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Table of Page , Title, Creator, Medium Front cover, The Descent, Olivia Yao, Photography 1-3,Table of Contents 4, Blocked Light, Nora Mahgoub, Poetry 5, Flash in a Pan, Benjamin Smith, Photography 6, The Dark Light, Bianca Alonso Cardona, Poetry 7, Dust to Dust, Grace Eckhardt, Drawing 8, Shadows, Nathan Charland, Prose 9, Isolation, Michelle Zheng, Photography 10,-13 My Identities, Haley Colon, Creative Non-fiction 14, Beauty Amidst the Darkness, Odalys Esparza, Poetry 15, Light Above, Debora Sosa-Gomez, Photography 16, War Within, Ariana O’Brien, Poetry 17, Take the Swing, Bradley Ponder, Digital Art 18, I am the Dark, Helena Pongnon, Poetry 19, Evil Alter, Jazmin Marc, Photography
20, Intro to Evil(And My Failed Attempt to Escape Her), Alex Erin, Poetry 21, Untited, Kori Rankin 22, Therapy Sessions, Sophia Orth, Prose 23, Untitled, Kori Rankin, Photography 24, The What Ifs, Jazmin Marc, Creative Non-Fiction 25, Untitled, Kori Rankin, Photography 2
Contents Page , Title, Creator, Medium 26, Titi Maria, Jazmin Marc, Creative Non-Fiction 27, Flower, Xavier Cubas, Photography 28, Darkness Awaits, Matthieu Benson, Photography
29, The Monster Inside of Me, Nayanika Owens, Prose 30-33. Limbo, Shuler Cobble, Prose 34-35. It Doesn’t Always End Like This, Natasha Castrillo, Poetry 36-37. They Came From Below, James King, Prose 38-39. Atmósfaira, River Wyatt 40-41. Good vs Evil, Odalys Esparza, Poetry 42, I Was Walking…, Darla Kammerzell, Poetry 43, Mourning Sun, Olivia Yao, Photography 44. Red Silences, Jordan Evans, Prose 45. Needle Mouth, Andrew Ehalt, Photography 46, By The Waters, Dominique Dominicci, Prose 47, The Lightness of Dark, Devin Mattessich, Photography 48-49, The Book Store, Ray Goodson, Prose 50. The Endless Hunt,, Amy VanValkenburgh, Prose 51, Gloves, Andrew Ehalt, Photography 52. Solace of a Different Kind, Savannah Leahy, Poetry 53, Contrasting Lights, Israel Monzon, Photography 54, Staff List 55, Letter from the Editors
*Denotes best in category 3
Blocked Light Nora Mahgoub People would think that I was your sister And how I wished it to be true Instead, you rejected me like a blister You got from a new pair of shoes.
Your name meant ‘One who shines like the brilliant sun’ And that is who I thought you were My Brilliant Sun The one who I revolved my life around. I had looked up to you I wanted to remake myself in your image Wanted to imitate you, Dark spots and all. But instead, you withdrew Eventually disappearing from my view And I did not know what to do With the hole left by you. So I remade myself Not in the image of you But of something better, Something new.
I filled the dark hole that you left With my own brilliant light And remade myself without any theft. I became me For the whole world to see. Even though you cause me damage I still write to you this homage Because if it wasn’t for you I would not have realized the light that you blocked. 4
Flash in a pan Benjamin Smith 5
The Dark Light Bianca Alonso Cardona Many fear the darkness that I bring. Even the most honorable men, Dare not speak my name-But when the candle is lit, It burns until it can't anymore. Many don't see the peace within me. Instead all that is seen is the unknown, the heart turning to stone, and bodies buried so deep that screams of salvation are not to be heard. I put anxious minds to rest, I bring trampled bodies peace, I bring souls together, I lead the lost to the light that is tranquility. I, give life a reason worth living. I am the light inside the tunnel. The gatekeeper to a new world. The end to a new beginning. For those who I call, I am Eternal rest.
Dust to Dust Grace Eckhardt 6
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Shadows Nathan Charland Shawn strutted down the busy sidewalk, his head held high. There was an air of passionate arrogance in his bright blue eyes, and his posture emphasized his proud physique. Although he was no taller than your average twenty-year-old, he towered high above the crowd in the eyes of other passerby. As a result, the crowd seemed to flow around him, a bubble of clear space in his direct vicinity in order to avoid any potential contact. However, the young man seemed completely unphased by the subtle commotion brought by his presence and continued forward, brisk and hasty. The sun shined bright in the sky, it’s midday beams wrapping around the man, illuminating his features in an almost god-like fashion. His short golden locks seemed to shimmer like a diamond in the faint ocean breeze. To any normal person, Shawn would have borne resemblance to some type of mythological hero, gracing the world with his very presence. But to Alice, the short brunette following close behind him, something was very apparent. Shawn’s figure cast a dark shadow onto the pavement on which she stood. On such a sunny day, such a phenomenon was only expected, but Alice remained anxious. Staring at the ground as she walked, the darkness seemed to lick at her shoes, threatening to suck her into some inescapable abyss at any moment. The very sight of it seemed to consume her, engulfing her mind and filling it with morbid fantasies of her own downfall. She shook her head vigorously, attempting to forget it. Glancing upwards, Shawn had progressed far ahead, strolling without any regard to her presence. Panicked, Alice dashed to keep up, frantically trying to reach him. But the swirl of the crowd had overtaken her, forming an unbreakable wall of bodies. Breathing heavily, Alice attempted to squeeze her way in between the people, tightly gripping her bag to make sure it wasn’t snatched away in the commotion. By the time she had struggled through and broken free of the tangled mass of humans, Shawn was nowhere to be found. Alice sighed, continuing to walk forward. She was relieved, yet still nervous. The subtle pressure of his presence was alleviated, but there was always an air of uncertainty without him around. She knew exactly where he would be waiting though, so she hastened, her strides lengthening as she turned a corner onto a side street. There he was once more, cast in the shadow of a large oak tree. For a moment, Alice thought she should turn and head in the other direction. But she was stuck, her trajectory irrefutable. The only thing she could do was keep walking, so she reluctantly abided. Shawn glanced up and gave a sly smile, her timid footsteps letting him know it was her before he could even see. He took a step forward out of the shade of the large tree, but the sense of darkness seemed to follow him, lingering. “Come on Ali, it’s just in here,” he said, gesturing her forward and climbing up the steps of the building. “I’ll have to fire you on your first day if you don’t learn how to pick up the pace.” 8
Michelle Zheng
Isolation
But Alice didn’t follow. A welling sense of anger had begun to build within her. It was a feeling she wasn’t used to, but it was one she accepted immediately. “I changed my mind. I’m going home,” she firmly stated, turning around. But she knew that those blue eyes were already piercing into her back. “What do you mean?” Shawn asked, a hint of ferocity in his voice as he walked back down the marble white steps. “I already saved a position for you, it’ll cost me if you refuse. You said you needed a job.” Tears welling in her eyes, Alice looked over her shoulder at him. “It’s about time I become my own person Shawn. I can’t be your obedient little sister forever!” She shouted, clenching her eyes shut, refusing to cry. “It’s about time I do something without you telling me exactly what first.” And with that, she walked away, not looking back once. With every step of her feet, the shadow she lurked in faded away, and by the time she had returned to the busy sidewalk, she was the one now cloaked in the golden light of the sun.
