JSLM II by Jonathan Wall

Dear Readers, This is the second year of the Journeys School literary magazine. The purpose of this magazine is to showcase the quality and variety of minds at Journeys School. - Mary Muromcew, Editor

Table of Contents

Tucker Warden, Stuck on the moon

Abby Heimerl, Swallowtail

Kai McClennen, Small Town Dreams

Maya Ferris, Forgiven

Natasha Muromcew, Flight of Life

Flynn Ellis, From The Sea to The Moon

Will Kucera, Full Count

Skylar White, Home

Matthew Watters, Graduation

107

Mitchell Carter, Lost Directions

119

James Hunter Dewell, Dead Sorrows

130

Wyatt Kern, The Music of Life

138

Ellory Hare, The Last Goodbye

149

Tucker Warden

Stuck On The Moon

I awoke to the sound of the wind rustling the leaves. Too tired to move, I lay in my bed with my face buried in my pillow, trying to find the motivation to get out. Finally, I folded down the sheets and rolled out of bed. I slowly put on my clothes, a smoke-gray flannel shirt and a pair of khakis. I made my way out of my bedroom and into the kitchen. Once there, I turned on the oven, cracked an egg into the skillet and made myself a cup of coffee. When my coffee had finished brewing, I picked it up and went outside onto the deck. The fresh scent of summer hit me like a wall as I stepped out the door. I hobbled towards my ancient, wicker rocking chair. A feeling of calm washed over me as I settled into the rocker. It was a beautiful summer morning, the air fragrant with the musty smell of moss and dry leaves. The pond had a thin layer of fog over the top of it, obstructing part of the woodland forest beyond. Down the dirt road that served as my driveway was a deer, it’s slender body silhouetted by the the hills that rose behind it. All around were the vibrant colors of summer, the greens, the blues, and the golden browns. It felt like one of the days from my childhood where, as a young boy, I would catch fish from the pond. I’m older now, my brown hair has dulled to a misty grey and my sky blue eyes have faded to a darker shade. Despite the passing of time, this morning rejuvenated me. After I finished my coffee, I returned inside and flipped my egg from the skillet onto a plate. I

opened the rusted refrigerator, pulled out a piece of bread and set it down onto my plate along with my egg. Just as I was about to sit down at my gnarled wooden table, the telephone rang. I approached the phone warily and snatched it off the hook. “Hello, who is this?” I snapped. “It’s me, Arthur.” “Umm?” “It’s Calvin, don’t you remember me?” I looked down at the floor. “Of course I remember you. I just haven't heard your voice in a while, let alone anyone else's.” “Listen, I know this is on short notice but a plan for a high school reunion has just come together and I was wondering if you might want to come and see your old friends.” “When is the reunion happening?” I sighed. “Next Friday.” Exasperated, I said, “Ok, let me think about it and I will call you back.” Hanging up, I put the phone back and sat down at the table to eat my breakfast. While eating, I contemplated whether I would go to the reunion or not. I thought it would be fun to see my old friends. But, I needed to fix my front door. It had been bothering me for a long time. That night while lying in bed, I wondered if I should call Calvin back. I was leaning towards not going.

A week after the call, I still hadn’t called Calvin back and I realized that it was too late to go to the reunion. Feeling disappointed that I let down my friends, I went outside and sat down in my rocking chair and started reading the newspaper. I found myself reading and rereading an article about a mission to the moon scheduled to launch on July 16. The newspaper said that it was called Apollo 11. I raised an eyebrow and I shuffled inside to mark it down on my calendar. I realized that the launch was the next day. Looking out the window at the pond, I heard the mail truck coming down the road. I closed the curtains and retreated to my sofa. As I sat down, a cloud of dust rose from the cushions, causing me to cough. A minute later, I heard a knock at the door. Pretending like I hadn’t heard, I continued to stare at the peeling paint on the ceiling until I heard the truck receding down the road. It had been so long that I had stopped trying. I woke the next morning to the rays of sunshine filtering through the window and onto my face. Surprising even myself, I hopped out of bed with youthful agility. Feeling excited anticipation for the launch, I started the coffee and flicked on the radio. After switching through some channels, I finally found what I was looking for: the Apollo 11 launch broadcast. The first thing I heard was the announcer saying, “T- 5 hours ‘til launch.” The announcer then said, “Now we are going live to talk with Neil, Buzz and Mike about their final thoughts before they are sent to the moon.” I settled down onto the couch and listened. Before I knew it, I heard, “T- 15 minutes ‘til launch.” The amazing tales of years of trust, perseverance and camaraderie that were required to get to launch told by the crew, their families and

NASA employees enveloped me for the next four hours. Listening to these tales that contained laughter and teamwork made me realize I was longing for the companionship of the astronauts. Through the radio I heard the sounds of the engines lifting the craft. I could feel the rocket soaring into the heavens, and I imagined myself going with it. But I also felt the stronger force of gravity sucking me back to earth. I had a fleeting thought: I should have gone to the reunion. That evening I went to bed without having eaten dinner. As I lay in bed staring at the blank ceiling, I felt empty. When I woke, the sun was already high in the sky. My limbs were as heavy as sheets of iron. Not able to find the strength to get up, I stayed in bed. I woke hours later, parched and hungry, to a knock at the door. I rolled over, not caring who it was. After I heard a vehicle drive away, I gathered all my strength, made my way to the kitchen, grabbed a loaf of bread and a cup of water and retreated back to my room. That night I dreamed of about my childhood. Calvin and I were fishing by the pond. My Dad sat on the porch, pipe in hand, smiling and watching us. Calvin screamed, “I’ve caught one!” I rushed over to help him reel it in. It was a beauty! We released the fish and splashed playfully after it. The next morning while I was laying in bed, I heard the rough rumbling bark of a dog. Cautiously, I got out of bed, not bothering to dress. I drew back the shades and peeked out the window. Emerging from the woods was a dog with floppy ears, vigilant hazel eyes and a coat colored white with big brown splotches. Without knowing what I was doing, I stumbled outside. I beckoned for the dog to come towards me. From around the corner of the house the dog came trotting, its tail wagging.

“Sit dog,” I said. I hesitated, unsure of what to do. As I examined the dog, I felt a weight lifting and a smile come to my face. I kneeled down. He rushed forward into my arms and licked my face. I let him follow me into my house. I realized that I have found a friend. That afternoon while I was sitting on the porch with my new companion, who I named Duke, I heard the mail truck coming. A tall, muscular, green eyed, man stepped out from the mail truck. I stood and walked down the steps to greet him, a smile dancing across my lips. I introduced myself and shook his hand. After exchanging pleasantries and the package he had for me, Duke and I headed back into the house. I went around the house, opening the shades to let the light in and the windows to allow the breeze to blow out the stale, musty air. As I opened the shades and windows, I felt as if I was opening up again.

Abby Heimerl

Swallowtail

I got a phone call from the hospital. I was looking forward to the sound of a doctor’s pretend sympathetic voice. I respect that they try to be nice, and comfort me, but that doesn’t work. I know what they’re about to tell me, but I’m not ready. As I picked up the phone, I didn’t know how to say hello and greet myself without bursting out into unexplained tears. My mouth was open, only letting out the noise of my slow breathes. I noticed my hands twitching, I didn’t know where to place them, or how to make them relaxed. As I ran my hands over the chord, I started to twirl it in between my trembling fingers. The only choice I had was to listen. Her first statement was, “I’m so sorry, I wish I didn’t have to say this now, but--”. Trying to disguise my real feelings with deep breaths, I unintentionally interrupted with sniffs and bursts of huffing. Expecting the doctor to comfort me, she ignores my crying, and goes on with her stale statement. “--Your father had just passed away several minutes ago.” Without thinking, I hung up. I knew that was it, it was a year after he got diagnosed with Glioblastoma Multiforme

brain cancer. I was actually studying in the realm of that topic, at the time I was a senior at MIT, and I had my dad move to Cambridge, Massachusetts, after he got diagnosed, so I could take care of him. He was my best friend. He wasn’t a normal dad that you would always roll your eyes at, or get annoyed with. We would do everything together, and never get bored. I understood him, and he was my greatest reason to care and be responsible. After all, that is something that almost everyone experiences, and all of us have to find a way to advance in life. I do acknowledge that, however, I refuse to demonstrate it in my actions. I’m too stubborn to forget and at least pretend to let it go. That happened four years ago, and I still can’t get it out of my head. Now, my goal is to become a neuroscientist. And I’m going to try my best to at least get closer to finding a cure for his form of brain cancer. I need to make up for his death, and prove to myself that I am promising. I want to be remembered for my work, even if my friends are the only ones who know about me. I want to accomplish something within the future that I have ahead of me. As I open my eyes after being dormant for probably eight hours, I look down at the softened numbers on my watch. As the digits come into perspective, I focus on the small numbers in the top right corner; I notice that it’s the day of my interview. It is in almost exactly six hours. I throw my comforter off my bed so I don’t fall asleep again. As I shift my feet onto the carpeted floor, I drift over to the wooden dresser that holds my various

outfits and clothing. On the top, there’s a pile of running clothes that I put there the night before, knowing that I would forget that I’m supposed to go running this morning. I extend my arm and grab my outfit, slowly bringing it towards me. I can already smell the odor of the fresh laundry detergent that lightly scents all my clean clothes. I slip off my pajamas, and effortlessly change into leggings, and a tank top. I start to walk out of the room. Looking down, I observe how my feet make contact with the floor each time I step. I come across the grey, misty tiled floor that makes up the kitchen. My nervous system shifts back into reality. I release my hand towards the sink to fill up my glass that I used last night. I leisurely let go of my arm strength, and allow my grasp to drop onto the faucet valve, and twist it on. It doesn’t take long until the water forms itself into an unbreakable descent. I grab the glass sitting on the ledge in front of the sink, and place it under the streaming faucet. I drowsily watch it until my glass starts to overflow with water. I stand here for some time before I remember to flip the valve off. I drain the bland liquid down my throat, and recklessly place the cup back onto the counter. I rush out the door, desperate for a long run. My music is flooding into my ears, allowing myself to ignore what’s going on around me. “Hey Claire!” I jump into the air, defying gravity in the amount of time it took me to scream, and let my sensitivity out. Looking around, I make sure no one else is around us,

or about to pop out at me again. “You ... you startled me, thank ... thank god it’s you, Eva.” I can feel my face scrunch up, sloping my eyebrows into a diagonal tilt. This was not the time for me to be social, I’m just hours away from my interview. I need to focus. “What’s up, you seem kind of——” I could see the early morning fatigue in her eyes. Her brown, lengthy hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, making her face visible from almost every angle. Her vigorous build allows her to run at a constant pace. “I’m just going for a run, that’s all.” I can feel the sweat running down my forehead. “Do you have something to tell me? Is it about your personal life, or —— or your job? I mean, you are a waiter that’s into neuroscience. You have to get a new job sometime soon. I can help you look. Maybe you could——” Her curiosity almost always leads to the correct conclusion. “I already am gettin——” Her voice shoots back at mine, and cuts me off in the same forceful tone that I had used to interrupt her. “Stop interrupting me, it’s rude. Anyway, you’re already getting what?” The cold air drifts in and out of my lungs, creating an icy sensation. “I am trying to getting a job. My interview is in five hours.”

“Oh... well, that’s great.” Her face suddenly turns soft and sensitive. Her eyebrows steady out, taking away all the creases on her forehead. “I should’ve told you, I was just waiting until I actually got the job.” My voice drifted into the air before my thoughts could reach my mouth. The excuse that I made was probably far from agreeable or fair for her to hear. “Whatever... that’s fine. Aren’t you at least going to tell me what kind of job you’re getting?” I can tell that she’s just trying to push away the awkward silence by asking me a question that she’s probably not even interested in, at least at the time being. I breathe in a big gulp of frozen air, and deliberately push out the expected answer. “I’m looking into neuroscience.” “That’s … great. Good for you.” Her mellow yet irritated puffs of simple words puts a rough and somewhat tangled end to our painful sentence swap. I can tell that she has more questions to ask me. But those can wait to be answered in the future, after she deliberates what I just told her. I look ahead, and see the sign “Washington Park … Denver”. As we get closer, we slow down, and soon turn around. I reach into my pocket, and feel around until I grasp onto my ear buds. I’ve never lasted a whole run without listening to music. While trying to keep up a good pace, I place the earbuds into my ears. They block out all the noises around me, inviting my heartbeat and breaths into my consciousness. I place my fingers on the chord

of my ear buds, and search up and down until I feel a rectangular button. I gently press down until I hear a click. Music starts beating into me, allowing me to run faster, and withdrawing all my bothersome thoughts from my attention. I don’t feel anyone running beside me anymore. I glance to my side, to see that Eva’s already turning down her road. I’m alone again, and it just allows me to run faster. I open the door, and step into the warmth of my home. While still listening to music, I can’t seem to get my mind adjusted to the inside. My attention is still outside, listening to songs and being unrestricted. I turn off my music, and instantaneously acknowledge where I physically am. It is utterly silent, pressuring me to think that this house is currently lacking something. Something like sound or action. My legs start to carry me towards the radio. I try to walk by swinging my arms in sync with my legs. Putting my left foot forward with my left arm out. My muscles are exerting further energy, and my mind is focused on something that shouldn’t have to use so much concentration. Systematically in motion, I thrust one leg forward, allowing the opposite one to instinctively catch up when necessary. As I come upon the radio, I watch it sit there, paralyzed, agitated that no one has turned it on since last week. It’s begging me to activate it, or even just press a button to cause some movement within it. I turn it on, leaving it on the same perfect volume level that it has been on since I first got it. It fills the room with the distasteful noise of dead air. I

spontaneously jab the button that leads to the next channel. A man’s voice starts to produce words, words that I have forgotten about. The moon launch. Today is the day that Apollo 11 launched for the moon. And hopefully in three days, they are going to step foot onto our world’s orb of twilight. This one thought has probably turned the whole world speechless. That’s probably going to be the only concept that the radio is going to talk about today. I know that they have launched, and I don’t need to hear more reflections about this day, and the upcoming day in history. I drag my hand down the switch that turns the radio off. It shuts down, and my house is quiet once again. My job interview is slowly creeping up on me. Time is passing away, and the future is only getting closer. There’s nothing to do in the little time I have before the interview. I gradually lower myself down into the chair single handedly sitting behind me. An abrupt continuation of clamorous rings cut the silence, and tossed me out of my chair. I pick up the phone, and it’s a familiar voice. “I need to talk to you.” She said. “Who’s this?” “Oh, it’s Ellie.” The phone makes her voice sound fake and phony, making me cringe. “Um, hi, what’s up?” “I heard that you didn’t tell Eva that you’re having a job interview. When is it?

Today, right?” “Yes, today.” “Do you care to tell me why you didn’t tell her?” “I … I just haven’t been feeling interested in talking to others about my life lately. Besides, I want to wait and see what happens before I go tell a bunch of people.” “Yeah … Okay.” I can picture her expressionless eyes rolling up and down, showing that my reasoning isn’t tolerable or good enough. “Well, good luck at your interview. They’re going to be thrilled to have you.” “That’s questionable.” I can’t pull away the phone yet. It’s not good to end a conversation with sass. “You can hold your tongue now. Being insecure won’t help.” I have a bad habit of hanging up on people when I’m irritated and I don’t know what to say. I eagerly pull the phone away from my ear, and make an effort to shove it into its stand without breaking it. As I stroll into the kitchen, I become aware of the fact that I haven’t eaten anything today; eating has never been my first priority. I draw the fridge open, and get out the soup I made two nights ago. I put it on the stove, and hastily plop myself onto a stool. The noise of the fire heating up my stew flows into my ears, making the noise of when wind is trapped in a box. It’s calming, settling the little bit of serenity remaining in my nerves. The

hotness of the soup creates gurgles that produce sizzling bubbles made up of heat and stamina. As I pour it into a bowl, the steam gently saturates my face, calming some of the tautness inside me. I put away my spoon, and slowly sip through the thick broth. The taste of butternut squash rests on my tongue; the salt that I mixed into the soup brings out the flavors of thyme and garlic. All the ingredients fuse together into a savory tang that carries out the pronounced mixture of nutrients and perfume for your appetite. By the time I’m done, my stomach has stilled. I can feel that there’s finally nourishment in me to keep my stomach undisturbed, so it doesn’t repetitively rumble anxiously. I still have on my sweaty running clothes. They’re not particularly comfortable, not letting go of the odor they developed from my run. As much as I don’t want to change into civilized clothes, I really have to. I jump into the shower; my toes cringe as they grip the chilled marble floor. My hand drops onto the knob, twisting it until it reaches the point between hot and cold. I can hear the pipes groaning, trying to force the water out on to me as soon as possible. I brace my muscles in response to the cold-water falling onto my head and darkening my hair with dampness. The chilled water slowly drips down my back, unnerving my spine with frost. The water soon turns warm, slowly comforting my muscles and getting rid of my tautness. As I wash my body and hair, I can feel the filth that was once overlaying me, now getting washed away, taking it’s last breath full of saturated air, and then getting washed away

down the drain. I twist the knob back, forcing the water to stop flowing. As I step out of the small, humidified enclosure, I can feel the plush rug instinctively trying to comfort my feet. After I dry off, I carefully walk onto the cold tiled floor. I steadily prance over to the closet to pick out what I’m going to wear. I gaze around the room full of clothes and different outfits. I limit my choices down to my least favorite kind of clothing, dresses. I pull the dress I chose over my head, I can feel the rich silk brush by my face, and soon fall onto my shoulders. It’s a plain, teal dress that goes down right past my knees. The sleeves rest just below my shoulders, and the neck carefully lies above my collarbone. Each of my ten different shoes are neatly sorted into colors and height below all of my hanging clothes. I pick out the pair that has the simplest appearance. I slip them on, and they look like white silk wrapped around my feet, making a fitted shoe that has an appropriate combination of properness and comfort. I haven’t worn a formal dress in forever; it almost feels foreign to me. I stride out of my room, and over to the kitchen. Standing on the balls of my feet, I reach up, and open the cupboard to the loads and varieties of tea bags that I have. I grab a mint packet, and lower myself down until my heels stroke the floor. I drop it in a mug, and turn on the stove to its highest power. I have a kettle already waiting there with leftover water in it, enough for a full cup. The piercing noise similar to a bird screaming comes out of the teakettle. I turn off

the stove, and pour the water into my mug. I start to sip it, letting the hot, minty water drain down my throat, and soothe my emotions. By the time I’m done with my tea, it’s about time to leave for my interview. I try my best to casually walk out the door, and into my garage. I rest my hand on the car door handle, considering what I’m stepping into. I slowly pull it open, making the door pop out to give me an opening into the car. I sit down, close the door, and place my hands on the steering wheel. I reach my hand up, recognizing each muscle I use while pressing down on the button above my head. Creaking noises arise throughout the garage roof as the wheels run along the giant wooden door, pulling it onto the ceiling. I drive out and press the button again to close the garage door. I’m about to begin a new phase of my life, accomplishing new things everyday for a living. It’s either I’m anxious and stressed out, therefore the highway feels hectic, or maybe it’s just a busy day today, even though it’s a Wednesday during work hours. As I’m coming up on the stoplight, I see an exquisite, delicate butterfly glide past my side window. The vibrant yellow patterns dripped down its wings like coffee flows down the outside of a mug. I’ve never seen a swallowtail in Denver, nor have I seen one this big. I begin to glance up, realizing that there’s a stop light ahead of me. I see the glaring red light punch my sight, my head and body swing down, then I abruptly tear up and slam into the back of my seat. Everything dimmed to oblivion.

