Infinitas Volume VIII: The Five Stages of Grief by GSMSTLitMag

Infinitas

FIVE STAGES OF GRIEF Issue 8 Spring 2018

The Gwinnett School of Mathematics, Science, and Technology 970 McElvaney Lane Lawrenceville GA, 30043

Five Stages Denial This Is What You Sound Like — Josh Bozeman 1

Anger

I Worship You — Chloe Duensing

Christmas in July — Ayanna Palmer

The Cleaners — Christian Moldovan 16

El Vengador — Judson Baker

You’ve Gotta Be Kitten Me! — Chloe Duensing Ayanna Palmer 8 Old Flames (Part One) — Josh Bozeman 14

Front Cover Art—Sarah Pritchard ’18

Bargaining The Impossible Game — Lillie Olliver

Feel What You Must — Musa Drammeh

Sài Gòn, Sài Gòn — Thanh Nguyen

Dealing With the Devil — Chloe Duensing 30

Old Flames (Part Two) — Josh Bozeman

The Angel Who Faltered — Bhavana Kunnath 36

Old Flames (Part Three) — Josh Bozeman 37

Acceptance The Strangest of Hands — Lillie Olliver 60

Depression

White Skies — Thanh Nguyen

Acceptance — Frank Hu

The Light is Subsiding — Bhavana Kunnath 68

Old Flames (Part Five) — Josh Bozeman

Today is a Day for Flying — Max 40 It’s Kind of Beautiful — Sohum Trivedi

Hungry for Contentedness — Yentil Nicolas 46 On Repeat — Yentil Nicolas

Opus 40. — Thanh Nguyen

Blindsided — Mariam Drammeh

Old Flames (Part Four) — Josh Bozeman

Of Grief

For in grief nothing “stays put.” One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats. Am I going in circles, or dare I hope I am on a spiral? But if a spiral, am I going up or down it? How often—will it be for always?—how often will the vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty and make me say, “I never realized my loss till this moment?” The same leg is cut off time after time. —C.S. Lewis

DENIAL

This Is What You Sound Like Josh Bozeman ’19

In the depths of FRANKENSTEIN’S lab, lightning strikes as the cogs turn and his creation comes to life. FRANKENSTEIN: It’s alive… It’s alive! IGOR: Congratu—congratulations, boss. (MONSTER raises torso on table.) TED: Yeah, that’s not alive. FRANKENSTEIN: Ted—Ted, what? The monster is moving. It is definitely alive. TED: I’ve seen alive things in my time, and I’ll tell you, that ain’t alive. (MONSTER moves.) FRANKENSTEIN: See! It just moved! TED: Nope. Trick of the light. Wayyy too dark in here to tell if that’s alive. You should really turn some lights on, I mean seriously. (MONSTER screams violently.) FRANKENSTEIN: Well, you heard that. Don’t tell me you didn’t just hear the thing scream. TED: Okay, one, I have tinnitus. You knew that, so don’t be insensitive. Two, that could have just been one of the machines. Too many machines in here. The dust is getting to my asthma. (MONSTER breaks out of chains.) FRANKENSTEIN: Ted, the thing’s out of its chains! How could it do that without being alive?

FRANKENSTEIN: I did that to bring it to life. TED: Yeah, no. That’s just a muscle contortion. I’m sorry, I consider myself a bit of a skeptic and it takes more than that to convince me. (MONSTER chokes IGOR to death.) FRANKENSTEIN: Well, if that was just a muscle contortion, then how did it murder Igor? TED: I don’t know, FRANKENSTEIN, I’m not the scientist. FRANKENSTEIN: Exactly! Then how come you get to decide if it’s alive or not! TED: Look, I took AP Biology in high school and got an A in the class, I know a bit about what I’m talking about. (MONSTER bites off FRANKENSTEIN’S neck.) TED: Just a stupid idea. Bringing something to life with lightning. TED: I know what I’m talking about, alright, FRANKENSTEIN. Who are you to tell me I don’t? God. TED: Just an awful creation. Not alive. Don’t believe it. (MONSTER eats FRANKENSTEIN’S corpse.) TED: Stupid, stupid project. I ain’t buying any of it. Not enough evidence. No logic. He didn’t cite one source in that whole thing. TED: That is one dead monster.

TED: There’s actually this thing, I don’t know if you’ve heard about it, called galvanism. Electricity sparks nerves in dead muscles and causes them to move. It doesn’t mean it’s alive. And you just struck it with lightning.

I Worship You Chloe Duensing ’20

I worship you, Your favorite color is blue. That was the color of your eyes when you said “I do.” I remember that night like a night that I’ll never forget, I was at a bar drowning in debt, just a few too many poker bets. Never had anyone to control me, no one to tell me no, I was just reaping what I sowed. Wave for another drink, offer a dirty smirk that I had perfected over the years. “Sweetheart, what’s your tale?” You tipped down a few too many beers “Just a few too many fails.” I leaned towards you. “A pretty girl like you? Can’t be true.” “You don’t know me. Leave me alone, let me drink in peace.” “Drinking ain’t a release.” I warned you with a snicker. “Says the city slicker.” We spent the rest of our night there. I wasn’t beyond repair. I worship you, You’re my perfect view. You’re the only absolute I knew. I remember that sky, that day you cried. It was a lazy day, too early to be at a bar, Time passed so slow. “Hey, this world kinda blows,” You smiled at me, leaning against your car. “Just a little,” you replied with a sigh. The sun was high in the sky, the blue: the color of your eyes. You grabbed my hand,

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“Why don’t we go somewhere else tonight?” It wasn’t a demand, but it was my command. I smiled back, and it was right, You were so bright, my sun. I worship you. You’re the only one that could break through, You’re the only one that could pull me through. I remember your words so clearly, I treasure them dearly. The zoo was quiet that afternoon. It was a day I saw you croon at little creatures, Saw you laugh at racoons, Saw you smile at baboons. I was jealous, and I announced it so. You merely clung to my side, warm hands on my elbow. “Aren’t some people like animals? I mean, cute but they get too clingy.” I frowned at your words. “Animals? A little rude.” I missed your stare. I missed your glare. I missed your muttered swear. I worship you. Anything you say, it’s true. I want your deja vu. I want your shade of blue. I remember feeling your heartbeat. Fragile, fluttering against my ear, I remember your feeling, Your dreaming, your teasing, your being. I remember it all. I was at your beck and call. You were so close but so far, Alone in the sky, a star. My sun, you have begun You think you can outrun anyone. But I can make you come undone. I worship you. But we’re only twenty-two, You tried to fly away, you flew, What were you trying to do? I remember your tears. You were shaking like a baby deer, so near. Since when did you feel fear? A little plus sign, and all of a sudden we can’t have fun, You begin to a dim a little, my sun. “You’re thinking wrong if you think you can run.” That’s our son, that’s mine, you’re mine.

I like plus signs. “I worship you.” I didn’t make you do anything, our love was true, Don’t blame this on me. Can’t you see? I worship you. I’ll worship you both now and forever more. I’ll always worship you, I swore, All of you is for me to adore, That’s all I ask for. But you’re not here. Why aren’t you here? Why have you disappeared? Where’s my son? Where’s my sun? Where’s my gun? I worship you. I worship you. Why is there someone talking to me? Why are you being buried under a birch tree? Why is there someone grabbing me? My sweetheart, my lady, They’re taking me away from you. You, my sun, my blue eternity. You, my only source of sanity.

Denial

Yujin Kwak â&#x20AC;&#x2122;18, My Hide and Go Seek

Yujin Kwak â&#x20AC;&#x2122;18, Saving Charles

Christmas in July Ayanna Palmer ’20

“H

oney, I’m ho-ome!” I called out. My voice echoed throughout the spacious house. I grinned to myself as I took off my coat and hung it on the coat rack. Work had been interesting today, and now I got to see my favorite person! I bounced down the basement steps, talking as I went. “Now, I got you some McNuggets today. I know you might be bored with all of the fast food we’ve been eating lately, but I am on a budget, after all! Hopefully you’ll enjoy this, though!” There was no response. I rolled my eyes fondly. My beloved had been being rather moody lately. Listening closer, however, I realized that this silence was unlike her ordinary brooding ones. Something was wrong. “Audrey, my love? Where are you?” There was a soft gasp, and I sighed in response. Oh, Audrey, I thought, you really ought to know better by now. I flicked on the lights. “Now, now. Don’t tell me you’re trying to leave me again!” A whimper. “N—no.” I frowned disapprovingly. “Lying isn’t nice, sweetheart. Do I need to punish you again?” Her eyes widened. “No! Please! I—I won’t do it again, I promise!” I slid off my candy-cane colored tie in a single, fluid motion and dangled it before her. My approach was slow and purposeful, each step methodically echoing in the mostly empty basement. Her scramble was unbecoming of her figure. A pale blur of long blonde hair and skinny limbs scurried across the floor with fervor until they hit a wall. “See, if you put as much effort into trying to be civil towards

me as you do into running away, we might have a better relationship.” I knelt down beside her as if she was a wounded animal. She was always so anxious and scared. I gently tied the garment around her neck, sliding the knot up to her throat. I maneuvered the knot, pulling the fabric tight. The more secure it felt, the more comforting it would be. Her eyes were bulging a little, and her hands were fists, shaking in her lap. I pressed a kiss to her forehead. She was sweaty, a little clammy, but still beautiful. “Hey, are you okay?” Didn’t she like the tie? I couldn’t see why she wouldn’t. It smelled like me, it was satin; what could possibly be wrong with it? “You’re insane!” she sobbed out. I smiled. “Sweetie, just because candy-canes are out of season doesn’t mean I’m insane. Some people like being festive.” “What? No! Get away from me! I hate you!” “But I love you, darling.” I hugged her tighter. She went limp against my embrace, her body trembling heavily in my arms. There was silence with only her snivels ringing through the cool, damp air. “It’s okay, you don’t have to love me back just yet. You will soon. Quite soon.”

You’ve Gotta Be Kitten Me! Chloe Duensing ’20 and Ayanna Palmer ’20

eo Garfield, soon to be pet owner extraordinaire. As soon as he had graduated college, the first order of business had been to move into his new apartment. It was specifically petfriendly, and still relatively cheap. When he was little, he had desperately wanted a dog, but his parents hadn’t allowed him to, dubbing him “irresponsible.” (To be fair, though, Leo had forgotten to feed the fish that he had been allowed to have, so perhaps their accusation wasn’t unfounded. In his defense, fish are boring.) They’d said he could have whatever he wanted once he wasn’t under their roof. Unfortunately, his college, Barkeley, didn’t permit pets in the dorms, so he had to wait another four years. Now that he’d graduated, he could finally get the dog he’d always wanted. Not even bothering to unpack, Leo looked up the pet store nearest to him, got into his dingy old car, and raced from his dingy new apartment to the store to get a hopefully not dingy dog. As he pulled into the parking lot, he saw a little boy, likely no older than six, bawling his eyes out. Heaving a sob between each word, he howled, “But—I—want—a—puppyyyyyy!!” His fairly unsympathetic-looking mother responded, “I’m sorry, Bobby. Maybe next time, okay?” Leo watched them as they left, then looked at the building before him. It looked relatively unassuming, as if it didn’t contain everything he’d ever wanted within. The sign was half lit up, proclaiming the store as a “Martspet.” With the broken lighting though, it looked like “Marset” from a distance. Crossing his fingers, Leo stepped into the pet

Denial

store, only to be immediately struck by the lack of dog noises. Chirps, chitters, clucks, meows, even a moo, but no barks. Crestfallen, he walked to where there was a sign labeled “Dogs!”, hoping, praying that his ears were mistaken. There was only one creature left in the pen. The walls of the cage were low enough that he could easily lean over the edge to observe the dog. It was pretty small, with long flowing fur. That was kind of odd, he had never seen a super long haired dog in real life, but he knew they existed. The tail was purely exotic, long and whippy, positively thriving with personality. The ears were small and perky, sticking straight up like a chihuahua. The dog was a snowy white, and it blinked up at him with frosty blue eyes. It sat calmly in the dog pen, tail curled over its forepaws. It was perfect. What had that little boy been crying about? There was one left! Sure, it looked a little… dif-furent, but it—no, he—was in the dog section. Maybe little Bobby hadn’t wanted him? Shrugging, Leo simply thanked his lucky stars that he’d gotten to him first. He wasn’t going to waste this oppawtunity. Leaning close to the cage, Leo murmured in the voice he generally reserved for babies, “Hey, little guy. What’s your name? “Mrow,” the odd dog replied. “Fido? Did you say Fido?” Leo smiled fondly, remembering the name that he had already picked out for his first dog. Still, the sound it made was strange. “Mrow.” “Ma’am!” Leo exclaimed, motioning to the Martspet employee, “I’ll take this one!”

The woman walked over, offering Leo a polite smile. “Of course. I’ll go get a carrier.” Leo waited patiently, marveling at his new dog. It really was special! The woman expertly scooped up the dog, put him in a small carrier, then locked the front. The dog passively withstood the handling. “I’m not sure how this cat got into the dog pen, but I’m glad he found a home,” the employee commented. “Pardon?” The woman chuckled. “Ah, you know how wily cats can be.” “Uh, yeah.” Leo thought the lady was pretty weird, talking about cats while he was purchasing a dog. He didn’t question her though, instead reaching for his wallet. “Woof. Say woof.” “Mrow.” Leo sighed in disappointment. Since getting back home, he’d been trying to make Fido make sounds related to his species. Without much luck, clearly. He got up from where he’d been lying on the floor and stretched, groaning in satisfaction at the various pops that ensued. “Alright, boy, we’ll try again later. Right now, I’ve gotta unpack!” Looking over at the large pile of boxes and bags looming menacingly in the corner of his living room, he reconsidered. First order of business: dinner. Unpacking could definitely wait. So what if he was pro-catstinating? Watching his dog devour the lo mein in an almost frantic manner, Leo remembered: he hadn’t fed Fido yet. He smacked his forehead loudly, startling Fido and causing him to jump at the sound. His fur puffed a little, but Leo smoothed it back down. He patted Fido’s head, who looked up at him imploringly. Leo hurried to rectify his mistake. “C’mon, Fido! Let’s get you some food.” It was a short drive back to the same rundown Martspet. He hoped it was still open-- it was pretty late, but Fido required proper sustenance. The bell above the door tinkled merrily as he opened it. Fido mrowed cheerfully, moseying along as he sniffed the aisles of items curiously. Leo held the leash loosely, trying to find the appropriate food. “Hey, welcome back. Can I help you?” It was the same employee from earlier. “Yes! I, um, I forgot to buy food for my dog.” The lady nodded, leading him to the right area. “What kind of dog is it?” she asked. “There are specialized brands for different breeds.” Leo looked down at Fido, who had settled down at his feet. “I’m not sure, exactly.”