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My Identities Hayley Colon I write on my paper, willing to give pieces of myself in every word. Every character I write being a version of me. The kind, youthful, and brave. I see them, as I look through a hall of different mirrors that I own; the real me is someone short, shy, and a little sarcastic. The other me, the one I envision, has really short hair, her eyes a lighter hazel, full with dark little flecks from the pain she hides. The pain that was exaggerated to reflect some of my own. “Hi”, I wave with a small hand, scared that she won’t like me. All she does is stare with an emotionless face. She’s the part of me kept hidden. The tall, selfless, role model. She is selfless despite her pain, for others, she is everything they need her to be. I wondered if she wanted to be like me. I wondered if one day she could be less guarded, to show that I don’t always have to show a smile. That maybe one day, I could be like her instead of spilling too much when I get emotional. Four and I are total opposites; I guess it was because I had the choice to become joyful and energetic. She had to harden her soul and her heart in order to help those around her. Instead of smiling, or getting the joys of optimism, she became a guarded realist. I guess you could say I was her past; I remember when I was in 5th grade that this was me. I used to feel like I was supposed to think of everyone but me, and that left me being really guarded, and disconnected to the world around me. I stopped thinking and acting this way as I grew older. I just hope with this character that she has a brighter future, one where she doesn’t have to be so unhappy. This girl goes by the name of Four; it’s her ‘hero’ name, she is my go-to selfless heroine that no one truly understands.
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In the next mirror that was across from Fours mirror stands Daphne. Daphne is the opposite of Four; however, she is still a hero. Whereas Four is a little unsocial and selfless, Daphne isn’t afraid to do things for herself, or be the life of the party. Daphne is the part of me that keeps me from being too serious, but I don’t let her out as often as I should. She’s a flaunter and a fighter. Daphne is the most feisty, sassy, and daring part there is to me. It’s why it was so hard to write about her at first, it was a truth about me I didn’t know I had until I started writing about her. She’s short like me, but she’s powerful. She’s never let anything affect her negatively. She never needed to change in order to feel self-confident. Whenever she has her mind set on something, there is no changing it. I then turn to her mirror. In this one, I know that I’m a speck of dust when I’m compared to her. She’s already smirking at me, her flare already challenging everything in the room. She stands, not caring who’s looking, but at the same time she dares anyone and everyone to envy her. Daphne and Four are Yin and Yang. They’re two parts of me that I juggle within me but can’t seem to compete with either one. I look at Daphne, envying how she can stand there feeling comfortable with her natural height. I can’t stand this girl, how she can go around acting like she is the queen no matter where she is? But at the same time.. I want to let her out, but I’m too scared to let myself. She’s the person I want to be. It’s just that she feels so out of reach.
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I start tearing up ready to cry, knowing I can’t compete with myself. I wipe this away as I turn to the next mirror. The next person I see is Sophie. She is the most honest part that I’ve written about. She is the most innocent and pure part of me. I wish I didn’t lose my childish naivety, I wish I can get her back. She’s the kindest person anyone could meet. She could never get angry at anyone. I smile at her, knowing she’ll smile back, she is a breath of fresh air. When she talks, everyone listens. I guess this is the me my mom sees. My mom sees Sophie, someone that thinks about making people happy, wanting to feel joyful and bright.
Sophie is all of these things and so much more. She is the singer that I always wanted to be, the Soprano who always got all the solos she auditioned for. She is that little ray of sunshine that manages to keep the whole world hopeful. I shed a tear. I could be her if I tried a little harder. She’s a part of me. Everything that she is I was at one point in my life.
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I give a forced smile at all of them. They were selfless, confident, and precious. They were the parts of me that I have either hid, wanted, or needed to be. Even though they are me, I can’t find it in myself to be any one of them. They are untouchable. I go to the last mirror. The next person I see is somewhat like the others, but at the same time totally different. She is a ‘little’ self-critical and invisible. She’s me. I smile half-heartedly and see myself doing the same thing back to me. I feel comfortable now knowing I’m looking at something that resembles the present me. We both know we aren’t them. This isn’t the me I write about. She doesn’t belong in any stories...but she could. I could belong anywhere if I can accept who I am, and what I want to be, and make it a reality instead. These characters that I write about are me, the good, the bad and the ugly are all me. I guess I’m still learning to accept that, and try bringing out these pieces of me a little more. I walk out of my hall of mirrors and smile. “The next time I look in these mirrors I’ll see me, and only me.”
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I look into the shadow And I see They a Th But at
And at cer
At the latest of nights I look into I always see tons But the one thing Eyes that look a Eyes that try and fail aga Eyes that truly are the
It is only at night w Because when the And since these eyes can’t c They a It is only when it is the latest of nigh
But if Instead of They wo Because they a Vibr
These eyes though, like any Yes they are bea Yes they are magnificen Yes they are vibrant, b Yes they can be full of life
But instead of emb It is sh
I And o
So at I look over to th Into th And And see t
Debora Sosa-Gomez
Light Above
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ws in the deepest corner of my room, e eyes staring back at me. are a cool, foggy gray, hey look complex, the same time simple. They look sad, rtain angles, even empty.
Beauty Amidst the Darkness
the shadows in the deepest corner of my room, s of strange and unusual figures, g I always see clearly is gray eyes, away when asked if they’re ok, ain and again to cover up how they feel, e slightly cracked window to the soul.
Odalys Esparza
when I can see these eyes clearly, e sky is bright these eyes are dim, cover how they feel, they then, are covered. are hidden from sight. ht in the darkest shadows do those eyes truly shine.
f they were to shine, f hidden and out of sight, ould shine in the day too, are beautiful and magnificent, rant and full of life.
ything else, have another side to them too. autiful, but they have scars too, nt, but they have seen some foul things, but they can feel washed out and pale, e, but they also feel emotionless and dull.
bracing this side like the other one, hunned and concealed. It is hidden, It is out of sight, only revealed at night.
