Flash Fiction 2020: A Publication from the Junior Class of Literary Artists at Pittsburgh CAPA 6-12

Flash Fiction Chapbooks 2020 Junior Class Literary Arts Program Pittsburgh CAPA 6-12, a Creative and Performing Arts Magnet Pittsburgh Public Schools

Flash Fiction Chapbooks 2020 Junior Class Literary Arts Program

Copyright©2021by CAPA Literary Arts All Rights Reserved For Information Contact: Mara Cregan, mcregan1@pghschools.org

Introduction

The following collections of flash fiction were created in the fall of 2020 by the junior class of Literary Artists at Pittsburgh CAPA under the direction of Taylor Grieshober.

This collection represents the diverse voices of our junior literary artists. I hope you enjoy this collection and find strength and hope from these sophisticated voices and stories.

Mara A. Cregan, Literary Arts Chair

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Emerson Davis-Martin

Last-Stop Gas

Shelley Demus

Noni and Eve

Payton Dosdor

Behind Closed Bars

Lily Werling

Meet Me in the Woods

Roan Hollander

Pathways

Myesha Holloway

Deep in Thought

Madison Lott

Southern Nights

Bryanna Luster

Hollywood: An Illusion

Neila McElfresh

The 200th Block of Grandview Blvd.

Mila McGrosky

Blood Smells Like a Train Car

Oliver Moore

The Body Is A Dead Language

Elizabeth Neel

Accounts of a Funeral Attendant

Bailee Preston

8 Bit

Josephine Reiter

Narrated by a Ghost

Iris Roth-Bamberg

Into the Dark

Morgan Snyder

Final Sale: Nothing Held Back!

Last-Stop Gas

By Emerson Davis-Martin

Last-Stop Gas

By Emerson Davis-Martin

I dedicate this collection to the deadbeats, disappointments, and downers. I hope you find happiness one day.

Table of contents 1. Sammy- 25 Things You’ll Never Know 2. Gemma- Good Riddance 3. Carrie 4. Dan 5. Mazie 6. Tallulah and Vivian- The Twin Princesses 7. Jamie 8. Darrell

Sammy- 25 Things You’ll Never Know 1. Your family moved you to this little town because of what happened to you in school last year, not because your dad got a new job. The whole family would’ve rather stayed where they were, but your mom thought someone might have killed you if you stayed.

2. The man who sold you the new house just lost his wife to cancer. He sold the house to pay for her funeral.

3. Your best friend Cameron left a note in your locker the last day of school. You left in a hurry that day and never got to see what it said.

4. You forgot a box of your clothes sitting in the driveway of your old home. You’ll spend the next couple of years looking for those items, wondering where you put them.

5. Cameron was the one who told everyone at school that you’re gay.

6. The woman who hired you at the gas station didn’t look at the resume you spent all night putting together. She hired you because you were the only one who applied for a job there in months, and she needed someone to replace her when she quit.

7. Your sister used to sneak into your room and read your journals. She stopped after she read that you were afraid of dying. It made her realize that she was afraid, too.

8. Your favorite TV show got canceled. The guy who played the main character was guilty of murdering a little girl.

9. Your mom wasn’t angry because you said you were gay; she was angry that she wasn’t there for you when you needed her most.

10. Cameron watched as that group of guys beat you up that one day after school.

He couldn’t sleep for days after watching the fight.

11. Your dad sat next to you in the hospital every day until you were conscious.

12. The guy who would stop at the gas station every day had a huge crush on you.

His name was Dan, and all he wanted you to do was see him. All you had to do was look up.

13. Your sister saved your journals and would read them every day. She would spend hours thinking about what you would have written if you had gotten the chance to write in them more.

14. Cameron tried to commit suicide five years after you moved away. He kept having unbearable nightmares and seeing your battered face everywhere he looked.

15. You would have married Dan after four years of dating. He would’ve proposed to you in the home you would buy together.

16. Your dad listens to your voicemail because he’s scared of forgetting what you sound like.

17. The girl behind the gas station became your sister’s best friend, and tells her every day that she misses you.

18. You would’ve liked coffee more than tea.

19. Your dad would have told you every day that he was proud of you.

20. You would have gone to college and became a school guidance counselor. You would have helped kids who were just like you.

21. Your two children would have looked at you like you were a superhero. They would’ve told everyone at school they had the coolest dads in the world.

22. You would have taken your children to the gas station every so often and show them where you and Dan met.

23. Your mom would sell the house after your dad died at age 60. She couldn’t be in the house anymore. She felt too alone.

24. You would have worn slippers and a bathrobe around the house sometimes, even though you promised yourself that you would never be that type of guy.

25. Working at the gas station down the street from your new house would be the only job you would ever have.

Gemma- Good Riddance I’ve spent 31 years of my life holding on to this deadbeat town because of a single soul. Every day is predictable— the same people, places, and air, it’s like being stuck on the same lazy river from the time you wake up, till the time the town sleeps at night. I almost left right after my senior year of high school. I wanted to do more than work at a run-down gas station and drive down the same streets like a toy car on its track. I had dreams, a plan, but I gave it all up for a guy. Someone who was probably average, but different enough to make the town worth staying in. He showed up at the gas station in his beat-up van one day the summer after graduation, asking if he could get a pack of our cheapest cigarettes. His hair was sticky with sweat, his tight jeans and band t-shirt sculpted his tall, thin body. When he left, he wrote his name and number on a receipt, acting as if I didn’t already know his name after seeing his driver’s license when he asked for the smokes. His presence in town was like a cool breeze in the middle of a hot summer’s day. He was refreshing, like the cool taste of a menthol in my mouth, and it lingered, leaving me wanting more.

I spent months getting to know him, learning everything about him, as if I would be quizzed on his life story. After a year, I forgot about my hopes and dreams. I thought that he had become the one thing I wanted to have since high school; I thought that he was my fresh start, my new life, the reason I woke up in the morning. He was the only thing that occupied my mind. Everything about him made me smile; the way he would play air guitar during his favorite songs, the way his clothes smelled, the rush I got when he sped through traffic lights and stops signs while the town slept.

As the years went on it became harder not to see things as they really were. He became more of a mess than he already was. He was always drunk by noon and that smell…it was just stale cigarettes and dollar store cologne. He became a zombie in my eyes, decaying more and more with every bottle he finished, every minute he spent passed out in his van on the side of some random street. I spent more than half of my paychecks on liquor and beer, trying to fuel our disappearing love, while I watched as the color faded out of his cheeks, his body bloated, and his hair thinned into what looked like tangled thread.

I don’t really know what the final straw was. Maybe it was the one rotten tooth he would get checked, or the broke down van he never fixed so he lost his job, the piss stains in his underwear, the time he took a swing at me for not buying him cigarettes, or the lipstick I once saw on the back of his neck when he came home from “jamming” with his drinking buddies. But little by little, over time, a plan started to take shape in my mind.

I found and hired replacement at the gas station and packed up my things slowly over the span of three weeks. I packed my bags into my car and kissed him on the forehead as he slept, feeling the oil from his skin on the tip of my nose. I left one last six pack on the passenger’s side of his van and slipped a note into the plastic rings holding the cans together.

I hope that when I am gone, you become sober enough to think straight, and you will remember what it feels like to live again. I hope you look back and think of all of the good memories we made together, and maybe make some more of your own. I watch as our love and memories disappeared in my rearview mirror, my tears absorbing into the

band t-shirt he gave me. I pull into the gas station parking lot. As the sun rises, I look back, down that ribbon of gray stretching into the dawn. “I hope you had the time of your life.”

Carrie (400 words) I come into the gas station every morning at five o’clock. I wipe, sweep, mop, and repeat, every day. I’ve gotten used to being in the background, just part of the scenery in someone’s picture. I am a single flower in a blossoming bouquet. Nothing more than just a single vein in a healthy, young body. I am stuck in the same constant motion; I am sitting, watching the same events play over and over again in my head, like a DVD stuck in the player.

I am a deadbeat, a part-time worker at a gas station. I am living a 2D life; a rough sketch on one side, and blank on the other. My voice is constantly rasped from never speaking, and I have gotten used to not knowing what I sound like. My job is to make sure everything is perfect. I restock, count shipments, and make sure the others around me don’t have to do the busy work. I try to keep others from knowing me, so I keep my nametag in my pocket because I know that no one cares. I’ve never been the type to care about my appearance. I am generic, I fit in with the scenery, just another stranger.

I rarely make mistakes, but when I do, I choke on them until they strangle me. They leave me with no air, a slow hurt. I just stand there, letting them unravel me like a ball of yarn.

I could have prevented this life, but a part of me wanted to stay in the background. I always feel like I am drowning, I don’t stop the water from suffocating my breaths, I let the water fill my lungs like balloons. I flail my arms and legs around, knowing I can’t swim. I am reaching upwards; there’s a light up there, but all I can do is fall, deeper and deeper into nothing. I just wait for the day my body goes numb. My lungs will pop, and I will let my eyes roll into the back of my head. My ears are plugged

by muffled voices, and I sit as my heart falls silent. All I can do is feel myself drift to the bottom of the sea, where everyone who fades goes, and let my soul float to the top, and maybe, just maybe, it will live freely, more than I ever did.

Carrie (300 words) I come into the gas station every morning at five o’clock. I wipe, sweep, mop, and repeat, every day. I’ve gotten used to being in the background, just part of the scenery in someone’s picture. I am a single flower in a blossoming bouquet. I am stuck in the same constant motion; I am sitting, watching the same events play over and over again in my head, like a DVD stuck in the player.

I am a deadbeat, a part-time worker at a gas station. My voice is constantly rasped from never speaking, and I have gotten used to not knowing what I sound like.

My job is to make sure everything is perfect. I restock, count shipments, and make sure the others around me don’t have to do the busy work. I’ve never been the type to care about my appearance. I am generic, I fit in with the scenery, just another stranger. I rarely make mistakes, but when I do, I choke on them until they strangle me.

I could have prevented this life, but a part of me wanted to stay in the background. I always feel like I am drowning, I don’t stop the water from suffocating my breaths, I let the water fill my lungs like balloons. I am reaching upwards; there’s a light up there, but all I can do is fall, deeper and deeper into nothing. I just wait for the day my body goes numb. My lungs will pop, and I will let my eyes roll into the back of my head.

All I can do is feel myself drift to the bottom of the sea, where everyone who fades goes, and let my soul float to the top, and maybe, just maybe, it will live freely, more than I ever did.

Carrie (250 words) I come into the gas station every morning at five o’clock. I wipe, sweep, mop, and repeat, every day. I’ve gotten used to being in the background, just part of the scenery in someone’s picture. I am a single flower in a blossoming bouquet.

I am a deadbeat, a part-time worker at a gas station. My job is to make sure everything is perfect. I restock, count shipments, and make sure the others around me doesn’t have to do the busy work. I’ve never been the type to care about my appearance. I am generic, I fit in with the scenery, just another stranger. I rarely make mistakes, but when I do, I choke on them until they strangle me.

I could have prevented this life, but a part of me wanted to stay in the background. I always feel like I am drowning, I don’t stop the water from suffocating my breaths, I let the water fill my lungs like balloons. I am reaching upwards; there’s a light up there, but all I can do is fall, deeper and deeper into nothing. I just wait for the day my body goes numb. My lungs will pop, and I will let my eyes roll into the back of my head.

