She follows a big man with an even bigger gun through another hallway, and soon she’s in what must be a cafeteria. People that look as sick as she does are seated at tables, eating something that looks like porridge.
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She’s sitting at a table now, spooning the hot meal into her mouth. There are toppings in the center of the table, and she poured a generous amount of brown sugar and cinnamon into hers. It doesn’t matter though, she can't taste it anyway. Later Penny lays in her bunk, devoid of privacy as she and the others climb in and try to rest. She can’t even close her eyes. As she looks around, she realizes that she can’t remember what the disease is even called. It’s a weird feeling, knowing something that used to be common knowledge to her, that she wouldn’t even have to stop to think about had totally escaped her. When she wakes up in the morning, she finds her jaw completely detached and beside her in her bed. She carries it with her when she’s taken to the showers again. Her hair is falling out now, dark, coarse curls landing on the ground. It’s not just hair, either. The scalp is coming with it. Without her jaw, she has to pour the porridge directly into her throat now. It always makes a mess. A week later she sees a woman that jogs her memory. It’s her mother. She sits with her to eat that day, but she doesn’t see her again. Well, if she does, she doesn’t recognize her anymore. The next day she forgets her own name. She stares at a word carved into the jawbone she’s kept with her, thinking that it must be her name. She realizes that she doesn’t remember how to read. Her next shower rids her of the muscle on her right hand. It’s just bones and tissues and joints now. A man in a suit visits a few days later. He tries to talk to her about something, but she can’t understand his words. He talks and talks, and after what feels like hours he pulls out a syringe. Something is injected into her and he’s sent away. He visits again a week later. She and a few others are pulled to be looked and prodded at. The man looks disappointed. She never sees him again. The next month she finds herself on the ground, covered in blood. It can’t be hers, she doesn’t think she has any anymore. She’s sitting above the destroyed corpse of a woman in a white coat. She recognizes the shower, but she’s on the outside. The glass is broken and strewn across the room. For once, she feels like she’s had a full meal. Another day passes, and she and the others finally make it outside. She doesn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t this. The whole city is desolate and bodies litter the streets. Cars aren’t running and the air is gray and heavy. She can’t remember what the outside world looked like before, but she’s certain it didn’t look like this. She wants food. Flavorless or not she’d kill for the porridge they fed them every day. The hunger is gnawing at all of them. She just wants to die, but her body won't let her. It perseveres, and two months without eating makes the whole lot of them look more dead than the actual corpses.
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She’s standing in a subway terminal when she meets her. It’s a girl, and she looks alive. Her skin is bright and full of life, and the many cuts and wounds on her are actually healing. The bandage on her arm shows bright red blood. She’s ten times more alive than anything was in that hospital. Not the other patients, not the scientists, and certainly not the guards. She wants that. She wants to be as alive as this girl is. She wants it for herself, but she doesn’t know how to get it. Some instinct in her is telling her that if she rips the girl limb for limb and makes a meal out of her, she’ll finally be satisfied. She does not hesitate to charge at the girl. The girl does not hesitate to put a bullet in her skull.
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LikeEAvurerayJbimodnezElse
You walk in a room full of people you call your friends When they look at you, you just want to be them. You found someone new, guess its time to pretend; like that’s what you wanted, like your content.
You’re the victim, in every situation you create. You go around searching for someone, who can touch you for the day. That doesn’t last long, you always push them away. Till you’re left with yourself, A person you hate. You’re not yourself, you just wanna be like everybody else. You’re not yourself, that’s why people always leave you on the shelf. You’re not yourself, I can see your facade ain’t going very well. You disregard all your wrongs. You disappear and you don’t leave a note. Yet the person you see in the mirror, It is the one you’re really running from.
TWO FACED| MEGAN HODGE Page 70
LitleARnadJeWniegsrwolf
Little Red Riding Hood skipped along the path humming a tune. It was a beautiful, peaceful evening, and the sun was setting, leaving the sky with beautiful hues of red, orange, and purple. The full moon was beginning to shine through the branches of the trees, the leaves daintily hanging off of them, gently swaying in the breeze. Little Red Riding Hood was happy. She was carrying a basket brimful of warm fresh pastries and goodies for her grandmother, who lived about a mile or two along the path. As she skipped through the grass, Little Red Riding Hood enjoyed all the little critters and lovely foliage she spotted along the sides of the path. A chill breeze flowed through the air, and Little Red Riding Hood pulled her cloak tighter around her arms. As she came upon a clearing in the trees, the last of the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, and the moon was the only light left to guide her on her way. I’m almost there, Little Red Riding Hood thought to herself. Grandmother’s house is only a little way further. Suddenly, in the middle of the clearing, a wolf appeared! In a flash Little Red Riding Hood was gone, and the wolf ran in the direction of her grandmother’s house, as if it knew there was a living soul inside. Little Red Riding Hood’s grandmother was quietly rocking on her chair in the sitting room, knitting a pair of socks by the fire, when the wolf burst in. Screams broke out, but soon they were hushed and the once warm house went silent and cold. Little Red Riding Hood’s mother was finishing dinner when her daughter ran through the door, all scratched up missing her red hood. Some of her scratches had blood coming from them. “Mother! Mother!” she cried frantically. “As I was walking to grandmother’s house, a wolf appeared, and I only managed to run away just in time! I fear grandmother is in danger! I ran back so fast through the trees, that my hood ripped off in the branches, and the thorns from the wild roses tore my skin.” She burst into tears. Mother’s eyes widened and she guided her child to the couch. “Sit down dear, I’ll call father and the men to look for the wolf and tend to grandmother.” Her head throbbing with worry, Little Red Riding Hood’s mother put on her jacket and scarf and hurried to the shed where the men were working. When Mother returned, she sat on the couch and comforted Little Red Riding Hood. “It will be alright. Grandmother is safe with father. They will kill the wolf.” But even she had a look of terror in her eyes.