t the latest of nights, he deepest corner of the room, he darkest of shadows, d I look at my eyes, the true beauty of them. 15
Forced to rebel against her past, Forever fighting For the lives at stake Her people are dying, Pleading, crying The treasure she held within Has ceased from shining
War
Arian
The queen cannot live, Cannot speak, Mute, Against fate But if she keeps fighting, Justice will come, The twilight will start gleaming The red on her armor, Dyed red from blood,
Take
Brad 16
Within
na O'Brien
The king from the opposing kingdom, She could never face. If she could turn back, they could make amends But the gods like a story much crueler The vow they made as children No longer stands The days when they stood, Hand in hand, Disappeared. And now, the shell that protected their past Chipped away by war, Their vow now cracked. Swords pointed at each other, Though tears were shed, They ask if this was the way their story would end‌
e The Swing
dley Ponder 17
I am the Dark Helena Pongnon i am the dark that wallows in the night i am the dark that cries out in fright i am the victim of a black tainted head i am the victim of what humans dread i am the fear that people harbor in their brains i am the fear blood on sheets where i stain i am the rain that pours from sufferers eyes i am the rain that clouds and masks skies i am the black where one cannot find light i am the black feelings hidden in shadowed sight i am the one who screams out for the glow i am the one who suffers inkened blows i am the dark but i never asked to be i am the dark 18 to see but it’s light that i want
Evil Alter 19
Jazmin Marc
Intro to Evil (And My Failed Attempt to Escape Her) Alex Erin My breath is short, As is life. I take her hand, As I struggle to fight. Indulge me in Her fake love. Indulge me in Her lies. She tells me, “Everything's okay.” As the world around me dies. If I let go of you I’ll fall, fall, fall. Away from your bitter sweet embrace. My life already blooming with steady disgrace. So I sharpen my knife as Her lips begin to poison me. But I still can’t breath. Her grip tightens around my whole body. She consumes me as She is my darkness, my devil, The only light of my life. My negligence led me to her, A utopia filled with uncontrollable strife. Welcome to my introduction to Evil. A piece I write with great sorrow As she has become the first love I refuse to let go. 20
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Untitled Kori Rankin
Therapy Sessions Sophia Orth The woman sitting behind the glass wall watches me expectantly, and it makes me nervous. When I shift in my small plastic chair, the metal chain linking my hands together makes a soft ching sound. I think the sound is really pleasant. It kind of makes me remember an incident in my childhood when I was playing with my mother’s crystal glasses. Even though I accidentally broke them, I ended up being put in another home when a social worker checked up the next day. I didn’t like my mother very much. The woman on the other side frowns deeply, rolls up her starched white sleeves, and raises her eyebrows. Ah, right. I cross my ankles under the chair and begin speaking. “I believe it was a year and a half ago when the messages began appearing on my hands. They’re usually on the backs on my hands, and sometimes the style changes, but for the most part, it’s the same swirly cursive. The messages tend to be sinister and ominous, informing me that a person I’ve met is not someone I can trust, or that turning left on that boulevard is a bad choice. I have no rational explanation for them; no matter how many times I theorize about the potential reasons for the messages, I can never pin down a solid theory. I get the faintest prickling sensation when they appear, and once I’ve evaded the supposed danger, they usually disappear within a half hour; how the hell should I be able to figure it out? I know this sounds crazy, but I’m telling the truth. I can’t tell you how many close calls I’ve had, and I know the messages don’t lie because whatever potential danger they warn me about usually ends up in the news. The strangest part, though? Nobody else can see them. “I remember the first time I tried to find out if someone else could see them. I was walking down a busy sidewalk, on my way to work, and it stated, word-for-word, ‘Don’t turn around; don’t speed up; enter the next cafe and call the police. There’s an escaped serial killer behind the person to your left.’ What the hell, right? First of all, I’m small, and by extension, my hands are proportionally small. Messages like that are very difficult to read. It took me a whole thirty seconds of trying to decipher it before I realized that holy crap, there’s a serial killer behind me. Maybe mention that earlier in the message? I followed the instructions, though, and the police arrived pretty quickly and put the killer back in custody. They had to question me about how I figured out that this guy, despite changing his appearance, was an infamous murderer. I told them about the message, which was still on my hand for some reason, and they just stared at my hand with the blankest expression. It would’ve been funny under literally any other circumstance. I didn’t get put in an asylum back then, though, so I have no idea why I’m suddenly here now.” At that, I look back at the woman I’m speaking to. I hadn’t realized that my gaze had drifted away from her in favor of staring at a rust stain on the otherwise plain grey wall.
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“I’m sorry, by the way. I know you’re supposed to assume my legal charges are concrete, but I really didn’t have direct involvement with any of the crimes I’m being charged with. My ‘prophetic hand’ just gives me the information I need to know in order to not get killed, or whatever.” The woman doesn’t speak, but she scribbles something down before staring back at me with a look that I don’t exactly like. “Aw, don’t look at me like that. I’m not crazy! Really! I get that you’re supposed to help me “overcome my psychological demons” but this is pretty much a huge waste of your time, as well as mine, and I’m supposed to be stuck in this place for, what was it again? Twenty-five years? Dang. So much for being the hero that rats out the villains! What kind of evidence is that, anyway? So what if I was at the scene of sixty-four crimes? Any psychotic criminal that foils their own plans sixty-four times oughta give up, I mean, really. And get this, none of the people that I got arrested claimed that I was involved. Okay, okay, five did, but they were just trying to lessen the load that they faced. “Woah, new message coming through, hold up. Stop trying to look at my hand, you know I’m the only one who can see them. Ha, it’s telling me ‘stop talking about your messages, you already look like a … deranged psychopath…’ Oh. My prophetic hand is finally showing its rude side. That’s … That’s a first.” The woman narrows her eyes at me. I stare right back, watching as she picks up a walkie-talkie and speaks into it. I can’t hear what she’s saying - I guess the glass somehow makes it so that she can hear me, but I can’t hear her - so I begin to ask her who she’s talking to. I’m cut off when the door to the room I’m in is flung open and a crowd of apathetic guards swarms me. “Hey, hey, hey, hands off ! I’m not having an episode! Oh my gosh, at least leave off the straight jacket, it always gives me cramps and I hate trying to rub the life back into my dead arm with my other dead arm. Have you considered that I’ll probably stop resisting when you stop being so harsh? … Woah man, put that syringe away, I don’t need to be tranquilized! Not again! Dan...ng… i...t…”
Best Art
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Untitled Kori Rankin
The What Ifs Jazmin Marc
Best CNF
My mind wanders and I wonder… What if I hadn’t fallen in love with you? Who would I have met? Would it have been someone better? Someone worse? Maybe… Would I have met no one at all? Would I still believe that love is this perfect, infinite fantasy that it has been painted to be? Who would you have met? Someone worse? Someone better? Maybe…
What if I had stayed? If I had just dealt with the pain. If I had just lied to you and told you it was all okay. If I had just lied to myself and said you would change. If I had just continued to beat myself down by believing your bullshit. If I had just given myself to you, putting myself last again and again and again. If I had told myself that the tears were worth it, the tears were out of love, the tears were my own fault. What if I had just shrunk myself to the size you designed for me? If I had stooped down from the foundation I worked so hard to build just to fit your perfect image of how strong a woman should be. If I had listened to everything you said I wasn’t and transformed into what you said I was. Then would we have made it? What if you had actually loved me? If you had loved me, you wouldn’t have beat me down to build yourself up. If you had loved me, you wouldn’t have been scared of my strength, you would’ve admired it. If you had loved me, you would’ve listened to everything I said with the attention that you gave to the girls that dropped to their knees for you. If you had loved me, you would’ve treated me like the rarest gem anyone could ever discover, not a possession that you pick up and put down just because you know it's yours. If you had loved me, it would’ve pained you to bring me to tears, not make you feel stronger. If you had loved me, you would’ve seen beauty even in my darkest moments. If you had loved me, your eyes would’ve said it when your words couldn’t. If you had loved me, we would have made it. But here’s the thing. Whether I like it or not, I did fall in love with you. I fell deeply, stupidly in love with you. And that love will always be there. I’m glad I was the one who taught you what true love is. Even with all the love still existing, I didn’t stay and that took so much strength. Strength I didn’t know I had. And finally, you did not love me. You loved that I was yours to claim. You did not teach me what it feels like to be loved, but you taught me that it is possible to love the broken and imperfect. My role in your life was to provide you with love and strength and then to go on and provide that to myself. So thank you for the heartbreak, I need it for my art. 24