My ears start to ring, waking me up out of the darkness I was just in. I fling my hand out, and the silky blankets stop me from getting anywhere too far. I roll around, and begin to wonder where I am, whether the car accident, and even dying was all just a nightmare. What if I’m laying in laying bed with my dad next to me, keeping me warm with his affection. What if I’m not even applying for my dream job. But none of that is true. I carefully pull open my eyes, making sure I’m on earth, and not resting in the place where dead people belong. And I’m not. My eyes go into focus, and I look to my side to see someone that looks like they could be a doctor. A doctor waiting for me to say something. I hear an unfamiliar noise come out of my vocal chords. “Where...am...I.” I say, I could feel the deadness and detachment flowing through my eyes, and contagiously spreading across my body. Making me look and feel almost half dead. The doctor’s voice starts to harmonize with sincerity. I can see he’s trying to comfort me, and it’s working. “You’re going to get better, don’t worry.” He says with heartfelt eyes. “You’re at Saint Joseph Hospital. Do you remember where that is? Do you know what a hospital does?” I can hear the words that he’s saying, but I can’t comprehend what they exactly mean. I open my mouth, and try to respond to his questions. I can hear myself say, I can’t quite remember right now, but it is on the tip of my tongue. I...I’m at a hospital right now,

so, um, maybe it’s a place to, uh, comfort like hurt people or something. But I can tell by his facial expression that I’m speaking gibberish. “Um, ok, that’s a start. Well, you’ll develop words soon enough.” I can hear the worriedness in his voice, as if something is going wrong. “So, you’ve been in coma for three days. And, well, soon enough time will tell us how you will do.” He starts to look at his feet, and then slowly lifts his head up to meet with my eyes. His expression is tense but fragile, he looks afraid for me. But what is there to be afraid of? Have I done something wrong? I close my eyes, trying to contemplate what has happened, and how I got here. I can’t think of anything, not even what I was doing three days ago. How am I supposed to know what is going on in my life, and how am I supposed to catch up on it? Where am I, and why am I here…? “We haven’t looked very far into what affect your car crash had on you. But from what I can see, you got a very bad concussion, and probably amnesia. You’ve only lost a partial bit of memory, you luckily haven’t forgotten your whole life,” He said, making his words reserved but dependable. “We can’t um, well, we uh…” He still has a sorrowful expression. I can tell that he will regret whatever he tells me. He has no choice but to finish the sentence that he started. “If you can hear me right now, we’re uh... well, to be completely honest, we’re not really sure how you are going to do. It’s really between life and death right now.” I know that look of regret in his eyes. He figures that I don’t want to

know if I’m going to die because of this. But I do. I want to know when my life is going to end, and if they know, I deserve to know. Death is my biggest fear, and it always has been. The irritating noise that sounds like crumpling up tinfoil comes rushing into my ears. I glance to my right, and see the small, square TV in the corner of the room giving it’s utmost best to turn on. The fizzy black and white grains on the screen start to form into more solid shapes, soon creating a picture that’s clear enough for me to see. “The eagle has landed” I could barely see what was on the screen, all I could see was a white blob with people wearing white, blocky suits. They were walking down stairs that came from a giant structure... the thing that landed a minute ago on the white blob. The black and white footage begins to slowly fade away, becoming a white blur that I have never imagined before. I look around, trying to get my eyes away from the colorless window, but it takes over the whole room, and soon the whole world. The flashing, luminous scenery comes screaming into my eyes, shutting off all my senses, except for my hearing. "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankiiinnddd——"

Kai McClennen

Small Town Dreams A white eagle flies over the small flat town of Buford, Wyoming. It soars in, following the patterns of the wind, and flies down the highway that cuts the place in half. Some people call it a dump, most people don’t even know it is there. The only people driving through are not there to visit its solitary inhabitant, they are either lost travelers or bearded truck drivers finding their way to their destination. The eagle turns, and eventually settles on a rough house, which is leaning as if it wants to leave. The front door opens, and a dark skinned man runs out of the front door, brushing his jet black hair out of eyes with a gloved hand, and putting his blue Patriots hat back on. He seems to be going somewhere, but his insecure eyes show his confusion. Danny runs out of his house, his shoes untied and a blue backpack slung over one shoulder, contrasting greatly with his black hair. He is getting ready for another day of sitting at the counter and restocking shelves, with only one customer. If he is lucky he might even have a conversation with a traveler who won’t remember him the next day. If they do, he will just be that lonely store owner, never doing anything, never going anywhere. Caught up in his negative self thoughts, he doesn’t ever hear the jingle of the

door opening. The first customer of the day appears in his peripheral vision, brightening up the room just a little bit. “Hi,” he says with a forced grin, always trying to put on a good show for his customers. “Hello,” the man greets him with a slow voice. He is round, with pudgy cheeks. “How are you today?” Danny asks, but the man is too far into the aisles picking out junk food to hear him. Of course. He is just a boring general store worker.This man won’t even remember him tomorrow. “Knock knock? You there?” The guy had gathered a pile of candy, chips, and other junk food, ready to be on his way. “Well, have fun snacking,” Danny practically grumbles, aware that his jealousy is apparent. The jingle of the bell sounds again, but this time it reminds him that he will never be the one opening it. *** When he goes to the store the next morning, he notices something is wrong. First, there is a car parked in the parking lot. Danny always gets to the store early, and the first customer usually doesn’t show up until midday. Upon closer inspection, he also notices that that there is no one in the passenger’s seat. Whatever, he tells himself. There is probably .just some stupid explanation for this. I’ll just continue along with my day as normal.

The cold metal of his keys press against his frosty skin as he unlocks the back door, and the warmth of indoors greets him. He follows his normal routine, first cleaning the bathroom, then restocking the shelves and getting ready for the store to open. He enters the first bathroom, and hears a flush. Maybe I am just imagining things, he reassured himself. He bends down, and immediately hears a heavily accented British voice. “I hope you don’t mind if I used the lou. I had to go pretty bad,” it said. Danny practically jumped out of his shoes. “Wh-who are you?” He questioned. The man looks in his fifties, with salt and pepper hair and bright blue eyes that shine in the light. “Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Scott Jeffrey Smitar,” the man says. “Do you mind if I stay awhile? I actually haven’t had breakfast yet.” His stomach grumbles at the thought of food. “I guess…” Danny says, unable to say no. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” The guy seems nice enough, even though he is fairly presumptuous. Ruffling through his wallet, he slaps a twenty dollar bill on the counter. “Here, take this. I’ll go pick out a sandwich or something.” The morning light shining in the window illuminates the aisles, and casts a shadow over the checkout counter. Scott munches loudly with his mouth open, and Danny ruffles

through dollar bills, the soft touch of paper on his fingertips. “So, what brings you to the middle of nowhere, Wyoming?” Danny asks, a weak hearted attempt at humor. The man raised his eyes sharply. “You see, I’m in a little of a problem right now. I have lost my house, and I am driving down to visit my sister, in Jackson.” “I’ve heard the mountains are beautiful there,” He comments with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, trying to avoid an awkward situation. “Where are you coming from?” “I was born in Great Britain, and I flew as a pilot in the Great War.” Danny’s heart leapt up into his throat as he heard that word. “I was an amazing person in the air,” he closes his eyes and breaths in as he relives the past. “I flew a Gloster Meteor F1. She was a beautiful plane, she could maneuver faster than any other, and had a gun that shot them down as fast as you could count. There was this one time where I had a plane tailing me. I tried everything I could, but I still couldn’t shake him. I had to do something desperate. I flipped into a barrel roll, and turned around and pressed the trig-” Danny painfully averts his attention, as his eyes begin to fill with tears. “That’s great. I need to go clean the bathrooms,” Danny said dryly. There was no point in listening to tales of something that he could never be. “I was just getting to the good part…” but Danny had already left.

A sigh escaped from Scott’s lips as he ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair. He followed the store owner. “Y’know, I won a medal for saving another pilot,” he carried on as he found Danny scrubbing the toilets. “We both crashed, and the bad guys - I can’t bring myself to call them the other word - came. We both hid in the bushes, and they found my friend, his name was Alexander, we called him Xan, and took him away. I bravely followed them, hiding behind bushes and eventually got to base camp. Without reinforcements, I snuck in and rescued him. That’s where I got this limp, my biggest war scar.” He gestured at his right leg. Danny was bent down, trying to conceal the tear streaks on his face with his spray bottle. “Are you trying to rub this in or something? Whatever you’re doing, it's not helping. I am never going to be you! I will never get out of this damn place, and I will never do anything with this life. Go to hell!” Danny yelled at him, not caring about his tear stained appearance. Time passes. Danny’s eyes flowing with salty water. Scott’s mouth hanging open. Silence. It seems to go on like this for hours. Finally, someone breaks the silence. “I’m sorry,” Danny bursts out. “It’s okay. My adventures can make people cry sometimes, but not like this.” “Sorry, the store is closed now. I need to go home.”

“I guess I’ll just be on my way then. Good luck in your travels.” Scott walks away, shaking his head in confusion. Danny shakes his head and crosses his arms, his head drooping.

*** His bed creaks as he throws his body down on its frame. Sobbing into his pillow, he wonders what it would be like to have his dreams come true. Right as he is close to falling asleep he hears the decades-old telephone ringing on the wall. He groans, wondering if it was someone real or just a misdialed number, which is more often. If it was for him, then who would it be?

His body droops as he walks over to the ringing telephone. It vibrates in his hand as he picks it up, and puts it up to his ear. “Hello.” “Hola, mi hijo bonito!” a high pitched voice speaking in Spanish says. Danny sighs. Of course his mother calls him, his very loving but annoying mother. His mother that loves him for no reason. He looks down at his body. “Hi Mom. Can you speak in English please?” Danny always hated his native language, back to when kids bullied him in elementary school.

“Fine,” she replies in her thickly accented voice. “How are you?” Danny couldn’t help it. There always was this urge, since his father died, to tell everything to his mom. “This guy came to my store today, he was an old war pilot. He told me all these stories, and I couldn’t help it. I yelled at him, I don’t know why. I guess I just couldn’t take it anymore. I am never going to be one. I will never be a pilot.” “Oh Daniel. I thought that you had given up on that years ago.” “I pretended to give up on it, just so you and dad wouldn’t think was bad.” There was a long pause. “I would never think that. It is just the dream will never come true. I mean, look at you. How will you even get a car and drive out of wherever you’re living?” It is true. I’ll never get out of here, I’ll never leave this place, let alone qualify for being a damn pilot, he thinks. “Mom, what should I do?” “Daniel my dear, just accept where you are. You know I will love you no matter what, and I want you to be happy.” “Thanks Mom. Do you think I should have yelled at that guy though?” She gave a long pause.“Danny, that’s for you to decide. I don’t know your situation.” “Bye mom,” he said, gazing out the window towards the road.

“Love you, Daniel.”

***

The musty smell of his room wafts throughout the entire house, yet there is no one there to smell it. Sweat forms on his forehead, and the room seems to rattle. He flops down on his bed again, closing his eyes. The day wastes on, yet Danny doesn’t have the confidence and energy to do anything with it. His weary body lies on his bed, without thinking about his bodily needs of food or water. The sun sets on Buford, Wyoming, and its solitary inhabitant, depressed and unmoveable. And this is how the next few weeks go. He wakes up, with barely enough energy to get dressed. He eats an energy block and drinks a glass of water with a vitamin pill for breakfast, skips lunch, and grabs a bag of chips for dinner. His day is spent with him lounging on the counter of the counter, watching the news on his old television. The only thing that seems to bring him an ounce of joy. He feeds off of this, seeing other people do great things, trying to make up that he will never do them himself. In some ways, he has accepted it during the day, and he seemingly doesn’t care anymore. But this lack of the caring during the day gets made up for during the night. He stays up for hours thinking

about his late dad’s death, and his all-consuming desire to become an aviator. When he eventually falls asleep, he dreams that he is in the cockpit of a plane. When he takes off, something goes wrong. One of his wheels fails, and he starts to tip, eventually crashing into the building, always waking up thinking, what have I done? The natural cycle of the planet does not change. The sun continually rises each morning, sending its light that dances on the road into the world. The golden chariot follows its path, shining its rays across the universe. It falls each night, with its last goodbye wish, until it rises the next morning. Danny hardly notices any of this. He is swept into a world of constant jealousy and depression. Some days, there aren’t even customers in his store. Danny doesn’t notice that either. He doesn’t hope for people like he used to. Over time, his body begins to sag, and his shoulders slump, and he grows a scraggly beard. When the phone rings, he doesn’t pick it up. His fingernails grow long and uncut. He begins to wear the same clothes every day, never doing laundry. His house reeks of body odor mixed with half full beers. He expends his energy in cleaning his house, not his body. Even though he looks like a savage, and the smell of his house is intolerable, every inch of his floor is polished to perfection, and his stuffs every type of food into his refrigerator. The windows are clear, and the furniture doesn’t have a speck of dust on it. He doesn’t do laundry, yet there are no clothes on the floor.

*** It is July 20, 1969, another normal dreary day for Danny. The daily patron shows up, but this young lady has a different bounce to her step. “Are you going to watch it tonight?” she asks, swinging her long blond hair around her shoulder. Danny is so used to never talking to people anymore that he is taken aback when she says this. “Watch what?” He tries to sound confident, yet he is not sure that message will come true with his ungroomed appearance. “You haven’t heard?” she questions with an air of unbelieving to her voice. “The moon landing is happening tonight. The Americans are going to put people on the moon.” Danny is visibly astonished, and his eyes opened wide. His feet shift nervously on the ground, hoping that she isn’t lying. “You’re kidding.” “Nope. It’ll be on your television tonight. You can check. They are in the rocket right now.”

“I guess I will think about it. Your total is 17 dollars 38 cents.” Danny said, desperately hoping to change the subject. “Thanks. Well listen mister, make sure to watch it tonight., OK?”

*** The day passes like normal. He opens the front door of his house, and realizes something is different. The same musty smell, the same polished counters, yet something seems to pop out. And then he realizes what it is. The television. He looks away, but it seems like like his head is drawn back to the television. He walks back into his room and slams the door, trying to put some room between himself and the television. But no. He can’t do it. Sighing, he gives in and slumps down in the old chair, right in front of the tv.

Sighing, Danny picks up the unnaturally heavy remote and presses the on button, which feels surreal and plasticy upon his touch. The static goes on, but eventually he can make out the blurry outline of human a figure, set on top of a landscape of magnificent desolation. He is standing on top of a metal ladder, preparing to jump down to the surface, swirling with dust. The sky is pitch black, and in the distance he can see craters, almost like a potter has carved them out but forgot to polish the edges. The man in the video seems stuck in a blocky suit that seems unnecessary, and is carrying a big american flag, with a tan wooden pole. His visor is reflective, and you can see the entirety of the spaceship behind him. It is a towering mass of white metal, with an american flag printed on it.

He looks up and notices that the man, who was just standing on the ladder, is now standing on the surface of the moon. Turning up the volume, he hears the words “a small step for man, a giant leap for mankind.” These words ring in his head as he thinks what has just gone on. The moon. Another celestial body, and us humans are stepping on it right now. That night, he has the same dream that he has all the time. He is in the cockpit of his airplane, which seems pretty big when he looks around. and about to take off. At the signal from the person on the ground, he starts the engines, thrusting air behind him. He propels down the runway, almost feeling as if he is the plane. There is wind rushing down his wings, and the thrill of speed courses through him. The end of the runway is nearing. Inside the plane, Danny braces himself for the impact of the crash, but instead something amazing happens. The plane is in the air, soaring above the clouds, breaking the fog. He looks down and sees the landscape below him, the bright lights of the city far away and the rolling hills of the country underneath his belly. The morning sun blinds Danny as he awakens. Rolling over, he feels something unnatural happening to his face. The corners of his lips twist upward, an unrecognizable feeling for Danny. It feels good, though. At once, he realizes what it is. He is smiling.

Maya Ferris

Forgiven

The sun lowers down to the ocean, as the town lights gleam on the shore. The Sydney Opera house perched by the still water as they sing their final song not so far from here, the darkness steals the light. A lonely shack sits in the woods with its dim lights, lighting up the forest, under the dark midnight moon. A shadow sits in a little window in a crowded room, listening to the loud harmful crackle of the radio. A girl with dark cocoa hair and blue eyes sits on one of the broken boxes, talking to a girl in the back of the room. While Jasmine sits on the box with her hand touching a rickety old skateboard with junk all over it. The lights flicker once, twice, and the lights go out. “Jasmine!! I thought you changed the light bulb!” “I did,” said Jasmine. The rickety old door squeaked as the light turned on. A boy with hair as blond as the sun walked in. The girl in the corner with red hair and brown eyes walked out with a phone in her hand. “Want to answer this?”