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Later that evening, father and the men returned. Sadness clouded their words as they said, “We found no trace of a wolf. Grandmother was not in her house when we got there. We were too late. Her beloved rocking chair was covered in blood. But we did find, however, your hood, Little Red Riding Hood. Mysteriously, it was on the floor next to the chair.” Little Red Riding Hood looked up at her father, and the faintest hint of a smirk flashed across her face, but it was quickly replaced by a look of sadness. “I’ll miss her so much,” she spoke, licking her lips.
TRAPPED| KATHERINE REED
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TAnhyaeSFtewilars
“This doesn’t make sense,” I say, pointing at my wall of photographs, newspaper clippings, and witness statements. Maps are carefully punctured by pushpins in all sorts of colors. Green for crime scenes. Purple for suspects’ houses. Red for witness’ houses. There are so many colors that each map looks like a rainbow. Turning around, I stare at the teenager in the chair, who shrugs. “That’s all I know.”
“So you didn’t see who our criminal was? You only found the hat?” The kid points to the lone thing on my desk in response; a fedora. “I thought you were better than this, Jamie,” I say. My spotless shoes clack on the floor as I slowly walk over and sit in my swivel chair. Jamie rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. "And I thought you had concluded that I’m just a kid who can’t do anything except analyze pictures.” He gives me a look. I swivel my chair back to the wall, avoiding the photographs. “Well, the behavior you showed looks like a kid who can’t do anything except analyze pictures.” “If I hadn’t been discouraged, maybe I would have been motivated to pursue him.” “And if you had sucked up and faced reality, maybe we would have him by now.” Silence hangs in the air. It covers us in her thick cloud of fog. “Listen, kid. I appreciate your help and all, but at the moment you’re nothing more than another body in the way. If you provided us with helpful clues and actually took the opportunities to catch our con man, maybe you would be taken more seriously. But what did you do today? Pass up the chance to find and catch the murderer? That’s not acceptable. Yes, we have a fedora. What does that do? Nothing. You know just as well as I do that the only fingerprints on that hat are yours.” I purse my lips and escort Jamie out. He was a good companion when needed, full of stories and bursting with personality. But when it really came down to it, he failed because his emotions got in the way of a job. That’s a career-ending decision.
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Deserted | Jeanna Crespo
“Hope you have a good life,” I say, smacking a smile on my face. As soon as the kid is out of sight, the smile peels off, and I clack my shoes extra loud all the way to my office. Now that he’s out of the way, it’s time to do some DNA tests. This case has been a mysterious one. First a murder. Then a robbery. Then a murder during a robbery. The culprit left behind surprisingly strange clues, too. The analysis of the murder of a young girl, found in a slide at the park left us with an inference in the suspect being a male adult. Then the robbery in a soap store, supporting the adult. But male? My suspicions shifted to a female adult. Females can murder young girls, after all. And most recently, the death of fraternal twins in a candy shop. There’s no connection. Nothing to support any theories of who the culprit could be. This criminal must be one brilliant, if not grudging, person. “Hello, Mr. Hester.” My secretary pops her head in. I glance up at her. “Yes?” “Mr. Ulmet would like to know how the case is progressing.” At the mention of my boss, my heart rate doubles. This case was supposed to be closed weeks ago, and we’re still not finished.
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“T-tell him we’re a step away. We’re lagging a bit, but now that we’ve dismissed the boy, the case should be smooth-sailing from here. Also, tell him that I can treat him to lunch. His pick of day. His pick of restaurant.” My secretary smiles gently. “By the way, Jamie told me to give you this.” She holds out a crisp white envelope. I falter as I walk towards her and take the little envelope. “Thank you,” I say. She nods, spins on her heel, and leaves. Once she’s gone, I peel the envelope open and slide the lone piece of paper into my palm. In scraggly, middle school writing, it reads, “You may want to check the scanner.” My heart begins to pound as I look into my printer at the scanner. A couple of polaroid photos banded together rests on its back. I take the stack and flip through them. The first picture is of a familiar young boy wearing the exact fedora that’s sitting on my desk. The second is the young girl, the same one who was murdered at the park, with her arm around the boy’s shoulders. They’re both smiling brightly. The third polaroid would be the boy with an armful of soap. The last one is the bloody mess of the fraternal twins, the state we found them in when we had arrived at the candy shop. My polished shoe is in the corner of the photo. Who was there to survey the crime scene, besides me? Who would have had enough wit to sneak around, arrive quickly enough, and take pictures without seeming suspicious? Who would have known the details, the theories, the suspects? Jamie. My eyes move down to the line written below the last photo. “Thanks for the files.” Gasping, I race to my desk and shuffle through the papers that I have meticulously protected throughout the case. My breath catches in my throat once I find them. They aren’t the codes to the database. They’re a bunch of cookie-cake recipes.