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Kori Rankin
Untitled
Titi Maria Jazmin Marc I had an Aunt named Maria. She would take care of me while my parents worked overnight shifts. She was a really good cook and kept everything in unison, she was the Woman of the house. When she did your hair you couldn’t move your head in the slightest bit or she’d hit you with the brush. I remember I broke the brush one time when she hit me and she laughed really hard and said, “You’re hard headed just like your Titi.” Titi Maria was my favorite person in the whole world. Then one day, she started to sleep a lot more than usual. And that was weird because Titi was a really active person. She started visiting the doctor more often, sometimes overnight. Which was weird because she was supposed to be with me when it was nighttime. Everyone cried more often than smiled when they were around her. I started to think Titi’s presence was too intimidating. It would make sense, she was the strongest woman I ever met. Then one day she came home with this pink bandana tied around her head. I thought it was really pretty so I complimented her and then she started to cry. I had never seen Titi Maria cry so I thought I hurt her feelings. “I’m sorry Titi.” “For what babygirl?’ she asked. “For making you cry.” She laughed a little and knelt down to my toddler level. That’s when she took off the bandana and she was bald! Completely bald! I had never seen a bald woman before so I was mesmerized. Somehow Titi Maria had gotten one million times stronger. I asked her where her hair went and she told me it fell out. Then I asked her how and she said that’s what happens when you’re sick. I wish I had paid more attention to those words but instead I said, “Is my hair gonna fall out too?” I think that made her sad again cause she cried harder. Then she got really serious and said, “Babygirl you listen to me alright?” I nodded. She continued. “You’re so strong mama. Such a strong, smart girl. Everything you need is in you, okay? Don’t let anyone make you small. Are you listening?” I nodded, although my tiny brain was extremely distracted by her beautiful bald head. She smiled and gave me a really tight hug, “I love you mama.” Then she stopped coming home. I don’t remember what day it was, but everyone went to stay with her at the doctor’s and I stayed home with Grandma. When everyone came back, they were really quiet and tried to act like nothing was wrong. But something was wrong, They left Titi at the doctor’s by herself. 26
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“Where’s Titi?” I asked. I really messed up that time. Everyone started crying, even grandpa and Tio. I started to panic and I think my mom noticed so she ran to me. She calmed me down and explained that it wasn’t my fault that they were crying. I loved my mom so much cause she’d answer all my questions without me asking, but for the first time ever I was still confused after I got the answer. She told me they were crying cause Titi had died. That she had “cancer?” I didn’t understand and my head started to hurt from me trying to understand. All I knew about this “death” thing was that you don’t get to see that person anymore, but you can still talk to them. But the thing is when you talk to them you don’t get word replies, sometimes you get signs. My mom told me all of this. This death thing was really complicated. So to make things simpler for me, I just thought Titi was on a really long vacation. Maybe in Puerto Rico, she always wanted to go back there.
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Xavier Cubas
Flower
I’m sixteen now and I still think Titi is on some beach in Puerto Rico, eating arroz con dulce (that was her favorite), and laying in the sand with her beautiful bald head.
Da rkn e ss Awa it s Matt h ie u Ben son 28
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Best Prose
The Monster Inside of Me Nayanika Owens Some monsters are great, huge above all. Scaring any little faces they meet. I have a monster, existing inside me. Although this may be, it’s still like the others. It has spikes and scales that are skillfully disguised. People only see its lovely little eyes. But I know of the danger it possesses. How many small things can cause it to lash out and the only thing stopping it is me. I stand on top of a cliff, gazing into the sunset, the sky filled with delightful colors. Do my emotions, my feelings exist? I don't remember the last time I smiled or the last sunset I’ve viewed. This sight causes tears to run down peoples faces that create puddles at their feet, but not me. Only pain and fear remain in my heart. Neglected by all the kids at school, never belonging. Quiet and afraid to make the wrong move, to be judged. I was always thirsty for acceptance, to fit in with the crowd. Like it was the only thing I couldn't be without. That was the first time the monster came out. After that, not one person would talk to me. I was a freak. The kid who sat alone at lunch, the one who never got called on by the teacher. This is what the monster does to me. I've tried fighting it, but instead, I became its slave. Following its orders, no matter the pain. It took all my love and turned it into hate. Creating clouds of misery wherever I went. But of course, it remained unnoticed by others. This went on for as long as I could remember until I wasn't able to carry its weight. The monster inside me defeated my soul, I needed to get out of its hold. There is only one way to dispose of it, one step. One step is all it could take for my fears and years of slaving to be over. I take a deep breath and jump, I am free as my body weightlessly falls down towards the ground. The monster has vanished.
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Limbo Shueler Cobble It was cold and windy, which wasn’t out of the ordinary for a day in Autumn. However, things felt eerie and uncomfortable, in a way she couldn’t describe. She watched the other children from afar. They were playing on the swings, carefree as ever, and she knew they didn’t feel it. They didn’t know that it was wrong out here; they just solved what they thought was the only problem with a jacket or a scarf and went on and had fun with their days. She continued to walk past the playground and it left her sight for about the tenth time in her trudge around the neighborhood. Her parents would start to get worried about where she was if she didn’t get home soon… that wasn’t true. Her parents didn’t care about their daughter’s whereabouts, as long as she didn’t get in trouble with the police. Irresponsible? Maybe. Regular? For her, yes. That was her life. Her parents went to work from sunrise to sunset, although it wasn’t because they were hardworking or needed money; only God alone knew why they worked such long hours. Perhaps, it was to escape the void that was their house. Their house was rather large for three people, and something about being in there was incredibly soul-sucking; it was as if the spirits of all the people that had died in the world were waiting in the shadows, trying to catch a human on a weak day and take their life. That’s why she was avoiding the house, anyway. She had been feeling weak lately, and although nothing in her really begged to live, she certainly wasn’t ready to die. She was stuck in a limbo between life and death, too young to even understand her feelings, but unhappy nonetheless. She made another loop around the few blocks she had been walking around and returned to her spot in front of the playground again. She stared deep into the swing sets, observing the kids swinging back and forth, not a care in the world. She yearned to join them, to give up the troubles of life and just have fun for once. She didn’t have any friends, nobody to spend time with. Seeing other people with their friends filled her with an emptiness she didn’t know she was capable of feeling otherwise. She thought it would be easy to make friends, but something about her turned away everyone she approached. She felt like she was a demon trying to blend in among the angels, yet she couldn’t find anything wrong with herself. Maybe the spirits from her house really had been hanging on quite a bit too much lately. Maybe the other kids sensed more than she gave them credit for.