“Who is it.” “Your sister!” “No! just hang up. Now!” Olivia hung up the old phone that Jasmine thought she had hidden and threw it on the bumpy bed by a little window. They all had sat down on the floor and watched the mice eat cheese and crawl into little holes. No one said a word about the phone call for the rest of the night. When the blond haired boy and the brown eyed girl left the shack, Jasmine sat on her bed staring at the old phone sitting on her bedside table. She turned it on to see a voicemail sitting on top of the screen. “Hey sis, I know you hate me right now but I really need to talk to you, can you please come home so we can talk face to face.” A tear slides down her smooth, pale skin. She wipes her tear away with an ice cold finger. Sliding into the dry gray covers she closes her eyes. Olivia screamed. “Jasmine! Jasmine! Wake up!” “What is it Olivia! I’m trying to sleep.” “Sorry, but you can’t sleep away your pain! You got to tell me.” “Fine! My sister wants me to come home.” Jasmine said, pulling the covers over her flowing hair. “That's good?” Olivia said as a grin glides onto her face

“Yeah sure. Now, I have a job to get to, unlike some people.” …... Jasmine left the shack on her skateboard and went flying like an eagle into the city. The music blasted in her ears letting her feel as if she was in a different world. She finally arrived at a small restaurant at the corner of an old alley. Not many people were sitting in the small diner, only an old man in an old brown suit sipping a cup of coffee, while tapping his cane against the loose floor brick. The bell of the door dinged as she came through the small opening and put on her apron, picked up a pot of coffee and walked over to an old man who was in the corner. She poured him a cup of steaming coffee, holding the coffee pitcher as tight as she could. Rather abruptly, the man asked her to sit down. She wiggled her body through the tight space and sat down across from the old man. “You look like you lost someone you loved.” The man’s voice was low and gravelly, but had a soothing quality to it. “In a way yeah.” “ I can see it in your eyes; the sadness of not seeing a loved one.” “You're closer than you think.” “Well, I’ve been there.” “You have? How?”

“Well, I was fifteen years old and-” “Jasmine get back to work.” Said a tall young man sitting in the corner of the building. Jasmine stood up to go seat people who had just walked through the door. The old man pulled her arm. :Go back to the one you love, don’t live your life knowing you made a big mistake.” She walked away, walking back and forth thinking of what the old man said. Another waitress gave Jasmine a large, smirky smile as she seated the new customers. Did the old man have a point to go see her? No that didn’t matter anymore. As she went home, the man's voice kept ringing throughout her head. As she stepped inside, she closed her eyes and let out a sigh of relief. Her feet were aching, and she was tired from work. The old door slams behind her as she moves to sit in the corner of the old shack. A tape falls on her head, on the front it says Apollo 11. She puts it in an old DVD player and begins to watch the odd movie. At least she thinks its a movie. A gold and white space bug goes soaring through the sky, heading straight towards the moon. The door creaks as Olivia walks through the door. Jasmine leaps to her feet. “Oliva, You scared me!” “Sorry, I was just wondering if you wanted to talk about you and your sister.” Jasmine looked from video and back to Olivia, her heart pounding.

“No way!” “Oh, that’s too bad because we could have snuck onto a plane, to go visit her.” Suddenly Jasmine faints hitting her head against the cold wooden board on the floor. *** “I think you killed her,” says a deep voice from the corner of the room. Jasmine groggily awakes and hits Max on his left shoulder. His familiar eyes are laced with concern as he stares at her. “I’m not dead you idiot and why are we on a plane, I think I remember myself saying no to going to Paris,” says Jasmine rubbing her head. “No, Olivia wanted you to faint so you would actually get on the plane to go to France.” “We're here in Barjol, France.” Olivia said with a smile as big as the crescent moon in the sky. “Barjol! She lives in Paris!” “Oh, it was kind of hard to understand you when you were falling down.” “Taxi!” The world feels like it’s out to get her as she feels she’s going to die in that very cab. They drive down a one-way street full of people eating their macaroons. “We're in France!” Olivia and Max say, as their faces glow brighter than a night

light. “Turn the cab around.” Jasmine looks at her friends and back to the cab driver. “I said turn the cab around!” The cab drifted around the one-way street on its way back to the airport. Olivia buried her hand into her head shaking it back and forth knowing that Jasmine had made a big mistake.

“We're here, our plane will arrive at 8:00, we have 3 hours to spare,” Max said handing them their hastily bought plane tickets. Jasmine sat down on the old cold floor as her hands dug into her ripped blue jeans. A single tear ran down her face, and a tingle of shock ran through her body. Jasmine felt like the world is spinning in circles around her. “Hey Jasmine, were going to go out in town wanna come?” “No.” Jasmine said letting one eye poke out from behind her arm. Max and Olivia took to steps out of the sliding glass doors as clear as a newly sharpened sword. Olivia took out an old phone and called a Paris located number. “Hi, this Jasmine’s friend listen we're at the airport in Barjo, Paris. and we have three hours I was wondering if you could come here and see Jasmine please.” “I don't know, it's not like she wants to see me.” “Just come. Our plane leaves in an hour.” Olivia and Max walk towards Jasmine.

“I had thought you were in town.” “No, It’s not fun without you.” Jasmine smirked a little and put her head on her knees and shut out the whole world. Then her phone suddenly begun to ring. “I’m in a taxi outside,” said Jasmine's sister. “You know what Jasmine, you're coming into the town with us.” Jasmine shakes her head in grief and turns away. Max and Olivia grabs her arms and slides her by the jeans over the wet dirty floor. A bright yellow taxi is sitting outside in shadow. In that moment, Jasmine feels she knows. A black leather boot. A girl steps out with black hair and blue eyes, a girl who looks very much like Jasmine. “I know her from somewhere.” “Yeah, you do.” “But from where?” As the girl drew closer, the more Jasmine remembered. Pictures appeared in her mind. She almost fell over as all of the memories came back at once. Memories of playing in the fields and stealing fresh pastries from their grandparents bakery. The new girl pressed her cold hand to her face. “I know her she's, she's…..” Jasmine hits the ground, but the girl with the black hair catches her. Jasmine wakes up five minutes later and is speechless. Her sister is cradling her like when she was younger.

Natasha Muromcew

Flight of Life

Anemone ran outside looking around at the devastated battlefields in front of her, her town, in smoldering ruins, the buildings shambling down as the fire consumed them, the swirling smoke wafting into her nose. “What happened," she cried, staring at the burnt village in front of her. “Aarrcc”, screamed a force from up above her, and as she looked up to the sky filled with smoke there was a large red dragon soaring above her village, breathing fire at the innocent villagers. “A dragon attack, not again,” she thought. “Noooo!”she yelled. Then she felt a plan forming in her head, so she rushed away from the dragon, as the fear began to swell up in her chest, she ducked into a musty shed. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest as she went to the rickety shelves and started to pull out an old tube of toothpaste, a dusty bottle of olive oil, and some ink then mixed it into a vial. Then she hastily grabbed a crossbow and fixed the vial onto a large arrow. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the bright fiery light and looked up to the sky and spotted the large red dragon, flying about. Anemone picked up a rock, and screamed at the dragon. it looked straight into her

eyes and took a deep breath then shot some fire at it. Without a moment to lose, she shot the arrow straight into its mouth then rolled into the nearby stream. She pressed herself further beneath the water, feeling the icy coolness soothe her burns. Anemone popped her head back out of the water in time to see the arrow catch fire and explode right inside the dragon's mouth. The dragon let out a cry of pain then crashed into the ground, dead. “Woohoo!” “Anemone saved us all!” “Hooray for Anemone!” “Anemone, this is not your best work,” Matthew said, as he stood over an anxiouslooking young woman at her desk, “You are very replaceable so don’t let this slip again,” he warned. “What, you said you needed the profiles with the graphs, and that the other ones were-” “No, the same rules still apply, I don’t need all of the graphed profiles because you know most are useless” He hissed. Then he strode off through the hallways leaving a slight clicking sound with his shoes. Anemone looked down at her desk frowning, well I could’ve sent the right ones I guess, but these data profiles had more information than the others so I thought that they would be more useful but I guess not, she thought. She leaned back in her crisp blue chair and stared at her little dragon sketches, taped onto the inside of her cramped cubicle. They had little impact on her real life, but they were huge on the inside of the paper, in her little

world of imagination. This place where they could never come out of. her fingers itched to make more, but she knew someone could easily take her place in her current job, so she went back to work, as her mind soared high in the clouds. Anemone wished she could quit, she hated this job and always felt out of place, but her parents would never approve and she couldn't let them down, not after last time… I tried hard for them, right? Arrgh! She thought. Anemone laid her face in her hands, wondering what she was going to do. Whatever she did, she would always no it wasn’t the right place. Her parents would destroy her if she quit and became an artist or author, but she would internally destroy herself if she continued with this. In her job, almost everything she did was wrong; in her dream job, everything is self-expression, and neither correct nor wrong. Right after losing the math competition her parents were so angry at her, so angry she had wanted to hide in a pit on a desolate corner for days. The second time she failed them was on her English final; it wasn’t that she was stupid, it was just that her teacher thought that the “Adventures Of The Missing Continent’ wasn’t relevant to their mystery and crime unit. Or maybe it was the third time, when she felt like the biggest loser in front of her parents, when she tripped at the soccer tournament (a sport only her parents liked) and let the other team score an extra goal. Sometimes she just didn’t understand what she always did wrong, but every day she would get this disdainful look from her parents, as if she had washed the windows with coal, or failed her math test, neither of which she had

done. But being fired from their dream job for her would definitely disappoint them more than anything she had done before. She felt as if she was in the wrong spot, in the wrong city, in the wrong country, in the wrong universe. “Where am I supposed to be here? What am I doing in this awful place? What place do I have here” she thought. “Beep Beep”, Anemone pulled her phone out of her bag and pressed the faded red button. “Hello?” “Hey anemone, this is Qibli, umm, do you want to go to the cafe tonight?” His voice squeaking with hope. “Ya, sure thing, I’ll be there in 15, bye.” and with that, Anemone laid her phone into her purse and rushed off the cafe with a growing smile. The cafe spot smells of coffee and relaxation into the street as she arrived, looking around Anemone saw one familiar face among the few people inside. A young man with messy dirty blond hair and an aloof expression on his face strode up to her. “Hey, Anemone! How are you?” he beamed. “Great, well, I still have my job so… that’s good at least” “Ha, I quit hedge funds a few months ago, couldn’t understand which profile to send, they say they need the most informative ones, but the ones I send in somehow to have the most pages and graphs but are apparently useless. I never fully understood it,” he

sighed. “I’m having that exact problem, they’re like oh no we need the grafted ones, oh no we can’t use those grafted ones, but those are the only graphed profiles” “Ha! That is a perfect imitation” “Shall we sit down?” “Oh, ya. I got you something special, very special”, he giggled. “Oh really, then let me see it” she leaned closer, and with that he pulled out a black bag and handed it to Anemone, nearly shaking with excitement. “It’s one of my latest projects” he piped “Hmm, then maybe I shouldn't take it...you know what happened last time you gave me one of your projects” she teased “What! The Celliambe worked perfectly” “Did not, it shattered one of my only wine glasses,” she poked him in the chest. “Well, this one is sure to work, well... not in here. Let's go to the park,” he stood up with his coffee and started skittering out the door. “Wait!” She pulled the bag off the ground and dashed after him. As they reached the park they found a bench to sit down on. “Ok, open it,” he said, the excitement started to burst out of him. “Alright, alright, be patient.-” She playfully shoved him. Anemone looked inside

the bag and pulled out an odd rectangular metal box, slightly smaller than the size of her back. SHe could see curious looking straps attached to the box. “Umm, what is this?” “Argh, just put it on and pull the silver straps around your waist.” Anemone pulled the box onto her back, rearranged the black straps, then pulled out the silver straps from behind. Then black wings blossomed out of the back. “Whoa! Oh my god” She turned to admire the pitch black wings. “How did you make these? They’re amazing, and just like my sketches.” “It’s been a side project of mine for awhile” He said sweetly. Anemone walked over to him and gave him a fierce hug. “I love it.” “Hey, want to sit down?” Anemone closed the wings. “Sure, so, what have you been doing lately?” “Well, since I quit hedge funds I’ve been working in a car shop, mostly doing repairs, it's alright I guess.” “Well, apparently since my parents own the hedge fund company I work for it should be interesting... I thought... you know, managing money and angry customers,” she laughed. “But it's not,” She sighed. “I just read profiles and send what I think are the good ones, it takes up most of my time on the weekdays, now. But, something is definitely

missing. I mean, aren’t the years after college living in L.A. supposed to be amazing? And full of adventure?” “Yep, it should be full of adventure, and I think I can help you with that,” he said. Then he pulled her delicate face towards his and kissed her on the lips. And in that very moment, all that mattered was them, together, forever. For once, since she left home, she was happy and wasn’t worried about the pressing future, or the disappointment of her parents. Just Anemone and Qibli, in the moment, was all there was in that world. Anemone sat back at her little desk looking back up at the withering ceiling. The way Qibli had made her feel last week, she still hadn’t gotten over the fireworks inside her head, as the stress and boredom had left her head, just for a moment, but it was enough for an eternity. “Maybe it's true that I’m not happy here, and maybe it is also true that I wish I could leave and never come back to this wretched city, but I also know that I can’t let my parents down and that if I left them they would have nothing else to live for”she thought. She looked back to the ominously growing stack of papers in front of her. With a deep sigh, she got back to work, checking and crossing, little impacts on the lives of a paper set person. On the way home, Anemone’s phone rang. “Hello” “Uh, Hey Anemone, it’s Qibli”

“HI! I had a lot of fun last week, it really helped me through the past few days of cross, check, cross, cross, check” “Ha, that is probably the worst job for someone like you Anemone” “I know, but I don’t have much of a profile really, and my art can’t support me by itself. My parents are the only reason I have such a well paying job, and I can’t face their disappointment if I turned this down again. Seriously, if I leave, they won’t have much to be proud of or care about. If I left his job they would leave me and do who knows what with their lives” “Oh, and I used to ask why you don’t see your parents that often, now I see. Anyways… I was wondering if you wanted to watch the moon landing with me tomorrow night” “Ya sure, but I am quite sure that’s fake” she grinned “What? No, they wouldn’t do that because almost the entire country is watching and people will definitely be fact-checking every single second of it,” he argued. “No, they could most certainly still fake because they have so much money behind their backs that they could most certainly make in mini moon area and fake everything” “Oh cmon, NASA’s a great company that is a benefit to this country” “Well if you say so, but don’t say I never told you so”

“Whatever, can you come to my place at 6:00 tomorrow?” “No way, your TV is half broken, I don’t want to miss the landing because your TV is half wired, come to my place where it's actually clean and organized” “Alright, I’ll bring drinks” “See you at my place 6:00 tomorrow? “Sure thing”

Anemone set her bulky phone back into her purse and opened the door to her apartment. It was a little apartment meant for one or two, with one bedroom, one bathroom, a closet, and a living room, dining room, and kitchen squashed into a larger room. Anemone had decorated the walls with her own art and design of dragons, fairies, and of course unicorns. But the part that made it special was that she could do anything she wanted with it, she could push her bed into the kitchen and sleep next to her cereal bowls for all she wanted. Whatever she did, it was her choice only, and no one could look down on her for it. Well, perhaps Qibli, but he doesn’t care. Anemone tossed her bag onto the couch then flopped onto her bed for the night. Anemone’s parents looked down their long witch-like noses, disgusted in her and everything she has done “Anemone, what have you done now,” They said in their icy high pitch voices.

“But it wasn't me” squeaky five-year-old Anemone cried. “It was Sanchez” “Anemone don’t be silly, Sanchez isn’t real because fairies and dragons aren’t real, get that into your tiny little brain of yours” “Yes theys are, how else woulds the footprint has got on the ceiling” “Those are what we call unimportant details, the little things that are not supposed to bother you. Now Anemone, list me the 38 molecular biofunctions, tell me what you learned today.” They hissed. Her parents seemed to grow taller and their faces redder, and dry. “We haven’t learned those yet, Mrs. Shanahan says we learn those in the 9th grade, not the 3rd, I asked her yesterday” “Well did you learn anything” they growled “Yes, I learned? lots today, I learns how to use use bar graphs, how to graph my own charts of data with pebbles, how to make little clay pigs, how to use there, they’re, and their, and why it rains” “That’s useless information, why can’t you learn important things, none of those will help you get a job, or into a good college. You may not go to bed yet, you may not love that silly mistake named Qibli, you may not follow your dreams and become an author or artist or write stupid comics, and you may not quit your job and run away in the

adventurous and unpopulated woods in Oahu. You venomous idiot, you are the worst disappointment we have ever seen.” They shouted, then like something out of her sketches, they transformed into hideous red dragons and scorched Anemone into a little five-year-old crisp. Anemone awoke with a gasp, her heart was beating faster than an antelope on a prairie. “It was just a dream, just a dream, my parents are not dragons and I am not a burned crisp, just a dream, JUST A DREAM,” she thought. At least I don’t have work today, I’ll just clean the apartment, cook some delicious things, go running on the trails in the nearby woods, and not have a single thought about my parents today,” she thought. Getting out of bed she already knew that last part was not happening today. Anemone prepared her apartment for the moon landing, she pulled out some of her galactic sketches and hung them around the room, then cooked some popcorn and sat on the couch and sketched on her notepad as she waited for Qibli to come. “DING DONG” the bell went. Anemone opened the door to find a grinning Qibli standing at the entrance. “Hey Qibli, welcome to my humble abode,” she smiled. He stepped into the apartment and looked around. “Wow, you’ve switched up some of your drawings,” he said. Then he started to peer at each one.

“Oooh I like this one, it's cool how the monster is half-way through transformation mode, you can even see the ripped tie on the ground. And ooooh, this one is nice, all galaxy-like and all.” “Thanks” She blushed. “They’re just what I do in my free time” “Awesome.” He plopped onto the couch and switched the TV on. “So, what did you do today,” he asked “Oh, not much, but I did have this crazy dream.” “Reeeeaaaallllly?” “Oh ya, I was five years old and my parents started asking me about binomials and fractions and the Pythagorean theorem and then scold me when I told them that the teacher told me that I am supposed to learn that in five years, then they told me all of my life decisions are terrible then turned into hideous red dragons and scorched me into a little crisp.” “Wow, you’ve never really told me much about your parents, are they really that bad?” He frowned. “Yes, and if I tried to become an author or an artist, or live in the middle of the jungle, they would find me and a literally scorch me to a crisp, they’re just awful in that way.”

“Ooh look, they’re landing right now,” he screamed. Anemone leaned against the couch and stared at the fuzzing screen as the first step on the moon was taken. She could feel the excitement bubbling up, as her eyes grew wider. Those men were going on real adventures, doing things no man has done before, she wished to be there, standing next to him so they could walk into the unknown, in the face of danger, and up there, it was just the three of them, no else could be seen for thousands of miles. “Wouldn’t it be fun to go on such an adventure, just yourself and your best friends, no one else for miles, walking into unknown danger, wouldn’t you want to do that?” She said. “It would be amazing, the type of thing we need to do” “Really? And go where, Oahu? And...and we could live in the middle of the jungle in a treehouse on top of a waterfall” “Well yes, that’s exactly what we should do, and sell all of your sketches and pool that money with our savings then get all of our food from the wild and live a happy frugal life in solitary in the jungle where we mysteriously find mythical creatures, befriend them and live happily ever after.” “Well, if they can go to the Moon, then why can’t we find our own moon as well?” Then it dawned on her, why should she hate her life when her life belongs to herself,

her parents only made her think that it was in their control, but it wasn’t. If people can go to the moon, then it should no longer be hard to face her parents and leave this dreadful place right? “Qibli...I……” She paused. During this past week of exciting events, you made me forget about my parents, and my job, and this awful, stifling city. That’s something no one has ever been able to do, and that’s why...I think...I know that yes, we should leave together, and we should never come back” She pulled him closer and they wrapped their arms around each other and lost themselves.