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TheSCageoPltrriRed
By the dawn of a new day came the shining of rays upon the red-painted town. Whether the tainted color was from the orange-tinted sky or from the remanence of the man's memory, one could not tell the difference. Both were painted with the shade of fiery passion or bloodlust. The walls were painted with the color red. The man had no love, no heart to spread the color red but another excitement had overtaken his mind and body. A form of excitement that brings fear into the eyes of bystanders. Firetrucks and ambulances rush past in a flurry of red to a scene covered in dark maroon splotches of color. The walls were painted with the color red. A soothing drip of liquid fell from the tip of the man’s knife accompanied by the heavy rise and fall of his chest. Feet pattering against the concrete brung an alarm to his ears, not just the siren of the ambulance growing closer. The walls were painted with the color red. A dark alley’s shadow hid his figure from the red automobiles and out of sight of the growing crowd near the entrance. Buildings towered overhead and reached to the sky, the brick molding of the walls a familiar color. The walls were painted with the color red. The feeling of alarm from the ones who saw passed the hide of the shadow and to the bloody knife in his palm, painted in bright red. The walls were painted the color red. He was painted the color red.
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FaAmliylGyriVbnst
My niece, Nicole, is coming to visit. I spent the whole day thinking about her as I tidied up my house. I straightened the paintings, which had somehow come askew, and as I did, I couldn’t help but hope Nicole likes all my new ones. She loves watching me paint, and sometimes I set aside a small canvas and some cheaper paints for her to create something along with me. I went out and bought some more yesterday in case she wants to do it again. She won’t be alone, as she’s still too young to take an airplane on her own. I couldn’t care less about my brother, who will likely scorn everything about me. He judges everything I do, and he always has Our parents always said he was just being a good brother by worrying about me, but all it ever did was make me want to do the opposite of what he told me to do. But that doesn’t matter. I can ignore all this dread because I’m more excited to see Nicole, who thinks I’m the coolest aunt to ever walk the earth. The day she was born was the best day of my life. I booked a flight down to Georgia as soon as I heard the news that Maureen had gone into labor. There’s video, somewhere, of me holding Nicole for the first time. I cried like a baby. I think my brother filmed it. I’m sure he laughs at it when he needs a picker-upper. I’m so lost in my thoughts that I barely register the doorbell ringing until it rings a second, then a third time. I hurry into the front room and throw open the door. My brother and Maureen are standing on my porch, wide grins on their faces. “Sarah! Maureen exclaims. She pulls me in for a hug and I hug her back. My brother simply claps a hand on my back, as if he’s too good to hug someone like me. My gaze moves downward, looking for a short little girl whose cheeks I love to pinch, but she’s not there. She must be grabbing her things from the van. She’s big enough to grab her own things on her own! I’m so proud of her. My brother pushes his way inside, with Maureen tailing behind him. “I love what you’ve done with the place!” Ugh, there it is. The harsh criticism of my every choice in life. It may seem nice on the outside, but I know better. I know what he’s really thinking; the real message behind his words. It’s good, just not good enough. He moves across the foyer and touches the frame of one of my paintings. “Is this new?”
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“Yes,” I say carefully, a practiced smile on my face. “I’m very proud of it.” “Oh my!” Maureen grins as she peeks over my brother’s shoulder to admire my painting. “I love how expressive it is!” I can’t help but genuinely smile. While my brother may be full of lies, Maureen is always honest, and she has an eye for art. As I move to close the front door, I glance out to the van, but no one else is coming out. It’s empty, and dthere’s no little pink bag in my brother’s hands, either.“Where’s Nicole?” Maureen’s face falls. My brother’s shoulders slump.“Sarah-” My heart skips a beat. “Did you forget to bring her again?” I shout. Maureen places a soft hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, she’s at summer camp. It’s very important to her, so we didn’t want to pull her out of it.” “You could have told me that,” I huff. “I would have rescheduled your flights myself.” “We didn’t want to bother you. She said she loves you, though.” My brother’s face twitches. He pulls Maureen away roughly. Are you serious?”Maureen hushes him. “Just let it go, Arthur.” “I’m not gonna let this keep going. It’s not healthy.” He wheels from Maureen back towards me. “Sarah, do you even remember what happened to Nicole? The trip to the Bahamas?” That sets off a lightbulb in my head. “Oh, yes! I remember that. That was so much fun.” My brother had finally bothered to invite me on one of his little family vacations. The best part was when we took Nicole out to the beach to give Maureen some peace and quiet. Nicole was wearing that pink swimsuit with the ruffles that I bought for her at the store a few days prior. I was never a fan of playing in the water, but it was fun enough to watch Nicole splash around on her own. “Arthur, don’t-” “I can’t keep doing this!” my brother shouts at Maureen. “I can’t keep acting like she’s alive every time we come here!” “What do you mean?” I ask. “She’s not dead!”
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There are tears in my brother’s eyes. “You were there! We were both there when it happened!” “Why do you always lie?” I shout back. If he gets to be angry, so do I. “Nothing happened! Why are you lying?” “I’m not lying to you! She’s gone!” “Stop lying!” I can’t handle this. Anger and sorrow mix in my gut. Something I don’t recognize flashes in my mind, but I block it out. It hurts too much. Before I know it I’m on the ground. I hate when my brother does this—lying to me! As if I’m some kind of idiot! I’m not a child who will listen to anything he says anymore.