He did his best to describe his dog’s features to the lady, who was too engrossed in scanning the labels to actually look down at Fido. “Here, this should be about right.” She handed him a heavy bag of dog food. Scrawled in the front in bright pastel colors proudly stated that the food was allstar, premium, guaranteed strong teeth and shiny coat, as well as other various benefits. “For small dogs, such as Pekingese, Maltese, and Chihuahuas,” Leo read aloud. “Perfect!” The lady led him over to the counter for the second time that day. She glanced down at his dog. “Huh, your cat must look like your dog,” she remarked, ringing him up. “Cat? What cat?” he asked, too busy stressing over the expensive price to give her words much thought. “You know, the thing on the end of your leash?” He didn’t appreciate the sarcasm, but was barely paying attention. “Hey, lady, do you have anything cheaper?” She sighed, clearly disappointed in him. “Look, sir, from what you described about your dog, you really need to take good care of it. Those breeds need to stay healthy, and good food and exercise is the best way to go about that. This is an of-fur you can’t refuse.” Leo’s face pinched as he warred with himself. Love and concern for Fido eventually won out, of course, and he coughed up the necessary cash. Groaning internally, he accepted the bag of food. “Let’s go, Fido,” he said heavily, walking out. He missed the extremely strange look he received from the cashier when she finally saw Fido. Leo was such a horrible pet owner. The substantial sense of dread resting on his heart was unbearable. “Come on, Fido, you’re gonna be okay!” “Mrow,” Fido barked tiredly. The poor pup was as sick as a dog. He had thrown up that morning, and that afternoon, and that evening. It was inconsistent, but still occuring at a steady pace. The puke stained the cheap carpet, which would certainly not earn him any brownie points with his new landlord. Not only that, Fido had been lethargic since he’d woken up. Leo had only had him for about two days, and already his best friend was suffering under his care. “Hello, Creature Care Clinic, this is Chris, how can I help you?” The peppy voice of the answering receptionist was music to his ears. “Hi! Yes, yes, my name is Leo Garfield and I want to make an appointment as soon as possible.” “Do we have your pet on file, or are you a new patient?” “No, no, I’m new.” “Well, are you coming in for an annual checkup

and vaccinations?” “My dog isn't feeling well.” “Oh! What’s going on?” Leo, in a voice so fast that it was almost incomprehensible, explained all of the horrible things Fido had been going through. The receptionist was professional and calm, which made Leo feel a little better. After about ten minutes, an appointment was set for the very next morning. The next day couldn’t come fast enough. Fido had fallen into an uneasy sleep, but Leo had remained restless all night, unable to sleep with the worry and guilt weighing heavily upon his heart. He loaded his dog into his carrier, and sprinted to his car. He then broke almost every road law to get to the clinic, arriving a solid thirty minutes before his appointment. The clinic was startlingly colorful, as clinics generally aren’t. There were several cutesy paintings of animals on the walls, obviously hand painted. Despite the friendly air the room gave off, Leo’s white knuckled grip on the carrier didn’t lessen as he settled onto the almost painfully bright couch. The receptionist, presumably the same one as the night before, looked up. “Can I help you, sir?” “I called you last night. My appointment isn’t for another thirty minutes,” Leo replied, trying to keep the impatient edge out of his tone. “Well, you can fill out the paperwork ahead of time or look at our cat-alogues.” Leo was engrossed in the endless amount of forms, and so he didn’t see the next person who walked in. Fido, however, did. He hissed angrily from the confines of his cage, a small paw emerging through the bars to whack the other dog’s curious face. The blonde glanced up, instinctively scooping up the carrier and placing Fido on the couch and out of the dog’s range. “Sorry!” the owner exclaimed, yanking on the leash to pull the other dog away from the couch. “Bad dog, Bailey, bad dog!” she scolded. Leo was enthralled. The girl looked to be about his age, was beautiful, and had a dog, just like him. It was a match made in heaven. “It’s fine,” he said, starstruck. She smiled prettily at him. “No, I’m sorry. Bailey likes to stick her nose into places where it doesn’t belong.” Leo melted on the spot. “I’m Leo, Leo Garfield.” He stuck out his hand. “Luna.” Her hand was soft. He opened his mouth to ask her something, maybe something about her dog or maybe for her number, but the vet tech entered the lobby, cutting him off. “Leo and Fido?”

“That’s us,” he said to Fido, picking up the carrier. He followed the vet tech into the examination room, letting Fido out who instantly hid under the single chair. He hissed a little when Leo tried to pet his dog to calm him down. The inside of this room was much less comforting than the lobby, with bare white walls and nearly blinding fluorescent overhead lights. “The veterinarian will be right with you, sir,” the vet tech said, exiting the room to head towards the back. Leo’s leg bounced uncontrollably, nervousness flooding through him. What if Fido was really sick? What if he had heartworm or kidney stones or bladder failure or heart defects or stomach problems or spinal issues or a deformed spleen or cancer or— “Mr. Garfield, are you alright?” Leo blinked away his thoughts. “Yes, yes, I’m fine.” “Are you pawsitive?” Leo took in a deep breath and released it. Feeling a little calmer, he repeated, “I’m fine.” The veterinarian smiled kindly, closing the door behind her. “My name is Doctor Siamese, and can you tell me what’s wrong with…” The doctor’s voice trailed off as she took in his dog. She seemed surprised at Fido’s appearance. “What? Can you already tell what’s wrong?” Leo asked urgently, peering at his dog. He didn’t look sickly to Leo, just a bit scared and and maybe a little puffy. “Mr. Garfield, I thought you said Fido was a dog.” “He is. He’s been throwing up and acting really tired as of yesterday morning. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong!” “I have a gut feline. Feeling. What have you been feeding him?” The vet sounded as if she already knew the problem, which relieved the man greatly. “Uh, it’s called All Star Dog Food, for small breeds.” Dr. Siamese scribbled something on her clipboard. “Okay, and when did you start giving Fido this food?” “The night before last.” “And the sickness started the next morning. Then there’s the solution, I think the food is the issue. It’s probably not agreeing with the cat.” “You mean dog?” “Uh, sure. Okay, so I’m going to go get you the appropriate food for Fido. Just make sure you feed him breakfast and dinner, four-fifths of a cup of dry food a day. Other than that, just let the bad food run its course.” Leo nodded, a little angry. The employee at Martspet had given Fido bad food! What an expensive mistake! Now he had to pay for the purchasing of Fido, the old unhealthy but expensive food, the appointment, and the new healthy but luckily less expensive food. He didn’t realize having a pet would be so costly, but then again, he had gotten pretty unlucky. He had an urge to go give

“Mr. Garfield, I thought you said Fido was a dog.”

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that lady a piece of his mind, but he decided not to. It wasn’t worth it. At the desk, the receptionist—Chris, was it?-pulled up the bill. “So, I’m charging you for the food and the appointment,” he clarified. He hefted the bag onto the counter. Leo inspected it. “Wait, this is the wrong bag. It says cat on the front.” Chris opened his mouth to speak, looking incredulous, but the vet cleared her throat. “Our mistake,” she said, grabbing the bag. She took it to the back, and came out only mere seconds later. “That was quick,” Leo commented, taking the new bag. It looked very similar, but instead of “cat” on the front, there was a large black “x” that had been marked through the name and replaced with a scribbled “dog” next to it. Leo thought it looked a little strange, but shrugged it off as a unique designer’s choice; who was he to judge? Leo paid the bill, lamenting the agonizing death of his wallet as he did so. He had certainly not signed up for this when he had gotten a pet, but what could he do? He started toward the door, only to hear Luna’s goodbye. He paused in the doorway, turning to glance at the pretty girl with the cute dog that he would likely never see again. “Bye, Luna! Bye, Bailey!” Leo called, before letting the door close behind him with a click.

A large dog trotted up to the smaller one, sniffing Fido’s butt curiously. Leo knew it was a type of greeting, so he stood by passively. Fido certainly did not appreciate the intrusion of personal space, and spun around faster than Leo could blink and landed a solid swat on the dog’s muzzle. The larger dog yelped and sprinted away, presumably back to its owner. “Fido!” he chided. The dog’s fur had puffed up; he looked like a little white pinecone. His tail flicked from side to side in displeasure. Leo heard a shout and glanced up, only to see an large, angry man (who was definitely a biker) stalking towards him. Leo did not like the sight of the man’s muscles, or the vein of anger that showed clearly on the other owner’s forehead. “Uh-oh. Looks we’re going to have to apologize.” “Yo, boy! C’mere! Your cat just tore up Daisy’s face!” “Scratch that. We better go.” Leo scooped Fido up, then hastened away from the biker. The other man didn’t put up chase, but shouted a few derogatory things after him. He didn’t feel the bouncy ball slip from his pocket, and he didn’t realize the lack of toy until he was already all the way back home. It was an unlucky oversight on his part. Fido was inconsolable. The bouncy ball had been his favorite toy, and Leo had specifically brought it along so that Fido would feel more comfortable playing. It was his dog’s comfort toy, and Leo had just lost it. Fido was such a good dog. Leo had dreaded pot“Come on, Fido, this is the exact same brand, ty training, or any type of training for that matter, but size, and type,” Leo coaxed gently, waving the blue Fido seemed to inherently know all of these things ball in front of Fido’s face. already. He peed outside, could walk off the leash, The dog turned around grumpily and trotted and had this ridiculous urge to fetch. The few times away, tail flicking. he had let Fido out without his supervision, the dog “Aw, shucks.” Leo groaned, pulled on his shoes, had come back with a creature in his mouth. and left on a quest to find that missing bouncy ball. “Fido! No! Drop that mouse! Stop! You can’t What a cat-astrophe. bring it inside!” Leo had flailed his arms wildly. The dog had stared up at him and dropped it at his feet. “Aha! Found you, sucker!” Leo held up his prize Leo had picked up the dead, icky, absolutely disgust- triumphantly, ignoring the slobbery feel to the ball. ing mouse and hurled it as far as he could, only for He wiped it on his shirt. “Good as new!” Fido to dash after it. “Leo!” He turned, a bit surprised to hear his Leo had no words to describe why his dog pre- name in this new neighborhood. His mouth fell ferred to fetch dead animals (not to eat, only to open. There she was, in all of her magnificent beauty. proudly present to Leo, much to his disgust), but it “H—hey! Um, it’s... Luna, right?” he responded, inspired him to try and teach Fido to fetch normal trying to sound as if all of his waking hours weren’t things, like balls. consumed by thoughts of her. He shoved the bouncy One thing led to another, and Leo found himself ball in his pocket, not wanting to be seen as a weirdo heading to the neighborhood dog park with a bouncy holding a random bouncy ball in the middle of the ball in his pocket. It was a large hilly area, with plains sidewalk. of smooth green grass and filled with the din of play“And Bailey,” she smiled. Luna let her dog off of ful dogs and owners. Many of the dogs were leashher leash, then sat down by him. “Where’s Fido? Is less, so he let Fido free. he feeling better?” As he walked on the sidewalk, Fido got a lot of “Oh yeah, he’s feline—feeling fine. We actually strange looks. Leo felt protective. Fido was oblivious came here earlier to get some exercise..” to the hostility. “Oh, really?”

“Yep.” “...” “...” Leo stared down at his sweaty palms, thinking hard for something to say. Out of the blue, he remembered the advice his dad had given him when he was a graceless teenager: to keep a conversation going, ask questions, lots of them. “So, um… which do you prefer, cats or dogs?” Leo asked. “Well, I’m allergic to cats, so I’d have to go with dogs,” Luna chuckled, going with the sudden switch in conversation. Leo grinned in response. “You don’t have to worry about that; I hate cats!” Leo lied. The truth was that he didn’t really mind cats all that much, but he definitely pre-fur-red dogs. She smiled at him, asking a question in turn. “Er, what’s your favorite type of food?” And so it went, Leo asking random questions, Luna dutifully answering them, even occasionally asking her own. Leo found out that she liked Italian food, her favorite color was red, preferred Coke over Pepsi, didn’t like white fur because it showed on dark clothing, as well as a multitude of other quirks and preferences. They even asked each other about where they lived (which Leo thought was a little purrsonal, but she had been interested to see if they lived close to one another). Eventually, inevitably, Leo stopped, sure that he had asked and been asked all the questions that had ever existed. “Out of questions?” Luna questioned, quirking an eyebrow. Leo nodded embarrassedly. There was a lull in the conversation in which both participants wracked their brains for something clever to say to the other. “Do you want to go out with me?” Luna blurted out, shattering the painful silence. Leo gaped. After another (thankfully shorter) moment of silence, Luna began to ramble, “I’m so sorry, I read this situation all wrong! We were doing the question thing and I just assumed that—” “No! You didn’t read it wrong at all, I was just surprised. Yes, yes, I would love to go out with you!” She smiled in relief. As if on cue, Bailey trotted over. “I just have a good feeling about you. So does Bailey! Right, pup?” Luna knelt on the ground to pet the labrador. “So, maybe tomorrow at your place, around seven-ish?” she suggested, looking up at Leo with her big eyes. “It’s a date!” Leo laughed nervously. They said their goodbyes, complete with an extremely awkward half-hug.

Leo walked home beaming. The rest of the day had gone by quickly, and it was soon morning. He had done everything in his best effort to make his crappy apartment spotless. A solid hour had been dedicated to cleaning cat vomit stains from the carpet with a scratchy paper towel and lysol. Another hour had been spent stressing over what type of food to get. He had decided on Italian. He remembered Luna’s preferences, and did his best to cater to them. That also meant red tablecloth, coke, and a strict vacuuming of every corner of the apartment. About two hours had been spent trying to give Fido a bath. That had been a nightmare. He thought dogs usually liked water. Sure, some dogs didn’t like it, but Fido was such a tolerant dog that Leo had assumed he’d would be fine. He couldn’t have been more wrong. It was like trying to wash a snake. Slippery, sharp teeth, and scary. Leo decided to wear long sleeves to cover up the bandages and scratch marks on his arms. The table was set, the movie was already loaded up, the food smelled delectable, and apartment was clean. Leo couldn’t have been more nervous. “Mrrow,” Fido said, rubbing up against Leo’s legs. “Yeah, you and me both, buddy.” It was a torturous, indefinite amount of time before the doorbell rang. A shock of nerves raced through Leo, but he stood up and walked over to let his guest in. Fido ran to hide under the couch, appropriately startled by the sound he had never heard before. “Luna! Hey, come in,” Leo said with a smile, opening the door wide. The girl looked fabulous. She was wearing a dark blue blouse with black pants, a dark color scheme that brought out the light color of her hair. “You look pretty,” Leo added. Luna smiled sweetly at him. “Thanks, Leo. You don’t look half bad yourself.” Stepping over the threshold, Luna took in the dinner arrangement. “You remembered! That’s pawsome!” she exclaimed, practically skipping over to the table. She ran her fingers across the red tablecloth. Leo blushed brightly. “Well, of course.” The rest of the dinner went well. Fido remained hidden from sight, Luna enjoyed the food, and the dinner conversation was pleasant. The only problem was that Luna kept sneezing. Her face was also getting red, but that could’ve just been the candle mixing with the dim lighting. Leo had tried to keep the lighting at a romantic level. At her seventh sneeze, Luna waved her hand in

“Man, life is ruff.”