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She had never visited the playground, although she was sure that in twenty years every other kid from her town would consider it a cornerstone of their childhood. However, today was the day that changed for her. She was finally going to experience it, try to act like she was just a normal kid like everybody else. She slowly approached the playground, taking steps in the grass with her broken shoes. All her clothes were torn and raggedy, even though her parents had plenty of money to replace them. She had tried to tell them many times that she needed new clothes, even asked for money to go to the store and pick some out for herself, but they had ignored her, just as they always did. She didn’t mind much, because she could still live in broken shoes and torn clothes, and there was food on the table at the end of every day. She approached the swing set, and although only a minute earlier it had been bustling with kids, it was now deserted. The kids had seen her coming and fled, trying, and failing, to be as inconspicuous as possible. They didn’t do very well, but she didn’t care about their absence. She didn’t need them around. She took a look at the swings. They were held up by red bars, the paint fading slightly, revealing the gray underneath. Blue, metal chains hung down from the top, holding up the yellow, plastic swings. She took a deep breath, suddenly full of nerves that weren’t there the moment before. She turned around, pressing her back up to a swing. She reached behind her and grabbed onto the blue chains, used her feet to push herself up from the grass, and sat on the swing. She sat still for a while, not moving, just taking it in. She looked across the playground, from the other side this time, and as she scanned the place, a smile crept across her face. It felt weird to be in this position, but in a good way. She noticed the kids that had previously been on the swings standing farther away, in the basketball court. They weren’t playing, just mindlessly dribbling the ball back and forth, talking amongst themselves. She watched them as she had before, seeing them take a quick glance back at her, only to see her watching and turn away as fast as they had turned to look at her in the first place. Her smile grew weary, but she still enjoyed the moment. The park was mostly covered by trees, but a few rays of sun snuck down in between the branches and lit up her face. She soaked in the sun, ignoring the pain the brightness caused her eyes.
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Finally, it was the moment she’d been waiting for. She looked down at the grassy ground again and used her feet to kick up some momentum. She had watched the kids earlier pushing each other on the swings, but she had nobody to push her. She had to make the movement for herself. Her feet barely touched the ground, but she was able to start swinging. She gripped higher up on the chains, using her arms to swing back and forth. Her smile grew on her face, the sun lighting up her eyes, and she forgot about everything. She forgot about the other kids, she forgot about her parents, she forgot about her house, the spirits, everything. She laughed softly to herself, blissfully enjoying the day. It didn’t feel cold anymore, and she risked taking a hand off the chains to fling her scarf off. It fell on the dirt and grass, but it was already so dirty she didn’t care if it got a little more dirt on it. She placed her hand back on the chain, and she suddenly felt a lurch in her stomach. The blissful, warm day was gone, replaced by a dark and cold night. She blinked and swallowed, and it was gone again. The warmth had returned, and the sun shone on her face again, but her smile was gone. She was no longer laughing, the sun was no longer a ray of hope, she was no longer unaware of the stares from the other kids or the absence of her parents or the presence of the spirits.
Her stomach lurched again, and the darkness returned. Time seemed to slow down for a second, and she looked around, fear growing in her mind. A flash of light burned her eyes, and the day returned. Instead of slowing down, time seemed to speed up, and she went careening backward in the swing. The night enveloped the swing set. Time ticked by even slower, and she had time to take in the place. She looked over at the basketball court, now deserted, the kids no longer in sight. She gripped the chains tightly, and they felt ice cold against her palms. She closed her eyes, willing the fear to leave, wishing for the sunlight to come back. She opened her eyes, and the day had returned to normal. She blinked. Night. Day. Night. Day.
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Night. She desperately wanted off the swings, but she felt frozen to the chains. She barely even felt like she was moving, time was going by so slow. She opened her eyes again, looking around. This time, everything had a brown hue. The air smelled like must and rot. Her eyes bugged out of her head as she saw graves on the ground. But that was nothing compared to the sight that befell her at the basketball court. Rather than the kids standing there, her parents were. Their faces were expressionless. She felt tears coming to the front of her eyes, and she wanted to scream, yet her mouth remained clamped shut. She squeezed the chains, and she wanted to close her eyes until the day returned, but she felt unable to control her body; her eyelids refused to shut. She sat there, moving agonizingly slow back towards the front of the swing set, taking quick glances at her parents. She could feel her heart beating rapidly, and even though the air felt freezing, she was sweating. Eventually, she passed through the red bars again, and immediately, before the day was ripped away again, she did what she had seen the kids do a hundred times before. She let go of the bars, having regained control of her body. She let her body fall forward into the grass. It wasn’t a very graceful jump, but she didn’t care. She was grateful to be out of the limbo, back into the world of life and sun and fresh air.
When she returned home that evening, she entered the house with extreme caution. She caught a glance at her parents only once in the night. She watched her mother put a plate of food on the table for her for dinner. She met her mother’s eyes, a blank look on her face, not unlike the one she had seen on her face at the park. At that moment, she knew that her parents were no longer her parents.
Her real parents were back in the deathly night at the park, gone from the limbo between worlds, stuck in the back end. It was only her and the spirits now. And she would be joining her parents very soon.
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It Doesn’t Always End Like This Natasha Castrillo The shadows in the room crawl close. The window shades start to close, As I stare on my bed, worried. I can’t find the light switch And my heart starts to switch, From a calm tread to a scurry. The monsters in my head come out to play A game so twisted and cruel. I wish I could leave but I have to stay They use my fear as fuel. The shadows in my room consume me. The monsters start to subdue me, As I lay on my bed paralyzed. I can't find any will in my body, Or scream for anybody, But that's when I realize
It’s me.
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That’s when I realize I can’t scream for anybody, Or find a will in my body, Cause I’m on my bed paralyzed. The monsters can't subdue me, If the light consumes me, Cause it uses my hope as fuel. I don't want to stay I must leave, Cause they love to act so cruel. The monsters in my head must go away. I start to run, I have to hurry So my heart could switch, Like a hopeful light switch. So I can stare at my bed happy. The windows start to open, As the shadows crawl away to a close.