CAVING IN| CELESTE COFFEY
Then, there’s comfort. A warm, soft hand on my shoulder that rubs my back in slow, calming circles. Maureen's soft voice rings in my ear: It's okay, it's okay."
My cheeks are wet somehow, and I wipe them roughly with my sleeve. My throat hurts like I had been screaming, but I definitely wasn’t doing that. I try to calm my breathing, slower, slower, slower, in time with Maureen’s words of comfort. I can barely choke out my words. “I’m- I’m-” There’s a sniffle as my brother speaks. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I… I didn’t mean to yell.” I bite my lip. Of course he meant to yell. He loves yelling for no reason. “I’m just so mad you didn’t bring her,” I whisper, because that’s all I can manage. “I miss her so much. She’s so sweet. I just want to see her.” “I know you do. We’ll bring her next time,” Maureen assures me. “She will be so excited to see you.” Page 79
WhAenryaSatewayrou?
Where are you? It’s innocent, a child playing hide and seek. Where are you? It’s confusion, a wife trying to find her husband. Loneliness, a student texting her friends at lunch. Panic, a mother searching for her young child. Where are you? Terrifying, a murderer creeping around, his whispers echoing through the house. Where are you? are you? you?
DARKEST OF NIGHTS| ANDRE JABLONOWSKI
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AByAdrianndRyodriguez
I remembered the day when I was told I got the job of a babysitter by neighbors. At the time I was living with my little sister, Punera- we lived alone together, and she was about eight-years-old at the time. When I got the job of the babysitter, I was really thrilled. At night I would always hear howls and growls of a dog from their house, and when they told me I’d be babysitting and keeping the house clean for them, I got excited since I’ve never seen their dog before. But when the day came for me to watch over their house and dog, they just gave me an antique leather brown notebook with the name ‘Andy’ carved on it. I tried to ask them about it, but they quickly avoided my questions and told me that they would be back by Saturday. Before they left they handed me a copy of their house key to me. I watched them leave on their car leave. I was obviously confused. That same morning, I got Punera to pack some clothes, a toothbrush, a towel, and a toy or two. I too packed some of my things so we could stay over at the neighbors’ house. We then walked over to the neighbors’ house, it was just next door. Their house was pretty big. It seemed like a three-story house, and it had a straightforward. There was a lovely blue porch that leads to the front door. The house looked really old but it was really well kept and looked after. The house looked a light yellow on some of its outer wooden planks. Punera and I went into the house somewhat hesitant. There was something off with all the quietness of the house. We used the key that the neighbors had given to us and then we opened the front door and walked inside. The inside of the house was filled with antiques and with old lady laces all over the place. It looked really nice; it reminded me of my grandmother’s own house, always filled with old stuff from her own generation. The stairs were not too far from the front door. I passed my sister my bags and told her to take them upstairs, as I would be making dinner and reading the journal that possibly had the information about the dog. She nodded and rushed upstairs with her feet thudding harshly with every step she climbed with the bags. I carefully watched go upstairs just to make sure she didn’t fall or lose her footing. As soon as she was out of sight, I went to the living room. The living room had a nice rug and three fluffy white couches with laces and surrounded the fireplace which had knick-knacks on it. I scurried to the middle couch and plopped myself on it as I let out an exhausted sigh as I opened the leather journal. I began to read the first entry:
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Andy is quite shy when it comes to visitors Try to show him everything is okay by being in the office upstairs, Try to keep him polished and satisfied He tends to be more active as each day passes But don’t make him mad. Put him back in the case The next page is when. I tilted my head at this, it was really odd, and the only piece of information I gotten is that he gets active every day and...that he might be in the house’s office. There was no scheduling or what this dog preferably wants. I sighed again and flipped the page to the next entry. It was a bit incomprehensible. “Let him out during the day but at 7:00 he shall be put away.” I read out loud as I was able to miraculously make out the words. tilted my head at that as I lowered the book hearing a subtle noise of giggling from upstairs. It sounded like Punera...but there was someone else upstairs from what I heard. My heart dropped to my stomach and I dashed upstairs to the room my sister was in. I busted the door open the door in a panic…there she was… my sister giggling as she looked over with a string puppet cowboy, who smiled at me with the purest intentions. “Howdy! I’m Andy!” The puppet greeted me with its happy blue eyes- and the gentles and friendliest tones. He had a round head with an oval spherical body… if that’s even a word. Strings connected to his limbs and yet nothing held him up as he moved on his own. He had a cowboy attire to fit the way he spoke. “Yuh-You’re Andy…” I repeated as I stuttered, I processed everything and began to scream at the creature in fear as I pulled my sister away from the- the- the thing!!! Punera squirmed in my arms annoyed, “Qurban! He’s a really nice puppet! Look at him, Que!” she cried out at me as I looked back at Andy.
He sadly waved at me, I felt a bit of guilt at treating him like that. He wasn’t harming anyone- he was pleasing my sister with laughter before I barged in and yanked her away. I sighed and slowly let my sister out of my protective embrace. She quickly ran over to Andy, and then looked back at me.