Flynn Ellis

From The Sea to The Moon

Jace Ellington, age 12, was walking on the deck of the Neal 45. He looked out over the malevolent sea, and the influx of waves. At the limit of his vision, there's was an inky haze. He dismissed it as nothing. Jace and his family had just entered the freezing crystal blue of the Adriatic, 4 days away from Venice, their destination. They were trying to reach Venice, Italy in time to watch the lunar landing and eat the most blissful food in the world. Jace and his family looked forward to eating fresh pasta, Margherita pizzas, drinking Italian sodas, and walking past the medieval canals. The water splattered the Neal 45, the trimaran that they owned. The water on the deck felt glacial and the sight of fish jumping and whales blowing water 34 feet in the air was a mythical scene. Saling has been in Jace’s family for years. Jace and his brother were the great, great, great, great grandsons of a very famous sailor. Jace has always wanted to be the greatest longdistance sailor in the world. The quiet sound of the sea was peaceful as they sailed steadily at ten knots. On one

side Jace could see an eel.

“Ben come here,” Jace said “Why should I? This is so boring.” Ben was seated on his bed in the cabin playing Pacman. Jace and his brother had not liked each other since Jace was six and Ben was four. They started to dislike each other when their uncle died. Jace turned towards the seas to deal with his grieving. He went to sailing lessons every day and sailed on the MPX to learn to sail the seven seas with his family. Him and his brother had a lot of grief. But Jace did not know how afraid Ben was of sailing and of losing someone else he loved to the seas. “You should because there's an ocean animal right by the boat. It's an eel.” “Eel? Oh it's an eel!”, Ben mocked. “Come on Ben. We are on vacation and our family loves sailing”. “Our family loves to sail, oh-oh-oh,” he said dryly. Jace sighed and stared at the deck. “Ben, just be respectful and come look at the eel and come out of your oma” “No, I'm not coming out of my oma to come up on deck.” “Ben you're being a pain. Just come out of your damn oma. You’re so aggravating.”

“Oh aggravating, aggravating,” Ben mocked. “Just stop and come up and be with your family, stupid.” Jace walked away toward the foredeck. The inky haze was closer. “Dad, uh there's a dark shape and it's getting closer every time I look.” Jace’s dad walked out to stand beside him. “That's a storm. The storm alert did not...” Waaaaa Waaaa “Oh. I guess the storm alert is working.” Jace and his dad walked into the cabin to looked at the weather map. The alert was still fiercely beeping. The storm was huge. The wind model read 56 knots and climbing, and the storm was coming fast. Jace’s horrified voice vibrated as he ran out and yelled at his mom and brother. He yelled at them to get in the cabin and to stay there. The storm sail was ready to unfoil and catch the penny-pinching wind. Fear clouded his brain. “Jace, go put the storm anchor in and get ready!”, his dad yelled as the wind hammered the boat. Jace shuddered under the weight of the storm coming their way. His footsteps echoed across the water stained deck of the boat. He lifted the weight at the end of a rope, and let it drop into the sea. The boat immediately slowed down as the storm anchor did its job. “Dad, it's in. We, uh, are all set. What, job should I do first?” Jace's anxious voice

shook as the size of the waves climbed with every second. “Take the storm sail, let me skipper for now. Get the safety harness on and lower the mainsail.” Jace was frozen. His dad yelled, “Now!” “Ok.” The little voice that came out was distant. Jace slumped against the cabin. The storm was going around in his head. The feeling of death, the feeling of being hurt, and of making sure not to capsize the little 45 ft boat in the middle of the blue expanse of the Adriatic overtook him. Ok, I got this, I got this, he told his sea rat brain. I got this. Jace took a firm breath and went to harness himself onto the mast so he could begin using the two halyards to sheat the vessel. The storm hit with a brute force. Towering waves hammered the boat. Tears dripped down Jace’s face. “Dad! Are you ok Dad?” There was no answer, only the roar of waves. “Dad!” Fear came to him in the middle of the battering winds. The rain flowed down like tiny bullets. Towering waves flew over him and there was no life in front of him - nothing, only the slap of wind and rain. When will this be over? Jace told his brain, When? The absence of sun was terrifying. Salt blinded Jace's vision and the 45 ft boat was healed the up on the left oma. Jace was trying to lift the boat, but the robust wind was too

strong. And as the sea salt stung his eyes, The feeling of death became more intense. Jace’s eyes looked for waves and rocks and all the dangers of the sea. Why is my dream ruined about being a sailor? Why are we in this deadly storm and I have a huge probability of being seriously hurt? he thought as he was alone in the storm. I hate storms. Rain flew down from the dark sky. “Why did you do this to me? I'm afraid and cold and all I want is a slice of pizza.” Jace stared up at the sky, and let the rain wash away his tears. ust like something was responding to him, a huge wave drenched Jace. “Ok, I guess you want this to keep on going, Poseidon,” Jace moaned. Jace sailed for a while the wind hit him from both sides and battered him back and forth. The storm went on for to three days switching on and off with his dad to be skipper. Horrible winds had almost capsized the boat four times. Rain hammered the vessel without pause. Hail punched the boat and waves made the deck even more salted and rain water stained the deck of the Neal 45. Smashing drenching waves, electrifying bolts and claps of thunder surrounded Jace. The worst thing was the rock hard hail. "Dad, let’s switch. I need something warm to drink!” he shouted to his dad who was inside skippering the boat. “Ok Jace, did you get the tether and the string ready?” His father’s voice was full of

tension and worry. “Yeah, I will get us on a good tack.” The piece of rope was slippery and wet and weather worn. Jace took small steps and then carefully descended to the cabin to be in the warm interior. Hot Cocoa steamed in the pot ready to be drunk. “Thanks, Mom this is great.” “Thanks for saying that. Could you go get Ben out of his oma Jace?” “Ya.” Jace walked over to his little brother's door and knocked. He could hear crying in the background. He walked in and saw his little brother crying. “Are you crying?” “No, I'm n-n-not.” “It's ok, we are safe, we aren’t going to die.” Ben lifted up his eyes. “Wait, Jace. You are ok? I thought you fell off!” “You did? Well I'm ok bro you did not need to worry.” “No” Suddenly there was a change in the movement of the boat the two brothers looked through

the cabin window over the ocean and the storm were suddenly dissipating. The waves were smaller, the wind had slowed, and the sun was peaking over the horizon. It was morning. The two brothers looked at each other and smiled. Jace walked out to the foredeck. With a keen eye, you could see the cathedral tower of San Marco. Joy leaped in Jace’s stomach as he could see the medieval city of Venice within his grasp. “Dad! Mom!” the brothers yelled together. Their parents came out of the cabin. “What happened?” “We made it! We are on track! I never thought we’d see Venice, much less Neil Armstrong stepping on the moon,” Jace said. “True, me either,” Ben said. “I really want my pizza now.” The sun rose over the city. They had sailed from Miami to Venice. It was a long time to be out on the ocean with no other human contact. It must feel like this in space. They had finally made it to the watery city. Jace and his dad sailed up the Grand Canal and found a place to dock. Jace called Ben over and he taught him how to tether the boat. “Ben, do you see how much fun it is to sail now?” “It’s ok, I guess. It is more fun than I thought. After the storm and this adventure, I realize that sailing isn’t just sitting in my oma playing on my tablet.” “That’s good, Ben. Do you think my dream of being a long distance sailor could still

happen after this kind of challenge?” “I believe in you, bro. You can do it. You can be the greatest.” “Thanks, bro.” “For what Jace?” Ben looked up at his older brother and Jace looked down to his little brother with the first caring look in his eye that Ben had seen in six years. “Just being interested in sailing and be very good in the storm and being my positive and being my best and boss bro.” “Your welcome. One of the only reasons I was positive was because I snuck out in the storm because I was worried about you and wanted to see if you were ok. I almost fell off the boat. I was worried but I grabbed on the storm also and got back on I was hoping you would not get hurt.” “Why did you not tell me?” “I thought you would not care,” “Ben, I would never not care about you.” After Jace and his brother explored Venice for a few hours they met up with their mom and dad at a restaurant in one of the many dirty streets. They chose one that had a TV, pizza, and Italian sodas. They all ordered strawberry Italian sodas and a 20 inch Margherita pizza. Jace looked up at the TV. Suddenly the seconds were counting down. Ten, nine, eight,

seven, six, five, four, three, two….right before “one” Jace thought that Neil and his comrades must feel as terrified as Jace had felt during the storm when he didn’t know what was about to happen. There was fear and stressfulness. He knew he had just survived a storm that would have made some people give up and feel like they were failures. Jace thought about how sometimes the hardest things that make people want to give up end up making you feel the most accomplished. Most people, after they are on a hard journey, don’t want to do that thing any more. But this journey made Jace, and probably Neil, think that they can do better than saying “I can't do this.” The TV said, “one” and Neil Armstrong stepped out onto the moon. He was the first person to ever step on the moon, yet he was all alone. It gave Jace more and more hope. Jace took a bite of his pizza. Cheese dripped down his face and he took a sip of the strawberry soda. He smiled, for he was happy. 20 years later: “Jace Ellington just won his 5th longest sailboat race in the world at age 32. Let’s give him a warm welcome. He's the greatest long distance sailer in the world.” Jace smiled. His dream had come true.

Will Kucera

Full Count

The thundering slams of his loafers rang throughout the cramped city block, cutting through the loud chatter the dewy morning. There wasn’t much in the world that could have brought those loafers to a stop as they ran through the concrete jungle, eager to get to their destination. Kris had known that this day would come, but he wasn’t expecting it to happen this sunny New York day. He had no time to say hello to the usual beggars on the corners of each of the blocks he sprinted around. He had no awareness of the people around him or the path he was taking because he knew it like the back of his filthy hand. He was only focused on what his stubby old boss would say to him when he finally arrived at his terrible-pay job at the small mugs souvenir shop on Cabrini Boulevard.

On the fourth block Kris had gained so much speed that he was practically flying over the various fire hydrants and other small obstacles in his way, taking no mind to the leather laces that were slowly untying themselves. With no time to stop, he sprinted past the block, his now fully untied shoelace whipping in the wind. Kris began to trip, gravity

instantly pulling him down to the rough, rock solid ground. He slid like a hockey puck and tasted the dirty block beneath him. The flavors of spit, cigarette butts, and regret flooded his mouth. As he came to a stop, the cement scraped his dirty arm and drew blood out onto the concrete. He didn’t flinch at the blood, rather he instantly wiped it on his dusty Carhartt pants and dismissed the pain as soon as he could. He could barely make out the exclaims of, “Sir are you alright?”, as Kris was in a state of stupor. Kris let out a groan and sank back to the ground as he saw a group of people appearing to help him up. A man wearing a dusty fedora rushed forward, offered a hand, and drew Kris to his feet. He was flattered by this act of kindness and his cheeks turned the bright pink hue of a Japanese sakura tree. Suddenly, the spell broke. He felt a sudden pain in his foot. He shook his head violently and the group of people faded away to the back of his head. Kris let out a breath, and felt his eyes start to sting.

A man in a rush had just stepped on his foot while he was in mid-daydream, a nice little reality check.

“Hey man are you alright?” said the man who stepped on him.

“Oh yeah I’m ok. But why don’t you watch where you’re going next time?” Kris retorted.

“You know the ground is really not the place to lay down!” Said the man as he ran into a horde of busy workers just like him.

Kris shrugged at the daydream, realizing it was normal for him to have one of these mental missteps. But he quickly shrugged it away. He had to get going.

Kris glanced up at the small second-hand tick ever so slowly on the clock on the wall. A groan escaped his mouth, blending over the sound of footsteps outside the store. His bony fingers tapped up and down against the counter where he had now stood nervously for 37 minutes. The wooden stairs creaked ever so slightly as his stubby old manager descended into his tourist-trap shop. His wispy gray hair was combed in a desperate attempt to save the spreading bald spot on the back of his head. He lit up a cigar and walked towards the front desk at a slow, menacing pace. Kris could taste the white smoke in the air; this was not the first time he had lit a cig in the shop. Mr. Francona opened his mouth and Kris instinctively flinched back, as if he were about to be punched in the gut.

“Goodness gracious Kris, late once again! What’s the excuse this time?” Francona shouted. The walls began to shrink, boxing Kris in the tiny shop.

“I’m sorry sir I fell over!” Kris replied as he pointed to the cut on his arm.

“Cute story. Maybe I’ll believe you next time.”

“It really happened, sir”

“I don’t care if it happened or not, I’m taking your next paycheck.” He said sternly.

“But sir, that will be the third in a row!”

“You obviously can’t make a job anywhere else and nobody wants to work here at my failing store. This is where you come in Krissy boy. You’ve got a messed up head and nobody wants you in their business. I pay you a little so you can survive, and keep the rest for myself.”

His fingers ceased tapping up and down on the wooden desk. Francona was right: Nobody wanted him.

It was a beautiful walk back to his old one room apartment. The day reminded him of his early years in New Jersey. He loved New York, but the memories he made in the

New Jersey summertime would never leave him.

The sun bounced off of the discarded tin can on the green field and made a beam of light in the crisp air. It added more glow to the already beautiful summer afternoon. Kris could barely see the soup can from tall pine tree he hid behind. But what he could see was 16 boys in Jail, and Jason guarding the can like a hawk. He was the best can guard the neighborhood had ever known, and he was about to win yet another round by throwing the whole team in jail. “Come on Kris I know you’re hiding there!” He yelled as he threw a stone at a tree that happened to be on the opposite side of the field. His breathing was heavy because he knew Jason had lost him. It was go time. He darted swiftly away from the old pine and made a clear dash for the can. The warming power of the sun gave him a rush of energy as he ran through the magnificent field. The boys erupted like tropic thunder from the jail. Hearing this, Jason whipped around and now acknowledged Kris bolting at the can. However, it was too late. Before he knew it, Kris slid through his wide legs right into the can. Crack! The boys were free. Kris had made the play of the summer.

***

There it was: The golden doorknob. It was barely visible through his tear filled

eyes. He placed his rusty key into the keyhole, quickly turning the key so the squeaky noises would be abrupt. His fingers slammed against the light switch to power a little bulb in the center of the “apartment”. His knees buckled with every step, his cut itched with each movement, his heart ached. His legs gave out as he flopped onto the old couch. His overweight figure caused dust to fly out of the cushions like sparks from an open fire. The remote was in his sweaty palm already. It was magnetic. Ever since he was a boy he had always been fascinated by the black box in front of him. The red power button sank downward, and Kris slid into the musky black cushions. Sweat dripped down his forehead; Kris had a rough day.

His vision came back a few hours later, and the current program on the television was one to remember: The Apollo 11 spacecraft was a few hours away from landing on the moon. The mood in the room was purely indescribable, as if Kris had won a world championship. Several months ago, he had read about this event in his daily paper, and it was finally becoming a reality. His once heavy eyelids were now glued open and fixed onto the small box in front of him. He listened carefully to the announcer: “They’re almost ready now! There they go! Neil Armstrong, Michael Collins, and Buzz Aldrin…” The apartment shook like a hurricane when those words were spoken. Kris hadn’t jumped that high in years.

***

Kris took his head out of his novel to acknowledge the sweet aroma coming from down the hall. He could tell mother was hard at work preparing lunch for over 12 children that day. It was his second oldest brother Anthony’s birthday and they were all having a great time in his room. However, Kris would have rather spent that afternoon in his warm bed, with his nose deep in a book. “Hey kids! Lunchtime!” Mom yelled down the hall. There was now a stampede in the last house on Maddon street.

Kris flew out of his door and started to coast towards the cheesy aroma coming from down the hall. But before he knew it, his face was on the smelly carpet and he was sliding down the stairs head first. This was all thanks to his mean older brother Jason and his youngest brother Ben. He couldn’t really recall those 30 seconds, except for the fact that he had a massive bump on his head and he was last in line to get his tasty grilled cheese!

“Honey what happened to your head?!” His mom asked sternly.

“He had a little trip on the stairs,” Ben said as fast as he could

“Oh yeah mom he’s totally fine” Anthony said right back. The thought was immediately dismissed. What Kris didn’t know is that the bump would later be the bane of his career.

***

The hand of Kris flew rapidly up and down the lines of the business report. Every last detail being etched onto the fancy paper that was supposed to be reviewed that day. After a little scribble was out of place, he flipped the utensil over; smearing the pink top all over the hard work of his peers. He was on his final strokes, “Just a few more details” he thought. With one final marking of his pencil, he was complete. The door flew open.

“Sorry Kris I was on my lunch break and forgot about you. So how’s the review coming along?” His boss Mr. Miller asked him.

“Oh it’s uh, it’s coming uh, pretty good sir” Kris said as he covered up his sketches, sweat was beading down his face.

“If it’s done then let me see”

“No sir just a few more minutes”

“Is there something I need to see?”

There was a pause in the conversation. Kris could feel taut tension creeping up his back.

“Give me the paper Kris”

“Give me five more minutes Miller!”

“You refer to me as sir!” Miller’s face was growing redder by the second, and Kris could see sweat stains on Miller’s shirt.

Miller reached out to grab the paper and in an attempt to protect his scribbled work, Kris fought back. He balled his balmy fingers into a fist and hurled it at Mr. Miller’s face. The chair flipped onto its side, the wheels slowly turning to a stop.

The commute home that day was a long one. The box of cardboard was filled to the brim with all of the pointless desk trinkets he had found on the side of the road. The skyscrapers seemed a bit higher up that day and the expressions on everyone’s face looked duller. After what seemed like an hour long walk, Kris arrived at his apartment and

dropped the cardboard box on the floor, shaking the entire room and causing his downstairs neighbors to yell. He walked over to the old couch, kicking a business paper on the way. It landed face up: showing his detailed designs for a table-serving robot on the back. He tossed this underneath his oak desk next to his other journals. Or in other words, “The pile of shame”.

Kris sat down at the kitchen table next to Ben and Anthony’s best friend Buzz. He was a great kid and him and Kris and had always had a special connection. It was hard not to take Buzz as one of the family members.