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They Came From Below James King Pete woke up due to his rooster’s cawing in the forsaken hours of the morning as usual, beginning his morning routine of gathering plants from the garden and feeding the animals on the farm where he has lived his entire life. Pete is an old man, now alone, tending to the animals he has taken care of for their entire lives. Pete fed the chickens and begun making his way to the pigs, carrying the heavy slop bucket, quite the burden on his aging back. He finally arrived at the pen, the pigs already out squealing by the place they knew the food would emerge. Pete set the bucket down and stretched his back, already feeling the strain of the new day on his old muscles. Pete picked up the bucket again, following the urging of the pigs, and began to pour it in. As he did so, however, he felt his feet begin to vibrate, small tremors shooting out across his farm. They began to intensify and he fell forwards onto the fence, his withered arm snapping against the wood as he tried to stop himself. The old man cried out as the pain flared up his nerves, the earth still continuing to reverberate, the epicenter below his feet. A noise, unlike any he had ever heard before, began to ring out, sounding like the tearing of a scroll, amplified a hundredfold, echoing around him. A fissure began to zag from below him, rapidly traveling across his farm, continuing through his meager dwelling, now out of sight. Pete tried to move, managing to drag himself backwards along the fence, the pig’s terrified squealing drowned out by the immense sound of the ground cracking. The fissure began to widen, the sound breaking his eardrums, causing pain unlike anything he had experienced to pound in his head. Pete fell to his knees, broken arm slamming into the ground. Pain fogged his mind; he lay gazing with clouded eyes as the dirt where he had just stood on exploded upwards, a figure emerging from the depths within‌ It had been in planning for years. The denizens of the underground were running out of room, space was becoming increasingly hard to come by. More land was needed, as well as a quenching of the bloodlust they had built up in their years of time spent below. They needed to kill, to take, to plunder. Their hatred for those who dwelled above had been left to fester; they had been sealed below nearly a century before. Now, however, it was time for them to reclaim what had been theirs. Plans had been made, armor forged, magicks practiced, all in preparation of an assault on the world above. The army was recreated, generals and chains of command established. Everything was ready. It was time for their revenge. The fissure ceased its expansion, over 5 meters wide now, and began to spout out more figures. Pete could not believe his eyes, his mind trying to comprehend the images before it through the pain.
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Before him emerged hundreds, perhaps thousands of creatures, each of them belonging in nightmares. Some had wings, others protruding fangs and claws, while some had 10 eyes and others none. However, the most fearful one was the one right before him, staring into his soul with all-seeing eyes. It was easily 3 meters tall, sporting skin that appeared a blackish red color, armed with what appeared to be twin dual scythe blades, each one enormous in size. The creature had a face belonging to the boogieman, bright red eyes, a mouth full of sharp teeth, with bat like ears. It said something. The mouth of the demon moved although no words were heard by Pete, his ears unable to hear, broken by the immense noise the fissure had made. It spoke again, now approaching slowly, it’s clawed feet leaving their mark in the stirred up soil. All Pete could do was stare, still unbelieving of the scene before him, his beautiful farm in ruins, an apparent horde of underground denizens before him, one approaching... Mortimere gazed around the scene before him, slowly making his way towards the human who had witnessed their arrival. He became lost in nostalgia, recalling the
Before him emerged hundreds, perhaps thousands of creatures, each of them belonging in nightmares. time he spent upon this ground before being sealed below it. He had been able to prey wherever he chose; the humans had been incapable of stopping him. His memories soon turned grim, however, as he remembered that there were indeed humans capable of repelling the strength of the demons. Mortimere felt his face contort into a snarl, memories of the shame of imprisonment, being propelled underground by a force he couldn’t contend with. The rage built up inside him. How dare they do this to him, to his people. He glared at the mess of a person shaking before him, staring at him with terrified eyes. He reveled in the sight. “What are you?” Pete asked, his voice faltering, unaware if he had actually said the words he meant to. Perhaps I didn’t, he thought as the being began to laugh, a deep, trembling rumble, the strength of which affecting the hairs on his arms, making them stand on edge. It grinned as much as a creature like that could. I am your death. The words suddenly appeared in Pete’s mind with a rocking force, making him unable to think of anything else. He lifted his head at the being before him, preparing another question. However, he was interrupted by a sudden whoosh of air, his head now falling to the ground, a face of shock and horror etched into it, blood gushing out of his neck. His body soon followed, fully collapsing on the ground. The demon turned back to his comrades, all of them grinning, prepared for the slaughter. He gave them a smile of his own. The first human had been slain. The war had begun.
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Atmรณsfaira R ive r Wyatt The wrath of no other rained down on the Earth. Stars pelted from the heavens and into her crumbling flesh, wounding the beauty that brought life. Asteroids threw themselves out of orbit, bending to the will of something otherworldly. Bending to something that never roamed the Earth since now. Stories become fables. Fables become legends. The unfortunate thing about legends? It's the fact that the beings within them are twisted. Sirens become mermaids. Ugly, horrifying giants of one eye become cyclopses. The horse's distant cousins are more hostile than what legends foretold. A nebula washed over the planet, lulling it into a restless silence. Stardust speckled the dark being's long mane and coat, accented by swallowed planets and solar systems. His eyes were deep, silent vacuums that spoke not a word. The unicorn's entire being made to latch itself onto the Earth, wanting to add her into his growing collection. He released stars and asteroids to aid in his conquest, to go with his bladelike horn. As the Earth was on her final strand of life, he kicked up onto his hind legs. His forearms bucked and he whinnied his final victory cry. Though, before his dark sword could slice into the Earth and rock her core, you woke up. All the commotion was bound to wake you from your epoch-long slumber. Your white claws stretched out and your jaw unhinged, letting out a yawn that shook the world. That was something you expected. But, what you did not expect was the attacking streaks of light that struck you and your Earth. Finally, you lifted your head, stretching out into your full length. This was madness. One glance at the nebula outside was telling enough as to what was going on.
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With not a word, you spread your wings. One at a time, the feathery masses lifted. One. The beast seemed interested. Two. Your golden spikes rose from the back of your neck. Three. Seemingly, he knew what he had gotten himself into. Four. Now, most of the sky was yours. Your white and gold scales reflected off the sunlight that was hitting your back. In a bold move, you perked one wing upwards so that a ray could splatter where it belonged- on Earth. "You do not belong here." With a warning hiss, you glared, noticing how he began to step back. He must have come with the assumption that you were long dead. At least he didn't have the nerve to pick a fight.
Without another word, he huffed and turned, releasing Earth from his tight grip. All was well once more. Earth was a bit rough around the edges from the thrashing, but you knew that she would heal. You were sure of it. After all, you are her mother. "Rest now." You whisper, stretching your tail out. Then, you engulf your daughter with a warm, protective embrace. Like that, you begin to lull into a new breath of slumber, knowing that she is safe and sound.
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I slay the dragons and save the princesses, I am the savior and all cheer my name! I am amazing!
I am the best! Day or Night, Rain or Shine, I will be there to save the day! That is the truth and the only truth, I am the savior who saves the princess, I heroically ride my stallion to where the monster lives,
I fight the beast with my sword and shield, I slay the dragon, The beast, His blood and scales all on my sword, And with one last jab I take the princess and leave the beast to rot. But before I leave for good I tell the beast, “I always return as the hero of the town,
All the guys wish to be me, While all the girls would love to date me, Because I am, and always will be, The savior of princesses, The White Knight. And you will always just be the villain I killed.�
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Good v
Odaly
vs Evil
ys Esparza
I am the dragon, I eat people and kidnap princesses, I get defeated by the savior they call the White Knight.
I am the beast, The monster, The villain. Or at least that’s what all the villagers say. No one ever asks me my side of the story, No one really cares. The truth is just that I am lonely,
And the princesses are great company, One even fell in love with me. But she left me in the end for the handsome White Knight. The savior, The best. I am just the beast, I am just the villain.
So I waste away in my lonely tower, As I watch the White Knight run off with my love, I just watch. Because “villains” don’t get happy endings. And that’s all I am, Just a Villain.
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I Was WalkIng… Darla Kammerzell As I was walking, one winter’s eve, I came across a barren tree.