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COULROPHOBIA| BARBARA FIGUEREDO
“Que! Can Andy have dinner with us?” Punera asked me with a begging tone. I sighed once again as I looked at Andy again- I couldn’t help but feel that something was wrongs… I was getting bad vibes… but he didn’t seem like he could hurt anybody with his size. “I mean he lives here, Nera…” I said to her as her eyes lit up with excitement and began to cheer as Andy did a cowboy laugh. I stirred the pot with asparagus soup – it's Punera’s favorite. I looked back at the dining room where Punera was chatting away with Andy. She seemed really happy, which made me smile a little. I grabbed the soup spoon and the bowls as I poured a serving into the bowls. I then walked over to the dining room with the bowls. I placed them on the table in front of them. Nera beamed at the sight of her favorite dish and began to chow down. I chuckled lightly as I took a sip of my soup as my eyes fell on Andy.
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Andy was just sitting on a booster made out of books, he stared down at the soup seemingly not hungry. Why would string puppets want to eat anyway? I still felt huge suspicion at the bottom of my stomach. “Andy...Are you gonna eat?” I hesitantly asked as he looked at me with the same smile. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, missy,” he said with the bright smile as he waved me off. “Okay then…” I quietly replied. The clocks began to ring and ching, then chong, and buzz, and coo-coo! It was just a mess of noises. Then the lights flicked on and off then it stayed pitch back causing my sister to scream my name in fear. “Nera! It’s okay! It’s just an outage.” I reassured her as I got up and turn my phone’s flashlight on. “I’ll go out to check the electric grid, stay with Andy, okay?” I told her once again as she nodded at me. I got up and went down to the front door, there was a small panel on the wall made of metal. I tugged it open and shun my phone’s light on the grid. Nothing seemed to be wrong, I flickered some of the switches to see if anything different happened… but nothing. I sighed exasperatedly as I gasped at feeling my sister’s familiar hugs on my legs. Punera, what are you doing here?” I asked her a bit startled. “I don’t like how Andy is looking at me…” My stomach dropped at her words as I shone my flashlight over to the dining table. There it was...Andy. He wasn’t small anymore, he was the size of a grown man...he was featureless except for two black beads that replaced his friendly blue eyes. His head was rounder and inhumane. He was still like the lifeless puppet he was supposed to be. His jaw creepily moved as a deep growl came from him. It was not was nothing that I have heard of before. My hands shook. He then suddenly took a leap towards us, I quickly responded by picking up my sister and running out of the front door and ran as fast as I could as my sister and screamed for our lives running blindly into the pitch black of the night. I came to see my neighbors’ car, they must’ve forgotten something, but as soon as they saw us, and it, their faces filled with horror. It was 7:05pm
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HapSilaymEiyvReursAelft
Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Nathaniel who loved to stay indoors reading about the wondrous adventures of his favorite character, Jack from Jack and the Beanstalk. He found escape and comfort in the story, even more so than his own life. One day whilst he was reading, he began to drift asleep. When he woke up he found himself in the very book he was reading. Woah! Is this a dream or is it actually happening? This is so realistic! Maybe Jack is around. A sudden rumble from the distance grew closer as his world literally flipped upside down. He saw the outskirted plains and townhouses fold on themselves and a page number illuminate itself in the sky, whisking him to a new scenery with different townhouses and a new street altogether. Page 8. Then that means Jack is already up there talking to what was it...the Tall woman. I guess I just missed him, well I’ll just wait till he climbs down and kills the giant. Nathaniel continued to wander through the houses, noticing the lack of townspeople for those houses. He had a sick feeling growing inside him, but it was washed away by the sight of a familiar looking house. He had found himself outside of the farmhouse Jack described in the book. There was no mistaking it; Nathaniel knew it was the one based on the pictures in his storybook and the fact that a beanstalk growing in the back. The sheer magnitude was too much for him to fathom and took his breath away. Taller than any skyscraper he had seen, the clouds didn't reach the top. He hurriedly went to the front door and was about knock hoping to see Jack’s mother when something occurred to him. What if me talking to him affects the story’s plot? I remember reading about the butterfly effect, I don’t think I’m ready to deal with that just yet. He thought. I’ll just sit quietly in the bushes and observe the story, that way I can see the events unfold in front of my eyes. Nathaniel concluded this to be the best option and slowly backed away from the door and looks for a bush to perch in for the time being until his hero arrives. He finds himself a nice cover from down the street and waits to see a boy flying down the stalk with a massive giant on his trail, but for hours nothing seemed to happen. Night soon rolled in but nothing happened still. Nathaniel grew impatient and exited the bush and began to annoyingly stomp towards the beanstalk, no longer caring to preserve the story’s plot.