“You okay bud? That was a tough fall you had back there!” Buzz said to Kris as he put his cold hand on his back.

“Uhh yea. A little dinged up.” Kris replied quietly.

“Oh shut up Kris you're obviously fine.” Said ben as he nudged Kris in the shoulder.

“Hey you guys have to go easier on Kris. He really could have got hurt,” said Buzz

angrily. The conversation stopped immediately.

Buzz wouldn’t mess around when somebody was getting bullied. Kris didn’t really touch his grilled cheese for the rest of the meal. He was sure his head would be ok, but at that moment it was spinning faster than the merry go round that the kids pushed him off at school.

***

Buzz Aldrin was now in space and was going to be the first person on the moon. Kris hadn’t smiled more in years. His eyes were glued to the screen and not even the angry neighbors downstairs could break his rock solid focus. Despite the fact the spaceship was parked on the moon. Not going anywhere anytime soon.

Kris tuned out of watching an idle spaceship and looked over at his oakwood desk that he had always used to write random ideas down on. Underneath the desk, he kept the journals completely full of random ideas that could one day get him rich enough to care for himself and his family.

The most recent entry to that pile of shame was the table-serving robot that he had

drawn a year ago at his last job before he gave up and decided to work at the souvenir store. He turned back towards the television screen. He now had to squint in order to see the picture on the dusty box properly. His rage transferred into his fingers, which started fighting on the coffee table: They were ready to create something new. They were ready to add another journal to the collection underneath the desk.

His vision blurred. He was no longer dead set on the historical event taking place in the apartment. He closed his eyes and thought of all of the possible ways he could make the television better and more refined. He knew a bit about how televisions worked from his college and a job he had lost years back. His mind just bounced up and down like a child on its birthday. It seemed like hours passed. Sleep faded in and out like the summer days flying by. The span of a week's thinking took place in about two hours. And when he was finally ready, so was the man himself, Buzz Aldrin.

The fuzzy boot emerged from the new-aged space vehicle and onto a metal stepladder similar to the ones they had on earth. To many, for so long, the moon was just a beam. Something made by God to give light in the darkest hours. The moon was soon to be ours. No longer just a beam in the sky. Reality. The fuzzy boot landed on the completely foreign surface. Buzz was a hero. And what was Kris doing with his life? Stuck in a dead-

end job. Desperate for a lover. He knew this idea could change it all.

“Not so late this morning now are you Mr. Fowler?” Mr. Francano asked with a grin. He was 10 minutes early for a change on the stormy New York day.

“Thought I’d step up my game. Did you catch the moon landing sir?” He asked. His smile went wide as he spoke

“Turned it off because I was too impatient for them to land. You know that was all staged now don’t you Kris,” He said while gesturing with his short arms.

“I respectfully disagree sir. I believe that it was 100% real” said Kris

“You're a crazy kid Krissy. Get back to work.”

The clock ticked little by little as Kris was antsy to get out because he could buy a journal to fill on his way home. But then he had an idea. He bought an “I heart NY” journal off of Mr. Francano and started recording as many ideas as he possibly could. Refining and making each idea better than the last. This T.V. would be a complete work of art and would make Kris rich. This was his one-way ticket to freedom and happiness.

“What you working on there bud?” said Mrs. Hendricks, her dirty hand reaching for a pack of cigs. The sound of snapping gum quickly spread across the room as Mrs. Hendrick was eagerly chomping on the stuff.

“Just a little project.” Kris muttered. His hands moved to cover the journal from her sight.

“Well don’t hurt yourself, you’re hand is moving too fast for me to even comprehend!” She tried to lean over to peek at his work, but Kris slid the notebook into his body

“Oh trust me I’m fine. Catch the moon landing last night?” Similar as he did earlier, Kris cracked a massive smile.

“Did I ever? It was incredible!”

“Buzz Aldrin was a childhood friend of mine!”

“That’s amazing Kris! Can I have the cigs now?” She seemed to be getting impatient.

Of course he didn’t know it, but he had started to talk mindlessly about the moon landing. Going into every excruciating detail of his night and all of the ideas that he had. The one-way conversation lasted about 40 minutes. The cigs never left his hand. Mrs. Hendricks finally spoke up

“Now Kris, I really don’t like to be rude, but I’m now a half an hour late to work” She said as she grabbed the cigs directly from his hand. She lit one as she walked out of the musty store.

Work ended earlier than he thought it would. Mrs. Hendricks was his only customer of that day, and his nose was stuck in the journal all day. He took his time on the walk home, despite the fact that it was pouring rain. Kris rather enjoyed the smell of rain; it reminded him of his childhood. He thought of all of his family members, and the fact that he could make them all so happy with one phone call to a company interested in buying his idea. Even though he had slow walk home, he flew up the stairs and grabbed his phone. He was so anxious at work he memorized a television companies number for this one call. He threw his final “I heart NY” journal on the massive stack of journals he had underneath the desks. The floorboards started creaking. Kris could tell something was wrong, but he was preoccupied with dialing the phone number. As Kris was holding the phone to his ear, an

ominous crack shuddered throughout the room. The floorboards were parting and Kris didn’t even take notice. He was on the verge of hanging up until he heard a voice through the phone.

“Kris, we love your idea. Come see us tomorrow for a contract!” Barked a cable guy through the phone

Kris jumped for joy, and the floorboards broke. He fell to his death.

The next day the hotel informed the family of Kris about the incident. The rushed over to the still rainy New York to assess the situation. They found his pile of shame and the little “I heart NY” journal that brought them there in the first place.

The moon beamed through a dusty window and onto the kitchen table where all of the Fowlers were gathered together to enjoy their annual thanksgiving feast. When the meal was finished, the adults went to the living room to sip wine. After hours of looking through the various photos and trinkets inside of the room, Ben’s wife spoke up: “So why the white journal?” Mrs. Fowler opened her mouth right away, but the words had fled her and a tear welled up in her eyes That journal took their house off the market and brought their whole family together that night. Without the journal, the old house on Maddon street would no

longer have been the Fowlers.

Kris was laid down to rest on the same field where countless games of Kick the can and Capture the flag took place in the summer heat. Sometimes the boys would stay out so late, they would just fall asleep on the field itself. Kris didn’t mind it much, and now he would lay there forever.

From the city in the sky, Kris looked down at the American flag on the foreign planet and his loving family on the moon. He could only smile. His head no longer hurt.

Skylar White

Home

The whitewashed farmhouse sagged pitifully, like a cheap cotton pillow punched in by a giant hand. The barn, though splintered and decrepit, stood protectively over the house, an old man trying desperately to shield his dying wife from harm. Beyond the bending barn and sagging farmhouse, beneath a swirling marbled oak tree, a young girl sat upon rich black soil. She was peering down at something in her lap. When her hair fell across her azure eyes like a soft, wispy puff of steam, she brushed it away with her spindly fingers and delicately scooped up the object. It was a crude doll, really just a moldy ear of corn that portrayed a girl. It was wearing a rough dress, sewn from a burlap sack. However, the oddest thing about it were its eyes. The doll was unpolished and straightforward, but the eyes were startling and out of place. They had been drawn on with marker and were enormous and childish. When you looked into them, they held complete admiration and innocence. They seemed to whisper, “You are powerful, incredible, and stupendous. I will admire you forever.” The little girl peered at those valuing eyes and smiled a radiant smile. She then stood, stretched her long, pale limbs and then, cradling her doll, began to run. Her smooth and rhythmic footfalls made little sound as she flew

towards the golden tasseled fields in the distance. For a moment, suspended in time, Louise Eleanor Wade could still taste the rich soil, could still hear the oak tree whisper her name. But then, her daydream was yanked from her mind, and the nightmare of her life came crashing down around her. The black wave, dream-sucking and colder than ice, was upon her. And then, as her stormy eyes widened and a ragged breath was torn from her throat, she could suddenly take in her true surroundings. The rhythmic beeping of computers enveloped her, and the fluorescent, blinding light piercing her eyes, harsh and exposing. Her nostrils and tongue burned from the toxic smell of antiseptic, thick in the air. Elle was standing in a sea of starched, white lab coats. All around her, tall, rigid figures whispered and swayed as they peered at something that Elle couldn't see through the forest of bodies. Someone nudged her, and their sharp metal clipboard dug into Elle’s side, the pain sharp and cold. She bent her head as she waited for the crowd to clear, trying to protect herself from the bodies that were nudging her this way and that. When the people parted slightly, she tiptoed, head down, arms cradling her body, towards the front of the room, slipping through the whiteness. When she arrived at the front of the crowd, she gazed across the bright room to see a tall, bony man, bellowing over the muttering of the crowd. He was pacing in front of a kiln like-oven, open and blazing with liquid flame. Every now and then, he would turn his

balding head towards a clipboard he was gripping in his left hand, and then continue lecturing the crowd about the chemical properties of heat shields and the temperature that they should be able to stand. A group of about five others, also wearing starched lab coats, stood against the back wall, apparently his team members, though they were not really a part of the demonstration. They all stood stiffly, with their chins held high and backs straight, statues until given instruction by their leader. As Elle gazed about, taking in the largeness of the room, she noticed a few people, men, standing on the far side of the room, with their spectacles perched on their noses, scribbling down notes and murmuring into each other’s ears. These men, she knew, were the head engineers of the Apollo 11 mission. Elle had only met them once, when she had first come to Cape Canaveral. As she remembered, it was not a pleasant meeting. Now it was coming back, how she had gotten to this strange bright room. Someone had messaged over the intercom that all teams were to report to Test Lab 2, room B3. Elle remembered exiting her team’s building (Lab 3) with her team and walking through a heavy February rain to come here. They had been soaked, trying in vain to cover their heads with clipboards as the moisture from the salty air left their hair limp and their clothes swollen with water. When they had arrived, the chief engineers had pulled her team aside and told them that this was where heat shield tests were held. Her team was the only team of engineers that had not witnessed one yet, simply because they had not come up with a

sufficient design. This time, however, the chief engineers of the project had wanted them to watch a test, so they could be prepared for when they did one themselves. Elle remembered walking up to the room and standing among fellow engineers. And then, that vision. It had come out of nowhere, for one second she was in reality and the next, she was gone. So bright and mystical, she thought. Nothing like home at all. But thinking of home left a sharp stab of pain in her heart, so she decided to focus on the lecture instead. Now, the whole team was extracting something from the kiln with a long metal pincer. They were calm and collected as the balding leader barked orders at them on how to remove the object correctly. They responded with many muttering “Yes sir’s” and terse nods. When the object was entirely withdrawn from the oven and laid carefully upon a steel rack, Elle saw that it was a large cube that was melting slowly. Glowing softer and softer, the melting substance hardened with each drip. The team stood back from the rack, peering worriedly at their team leader, and then, one by one, dropped their heads to their feet. Their leader, who had previously been gesturing wildly to the crowd, whipped around and stopped mid sentence as he gaped at the cube. His mouth opened and closed, trying to form words, but he only managed to look like a washed-up fish. His thin face flushed, steadily getting redder and redder, and a tic near his eye pulsed rapidly. After a few moments in which no one spoke, he turned heel, and struggling to breathe properly, marched from the room, throwing unintelligible words over his shoulder. The chief engineers, their murmurs

growing worried, broke from their huddle and traipsed out the door, following the crazed team leader. As the crowd dispersed, Elle was able to locate her team and follow her leader, Kevin Hallmark, towards the elevator. They got in, her whole team trying to squeeze in around Mr. Hallmark’s wide, bouncing birth as he grumbled to himself, scrawling notes on his clipboard. Elle wrung her hands and stared silently at her feet as the elevator descended, complaining every so often about the weight it was forced to carry. Finally, the elevator thumped against the floor of the building, and the doors slipped open. The team exited silently, slogging out the door and into the thunderous rain. Over the pattering sound of raindrops roaring in her ears, Elle could just make out two of her team members, Christina and Melody, whispering about the occurrence they had just witnessed. “It was completely sensible for him to be angry, of course. I mean, no one is having any luck at this, and the mission launches in a few months!” Christina reasoned. “But, why, Christina, does he have the right to storm out of the room just because things aren’t going his way?” Melody’s voice rose slightly above a hiss; her fists clenched tightly. “It’s true that he has always been a bit off his rocker,” Christina hurried after Melody, catching her shoulder with her hand, “Even in college, I remember that he hardly ventured from the lab. He didn’t have much of a social life, that’s for sure...” “Well, it’s still no excuse for him to behave in such a manner!” Melody pushed Christina's

hand away and stuffed her hands in her pockets, speeding away towards the blocky gray building ahead. Angelica Jane Wade stood, her spine fully extended and her chin held high. Her size was small, yes, but the force in her eyes and the rigidness of her posture made her seem like a giant to me. Not a single salt-and-pepper strand of hair was falling from the sleek plait that she always wore behind her back. Her face was wooden, eyebrows lying smoothly against her face and mouth pursed in a firm line. She was studying me with glittering obsidian eyes, the only part of her that showed any actual emotion. I could tell she was daring me to avert my gaze and give into her power. Her eyes pierced me, like the beaks of a thousand ravens that were pecking out my soul. Yes, I wanted to look away, but I knew that this was a test. A test to see if my will was strong, like hers. A test to see if I was worthy of being her daughter. After what felt like hours, she spoke, her words falling out of her mouth like rocks. “Louise. These dreams that you dream are false. Why do you contradict me?” She picked up a broom that was leaning against the peeling wall and began to sweep the floor. The straw bristles scathed the splintered planks, their sound like the scuttling crawl of spiders. For a moment, she cast her gaze downward, glancing at the golden straw that scraped away the dust upon the ground. And then, she spoke once again, “This is what our ancestors gave us, Louise. This house, this land. They lived here their whole lives, laboring

for us. Why would you ever want to leave this place? It belongs to you.” “But, Mother, I want to be noticed in the world.” I breathed, my hands pressed head into the cool glass of the window behind me. “Louise.” She answered, her eyes boring into me. ”There is no such thing as your naive version of the world. You are born in the place you are meant to be, and you shall carry out your duty here, as a descendant and ancestor of the past and future. It may not be “heroic," or “exciting,” but it is satisfying work. If you believe that you can escape this harsh place that is reality, you are residing in a childish fantasy.” By this point, she was spitting her words out, each one landing scalding hot on my face. “No matter where you go, no matter what you do, you will never be able to escape this place. The world will never see you as an equal, much less idol you. That is the way of the world, and it is best that you come down to Earth before your head gets forever lost in the clouds.” She stopped, breathing heavily. My entire body was pressed against the window now, longing for the endless fields, the whispering old tree. Then, finally breaking her gaze, she dusted her hands off lightly as if she had just cleared up a slight misunderstanding between the two of us. Then she glided through the doorway and into the next room. Not wasting a second of time, I landed catlike on the ground and slipped out the door, straining to break free of her spell. I thundered down the steps of the sunken porch, and when I came to my towering tree, I climbed. I climbed all the way to the very top, and crouched in the swaying

branches, I thought of only one thing: How much I hated it when she called me Louise…

Elle sat in her tiny apartment, hunched over the progress report on the cheap plastic counter. The walls were unadorned and sunken, and the lumpy mattress on the ground sported only a threadbare comforter that long ago may have been white. The room was lit by a single candle stub, the tiny orb of flame waxing and waning as drafts of earthy wind found their way through openings in the rattling windows. Outside, the dense rain drove on, no silences between the sounds of each colossal drop spattering on the thin roof. Every so often, Elle would look up from the smudged piece of paper, her misted eyes clearing slightly as the candle cast flickering shadows across her face. But then, a pained expression would flit across her eyes, and she would shake her head, mumble to herself, and then dive back into the progress report, every muscle straining to finish the work. Hours dragged by, and without a clock or a watch, Elle had no idea what time it was. She was still attacking the paper, though, never pausing to look around her as her pen striked it, over and over. By this time, the tiny candle had long melted. It was now a pool of warm, hardening wax, surrounding the charred stump of the wick. Elle had taken no notice of the candle, however, and now was squinting down at the progress report through thick, wire-rimmed reading glasses. The rain had stopped about an hour before, and watery moonlight was now seeping through the wet windowpane, dimly illuminating the page and

Elle’s spidery hand against it. Her fingers trembled slightly as she squeezed a sentence across the bottom of the page, and, dotting the last period with a splotch of ink, dropped her pen against the plastic with a hollow click. She looked up, and bleary-eyed, pushed her glasses over the bridge of her nose to rub her eyes, sighing deeply and dropping her elbows onto the table. Once her eyes had cleared, she looked around the room, at the scratched desk and melted wax. Finally, she stared through the mud-caked windowpane and caught sight of the moon, which was a creamy white rose in the lapel of a star-spangled cloak. As she looked at it, it seemed to grow bigger and bigger, eventually enveloping her in its gentle caressing light. Elle’s whole body went ridged. The quivering moon was reflected in the dark pools of her eyes, rendering them huge, luminous and childlike. Her face, papery and pale, was devoid of all emotion. Only her eyes showed any emotion at all. Not a muscle of her body moved. The moon had taken her. Finally, Elle tore her eyes from the moon and glared at her hands, which were purple and clenched together. Her shoulders quaked slightly, sending a rippling tremor through her through her willowy frame. Then, a single racking sob shook Elle’s shoulders. A fat, glistening tear fell from her left eye and trickled down her nose. Another followed. The moonlight, once crisp, swam across her vision, watery and warped. Opalescent pearls spilled faster and larger from her misty eyes, their salty scent stinging her tongue as they

fell into her nose then her mouth. The tears flooded her eyes and then slopped into a glassy pool on the table. Again and again, they formed, washing the layer of carelessly applied makeup from her shining face. They trickled into streams, creeks, and rivers, congregating with other drops to create oceans. They spattered onto the page beneath her, the gleaming ink bleeding and smearing, the page turning into a soggy, shredded mess. For hours, these tears cascaded down her face. She never made a sound, but her pain was evident, for her eyes were shut tightly, her eyelids folded into their sockets. Never once did she look up, her chin tucked against her chest, hands woven around her knees. Never once did her ears catch anything but the roar of blood coursing through her brain. It was far past midnight when Elle, exhausted and drained, lurched out of her chair. There was a dry patch on the roof of her mouth that no matter how many times she probed it with her tongue, it refused to moisten. Her foggy eyes were now swollen and irritated, and when she moved her head, even slightly, her neck cramped and her head spun with dehydration. She rose, with some difficulty, from the chair, bracing her arm against its sunken seat as she twisted herself into a standing position. She then stood uncomfortably over the ruined report for a minute, assessing the damage she had done. She made no movement to fix it, nor mop up the spilled tears. She just stared, not even blinking once. Then, as she gazed at the pile with unblinking eyes, her left eye twitched. They began to narrow. Her fist jerked outward from her side, slamming into the pile with surprising

ferocity. Then, she seized the ruined paper in her hands and lobbed it, hard, in the general direction of the waste paper basket. It splatted onto to the peeling wall, and then slid down it, leaving a trail of tears in its wake. Then, Elle sunk to the floor, sinking her claw-like fingers into her thin hair and wincing in pain from her sudden movement. When she recovered herself, she half dragged, half crawled onto the misshapen mattress into the corner and buried herself beneath the meager coverings. With the most energy she could muster, she mushed her rocky pillow into a comfortable shape, squeezed her stinging eyes shut and tried to get some sleep. “Rinnngggg! Rinnngggg!” The rattling of the telephone woke Elle, and sitting up shakily; she groped for the stand on the bedside table. After a few moments, her stiff hand connected with the cold plastic. The telephone wobbled for a second, and then it fell, bouncing from the curled cord as it scraped across the floor. Elle held her breath, waiting to hear the static voice coming through the small holes that signified that someone had indeed answered. But she heard only breathing; long drawn out breaths. After a few moments of this breathing, during which Elle had pricked her ears to hear any other kind of sound on the other end, she reached towards the telephone, and as she clamped it in her clammy hands, took a shaky breath. “He-hello? It's Elle...” She held her breath, waiting for a response.