Denial

front of her face. “Ugh, sorry about this. I haven’t I’ll do my best!” sneezed this much since my last encounter with a There was a moment of silence. Leo glanced at cat.” his phone to make sure that she hadn’t hung up. Leo nodded sympathetically. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I “Leo, it’s fine that you have a cat, but I would just hope you aren’t getting sick.” have liked for you to be honest with me.” As if on cue, Fido decided to join them. He leapt “What? I don’t have a cat.” onto the table with an impressive feat of agility, land“Don’t lie.” ing neatly next to Luna. He knocked over a glass of “I’m serious!” water, and instantly decided to abandon his adven“Leo, paws and reflect for a moment. Tell me, ture by leaping off Luna’s lap, leaving a mess of when you think of cats, what do you think of?” white fur behind. “Perky ears, long tails, meowing, and jumping There was a moment of silence, of shock, before onto kitchen countertops?” Leo sprung to his feet, wiping the water down before “And you don’t think Fido matches any of it could reach his date. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, I those? Even a little?” don’t know what’s gotten into hi—” Leo cast Fido a cursory glance. He was perched “That’s impawsible. I thought you said you did- in the kitchen sink, lapping at the water dripping n’t have a cat.” Luna’s voice was deadly soft, her from the leaky faucet. He looked very closely at hands frozen above her lap. Fido’s features. “Nope. He looks like a dog to me.” “What? Cat? I don’t! Luna, I’m sorry about “What breed is he?” Luna sounded aggravated Fido!” now. “Leo, that’s a cat!” Luna shrieked, “Uh, a mutt? Maybe a terrier or grabbing a napkin from the stack Leo something?” had prepared for the two of them. She Luna started shouting into the then began to desperately try to rub phone. “Fido is not a dog! He’s a the fur off of her pants. cat! You’re just too dumb to see it! Leo didn’t know where the cat What are you even doing?! You had was that she spoke of, but there was to take Fido to the vet because you obviously something wrong. He got him dog food, not cat food, and joined her in wiping frantically at her made him sick! You knew I was alpants. In trying to get the white fur lergic to cats; I could have died last off, they only succeeded in migrating night! Leo, you need to open your it upwards onto her blouse. eyes!” Leo flipped on the overhead lights “What-eh-fur. Don’t bite my head so he could see better, only to be off, woman.” Leo now knew the shocked at Luna’s appearance. Her truth. Luna wasn’t the angel he had face was red with rash, and her eyes made her out to be. She was being were even redder and very irritated irrational, blaming him for things looking. She was scratching at hives that he didn’t even do. He didn’t Joycelin Lau, Fido on the underside of her wrists. It didn’t seem to appreciate her accusations. “Okay, I be a fatal reaction, but certainly unpleasant. tried to be polite and apologize, but you’re just getLeo reached out, feeling helpless. “Luna—” ting all huffy and puffy on me. Fido and I don’t need Luna yanked away from him. “I need to go that sort of person in our lives.” He needed to prohome!” she shouted, before tearing out the door. tect himself, and he needed to protect Fido. If Luna Luckily, Leo knew she didn’t live that far away so it was going to be toxic, then that was her problem, not wasn’t a long walk but... his. Leo let his outstretched hand drop, both morti“You’ve gotta be kitten me,” she grumbled into fied and confused. He glanced down at Fido, who the phone, then hung up. was sitting primly on the kitchen counter, tail draped Leo walked over to Fido and lifted him out of over expensive tiramisu. “Mrow.” the kitchen sink. “She’s crazy. You’re a dog, right, “Man, life is ruff.” Fido?” “Woof.” “Leo.” It was a discouraging beginning to the phone call. She didn’t sound very pleased with him. He cleared his throat. “Hey, Luna. Look, I’m so, so, sorry about what happened last night. I don’t know exactly what went wrong, but if there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, just tell me and

Old Flames

Part 1

Josh Bozeman ’19

hil lit a couple of scented candles scattered across the dining table. He needed to do something to make up for all of the missed dates. He arranged fancy, foreign food atop the table cloth, hoping the gesture would be enough for Amber to forgive him. The doorbell rang. “Hey, Amber!” Phil exclaimed as he swung open the door. “Come on in.” “We need to talk.” Her tell-tale expression sent shivers down Phil’s spine. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s sit down.” They awkwardly sat at the now-ironically romantic dinner table. “How have you been?” “Phil. Please.” “I know it’s been awhile but I’ve been busy with work and I wanted to—” “Phil, stop talking.” “—What were you up to while I was—” “Phil, I’m seeing somebody else.” The room went silent. “Cameron—from work—we’ve gotten to talking and I realized I need somebody that can be with me and pay attention to me and not bail out on every date to go to some stupid meeting he doesn’t even have to attend!” Phil stared back at her from across the table. “It’s over between us, Phil. I’m leaving.” She stood up from the table and walked to the door. Before she left, she stopped and turned to Phil to see if he had anything else to say. Instead, he just stared at the flickering of one of the candles on the table. She sighed and left. Phil couldn’t think about anything. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t talk. And he didn’t notice it at the time, but the second she left the room, Phil spontaneously burst into flames. When Phil stepped into work, all of his coworkers started screaming. Water rained from sprinklers in the ceiling as one of the workers ran for a wall-mounted fire hydrant. “What’s happening? Where’s the fire?” “Phil, you’re on fire!” “What? No, I’m not!” “Phil, stop, drop, and roll!” Another coworker took the fire hydrant and shot a heap of foam at Phil. “Jeez, stop! Guys, I’m fine! I need to get to work!” He started walking to his desk as his boss stepped out of his office. “My god, Phil! You’re on fire!” “Why does everyone think I’m on fire? If I were on fire, wouldn’t I be burning the whole building down? Well, I’m

Denial

not, so… there you go.” “Phil, please get out of here before you kill somebody!” “I am not on fire!” “Phil, get out of here right now or I’ll fire you!” “Wait, like fired from my job, or actually on fire?” Phil sat on his couch at home and thought about why everyone thought he was on fire. He admitted, sure, that his skin was quite warm. Actually, really warm. He hadn’t been able to pay attention to it because of the chaos at the office but it felt burning hot. But that didn’t mean he was on fire. Maybe he was just under the weather or something. He decided to give Amber a call. Ring. Ring. Ring. “Hello, you’ve reached Amber; I’m not at the phone right now so you know when to leave a message.” The phone beeped. “Hey, Amber, just checking in on you. I know things got a little heated last night but I wanted to see if you wanted to grab dinner tomorrow and talk things over for a bit. I’m taking some leave from work so I’ll have more time. Like you wanted… Anyway, give me a call when you get this message.” Twenty minutes passed with no reply. He thought about calling again but he didn’t want to seem desperate. But with no work to do he felt so bored. So empty. Phil wondered how people lived without something to occupy their time. To avoid seeming overly desperate, Phil decided to wait another twenty minutes before calling Amber again. After the fifth message, Phil decided to go to sleep. He got into bed, threw the covers over him, and stared at the ceiling. Normally, he fell asleep fast, but this night he was having trouble. He rolled over. Still restless. Then he rolled over again. Nothing different. In frustration, he threw the covers off of his bed, causing them to, for some reason, burst into flames. He stared at them in confusion. His phone rang. “Amber?” “Phil, stop calling me.” “Amber, I’m going to take leave from work so we can spend—” “I told you before. We’re done. Separated. I’m not talking to you again, Phil. Goodbye.” She hung up the phone. Phil tried to lightly put down his phone before he threw it across the room. He stared back at the burning comforter then at his own hands. He screamed in frustration, “Why am I on fire?!” Continued on page 26.

ANGER

The Cleaners Christian Moldovan â&#x20AC;&#x2122;18

Above, with a paper crown reigns a boy With no way to die. Immortalized indeed in all his plans Those outlines for life.

A crack, Your shuffling steps, Impending attack, My wife wept. Unwavering we wait inside, lives cursed With no way to fly. Stuck between a rock and a three-round burst But, your end is nigh.

There's nothing here. No boy to stifle my fears. Nobody to start the tears. Just me, and ten thousand years.

Anger

The bomb Your flying legs The rest said; "Get back!" My wife slept.

Angi Huynh â&#x20AC;&#x2122;18, Paper Crown

El Vengador Judson Baker ’18

adre Diego, clad in his vestments, raises his hands to warm them over the fire. In his dark and earthy timbre he says, “Gather round, mis niños, and if you’ll listen, I’ll tell you the story of El Vengador.” It was a tale they had heard many times, and one they’d like very much to hear again. Jose pipes up, “Tell us about the wedding, Padre!” And here, Florina exclaims, “And the bandits, Padre!”

Anger

Sarah Pritchard ’18, El Vengador

And Abel: “And the gunfight!” Padre Diego hushes them all. “I will tell you of all of them, little ones, but you must be quiet.” And with a flourish, Padre Diego tosses a handful of sand over the fire, and a puff of embers like lightning bugs rises up from the flame. The children are awed to silence, and with their chatter ended, Padre Diego begins his story, as it always began.

El Vengador lived in the town of Laredo at the eaves, cutting shrubs and running errands, all out of start of the war. The legends say he was from Mary- the kindness of his heart and never expecting pay. land and that he settled in Laredo just before Ma- To the men of Laredo (and sadly, all of them who nassas, but the people of the city claim him as one claimed to have known him are since passed), he of their own, born and bred. Margarita came from was always a helpful hand in ranch work, a companTamaulipas, across the river, to which Laredo had ion for hunting, and a partner for drinking. Even belonged until the year she turned five. She came the little children looked up to him, and saw him as often into Laredo with her father, who was a trader, a kind of town idol. When the wedding came in and it was on of her regular visits to the city that she September, the whole of Laredo crowded into the first laid eyes on El Vengador. little church on Front Street, dressed in their finest Of course, in those days, he had gone by anoth- clothes, with an unparalleled joy in their hearts that er name, but no one remembers it. The Confedera- their city’s favorite son was marrying the girl of his dos say he was called Andrew, and the Tejanos dreams. swear he was André—the implication being in both El Vengador retired from the trails; so beloved cases that he was one of their own—but in the end, was he by that employer that he was given a generit doesn’t matter. What mattered, to Margarita at ous severance stipend, more than enough to purleast, when she first saw him in Laredo was the col- chase a little plot of land on the edge of the city. or of his eyes. They were amber, and so piercing Here, El Vengador labored for two months in that they almost looked gold. building a little cottage for Margarita and himself. It The old women in Laredo still croak about how was a modest one-room ranch house, with a kitchen they remember the look on El Vengador’s face and bed and all the amenities they would need in the when he sighted Margarita (though I have my beginning of their life together. doubts that every old woman who says she remem“But there is no room at all for any children,” bers it was really there). El Vengador in those days lamented Margarita. was a cowboy, working for the cow-trader whose But El Vengador held her close and promised winter mansion sat at the top of the hill overlooking her: “When the time comes for children, I will tear the river. When Margarita’s father came to Laredo out that wall and build two more rooms. But for on that particular occasion, he had crops to sell and now, this is all we need.” was hoping to buy some new stock for breeding on For Margarita, El Vengador left the trails behind the ranch back home, and it just happened that El him and took up farming. He was a natural at the Vengador was selling the stock that day. El Venga- craft of tending the land. With the cold of the windor, his tongue as silver as ever, remarked to this ter settling in just as he finished the house, there rancher about the beauty of the Mexicana girl with would be no chance for a crop, but he kept a small him, sneaking in the compliment amid other com- garden and made just enough money—along with pliments about the rancher’s fine dress and his im- the generous gift from the trail-master—for a few peccable eye for cattle. The rancher, flattered, and pigs and cattle. When the winter thawed into spring, impressed with the prices of the stock—either unof- he and Margarita sowed the seeds for a crop of fended or unaware that El Vengador had lowered wheat and of corn and a few patches for pumpkins them in hopes of getting in the man’s good grac- and tomatoes, and by the harvest that fall, they had es—shook his hand and handed over his money, made what seemed to their humble eyes a small forand let his daughter share a few words with the tune. cowboy before leaving. “What will we do with all this I can’t be sure what money?” asked Margarita, her Margarita was with words they shared on that eyes wide. first meeting, but it must And El Vengador replied gently, child. have been enough, for on “We must save it, my love. her next visit to Laredo There will be children here with she came alone. In no time at all, El Vengador and us before you know it.” Margarita were engaged to be married, and an air of And indeed, as you know, mis niños, he was right. joy hung over the town. El Vengador was much By that September, when they had been married a beloved by the people of the city; from each Au- year, Margarita was with child. The two lovers delibgust, when the herds came through the town, to the erated and decided that the child, were he a son, following March when they left again, El Vengador would be Joseph, and were she a daughter, Regina. graced the grateful townsfolk of Laredo with his With a roof over their heads, a store of money made presence. He was (as the old women in the city still from the harvest, plenty of land for planting once attest even now), a gracious help with trouble the next year came, and the tender and loving comaround the house, mending fences and shutters and pany of one another, all seemed right with the world

for Margarita and her husband. of dread already produced by the wars. When they But, mis niños, as well you know, their happiness left, some of that dread was lifted, and Margarita was not to last. and El Vengador felt as though they could breathe The trouble began in that March, just as the once more. chill of winter was beginning to give way to spring But this peace, it turned out, would be brief. warmth. There was war on either side of the river, Not one week passed before this gang, led by that and both Tamaulipas and Texas were suspended in same swarthy Tejano with the sable whiskers, rea state of uncertainty. Out of four governments, turned, this time with more in their band. The sherneither the one in Richmond nor in Washington nor iff came out to Front Street once again to meet in Mexico City nor in Veracruz seemed able to offer them, but now they passed him by completely. Only order to the border towns. Lawlessness abounded. the Tejano leader acknowledged him, and only with The first of the bandit gangs rode into Laredo a glance and a tip of his hat. on a Sunday, offending the townsfolk not only with It surprised no one when the town awoke the their presence but with their next morning to disdesecration of the Lord’s Day cover that the bank as well. Their leader was a “I do sincerely hope you had been robbed, and swarthy Tejano clad in black that Juan de Zaragoza ain’t here to cause no and green, clean-shaven except and his gang were for midnight black whiskers nowhere to be found. trouble.” that framed his jowls not quite The sheriff mustered menacingly and not quite comiup a posse, of which cally, in a kind of in-between state between sinister El Vengador was an eager member, but no trace of and silly. He rode, with a great deal of pomp, down the bandits could be found. They returned home Front Street on their first day in town, flanked on empty-handed, and they prayed that this was to be either side by a row of black-clad riders. Each of the last of the trouble. them sported a golden pin bearing the image of a But the bandits returned. Week after week skull ringed with cactus flowers. passed, each time the bandits riding into town, The sheriff was the first to greet them. “What spending the night, and riding out early in the mornare you boys here in Laredo for? I do sincerely hope ing with a spate of crime left in their wake. Stores you ain’t here to cause no trouble.” were robbed, women defiled, men gunned down. The parade of horses came to a halt, and the The sheriff mustered a band of law-abiding citizens, swarthy Tejano leader dismounted and approached El Vengador once again among their ranks, but to the sheriff, puffing his chest slightly as though he no avail. Each time, the bandits returned with more were sizing up the lawman. “No trouble, señor, no men. The sheriff and a few of his deputies were trouble at all. My name is Juan de Zaragoza, and shot, and Laredo was thrusted fully into the shadow these are mis hermanos, you see, my brothers. We of criminal rule. simply riding through some of the border towns But the real chaos began, mis chicos, when Juan and thought we would maybe stop in for a night. de Zaragoza first spied Margarita. Could you recommend for us a hotel, and perhaps a The dark-skinned Tejano and his gang were place to get a drink?” parading themselves down Front Street on that The sheriff spat. “The best hotel in town is the morning, lording their supremacy of their new subSonora, right here on Front Street. And if you want jects. Margarita was buying fruit from a local woma watering hole, look no further than the Saguaro, an when she heard that dark voice bark at her from just next door. And if you gentlemen just keep quiet atop his sable horse: “You beautiful thing! Aren’t and law-abiding, you’ll find Laredo a welcoming you on the wrong side of the river?” place along the border.” She turned away and said nothing. Juan de ZaraJuan de Zaragoza tipped his hat genially and goza’s lustful mirth turned to anger. He leapt down smiled. “Muchos gracias, mi amigo.” from his horse and followed after, growling, “You, For two days, this gang of suspicious faces nest- mexicana girl. I said, ‘Aren’t you on the wrong side of ed in the town, and true to their leader’s word, they the river?’” remained quiet and law-abiding. But everywhere Now she turned to face the swarthy Tejano, her they went, it seemed they were watching for some- eyes fiery. She hissed, in their shared native tongue, thing, like rats waiting for the cat to go away. “I am exactly where I mean to be. Now go away, “I don’t like the look of them,” El Vengador before I call for my husband.” remarked to his beloved, and she agreed. At this, Juan de Zaragoza laughed. “Her husTheir presence conjured up a miasma of uncer- band, she says! Girl, do you know what women say tainty and suspense in Laredo, adding to the sense once they have spent an evening with Juan de Zara-