All I can do is feel myself drift to the bottom of the sea, where everyone who fades goes, and let my soul float to the top, and maybe, just maybe, it will live freely, more than I ever did.

This song inspires my piece, because the song is about a girlfriend moving away, and the man is reminiscing on their relationship, and says that he hopes she enjoyed their relationship and time together. In the song, the man talks about how him and his ex had problems and their disagreements, but in the end, hopes that when she looks back on their relationship, she will think about the good memories and miss the fun they had together as a couple. I like this song a lot, and I think that this song matches the theme of my chapbook, which is wasted lives and missed opportunities, and that is why I was so interested in using this song. I think that using this song added a lot to my character, and the idea I had for this piece in general.

Dan I walk to the gas station every day after school, get food, and then sit on the pavement outside till I want to go back home. It’s just something I’ve always done. I’ve become what workers call, “a regular.” Being “a regular” seems so plain, someone that I’d like to think I’m not, but I probably am. I don’t come to the gas station because I need to; I have a car, the money for real food, the time to go somewhere far from my house. I want to go because of Sammy. Sammy is the cashier at the gas station. He’s around the same age as me, and everything about him just goes together. I don’t know what school he goes to, or if he even goes to school, I don’t know where he lives, or what he does in his free time. I would ask him, but I just never have. I don’t have to talk to him, I’m okay with what we’re doing now.

But every day after I check out, I write down how our interaction went and what I got that day. I made an agreement with myself; if he looks at me, actually looks at me, I’ll try to start a conversation, but if he doesn’t, I’ll just hope for the best the next day. At the beginning of the week, on Monday, I got the same drink I see next to the register when he’s working, and he smiled at me, (I ended up throwing the drink away after I took a couple of sips.) Tuesday, I got a bag of my favorite chips to see if he would say he liked them too. He only looked up for a second, but our eyes met, (his eyes are light green; they’re my favorite color.) On Wednesday, I bought a random candy bar because I didn’t really want anything that day, and he only looked up enough to see the money I gave him, (I think he had a bad day.) Yesterday, I came in and bought the same pack of gum I saw in his pocket a couple of weeks ago, and he only glanced at the door when a little girl walked in, (maybe he likes talking to her.)

I thought today was going to be the day, it had to be. It was Friday, and everyone is happier on Friday. I got the Monday drink again because it gave me the best results.

Today, I smiled at him when I sat my drink on the counter, and he smiled back (he never showed his teeth when he smiles at me, but I think he looks cute like that.) I looked at his eyes one more time, and left. No conversation like every day. I like to think that maybe one day, he’ll ask what my name is, or comment on what I’m buying, but if he never does, I won’t be surprised. A guy like Sammy would never like “a regular” like me.

Mazie Hey mom, it’s me. I just wanted to call and check in. When I went into a gas station just now, our song started playing on the radio. It made me think of you and all of the times you made me listen to it till I liked it. I remember that one day I didn’t want to go to school, so I sat the thermometer under my bedside lamp till it said my temperature was 101. You knew I was faking, and still let me stay home. You let me stay in your bed and eat in your room, even though I was never allowed to do that. You said, “just make sure daddy doesn’t know, okay?” I remember you pulling me out of bed and starting a record up. I put on your black silk dress and your nice work heels, knowing none of it fit.

You put grandmas’ pearls around my neck and twirled me as your heels fell off my feet. I remember the way you use to dance. The music melted into your movements.

Whenever you started to sing, I would sing with you and try to match my voice with yours. When the song was over, you kneeled in front of me, pushing my hair out of my face. “That’s our song, you know.” You hugged me, your fingers twisting the pearls on the back of my neck, “I wish we could dance forever, sweet girl.”

Now, all I can hear is the silent scratch of the needle, searching for our song. I know things cant go back to the way they used to be, and I hurt you too many times. I just want to dance with you while listening to our song one last time.

Tallulah and Vivian- The Twin Princesses Once upon a time, there were two princesses. Not only were they sisters, they were twins with magical abilities. They could feel each other’s emotions, and they somehow always knew what the other was thinking if they were near each other. The princesses didn’t have many friends, they only had each other, and that was enough for them. Every day, the princesses would sneak into the mysterious woods behind their castle, and explore. The girls would fight monsters, save innocent woodland creatures, and most importantly, spend time with each other. They would then walk to the outskirts of the woods and sneak into their secret hideout. Their hideout was made by them and crafted out of the finest materials that the twins could find.

The princesses would spend hours in their hideout, sketching out plans for their futures. The twins wanted to be knights and save others from the monsters that lurk in the world. They knew they could never be knights; their parents would never allow it.

They were princesses and, as such, had to be prim and proper young ladies. Still, their greatest dream remained to be more than just delicate princesses. “Why couldn’t we be princesses and knights?” said one of the twins.

“Princesses are just as strong as knights!” said the other twin. The twins had told their parents several times about their desire for their futures, but their wishes were always ignored or shot down. The princesses didn’t worry— they knew that one day they would be strong enough to stand up to their parents and tell them what they wanted.

Then, they would be knights together.

One normal-seeming day, the twins ventured out into the mysterious woods, skipping and slaying any fowl beast that crossed their paths. “I forgot something at

home; I’ll be right back,” said one twin. The other nodded and continued on to wait at the hideout for her twin to arrive. The girl waited for what felt like hours, but her sister never came. The princess decided to walk back home, hoping to find her sister at home with the rest of her family. As the girl came into the castle, her mother hugged her and asked where her sister was. The girl was terrified, and she felt a sharp pain in her stomach.

She didn’t know what to think. Where did her sister go? Did someone take her?

The girl lay awake in her bed, thinking about her sister, and the horrors she must be facing. She couldn’t feel her sister’s thoughts and feelings, which made her worry even more. The girl felt helpless, lost. She felt as if she had to do something to help her sister, but she didn’t know what.

The next day, two knights came to the door and told the princess that her sister must have just wondered off and would probably be back soon. The girl didn’t believe the knights, she knew her sister, and she knew that she would never do something like that.

The girl returned to the woods, hoping to hear her sister’s voice in the thick green wood. The girl’s mind wandered, thinking about all the terrible things that could have happened to her sister. “Monsters must have taken her,” the girl thought. “She must have been so scared.”

Every day, the girl would return to the forest, looking for her missing twin. She would sit in their hideout until night came, waiting to see if her sister might return. An older boy that worked near the hideout visited the girl, bringing her food and having small conversations with her, keeping her company. She appreciated the boy, he was very nice, and seemed to be strong and independent. The girl began to see the boy as

an older brother, someone she could depend on while her sister was away. The boy helped her with her grief, but it didn’t wash away completely. The girl still thought about her sister. She tried desperately to connect to her and hear her within herself. The girl tried everything, but she always heard silence.

The knights eventually declared the princess missing. They hung posters around the kingdom and asked others to look for the lost princess. The girl felt like she had to do something for her sister. “She has been gone for too long!”

The princess went to her parents and demanded that they let her search for her sister. “I am strong and capable like a knight. I need to help look for my sister.”

Her parents looked down at her, their faces distraught. “A princess could never be a knight. Leave the looking to the strong and capable men who have sworn to protect our kingdom.”

The girl was shocked to hear what her parents had to say. They saw her as fragile and soft, but she knew that she was fierce and strong. Still, without her sister, she was only half over everything she could be. So every day, the princess would sneak into the woods, calling for her sister, straining to hear her, hoping to feel her presence. She would then sit in the hideout with her new friend, until the cloth of night began to unfurl, waiting to see if her dear sister would ever return.

Jamie Wake up, Jamie; get out of bed and put on some clothes; wear the green jacket today, it still smells like dad; get the gun out of the safe, the combination is 7498; put your gloves on before you touch the gun; put the gun in the black backpack you bought yesterday; grab your hat, the red one, not the blue one; take the picture of dad out of your pocket, you don’t want to lose it; grab your car keys off the table; don’t forget the backpack; fill up your gas tank with the extra gas on the shelf; make sure you have a full tank; take a drink of the whiskey you keep behind the gas tank; don’t drink too much, it makes you lose track of time; get in the car; pull out of the garage and start driving towards the gas station; look around for cop cars; only think about the task at hand; don’t think of anything that makes you angry; when you get to this stop light, take a deep breath; close your eyes and smile, it’ll all be okay; think about that one time dad took you out for ice cream; think about dad’s smile, he had the best smile; turn on the radio; turn off the radio, mom’s favorite song is playing; don’t think about mom; don’t think about the hurt she put you through; don’t think about the beating; don’t think about the bottles; you aren’t weak like you used to be; she can’t hurt you anymore; stop; pull over; put the car in park; take a deep breath; think of dad’s smile; think of dad’s smile; calm down, it’s going to be okay; put the car in drive; pull away; turn right, you’re almost there; pull into the parking lot; park; turn off the car; look at your reflection in the glass; take a deep breath; look inside of the gas station; look at the cashier; make sure he looks like the type to just give you what you want; take a deep breath; get out of the car; leave the doors unlocked; tilt your hat down so the cameras can’t see your face; pull out the gun; open the gas station door; tell everybody to get on the ground; point the gun at the

cashier; tell him to give you the money; look at your reflection in his eyes; hold out the backpack; block out the little girls crying; block out the people talking; stop shaking; show mom that you’re not weak anymore; pull the trigger back; tell everyone to shut up; block out the noise; don’t think about the noise; don’t think about mom, the woman in the corner sounds like her; say that you’ll shoot; don’t get nervous; think about dad; drown out the noise; ask for the money one more time; block out the noise; calm down; breathe; think about dad’s smile; drown out the noise; it’s okay, Jamie; stop the talking; stop the noise; shoot.

Darrell I get out of my car and walk up onto the sidewalk where a teenage boy is sitting.

Kick the drink that sits next to him making it spill all over his jeans. Snicker as the boy throws his hand up into the air. Walk into the store and make sure to slam the door just loud enough to make everyone in the gas station look my way. I like the feeling of people knowing I’m around, makes my fingers tingle. I carry myself a certain way—my shoulders slightly slouched, my chest puffed. I want everyone to know who I am, no matter what. Make my way to the back of the aisles, and grab a six-pack out of the fridge. Look around and notice the way the gas station has fallen silent. I smirk and strain my muscles more to make them swell under my t-shirt. The ladies love that.

I grab another six-pack, holding one in each arm. Turn to the sound of a woman gasping. A man is standing in front of the cashier, holding a gun. I squat behind a shelf and peak around the corner. I realize that he’s not just some guy—it’s a kid I went to middle school with. Jamie, I think. He was in my seventh grade class. He used to cower when I walked past him and would flinch real deep if I raised my fist to his face. That’s when he wasn’t hiding from me. Ducking into empty classrooms, slinking in the shadows, trying not to be seen. I smirk a little at the memory of the little nerd. He was so weak, a little bug waiting to be squashed. He never stood up for himself, just let me do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.

But now…this ain’t the same Jamie, and I feel myself shrink a little, squat lower, head down, eyes to the floor. My pants are soaked in my own piss. I can’t do anything, I can’t move or speak. All I can do is wait here, motionless, just as prey tries to be still enough for the hunter not to see. I try to pray in my head but I don’t know how. Everyone

around me begs for their lives. I hope he doesn’t recognize me and try to fade into the background.

Noni and Eve

Shelley Demus

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Noni and Eve

By Shelley Demus

I dedicate this chapbook to my mother, who showed me what it means to be a black woman. And to all the ancestors that I know not by name, but by spirit.