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“Louise? Is that you?” A voice into the phone. “Um, who are you? That's uh... not really my name. " Elle was now wringing her hands as she paced around the tiny room. She vaguely noticed that it was still dark as when she had went to sleep a few hours ago, but she still had no idea what the time was. "I am Angelica Wade, Louise's mother. If you are not her, I would highly advise you to hang up this phone right now, and stop wasting my precious time." A razor sharp edge had crept into the voice on the other end of the line, and Elle, who had been biting her ragged nails furiously, paused. Her eyes grew wide, and she inhaled sharply as confusion lifted off her face. She knew who this was. Elle opened her mouth as though to speak, and then hesitated. “Hello? Speak up please, now.” “Mother? It’s me.” She held her breath, preparing for Angelica to chide her. “Oh Louise, why aren’t you asleep right now? It’s so late. Are you taking care of yourself these days? What are you doing with your life? Are you safe where you are? Are you doing well?” Elle started, taken aback by the flood of questions out of her mother’s mouth. Her mother’s concerns were hidden under a fine layer of common sense, but Elle thought that there was a touch of relief in them. A touch of love. Suddenly, a feeling came upon her. It was the same feeling she had had the night she had crept out of the creaking white

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farmhouse with a battered plaid suitcase in hand, never aiming to return. For a moment, Elle wobbled on the brink of speech, her lips parting and then closing firmly. It seemed wrong to break the silence. Besides, the questions didn’t seem to require an answer. They were a message all on their own. So instead, she leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. As the two sat in silence, listening to each other’s breathing, they both began imagining they were just a few feet away rather than a thousand miles. Elle closed her eyes and sighed. As she did, an image of her oak tree flew into her head. Briefly, she saw herself playing with her little doll in the soil. She saw the tree’s branches cascading down around her and how the blistering Kansas heat never entered her quiet knoll. And then, she saw her young self look up at her and smile. The image dissipated within seconds. Elle’s eyes flew open. They began to flicker and dart around the room. Then, she sprang into action. In her haste, she tripped over the telephone cord, and remembering that her mother was still on the other end, she spoke breathlessly into the receiver. "Mother, I nneed to go now. I really do. But I would like to talk again, ok?" “Ok, Elle. Goodbye.” Elle was huddled in a chair, waiting silently for her turn to speak. Squashed under her arm was a curled sheet of paper, which she was constantly readjusting in her sweaty hand. She was stared blankly at Melody, who stood in the front of the room, her flustered expression adding to her gnarled hair and flared nostrils. She turned towards the large

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posterboard she was presenting and scribbled something in the corner. Then she turned back to the cluster of people sitting expectantly in front of her and muttered something under her breath. "Speak up, please!" Mr. Hallmark prompted, "We haven't got all day." "I, um, just realized this isn't going to work," She mumbled, "I need some more time to figure this out." "Well then Melody. Terrific presentation!" His upper lip curled slightly as he spit out the sarcasm. Melody, shooting a glare at Mr. Hallmark, hastily tucked her poster board under her arm and then hurried to the back of the room. “Next please!” He called, shaking his head slightly as his eyes darted to his clipboard. People began rotating through the speakers position, each one leaving hastily after taking Mr. Hallmark’s harsh remarks. With every person to present, Mr. Hallmark grew redder and redder, and by the time Christina came up, he was in such a foul mood that he snapped at her once about her posture and once about the way she walked before she had even reached the easel at the front of the room. However, after she had presented a complex idea that seemed to persuade Mr. Hallmark, he apologized profusely to Christina and said that her plan might just work. "However, there is one more name on my list. But, um, how can this be?" His voice was getting steadily quieter and was now just a little lower than a murmur. He cleared his

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throat and cast his wavering gaze at Elle, who held it, her thin lips pressed firmly into each other. His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, and then he averted his gaze, shaking his head ever so slightly. “Elle Wade! Please come up to the board.” Elle stood next to the easel. She still peered through her glasses, but her eyes, clear and steely, met the eyes of each person in the room. She stood straighter than she ever had before. She adjusted her notes and took a deep breath. Then, without even clearing her throat, she began to speak, and when her melodious voice rang out, it was the whisper of the oak tree and the tinkling of gold tassel fields on the horizon of the setting sun.

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Matthew Watters

Graduation

The blistering heat of the mid afternoon sun swarmed the big streets and narrow alleyways of Naples, Florida. I walked along the sidewalks of what used to be my old college, each and every one of my strides getting interrupted by the purple gown that covered my body. My head rose to the sky, eyes dialing in with blue. My focus on the path in front of me would occasionally get distracted by the gold bunch of strands that would every once in awhile drift across my line of sight. The warm feel of the ocean breeze gently scratched my nose, tickling my nostrils with the sweet smell of salt, and driving me to continue walking. I looked up to see huge masses of metal and steel, which appeared to be the many hotels and business buildings around me. A light flickered on and off as I walked by these objects, causing my eyes to sting, leaving tears dripping down my cheek. Slowly sinking into my skin, causing my blood to cool. I heard nothing but the sound of a city, drowning my eardrums. Not too far behind me were my parents, struggling to keep up with me. My Dad's arm wrapped around my Mom's neck, almost choking her. My feet left the ground as I

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dropped to the asphalt. I continued a steady pace down the road. A burn in my feet grew, forcing me to speed up, making it harder for my parents. I flinched as I saw the place of my childhood lying before me, and my head began to ache causing my vision to blur. There I was again, 12 years ago. Sitting on a rug with a spaceship in my hand. Pretending to fly to the moon. I blinked, I was now shaking, my knees started to give up on me, making it hard to stand. My body twinged, sending an unpleasant shiver down my spine, turning my tan skin to white. I turned around to see that my parents have caught up. “Mom!” I blurted with the little amount of air that remained in my chest. “What?” She said. “It happened again!” I murmured. My parents faces changed drastically, causing them to hobble over to me as quick as possible. They approached me and wrapped their arms around my body, holding me so tight that I felt as I was going to vomit. A few minutes later we made our way towards a small aged apartment, with a rusted red roof and a small patch of grass that made up the yard. My dad's hand submerged in his pocket to retrieve a key to our home. He struggled to put the key in the lock as the rust seemed to melt around it. I was finally lying on my bed, trying my hardest to sleep. I looked around my room

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and my eyes locked on the NASA poster that was on my front wall. A smile grew onto my face as I saw it this time. The memories that came with that poster grabbed my mind and before I knew it my eyelids were becoming too heavy to hold up, bringing me to darkness. A cinching pain struck my forehead forcing me to open my eyes. There was light shimmering through my window directly towards my forehead. Is it really morning? Have I really slept for that long? This thought abruptly rose me from my comfort, the scent of my Mom’s homemade pancakes with bacon then hit me, tearing down my bedroom door, running to my nostrils. A liquid filled my mouth, pouring over my lips to later soak my chin. My mind cleared, bringing my body off my bed, causing my legs to guide me to the kitchen. “Good morning sweetie” My mom said, her face covered with smile so big, joy seemed to pour out of it. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, her long brown curly hair rested on her shoulder. Her green eyes stared at me. “Morning.” “How you feeling?” “Alot better, thanks for asking” I stared at the ground, my expression motionless. I walked over to the table and fell to the chair. My stomach began to turn. “I think I am going to contact NASA to see if I can apply for a job.” “Well that's great Sawyer! But you won’t be able to accomplish that with an empty

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stomach.” A plate of fluffy pancakes with crispy cooked bacon dropped in front of me. I looked to see my Mom giving me a contagious smile, my lips began to rise. I dug into the plate, each and everyone one of my forkfuls of food bringing a burst of excellence into my mouth. “Where’s Dad?” I asked “Um…” She shifted her feet causing her to face away from me. “Unfortunately he is at work, I feel as though he is always at work, don’t you Sawyer?” “Yea, but thanks to him we can put food on the table at night and have a roof over our heads. Well...I’m really glad he could take the time out of his day to make my graduation too, that was really nice of him”. I looked down at my plate to find my reflection, I stared into my own eyes to find nothing, I rose from my chair. “Thanks for breakfast Mom.” I walked over to the cabinets in the corner, each and everyone of my strides sprung with excitement. I slid open a drawer covered with paper and pencils, I grabbed one of each and made my way towards my room.

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“Wait Sawyer!” she said, I looked to the floor as my eyes came in contact with hers. “What?” “Well…what job are you going to apply for? Her eyes would not let go of me, it was like she was a doctor, seeking for the answer. “You already know, now don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.” A look of terror crushed her face, leaving her speechless. I entered my room and sat by my desk. Why was my Mom's face like that?, she knows I want to be an astronaut, right? This quickly subsided as I thought how to begin my letter. My fingers began to cramp leaving my hand aching as I attempted to write the letter for the 5th time. A feeling of relief hit me causing me to lay back in my chair, the space around me was a blur as I only focused on the page in front of me, I finally finished. Dear Nasa, my name is Sawyer James Thomson. I am writing you this letter to see if I could get the job of an astronaut. I have wanted this job all my life and it would be my pleasure to help you guys out. I have just graduated from a college down in Naples Florida and word has spread that there is going to be a mission to go to the moon. So if I get the job, it would be really nice of you guys if I could go on that mission. Could you please get back to me as soon as possible and send your response to this address, 4025 w 9905 s 34108. Thanks a bunch, Sawyer James Thomson.

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I folded it up and submerged it into the envelope that sat on my desk, licked it shut. Leaving a bitter taste burning my mouth, rushing me to the faucet. My mouth filled with water, subsiding the taste. I returned to my room, gently put the stamp on the left corner of the envelope. I grabbed the backpack in my closet, and shoved the letter in the top pocket. I swung the backpack onto my back and walked out of my room. As I walked by my parents room I glanced in, there my dad lay, expressionless with his eyes closed. Chest rising with every inhale and sinking with every exhale. I strode past and found my Mom in the kitchen. “Why is Dad home so early? I asked, I leaned forward, trying my hardest to find the answer. “He is not feeling so well, so he decided to come home” She looked down, her eyes were tearing up. I wanted to ask what is wrong but I knew she would not like me asking that. The door swung open to the garage and I made my way over to my bike resting on the wall. My bike had grown small over the years, for I have grown. I sat on the bike and started to pedal, both of my knees would barely skim the handle bars as they went by. I made my way out of the garage and onto the sidewalk, the smooth feel of the pavement rattled my bike bringing me comfort. I cruised on streets and sidewalks, looking up to see business buildings with very few hotels between them. The scenery began to change, as I entered my favorite part of the city. To my left was the ocean, crystal clear water reflecting the large

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clear sky, turning the water even bluer. The warm breeze filled with salt covered the land. Something then caught my attention, I looked to my right to see a poster hanging over a shop. On it was a NASA symbol along with, APOLLO 11 Launch, July 16, 1969, written in big black letters. Seeing this sped me up, causing the scenery to blur. I finally arrived, put my bike on a stand and made my way towards a small building made of bricks. Above the building there was Post Office written in large text. I entered, there were people scattered around everywhere. The room was covered with heat as the sun entered through the windows, the smell of perfume and paper burned my nostrils. I worked my way towards the front desk, dodging everyone in my way. “Hello, how may I help you?” Asked a girl in a black suit with long brown hair and dark blue eyes. She wore gold earrings and reeked of perfume. “Hello, I was just wondering if you could send this note?” I dropped my bag to the floor and reached in to pull out the letter. Her eyes stared at me as I handed her the note. I began to feel uncomfortable and tried to make this as short as possible. “Well here you go, thanks.” “No problem, we’ll send that as soon as possible.” She said, forcing a smile onto her face. I made my way out of the store and ran to my bike to begin the trek home. The only thing that I could think of is if I was going to get the job. I finally arrived to the small

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apartment that I call home and entered. Inside I found my Mom cooking dinner and nothing else. No sign of my Dad. I started to walk towards my room. “Wait Sawyer! how was the ride?” “Ohh, it was good” I was surprised she asked me this. “Is Dad still sleeping?” I asked. “Yea, he’s not feeling well.” She said, with that same face from last time, a face of sorrow. I walked to my door and as I passed my parents room I saw my dad lying there, but this time his back was to me. His broad shoulders blocking his head, he still wore his brown suit and tie. I began to worry for him, he had just turned 61 and is starting to grow old. The days began to pass bye as slow as the hour hand on a clock. I sat at home most days, waiting for the answer. I occasionally forced myself to go for a bike ride to get some fresh air. Dad would often make the effort to go to work but most days I walked past his room to find him dead asleep. Beside him my Mom would lay, trying her best to comfort him. Today has been the fifth day without a response, I could smell spicy curry brewing in the kitchen, as I walked outside to the rusted black mailbox at the end of our road for the one hundredth time. The sun barely shone as it disappeared from the horizon. I ripped open

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the mailbox with doubt and anger, but this time there lay a letter inside with the symbol of NASA at the bottom. My blood rang with excitement as I sprinted to the house, a smile covering my face. “Mom!” I yelled “What?” “It came” I sprinted to the table and sat down. She ran over to me as I tore open the envelope to find a note, it read, Dear Sawyer, This is Mark speaking on behalf of NASA. Unfortunately the team of the Apollo 11 mission is full and we already have enough astronauts in the program. But you could send us some more information about you academically so that we can put you to work for a different job. If you wish for this, then why don’t you just respond with a letter attached with some academic information. We would love the help. Thanks, Mark. I read this letter over and over again, disbelief covering my eyes. I looked over to see my Mom, round crisp eyes met mine. “Saw-” I ran to my room, slammed the door shut, locked it, and dove into my bed. Hoping that this was all a dream and I would wake up soon. I buried my head in my pillow, and

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screamed. My eyes were faucets, leaving small particles of water everywhere. I tried my hardest to fall asleep, but I couldn't. Hours passed as I lay in bed. I heard something hit my door. This sound was not my Mom though, she never hit this quiet, it was my Dad. “What is it?” I said nervously, for this is the first time I have had the chance to talk to my Dad in weeks. “Can I come in Sawyer?” He asked. I walked over to the door and opened it softly to see my Dad's tall and broad body, his bright blue eyes focused on me as his wrinkly face remained motionless, we both walked over to my bed and sat. “I heard about the bad news” he said, eyes looking to the ground. I did not respond. “You don’t have to talk to me Sawyer, I just wanted to tell you that I am…” His head bowed, eyes staring into nothing. “Well that's not important, but you should not give up on this job, you should apply for a different job at NASA and work your way up to be an astronaut. Don’t let this opportunity loss destroy all the other opportunities you have out there.” My eyes locked in sight of his, I opened my mouth to release nothing but air. He stood up and and slowly walked out of the room, as if he was hoping that I would say something to him. The next morning he never woke up, but decided to leave this world. On

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the calendar Dad's funeral was written for next week. My body could not handle living much longer as I have slept everyday, hoping to wake with my Dad back home. There was no conversation between me and my Mom until the day came, she approached me cautiously. “Sawyer, I am leaving for the Apollo 11 launch, for I truly don’t know what to do” She paused, her lips trembling. “Do you want to come with me?, I am leaving now.” I simply shook my head, for I could not go. She turned and left. The sun began to set, I sat on the couch alone. Over minutes of contemplating, I grabbed the remote to switch on the T.V, the screen filled with black and white. There was a different world portrayed, an astronaut entered my view. He walked out of an aircraft with pride as he jumped. Carrying the American flag, he stabbed it into the crater covered ground. For he was the first man to ever set foot on the moon. I thought about what my Dad told before, what my dream had been since I first came to this world. A smile built on my face. I grabbed the remote and switched off the TV, walked over to grab a sheet of paper and a pencil from the drawer. I Walked to my room, sat on the chair by my desk, and began to write.

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Mitchell Carter

Lost Directions

The air was cool, it stood still with no movement at all. The small trees on the side of the road seemed to gleam with thick frost. All around me was silence, except for the occasional click of my bike slowly gliding down the sidewalk. After just a few minutes, I could hear the small, early rising birds start to chirp and sing. They broke the solid silence, filling the atmosphere with warm beautiful sounds, each bird harmonizing with the other, creating a choir of soft voices. I continued biking through the streets that ran between small houses with and glossy roofs. Their lawns seemed to be browning, leaving small patches of green scattered around. As I flowed along the sidewalk like a leaf upon a river, my surroundings began to morph, the small houses into large skyscrapers, the depleted lawns into solid concrete. I started to see more and more people walking in that stalky generic movement. Taxis began to crowd the streets with their loud obnoxious horns. All of the windows that had once been empty started to light up with the rising sun. I weaved between the cars, the wind flying around me, it seemed to gently grab me and cradle my face.

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When I arrived at my destination, I looked up to see large bold letters above the vast array of doors. They spelled out M.I.T. with “Outreach Branch” below. A loud honk jolted me out of my transfixed state. I continued on through the doors into the lobby. All around were people waiting, either sitting in chairs or leaning up against the wall. The early morning sun created a sporadic pattern on the bright white walls, it seemed to curve around the small divots and bumps. I followed it around the large room until I found the reception desk. Walking up to it I saw the young woman behind it, I stopped. My head started to spin. I had just seen her, the one and only person that made life beautiful, the one that added color to my black and white vision. After what seemed like an eternity, I stood up, hands shaking and face frozen. Each step felt like I was pushing up a mountain side with wind blowing directly in my face. Finally, after pushing through all my emotions, I made it to the small desk. She looked up. “What can I help you with,” she said in a light soothing tone. “Um,” I stuttered, “I am here to see Donald Ruby.” “Ah yes, Antonio Rivera.” I gazed down upon her, she looked different up close. Her dark frizzy hair seemed to be lighter and straighter than I had previously thought. She was not the one. “Um, sir you can just sit down until he is ready.” “Oh, yes, sorry.” I said, emerging from my daze.