2 20

Anger

goza?” She fumed and turned away in haste. The Tejano grinned, calling after her, “They say, ‘What husband?’” The bandits began to laugh heartily, and Juan de Zaragoza stared at Margarita more hungrily than before. She did not turn back to him, shielding her rage and the tears in her eyes. She had seen bandits such as these when she lived in Tamaulipas, and had every reason to fear them. It was at this moment that El Vengador emerged from the smithy across the way, his two shiny new iron horseshoes in hand. His eyes fell on Margarita, saw the tears streaming down her cheeks, and without thinking he dropped the shoes to the dirt and rushed to embrace her. “My love,” he whispered to her, “why are you crying?” In answer, Juan de Zaragoza hissed: “And you must be the husband.” El Vengador turned to face the Tejano. “Who wants to know?” “I do, señor.” El Vengador’s hand slipped to his waist and touched lightly on the gun. Instantly, twenty dirty hands atop twenty black horses slipped to their gunbelts, with their forty beady black eyes fixed on El Vengador. Slowly, El Vengador’s hand retreated. Juan de Zaragoza could only laugh. “Your wife is a very beautiful woman, señor.” And with a flourish of his midnight moustache, Juan de Zaragoza retreated to his horse at the front of his sinister pack, and rode past Margarita and El Vengador, leaving the two lovers standing alone in the street, furious and unsettled. But the night came—o! that foul night, mis niños! —when Margarita and El Vengador were roused from their sleep by the din of gunplay and shouting outside their little ranch house. “Stay here,” El Vengador gently commanded. He grabbed for the shotgun hanging over the mantle. “No, mi querida,” Margarita whimpered. “Don’t go out there.” El Vengador answered only with a kiss. He ran into their yard, brandishing the shotgun, suspecting every shadow. More gunshots and more screaming. He squinted and, through the darkness, saw the cantering of horses on the edges of his land. “Who goes there?” he shouted into the night. The strangers answered with gunfire. El Vengador rushed to the ground, futilely returning fire into the darkness. He heard more shouting and could just make out the Spanish: “Shoot him, shoot him! He’s there in the bushes!” But El Vengador’s focus was drawn by a chilling scream from within the house. His face warped in

horror: “Margarita!” He dashed back into the house. As he fled across the yard toward his door, a ball of lead caught him in the back of the leg. He stumbled, but kept his pace. Inside the house he found broken glass, the sheets torn and frayed. Margarita was nowhere to be seen. He called for her, “Margarita! Margarita, my love, where are you?” The back-door stood ajar. Frantically he ran for it, frantically he pulled and gazed outside at the terror unfolding. There stood Juan de Zaragoza, in the swarthy flesh, Margarita tied around his nightmare-black horse. In the moonlight, El Vengador spied a hideous grin on the Tejano’s face. El Vengador swung his shotgun forward, but Juan de Zaragoza was faster. One pistol shot and El Vengador fell to the ground, and off Juan de Zaragoza rode, Margarita screaming wildly through the cold of the night. “Padre Diego,” squeaked Antonio, “did El Vengador die?” “He didn’t die!” piped Francisco, “we didn’t get to the fight with the bandits yet!” “Patience, mis niños,” chided Padre Diego. “The story isn’t over yet.” “Get to the part with the fight, Padre!” shouted the children. “Alright, alright, quiet now. I’ll get to the fight.” Of course, El Vengador was not dead. He was made of sterner stuff, and besides, Juan de Zaragoza’s bullet had only grazed him on his shoulder. The bandit may have been fast, but El Vengador was a much better shot. By morning light, he came to, and set out on the bandits’ trail. El Vengador was a master tracker, having honed his skill for years on the trail. It took him only a few hours to find their trace, and as soon as he did, he set out like a lightning storm, as fast as his horse could ride. For days he followed the trace—the tracks of many horses, the shed casings of six-guns, and the thick smell of blood and liquor and sin that hung on the breeze like the heat of a summer day before the rain—and finally, he was within sight of their camp. On the horizon one night he had spotted a fire, and as he rode closer he could make out the sight of tattered canvas tents. With each passing hour the camp was closer, and the blood-and-liquor smell grew stronger and stronger with each of his horse’s strides. He burst into the camp, his six-gun in his hand, prepared for a duel. There was no sight of anyone. Everywhere the camp was silent. Torn canvas blew lazily in the wind. The fire was out. He swore furiously and

tossed his six-gun to the ground. They must have lit out hours ago. But his eyes—be merciful, God!—his eyes fell upon one tent, and its gruesome tenant. Only a light pair of legs, brown and soft except for the scrapes that scarred them, protruded from within. He knew these legs, and in fury he tore the canvas from the tent and peered on the carnage inside. Splayed on the canvas floor of the tent was Margarita, blood in her hair and bruises shading her battered frame. Her face and sides were swollen with the wounds of beating, so beaten they were black. Her arms and legs bent in alien angles, her clothes were torn and tattered, her eyes were shut. “Margarita,” he breathed, fear in his breast. “Margarita!” He rushed to her body, ran his hands across her skin. Tears flecked her flesh, mixing with the blood. She did not stir. She did not answer. El Vengador’s eyes then turned to her belly, and the child within it. And his eyes blazed with fury. He pulled himself from the tent and stumbled back to his horse, the horror hanging over his face like a storm cloud. He hastened back to the trail. The fire-pit was still warm, the ashes still white. The bandits had only abandoned the camp that morning. They were “The Angel of close. to drag you He followed their traces across the prairie, stopping for nothing. He did not drink or sleep for two days. Nothing, he thought, nothing, could keep him from that trail. From the bandits who had slain his wife. From vengeance. And two days were passed, and the sun crested lightly over the horizon, bathing the prairie in a cold pink light, when he saw the smoke of their fire. He wasted no time. He leapt from his horse and took a knife from his pack. Gingerly he laced the blade across his horse’s throat and it fell to the ground. Their camp was exposed, standing alone in the expanse of the grassland, and so was he. If he rode up to them, they would have time to escape, as they had from their last encampment. If they saw his horse, his chance would be lost. Instead, he fell to the dirt, crawled painfully to a growth of scrub less than a mile from their campsite. There he hid himself until darkness crept across the plains. At last, their fire was extinguished, and El Vengador knew that the bandits had retired. Like a wolf, he crept from the scrub and began an agonizing horizontal march towards the camp, knife between his teeth, six-gun in his hand. He stifled his every breath, muffled his every motion. An hour passed. He lay in wait at the edge of the camp, like a scorpion, rearing to strike.

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Anger

Silence stood over the tents. Faintly he heard the snoring coming from within. He stood, slowly, careful not to make a sound. He held his six-gun in his hand. Then his gaze fell to the fire-pit, the liquor bottles ringing it, the dull red glow of its embers, still warm. He was quick—he holstered his gun and produced his knife, sheared off a cut of fabric, and tied it around the blade. Then he softly raised one of the discarded liquor bottles and doused the swatch of shirt in the drink. He held it to the embers and mouthed a silent prayer. The shirt caught; the flame rose; and he felt its heat matched and exceeded by the blaze in his gut as he tossed the flaming knife, almost mechanically, into the closest tent. The spark was instant, and final. An otherworldly scream set up from inside as the tent blazed, and soon the conflagration spread across the camp. El Vengador grabbed another liquor bottle, began to spray the liquid wildly across the tents. Screams filled the night air. He heard the stumbling and swearing of the lucky few bandits whose tents had not been swallowed in the fire, heard those confused mutterings turn to agony as the flames grew and consumed the prairie in the red -orange light. And above the screams he Death, come thundered: “Where is Juan de Zaragoza?” to Hell.” And like Hector rising to the challenge of Achilles, the swarthy Tejano emerged from his tent. But in the flaming tumult of the night, he stood without any of his size and swagger. He stood naked in the night air, his midnight moustache frayed and unwaxed, his six-gun away from his side. “What the hell are you?” Juan de Zaragoza asked, his face awash with terror. “You remember me,” El Vengador replied. “Are you a ghost?” “I’m an angel,” came El Vengador’s answer. “The Angel of Death, come to drag you to Hell.” Juan de Zaragoza fell to his knees and whimpered in his native tongue: “Almighty God, have mercy on a poor man. I have sinned gravely, only save me from this fate and I shall turn away from my evil ways! Please, God in Heaven, spare me!” El Vengador said nothing. He stood over Juan de Zaragoza, his amber eyes burning with the orange glow, staring into the Tejano’s face, into his soul. Juan de Zaragoza went on whimpering until the fire swallowed them both.

Feel What You Must Musa Drammeh ’18

What words are there for blood too thin to drown? Mounted mirror, golden strings reflected, A knot tied upon crown of gilded heir. Woes born to forsworn love at mortal dawn, Make no return at news of stranger death. Can child of fostered kin, turn to harsh yore? Oh, to jaw, frame for benumbed iron lips. What lies within eyes of mantis hydrangeas? Do query speech to mirrored self’s intent. A yearning for truth, wherefore mother’s spurn, Knowledge to quiet those undeserved throbs. Feelings, of love, of hate, desire unsure Sables, touching upon hidden anguish A conflict eluded, seeks permanence What verdict lies in august departure?

Sài Gòn, Sài Gòn Thanh Nguyen ’19

Sài Gòn, Sài Gòn đà đi về đàu? Sài Gòn, Sài Gòn điều gì đà xày rà? Quà cuòc chiền triền miền là cờ mòt thời đềp đề đà ràch nàt tà tời.. Mòt thành phò giàu cò là niềm hành diền, cuà còng ly, và tự dò đà bi tựờc đòàt bời kề chiền thàng..

Viềt Còng, Viềt Còng càc ngựời là ài? Viềt Còng, Viềt Còng càc ngựời đà làm gì vày ? Chung tòi nhìn càc ngựời càm hàn Khi nhựng gì yều dàu cuà chung tòi, càc ngựời đà huy hòài tàt cà ròi Kìà nhựng biều ngự huềnh hòàng vời tiềng thềt gàò chiền thàng Thành phò chung tòi, bày giờ đày rày nhựng kề giàn mành nhựng kề phàn bòi .. Hò dựng dựng vời nhựng tiềng khòc là đàu đờn đàng rền xiềt khàp quề hựờng. Nhựng viền sòi nhò cung rung mình dựời càt

Eàglề, Eàglề bàn đi đàu màt ròi? Eàglề, Eàglề bàn đà làm gì vày ? Bàn đà chò chung tòi niềm hy vòng, nhựng sàu đò, bàn quày lựng.. Bàn đà cung chung tòi chiền đàu càn trựờng nhựng mòt làn nựà, bàn đàp vờ niềm yều thựờng Cò lề đòi cành cuà bàn đà quà mềt mòi, bời tiềng gòi cuà già đình, trề thờ nền, bàn đà tự bò và tự àn ui, mình đà xòng tràch nhiềm.

Nòi đàu về mòt cuòc chiền làu dài nòi màt màt cuà chung tòi.. Cài già cuà tự dò quà đàt khi Eàglề rời bò.. Và Sài gòn.. Du xàc ngựời ngàp nguà vui làp dựời đòng trò tàn Sài gòn vàn hiền ngàng Nhựng ngựời lình vàn chiền đàu.. Chò đền giờ phut cuòi cung, khòng đàu hàng.

Saigon, Saigon Where have you gone? Saigon, Saigon What have you done? Your beautiful flag, all scattered and torn. Through years of war, this is what youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve become. Once the city of wealth and pride, now deprived of justice and life.

Viet Cong, Viet Cong Where have you gone? Viet Cong. Viet Cong What have you done? We looked on you with rancor as you destroyed those we held most dear. You raised the wretched banner and yelled triumphantly for all to hear. But malicious are you, betrayers amongst us. Can't you hear those painful screams uttering throughout the motherland? The sorrows and cries shaking every pebble in the sand?

Eagle, Eagle Where have you gone? Eagle, Eagle What have you done? You gave us some hope, and then you swept it back. You helped us gain courage -but again- you shattered that. Now your wings have grown tired, Your hatchlings call you home. So you've given up, say your job here is done.

The travail of a long war we have lost, but more importantly at the cost that our eagle has vanished and our city has perished under the eroded ashes of many precious souls -who remained still standingeven when the betrayers came.

Old Flames

Part 2

Josh Bozeman ’19

“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe she cheated on me with some ‘Cameron!’” “Phil, your skin is burning.” “And that too! Why is my skin burning! It’s so frustrating! I can’t go to work, I can’t sleep because of the heat.” To talk things through, Phil invited his friend Isabel over. “Phil, did you really call me after three months of absence to complain about your failed relationship and scorching hair?” “I’m sorry that we haven’t been talking, but I was swamped with work! All my free time was spent with Amber! And look at how that turned out. I’m on forced leave and Amber’s out with some randy from work!” Isabel sighed. “Here I was thinking you wanted to hang out.” “Look, I want to hang out, but I’ve got some bigger problems right now. Like dealing with my incendiary skin!” He picked up papers from the desk and threw them across the room as they burned and fizzled into ash mid-air. “Calm down, Phil. Let’s try to reason this out. When did this start?” “It… it was two days after I got back from my trip. I walked into work and everyone started splashing me with fire extinguishers and buckets of water.” “It must’ve not been from the trip because they never would’ve let you on the plane back like this.” She took a few steps back and was noticeably sweating. “What did you do when you came back?” “Umm. I called Amber to come over for dinner. And that’s when she… You know…” “And the next day you went into work on fire?” “Exactly.” “Well, there it is. You’re on fire because she broke up with you!” Phil’s eyes seemed to light up,

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but Isabel couldn’t tell if it was inspiration or more fire. “So it’s all her fault!” “Well, not really what I was getting at—” “That just gives me more reason to hate her.” The fire seemed to be getting bigger and Isabel stepped further away to avoid being burned. “No, Phil. You may be on fire because she dumped you, but that doesn’t mean you can blame all of this on her!” “And why not?” “Because you were apart of that break up too! Phil, you spent so much time with work it was obvious she wasn’t going to stick with you until you started to focus on her—” “But that doesn’t give her the right to cheat on me! And then light me on fire!” “You’re right, it doesn’t. But her dumping you was inevitable. You just have to accept that sometimes you need to take the fault for these things.” The fire flickered before growing again. “Sure, yeah, sure! It’s all my fault that I’m single and enkindled!” “You know that’s not what I’m s—” “So what do I do about it?” “Do you think I know? I’ve never really been on fire before. Have you tried ‘stop, drop, and roll?’” “Ha, very funny. Now if you’re not going to be helpful, get out!” Isabel looked disgusted. She picked up her purse. “You are unbelievable, Phil. Have fun burning.” She stomped out of the house and Phil couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. But there were more pressing matters at hand. Specifically, how to get Amber back and also not be on fire. Continued on page 38.

BARGAINING

The Impossible Game Lillie Olliver ’21

(The lights rise to reveal two women seated at a simple card table, a chess board set up in front of them. It seems they have been playing for a while, since the pieces are scattered across the playing field. After a few seconds of play, the scene begins.) LADY: ...You’re cheating. The WOMAN sitting across from her chuckles and shakes her head, crossing her arms on the edge of the small table they are seated at. She is dressed in a simple tan trench coat, blood red dangerously-high heels, and a classic fedora. Smoke faintly curls from the butt of the cigarette rolled between her elegant fingers.) (

WOMAN: I’m winning, dear.

LADY: It’s not an honest win if you cheat. WOMAN: But it’s a win, nonetheless. (The LADY chews her lip, staring down at the board. In her knitted sweater, jeans, and ratty shoes, she looks rather mun-

dane compared to her competitor. Her eyes sweep over the pieces, seemingly assessing the wins and losses she and her opponent had suffered. She looks reluctant to continue the game. Nevertheless, she moves a piece, sighing through her slightly downturned lips. Her bishop slowly but surely crosses the board.) WOMAN: Mm. But if you do that, then I’ll just... (The woman sweeps up the LADY’s bishop with her pawn.)