Table of Contents NONI Through a Child’s Eye Generational Sorrow Dinner Party A Soul’s Burning

EVE The Woman and the Witch Shallows Louisiana Judgement Day For Eve

Generational Sorrow

I am afraid that she will fall in and be swallowed up.

— Lavanya Vasudevan, “Event Horizon”

I had fallen. Into that deep place. A void inside of myself where only the stars remained.

There, under those stars, I could see my grandmother, a story teller with distant eyes. A woman who had no need for a man. I saw how she created my mother, in a void much like this one. Dug her fingers into the darkness, past the clay and bone and pulled her out feet first. Used her tears to wash away the blood and rock.

My mother, was in the stars too. I saw her leaning over a fresh grave mound. A little girl stood next to her. A version of me before I had seen the evil men were capable of.

Brushing away wild curls with a scarred hand, I saw my mother’s eyes. They shone with unshed tears and relief. It wasn’t until later that I learned the reason why. The mound was my biological father. The Devil in my mother’s own personal Hell.

I saw a woman, with her clothes torn, laid bare. I saw a man with his trousers half secured and a mangled robe. I saw her tears. They dripped from her cheeks and I could feel them. Each drop heavier than the next, until I was drowning under the weight of them. I saw her distant eyes. My grandmother. The unruly curls. My mother. Her hands, scarred and ugly. The woman, draped across the cot of that cell, was me.

Dinner Party (390 words) Sunday dinners were a thing of beauty. The finest of china lined a table covered in white linen. A stark contrast to our much darker hands that set it. Meats and vegetables steamed in the center, along with the bottles of wine preferred by the lady of the house.

They filled into the dining room. I kept my eyes downcast and did my best to seep into the walls. He sat at the head of the table. A bottle of amber liquid sloshed in his hands, as drunken laughter echoed from between tobacco stained lips. He made haste to shovel bite after bite into his mouth, barely stopping to chew or breathe. His daughter knew to be quiet aside from mumbled ‘yes, sirs’ when told to eat faster. His wife sat opposite to him, her plate would remain untouched throughout the evening, while she sipped wine and stared on with unfeeling eyes. Those same eyes that watched while I lay battered and bruised by his hand just days before. The clang and chew from the meal did little to cover the sound of my heart’s drumming against a ribcage on the verge of collapse. From the shadows I watched. Watched while he fumbled and slurred his way through dinner, his wife blaming it on the mead. It wasn’t until he clawed at his throat and chest that she realized something was wrong. I watched her wine spill out onto the table while she convulsed. Her face pickling as she tried and failed to scream.

Only choked sobs escaped. Slowly, I approached. Their eyes, glassy and lifeless, followed me as I ushered their daughter out of the room, demanding that she not return.

I knew long before I heard all the shouts and hammering at the door that I would die that day. I knew when I emptied vile after vile of poison into his food. When I watched her gulp down that wine and when I couldn’t find anything within myself other than a small prayer for mercy. I didn’t flinch when men came barreling into the house. The butt of a

gun smashed against my temple, and I sank to the floor. Or even then, when I was surrounded and trampled by booted feet, battered by fists. I’d never thought myself a witch, but what they say is true.

Dinner Party (290 words) Sunday dinners were a thing of beauty. The finest of china lined a table covered in white linen. A stark contrast to the much darker hands that set it. They filled into the dining room. He sat at the head of the table. Drunken laughter echoed from between tobacco stained lips. He shoveled bite after bite into his mouth, barely stopping to chew or breathe. His daughter knew to be quiet aside from mumbled ‘yes, sirs’ when told to eat faster. His wife sat opposite to him, her plate would remain untouched throughout the evening, while she sipped wine and stared on. With those same eyes that watched while I lay battered and bruised by his hand just days before. From the shadows I watched.

Watched while he fumbled and slurred his way through dinner, his wife blaming it on the mead. It wasn’t until he clawed at his throat and chest that she realized something was wrong. I watched her wine spill out onto the table while she convulsed. Her face pickling as she tried and failed to scream. Slowly, I approached. Their eyes, glassy and lifeless, followed me as I ushered their daughter out of the room, demanding that she not return.

I knew long before I heard all the shouts and hammering at the door that I would die that day. I knew when I emptied vile after vile of poison into his food. When I watched and couldn’t find anything within myself other than a small prayer for mercy. I didn’t flinch when men came barreling into the house. The butt of a gun smashed against my temple, and I sank to the floor. I’d never thought myself a witch, but what they say is true.

Dinner Party (240) Sunday dinners were a thing of beauty. He sat at the head of the table. Drunken laughter peeled out from between tobacco stained lips. His daughter knew to be quiet aside from mumbled ‘yes, sirs’. His wife sat opposite to him, her plate would remain untouched, while she sipped wine and stared on. With those same eyes that watched while I lay battered and bruised by his hand just days before. From the shadows I watched. Watched while he fumbled and slurred his way through dinner, his wife blaming it on the mead. It wasn’t until he clawed at his throat and chest that she realized something was wrong. I watched her wine spill out onto the table while she convulsed.

Her face pickling as she tried and failed to scream. Slowly, I approached. Their eyes, glassy and lifeless, followed me as I ushered their daughter out of the room. I knew long before I heard all the shouts and hammering at the door that I would die that day. I knew when I emptied vile after vile of poison into his food. When I watched and couldn’t find anything within myself other than a small prayer for mercy. I didn’t flinch when men came barreling into the house. The butt of a gun smashed against my temple, and I sank to the floor. I’d never thought myself a witch, but what they say is true.

The Woman And The Witch In the beginning, before the sun was a star and man learned to cross the seas, there was a woman. Each morning, before the sun kissed the sky awake, she bowed in the soil of her gardens and cried. There she would stay until the moon greeted the stars. For two summers the woman had weeped in this garden. The same garden where her husband, a kind and quiet man, died at the hands of the chief. Afterwards, the heartbroken woman secluded herself in her home.

One day, the chief came to the woman in her garden. He stood in her pond of tears with a man. That man, a warrior, was to become her husband. The woman refused. The chief gave her a choice. In three days time, they would return and commence the ceremony, or she would die a widow, a great sin that would bar her from an afterlife with her lost love. For two days, the woman cried harder. Her tears watered the sorrow, and the sorrow burrowed deeper into her heart. So deep that the thought of living had become too painful. On the second day, the woman left. She gathered all that could fit on her back, and ran. Past the trees, and the mountains, and the rivers. Through snow and rain, and wind. She jogged through forests, walked through swamps, and crawled through desserts. It wasn’t until then, that she reached the end of the Earth.

It was an eerily quiet place. The birds chipped in silence and even the leaves, rustled by the wind, made no sound. At the very edge of the Earth stood a cottage. Little and brown and covered in vines. From the cottage emerged a woman. Her skin was the color of midnight, and her eyes resembled the stars. The woman had heard stories of her kind and the curses they placed on entire villages. The woman knew her to be a witch.

“What do you want, child?”

The woman replied, letting the tears slips down her cheeks.

“I’m so tired,” The woman replied, letting the tears slips down her cheeks,

“I want to be with my husband.”

The witch tsked, and approached her with an unearthly grace, almost floating. Lifting the woman’s chin with a single finger, the witch asked again.

“What do you want child?”

The woman broke out into a sob.

“I want to die!”

The witch shook her head slowly, before slapping her across the cheek.

“Lies do nothing and neither do tears. What do you want!”

The woman, with wet stinging cheeks looked into the witch’s eyes.

“I-I just want to be free.”

The witch nodded sharply and walked into her cottage. The woman collapsed, belly up on the damp ground. She stayed there for a while, watching the sky change, and the clouds move, until they resembled her husband. The kind man in the sky smiled down on her and she let the warmth consume her.

The witch returned and threw a battered sack at the woman’s feet. From the sack came a snake. Long and black, with a belly of green.

“Take your freedom child.”

The woman looked from the witch and then to the snake. She looked to the sky, saw the kind man and then she closed her eyes. She whimpered softly, feeling the snake slither up through her legs and across her palms. The woman’s eyes snapped open as the snake reared back and bit her. She watched in horror as it burrowed under her skin, trailing up to her heart, before completely disappearing. The witch hummed a happy tune and returned to her cottage, shutting the door behind her.

Slowly, the woman watched as her skin started to reflect the midnight sky. The stars etched themselves onto her cheeks. And the clouds moved across her eyes.

Under the moon and the watchful eye of the witch, the woman ran. Past the rivers, and the mountains, and the trees. Through wind and rain, and snow. She jogged through deserts, walked through swamps, and crawled through forests. It wasn’t until then, that she reached her village again. The woman kneeled in the soil of her gardens. She raised her voice to the moon and she sang. She sang a curse over the chief, and the warrior. She sang her sadness and her sorrow, let tears dampen the earth. She sang until her throat was raw and then she sang some more. The woman looked to her village one last time.

“Burn.”

The woman watched flames engulf the land she once called home. She sang over the screams and the pleas. She sang until her tears dried. Before long, all that remained was ash and bone. She walked through the wreckage and beyond, letting her voice blanket the still night.

The woman’s name was Eve and she, for the first time since her husband’s death, felt free. And so she would remain until the end of time.

Shallows, Louisiana After Strange Fruit by Nina Simone This a place where black bodies are branded and sold like chattel to the highest bidder. I was chained at the neck, hand, and foot. Beaten regularly on the day long trip to my new prison. I watched as both old and young wither away to husks under a hellish sun. Out in those cotton fields from dusk till dawn. The days blurred together. Pick until fingers bleed. Stand until my feet blister. Let tears roll down scorched cheeks, because all I want to do is collapse. The only words I utter are whispered ‘Yes sirs’ when told to pick faster. Mutiny is met with swift cracks of leather whips, slicing through flesh like butter.

My back, like struck lightening. A labyrinth of pale jagged scars that tell a story of agony and misery only a few of us know. This is a place where we are forced to become less than human. Made malleable by picking at our identity. I want to cry on those days when the sky is blanketed in grey, because I think of home and I can’t remember a single detail. My name, my family, my history, all washed away along with my hopes of freedom.

This a place where black bodies decorate rotted oak trees like ornaments. Strange fruit indeed. I watched as my brother swayed almost in sync with the Southern breeze.

Bulged eyes and an open mouth create an illusion of eerie surprise. Skin and muscle wilts away from the bone. This is a place where the crows never know hunger. The scent of magnolias carried by the wind does little to cover the stench of festering sorrow. My mother and father forced to watch their son strung up and left to dry like forgotten linens.

The sobs that rip free from their chests fall on deaf ears and hardened hearts. As a child,

I imagined that when the sun went down, he would gasp to life. Claw his way to freedom and run. Through the mountains and seas until he found home again. He would gather an army and return to free us all. I cried for days after I watched them cut down his misshapen body and burn him in that same field. Now, when I watch those bodies swing, I think about when it’ll be me hanging from that tree. How I’ll welcome the peace.

Watch the sun rise and fall, never having to move a muscle. The crows and I will sit on the rotted branches and become a thing of Southern beauty.

Judgement Day The ropes digging into her wrists were drawing blood. It pooled in the cups of her hands, slowly dripping off her fingers into the puddle of gasoline at her feet. The dress she hand stitched a few weeks before was ruined, sticking to her skin in all the wrong places.