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“What the actual heck. I have waited and waited but he still isn’t here? Can’t the page turn already? Get to the ending already! I don’t care anymore I just want to leave, I won’t even matter if Jack is falling out the sky just do something please!” Nathaniel shouted with bitterness as he proceeded to kick the beanstalk out of spite. As if on cue a piercing scream erupts in the air, causing Nathaniel to fall to the ground and shield his ears with his hands. He stumbles to get up as the scream gets even louder and runs away from the beanstalk. Nathaniel slowly stops however when he notices a small shadow directly in front of him. The size of it grew with each passing second, drawing him to nervously look up into the sky just in time to see a tear-filled Jack scream hysterically as he plummeted towards the Earth, crushing them both in the impact. “Gah!” Nathaniel screamed as he sprung alive in a cold sweat. He made a drastic look at his surroundings to find himself back in his reading corner in his house, relieved that it was all a dream. With bliss, Nathaniel stands up ready to go greet his parents with a new-found enjoyment of life as he hears his parent’s car in the driveway when he suddenly feels resistance to his ankle. He looks down and sees Jack from his supposed dream covered in blood grabbing his ankle through the very book pages he dreamt about. Jack looks up at Nathaniel with a sort of demonic grin and begins to drag Nathaniel back into the book with a force unlike any other, digging his broken and bloodied nails deeper into Nathaniel’s skin. "I saw you. I saw you! You did this to me! You did this to us. I would have made it down, I’ve always made it down. But you kicked the stalk and made me tumble down, down, down...and then splat. Now that’s how the story must go.” Jack hoarsely shouted rapidly as he clung now both of his hands around Nathaniel’s leg as he heaved him into the book as hard as he could. "No please I don't want to anymore! I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry! Someone Help M-!" Nathaniel whimpered as he was dragged back into the book, immediately cutting off his last cry just as his parents walked through the door. “Did you hear something honey? Huh...I thought I heard a scream. Probably just one of those movies Nathaniel loves to watch. Though I do hope he doesn’t have another bad dream." The mother declared to herself as she grabbed the Jack and the Beanstalk book from the reading corner into the shelf and went to prepare dinner, without even batting an eye.
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Lilac smiled widely at her sister as she rushed to their favorite clearing in the woods. It was a sunny day, not a cloud in the sky. A cool breeze rushed through the air blowing her long carmel locks into her face. She laughed and brushed the hair back. Then turned to her sister. “Come on Ilia!” she exclaimed, gesturing for her sister to hurry up. Ilia gave her a deadpan look. “You know I’m not as fast as you, plus I’ve got the bag.” Although they were twins, they happened to be fraternal twins,so they maintained some differences, such as eye color and hair type. Lilac had brown eyes and straight brown hair, while Ilia had curly brown hair and blue eyes. Ilia pushed up her red glasses- Lilac thought they looked gaudy, but Ilia loved them. The two twelve year olds- that’s wrong, the two sixteen year olds- approached the clearing cheerfully chattering all the way. Soon they arrived at the clearing, a cozy place that Ilia and Lilac had decided to call their own after having found it a few years prior. It wasn’t deep in the woods beside their house and it had a small river passing through it. There were even rocks to sit on if they wanted to dip their feet. All in all, the clearing looked as if it’d been taken directly from a story book. Llia put the bag down with a relieved sigh, then collapsed onto the ground. “So, what do you want to do?” She asked her sister. “Why did you insist we go to the clearing?” “I wanted to tell you that…” She started patting her legs imitating a drumroll, “I made the team!” “Congratulations! I knew you could do it!” Ilia offered her sister a high five to which the other happily accepted. “Tennis starts next week on Monday, so I thought we wouldn’t have the time for our picnics once it started. Speaking of which, pull out the goods. I want some of your delicious brownies.” “They’re not just my brownies, you helped too.” Ilia said with an eye roll, but she had an amused smile and took out a plastic bag of brownies anyway. “They’re your recipe though.” Lilac replied pointedly. She happily snatched a brownie stuffing it into her mouth without hesitation. She then stood up and reopened the backpack. She pulled out a blanket and set it nicely on the floor. Ilia moved the backpack on top of the blanket then sat down as well.” “Do you think we’ll always be like this?” Ilia asked, staring wistfully at the clouds above them. "What do you mean?" Page 87
“So close. Like we do everything together except tennis and that’s only because I’m not as athletic as you are. We always come to the clearing and talk about our day like it’s nothing, but when mom asks it’s like we have nothing to say. I just feel as if we never run out of things to talk about or do together and I want to know if that will last. “Of course it will! We’re siblings!” “But mom and Uncle Rich aren’t close and they’re siblings too.” Ilia pointed out. “Do you think we’ll drift apart like they did?” “Nah, we’re too close for that. We’ll always be together. I promise.” “You can’t promise that.” Ilia murmured, “Hey, what time is it anyways?” Lilac looked at her watch, but the hands seemed not to be moving. However, they were jumping to different times and it was impossible to tell. “I… I don’t know.” She said. Something felt off. It felt wrong. She shook her head clearing the thoughts. She just wanted to enjoy the moment with her sister. She gazed over at the river hoping to see fish like they always did, but there was none. Lilac stood up and walked to the river setting herself down on a rock then peering in. There were still no fish, and the water looked off. It didn’t catch on the rocks like it normally did. Lilac heard footsteps approach, she turned around to see Ilia smiling like normal. Lilac didn’t know what it was, but something was wrong. “Aw, looks like there’s no fish today, that’s odd.” Ilia voiced. She then turned back around and began packing up their stuff, hadn’t they just gotten there? Lilac looked up, the sun was beginning to set. It must’ve been hours since they arrived. Lilac shook her head to clear the confusion. “Let’s get going.” She voiced. Llia gave her a confused look, “I can’t leave yet.” “Why not?” “This is where I belong. It’s not time for me to go, It’s time for you to go.” Lilac woke up in a cold sweat, she felt her cheeks to see they were wet. Had she been crying? She tried to think back to her dream and finally a puzzle piece set in. She choked back a sob as she looked at the bed beside her. The bed that had been empty for four years still dressed in a blue comforter with red pillows. She looked to the night table beside it and saw the red glasses still laying there collecting dust. Lilac finally let the tears pour. Page 88
It’d been four years. Four years without her sister. Four years on her own. Four years of intense therapy. Only to have herself be mocked by a dream. Why did it take her back to that place? Why the clearing? Lilac looked at the clock on her own nightstand to see it was 9:30 AM. She took a deep breath and got dressed, she figured it was time for some closure. She dressed herself in a blue sweater with black leggings and picked up a backpack stuffing it with some brownies she’d made the night before. Ilia’s recipe. “I’m going out mom!” She called as she opened the front door. She heard her mother respond, but couldn’t make out the words so she just went along. She reached the small path in the woods as she pushed away branches; the path was worn out with some grassy patches finally emerging. She followed it along until she reached a small clearing, with a little river. She wanted to cry, she wanted to smile. This place held so many amazing memories, but it also held the worst one yet. She approached the river, a scream coming straight from her memory. She shook her head, something she’d been doing a lot lately.The sixteen year old sat down on a rock and pulled the backpack to her front, pulling out some bread to feed the fish that swam along, ignorant to the turmoil going on inside Lilac’s head. She took a deep breath and allowed herself to smile lightly, trying to remember only the good times here. However, being so close to the river wasn’t helping. She could only imagine the time Ilia fell in.