“You’re cheating.”

LADY:: (She mutters bitterly, as if angry at herself.) How could I have been so foolish as to not see the most ordinary of pieces, poised to strike? LADY: This is ridiculous, (she murmurs, combing a hand through her hair and running it down her face.) Ridiculous. WOMAN: You wanted to play the game, dearie. Now move. LADY: (She bites her lip.) I don’t want to, anymore. I’ve changed my mind. WOMAN: Too late, sweetheart. You asked for this, didn’t you? Now move. LADY: (She cries out, forlorn.) But I can’t win! You know I can’t win! WOMAN: (Her lips curls.) No, dear. You know you can’t win. But that’s not really what matters, is it? You knew you couldn’t win, before you even started this game. (She leans forwards slightly, her lacquered nails clacking lightly on the table’s surface. ) You’re desperate. LADY: No, I’m not. (The LADY crosses her arms, shrinking back into her chair.) WOMAN: You are. And you know it, too. LADY: I’m not-

2 28

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WOMAN: You have nothing. (The woman snarls at her, holding up a manicured finger.) Nothing. You’ve lost it all, sweetie. You’re a hopeless cause. Just give it up. The LADY’s eyes tear up slightly. She sniffles. LADY: B-but if I can justWOMAN: (She coos:) Do you really think you can beat me? Let’s face it. You’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’ here. You’re some kind of masochist, aren’t you? You’re just begging to be destroyed. The LADY’s cheeks flush angrily. LADY: Stop that. Stop. I’m not talking about this anymore. WOMAN: (She leans back in her chair leisurely, seemingly ignoring her.) So what are you playing for, anyways? You’re awfully tight-lipped. The WOMAN takes a puff out of the rolled cigarette peeking out from between her index and middle fingers. Smoke curls up from her nostrils as she exhales, eerily similar to a sleeping dragon.

LADY: You won’t need to know until I win. (she says stubbornly, hesitantly moving her knight forwards and to the right.) WOMAN: You might be surprised. (She chuckles, moving her own rook forwards.) But, really. Who was it, hm? Sister? Father? LADY: (She swallows, running her finger over the sharp point of her King’s crown.) Fiancé. Well, Ex-fiancé, I guess. (She scoffs this bitterly, yet no malice coats her voice.) WOMAN: (She clicks her tongue.) How romantic, yet how tragic. Poor guy. What a shame. LADY: (angrily) Just play the game. (She shoves her queen forwards across the board.) WOMAN: You should be more careful. (Warning colors her voice as she moves her pawn slowly.) Your desperation is— LADY: Don’t tell me what to do. (Her remaining bishop is forced into action.) Just play so I can win this and get out of here. And so, the LADY is locked in checkmate, her lip bitten in her frustration. The WOMAN almost looks pitying as she sweeps up the LADY’s king, rolling it between her fingers like her own cigarette. WOMAN: Mm. And so he falls. (She glances up at the seemingly frail husk that is left of the LADY, her slumped shoulders displaying her regrets.) What’ll you do now? LADY: (She grits her teeth, fighting back tears.) I—I just wanted… (She sniffles, seeming to curl in on herself.) I just want him back. That’s all I want. WOMAN: Ah. Of course, darling. (The woman sweeps the pieces off the board and into a silken red bag, pulling the drawstrings.) Don’t we all? LADY: It’s not fair. (She sobs quietly, her broken heart seeming to stream down her cheeks.) It’s not fair. WOMAN: And thus is the way of life, dearest. (She tucks the bag into the pocket of her trench coat.) Now it’s your choice to decide what to do next, isn’t it? (The LADY sniffles in response, not bothering to wipe away her tears before they drip down onto her sweater. The WOMAN

stands and picks up the board, folding it in half and tucking it into the inner reaches of her coat. She winks at the LADY, her red lips curling in a sly smile.) WOMAN: Good game. (She says this smoothly before turning away from the table and strutting off into the darkness as the lights dim, the sound of her blood-red heels against the tile the last thing to break the silence.)

Dealing with the Devil Chloe Duensing ’20

Chat Opened: 12:15 PM Gary_ChocoLover: You sure you want to do this? You: I’m sure. Gary_ChocoLover: You gave it a lot of thought, right? You sure you don’t want another day to think it over? This isn’t a decision to be made lightly.

You: I know. Gary, just give me the guy’s number. Gary_ChocoLover: This guy’s serious. He asked me for all of my chocolate for fifty years. Do you know how much I’m missing chocolate? It’s horrible! He’s a monster! You: I don’t doubt it. But what did you ask for? Gary_ChocoLover: Don’t worry about it. Gary_ChocoLover: Just remember.. Gary_ChocoLover: “I want to make a deal.”

You: What if I can’t fulfill my side of the deal? Gary_ChocoLover: Then you lose everything. You: Yeah, right. As if I have anything left to lose. Gary_ChocoLover: Your life?? You: If this guy can do what you claim he can do… then I don’t have anything to worry about. Gary_ChocoLover: Don’t worry, he can get you what you want and he won’t be unreasonable. It’s very fair. You: Okay. I’m going now.

Gary_ChocoLover: Wait

Bargaining

Gary_ChocoLover is typing… You: I’m done with waiting. And I’m done listening to you being stupid. You have left the chat. Chat Opened: 12:20 PM You: I want to make a deal. Devil: hah lol, y shuld i make a deal with u You: I heard from some of your other customers that you can fulfill any desire. Devil: mm i can. (◣∀◢)ψ You: I want you to bring back my daughter. Devil: ok You: Really? Devil: mhm You: What do I need to do? Devil: ¯\_(´・ω・｀)_/¯ lemme think , You: I’m willing to do anything. You: What should I do? You: Are you still thinking? You: Hello? You: Are you still here? Devil: sorry, i had to mute a group chat, wat were u saying? o w8, i can scroll up give me a min You: This seems unprofessional. Devil: ಠ_ರೃ dont b rude, human. do u know how many requests i get per day? the only way im even talkin to u and ur not chattin with my secretary is that gary asked me to hear u out You: I apologize. Devil: ^(#｀∀´)_Ψ ok~ to answer ur question, all u need to do to bring your kid back is to pay me back 100x what ur askin for You: What do you mean? Devil: kill 100 ppl and bring their souls to yours truly and I’ll get your daughter back for u

You: What?!

Devil: Ｏ(≧▽≦)Ｏ im so excited. More souls~~ You: No way. I’m not killing people. No deal. Isn’t there anything else? Devil: .・゜゜・（／。＼）・゜゜・． You: Anything not illegal? Devil: no You: No? Devil: ヽ༼ ಠ益ಠ ༽ﾉ Just when I was startin to liek u, u decided to wimp out on me. NO DEAL HUMAN, LEAVE MY SIGHT (i don’t deal with goody two shoes.) You: But I’m not even in your sight. We’re texting. Devil: I can sense your human weaki-ness from all the way down here. Devil: BEFORE YOU GO Devil: 〜(￣△￣〜) Tell gary that i wont talk to the ppl he recommends anymore Devil has blocked you. Chat opened 2:23 AM Meredith B: Dear Human, I do not understand why you would try to contact my boss again. Thank you, MB You: I really need his help. Meredith B: Dear Human, he doesn’t want to talk to you. Thank you, MB You: Can I talk to your boss? Or can you relay a message? Meredith B: Dear Human, no. Thank you, MB (P.S. I’m very busy.) Meredith B: P.P.S. If you have something truly important to say, then just hurry up. You: omg… ok. Hear me out… Devil has unblocked you. Chat opened: 7:13 AM Devil: omgg it’s the huouman again (*꧆▽꧆*) You: Yes, I’m back. Devil: did u bribe mery? how r u talkin to me at all

Bargaining

You: You don’t pay her enough.

Devil: (❁´◡`❁) lolol Devil: I dun pay her @ all You: Ah. You: So, will you reconsider our deal? Devil: ▼・ᴥ・▼ mebbe You: I’ve reconsidered as well. Instead of bringing my daughter back to life, all I want is to talk to her one more time.

Devil: still, finding her soul is pretty hard You: What do you want in return for this? Devil: (ﾉ>｡☆)ﾉ idkkkkkkk Devil: didnt u try praying Devil: ppl usually come to me for bad stuff, liek killing their mortal enemy or cursing some1 for life You: My prayers have gone unanswered. Devil: (〃 ω 〃) that was so cliche Devil: ok! in return, u must give me half of your lifespan You: Done. Devil: whaaa—!?! So fast! (๑•﹏•)⋆* ⁑⋆* Devil: then how about 3/4 of your lifespan You: Done. Devil: so dedicated~~ Devil: u r probably the most pure, self sacrificing customer ive had since, uh, a long time Devil: ppl usually dont liek dealin with the devil You: I’m desperate. And I’m done with waiting. If you can do anything, then please. Devil: (ﾟωﾟ；) im a nice guy, so imma agree to these terms Devil: 1/2 human lifespan, so tasty~~ You: Okay. Good. Deal. Devil: Deal.

Chat opened: 7:20 AM

You: what’s going on!? You: Devil, what’s happening!? Devil: o~ i’m sorry. I forgot to tell u Devil: ヽ(

∇

｀

)ノﾜｰｲ

Devil: im not taking 1/2 of your remaining lifespan Devil: im taking half of your total one.. It appears ur over 1/2 of your life, so the rest of it goes to me You: What!? You, you You: Were you lying about my daughter’s soul? Devil: no. but u fulfill your part of your deal first, ok human? You: I dont You: I You are typing… You have become idle. Devil: (◣∀◢)ψ

Bargaining

“^(#｀∀´)_Ψ ”

The Angel Who Faltered Bhavana Kunnath â&#x20AC;&#x2122;21

Life left me in pieces So I could piece together the wings you left behind Feather by feather I glued the world back together

Hanna Bischof â&#x20AC;&#x2122;19, Untitled

Old Flames

Part 3

Josh Bozeman ’19

“I will pay you twenty extra dollars to put out this fire quickly.” “I’m a doctor, Phil, a bribery won’t get you special treatment. At least not a $20 one. Now let’s run through this again; you experienced some emotional trauma—” “I was cheated on—” “—and then your skin spontaneously combusted without you even noticing?” “Yes, exactly.” “Right… And how long ago was this?” “Three days.” The doctor looked concerned for a few seconds before opening his mouth again. “Now, normally, I’d think the nerve-endings in your skin have died, seeing as how you aren’t feeling any pain—” “It’s really hot! And annoying!” “Phil, you should be screaming from the pain. However, if this really did start three days ago like you claim, your skin would’ve decayed by now and you’d be a burning corpse.” “Yes, I’m glad I came to a doctor to be told that being on fire normally kills you faster than three days.” “Can you stop with the interruptions? I want to get this done quickly and move onto the next patient.” “I just want to not be on fire! What’s your diagnosis?” “Well, I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with

you. If you’ve tried using a fire extinguisher, that’s about the extent of what I could do to fix this. The most I can say is if you can’t stand the heat—” “There’s no way you’re making puns right now.” “—Come back and see me and I’ll offer you a bunch of painkillers. Now, go home and if it isn’t better in a week call me. You can pay at reception.” “Are you kidding? I’m on fire and your treatment is to send me home to rest!” “They don’t really cover ‘chronic skin fire’ in medical school, and I’m not about to spend the rest of my life being the first expert on it, alright?” “So you’re sending me home because you’re too lazy to figure out why I’m burning.” “Basically.” “Good to hear your other patients are in good hands.” “You want to complain? Talk to my lawyer. But I have a feeling you’ve got other problems on your heat-hands.” The doctor walked out of the room as the ceiling gradually collected smoke. As he walked home—because he was too scared to see what a car burning from the inside would do—Phil pulled out his phone ready to call Amber. In the “recent calls” section was a slew of missed calls to Amber, followed by a call with Isabel. He decided to dial her instead. “Hey, I went to the doctor and you’ll never

guess the treatment he gave.” “Phil…” “I know things got awkward last time we talked and I just wanted to ask if you wanted to do something again. I’m sorry I freaked out; I was just so angry for some reason.” “I guess you would be if you were on fire.” “How about I come over?” “Well I’m not sure how fire-proof my house is, so how about I come over to yours?” “Yeah that works too. I’ll see you there soon.” “So the doctor did not tell you to stop, drop, and roll.” “Surprisingly, no.” “I mean it is good advice. Have you tried it?” “Isabel.” “I’m kidding. Anyway, are you gonna take his advice?” “He thinks the cure for burning alive is lying in bed, of course not.” “Well what else are you going to do?” “No clue. Any ideas?” Phil and Isabel were sitting in opposite corners of his living room. “Wait it out. If it doesn’t pass, maybe you can become some kind of circus freak. That’d be fun, right? I know it’s been your dream since you were a kid.” “You’re funny,” Phil stated blandly. “If it really was caused by Amber dumping me, I think my best solution is to get back with her, right?” “No, Phil, that’s the problem! You’re obsessing over her and won’t let your mind just move on. Even if she is the cause of this, you need to let go of her. You two were never doing well together to begin with.” “I know I made the mistake of working too much but I can put that behind!” “Do you really think that was your only problem? You guys fought constantly, not just about your job. And she kept trying to make you jealous!” “When did she do that?” “When she would go out to dinner with every guy she met at her job.” Phil fell silent. “Was that to make me jealous?” “Obviously! How are you even mad that you’ve lost her when she was such an awful girlfriend?” “Because despite our problems I still miss her.” Isabel stopped yelling. “I miss our dates. I miss having someone to worry about. Even if we were fighting. I guess I just miss the effort.” Isabel looked down. “Phil, do you remember how you met Amber?” Phil was taken aback. “Yeah. You and I were at a bar and she spilt her drink on me.” “She—She never told you. And she told me not

Bargaining

to tell you. But that was intentional.” “Yeah, I always kind of suspected.” “But she never told you why. She thought we were… She told her friends that she bet she could split us up.” “Split us up?” “Break us up.” “Wait, but we were never…” “Exactly. She didn’t know that at the time.” “So the whole reason we ever dated was because—” “Because of a bet that she could turn you into a cheater.” “I… Why are you telling me this now?” “Because I understand wanting to date, but it’s not about doing it for the sake of dating; it’s about finding the right person. But it doesn’t have to be her. It should never have been her.” “I… I thought she was the right person.” “Clearly not.” “Then who is?” Isabel started moving uncomfortably in her chair. Phil could see her sweating, but maybe that was because of the fire. “I don’t know.” “Is it you?” She looked blankly at him. Her face was red. “I mean it makes sense. We’ve always gotten along. And Amber hated it when she saw us hanging out. It makes perfect sense—” “Maybe it did, Phil, but I can’t.” “Why not? Isabel, we’re perf—” “Yeah, when we met I thought it would’ve worked out fine! But then you met Amber and I realized how obsessive you are with your job and your relationship and how bad you are at letting go of things.” “But I can change.” “Stop saying you’ll change! Three years dating her and you never changed. All that’s different now is that you’re alone and… scorching.” “Isabel, we’ve both always—” “It doesn’t matter how we were, it’s who we are. You can’t get too close to someone on fire. Otherwise you’ll just end up being burned.” They both sat silently before Isabel grabbed her purse. She stood up and walked to the door. “I really hope you can change, Phil. But it’s never happened before. And I’m not about waste my life waiting for it. I’ve done that for too long.” Without looking at him, she left the house. Phil still sat on the couch, but he noticed he was feeling different. The burning on his skin was, for the first time, starting to hurt. Badly. He tried patting out the fire but, not to his surprise, it was still there. He let out a scream of frustration before collapsing on the couch. Continued on page 58.