She thought about how she’d rather be naked. The men would feign disgust. Pretend they didn’t notice the swell of her breasts or the beads of liquid sliding over her curves.

Her jaw ached as she smiled a little, imagining how the women would murmur and mock. A hand over their hearts, scandalized. Her left eye was swollen shut, and the throbbing at the base of her skull reached a crescendo as the priest belted out curses.

With her right eye, she saw flames reflected in the eyes of a woman, Noni. Dried tears streaked through the blackening bruises on her cheeks. She was shaking, but Eve could tell that it wasn’t from fear. She’d heard about what Noni had done. How she had the courage to reap the lives of those who’ve wronged her. The fire clawed at her feet, stray embers burring through her dress, but even still Noni’s back remained rigid. She held her head high while releasing agonizing screams. Deep and hallowing, she sang to the heavens.

Oh mother don’t you weep Judgment, Judgment, Oh, how I long to go Oh how’d they’d welcome me home.

Eve’s tears fell long after Noni sang her last note, and the fire had been reduced to cinders. She watched the rosary dangle from the priest’s left hand, a torch in the other.

She didn’t know if Noni’s God was real. Or even if she believed in any higher power, but silently, she prayed to whoever was listening. Eve didn’t plead for her life. As far as she

was concerned, she died the day she crossed the Atlantic. Nor did she pray for forgiveness. She prayed for freedom. Whether her eternity be spent in the stars, or in the chasms of the sea. Never again would she be broken down so low that her only option would be sacrificing her soul. Eve cried harder, feeling the heat lick at her toes.

Oh mother don’t you weep Judgment, Judgment, Oh, how I long to go Oh how’d they’d welcome me home.

For Eve 25 thing you’ll never know…

After Matthew Burnside 1. Death by fire isn’t as bad as people told you. It’s worse.

2. The blankets and clothing you stole while you were on the run belonged to an older white woman named Lady Elizabeth Rim. They’d been hand stitched and set out a few nights after she noticed you sleeping in the mud. She named you Twilight. You reminded her of the cat she never had.

3. The den you holed yourself up in belonged to a family of foxes. A vixen and her kits. They never returned, not even after you left.

4. You couldn’t tell cardinal directions when you were 12. You traveled West instead of North.

5. You couldn’t sleep and decided to just stare at the stars. You slapped at your skin all night and blamed it on the ants. You were laying in a bed of poison ivy.

6. The fisherman you saw on the stream was a widower. His new wife hated fish almost as much as the last.

7. When your mother was pregnant, she washed her master’s clothes in that stream. She waded in the lilies, imagined you splashing among them and giggling. She wanted to teach you to swim.

8. The woman you imagined to be your mother was actually a baker who was friendly with another house slave who took care of you. The baker would rock you to sleep often while they chatted. You reminded her of the daughter that was ripped away minutes after giving birth. She never got the chance to hold her.

9. Lady Elizebeth noticed a wanted poster of you outside the auction house. She staggered when she saw how much her lost pet was worth. She tore it down when no one was looking.

10. You dreamt of Semy on those nights when you’d gone to sleep hungry. He would sit with you at a table full of food and you would introduce him to your mother as your bestest friend. He would tell you that he didn’t mind that you left him to fend for himself. You dreamt of him often.

11. The Fox Hole was the only pub in town. The owner was a skilled hunter named Rob. The fox and her kits are on display above his bar.

12. The man who caught you at the stream cried after he turned you in for the reward. He used the money to buy his son’s freedom. He never dreamt it would come at the cost of another’s.

13. The woman you slept across from in the cells wasn’t sleeping. She was thinking of her husband. She was arrested for loitering on private property. She had been pacing outside of the market, trying to figure out a way to tell her husband she hated fish. He already knew.

14. After your fifth round of beatings you thought of the baker again. This time how she smelled like lavender and fresh cakes. You smiled a little when a booted foot collided with your ribs.

15. The male guards bet on how long it would take you to break down. For months this kept on.

Your sanity was worth two beers, a wooden carving of the Confederate flag, an old harpoon, three loafs of bread, fishing line and recently a few handfuls of unsalted sunflower seeds.

16. Your new cell mate talked to herself at night. The guards overheard her saying you were a witch, called her crazy. They were both right.

17. After the mysterious fires at the last holding cell, they moved up your execution date. You were happy you didn’t get a new cellmate.

18. A lawyer showed up a few days before your trial. He was a free man from the North who wanted to take your case. You told him you would rather rot in hell. He thanked you for saving his son’s life.

19. The lawyer’s son came to your trial. Guilt had been gnawing at him for a while.He couldn’t bear the thought of sentencing someone innocent to death. He left after the judge listed all the crimes against you. He felt relieved.

20. The day before your death Semy was sold back to Louisiana. By the time he saw the crumpled Wanted poster, it was too late.

21. Before the execution, the town priest blessed your chains with holy water. Everyone else was tied at the stakes with regular old rope.

22. While they poured gasoline at your feet and berated you with scriptures, you stared into the crowd. In the front row was the Mayor, who owned the largest plantation in Southern Louisiana. 678 was the number of slaves who died while on his land. 254 of them were murdered. Of those, he was personally responsible for 97.

23. When the baker heard about your death, she was staring at the water lilies. She broke down in tears when she thought about how much she wished you were hers.

24. Exactly one week after the burning, when your ashes had been swept up with the wind, a young man set fire to the largest plantation in Southern Louisiana.

25. His name was Semy and never once did he stop searching for you.

Behind Closed Bars

by Payton Dosdor

Behind Closed Bars

by Payton Dosdor

Dedicated to my cousin.

Table of Contents 1. Four Foolish Men 2. Influence 3. Better then Revenge 4. 31 In a 15 5. Stan the Delivery Driver 6. 25 Things You’ll never know about the men you arrested 7. Temptations 8. Cell #23

Four Foolish Men

Once Upon a time in a prison far away lived four foolish men. These foolish men were kept in cages, completely shut out from the world. These lonesome bodies had nobody but one another. As one suffered so did the other. It was a never-ending cycle of misery. Think of a domino, they are set up next to each other and expected to knock each other down. But these four men didn’t suffer in ways to make each other fail, they suffered because watching each other fail was torture. They worked together in order to succeed in the 12x16 block and they found the good in one another. Their stories begin similar to ours. They all set out on great journeys in search of wealth, happiness, revenge, and adrenaline. Sadly, their ending was nothing like ours.

One of those foolish men wanted nothing but a normal lie, that was until his mother pushed him to beg, borrow and steal. Now, his only priorates were wealth. This boy’s story begins as a child. In a city full of non-money having and money having people, his family fell in the middle somewhere. This boy’s life was never what he fantasized about it being when he was a tiny one. Each sunset his imagination grew smaller and smaller about who he was going to be. His mother, the sources of all things evil, manipulated her child into her awful plans. It started off fairly simple. He was to do nothing but fake his sadness and then distract while his mother stole from strangers. She said she wasn’t stealing, but “borrowing.” These actions rubbed off on the boy. After twenty summers had passed, he gained the powers to do it on his own, without his mother. While his mother dug her own grave in her own cage, he dug his while being free. On an

unusually calm day he planned to do the same thing he did every day, although this time it went nothing like he planned. That’s how the first foolish man ended up here.

The second foolish man was a sucker for happiness, but only if it was His love for bread is where he found his true calling. When I say happiness, I mean bread. Bread was and is still the only thing that could make this boy happy. It’s similar to a married couple, only his significant other was the one and only Wonder Bread. Ever since the boys thinking gears could turn his mind could only be on the occupation of a bread truck driver. When the boys dream finally came true he knew exactly what he had to do. Every work day for as long as he had been able to drive he has taken bread. At first, it started out with only enough to supply the boy breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Naturally, a person stealing would stop once they’ve been caught. This boy had no intentions of stopping, maybe in years to pass but not anytime soon. His only intentions were to find happiness. Too bad the boy no longer can be happy while in prison. The 2,000tons would have to settle.

There’s a land far, far away where happy couples live. This land is not where foolish man #3 would be. The sun would rise and set every day and all this boy could think about was meeting his source to his happiness at her office. But before the boy could count to 10 she was gone leaving him with nothing but memories and for the boy, this was not enough. To his delight he still knew where she lived and where all of her precious things would be. His goal was not to hurt her, but to hurt something close to her. Gasoline and a lighter, the perfect mix. Her car was soon going to be gone, just as she was no longer there with him. He wanted her to feel how he felt when his nearly

ripped his heart from his chest. Foolish Boy #3 didn’t mind it here. This is where he found his people.

To foolish man #4 his goal in life is to feel the wind hitting his face on a highway. He likes the way it feels when he’s going 100 in a 50. What this foolish man didn’t know was that behind him was a swarm of police cars, all heading for him. When his foot was fully pressed on the gas and he couldn’t hear himself think it’s more than impossible to know that he was running from the police. He drove for a long time before stopping. When he did it wasn’t easy. This foolish man was unstoppable until he ended up here.

Now, just because they are locked in a dark and gloomy dungeon for years upon years, this does not mean their journey was lifeless. Their stories shall be passed down to generations after them and everyone will know about the four foolish men who got everything they wanted and gained one another in the process.

Influence

This is how you make your mother happy; never tell me no; do everything I say; wait until I say you can speak; never tell your classmates what we do when you come home from school; stop smiling, we don’t smile; wake up before the sun; we do this every day; think of something sad so it makes you cry; always make eye contact; don’t look at me; don’t wipe your tears; tell them you haven’t eaten; you need money for food; but I have eaten. We ate this morning; never tell the truth; approach them only after you hear their car unlock; tell them I’m dead; say your dads never home; But I don’t have a dad; go roll in the mud; the dirtier you look, the better; don’t take no for an answer; run if you see the police; don’t run home. they’ll see you; but I wanna go home, I don’t wanna do this; you have to; if you don’t we won’t have a home; when you borrow money don’t give it back; any opportunity you can, stick your hand in their pocket; make sure they don’t catch you; put on your big girl pants; this is how you survive while your mother is in prison; this is the number to pay the electric bill; this is the number for the man who can cash stolen checks for you, his name is Kevin; you can’t just cry now; you’re older, they won’t feel as sorry for you; never settle for $10 bills; only $20 or more; shove the money in your pants when you’re done; get a new partner, I’ll be in here for a while; don’t forget your gloves when you break into a car; be so good that you never have to work again; don’t stop doing what you’re doing; you’re doing a good job; but what if I end up like you, in jail; You won’t; do it every day or you’ll end up broke; If anybody asks, I’m not your mother; go for the old people, they’re easier; don’t kill anybody; if they start to get

aggressive, give up; wash your clothes once a week; wash your hair only twice every 2 weeks, it’ll make you look dirtier; don’t tell anybody where you live; this is how you survive jail; tell yourself you won’t be in there a long time; trust nobody unless they seem trustworthy; don’t expect me to put money on your books; steal other people’s soap, I don’t have money to send you any; keep your mouth shut; don’t stare at another inmate; workout in the gym, you’ll need to; don’t tell anyone I gave you that phone, don’t tell anybody why you’re in there; don’t ask somebody why they’re there; deny, deny, deny; when you get out, continue to rob people; make friends, you’ll need them when you go back; don’t eat the meatloaf; don’t try the drugs; don’t keep shanks in case of room searches; don’t be sad, nobody in this house misses you.