BIG EYES | ALEXIS WYATT
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IlusGiownenrvrtuManynelrdchk “Light at the end of the tunnel” That was the plan We were in it together, Together, hand-in-hand
Then your hands turned to fire And third-degree burns were all i knew I’ve never been quite the crier That all changed after i met you You became my tunnel My dark, scorching tunnel When you were supposed to be the light at the end of it all
CALL FROM BEYOND |ARMANI GARCIA
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Everytime Miss laughs I don’t seem to understand it. I don’t understand emotions, they are all a fuzzy haze. They are only used to create memories which in turn are only information, data. It seems that when Miss laughs she is happy, but then she cries. I thought tears were a sign of discontent. Where one is hurt, sad, or...broken. It is then she says “I’m happy Antony Ivey.” Apparently Miss said that ‘crying’ can be used to express many ways. “Miss Ivey?” “Yes Antony?” “How can I understand emotions?” “I don’t think it’s something I can explain.” “How can emotions exist if they can’t be explained?” “I ask the same thing about mankind Antony.” It was then that she burst into laughter. I never attempt to make a joke for humor is subjective, yet she still laughs at my word choice. “Is happiness non-linear?” “What do you mean Antony?” Miss was pouring some chemicals into a flask, focusing on a new formula. So this is concentration, it seems very intense. “With happiness, sometimes it seems very sad, or very frightening.” Miss only chuckled, “Is it because I’m a Robot Anthony, You see it’s different with robots, for they are created differently.
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They are able to be programmed with emotions, they are able to interpret different scenarios to calculate the different emotions to use. With humans they have a beating heart, and sometimes those hearts can only paint half of the picture.” “Half the picture?”
“It’s alright Antony” Miss extended her iron hand to me rubbing my shoulder gently. “Will I ever understand what it’s like to be a robot?”
“Maybe, it won’t matter anyway, I like explaining the Robotic World to you, I like the look of marvel you give everytime.” “Really?”
“Yeah, emotions aren’t all what they are cracked up to be anyway,”
The warm sun rays shined past the cool clouds, And birds flying where they pleased. Tall grass casted shadows to let the fungi overcrowd, And cool springs that’d go up to your knees. Oh, no more honey making bees. The trees are all burned down, The air is filled with toxic gas. Today’s children will sit with a frown, Because they know this will take years to pass. The destruction’s as far as you can see. Now we must reap what we sow And fix what we have while there’s time Cause there’s no other place we can go Now that the Earth isn’t sublime Oh, how I miss the memories
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Nobody in the town really knew how long the tree had been there, only that it always had been. Its gnarled roots created deep gashes in the black dirt around its base, much like puckered wounds. Its massive trunk was covered with crooked pieces of half-broken bark, rotting and decaying. Its branches were twisted and looming, the leaves on them creating an ever-present shadow around the base of the tree. The great oak stood alone in the middle of a meadow, and that meadow stood in the middle of a little town. The surrounding buildings of the town were brick, with walls covered in ivy and small yellow flowers. Each house seemed to smile down at the townspeople, full of light and joy. Everything about the place was perfect. Everything, that is, except for the tree. It was despised among the townspeople, and yet they refused to remove it out of fear of what could happen, so it stayed, like a hideous beast, in the very heart of town. “Sophie, dear! Where are you?” Sophie jolted up from her chair, positioned directly next to her bedroom window. She had been sitting there, daydreaming, for a longer time than she had expected. “Sorry, Mother!” she called. She took one last long glance out of her window. The tree, which she had been gazing at for hours, seemed to stare back at her stoically. She finally broke her gaze, turning over her shoulder and leaving her bedroom. She walked into the kitchen, where her mother was cooking eggs over the burning stove. Her mother smiled at Sophie when she walked in. “Ah, there you are, darling. You’re late for breakfast! Is something wrong?” “No,” Sophie answered hurriedly, but the image of the tree still burned into her mind. “Nothing’s wrong at all.” “Alright, then,” her mother answered, still looking at Sophie as though she didn’t quite believe her. She scooped the cooked eggs onto a plate and handed them to her daughter, who sat down at their wooden table. “Eat up. When you’re finished, I need you to go down to the marketplace and get us some food for the week.”