DEPRESSION

Today is a Day for Flying Max ’18

he night air was abnormally cold for spring, but that’s how the weather was sometimes. It was a clear night with a full moon positioned high in the sky, looking swollen and luminescent. I wasn’t quite sure how I wound up outside, several blocks away from home, but it had happened. It was well past midnight and the town was dark, with only the moonlight and the street lamps to light my way. Somewhere in the back of my mind, something told me to go back. To find my bed and fall back into sleep. I couldn’t possibly go through with this. But my body was on autopilot and there was nothing to stop me now. I walked until the end of the sidewalk. The street lamps began to fade away and eventually only the moon lit my way. In front of me stood a large and abandoned warehouse. Only God knows how old it was. Before anyone could catch me, I shoved the doors open and fell inside. The darkness flooded me and for a moment, it felt like I was choking on it. Moonlight spilled in through the doors and windows and washed everything with an eerie glow. I moved naturally, my mind guiding my body to the very back where I knew the stairs were. I remembered playing here as a kid. The walls seemed to echo the laughter from long ago, from a time where everything was right, where everything made sense. Without hesitating, I climbed and climbed and climbed up the stairs. The building was several stories tall and the stairs were haphazard with twisted and narrow steps with no lighting to guide my way. But this didn’t bother me. I didn’t care if I fell or not. Eventually, I reached the door at the very top, the one that led to the roof. I pushed and it didn’t

Depression

budge. It had been years since anyone’s been up here. I pressed all my weight on it and still nothing happened. With one final heave, the door gave an exhausted sigh and fell open, its hinges screaming at me as they moved, and I toppled out onto the roof, landing on my hands and knees. I pushed myself up and sat against the doorframe. The roof was barren, with only cold concrete and several pipes leading up for exhaust. Nothing was here and nothing would be here. I was alone. Behind my eyes, a small memory was beginning to unfold itself. It was a cool summer’s day and the neighborhood kids had traveled en masse to this warehouse to play. The roof was deemed safe enough to play tag and so we did. We played for hours upon hours, drinking in the summer sun and flooding the town with our shrieks of laughter. I remembered meeting her that day. I remembered her flushed cheeks and wild eyes. The way she helped me up when I fell. The way we both knew we would be friends forever. I spent several moments just sitting there, reminiscing, before standing up and moving to the edge of the roof. A siren went off in the back of my head and a small voice told me to back away, but I continued moving. Soon, the only thing stopping me from falling was a small concrete wall that came up to my knees. I sighed to myself and let my eyes drift over my not-so-little little town. The houses were dark and unlit but I was able to make out all of the familiar shapes pressing out of the tree tops. My eyes naturally drifted down the road as I traced the way back to my home. It was a small little cottage. Most of the lights were off, but a bright white light flooded out of an open window-- my room. I re-

membered now, how I got outside-- I had climbed out my window earlier that night in a daze and left my light on. I felt guilty for the wasted electricity, but something as trivial as that shouldn’t matter. I turned my back and moved to the opposite side. From there, I could see the bright lights of a city that was so far away yet so close. I spent nights dreaming of running away and making my way into that city. I memorized maps and photographs of the city streets, spent hours painting the skyscrapers and busy streets. I wanted to finally belong somewhere and if that was anywhere, it was there. I swung one leg over the miniature wall and straddled it before swinging the other over it as well and letting my feet sway. The height didn’t bother me. Nor did my exposure. From my pocket, I drew out a white lighter and fiddled with it. I twirled it around my fingers, watching the liquid swirl around on the inside. I pressed down on the pedal and a flame grew from the opening. I sat there, staring at the little light in my hands. I let go and returned myself to darkness. In a rash decision, I pressed the still warm lighter against my wrist. It was too cold to seriously burn me, but I felt a small tingle travel through my skin. The singe was bittersweet. My time alone allowed for my mind to slow down and breath. The pain from the lighter made my skin come alive and I no longer felt numb. The emotion returned to me and suddenly everything was crashing. My lungs collapsed in and suddenly I couldn’t breath. I swung back around and fell back onto the concrete and began to choke on my sobs. Everything played back in quick succession. My parents screamed at me, “You little wretch! How could you! Your father and I put everything we could into you and now, this! You are a girl! Not a boy! You’re supposed to like boys! Not be one of them!” My counselor tried to change my mind, “Beatrice, are you sure it’s not just a phase? You’ve been going through a hard time at home, are you sure this isn’t just an irrational reaction?” And then there was her. “Bea, you’re a damn freak. First you like girls and then this? It’s like I don’t even know who you are anymore. What next, huh?” Something inside me broke at her words. The girl who continued helping me up my entire life.

The girl who I swore I would never let go of. The girl who I had admired for years and I was reduced to a freak show. I was alone now. The moon was beginning to dip down when my tears subsided and left me numb. It had gotten colder and my fingers began to lose feeling. I shoved myself back to my feet and sat myself back on the wall, my back to the city behind me. I could hardly see, but I didn’t want to. I swung myself back around and gazed out at the city again. My eyes were still fuzzy and all it was was a small bright blur in the center on my vision. I wanted to belong there… I wanted to leave here and fly away into that city. I remained like that for a little while as I watched the moon dip closer and closer to the horizon. And a small feeling blossomed in my stomach and spread to the tips of my numb fingers. I want to fly. Somewhere in my head, a siren went off again, but I hardly noticed it. I shakily pulled myself up and stood up on the wall, letting the gentle breeze wrap around me. It felt nice against my skin, despite me already shivering. It was the only thing I could feel. My fingers were completely numb at this point, along with my mind. I had nowhere to go. I had nobody to love. “I want to fly…” I choked out a small sob and I felt my fingernails digging into my throat. The pain was burning and sweet and I felt so disappointed in myself. It was all my fault. All I wanted to do was leave. All I wanted to do was fly away to the city. All I wanted to do was belong. I took a breath and shifted away from the edge. I couldn’t possibly do this. My stomach dropped when I stared at the hard concrete below me. But that night, it looked soft. And suddenly, I was flying. My ears were filled with the roar of rushing air and my body felt heavy as I went faster and faster. My heart accelerated to a new pace and everything felt so exhilarating. I managed to turn myself around and found myself facing the sky. I could barely make out the stars in my blurred vision, but I couldn’t have asked for a better sight. The stars grew smaller and smaller and for a moment, I was sad I couldn’t see them again. I spent my life admiring them from my window and now all I wanted to do

A siren went off in the back of my head and a small voice told me to back away, but I continued moving.

was watch them forever. From the corner of my eye, I could see the brief reflections of my body as I passed by the windows. My long, brown hair was a cloud around my head and my clothes were being pulled by the air. The body that I had hated so much for most of my life was making its last flight. Something inside of me broke as I fell faster and faster, and I was crying again. I was finally saying goodbye and flying away, but there were too many words on my tongue that had been left unsaid. A searing pain flooded my body and my final flight came to its end.

Depression

Izik Moore â&#x20AC;&#x2122;18, Untitled

Yujin Kwak â&#x20AC;&#x2122;18, Mind Boggling

It’s Kind of Beautiful Sohum Trivedi ’18

MUHAMMAD: Ah! I do love a good cliff. Except with drugs, that’s what I call a bad trip. (Gives a broad grin) (Skyler looks at Muhammad warily.) MUHAMMAD: Bad joke? I’m full of them. I suppose you’re a fan of cliff-sitting? I’m a large fan of cliff-sitting. I haven’t seen you around here very much though. A new cliff-sitter? It’s a pretty sparse community—they’re always dropping out—but we’re always welcoming new members. I assume your name is Muhammad? SKYLER: Muhammad? MUHAMMAD: It’s the most common name on Earth, so not entirely a bad guess. SKYLER: Is your name— MUHAMMAD: Yes! Muhammad P. Sherman 42 Wallaby Way Williams. It was Sydney, but I got married.

SKYLER: Oh. (Skyler stares off the rough edge of the cliff to the vast array of swaying pines below. Muhammad shuffles closer to join her, and they stare the hundred foot drop below.) MUHAMMAD: It’s common. SKYLER: Looking up with watery eyes What? MUHAMMAD: About 350 million people go through it around the world—depression that is. Your chances look pretty good. SSRIs and some psychotherapy maybe. EST if it’s really bad. It’s pretty much chronic, but the medications are low risk and show effects in a month or two. SKYLER: That’s good, I guess.

MUHAMMAD: All thanks to sea slugs. SKYLER: Wha—

MUHAMMAD: My last name changed from Sydney to Williams is what I was trying to say.

MUHAMMAD: Their neurons are really big meaning we can see how they work meaning we understand how our neurons work meaning we can treat depression—well, at least better than the placebo. Millions of people saved by slugs. It’s kind of beautiful.

SKYLER: No, I got that part it’s just—

SKYLER: Oh. I guess it is.

MUHAMMAD: That with my ravishing good looks and Greek yogurt complexion it would be impossible for my name to be Muhammad? Common misconception. You see, I am actually 1/16th black. Well, South Nigerian to be precise but that’s an immaculate detail that most aren’t interested in and well I typically choose to gloss over it though who knows maybe you’re interested and I have made a fatal miscalculation, though that’s largely unlikely.

MUHAMMAD: Lunch Friday? Olive Garden has a great unlimited soup and salad thing going on that I want to maximize my utility from while it’s available.

SKYLER: Um—

SKYLER: Do you ask out all the girls you find sitting on cliffs? And aren’t you married?

SKYLER: What—

MUHAMMAD: So what brings you to Rubin? I don’t suppose it’s her curves. (He wiggles his eyebrows with flamboyant flair.) SKYLER: (Giving up and transitioning) Rubin?

(Muhammad pats the cliff dirt with a smile)

SKYLER: Did you ask me out? MUHAMMAD: Well, if no that’s fine, it’s just oxytocin is good for digestion and there’s a special but it’s a couple’s special and I hate to waste specia—

MUHAMMAD: I’m not actually married, and only the cute ones, Muhammad. SKYLER: Well, I’d hate to miss out on maximizing my utility. And it’s Skyler. See you Friday, Muhammad.

Hungry For Contentedness Yentil Nicolas ’19

My heart feels like it is decelerating everyday I don’t think I’ll make it past May I play sports to inflate my self-esteem And it seems like others want me to be on their team But my body has already chosen the final lineup— Misery and I Instead of a stable union, it dictates my every move In all that I do, my coach disapproves Playing with this colossus makes me want to wave a white flag Seriously, what is the point in even continuing this drag? I am constantly followed by a cloud of melancholy, And running faster seems like my only calling It is apparent that this oppressive anguish is consuming me Since it is always leaving me hungry Hungry to escape, hungry to fight, and hungry to win.

Depression

On Repeat Yentil Nicolas ’19

riday 3:29pm I walked into the building full of glass and I couldn’t see my reflection. I sat on the seat nearest to the door so that when it was time to go in, I would be first. I pulled out my phone and looked at my empty notification bar, then locked the screen. “All who are in the next group please enter through the door on the left.” said the lady behind the desk, smiling. I thought to myself as I walked into the room, Why is she smiling all the time? Is she trying to make us feel “at home”? Well, she should stop because I don’t see my beloved TV next to that chair over there. I always sit in a chair not centered in the circle but more of on the outskirts, so I wouldn’t be targeted for any type of discussion. “Hello, hello, everyone,” said Mr. Tote as he closed the door. “Hello, Mr. Tote,” the room moaned. “Okay, group, please be more enthusiastic! We have a new member.” He looked at a boy with long dark brown hair, that was gelled back, wearing a Nike orange sweatshirt, light blue jeans, and orange Nike sneakers. “Hey, guys, what’s up?” he said with a smile, taking a seat next to Mr. Tote. “Let’s go around in a circle and introduce ourselves,” Mr. Tote started. “My name is Ramsey Tote, I am a counseling psychologist, and I have nineteen years of experience in the field. As you can tell, I am old; I am fifty.” He chuckled softly. Then it was the new kid’s turn, “Hi, everyone, my name is Kyle Gregorian, I am a senior in high school.” He seemed so calm and at ease with his situation, and his confidence discomforted me.

I dreaded the thought of having to introduce myself in front of everyone again; it was eating away at me. I heard everyone introduce themselves and thought of what I should say when it got to me. Should I add an imaginary middle name to make myself look cool, should I change my name entirely, should I slouch like I don’t care, maybe I should just leave the room while I still have the chance— “Go ahead,” said Mr. Tote as our eyes locked. I had no idea it was my turn already. “Hi, uh, my name is Moira Dole.” “What else, Moira?” Mr. Tote smiled at me encouragingly. “Um, well, I guess you can say I don’t like coming here, but from my high school I get dropped off here every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. So I’m kinda obligated to be here.” I looked down at my long shoelaces as everyone continued around the circle, hoping they would stop looking at my diminishing frame. “Okay, group, did anyone accomplish any of their goals this week?” Mr. Tote looked around for faces. I averted my eyes and tried to make it seem like I was thinking, like how everyone does in school when the teacher asks ‘what is the theme of this passage?’ “Yes, Janel!” “Hey, so, like, I went to Forever 21 because I wanted this top, but they, like, only had a medium, so I bought it anyways. Of course so that later I can wear it,” she boastfully whined. “What a breakthrough, Janel, glad to hear that.” Mr. Tote looked for others to reply. “Yeah, great job, Janel,” I stated bluntly as I rolled my eyes. I saw from the corner of my eye that Kyle laughed at my snide comment. I smirked to myself. “Well, this week I tried out for my school’s

football team, and I think I did well enough to get on again this year.” Kyle looked at me for approval of his comment. Hmm, I wonder why Kyle has gracefully strolled into our synthetic therapy group? He looks healthy, smart, and quite attractive. What’s his issue? At the end of the meetings, Mr. Tote likes to talk to me about how I’m doing because I don’t share a lot to the group. “Moira, how’s the grades looking? “Good.” I quickly said, hoping he would let me go. “Define ‘good,’ Moira.” He smiled. “’Good’ as in, I’m not drowning in classwork, and my lowest grade currently is an 84, which is bound to tank anytime.” “Sounds great so far, Moira, you seemed very submissive in the meeting today, are you ok?” “Honestly, I hate coming here. I don’t see the point. Everything is so fake.” “We are here to help all of you overcome—” I didn’t let him finish. I hate when people assume that I have something to “overcome.” I just walked away because my car pulled up to the curb. I walked to the door and just as I was pulling the handle, Kyle showed up strangely and stood in the doorway. “Um, can I help you?” I asked, motioning for him to move. “Oh, me? No. I’m just passing by, enjoying the weather, ya know.” he said, running his hands through hair as if he was an Abercrombie Fitch model. “Passing by, um, my car door?” I questioned. “Hi, I’m Moira’s father! Are you a new friend?” My father eagerly shook Kyle’s hand. He never meets any of my “friends,” so I guess he was trying to make the best of it. “Yes, sir, I am. I’m new here. The name’s Kyle.” He smiled at me as he pulled away from inside of my car. “Are you finished yet?” I looked at him, crossing my arms. “Woah, woah, no need to get feisty, Mo’ Money.” He raised his hands and laughed. “Mo’ Money? Is that supposed to be me or something?” I rolled my eyes. “You get it? Moira...Mo’ Money.” He laughed at his own joke and so did my father. OMG, where does his loyalty lie? I hopped in the car and told him to step on it. “See you later, Mo’!” Kyle yelled as we drove off. At Home~ 7:35pm “Hey, hey Moira! How’s the shrink?” my annoying little brother asked while eating a Pop-Tart.