Better Than Revenge (400 words)

When you’re 15 it’s hard to know what true love is, but I knew when I met Katherine that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. From the way she begged for forgiveness from the teachers, it looked like a routine to her, and not a routine she enjoyed. Did she have home issues? If so, I could- no, I needed to save her from the trauma so she could be happy. I wanted her to have a place she could feel safe, a place she could call home. That was my mission, to be Katherines home.

It was a Tuesday the first time our eyes locked and I remember coming to school in my khaki shorts. That was the last time I wore those. Aside from her stained clothes, Katherine had beautifully kept hair, I had never seen a shade so similar to the shade of a strawberry, and strawberries were always my favorite fruit.

“It’s winter. Are you sure shorts are the best option?” When she spoke, it was nothing other than beauty and love.

Katherine cared for me, like nobody else had. And from that moment forward I knew I had to care for her.

7 years later, Katherine and I are both 23. Anyone who knew me knew this is how I wanted my life to be. The two of us, in our own apartment, doing nothing but making each other happy. Every morning I still admired how she did her hair the same way she did it when we were 15. Although it bothered me that she did her hair to hang out with friends. Why did she need to look good for them?

I thought Katherine was also falling in love with me. Maybe she was but up until last week I had all intentions of proposing to the lady who still drove me insane, who

made me want to set her car on fire if she looked in any other man’s direction. She looked me in the eyes exactly one week ago from today and told me that she didn’t want to be with me anymore and that she was leaving the next morning.

I let her leave because when she would wake up at her old apartment the next morning she would have no idea that I burnt her car to absolutely nothing, like I always intended to.

Better Than Revenge (300 words)

When you’re 15 it’s hard to know what true love is, but I knew when I met Katherine that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. From the way she begged for forgiveness from teachers, it looked like a routine to her, and not a routine she enjoyed. Did she have home issues? If so I needed to save her from the trauma so she could be happy.

It was a Tuesday the first time our eyes locked and I remember coming to school in khaki shorts. That was the last time I wore those. Katherine had beautifully kept hair, I had never seen a shade so similar to a strawberry, and strawberries were my favorite fruit.

“It’s winter. Are you sure shorts are the best option?” When she spoke, it was nothing other than beauty.

Katherine cared for me, like nobody else had. And from that moment forward I knew I had to care for her.

7 years later, the two of us, in our own apartment, doing nothing but making each other happy. I still admired how she did her hair the same way she did when we were 15. Although it bothered me that she did her hair to hang out with friends.

Up until last week I had all intentions of proposing to the lady who still drove me insane, who made me want to set her car on fire if she looked in any other man’s direction. She looked me in the eyes exactly one week ago from today and told me that she didn’t want to be with me anymore.

I let her leave because when she would wake up at her old apartment the next morning she would have no idea that I burnt her car to absolutely nothing.

Better Than Revenge (250 words)

When you’re 15 it’s hard to know what true love is, but I knew when I met Katherine that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. From the way she begged for forgiveness from teachers, it looked like a routine to her, and not a routine she enjoyed. Did she have home issues? If so I needed to save her from the trauma so she could be happy.

It was a Tuesday and I remember coming to school in khaki shorts. That was the last time I wore those. Katherine had beautifully kept hair, I had never seen a shade so similar to a strawberry, and strawberries were my favorite.

“It’s winter. Are you sure shorts are the best option?” When she spoke, it was nothing other than beauty.

7 years later, the two of us, doing nothing but making each other happy. I still admired how she did her hair the same way she did when we were 15.

Up until last week I had all intentions of proposing to the lady who made me want to set her car on fire if she looked in any other man’s direction. She looked me in the eyes exactly one week ago from today and told me that she didn’t want to be with me anymore.

I let her leave because when she would wake up at her old apartment the next morning she would have no idea that I burnt her car to absolutely nothing.

31 In a 15 I could feel my foot pressing down farther and farther on the gas pedal. The tiny, tiny voice I have inside my head was telling me that I needed to do this with the break instead of the gas, but I just couldn’t. As I passed each car I imagined what type of people were inside this car. This was something my dad did when he was a police officer, it helped him decide if he should pull someone over. I wasn’t using it for that reason, I did it because thinking about who was in the car stopped me from thinking about running them of the road. But it wasn’t like that, I didn’t have an urge to hurt people, I had an urge to feel something.

My son stopped letting me see my grandson a month and a half ago and ever since then, my life hasn’t been the same. He said, “You’re not yourself right now. I don’t want you rubbing off on my kid.” What my son must have forgot was that I’ve been like this all my life and I raised him as a single dad.

I hated the number thirty because that’s the age my wife was when she died, and I hated anything lower because all those years prior I never got to tell her how much I loved her. So, when I would drive, driving at the speed of any number from 1-30 was something I never did. And driving under eighty was also something I never did, driving slow was for the weak.

Friday afternoon I was driving past my grandsons’ school to make sure he got on the bus okay after his first day of Kindergarten since my inconsiderate son wouldn’t allow me to pick him up. The speed limit was 15, but because of my conscious I had to do 31. I know, I could have hurt a kid, but I didn’t so I will never understand why that

douche bag cop had to pull me over. And I don’t understand why he made it seem like I was trying to get away, I just didn’t hear his sirens.

The Bread Man After Canine by Gina Sakalarios-Rogers Stan was no angel. Growing up his most mischievous acts were stealing bread from the bread drawer and eating the whole loaf. His mother turned a blind eye from it because she didn’t want to stop him from eating. For 45 years he has been a lover of bread and working as a bread delivery driver made his obsession grow even more.

Stan’s mother watched the 12 o’clock news and her sons face appeared across the screen. “BREAKING NEWS; HAS YOUR LOCAL GROCERY STORE BEEN LACKING BREAD? THE BREAD THIEF, ARRESTED NOW. HE COULD BE FACING UP TO 5 YEARS.” A woman came into the screen. She looked like she’d been crying, her makeup was smeared and her eyes were puffed up, you could barely see her pupils. “How could somebody do this? I use bread for everything! he ruined my day and everyone elses, he is a horrible human.”

Stan sat in front of the tv screen that was in the police station. 5 years?! He felt no remorse for the grocery stores, he only felt it for himself. How could he be described as a person who liked to ruin another person’s day. That was not his plan at all, he just simply loved bread and couldn’t help himself when he saw it.

“You know Stan, my family and I haven’t had bread for weeks.”

“There are other grocery stores. Don’t blame it all on me,” he shouted to the police officer.”

“You deliver to every grocery store in Louieville. all thirty-four of them.” The police officer was angry.

When Stan saw the opportunity to get bread. He took it. Why was that such a crime? In some cases, he was being generous. He only took home the bread he saw wasn’t being sold, the bread he didn’t have much of in the mornings.

“Do you have any bread?” Stan begged the police officer.

“Sorry Stan, none here and none in jail.”

This was going to be a long 5 years for Stan.

25 Things You’ll never know about the men you arrested

1. When you threw inmate #I-798 in the cell he prayed you wouldn’t catch him stealing bread because he can’t stand to be touched by strangers, he has haphephobia.

2. If he’s away from bread too long he’ll start to vomit. It’s like an addiction.

3. He didn’t care that he was arrested for stealing bread because then telling his wife about his affair wouldn’t be an issue anymore.

4. Inmate #I-723 has attachment issues, he set his girlfriend’s car on fire.

5. His dad left him when he was 5. His dad continued to come back once a week until he suddenly stopped showing up.

6. When you got ahold of the man for speeding he told you it was because he wanted to see how fast he could go in his new car. He was going 31 in a 15, in a school zone. He’s inmate #I-711.

7. You looked up his ID and saw that he was arrested 17 times for speeding. You were going to let him go because even you’re guilty of speeding here and there.

But bringing in a person who was arrested that many times before could get you higher up on the chief of police’s list. You wouldn’t be the underdog anymore.

8. You watched inmate #I-773 and his family for years. What you didn’t know was that his mother was forcing him to steal because her mother did the same to her.

9. When you threw all of four of them in a cell together you were hoping they would kill each other. You would finally have a good case and get the chance to be on the news. The long hours you sat watching them suffer in their combined cell was

really just you plotting ways to increase their charges. You were going to lie if you had to. They knew your plan all along.

10. His addiction wasn’t always the bread. For a while it was drugs but he read online somewhere eating carbs stops the urges to do drugs. The internet lied but he used his love for bread as an excuse.

11. When you found #I-723 after he set the car on fire only 10 minutes into the search, your partner began plotting ways to get you fired.

12. Inmate #I-723 let you find him. He wanted you to arrest him instantly because he knew if you didn’t he would hurt the only woman he’s ever loved for breaking his heart. That’s what he didn’t want to do. Setting the car on fire was the perfect choice for revenge and to make her suffer.

13. The day you caught inmate #I-711speeding was the worst day of his life, he was speeding out of anger, not adrenaline.

14. Inmate #I-773 hoped since he was 6 years old that you would arrest him and his mother. He didn’t want to be his mother’s puppet anymore. If he was in jail he would be free from her.

15. Inmate #I-723’s girlfriend never loved him as much as she said she did, she had been plotting to break up with him for years. When she found the engagement ring she knew she had to do it before he proposed, she wouldn’t have the heart to tell him after he proposed. She was the one who called you two months earlier and put a warrant out for his arrest for changing his identity.

16. All four of them recognized you when you picked them up. You put a damper in all of their plans. Not just once, but plenty of times before.

17. Inmate #I-773 was faking to be broke got his girlfriend pregnant, he actually did need the money to pay for the doctor visits.

18. You were suffering worse than these guys. You keep telling yourself that you’re fine but you would do what all of these men did if you were in their situation.

19. The bread man was having an affair with your wife. They met each other while she was a bread delivery driver too.

20. The reason he wouldn’t speak to you or look you in the eyes when you arrested him was because he knew you were his mistresses’ husband.

21. That night you arrested Inmate #I-773, his girlfriend was going into labor. He stole one last time so that he could get her an uber to the hospital. Then he waited for you to arrest him.

22. Inmate #I-723 only changed his identity because he didn’t want his dad to find him. He wanted him and his wife to live a happy life without drama in it.

23. You had no idea your wife was having an affair. When you saw the man on the news for stealing bread and asked if she knew him and she said no. She lied, they were with each other that day and she helped him steal more bread for his addiction.

24. You stopped inmate #I-711 from doing more than just speeding. He had other plans for himself that day.

25. None of them actually hated you for taking them in. They were thankful for you because you made their lives easier. Although, still thought about breaking out.

Temptations After Billy Joel, Temptation

Inmate #I-723 I’ve wondered for many years how I would live without sleeping next to Katherine.

I shouldn’t have done what I did. Maybe I could have won her back and we could have been happy again. It wasn’t like I had to do it, but it was pure impulse and I couldn’t help it. I tried to talk it over with her but she just wouldn’t listen and when I heard how okay she was with all of this, I knew I had to hit her where it hurts. When I look at her I can’t help myself and the man my mom raised me to be was completely gone. She caused all of this. This man next to me came in wearing an expensive suit and his hair slicked back. I bet he drives a fancy car and drives the exact speed limit.

Inmate #I-711 What’s weird about this all is that I never asked for any of this to happen. I didn’t ask to be locked in jail with 3 other men that I knew nothing about and I didn’t ask to have a speeding problem. It was all more of a desire then something that I wanted to do.