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Sophie nodded obediently, although she wasn’t really even hearing what her mother was telling her. Her mind was far away, imagining herself approaching the tree, its gnarled limbs extending in her direction… “...and you remember where the market is, right dear?” Sophie nodded once more. Although they had only just moved into the town a few days ago, Sophie had done enough exploring that she knew where almost everything was. It was a small town, after all, there wasn’t much to explore in the first place. She finished her eggs and handed her mother the plate. “Okay, I’ll head out now!” she said, opening the door of their house. “I’ll see you later.” As Sophie’s shoes clicked against the cobblestone pavement, her mind drifted off, daydreams again. All of her current thoughts always managed to circle back to one thing- the ginormous oak tree, standing all alone in the meadow. Not even the cheerful pink and yellow flowers, which seemed to be living everywhere inside the town, dared to bloom anywhere near the tree. But while everyone else seemed to abhor the hideous plant, Sophie had been drawn to it ever since they had moved in. She found it somewhat beautiful, in its own kind of dark and twisted way. The tree remained in her thoughts as she reached the market a few minutes later, but was soon replaced with the thought of food. The marketplace was bustling with people at this time in the morning, everyone pushing through the crowd desperately to visit each booth. Sophie wandered for a while, allowing herself to get lost in the rich scents of cheese, meat, and bread. The gold coins that once jingled in her small coin bag were quickly given away, her basket now full to the brim with food. Once Sophie was finished with her errand, she left to go back to her home, satisfied with the purchases that she had made. Her house was soon in eyesight, and just past it, she could see the tree. Her feet seemed to carry her on their own accord, and she found herself standing with her toes nearly touching the grass of the tree’s isolated meadow. Inexplicably, she felt pulled to the great oak. She was overcome with the desire to touch the tree, stronger than any want she had ever experienced. She took a tentative step onto the untouched, unkempt grass, terrified that something would happen to her the second she entered the meadow. Sophie wandered for a while, allowing herself to get lost in the rich scents of cheese, meat, and bread. The gold coins that once jingled in her small coin bag were quickly given away, her basket now full to the brim with food.
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Once Sophie was finished with her errand, she left to go back to her home, satisfied with the purchases that she had made. Her house was soon in eyesight, and just past it, she could see the tree. Her feet seemed to carry her on their own accord, and she found herself standing with her toes nearly touching the grass of the tree’s isolated meadow. Inexplicably, she felt pulled to the great oak. She was overcome with the desire to touch the tree, stronger than any want she had ever experienced. She took a tentative step onto the untouched, unkempt grass, terrified that something would happen to her the second she entered the meadow. Nothing. Sophie unclenched her fists and looked at her feet. Her pointed black shoes looked no different from a second ago. She took a deep breath and took another step, then another, and another after that. She broke into a jog, still feeling none of the effects that she was paranoid would occur. She was now only feet away from the looming tree, so she ran faster, eager to finally understand exactly what everyone was so afraid of. Sophie came to a halt, almost tripping over one of the massive roots that carved the ground. She paused for a moment, panting slightly due to the heat of the day. The tree was close enough to touch, so she did. She extended out her arm and felt her fingertips brush against the harsh bark. She could feel the rot underneath her fingernails, but for some reason, she wasn’t repulsed. All of a sudden, the feeling of unease filled Sophie. She was now aware of how dark it had become under the thick canopy of leaves dangling off of the tree’s branches. She was terrified, for a reason she didn’t yet know. She tried to back away, but her finger wouldn’t budge from the tree’s surface. Crying out, she desperately tried to move, but her finger felt fused to the tree. She stood and watched in horror as she was pulled closer to the tree, her entire finger being swallowed up, then her hand, then her forearm. She sobbed and screamed, but the tree’s branched surrounded her, leaving her pleas unheard. In a matter of seconds, the tree had swallowed her entirely. Her body was outlined in the bark, her mouth frozen forever in a scream. Back in the town, the people continued on with their daily activities. Not one ear heard the last cries of Sophie as she disappeared. Nobody would ever see her again. Her body would remain exactly where it was, engraved in the bark, for endless years to come.
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LET ER F OM THE STAF
Little did we know when we chose the "Twisted" theme in the Fall of 2019, that Coronavirus would twist our high school experience in unpredictable ways. Our staff was presented with a new set of challenges. Our editors adapted by communicating and collaborating online exclusively. Through our countless hours of work, this year's magazine staff created a product we are proud of. The pieces featured in this magazine show different ways that the word “Twisted� can be interpreted. We took full advantage of our digital format to showcase over fifty pieces of art and writing from Timber Creek students. Thank you to our editors and their hard work, and to Mrs. Dobson for being our mentor and ensuring the success of this endeavor. Thank you as well to you for reading this magazine. It is because of you that these efforts pay off.
Advisor:
2020 FLOW STAFF
Kim Dobson
Editors-in-Chief: Hayley Colon & Amantia Menalla
Prose Editors: Alannis del Valle Berrios, Luz Garcia, & Scott Pongnon
Poetry Editors: Sheridan Mootoo & Lauren Omar
Art Editors: Aurea Jimenez, Hareema Noor, River Wyatt, & Michelle Zhang
Design Consultant: Karina Ali Rodriguez-Toledo
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