Depression

“None of your business, fatty.” “Moira, honey, be nice.” My dad locked the front door and threw his keys into a basket on the counter. “Junior started it...you know what, never mind.” I went to my room, closed the door, and plopped on my bed. My phone sounded, and I assumed that it was a friend of mine texting me. I picked up my phone to, unfortunately, see that it was just an alarm for me to check off my goals list for the week. Why bother? The only important goal that I put on there last Sunday was to get more sleep. Mr. Tote said that it would help me, but I swear I’m an insomniac... GOALS 10/25/16 •Sleep more, bro •Get an A on the math quiz •Go to intramurals •Find a study group •Contact friends Of these goals, I’ve only accomplished the math quiz, but I feel like it’s only because my teacher made the quiz really easy. “Moira, time for dinner!” my father called. I sluggishly rolled off the side of my bed planting my face into the floorboards. At that moment thought I might have broke my nose. “Coming!” I yelled back, grunting as I got off the floor. “What are we having for dinner, Dad?” Junior asked while having a seat. “Momma’s favorite.” Dad brought the plates to the table with a smile spreading across his face. Mom died last year from American trypanosomiasis. She went to Mexico for a month and never returned. I scarfed down my food, quickly dropped the plate in the sink, then sprinted to my room. I crossed my fingers and hoped that my dad wouldn’t call me down the wash it. He didn’t. It makes me upset when Dad references Mom; I mean, it is his fault that she’s gone. He forced her to go to Mexico after they had one of those weekly clashes about my father’s waning appreciation of her. After she died, my dad has tried to be more “interactive” in my and my brother’s lives, so we don’t fall victim to social disorders associated with the loss of loved ones. Sucks for those great intentions. As I got out of the shower, I brushed my hair in the mirror, but I couldn’t see my reflection clearly. I swiped my forearm across the mirror. Still nothing. I changed into my pajamas, hopped into my bed, and shut my eyes tightly as if I were having a nightmare, all in efforts to get that amazing treasure everyone is chatting about in school every morning; oh yeah: sleep. Monday 7:10am The weekend went by, and I created a new

goals list for the week: GOALS 10/29/16 •GET THE TREASURE •Find a study group •Hang with friends •Don’t get detention •Talk to Kyle? I grabbed my bookbag and ran to the bus stop. Of course, after my vigilant father kissed me goodbye. “Have a good day, honey.” “I will, Dad.” After that lackluster ride on the bus, I floated to my favorite class of the day. Art. How cliché. I feel like a walking stereotype. “Janel! How is my beloved pupil?” Mrs. Gala said to me as I walked to her desk. “Good, Mrs. Gala. And yourself?” “Splendid.” She put on her glasses and walked to the center of the classroom. “Class, who’s ready to become the next Monet?” The class cheered, and we got straight to work. When I pulled out my supplies, my father texted me: “Did you grab your lunch?” I sighed at the text because he’s been texting me that same text everyday, and it’s getting annoying. It’s like he’s reliving each day over and over again. Shrink 3:30pm “Heya, Mo’!” Kyle strolled next me as I walked in the door. Geez, can’t he at least give me a minute to sit down before he starts talking me into an early grave? “Hi, Kyle.” “Wanna ditch?” He rolled his neck over in my direction in a swift motion. “Ditch what?” “This senseless therapy group.” He laughed as if he had told a knee slapping joke. “I can’t do that. My father—” “Forget him! He seems sketchy anyways.” Kyle threw his hands in the air. I thought to myself, If I go on this escapade, maybe I can find out why this jock goes to a shrink. “You know what, screw it.” He turned to me eagerly at the sound of my voice. “Let’s get out of here.” I quickly got up from the seat and bolted out the back door with Kyle. “Where did you want to go?” I asked. “I was kind of hoping I could take you to my place.” He smirked and lead the way. “What?! Your house? Oh no, Kyle, who do you think I am?” I stopped in the parking lot. “No, not my house! I guess you can call it my home away from home. Chill,” he laughed. We took 2 Ubers, a train, then we strolled down the street, up the block, and around the corner to reach the destination.

“My goodness, Kyle, I thought you said this place was close by.” I groaned. “If I had told you the truth, you wouldn’t have agreed to come, now would you?” He started up a ladder. That statement made me question his intentions. What the heck, you only live once is what those millennials say, right? “Come on, scaredy pants.” he mocked me from the top of the roof. I climbed up the crooked ladder on the side of the building, and when I finally reached the top, I felt like I was on top of the world. The breeze blew through my curly hair as I looked far across the city. “You like it?” I was too busy accessing the environment from the air quality, to the car horns, and the birds flying in the sky, to notice Kyle talking to me. “Moira… MOIRA!” Kyle screamed in my direction. I was totally disconnected. “What?” I responded, embarrassed. “Do you like the view?” He came behind me and put his arms around my abdomen, and I stretched my arms out from my sides as if we were Jack and Rose from Titanic. “Yes, this is the best I’ve felt in a long time. I know my brother would absolutely love this.” I took out my phone and recorded a video to show him later. “Me too. I usually come here by myself, but I feel—” He stopped abruptly. “What?” I encouraged. “I feel safe, like, you know, not nervous around you. I’ve been diagnosed with social anxiety. Yep! Your star quarterback is afraid of people.” He grinned. “You know, if we actually attend the sessions, we could actually get better.” As soon as I said this, he scoffed and quickly retaliated. “So you’re like the rest? Get better? What if I don’t want to get better?” He got increasingly upset. “No, no, no, I’m just like you, Kyle. I hate when others say that to me as well, but I just—” “What? ‘You just’ what?” “Nothing.” I walked to the edge of the building and looked down. “You thinking of jumping or something?” He walked over towards the edge as well. “I don’t know.” I stated. What if I were to just fall? Would Dad miss me? Would Kyle miss me? Would Junior? “Well, I’m not going to let you jump because you have your whole life ahead of you. A young girl like you, pretty and smart, will make it far.” “So will you, Kyle.” “Hm. Well, for me, it’s different. The system is rigged, man. Mexican güey like me is liable to get

deported for just breathing out here.” I busted out into an uncontrollable cackle. He was painfully right. “You think I’m joking, Moira. It’s not fair.” “I know, man, it sucks.” I giggled, still amused by his previous remark. We probably were on that roof for an hour just talking and looking around the city when we heard someone coming up the stairs. It was a police officer. He was yelling at us while pointing his gun. “Okay, you two, put your hands up!” he yelled. “What did we do?” I asked, totally confused. “Do what he says, Moira.” Kyle raised his hands. I refused to comply because I was puzzled as to how he found us. “Crap, my father must have called the police!” I yelled. “Miss, please put your hands up,” he repeated, coming closer with his gun pointed at us. His hands were shaking as if he was more frightened than we were. “Moira, please just listen. This is not the time for your defiant persona to shine.” He looked up at me and grabbed my arm to place them up. “Don’t touch her!” the police officer yelled. 1 … 2 … 3 . BOOM! I felt my ears rattle as I looked to my side. Kyle was laying on the pavement with his arms outstretched. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and I could see his free spirit sail down the side of the building. “Oh my, I didn’t know what he was going to do to you! I panicked, miss.” The police officer came close to my to touch my shoulders. “DON’T TOUCH ME, YOU DISGUSTING ANIMAL!” I fell to the side of my fallen friend. “Kyle, dude, get up, get up!” I screamed at his corpse, hoping he would come to his senses. It was a shot to his neck and bled quickly. I was drenched in his rich, ever so rich blood. “Kyle, no, no, no.” I laid my head on top of his. “Ma’am, please.” the officer came over and I quickly got up after I kissed Kyle’s forehead. I stood at the edge of the building once again. “Ma’am, step away from the edge!” he called out to me.

“Shoot me too!!” I screamed in his face. “Since you think he was a threat, I must be one too?” I thought to myself, what’s the point? My mother is gone and possibly the best person I have ever met. My life is in shambles and it could not possibly get any better. My will to continue had essentially curtailed instantly. “Ma’am, please.” “Shoot me!” “I—I can’t.” “How convenient.” I snatched his gun and did the deed for him. At that moment, I felt as if the very ground I was on had shifted abruptly, leaving me falling to my demise. At A Doctor’s Office January 15, 2018. Present day--12:36pm “Yes, doc. He has been this way since she died.” Junior explained to the doctor at Ankh Hill Hospital. “How long ago did she die?” the doctor took notes. “Who, my mother or my sister?” “Both.” “Mother, July of 2015. Sister…” He hesitated, trying to compose himself. The doctor waited. “March of 2016. “Hmm, it’s been some time, hasn’t it? And he is still referring to them as if they can respond, and are living beings?” the doctor asked as he continued to scribble on his notepad. “Yes. Just as if they are both here.” “Does your father routinely do this with dead loved ones? Like his parents?” “No, he only did this after Moira killed herself. I guess he felt responsible. “How so?” “He called the cops because he knew that she and Kyle skipped therapy, so he tracked Moira’s phone to find them.” “Why were they in therapy?” Junior took a deep breath and let it out slowly as if was going to crack a code. “My father became increasingly depressed after my mother died, and this rubbed off onto Moira. You know how when you are around depressed people, you can catch it, like a cold or something. Well, yeah, my sister caught it. Acting out in school and cutting herself. My father didn’t want to be the root of her problems anymore, so he forced her to attend therapy. Then she met a guy. BOOM!

“Miss, please put your hands up,” he repeated, coming closer with his gun pointed at us. His hands were shaking as if he was more frightened than we were.

Depression

They’re both dead.” Junior stared down at his shoelaces in disbelief. “Okay, your father has been replaying this specific scene in the kitchen every morning as well. Tell me about that.” “Well, every morning he calls Moira down to get her ‘lunch.’” Junior motions in quotations. “Then she comes down to get it and goes to school. Twenty minutes later, he asks me where his phone is, so he can text Moira: Did you grab your lunch?”

Leon Nguyen ’21, Untitled

Opus 40. Thanh Nguyen â&#x20AC;&#x2122;19

Depression

Gannon Zachery â&#x20AC;&#x2122;20, Depression

Depression

Blindsided Mariam Drammeh ’21

MAX: She was...magical. There was not one person who could stay mad at her. With that smile that outshone the stars, and the gleam in her eyes that represented everything you hoped and dreamed for, she was truly an angel on Earth. God created her for me, every bit of her fit perfectly with me, she was my soulmate, if you believe in that type of thing. Her light concealed my despair and sadness. And that night, that horrible night took all of her light, turning my world into utter darkness. You really should’ve seen it, Doc. There was blood everywhere, every place I turned. The car was up in flames, it almost looked like her auburn hair. The air was full of this toxic smoke, you could almost cut through it. The area was silent, this deafening type of silence that slowly kills you as you look for anything that can wake you from the painful quiet. She wasn’t ready to die, Doc. She had so much, she would’ve been so much. And you know what’s absolutely sickening about it all? I killed her. I let the best thing in my life slip through my fingers. And I swear to you I can hear her voice everywhere I turn. It’s like a sick taunt from God, a punishment for the immeasurable sin I had committed that night.

It was my car. It was me behind the wheel. It was me who took my eyes off the goddamn road for one second and in turn took the life of an angel. The flames are etched into my brain, along with terror, mayhem, screams, and cries of the woman I held so dear. And if there was any hope in this world, any type of miracle, it would have been me that was consumed by the darkness of death. So, what do I do, Doc? How do you cope with the fact that you murdered the love of your life?

Old Flames

Part 4

Josh Bozeman ’19

Phil lied in bed trying to let the sound of sad love songs spewing out of an old record player put him to sleep. But the audio was old and jagged and the records were warped from the heat of the fire. He planted his face into his charred bed and tried to fall asleep. But the pain from the fire kept him from resting. Instead, despite being dark out, he decided to go for a walk. On the bright side, the fire made a nice flashlight for him as he walked down the quiet streets of the town. Phil looked for somewhere to eat, preferably a place that already had a lot of smoke to make him stand out less. While walking he stumbled upon a barbeque grill and stepped inside. After being ushered out of the restaurant, Phil collapsed on the curb outside. What kind of barbeque grill wasn’t okay with fire? He tried to think of some plan of action to take but couldn’t find anything. He had so many problems in his life. Amber. Isabel. The flames. The things Isabel said. How could Phil solve so many problems in his life if one of them involves him trying to solve too many problems? He heard the noise of drops of water boiling on his face. Phil took his head out of his hands when he heard footsteps to his right. “You okay there?” “Don’t ask about the fire, it’s fine. It just stings.” “You sure? That’s not normally how fire works.” “I’m fine, just—just ignore me.” “You seem pretty down there, buddy.” “I’m fine!” Phil looked up at the tall man towering over him. He was wearing a thick trench coat to keep warm in the cold weather and had a friendly yet skeptical smile. “Do you want to come get a drink?” He gestured to the bar across the street from where Phil was sitting. “I’m fine. They’ll just kick me out. And I’m pretty sure alcohol is flammable anyway.” The man took a seat next to Phil on the curb. “How did this happen to you?” Phil gave the man a questioning glance. “My girlfriend dumped me… Then I guess my skin decided to torch itself or something.”

Depression

“Been there. Minus the whole fire thing… My girlfriend dumped me a couple of days ago.” “Sucks, doesn’t it?” “Oh yeah. But I imagine it would be worse if you were also smoldering.” “Well, yeah.” “Why’d she leave you? Did she say?” “I’m pretty sure it’s because she thinks I’m obsessive.” “I mean you’re obsessive enough for your skin to light itself on fire just because you got dumped.” “That’s fair. I just… I don’t know how to fix this. I have so many things I’ve screwed up that I have to fix.” “Well, that’s the problem. You’re trying to stop being obsessive by obsessing over your obsessiveness.” Phil looked down at the asphalt for a second. “Come again?” “You can’t fix being obsessive by actively doing something about it. It’s something that inherently involves acting distant. Your intensity is just too hard to extinguish.” “Really? You’re gonna make a pun?” “I’m sorry, I had to.” “No. You didn’t.” “Look, I’m—” “So what do I do, then?” “Reflect. Think about the other side. But you have to learn that you can’t fix every problem by actively pursuing it. That is your problem.” “I… Oh my god, you’re right. I can’t keep chasing down every situation. I did that with my job, I did that with Amber, I did that with the fire. If I want to get her back and fix this I have to stop trying so hard. I just… I need to try to talk to her. Thank you so much, street-stranger!” Phil stood up and patted scraps from the sidewalk off himself. “Did—did you say Amber?” “Yeah, that’s my ex. Why?” “Nothing. It’s nothing… Good luck.” Phil took off to his apartment while the kind stranger gazed perplexedly at the line of buildings. Continued on page 70.

ACCEPTANCE

The Strangest of Hands Lillie Olliver ’21

God, I fought long and hard. With my stubborn words and raging screams With my gritted teeth and stuttering pleas With my sobbing cries and shallow breaths I think it’s finally time to end. It’s over now; no turning back The clock, the clock, oh merciless time I’m past the days of proclaiming ‘I’m fine’ I’m past the days of hiding away I’m past the nights of dreading the day Killing me slowly, ever so soft Trapped in my mind with my torturous self Blaming and craving, neglecting my health Forgetting the little things that I used to love Alone with just me, my thoughts are enough. Speech is a horror I didn’t plan to face Why talk to others when I have me? I’m the only one who I know will not leave. Cannot, or will not? Can I even try? Spiraling again and again, an existential high.

Acceptance

It gets a bit tedious, the never-ending quiet A shout is so tempting, just to pierce the veil But I can’t just yet- my ears remain frail So instead I stand, and take a stroll But it seems a crawl out of my self-made hole As sound leaks in, volume up on loud It seems more normal, a melody adored A symphony of noise, the perfect discord It seems to creep up, an unexpected light The smallest of smiles makes the world seem right It seems like it’s almost planned or controlled The clock, the clock, oh merciful time I’d say my life now is a passion crime It feels almost wrong, doesn’t it? Breathing free? But I deserve it, don’t I? Just look at me. But really, it’s the most beautiful chaos A day when I can smile again without the guilt Of a survivor, a thriver, a life fulfilled Accepting the gift given by chance Fate plays games with the strangest of hands.