Then on the topmost branch I saw, the white dove blacken, and let out a caw.
Its leaves were gone, its trunk was bare, and alone it stood in the frigid air.
Then off it flew, on stygian wings. In the lengthening shadows I heard strange things:
The snow was falling all around: on me, the tree, and on the ground.
A pack of coyotes in the night, a rat’s neck snapping in a trap, a squeaking bat as it takes flight, and then a sudden thunderclap!
And through the whistling wind I heard, the cooing of a little bird.
A bolt of lightning hit the tree, a blinding light with which to see sharp talons and glowing eyes that be reaching and staring straight at me!
“Beware,” it called, “for night is cold, and deep and dark like days of old.
And then it’s horrid slimy claws closed around and held me tight, dragging me toward its fang-filled maw though I struggled with all my might.
“Hark to me, and heed my cry! Turn homewards now, or surely die.”
The only thought I had was “Crap”, as the monster opened wide. Its jaws closed shut with a snap, And that was when I finally died.
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Olivia Yao
Mourning Sun
Red Silences Jordan Evans The bombs had stopped dropping an hour ago. Since then, shocked and screaming victims were hauled into the hospital by the hundreds. Winnie fought exhaustion as she pulled a new pair of scrubs over her face. Forty-six hours. Forty-six hours without sleep. The nurse wasn’t sure she was going to make it another shift without time to recharge. People lined the white walls of the ER, smearing it with blood from various wounds. It was deathly quiet. Winnie felt as if a massive vacuum had come and sucked up all the noise, leaving only a clean, unnatural silence. She searched her database for the next name on the list. “Chloe Cottrel,” Winnie announced, “please make your way to room 124. Chloe Cottrel, 124.” At first, no one emerged from the sea of patients. Then slowly, extremely slowly, an old woman hobbled towards the desk where Winnie was standing. A gash above her eyebrow leaked a steady stream of blood down her face. The red dripped onto her flowered blouse and then to the floor. Winnie needed to stop the bleeding. Instinctively, she rounded the desk and went to press a cotton ball against the cut. Abruptly, the woman’s hand shot from somewhere behind her and grasped Winnie’s forearm. “Don’t you think you can touch me. I don’t even touch things your kind has made if I can help it,” the lady growled. Ugh. Not this again, Winnie thought. At first, she’d been offended by snide comments about her origins. Sometimes people even refused life-saving remedies because “her kind” would provide the treatment. Winnie withheld a sigh, “Miss Cottrel, humans are more susceptible to radiation from the bombs when they have low blood levels. Allow me to stop the bleeding, please.” “No”, the old woman replied curtly, “are there any other nurses?” “All of our nurses are busy. At the least hold this cloth to it,” Winnie focused on not sighing. Miss Cottrel wrinkled her nose, then slowly reached for the cloth. She was very careful to avoid touching Winnie during this process. When the fabric was finally pressed against the gash, Winnie instructed her to sit in the cramped room to the right. The nurse followed her patient and shut the door behind them to ensure patient privacy. “Uh-hum,” Miss Cottrel coughed. “Yes, ma’am?” The woman’s eyes widened, “The door of course!” The door? Winnie thought, What’s wrong with the door? “Well, leave it open!,” Miss Cottrel nearly screamed. “Don’t you know that your kind is to maintain proper boundaries in order to keep the general population safe?”
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Forcing a blank face, Winnie cracked the door and retrieved a pair of gloves. “A little more,” the woman sneered. Winnie opened the door halfway. “A little more.” The door was all the way opened now. “Alright, Miss Cottrel. I’m going to administer a small dose of anesthetic to help numb and relax the left side of your-” Miss Cottrel shot up from the exam table. “You?! You are going to administer something? Who do you think you are? Is there an actual doctor who can see me right now? One that is isn’t your kind?” Winnie stepped back and focused on maintaining composure. Professional, she was a professional. “Please Ms. Cuttrel, sit down and just relax. The hospital is extremely busy after bombings, especially after today’s. This is the standard treatment for wounds and I am highly quali-” “Oh please. You just do whatever the computer tells you. You couldn’t possibly make decisions for yourself, let alone for other people. Which is why I don’t trust your diagnosis. I will not have your kind-” Winnie exploded. “Miss Cuttrel, ‘my kind’ is 100% capable of anything any human being is! I make decisions, good ones actually, every day. I save lives. I am a nurse and I will do my job. You will sit here and allow me to do my job. You will sit still, hold your tongue, and be respectful because I am made in the image of God just like you. Do you understand me?” The old woman’s mouth fell open. She stood utterly still, then spoke softly: “I am going to find your supervisor. By this time tomorrow, you will have been terminated.” Shoving her way past Winnie, she stormed from the room. The nurse stumbled a bit from the force, then stood gaping. What had she done? Terminated. Each syllable echoed in her ears like the ringing from an explosion. Balancing herself on the sink, Winnie stared into the mirror. A set of brown, artificial eyes stared back. Terminated. She brushed a string of silicon hair from her face. Terminated. Oh! How much easier life would be if she were just born human! Not programmed in a warehouse. Not created through hardware. Winnie breathed deeply as her systems calmed, she was going to fight this. Removal of the tracker chip in her neck was quick and easy. A new pair of clothes would necessary. “You,” she muttered to herself, “are the most advanced robot in the market.” Winnie stared into the mirror again. “You will not be terminated.”
Needle Mouth 45
Andrew Ehalt
By The Waters Dominique Dominicci The pale moonlight shone so bright within the night, When she came by the waters, her soul overwhelmed. The calm, cold waters soothed her soul and lulled to rest. He came by, watching the woman sit within the waters, Watching the waters sway with her movements. Her hands into the waters did he watch her shiver and shake. It caused his heart to ache as he calls into the night. “Who are you, enchantress of the pale moonlight?” Frightened did she flee, returning to the forest, Was he enchanted by her beauty, promising to the moon, “I’ll make her mine before the end of the next night.”
He reached skies in morning, stealing the fire the sun gave, To all the mortals who shunned the sun far, far away. And when the night had since come, did he hold to a branch, With his hand grasped around as the fire showed him a path. He returned to the waters, seeing his beloved, Presenting his warm and bright gift to her, The silence came and went; as she screamed into the night. “I can’t see no longer, not with this bright light! What happened to me?” She ran into the forest lost as she walked and walked into the dark. There in the shallow waters did the fire had long went out. She left him with a broken heart and the calming waters in the night.
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The Lightness of Dark Devin Mattessich
The Book Store Ray Goodson There was no way anyone could ever like this kind of job. The pay is fine, it’s just so damn boring. I work at the local library with my friend, Cassidy, in The Bronx, New York. I was only here to earn some money since I still go to college. Currently, it’s 8 o’clock in the afternoon, and I’m struggling to keep myself from falling asleep in my chair near the front desk as I watch the clock tick every so slowly. I slump in my seat and start to kick the desk, just make sure I don’t pass out next to Cassidy, who is sitting at the front desk reading a book. What a coincidence. “It looks like it’s gonna rain, Cass,” I tell her when I avert my eyes from the clock and to the window. A bundle of dark clouds are slowly forming over the area. “I think so,” she replies while also looking out the window. “By the way, have you noticed that we haven’t seen anyone walk in at all?” As soon as she finishes her sentence, the door opens, the sound echoing through the brary.
li-
“Hello, welcome to Tucson’s Collection,” I say, sitting up in my chair. The person walking in looks like he is in a hurry. He’s pretty tall and, to be honest, kind of scary looking. His hands are stuffed into his coat and his beard is all over the place. He walks to a corner of the library, specifically the horror section. I sigh and get up from my seat and stretch my arms and back. I walk over to the customer and wave at him.