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Just a few minutes later I sat directly in front of a powerful looking man. He sat in a way that intimidated me, his eyes staring directly into mine. It seemed as though he was trying to analyze me. He had a very taylored beard with small hints of age scattered throughout. His glasses perched upon his nose directly in line with his greased back hair. “Hello Mr. Rivera.” He said, laying out each word as much as possible. “Hi,” I barely squeaked out. I had succumbed to the nerves. Beads of sweat slowly rolled down the side of my head and came to rest on my collar. “Your resume is impressive, it says that you started working on electronics at age 12.” “Yes, I didn’t have, well, many friends. It was a way to exclude myself from the harshness that had surrounded me.” Saying that brought back a flood of memories. I could remember the musty smell of the little cabin I had worked in. The wooden walls around me that had started to wear away. Always by my side was Jolean, she was the only person that knew me for me, the only person that had brought joy and happiness into my desalit life. Her long frizzy brown hair dropping down over her ear. She was the only person I could confide in, we were so similar and different we clicked automatically. “Sir, um, sir.” I could faintly hear through my haze of memories. “Sir, are you okay?”

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“Uh… Oh, sorry” I stammered, pulling out of my dreaming state. Throughout the entire interview I kept drifting off into the past. I could not let go of the life I had once had. The man seemed to have disregarded my misdirected focus, but I still had a very uneasy feeling. As I began to walk out of the office I felt the small vibration in my pocket. I pulled out my phone, the screen showed an unfamiliar number. I answered it. In a muffled distant voice I heard “Hi, is this Mr. Rivera.” My heart stopped, it seemed to just cease all movement. It was like a giant brick lying in my stomach, weighing down my entire body. I was just able to release a feeble “yes this is him.” The next words that came through the crackly phone ended life as I knew it. “Your mother was in an accident.” The next few days were a blur of hospital employees, mourning family friends. As the blur slowed into a stop, I ended up standing in front a mirror, looking at my malnourished crushed body. The pale, brightly colored skin surrounding my ribs seemed to push them out, exposing them. My eyes were falling back into their sockets, engulfed in dark black shadows. Their once bluish color had faded into dark gray. “How did this happen, how could I have let her die.” Those thoughts created a dark sense of regret and self loathing that consumed me, I began to lose my self awareness and my touch with reality. The only comfort I found was in alcohol, I spent nights upon nights, at bars around the city.

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After weeks of this, I received the first payment notice. It didn’t faze me, but as more and more started to pile up, I began to worry. Through all of the confusion and change, I had not thought about money, I had not realized that I had to fend for myself. The next morning, I was awakened by a sharp concise sound of knocking on the front door. I slightly opened my eyes, “Who is it!” I said, the anger pushing up to the surface. “It’s your landlord, you are quite behind on your rent.” Slowly and hesitantly, I got up. Opening the door, I saw the weathered looking man that could push me out of my childhood home, push me out of where I had been at my weakest, my most vulnerable. The realization hurt, it stung down deep into my body, I could in the blink of an eye, loose my past. The landlord just stood there waiting for my response. I looked up, noticing the emptiness within his eyes. It looked like they had been washed of their color, of their character. “Sorry.” I said, “I will pay as soon as possible.” He looked at me as though it was what everyone said, as if it was the same record replaying itself once again. “Okay. As soon as possible.” He responded. I closed the door, looking around. It seemed as though the absence of my mother had emptied the apartment. All around me sat pictures, pictures of her, of the past that could never be brought back. I found a small picture of me on the first day of school, my smile seemed so full and real. That innocent young child didn’t know how he would turn out, how life would turn out. The loses that had filled my life changed me more than I had

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ever realized. They created a harsh perception of the world around me, I had seen the worst of the worst. The memories seemed to stick like magnets to my brain, filling my dreams. Early the following morning, I began the search for a job. Through the thousands of small jobs that had I come across, I couldn’t seem to find a sufficient source of money. But, finally, after hours of searching, I found a small convenient store job on the outskirts of the city. It payed a low salary but seemed to be able provide enough to keep my apartment. With the small glint of hope I started preparing for an interview with the store. The next day I took the bus to the southern side of the city. All around me sat people of very different ethnicities and looks. Some were wearing ragged torn clothes and others had fancy looking jackets and perked up and glossy hair. The city seemed to crawl with life. Through the window I could see so many cars and people, they were all synchronized in their movements. When a sign switched or blinked everyone moved or stopped, they were a river controlled by stop lights and large buildings. The skyscrapers continued to pass by until I started to see smaller houses and buildings with grass and trees. Finally, the bus came to a stop. The low hum of the engine became quieter and quieter, ceasing to fill my ears and block out the sounds of the surrounding cars and pedestrians. After walking about a block from the bus station, I saw the store sitting on the corner of two converging streets. Walking up to it, my nerves started to increase.“What if they don’t like me? What if I can’t get enough money to save my

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apartment?” The stress was overwhelming. I felt like the world depended on this single interview. Sweat began to collect on my collar as it rolled down the side of my head. Finally, after lots of struggle I pushed through the doors. Minutes later I was sitting in front of a rough looking man. His gray beard wrapped around his chin and up over his mouth. His hair was retreated and his eyebrows furrowed, making him look angry and tired. “Hello.” he said in a grainy voice. “Hi.” I said, fidgeting with my hands. They were cold and sweaty. “May I please see your resume?” “Yes.” I pulled out a single piece of paper from my bag. “Here it is.” I said handing it to him. Doing this triggered something in my head. Small flashes of the day I received the call pushed their way into my conscious. At first it didn’t seem to faze me, but as more of the snippets flooded my head I became scared and stressed. I began to frantically look around the dark gray room, feeling claustrophobic and trapped. The man across from me seemed confused by my actions. I tried to keep calm but the emotions were too strong. I had to leave! Next thing I knew, I was running out the door and towards the bus stop. The regret and despair pushed me to run faster and faster. “Run, run as far away as possible.” I kept thinking. When my legs finally stopped and my breathing slowed, I was in a haze of confused emotions that didn’t clear until I found myself sitting at a lowlife bar somewhere in the

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city. The dimly lit lights drafted a cold shadow upon me. All around sat weathered looking people, gazing into their empty glasses as though they were looking for a long lost friend. In the corner stood an old stereo coated in dust and silt. The haze of emotions had kept me from realizing what just happened. But, as it did the hope that had once flickered so bright, completely burnt out. I drank and drank. It was the only force that could help me overcome the painful emotions. But, as the night dragged on I began to see through the whisky and vodka. Each drink got less and less effective. The anger, fear, and rage started to push through, back into my head. The drinks had covered the guilt that engulfed me, the guilt of killing my mother. “What if I had been there? What if I hadn’t done something for myself?” The pain of no goodbye and no closier had eaten me up inside. It was a vicious parasite that fed off my pain and anger. It ate away at my humanity, my emotions. I was no longer me. Later that night a very large man walked into the bar. At first he looked like a regular stranger but as he got closer I noticed a big faded scar across his face. It looked familiar, but it gave me an eerie feeling. After pondering this feeling for just a short amount of time, I had a very painful and infuriating realization. That scar had belonged to a person that created so much hate and pain in my life. The times when I’d spend days, lost and confused because his painful words, times when I would come home covered in blood from his physical blows. I had never expected I would end up seeing him again. Just seeing him

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invoked a hate so deep and so personal it pushed me over the edge. I could not let life manipulate me like this, and in that moment I pushed through the pain and decided to relieve the weight of all my emotions through just one movement of a fist. After that night I got a letter from M.I.T., retracting the scholarship they had given me. They must have heard from police, how had I been so foolish and stupid. With that came lots of job rejections and denials. I could not pay rent and lost the apartment, leaving me partially homeless. This was rock bottom. I had lost all hope, I thought that there was no possible way to get out of this situation. Months later, after living off of government meals and bank loans. I received a call from a long forgotten friend. He was now into journalism, working for a very large company that wanted him to document the Apollo 11 launch. I immediately declined. I was not going to waste my time on a stupid space thing. But, things got worse. I got fired from my job and lost most of my savings from the small jobs in an investment. One morning after I returned from the bar, I found a small plastic action figure in one of my mother's drawers. She had given it to me for my first ever birthday present, it was the only thing consistent in my childhood. All around me people had been sad or happy, my mom was never emotionally there and I never kept friends for long. The toy had been a source of relief and happiness throughout every day and night. Seeing such a forgotten past made me realize I could have changed things, I could have made friends, I could have found

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happiness, but I didn't. But now I could change things. I needed to stop feeling bad for myself and work to improve my horrible life. Months after that call, in the summer of 1969, I was about to board a plane for the first time. It was going to bring me to Tampa Florida where I would meet up with my journalist friend. Our goal was to document every single part of the launch. At the time I didn’t see the importance of this moment. I just did it to get money, nothing else. I kept that same mindset throughout most of the trip until the day of launch. I never knew that I would see something so beautiful and so empowering in my life. I remember the sleek white rocket standing what seemed like miles above me. It shimmered and glinted as the sun rose above it, engulfing me in a halo of light. All around stood journalists and cameras frantically clicking, trying to capture the moment. But, they didn’t matter, they just blurred into the background. My mouth fell open, my eyelids spread apart, leaving my eyes exposed to the air. I had never experienced emotions so positive. The death of my family, the death my only friend, all of the bad had tainted my view on life. I had not ever had the chance to embrace life as I did in that moment. When the engines below the rocket started to flare up, I felt something inside that was so unfamiliar, so lost beneath the drinks and emotions. I leaned over to my friend. “This is so amaz, ama….” I trailed off. Tears began to flow, they rolled down the curves of my face coming to a rest beneath my chin. But, for the first time there was no pain. The water that flowed from

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James Hunter Dewell

Dead Sorrows

I was outside. It probably was a nice day where the sun rose steadily and the light blanketed the area in a soft glow. Where the air smells soft and crisp. None of those details had a lasting effect on that day. A soft hello slipped into my thoughts. There was a little girl no older than ten observing me. Her eyes were a gentle blue that shone with an impossible life, and her hair was light blonde. I recognized the face. Her hands were mangled like the roots of an old tree. Her face looked like a burnt piece of plastic. Her left leg was twisted at an excruciating angle. “How are you here?” I lost my balance and fell onto a bench. My insides twisted as I thought about what had happened, about what I had let happen. I put my hands over my face trying to hide myself from her. Shivers and shakes quaked across my body. I tried to keep myself together but my eyelids could not keep back an ocean of glassy water. Tears slowly streamed out of my eyes. The cool wetness contrasted the heat that was rising to my face. My lower lip trembled at the speed of a

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barreling train and my vision started to tunnel. I started to lose my sense of direction and where I was. “Mom told me to check in with you after what happened.” Her voice cut through my head like a sharp knife cutting through meat. “We’ve noticed that you’ve been coming back here.” The fatal night flashed across my eyes. The loud noises and the sharp echoing screams. The screams that put me to bed and the screams that woke me up. There also was the ever present drowsy sensation that kept me from forgetting my mistake but never letting me remember the whole night. This place was where it happened. I looked up at her, my shoulders sagged back “I’m so sorry for what I did.” I searched for forgiveness in her face, but all I saw was a light, reflective glow coming off her eyes. The way she held herself revealed an uncanny calm. “How has it been without me?” she said, ignoring my apology like water sliding off a smooth rock. “It hasn’t been the same.” The acute clink of bottles and the sluggish feeling created a ghostly tune. “You know you need to move on. Don’t waste what you still have.” “After what I did, how could I?” “You must realize that there is no possible way to make the mistake go away.”

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I spread my arms out wide showing how my shirt fit loosely around my bony form. “How?” “That question cannot be answered. However, if you continue what you are doing now, I can guarantee that you will never make anything or do anything special in your life.” “How do I change? It is not something that I can do in a night. I don’t even deserve a better life. After what I did to you, how could I want to do anything special with my life? A way hasn’t even presented itself for me to change.” I threw my hands up into the air. Spittle flew out of my mouth. “Because you aren’t looking for it!” Her face pulsed with a dark light and her mouth curled into a snarl. “All you are doing is sitting around and wishing to find peace. A wish is nothing. It is a thought, nothing more. You have to act if you want to rise above what you did! I will not give you the slightest bit of empathy if you do not try to make yourself better than your demons.” I looked away, curling and uncurling my fists. My posture became rigid in an act of resistance. She was wrong about what I was going through. She had no right to do this to me. My own daughter was trying to hurt me. “Do you want to be remembered like this?” She asked, the anger leaving her voice as quickly as it came on. I looked down at my fists, the skin stretched so tightly over them it looked like it

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would rip off. My bones protruded like tombstones jaggedly rising out of the ground. My body had taken a beating through those years. Wrinkles had written themselves across my face. My hair had turned from dusty blonde to grey like summer shifting to winter. My eyes were sunken like two grey orbs stuck in quicksand. “Or are you even going to be remembered?” “Are you trying to tell me that I could affect how the world spins? That I could slightly advance the world to a better place or worse place. Because my actions are insignificant to the world.” I hissed. “To the world, yes, your actions are a waste, but if you were to help or hurt someone those actions would be very significant to them.” She replied coolly, not even flinching. Her eyes were like two red hot suns harshly beating down on me. Each petal of my life was falling and getting turned over, revealing questions and truths that I couldn’t process or understand. Nothing seemed to really come across as a thought, there was only a slight ache that didn’t have a point or origin to pinpoint where it came from. A cold hand lightly brushed my shoulder, directing a comforting chill through my body. She had come to sit next to me. Tears stained my face making it look dirtier than a pig. She sat down next to me like a sparrow landing on a telephone line. I uncurled my fists and let my posture break. I left my arms in my lap and leaned my weight against the bench.

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“What am I going to do? What could I do?” I sighed. “ You need to rest and relax. I like to think of decisions and mistakes as crinkles in a paper. The more crinkles you make on that paper the harder it is to read the words. Every now and then you need to flatten that paper and make the wrinkles have less effect on your story.” “I never got to give you this. You were going to turn ten and I wanted to make it special.” I pulled out an object wrapped in a white cloth to keep it from getting it dirty. I carefully removed the material to reveal a compass. It was grey and glossy black. The letters were a metallic silver. “I’ve kept it and I’ve wanted to leave it here for you, but I never could give it up.” “You have to, that compass has been leading you in the wrong direction for too long.” She was right. I was becoming a mere ghost of who I was by latching on to the past and not moving forward. Where I was, was a simple place. Nothing was that hard. All you had to do was hide from your demons, not rise above them or defeat them. “Hello,” an old man said as he suddenly dropped himself on the bench with loud thump. He placed his cane by his side. Shock flashed through me like a shot rubber band. He had sat right where my daughter had been sitting, and she disappeared from sight. I had been so deep in that silence

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that I had not noticed this man walking down the sidewalk towards me. He was like a weasel, if a weasel could be bigger than a bus. A sticky mustache clung to his greasy and sweaty face. Flies buzzed around him. He smelled like putrid milk with a touch of rotten eggs. “Are you okay? I was looking at you from the restaurant over there.” He pointed to a rushed paint job on a building just outside the edge of the park. “You started to talk to yourself and then you started to shake." “I’m…” I couldn’t find a plausible excuse to show this man I wasn’t crazy. “I’m Clark Wesley and you are?” “Arthur. Arthur Ryans.” Arthur's lips tightened and he leaned away from me. “Looks like you need something to cheer you up. Do you want to go watch America prove itself to be the very best. Maybe have a drink or two while we are watching it?” I leaned in like a cat watching light dance on a carpet. “Do you not know what today is?” The old man threw his tiny arms out to the sides. “No. ” I said a bit defensively. He puffed his chest out. “Well, today is the day America heads to the moon. It must take courage to get into that rocket. So many things could go wrong. Ya see those men they have a purpose, they have and will serve America as great men. They are going the right direction. Those men took the chance of a lifetime. Y’know I also have served America, I

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was in the army…. ” While Arthur droned on about his military service, I toyed with the compass, passing it between both hands. I put it back in my pocket but it felt wrong. It was too heavy and it weighed down my pocket. “Those guys are really going in the right direction, huh? Well, c’mon, I want to go see that.” I left the compass on the bench.

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136

Wyatt Kern

The Music of Life

Joey sat at the bar, the one that he always came to, the one where he would talk with the ‘tender about his life at home. You could say he was a regular. In that dinky bar which resembled a broomshed, painted and opened as a bar, he was a regular. He was a regular at a bar that’s ceiling hung low, with a sunday fog that didn't seem to ever lift. That was where he came to drown himself in alcohol instead of tears, or scream his mouth dry by cheering his favorite football team on. Yes, this was the bar that so many memories came from; he truly leapt with joy when the thought of being a regular at that bar came into his head. However, his mood was not as normal as him being at that bar. He ran the smooth glass along his palms, picked it up slowly and rushed it to his mouth. He let the searing taste burn his tongue, making it numb to other things, like the dry taste of failure that was stuck to it. Feeling all this, he slammed the small glass to the rough board of the bar, making the bottom of the glass crack. That was the story of his life he thought, a glass that is cracked at the bottom. So that the last juice of success and joy can leak out the bottom and into the blackness of the bar.

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As the alcohol ran through his veins, his mind jumped back to earlier that day. When he had received that awful phone call. Why had he sent in that song? Why had he thought that would be the one? Why had he thought that that song would make other people shine inside like it did to him? It really made him proud. It was his child that he had sent off to school only to have him return in tears, screaming about bullies. That one song had made him the family man, everyone said that they were related to the man that was going to “make it” for nearly three months now. Expecting good news, he had got shot down like always. Why must this always happen to him? Why was it that success was always within grasp but just snatched away by the laughing, happy dogs at all the studios he sent his songs to? What did he ever do wrong? He had always been a pretty good boy. About three hours before sitting at the bar he was on his bed. Lost in thought, he had twisted the edge of his blanket so that it was nearly cutting off his circulation, making him go numb. The tingling feeling spread to his hand. He quickly jerked it out of the blanket, for he had to be ready for the call. Oh man, this could be the one, he thought as his energy filled the room, making it even more suspenseful. Any minute now. His hands were shaking so badly it was nearly impossible for him to keep twiddling with the huge phone. With every little nervous twitch the phone nearly soared to far out of his reach to grab. Then just as he had almost thrown it out the window, it rang.