Anh Dang ’20, Untitled

White Skies Thanh Nguyen ’19

he sky is blue. It's mostly been blue, even on days when it wasn't, when there would be subtle tones of purple and pink streaking across the sky. Still, blue is overwhelmingly there, like a blanket covering the Earth. I recall, as a child sitting on my mother's lap, stories of those rare moments when the sky changed colors. One such instance, I was told, was during the Battle of Lexiworg. My father, who having fought that eventful day, had been the few remaining on the battlefield when those usual streaks that often dusted the sky disappeared and the blue transformed into an almost celestial white. No one knew why it happened, and my father fainted before he witnessed any more of the sight. Yet, the brilliance in which he relayed this incident ignited my curiosity and filled me with an undying eagerness to experience the miracle myself. I forgot about this goal for a while, and by my adult years, I determined it was simply a myth. But the topic about the sky came back, this time in the vicinity of a hospital room, one that contained bright windows and pastel-colored wallpaper. “Why is the sky blue, Tom?” Jane had reached the stage where she wanted to grasp as much knowledge as possible, perhaps as a way to cope with her almost certain death. I would never tell her that though. “Molecules in the air scatter blue light from the sun more than they scatter red light. That's why it's blue.” She laughed, the sort of laugh that was soft and made you feel giddy inside. “You and your scientific explanations. But I mean, why is it really blue?” Not knowing the answer, we sat in comfortable

Acceptance

silence for a while. Just when I thought Jane—who had snuggled in the coarse sheets of the hospital bed—had fallen asleep, she finally spoke up, “Do you think I'll survive, Tom? And even if I do, will we be the same as we were before?” Leaning forward in my chair, I reached across the bed and grasped her hand. “You'll live. And things...things will get better. ” “You mean we could be happy for once.” Her usually vibrant blue eyes, which were now dull, shifted away from mine and stared out at the airy landscapes outside the hospital window. “We've always been happy. I've got you and the dogs and…” “No.” “No?” “No. We've never been happy, you know it. Even before this… this thing happened… you remember.” I remembered. “I'm sorry.” “You should be.” “I can't wait to see the baby.” “I thought you said you didn't want it.” She was gazing out the window again. I let out a sigh and leaned back in the chair. “I don’t want it if it means losing you.” “You lost me a long time ago,” she whispered, although it was more of a murmurous discord than anything else. Still, it rung in my mind, in that harsh, dissonant tone that left my soul aching and my heart broken. And in that moment, I desired nothing but to touch her and to whisper in my own words that I changed my mind, that I was a man now, and that I

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Yet, the brilliance in which he relayed this incident ignited my curiosity and filled me with an undying eagerness to experience the miracle myself.â&#x20AC;?

regretted every moment of ever thinking of leaving our future behind. Instead, the words that spilled out were that of a coward. “I… I stayed though, didn't I?” “Sure, after you already had your bags packed and I got… sick.” A pause. And then: “God, how did I even love you?” “Jane, I…” “I think it’s best if you leave.” Another pause, but when it seemed that she had nothing more to say, I left the room, but not before glancing back at the girl whom I had lost, and who—having her back turned towards me—was still looking aimlessly through the window. It was not until the next morning, when the orange sun barely rose against the edges of the hills and the grass was soaked in fresh dew, that I went back to the hospital, albeit not only for Jane but for a different reason: the baby was being born. It was a surreal feeling, lingering anxiously in the hallways after I had received the news. Endless possibilities of the future, both good and bad, lay before my eyes, and a combination of unwavering hopes and itinerant doubts hung above the air, making it nearly impossible to breathe. It went on like this for quite some time, but finally, the door to Jane’s room creaked opened, and the nurse motioned me in. I approached the room in a cautious tone and immediately was greeted with the sight of a crying babe held by nurses who were kneeling beside the hospital bed. “Here, hold her. Her name is Nova.” Jane smiled broadly. She held Nova briefly, and in the peace of the hospital room, I heard her hum a wordless tune, brought to life only by the sweet, haunting notes accompanying it. So I held her, and the moment that I did, all my previous thoughts and doubts dissipated, and I was filled with a surge of pure adoration. There were no words to describe the true beauty as when she lay so sweetly in my arms, and perhaps there never will be. Still, as much as words can muster, I will simply say she was the most beautiful creation I had ever laid my eyes on. I looked towards Jane. “Jane, darling, you must hold her!” Jane smiled broadly. She held Nova briefly, and in the peace of the hospital room, I heard her hum a wordless tune, brought to life only by the sweet, haunting notes accompanying it. Our eyes interlocked and our hands touched, exchanging trails of the things left unsaid, the whatifs and what-could-have-beens, an unwavering hope of whatever would come next. But more important-

Acceptance

ly, above the hopes and dreams and possibilities, I could almost hear her say, “Thank you.” Then her eyes closed, and the connection was forever broken. I felt the last breath, the lingering soul that would soon drift into the ashes of obscurity, leaving room for new life. Around that same moment, as Nova snuggled closer to my chest, something called to me, and like a thin thread, pulled me ever so slightly to the window Jane had pondered at only a day before. There, above the hems of the hills, in the quiet melody of birds, and where leaves shuddered by the touch of wind, I saw it: a white sky.

FeiFei Gao â&#x20AC;&#x2122;18, Lonely Sunday Afternoons

Acceptance Frank Hu ’18

t has happened to us all at some point: we hang onto the edge of our seats, eagerly watching as the teacher goes around the room passing back test papers, our minds spiraling with nervous speculation. Did I pass? Did I fail? Did I get an A, B, or C? Did I do better than friend XYZ? Who got the highest grade? At last, you get your paper back, you grip it with white knuckles, heart racing, hands trembling, you turn it over, eyes darting across the page, searching for that long-anticipated number, the cause of your anxieties, the object of your desire— You cannot believe what you see. In that moment, the tension dissipates, and you are crestfallen, left with nothing but the sinking weight of disappointment. How did you do so badly? It certainly didn’t feel like a hard test. Did you study the right material? Should you have studied more? Within five minutes, you will have gone through the five stages of grief—twice—and, feeling no better, you tuck the paper away, cramming it into the deepest, darkest corner of your backpack, never again to see the light of day. Of course, this is an exaggeration, but the basic idea is there. We have all experienced failure, and when it occurs, we reflexively interpret it as a reflection of ourselves and our abilities. How can we not? In an environment that places such an emphasis on academic achievement and class competition, it is impossible to

separate the metrics of grade and rank from selfworth. We are always looking to stay ahead of the curve, feeling a tinge of jealousy and resentment towards those that are ahead of us, and a sense of relief towards those who are below us. This instinctual habit of judgement of comparison is by no means a healthy or ethical practice, and it is a singular cause of our elitist culture. More importantly, this mentality makes dealing with our shortcomings and graceless falls all the harder. Consumed by past mistakes, emotionality clouds our rational thinking, and we are trapped in a vicious cycle of self-loathing whenever we perform under our expectations in any aspect of our lives. And yet, the sun still rises the next morning as we sluggishly march to school. The world does not stop because of a failed physics test, World War III does not begin because of a failed relationship, and the cataclysmic end of the world is not brought about by a college rejection. Depending on the perspective, this means that we are either the denizens of a cold, uncaring, and godforsaken world, or that life goes on despite the obstacles and hardships that we encounter. In fact, rather than trying to hide away our defeats, we should instead recognize that our blunders are a part of our identity, embracing them as critically educational junctures in our lives. That, of course, is easier said than done, and requires nothing short of a complete para-

The world does not stop because of a failed physics test…

Acceptance

digm shift and supreme self-confidence, and while it would be nice for everyone to be selfactualized individuals, the reality is that many of us harbor insecurities and lapses in our selfimage. Perhaps it would be more constructive to think of our vicissitudes not as blemishes upon our legacies, but as what defines us from others. We are, after all, divergent beings, each being different from the next, and in a generation so concerned with being unique and defying the mainstream, it is imperative to realize that our failures distinguish us far more than our successes. With every established chemist, there may have been hundreds of aspirant scientists who, making no progress in what they regarded as a hostile field of study, decided instead to turn to physics or economics, where indeed their fortunes took an upturn; with every failed relationship, you gain a greater understanding of your tastes and tolerances, ultimately leading you to the right person with whom you choose to spend the rest of your life; with every college rejection, you may finally find yourself somewhere new and unexpected, a place where you can foster your individual interests, setting you apart from your peers. The moral is simple: when things trivial and momentous do not turn out as expected, we can either brood over it and expend more of our already quite limited energy, or we can consider it an opportunity for redefining ourselves, sculpting our emerging personalities in the formative years of high school and beyond. In this way, we not only pre-empt the challenges of maturation, but also derive greater meaning from our daily routines. On a fundamental level, life is nothing more than a jumble of good and bad, a dichotomy of satisfaction and disappointment, and our time in this world is too short and too precious a thing to squander on pointless hypotheticals. The answers to our futures are deeply rooted in our pasts, and the moment we accept our histories in their entireties is the moment that we begin to live in the present. So, to my senior friends on the cusp of adulthood and college and all the great things that follow: we have all achieved incredible heights and suffered terrible defeats in our time together, and we must not only revel in the best of times, but also reconcile with the worst of times. The trials and tribulations of

GSMST will soon appear distant and pointless compared to what lies ahead, yet only by understanding where we have been can we plot a path to where we wish to go.

The Light is Subsiding Bhavana Kunnath ’21

The light is subsiding The glow that enveloped you for so long is dying Your true visage can now be perceived Why am I not surprised? These truths tumble out As softened blows to my heart But it seems that still I remain unshaken You’re beginning to step out Of the divinity I cloaked you in Descending from celestiality given to you Though never was it truly yours You never asked to be veiled in heavenly clouds Never did you realize your angelic state Never did you bear wings of illumination You never intended to wear constellations as crowns You never saw your altars in my sky It was I who shrouded you in illusion Now that the light you embodied Is starting to fade I can see that you are human Your mortal contradictions are apparent Your flaws and imperfections can be traced Still I look up to you Still I see ethereal beauty Perhaps it’s because I desperately want to Perhaps it bleeds from you unintentionally You were no angel You were no idol You come harboring truths You come bearing life You approach arms wide open It seemed that the more I felt I needed to look The less I could truly see Now that I see I no longer know where to look To whom do I turn? I thought I sought acceptance I thought I sought affection Truly I sought guidance Direction from the divine A path from someone on a pedestal Now that you have floated down to my earth I have to ask Did I ever care? Or is this love sprung from need? It seems I believed that you held the answers

Acceptance

It would be wrong to think however All was lain to waste In the absence of a higher power You molded me I sought answers Unknowingly You showed me paths You were never a celestial being Still within you there is a very human beauty Which serves to light my approach You are a fabrication With a functioning heart In your humanity you harbor warmth From within comes your wisdom How can one subject to such suffering Glow so blindingly bright? Having seen glimpses of the flame burning steadily in your essence Of the light that bleeds from your core Is it truly a surprise I mistook you for divine guidance? Who needs God When mere mortals hold the power to transform? Who needs divinity When pure light bleeds solely from your mortality? In the end it appears That the difference between you and the angels above Is that your fall from grace was your ascendance That the difference between you and God Is that one is actually here

Old Flames

Part 5

Josh Bozeman ’19

Phil took his phone and dialed Amber. He had a checklist in mind: first, talk to Amber. Then, deal with the fire. Finally, apologize to Isabel. Simple in theory. It wasn’t going to fix everything, but hopefully it would make everyone feel better. He owed Isabel that. Phil could hear the phone being answered. “Amber, I—” “Hey there, Phil.” It wasn’t Amber’s voice. It was that of a man. Yet it still sounded girlier than Amber’s gravel voice. “Who is this?” “Amber’s boyfriend, Connor. I’ve heard a lot about you—” “Connor? What happened to Cameron?” “Who’s Cameron?” “The guy from work she cheated on me with.” “Amber cheated on you with a guy named Cameron?” “Yeah, unless I’m getting the name wrong.” “Wait, when did you guys break up.” “About four days ago.” “What?!” Phil heard the sound of the phone switching hands. “What do you want, Phil.” There was Amber’s comforting groan. “Who’s Conn—” “—Connor, we’ll talk about it later; I’m on the phone.” He waited a minute to let them finish arguing. It was only about a minute. “What do you want, Phil.” “Right, who’s Connor?” “My boyfriend.” “Then what about Cameron?” “We broke up.” “You broke up with two people within two days?”

Acceptance

“One day.” “How in the—” “Look, if you’re done whining I’ve got some damage control to take care of.” “No, wait. I needed to talk to you.” “About what?” “About us. I get it, we’re over and everything. But why did you dump me? And cheat on me?” “I told you; you were work—” “Outside of the work thing. There’s no way that was it.” Phil could hear Amber taking in a deep breath. “Phil, dealing with you was more than frustrating. Every day there was something wrong. You were never just comfortable to be with me. If we were just friends it might’ve been fine but when we started dating you just became so obsessive. Like you had a new set of responsibilities you’d just been handed from your boss.” “I know. But I’ve changed. Isabel helped me realize that I need to change if I want things to be different for me. If we get back together, I won’t be so dramatic and I promise I’ll spend more time with you. So?” “No,” she replied instantaneously. “What?” “Did you seriously expect me to just ditch my boyfriend and leap into your arms because you told me you’re a better person.” “Umm…” “Maybe you are better—I hope you are. But you are not the person I want to be with.” “Oh. Right.” “Give Isabel a call; you two always got along.:” “I did. And it didn’t go too well. She was mad at me for the same reasons you are.” “Oh please, she was obsessed with you. Say a

word that sounds like sorry and she’ll run right back to you.” “Well… I’ll try. Thanks, Amber. I know things didn’t work out, but I’ll miss you.” “Yeah, sure, you too. I gotta fix this mess you caused.” “Right, I’ll call Isabel and also put out the fire on my skin.” “Wait what was that about fire?” “Goodbye, Amber!” Phil hung up the phone and went through his contacts. He found Isabel’s name and smashed his finger on the screen. “Phil.” “Ember—Amber—Isabel! I talked to Amber.” “Phil, I can’t keep playing therapist—” “No, hear me out. I talked to her and explained that I’ve changed. You helped me change.” “What did she say?” “Not much, mainly that she didn’t care and she was busy with her, like, third boyfriend this week.” “Oh my god, she found another guy? She burns through boyfriends like you… burn.” “I know! How does she spend so much ti—Wait, that’s not important. Talking to her, I realized that I don’t care how things go with her. I didn’t change for her. I didn’t change for you. I changed for me. And the new me wants to be with you.” “Phil, how’s the fire?” “That’s not important. We’ll find a way to work around it—” “Phil. How’s the fire.” He realized he hadn’t checked since he called Amber. He looked down and, much to his surprise, his skin wasn’t burning. It was charred. Stained by the fire that was once raging on him. Now he was covered in various markings showing the pain that used to be there. The rest of his skin had burn marks and various scars from the worse parts of the flame. “It’s gone.” “See? You didn’t have to get back with Amber to fix it.” “Oh my god, thank you so much. Isabel.” “Yeah, Phil?” “I have a burning question—” END

Credits Editor-In-Chief Chloe Duensing

Section Editors Denial—Ayanna Palmer Anger—Chloe Duensing Bargaining—Josh Bozeman Depression—Yentil Nicolas Acceptance—Musa Drammeh

Pictured from left to right: Drammeh, Nicolas, Bozeman, Duensing, and Palmer.

And special thanks to the LitMag club and its president Judson Baker, as well as GSMST’s art teacher Dr. Lauren Phillips!

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