First glance at the empty road and the speedometer it’s all I can think about. Plus, it didn’t help that my son hates me and so I have nobody. I look at the man across from me, he makes me nervous. I can’t figure out why but he does. He looks like he’s homeless but something tells me he’s not. I’m a smart man, got a private school education- that’s not the point. His rips in his pants are ripped perfectly, I’m going to confront him, I don’t like liars.

Inmate #I-773 I can feel the man across from me staring at me. He seems like a nice person. I don’t want to hit him but I get this feeling inside of me when people stare at me, it’s the same feeling I get when I see people walk out of Target with the 64-flat inch tv. It’s an urge and I can’t stop it. I should learn to control myself but it’s not like that, I can’t stop it.

He’s staring at my pants, I bet he feels sorry for me, he doesn’t seem like one to judge. I stray away from the man staring at me and I look at the man next to him. His stomach is perfectly round, he looks like he eats way too much food. I can practically hear his stomach growling from here.

Inmate #I-798 I miss the way I could go to work and I could eat all the bread I wanted. I miss the way I would stop shoving food in my mouth when I heard somebody coming, but really, I had already eaten half of the bread already. I would look at all of the bread stacked and my instant thoughts were temptation. I couldn’t stop the feeling. The only way I could was getting away from it all, and so that’s why I’m glad I’m here. As I’m sitting here with all of these men that I’ve never met a day in my life before I wondered what their inner issues were. Some of them looked purely insane, I bet none of them are in here because of temptation, I’m probably the only one.

Cell #23

We’ve been locked in a cell together for the last 45 hours. We haven’t been allowed out because apparently a few hours before we got here somebody took one of the spoons we get with lunch and held down somebody while trying to stick the spoon in their eyeball. My girlfriend- well my ex-girlfriend warned me a long time ago about how scary people in jail were but I didn’t expect this. When they put four of us in one cell I was hoping none of these people were like that, but after talking to them for almost two days I knew we were all pretty normal and similar people.

First it was the bread man that I talked to, he scared me a bit and didn’t give me hope but once we had a conversation and I learned that he just had a strong love for bread, I understood because it’s similar to me and Katherine. Then I talked to the man who was known for speeding. He was clean and properly shaved, I knew that I didn’t have much to worry about. People who put effort into the way they look are never actually insane. Last it was the man who scammed people. I liked him because of how slick he was, but he did throw me off a bit at first with the grimey beard and fingernails.

Something we all had in common was the desire to get back to doing what we loved, none of us wanted to sit in a jail cell.

“We could dig a hole, it may take a few years but at least we will be out of here at some point.”

“I don’t know about you guys but I don’t plan on being in here for years.” It wasn’t up until this very moment that I changed my mind. Why would I want to go back home?

What was out there for me that I couldn’t get here? They had newborn babies, fancy

cars and nice houses, somebody to look forward to when going back home even if it was a secret relationship.

“What about if we stayed here?” From the look on their faces I could tell they didn’t agree.

“Are you insane? My car probably misses me.”

“I can’t stay here, I have a kid at home and with my charges I will probably be in here longer then all 3 of you. I accidently killed an old lady once. I knocked her over while trying to steal her purse. They were looking for me for a week but they couldn’t find me so they closed the case. I’ll probably be in here for years.”

“I’ve been stealing bread for years. I’m doing some time too. And I don’t know about you guys but I’m expecting the bread in here to be nasty and I can’t deal with that, I need out.”

“It’s highly unlikely that you guys are going to be able to escape. They have all the guards out there just sitting because there’s nothing else to do.”

I couldn’t help but look at the way all three of them were fidgeting with their hands, they were nervous. I knew this because when we were in here for the first hour that’s what all four of us did and we bonded over it after we all noticed.

“You know, if we don’t leave then we would always have each other.” I was a sucker for love and surprisingly, these three men made me feel somewhat safe.

“Oh, shut up. We just met not even three day ago, why are you acting like we’ve known each other our whole lives?”

“I mean, don’t you think we could all use somebody? A friend?”

“I can find friends OUT of jail.”

“If that was the case you would have had some by now.”

I waited for any of them to respond. I hated the silence and that’s all that was happening. I ran for the door and started to bang. “Guard! They plan on escaping!” I shouted a few times until all three of them dove on top of me.

“Shut it! What’s your issue?” I said nothing, I just smiled. I couldn’t bare the fact of going out of here and having to live a life without Katherine, so all four of us would suffer together.

Meet Me in The Woods

By Lilly Werling

Meet Me in The Woods

By Lilly Werling

To Moony

Table of Contents 1. The Boy and The Wolf 2. It’s a Guy Thing 3. Abandon 4. The Plan 5. Splinters & Wasps 6. Meet Me in the Woods 7. Robbery 8. How to Run a School

The Boy and The Wolf There was a boy who lived in a town, with many other boys and girls. This boy was not liked by the others, and he was always running or hiding from their torment. One day, he picked the woods on the edge of town as a place to seek refuge. The woods were dark, and people rarely entered them, there were wild creatures and frightening things that no one wished to come across. The boy however, would rather face these unknown terrors, than the children whose bullying got worse and worse each day.

As the boy entered the woods, the trees blew back and forth, as if waving to welcome him. The boy thought this was strange, because that day had not been a particularly windy one. But he kept on, hoping the boys and girls had given up chasing him once they reached the woods.

The boy did not know how long he walked, but the sky was growing darker and the noises of the woods louder. There were hooting owls and cracking sticks, off in the distance. The boy knew he could have stopped and gone back at any point, but his legs just kept on carrying him further and further into the woods so that he didn’t know if he could find his way back, even if he tried. It seemed it was only a matter of time before the boy might come across a terrifying animal. And after some more walking, more darkness, and more noises, he did.

An animal jumped out from behind the trees to face the boy. He was not quite sure what it was, only that it looked a lot like a large wolf. It would have been frightening except that its fur was a bright magenta. The boy peered curiously at it, wondering if its next move was to run at him and eat him for dinner. Instead, the pink wolf turned

around, and began to walk off the path. The boy suddenly felt that he should follow this wolf. For whatever reason, he seemed to think it might lead him home.

They walked a while longer in the darkness. It seemed to the boy that the wolf was glowing, and he worked like a great big flashlight that allowed the boy to see.

Eventually, they reached their destination. Of course, the boy didn’t know what that was, but the wolf had stopped. They weren’t on the edge of the woods, back home. This was slightly troubling to the boy, but he wasn’t too worried. He felt like the wolf would keep him safe.

All of the sudden, the boy was blinded by a light. He shielded his eyes with his arm. When he uncovered them, he saw a tiny house that was glowing- like the wolf. It was a wooden house, much like the ones in town, only much smaller, and much more welcoming. The boy wondered why there was a house this far out in the woods. He figured somebody must live in it. He felt scared to go inside, for he didn’t want to disturb anyone. The pink wolf was staring up at him expectantly, and the boy gathered that he was supposed to knock on the door of the tiny house.

He approached the door slowly, and knocked three times. It didn’t take long for the door to open. Inside stood a short old man with a long beard and rosy cheeks. The man greeted the boy and invited him inside. He made some hot cocoa and asked the boy how he got there. So, the boy told him the story; the children in town disliked him, teased him and chased him all over town. He told him about the townspeople’s fears of the woods and what they though dwelled in the trees. He told him how he walked in the woods for a good while before coming across the pink wolf, who led him to the man’s

tiny house. The man listened intently, nodding every once in a while. When the boy was done with his story, the man told one of his own.

When the man was not a man, but a boy, he too was disliked by the children in town. For years he ran and hid from them, sometimes hiding on the edge of the woods behind a bush or tree. But the boys and girls found his hiding spot and followed him as far as he went into the woods. So, one day he knew he had to go further. He walked far into the woods just like the boy had, and came across a pink wolf who led him to a pile of wood. The man then built the tiny house, and lived in it for many, many years. Then, the man told the boy that he was going to die soon, and he needed someone to look after the pink wolf and the other animals in the woods. The boy agreed to take over for him and live in the tiny house.

So, the boy did just that. When the man died, he took his place and looked after all the pink wolves, the blue bears, and the purple foxes. He did this until he grew old and another young child came wandering into the woods. It is said, that if anyone finds themselves disliked by the people in town, all they need to do is wander into the woods, and they should find a place they belong.

It’s a Guy Thing After Honor Levy’s “Good Boys” Jake, Matt, and I are the only ones who know about the shack in the woods behind the school. It’s the kind of thing you’d only know about if you don’t mind getting your shoes dirty or going on adventures. The kind of thing girls at school are too preoccupied with gossip and fashion to ever notice. The girls that I’m nothing like.

The shack is a rusty aluminum shed. It’s not actually that cool except for the fact that its’ our secret. The inside is clean enough and there’s space for camp chairs and a small table to play black jack. Its hidden away enough in the woods that you can say things that you’d never say with other company. I know that’s why Jake and Matt showed me to the clubhouse in the first place. They know I’d never tell Sarah Connors they said she’s the ugliest girl in our grade, and would be lucky to marry the manager of the Arby’s on Mulberry, the one that asks every girl that breathes for her number. They know I won’t get jealous about Jake thinking Abigail Wright is the hottest girl in our grade, even if she’s a terrible person that kicks people out of friend groups. I wouldn’t share their secrets with anyone because they are the people I’d tell my secrets to, if I had any.

I like Jake and Matt because they talk about things that matter, like space, and politics. They don’t get caught up in dumb high school drama. I think that’s probably a guy thing. They don’t care about grades either. I wish I didn’t care about grades.

Today, we’re at the shack during fifth period. Jake hates the way Mrs. Sanders talks too slow, and Matt was skipping anyway. I was reviewing for my physics exam, but it doesn’t matter, whether your studying for a test or having family dinner, if one of the guys calls for a shack meeting, you don’t turn it down.

The trees part at the creek so that the sun reflects off the water and makes Jake’s hair look lighter than it is, and I’ll never understand why he’d go out with someone like Abigail when she gossips, and likes fashion, and tells peoples secrets.

Abandon After Tara Van De Mark’s “Acknowledgement” Randy left all three of us a voicemail at one in the morning on a school night, it was the same one, telling us he was moving to Denver and was never coming back, when I listened to it in the morning I laughed and expected to see him at school, and apparently so did Ben and Steve, and when he wasn’t there that day or the three days after that, and his house phone was disconnected, we figured he had actually packed up and left, it was like Randy to not tell us things, he had always been the quiet one, like sometimes you wouldn’t even know he was in the room but he had that comforting presence where you’d definitely know if he wasn’t, and you’d think he was really stupid if you looked at his grades but then he’d say some smart shit that didn’t even make sense, but you knew it was smart because everyone looked impressed even teachers, you know the type, Randy was the kind of guy that everyone liked because he never gave you a reason not to like him, but no one was really friends with him except for us, we took him in freshman year, Ben, Steve, and I had all gone to middle school together like most kids at our school because we live in a small town that only has one high school, and Randy was a new kid who had moved from the next town over and we figured he was cool because he had a pretty big Pokémon card collection and that was the kind of shit we were into when we were fourteen, that was the year we found the clubhouse, this small, kinda trashy shed looking thing in the woods behind the school, it was cool though because we were the only ones who knew about it so it was like, our spot, really Randy was the one who found it because he liked to take long walks in the woods which we all thought was weird as hell but at least something good came out of it, and it was cool of

him to show it to the rest of us, so we hung out there almost every day after school and became even better friends than we already were, and for three years we did that until we got the voicemail and found out Randy really left and wasn’t coming back, so the three of us went to the shed one last time to say our goodbyes, and never went back.

