Gabrielle Woehr

shivered. He asked the question that I already had the answer to, and this was the moment, the chance, that I can finally tell the truth, whether the world thinks that I’m crazy or not.

“Well,” I rasped. “I didn’t decide on my own. I was forced to kill them all.” The man nodded. “But,” I continued. “When it came time to strike, there was a spirit in front of me. She took control of me. She made me do this.” The man chuckled. “50, there is no such thing as spirits, ghosts, and ghouls in this world.” Did...did he just give a nickname?! “But, I saw it! So it’s real, I’m telling you!” My voice croaked. The guards moved a little closer toward me, I could hear them.

“Alrighty, then. So, on to the next question. Why do you wear that mask?” I moved my hand to touch the paper mache. And, of course. I had to feel the stitches that were embedded into my skin. The root beer flavor went sour on my tongue.

“Well, when I snapped back, it was stitched on. It was originally a party favor, and it had an elastic band. I didn’t know that it would be an iconic symbol to identify me.” The man then laughed. I began to smile. It wasn’t in a psychotic way, but as a gentle gesture. I know that this is the last conversation that I will have with anyone.

“Alright. Final question.”

My shoulders sag. I don’t want this conversation to end, not when it was at its highest point.

“So, if you have anything to say to anyone, what would you say?” That was a question even I wasn’t expecting to answer. I just sit there, in silence. I’m thinking about what I have to say. I don’t want to say anything stupid, that’s one thing for sure. I definitely want to say something that’ll leave a mark on whoever is listening.

“Well,” I rasp, my voice trying to sound confident and inspirational. “If you try to do something, make sure it’s more than forgivable. You have to have a mind full of willpower, you have be cunning, and you have to play dumb. But, most of all, all the actions that you have to take will have to be unforgivable.”

A Melancholic Flame

Gabrielle Woehr

Dorothea bolted upright, a threadbare blanket covering only her legs. Gazing outside, she saw the soft earth in her garden painted with glistening, white flakes while stubborn trees whipped in the bitter wind. Dorothea sighed, turning now to look upon her bedroom. Her broken space heater sat against thin walls, seeming to taunt Dorothea with every glance it earned from her. Her dilapidated mattress lay on the floor, almost unnoticeable among stacks of foreclosure notices and bank statements, mountains of hand-me-down clothing, and an assortment of overdue library books. Dorothea’s mother had always reminded her to return them. She would check in on Dorothea every week, searching for books that tended to accumulate and tidying Dorothea’s bedroom when needed. Dorothea had not returned books in over a month. In fact, she found forgetting about late fees was quite easy when no one prompted her to deal with them.

She equated her situation to that of an alarm clock. When your alarm screams at you to get up, you learn to hate the clock and every harsh remembrance it delivers. You are filled with disdain until the alarm clock is ripped from your powerless grasp. When that happens, it becomes impossible to wake up.

Starlight washed over Dorothea’s room and sank into her melancholic eyes, masking the tears surfacing as she shivered and drew her knees towards her chest. She drifted back into the comforting realm of her dreams, but as was customary for her, her peace was short-lived. Soon after she fell into sleep, Dorothea was shocked alert, choking on smoke. It burned her throat, filled her lungs, and consumed her thoughts. The books carelessly strewn around her room were ablaze, flames creeping toward her mattress.

It only takes two minutes to die in a fire.

120 seconds. Less than Dorothea needed, more than she wanted.

Even as she sat in solitude, knowing the incredible horrors that she would soon face, Dorothea found herself not desiring to be anywhere else. She watched as the flames danced across her bedroom, trampling countless