“Do you need some help finding anything, sir?” I ask with a smile, which I can’t say wasn’t a forced one; this dude seriously gives me the creeps. He then picks out a book and shows it to me. The book was called Zestiria. The mixture of fantasy and horror contributed to this novel’s success, as it was the most popular thing here. “I’d like to purchase this book, please,” he says calmly. “Oh sure,” I reply. It wasn’t a surprise that another person wanted it. “Anything else for you today?”
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Although I was completely clueless to why he said that, I just shrug and turn around to walk away. Why did he put his hand on my head? Suddenly, an extreme headache came over me. I hold the sides of my head and groan in pain. I then hear the man start laughing to himself. With wide eyes, I look back at him. His eyes… are pitch black, which scares the hell out of me. Am I going insane? Am I dreaming? Please tell me I’m dreaming.
“Sink...” He orders, but it sounded like he wasn’t finished. I fall down and back away from him. It feels like gravity is intensifying when he speaks. He let his wicked smile show as the doors to the library burst open. It’s the cops, and they begin rushing over to the strange man. But they didn’t make it in time. “...into the floor,” he finished. Tears fill my vision as my eyes widen once again, “What?” Guess what happens next. Yup, I fall through the floor as if there’s nothing under me. Now, all I see is a black void. Sleep….…sleep……..…sleep………..… SINK. I blink and I sit up in my chair to look around. Cassidy looked at me with a smirk. “Hey sleeping beauty,” she taunts. “Had a nice nap?” I raise an eyebrow at her and look towards the front of the library. The doors seem to be untouched, which seriously confuse me. I walk over to the horror section as I did before. The Zestiria book that he had chosen is back in its place, like no one ever picked it up. I shake my head and back up. I hear myself laughing inside my head at this craziness. Wait, that’s not me. It’s a familiar voice laughing in my thoughts. He’s in my head. I hold my head in my hands and walk backward towards the desk. Maybe she can help me. Suddenly, I stop walking, just stop, as if my feet are glued to the floor. “No…” I beg as I fall to my knees. “Please.” The voice of the man let out a small chuckle as he takes a deep breath. Sink into the floor.
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The Endless Hunt Amy VanValkenburgh The woods were gloomy, early-morning fog still hovering above the snow-covered forest floor. Sunlight was unable to leak through the dense canopy above, creating a sense of everlasting night. Animals residing in the forest remained alert, wary of the predators silently lurking in the shadows. The wolf was on a hunt, restless for the taste of prey. His pack followed closely behind, sniffing and pawing the ground impatiently. No matter how restless they became, the dire wolf would always take the first kill. They had long been pursuing the girl, had chosen her as their next victim. Occasionally, a pack member would strike down a small piece of game- always returning for the larger prize. A brown dire wolf accompanied his Alpha, slinking through the decaying underbrush. Snow crunched under the girl’s worn boots, her blood-red cloak billowing in the slight wind. The breeze whipped midnight hair around her face, her lips curving up in a certain smile. The girl, Carry, realized the slight danger she had put herself in by entering the woods. She could sense the dark figures still stalking her. Carry felt, more than heard, the dire wolf about to strike. She felt the shift in the air as even the chirping birds held their breath. He leaped forward, relishing the fleeting sensation of flight. His pack howled behind him, snarls echoing throughout the forest. The wolf knew his aim was true as he finally took his prey to the cold forest floor, satisfaction gleaming brightly in his intelligent eyes. He opened his maw, sharp teeth glinting in the limited light. But the girl didn’t scream, she didn’t move, believing in her safety. The black dire wolf appeared ready to bite the neck of his next meal, hungry for victory. So the wolf watched with his pack as the tattered red cloak became soaked with the lifeblood of the girl…and the hunt began once again.
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Gloves Andrew Ehalt 51
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I used to find solace in the persistent scent of clementines‌ paid no attention to how the shadows choked the papered walls like vines
Solace of a
No one knows quite where we’re goin but we still practice our constraints the saints pity the sinners and the sinners mock the saints
Different Kind Savannah Leahy
The grand design is on the page we just fill in the lines and though we cannot change our fate I’ve tried to do it many times .
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s
ng
e,
Well, we all know better now ‘cause that’s just how it goes the sun rises, the sun falls, the river ebbs and flows
Best
We never really wanted this but the world has a funny way of giving us what we don’t deserve— that’s the price of life we pay Now the only solace left is the quiet kind that comes with the last breath drawn into a pair of weary mortal lungs It took years of darkness just to learn that it’s only in light where things can thrive in a world where death is compensation for having been alive.
Contrasting Lights
Israel Monzon
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Poetry
Staff Editors in Chief
Madelyn Smith Olivia Yao
Designer
Taylor Bray
Copy Editor
Shueler Cobble
Art Editor
Michelle Zheng
Assistant Art Editors
Aurea Jimenez Ortiz Hareema Noor
Prose Editor
Luz Garcia
Assistant Prose Editors
Rym Benchakroun Nyah Sterner Jabez Belleza Jordan Evans
Poetry Editor
Sheridan Mootooo
Assistant Poetry Editors
Bianca Alonso Cardona
Savannah Leahy Nora Mahgoub Creative Non-fiction Editor
Taylor Bray
Assistant CNF Editor
Hayley Colon
Web Designer
Cole Hedlund *staff bios can be found on the website 54
Letter from the Editors The FLOW literary and art magazine has been a wonderful opportunity to showcase the breadth of talent we have here at Timber Creek and we are so, so proud of everyone who has played a part in this year’s publication. Thank you to our staff. This magazine really wouldn’t be possible without you guys and the hard work you put into this. A special thanks to Taylor Bray, the designer for this year’s magazine. You put so many hours of your time into this project and it really shows. Thank you so much for taking your own initiative and making this such a masterpiece. Thank you to Mrs. Dobson, our very own advisor and motivator- the driving force behind this whole project. Your love for the magazine inspired the entire staff this year, and challenged us to make it the best it’s ever been (hopefully we haven’t stressed you out too much).
And of course- saving the best for last- thank you to the creators. As always, all of you never fail to impress us with your artistic talents. We received many submissions this year and it was truly a challenge to narrow down a selection which represented the huge range of extraordinary talent here at TC. We worked hard to do every piece justice and give each of them an opportunity to shine. Even if your work is not represented here, know that nay piece of art or writing you put into the world leaves a piece of your soul. Your art is your legacy, and this is ours. Sincerely, Olivia Yao & Madelyn Smith Co-editors in Chief To see past issues and interviews, check out our website at https://tcflowmagazine.weebly.com/ 55
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