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He leapt to his feet without even really realizing it. His hand hit the low ceiling he jumped so high. Ahhh! what to do? Should he answer it right away? His hands were now shaking so badly that he could barely even grab the phone, still, he picked it up. His fingers hit thin air several times as he tried to punch the button. Finally his finger pressed the cool, smooth, key. His hair jumped a little as a jolt of nervousness spread through his body. He was a piece of bread being smeared with peanut butter but the peanut butter was the nervousness. He raised it to his ear and listened hard. “Hello Joey,” said a heavy deep voice. “Hello.” Joey’s voice came out far too high. “We are calling about your song submission to our company.” “Yes sir, I know.” “Well I am not very sorry to say that we cannot accept.” “What do you mean you are not very sorry?” There was a pause. “Well kid, to be honest with you, I have heard better music from my three year old daughter. Now good day.” That is how the ragged haired man came to the bar, alone in his own world. The ragged haired man staring at the smooth tile floor of the bar, not once looking up or greeting anybody. He was lost in his own regrets, wishing that he had not come to L.A. It was a bag full of candy bars, and he was a young child that could not resist but to take it

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and commit to the stomach aches after he ate them all. What would life have been like had he not moved? He thought, had he not given up all he had ever known to come and live in L.A. His thoughts were paused by another shot of tequila to his brain. He would never have had this failure sticking around him like the smell of skunk. “You alright man?” he was interrupted by the bartender. “Does it look like it?” he responded scornfully. The bartender seemed to be holding his tongue. A frown crept up onto his tired and lined face. This was not the Joey he knew, but a little part of him. One of his moods that seemed to have crept up on him as if a storm that just appeared in the sky. The bartender went back to his other customers, glancing awkwardly over at Joey once in awhile. Every time he went to give him another shot, his mouth opened, struggling to form the words he wanted to say. Joey shrugged off every person that tried to talk to him by simply not talking and continuing to stare at the polished wood, looking at it so hard, almost hoping it would swallow him whole and get him out of this mess. Give him an idea of what he should do next, guide him in the right direction, if there was one. He only raised his grey eyes to look at another drink that the bartender had brought him, seeing what it was but not caring. As he brought it to his mouth it would taste the same as any other drink that night. He forgot why he was so depressed and began to feel more cheerful, dancing

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around the room after his fourth beer and fifth shot. Fire never settling as it ran endlessly through his veins. Making his head swirl faster than he was, seeing things that could not possibly be there. The twirling began to get steadily faster until the dress lady (another regular that never seems to be out of a dress) grabbed his arm and forced him to stop. As he did, the fire settled and began to fill in every square inch of his body. The last thing he heard was a worried voice saying,“Ah man, let's hope we can get through this one buddy.” Then all went black. When he woke, the clock in the corner of his apartment read 6:03 of the following day. His head was hurting so bad the room seemed to be upside down. Perhaps it was because of this that his mind seemed to be empty, no thoughts at all. They were just taking to long to fill in, as though reluctant to come through. So he sat there in silence, waiting with dread because even though he didn’t know what those memories and thoughts were, he knew they were bad. Minutes past in silence. Joey took deep breaths and felt his rough temples, trying to rub them to ease, trying to take away the pain. Let that pain soak in the open air, get blown away by the nice breeze coming in through the sagging window. Let it go before the memories hit, before it becomes to much to handle. But alas, the thoughts began to flow in slowly, a river that seemed to be holding itself back. Trying its hardest to fight back and go to wherever the beginning of the river was. But the energy took them the other way. They hit him hard, a sucker punch to the gut by a professional boxer.

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A plan began to work though his clogged brain before the memories came back entirely. There was a major car chase going on inside his brain trying to catch insanity. Running through the different parts of his brain, the city, the country, the beach. But they never caught him, just like in the old time movies how the bad guy gets away. But since they were in his head, they would most likely die anyway.

His fingers fumbled, shaking like a madman, which he kind of was. They made it nearly impossible to make the rope twist itself into what he needed. Time seems to slow down around him, everything was moving in slow motion, the clock, his hands, his brain. Each second lasting at least five times as long as it should. Mocking him, laughing at the decisions he was going to make. Each step down the stairs vibrated along the ground and sent dust flying of the wooden steps, for they were ripples in a disturbed pond. Each breath of city air hung in his lungs a second longer as though they were trying to remember the sweet taste of it. The creaking of the bar door stung his ears with memories. His eyes brought in the crowded scene of everybody cramped around the small TV with a blur. As the bar drew closer he opened his mouth trying to prepare the words he was about to say to his one and only friend. His tongue just couldn't form the words, and his friend stood before him, drying glasses with a rag, looking up at him like he just couldn’t do it. So he decided to make his plan a little vague.

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“I’m going on a trip for a little while, and I um… came to say goodbye.” Even that made his vision clouded enough to drop tears down upon his soft cheeks. “Alright man, just tell me when you get back.” There was a small frown on his face but if he had really took the meaning of his words and actions as clues he would have understood it was a lot more than a little trip. “Um yes, maybe I will.” Joey responded, turning his back before the tears really did start coming down. Even though his tears were steady he thought that there was just no point in doing it any longer.

As he reached a hand out to grab the bright green handle, he caught a glimpse of what everybody was practically huddling around the TV for. The moon landing was being showed in a pixelish small square. As he listened he heard the words, “The eagle has landed.” That truly was a magnificent saying, and would be a really good song lyric. Boom! There it was. His mind was turning slowly down a well, getting farther and farther into depression. His heart however, knew what it was beating for. It knew that it wanted to create music and spread that joy that it had given his father. For music could bring people together, make them forget about all that terrible stuff that is going on in their world. It can make them set down that drink and dance with the person that could bear their future

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children. That is how Joey's parents met. His heart would always sing and make music, and that is how it was. No barrier could stand in the way of his heart when it began to work, it would shake the ground and break down walls, shatter glass, flip cars. It was his destiny. As his heart and mind began to join and create that song, he somehow knew that this one could really make it. Now he ran, and his feet nearly left skid marks. He ran the same route in which he had come to the bar but now, his face was stretched into the first smile he had worn in who knows how long. Each small noise, instead of making him get lost in memories, made him hope that the future would be better. The city air blew his hair and tickled his chin, making a odd noise that escaped his mouth. He had not laughed in years. He ripped through his apartment door, sending it off and tumbling down the rough uneven stairs. A distant clash rang through the building, vibrating of the walls and scaring the inside of Joey's ears. Yet he didn’t seem to notice as the drawer of his desk slid open and his fingers rubbed through old songs, smearing blood all over them as it spilled out of a paper cut. He was trying to find that empty pad that lay as though lonely at the bottom corner. Standing out like a zebra in a field of giraffes. As his fingers closed around the pad, joy exploded through his veins and as it passed all of the other songs it seems to brag that it was going to get used. His hand closed around the thin piece of wood, and began tracing it along the brittle yellow pad, creating the lyrics:

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The eagle has landed, The darkness has been banded… Several times the thin piece of lead broke off with a deafening crack. But it only slowed him down by seconds as he stabbed it into the hand crank sharpener and whirled it around for a few moments, only to return to the pad and begin scribbling again. At long last the last line was drawn out on the paper. His wrist felt like fire as he rubbed it back to normal. He paused, drinking in the scene of the dingy apartment, letting the light sink into his eyes and send it to his brain. For the first time in his life, it was bliss. A serene silence that stung the night allowed him to slow down and really take in the life that he was living. That is until his busy brain went to the guitar and microphone that he owned. Once he was there he strummed a tune and sang the song he wrote, all the while recording it on a small tape that whirred and spun like the crazy world he lived in. His mind had gone numb as he tossed it into a small box, scribbled the address of the local radio in the same untidy scrawl he used to write the song. Before he could come to sense, he went down to the local post office, running so hard his feet slammed the ground like some sort of hulk. Once he arrived, he slowed, panting, and tossed the small box into the blue bin. As he left, a truck pulled up onto the curb, loaded the bin and drove away taking his last chance with it. He began to walk home, taking his time and whistling the tune of his new song,

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sending it into the crazy never ending city. The sound echoed off the towering buildings, clashed with the bright lights shining from each and every one of those structures. The sound and light rolled around each other like brothers in the yard. Reflecting off of each other and spreading even farther into the atmosphere. The result of simply looking up turned the human mind into a dizzying real, until their eyes shrank back to let in the healthy amount of light. It reflected the beauty of all people, and what they can accomplish. It was a mirror showing all peoples dreams and hopes and accomplishments to be...

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Ellory Hare

The Last Goodbye

Can we keep him Dad? I was sitting on my bed next to the window reading my favorite book, Because of Winn-Dixie. It was a very windy day and the sky was a pale blue-grey. The light crept into my room, washing over the dark grey walls. The wind was howling. With a crash, my window blew open, sending my plastic giraffe flying out the window onto the sidewalk below. I ran out the bedroom door and I flew down the stairs. There, in the street, I found Beth, a woman who raised me and works at Lake Forest, holding my giraffe in one hand and her white poodle JoJo in the other. Beth is a short but strong woman, with silver grey hair. Per usual, she was wearing her green velvet dress, along with black high-heeled shoes. JoJo came running up to me, a little white fur ball. “I found your giraffe lying on the edge of the street.” “Thank you Beth.” There was a little chip on the ear. I have had this giraffe for as long as I could remember. “I gave that giraffe to you on your second birthday.”

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She said it as if she was reading my mind. We walked back down the sidewalk with our hair blowing in our faces. I tied my hair in a long side ponytail. As we walked into the entryway I heard a thump on the ceiling and I knew immediately that it was the men putting up the new sign on the outside wall of the orphanage. I went with Beth to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Beth and I do this almost every night. “What’s on the menu tonight?” “Tonight… we are going to have a baked potato bar with salad and chocolate chip cookies.” As Beth hustled around the kitchen getting out all of the ingredients. “Ok, what do you want me to do?” “You can start by peeling the carrots for the salad and chopping the lettuce. I’m going to start the batter for the cookies.” “Umm… Beth, you put a tablespoon of salt instead of a teaspoon of salt last time, could I please do the cookies?” “Oh… ya, good idea.” She said it so fast, I knew she was embarrassed at that point. I started with the batter as Beth put the potatoes in the oven. *

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“The cookies are Delicious, Maria!” “Thank you, Beth.” “Don’t forget everyone, it’s movie night tonight, and tonight we are watching… The Sound Of Music!”, Beth announced. Everyone cheered, it sounded like there were fifty people in the dining room. I didn’t feel like watching The Sound Of Music. I started to get out of my seat to go grab my giraffe and book in the kitchen, but Beth was trying to get everyone’s attention and I sat back down. “Everyone, everyone, please listen up!”, Beth shouted. The whole room grew quiet, like when the wind is whistling and it suddenly stops. “Some of you may already know this, but the Apollo 11 launch and broadcast is happening this Thursday, and that is our next movie night!” Beth sounded much more excited than normal. “What is Apollo 11?”, Julie asked. Julie was one of the orphans, I have known her for as long as I could remember. We are the same age and we both came here when we were babies, and she asks a lot of questions! “The Apollo 11 is going to be the first moon landing, ever!” “What do you mean the first moon landing?”

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“Oh, you guys,” she said exasperated. “What I mean by first moon landing is, well, it’s the first moon landing. There are three main astronauts that are going up into space, Neil Armstrong, Michael Collins, and Edwin Aldrin. They are flying in a spaceship called The Eagle up to the moon. Their footprints will be the first ones ever on the moon. While they are up there, they are going to get samples of the moon and bring it back to Earth, so that we can see what it’s really like up there.” It was completely silent now, it was like everyone lost their voice, but everyone was still there. A few people's mouths were wide open, some people just stared. I had never even thought about people going to the moon. Some people started whispering to their friends about Apollo 11, then a few more people started talking, and then everyone was talking, except for me. I was thinking about Beth, and how she seemed to know a lot about the mission. I wondered how she learned about it. I walked out of the dining room to the kitchen. I grabbed my giraffe and book from the counter. I tried walking past the dining room as quickly and quietly as I could, but JoJo saw me from underneath the table and followed me up the stairs. I’m actually glad she saw me because I like her company when I read. I like to read so much because when I read I can pretend to be one of the other characters. When I’m one of the characters I don’t feel alone. I think that’s why I like Because Of Winn-Dixie so much, India Opal is alone at the

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beginning of the story, then she starts making friends with people around her new town. JoJo hopped on my bed and I followed her. I turned my lamp on beside my bed and started to read. I had only read two pages, but I couldn’t read any more. The moonlight was shining in my eyes and I couldn’t stop thinking about what Beth had said. I couldn’t believe that there would soon be people on the moon above me. I slid off my bed and walked to the hall. I stared out of the window up to the moon. I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. “Maria, are you okay?” “Oh, hi Beth.” “Are you okay Maria.” “Ya, I’m good. Sorry.” “No worries.” “How long is it going to take them to get up there?” I asked, wondering. “What?” “How long are they going to be up there?” “What are you talking about?” “Apollo 11. What did you think I was talking about?” “I really had no idea.” Beth laughed. “I don’t know how long it’s going to take

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them, Maria. Sorry.” The moon was covered by the clouds now. I looked down at my feet. “Do you think I will ever be able to go up to the moon, or will this be the first and last moon landing?” “I definitely think that this will not be the last moon landing, and that there will be many more after this one. But I can’t tell you if you’re going up to the moon.” As I returned to my room I found JoJo sleeping like a little baby on my pillow. Other orphans started trickling into the bedroom, apparently they had finished the movie. No one really talked after they all got into bed, I wondered if they were all thinking about Apollo 11 as much as I was. *** The next evening, Everyone was scraping their dinner plates so that we could start the Apollo 11 Broadcast. “Guys! Slow down, we still have cookies and ice cream!” Beth said as she laughed. “I’ll go grab them, Beth,” I said. I ran into the kitchen and grabbed the bowls and put them on the table. “Where are the cookies and ice cream?”, Julie asked. “Be patient, Julie. Maria’s going to grab them,” Beth said. I went into the kitchen and grabbed the cookies and ice cream, and I put them on the

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table. Beth took them and she got some for herself and then passed them around the table. We had all finished our dessert within about ten minutes. Beth and I had set up a projector screen right before dinner in the playroom. During that time I asked Beth how she knew so much about the Apollo 11. She said that she went to college to learn about space, and that she really enjoyed it but didn’t want to work for NASA after college, even though she got a huge invitation to work for them. I thought that it was amazing that she didn’t want to work for NASA, even though she said that she keeps up with all of the stuff that is happening with it. That’s how she learned and found out about the Apollo 11. After dessert we all brought blankets, pillows, and beanbags into the playroom to watch the broadcast. Beth and I had hooked up the projector to the TV so that right when we turned on the TV it would show up on the big screen. It worked just like we had planned it to. We had turned it on just in time. When we started watching it it they were a few hundred feet above the moon. I think that probably almost everyone in the world who was watching this was holding their breath for those two or three minutes. Right before they landed I thought about the fact that no one has ever been on the moon before, they don’t know what the surface is like. What if the Eagle sinks into the surface? And for that second I had a moment of doubt.

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They landed with a pale blue-grey cloud of dust, It reminded me of the sky from two days ago, windy,and cold. We couldn’t see the Eagle for at least 5 seconds, I felt like I had butterflies in my stomach. Were they okay? It has been a bit less than an hour and they weren’t coming out.

“Everyone, wake up they are getting out of the Eagle!” Beth shouted. Everyone sat up from our nap. I wondered how long we all had been sleeping. Everyone woke up within a blink of an eye. Beth was right, the door of the Eagle opened and a man stepped out of the Eagle and onto the stairs. I was frozen. Armstrong walked off the stairs and took the first step. As he took that first step, a cloud of dust much like the one that the Eagle made when it landed came out from under his boot. “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,” Armstrong announced for the whole world to hear. My eyelids were drooping and I fell asleep. *** “Good morning Everybody! Breakfast time!”, Beth shouted to wake us up. For a split second I completely forgot where I was and what happened last night. I was the last one out of the playroom, and Beth was waiting for me by the door. “Can I talk to you for a minute, Maria?”

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“Uh, sure… why?” “Well, I have some very exciting news for you!” “Okay… so what is it?“ I felt excited and nervous about what Beth was about to say. “There is a family here, they go by the Write’s, and they are going to adopt you!” I screamed. “Really!” “Yes! They are in the office if you would like to meet them.” “Okay,” I said nervously. Beth and I walked to the office. I was super excited and really nervous at the same time. Beth opened the door, there was four people in the office. A woman who seemed to be in her thirties, a man who seemed to be about forty, a young boy who I guessed to be ten and a girl probably about my age. I was more nervous than excited now, they all stared at me. The woman and the man stood up to shake my hand. “Hello, my name is Abigail!”, said the woman. I just realized that my hair was really naughty because I hadn’t brushed it yet this morning. “Hi, my name is Maria, please excuse my hair.” “Okay.” said Abigail, she smiled and laughed as she said it.

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The morning light hit the curtains of the room, as the man began to speak. “Hello, my name is William!” “Hi, I’m Maria!” I started to loose my nervousness. “Hey, I’m Stella and this is Liam!” said the girl “Hi.”, Said the little boy. “Why don’t you get your stuff, Maria and we will meet you in the entry.” said Beth I went upstairs and collected all of my stuff and put it in my suitcase. JoJo followed me and I said good bye. I tried so hard not to cry, I was barely holding my tears back. I walked down stairs carrying my suitcase as JoJo followed me. All of the girls from the orphanage, including Beth were standing by the door with all of their arms out. I walked toward them and they all kind of formed a circle, and before I knew it I was in the middle of a group hug. This had never happened to me before, It felt really good. They were all yelling different things “Good luck Maria”, “We’ll miss you!”, “Have fun!”, “Don’t forget to write us letters!”, and it went on and on. I finally got out of the hug and I went up to Beth. “I’m going to miss you so, so, so much Beth!” “I am going to miss you too, Maria!” I walked over to my suitcase and opened it up, I grabbed a chocolate chip cookie

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recipe that had been in my family forever, and I handed it to Beth. “Goodbye.” “Goodbye, Maria.” I wasn’t completely sure, but I thought I saw Beth’s eyes watering. I had never seen her cry before. I was still holding my tears back. I walked out the door with my new family, and got in the taxi with them. Everyone in the orphanage was standing at the windows waving good bye, I waved back. I opened up my window and yelled, “Goodbye!” I waved until I couldn’t see the forest green orphanage. “Goodbye,” I whispered.

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