The Plan After Sophie van Llewyn’s “All This Wood Between Us” I stare at Izzy as she explains to me the plan for the third time, my eyes unfocused. I’m not really listening. We’re in the shed in the woods after school. It’s the only place you can go in this town if you don’t want to be overheard. That and it’s our clubhouse, it has been since freshman year.

We’re supposed to go on an “adventure” as she calls it. Really, she just wanted to run away from home for the week. She wanted to go to the city, and break into a bunch of clubs. I was down for this idea a week ago, when it was just an idea, and not a fullblown arrangement that required a lot of risk and danger. It’s obviously a terrible idea, but Izzy is hard to say no to. I’m not really sure about any of the details since I haven’t been paying attention.

“Sasha,” Izzy pulls me out of my thoughts, “Are you listening?”

“Not really, no. Sorry can you go over it again?” I say. She glares at me, but doesn’t look too disappointed that she has to explain her “genius” agenda again.

Izzy talks with her hands. I watch her long black nails blur through the air as she makes a point about “making sure we look and act like adults, so no one is suspicious.” I have to get out of this, I think. She looks so excited, though. I don’t really know why she always wants to do reckless things. Like egging our principal’s house, or hiding out in the shed for a whole weekend. There were never any consequences for those things.

Either because we didn’t get caught, or it just wasn’t a big deal. Maybe this town bores her, and she wants to do something that’ll get her in trouble. I could understand that, I

guess. Maybe I’ll just go. Is it really that big of a deal? I don’t even think my parents would be that mad, they’ve always been laid back.

“Got it this time?” she asks.

“Yeah.” I say. I will go. What could go wrong?

Splinters & Wasps

Ellen Lee, 16, high school student Abigail Wright, 16, high school student In their secret clubhouse in the woods behind the school.

Ellen The wooden wall of the clubhouse is giving me splinters as I lean my back against it, but I don’t care, I’m not leaving. Abigail leans on the opposite wall, refusing to look at me. I roll my eyes at the thought of her stubbornness. I knew she’d be mad that I told her parents because she never wants anyone to look out for her, not even me. They probably sat her down this morning and told her they were going to get her help, and I know she hated that too. Maybe I should feel bad. But, I let it go on for over a month, pretending I didn’t see her play with her food and throw away a full lunch tray, I made the classic ‘there are children starving in Africa’ joke, like it was no big deal. I thought it was just a bad week, or something, at first. So yeah, I knew that her not even talking to me about it meant that she would resent me for bringing it up to her parents, but what was I supposed to do? Just let her keep doing it? So, no, I don’t feel bad. I glare at her, standing there all indignant with her arms crossed. Maybe if she senses me staring she’ll make eye contact. I’d actually believe that if she wasn’t the most stubborn person I know. Whatever, she has to talk to me eventually, and when she does, she’ll thank me.

Abigail I focus my eyes on the wasps’ nest in the corner of the clubhouse. Usually, I’d scream and run out the door at the sight of it. But then we’d both start laughing and she needs to know that I’m angry at her for crossing the line. She’s always crossing the line, making a big deal out of nothing. I feel her eyes searing into the side of my head, but I’m not going to give her the satisfaction. I bet she doesn’t even feel bad. Doesn’t care that I’m probably gonna get sent to some weirdo facility in the middle of nowhere, with all the fat girls with real problems, because of her. Maybe that’s why she told my parents, to send me away because she found a new best friend, or something. I know that’s not true. I also know she thinks she did the right thing. Her and her hero complex. Gosh, why couldn’t she just leave me alone. She would follow me here just to stare at me with that stupid glare like I’m the one in the wrong. It’s just lunch-- I don’t eat sometimes, because who wants a hamburger at 10:30 in the morning. And I don’t have time for breakfast. But I eat dinner, when my mom makes a side salad, I eat it. Whatever, I’m not gonna just stand here and let her think she’s right. The wasps are starting to stray from the nest. I should leave her alone here, while she thinks about how stupid I am.

Meet Me in the Woods After Lord Huron’s Meet Me in the Woods My best friend Allen came back to school after two days of being “sick” with a look in his eyes like he’d seen crazy things. Not typical crazy things like a mutant rat in your basement or a teacher in public, but things that changed you for life. And Allen had changed, you could tell just by looking at him. He still wore his hideous argyle sweater vest that was too big and khaki pants, but he changed in a different way. There were huge dark circles under his eyes, his hair looked dirty, and was sticking up in the back with what looked like a mound of grease. But the weird part was; he didn’t act like how you’d expect someone who hadn’t slept in days to act. He had a skip in his step that went hand in hand with the crazed look in his eyes. It was like some insane, happy person was living in Allen’s body.

For these reasons, I was a little nervous when he approached me. He was my best friend, so it wasn’t weird for him to want to talk to me, but I had no idea what to expect.

“Marnie, I need you to meet me in the woods behind school tonight at eleven, okay? There’s something I gotta show you,” I was definitely not expecting that, “The woods? Why? That’s super creepy Allen, I’m not meeting you in the woods. Where have you been?”

“But you have to, I have to show you something. And I was sick… well that’s what I’m telling people, I’ll explain tonight,” he said, and then sped the other way before I could respond. At first, I thought, hell no I’m not meeting him in the woods in the middle of the night. But as the day went on I figured, Allen was my best friend, I didn’t have any

reason not to trust him, and if he said it was important, then I should at least hear him out.

So that night I snuck out and biked all the way to school. When I got to the entrance of the woods, Allen was waiting for me, his eyes were still shimmering, and I didn’t like the smile he was giving me.

“Stop looking at me like a weirdo,” I said.

“C’mon,” He ignored me and started into the woods. Now, I don’t scare easily, I usually like to do things that call for a little risk. But this whole situation was creeping me out. After maybe five minutes of walking, Allen stopped and shined his flashlight to the left of the trail.

“This,” he said, grinning from ear to ear, “is why I’ve been gone for two weeks.”

Like I said, Allen had only been out of school for two days, so I was a little confused as to why he said weeks. But the more pressing question I had was why the hell was he so freaking excited about a rusty old shed in the middle of the woods. That’s what it was he was pointing at, just a shed. Before I could think of something to say, he started explaining.

“I had a dream when I fell asleep in history class on the last day I was at school, I was in these woods, and I came across this house. In the dream it was much prettier, it was yellow and really cool looking. But anyway, I went into the house, and no one told me, but I just knew that if I did this one thing, I would be happy forever, and have no problems ever again. So that day after school, I was curious, because the dream seemed so real, so I went into the woods, and sure enough the house was here, so I

went inside, did the thing, and my life has been perfect ever since. So, I brought you here, so your life can be perfect too!”

I was quiet for a minute, processing everything he said. Then, “Allen, what was the thing you did to make your life perfect?”

“Oh, I just gave the house my kidney,” He said, smiling with shiny eyes.

Robbery Robbery (400 words) We found it after a robbery. Hidden in the woods, an old wooden shack just waiting for someone to seek refuge in. Or in our case, hide from the cops. It was the 7/11 on Bullcreek road, by the school. We needed hot fries and Arizona teas. But Jerry gave our last five bucks to that nerd Owen Huffman to do his homework. Could you even call that a robbery? It was four dollars worth of stuff. I didn’t see the cashier calling the cops. What a jerk. What did he even gain from that? The hard part was running out the back door when the police showed up. And of course, that led to a dead- end alley.

Unless you count the 8- foot fence. Jerry was the first to climb it. He was always the daring one. I considered myself pretty daring too though, I mean I was running from the cops. It took the idiots a minute to even realize we’d left out back. So, it wasn’t until I was halfway up the fence that the cops made it to the alley. That made me rush though, and I scraped his shin hard off the loose piece of fence. Blood everywhere.

“Come on!” Jerry shouted at me. I hopped off and they made a break towards the woods. The cops didn’t follow us much longer after that, but that wasn’t really a surprise.

The only problem was: when you live in a small town, everyone knows who you are. So, we were pretty much screwed. That’s why we had to hide in the woods. It seemed pretty suspicious that there was a little house waiting for us in the middle of the woods. What was even more suspicious was all that was in it was a first aid kit. It was exactly what we needed to fix my leg that was now oozing with blood. The scrape went all the way from right below my knee, to the top of my ankle. We used the kit to wrap it up. Why had we never seen this house before? We were trouble makers, We’d been in these woods

before. The more pressing matter was the fact that there was probably a warrant out for our arrest. How long would we be in there? Would we be caught right away if we left?

We didn’t know, so we waited.

Robbery (300 words) We found it after a robbery. Hidden in the woods, an old wooden shack just waiting for someone to seek refuge in. Or in our case, hide from the cops. It was the 7/11 on Bullcreek road, by the school. We needed hot fries and Arizona teas. Could you even call that a robbery? It was four dollars worth of stuff. We didn’t see the cashier calling the cops. The hard part was running out the back door when the police showed up. And of course, that led to a dead- end alley. Unless you count the 8 -foot fence. It took the idiots a minute to even realize we’d left out the back. So, it wasn’t until I was halfway up the fence that the cops made it to the alley. That made me rush though, and I scraped my shin hard off the loose piece of fence.

I hopped off and we made a break towards the woods. The cops didn’t follow us much longer after that. The only problem was: when you live in a small town, everyone knows who you are. So, we were pretty much screwed. That’s why we had to hide in the woods. It seemed pretty suspicious that there was already a little house waiting for us in the middle of the woods. What was even more suspicious was all that was in it was a first aid kit. It was exactly what we needed to fix my leg that was now oozing with blood.

We used the kit to wrap it up. Why had we never seen this house before? The more pressing matter was the fact that there was probably a warrant out for our arrest. Would we be caught right away if we left? We didn’t know, so we waited.

Robbery (250 words) We found it after an attempted robbery. Hidden in the woods, an old wooden shack just waiting for someone to seek refuge in. It was the 7/11, by the school. We needed hot fries and Arizona teas. It was four dollars worth of stuff. We didn’t see the cashier calling the cops. The hard part was running out the back door when the police showed up. And of course, that led to a dead- end alley. Unless you count the 8 -foot fence. It wasn’t until I was halfway up the fence that the cops made it to the alley. That made me rush though, and I scraped my shin hard off the loose piece of fence.

I hopped off and we made a break towards the woods. The cops didn’t follow us much longer after that. The only problem was: when you live in a small town, everyone knows who you are. So, we were pretty much screwed. That’s why we had to hide in the woods. It seemed pretty suspicious that there was a little house waiting for us in the middle of the woods. What was even more suspicious was all that was in it was a first aid kit. It was exactly what we needed to fix my leg that was now oozing with blood. We used the kit to wrap it up. The more pressing matter was the fact that there was probably a warrant out for our arrest. We didn’t know, so we waited.

How to Run a School 25 things you’ll never know…

After Matthew Burnside’s “Oblivion’s Fugue” 1. Your ex-wife hated that you became a principal, she told her sister that she thought it was your obsession with power. “At least he’s not a police officer,” her sister laughed.

2. The teachers on the second floor complain about you for an hour in the staff room, every Tuesday at lunch.

3. Over 50% of your students cheated on the MAP exam. If you knew, you wouldn’t care because the good scores reflect well on the school.

4. Matthew Woods set a goal for fifty phone calls home by the end of his senior year. Together, you’ve broken that record by fourteen.

5. When Ms. Ross asked you to lunch, it wasn’t to talk about her class, it was supposed to be a date. She considered quitting her job when you stood her up.

6. Before your father died, you were his favorite kid, now you’re his biggest disappointment.

7. Sarah Connors has photographic memory. She stopped telling people about it when she was seven. She wants all the credit for her straight As. 8. There’s a clubhouse in the woods behind the school used by 30% of the student body.

9. Your ex-wife told your son you were an evil man. That’s why he never comes over. Even on weekends, even on holidays.

10. Randy Scott didn’t really move to Denver. He still lives at 3406 Arch street. He dropped out to take care of his siblings.

11. There was a job offer from a city school. You’ve always wanted to live in the city.

Ms. Cook, the secretary deleted the message from your voicemail box, she doesn’t want you to leave.

12. Almost the entire senior class smokes cigarettes in the bathrooms. Most teachers know but don’t care enough to tell you.

13. The student Ellen Lee reported you to the board after you threw a clipboard and accidently hit a student. They ignored her.

14. No one else talks about the clipboard incident, even though you think about it every day.

15. Every time you call Matthew Wood’s house, its him who answers, not his father.

16. The only kid you ever expelled, went on to make six figures. He credited you in his Noble Prize acceptance speech.

17. There are exactly 1,239 pieces of gum stuck to the bottom of desks, chairs, and pretty much anything else.

18. Ms. Cook lets the kids in detention go home an hour early every time as long as they promise not to tell. She needs to get to her second job.

19. The clubhouse has been there for 300 years.

20. Your son starts high school next year. He begged his mom to homeschool him.

He’s scared to see you every day, because of what she’s told him.

21. Sarah broke into your office last year. She has all your documents memorized.

There’s a lot of things she can use against you.

22. Emily Jenkins stays after school for tutoring every day. Her house gives her anxiety. She likes fluorescent lighting.

23. Your dad wanted you to be a doctor. After all, it was your dream job. He saved up the money for medical school before he died. That money sits in a safe at your mom’s house. She feels it would be a disrespect to his memory to use it. You could’ve really used some of that money two years ago.

24. You’re actually not bad at your job, even if most of the kids and teachers don’t like you. From a school board’s perspective, you run a tight ship. That’s why you got that job offer.

25. Your last senior class planned a surprise party for your birthday. That was the week you got the flu, they cancelled it.

Pathways Roan Hollander

Pathways Roan Hollander

For my family, the family I chose and the family who chose me.

Table of Contents

1. Maps 2. Wayward 3. Bonds 4. A Visit 5. How We Are The Same 6. Middle of the Road 7. A Family is Born 8. Mother

Maps

1. You know that you were abandoned, but you follow the urge to retrace your steps anyway.

2. The same phone number calls you every Monday at noon, but you ignore it. You think about blocking the number, but realize you enjoy the weekly ritual. It’s like a game neither you or the caller knows they’re playing. Something like torture, maybe. Or tug-of-war.

3. You have memorized the letter your biological father wrote to you before vanishing. It said that he missed getting to know you. It wasn’t his choice to give you up. You see that he dots his I’s in the same way you do.

4. You hate your biological mother because you do not know her. She left no trace.

You throw imaginary rocks at her imaginary figure for catharsis. Wherever she is, you hope she knows you hate her.

5. Cynthia is your biological sister. You don’t know she exists, you’re the younger sibling. She watched you plump your mother and didn’t give up on meeting you when you never came home, and your mother’s belly was back to normal.

6. The man who wrote the letter to you? Not actually your father. It was the doctor who delivered you. His daughter had recently died and he thought that you were her being reborn. After he wrote your letter, he quit his job and fostered five children.

7. Your birth mother thinks that you know her. In fact, she thought she’d finally meet you at a coffee shop last week after she mailed you an invitation. Fat Cow’s at 12.

This was a meeting you were unaware of.

8. Cynthia has a genetic terminal illness. Her dying wish is to save your life in case you inherited the same poisonous chromosome she did.

9. You search for your father. You had a happy life growing up, but something in you will never be whole until you locate the man who wrote the letter. You think finding the author will heal you. When you do find your father, you won’t feel any different.

10. You know DNA tests are risky and your data is being mined. You think this as you spit into the collection tube and tape the Ancestry box shut.

11. Charlotte, your birth mother, wasn’t upset you didn’t show for coffee. She’ll find you or die trying.

12. Your parents moved to a larger house shortly after adopting you. The only thing you remember from the old house is the fish-shaped mailbox. People tell you this is impossible, you were just an infant. But you’ve never trusted anyone more than you trust yourself.

13. Would you have gone to meet Charlotte if you knew? What would you have said?

14. Cynthia is so ill, her only transport is a wheelchair. She can’t find your address online, only your phone number. She has internet stalked you for months, but you’re elusive.

15. You pride yourself in finding people, but you hate the thought of being found.

16. Charlotte has been sending you boxes of chocolate truffles every Christmas. She mails you letters for each birthday, filled with lopsided scribbles of hearts and smiles.

17. Your test results come back. There is the name of your father. You realize this means he took a DNA test, too. Has he been trying to find you?

18. Cynthia spends her Mondays at the phone. She calls you at 12 and waits patiently for a call back. It doesn’t bother her that this is a fruitless cycle she repeats each week. Part of her illness is forgetfulness, but she will always remember you.

19. Your mother has the wrong address, and all the gifts and letters she has sent never reached you. The homeowners who receive them have stashed them in what they call their ‘memories closet.’ They wait patiently for a ‘My Baby Girl’ to come pick up 30 boxes and 31 letters.

20. Your father was never trying to find you. He wanted you to find him. It’s this desire to be found that you cannot understand. Yet. 21. Cynthia will finally locate your address. You won’t believe your friend’s Instagram post was so careless, but the damage will be done.

22. You search for your father on the internet with desperation. All that appears are names in the Obituaries. You slam your laptop shut and watch NCSI until 2 am.

23. Before driving to the cemetery, you return to your first childhood home. You need to prove to yourself that the mailbox was, indeed, shaped like a fish. The current owners will finally solve the mystery of who ‘My Baby Girl’ is.

24. Cynthia will show up on your doorstep.

25. You will open 31 letters together.

Wayward

He was a little seed, perhaps two centimeters tall and shaped like a walnut. He had plenty of grooves and swirls like fingerprints, all good for settling and taking root. For now, though, he remained home, in his tree. Lifted into the sky by a huge branch, he was weightless, face to the sun and all it had to offer. This tree was his birth and all he had ever known. Each leaf and rustle was as familiar as his skin and he couldn’t imagine things differently. He was a small pinprick on the eastern coast of an island, but to him, he was as big as the moon.

One day, things changed. In his short lifespan, the seedling had only lived through spring and summer. The equinox approached with stiff fingers. Wind blew through his shell at night like it never had before, squeezing the warmth from him like a snake. The next morning, he woke with relief to the sun’s gentle eye, but it felt distant, and the cold from before left veins of frostbite. With each sundown, the little seed’s tree wilted, unbeknownst to the seed, in atrophy. Leaves fell and branches splintered. The great trunk swayed and shuddered, unable to support itself, let alone its small seedlings.

The small seed soon fell from the tree. A midday heave of the wind sent him spiraling from his tree’s grasp, landing in a field nearby. Though he tried to return home, he realized that he could not budge. He felt foreign among the prickly grass and umber breath of the earth, far from his opalescent skies. The earth would lead him somewhere, but to where, he was unsure.

His first journey was in the cheek of a squirrel. A shadow briefly blotted out the sun and the seed was confronted by a pointed, fuzzy face. Soon, the seed was swept

away, frightened, with no idea of where he’d be taken to. He lost sight of the sun for hours. After a great distance of travel, discomfort from being packed against other nuts, he landed in the nook of tree roots. A tree had always been his home, but why didn’t he feel comfort now?

Before he could settle, the seed wound up in another new place, whiplashed by the clouds. He looked down through the claws of a bird and felt dizzy watching the trees turn to liquid. He couldn’t see his origin tree, but if only he could escape back to one of these new trees, any of them could be a new home. Several twilights had passed since he was flung from his branch onto the ground. Memories of the tree he was missing gained a saccharine allure, and he forgot how the branches decayed. Anything to be somewhere familiar.

When the bird landed, the seed was left on some strange flat wood. The small seed didn’t know where he was this time, for it was an especially strange land, unlike the sky and grass that he knew. The ground rattled and he saw unusual shapes around him.

A hand reached down and cradled him in its palm. He was run inside and shaken, pounded on a hard surface until he felt he’d burst. He was soon neglected and remained still until the moon yawned to a crescent and he slept through night and day.

The little seed was disoriented. He longed to go home, though he knew there was no home for him where he came from anymore. Then what was home? he thought.

Where was his place in the world, and how would he get there?

The seed did not protest when after several sleepless nights, another hand picked him up. He slumped into the corner of a cloth bag and let himself be carried away.

Suddenly, he saw his old friend. The sun. Its light beamed on him through the cloth, and soon a hand brought him into the light. Sunlight felt like bathwater on his shell.

The hand cast him through the air, and he landed hard on a patch of bare ground.

The seed knew this was not an ideal place to grow. The ground lacked adequate nutrients, and few familiar things were in sight. But the little seed realized that in each new place he had been, he had himself. Maybe things weren’t perfect, but he’d make the best with what was available.

So, the seed gathered water in his grooves. He let his lips open to the sunlight, drinking each ray he could gather, and he started to emerge from his shell. At first, he was fragile, a pale new stem. But his translucent leaves grew green and healthy, and he anchored himself with flexible roots. This place would be his new home.

Bonds

In the afternoons, there was this for Sophie to depend on: her mother by the school fence, smoking, swearing at squirrels, kicking woodchips. “Soph,” she’d say when she saw her. “What’re we gonna be?” – Robin Lewis, “Lobsterwoman” Her father was the WD-40 sort, stained with handprints of oil and rips of his skin and jeans. He held hold torch to metal all day, sparks in his eyes and hair.

Sylvie often watched him from the garden fence. She liked that the sweat on his forehead looked like rain, and the way sparks fizzled to the floor like sad fireworks.

Sylvie reflected her father, scabby knees and the look of electric shock. Their life together split the seams of what life was.

They were almost busy enough to forget the absence of a mother. Things seemed too normal to carry heartbreak. Yes, ice cream was for breakfast and a suitable substitute for milk. Obviously, mustard doubled as face paint, and homework was to be done at the workbench. This was routine.

All the features of Sylvie’s father lost their steel when he watched her. It melted his guilt that Sylvie’s mother was absent, though he had done nothing to drive her away.

He wasn’t resentful that they had adopted Sylvie together and she had gone anyway. He and Sylvie may not have been genetically related, but they were family in every way that mattered.

One day at school, Sylvie stood at the entrance and watched a mother braid her daughter’s hair in the hallway. That night, sprinkling Kool-Aid powder on her ice cream, Sylvie asked, “Daddy, can you do my hair?”

Her father looked up sharply. Sylvie’s hair was kinky and terrified her father. So, he never touched it. She didn’t seem to mind, after all. It was her hair, and she let it be.

“Sure, Sylvie,” he said. Sylvie didn’t understand why she wanted her father to do her hair, and he didn’t know how to do it. They’d discover these things later on, when Sylvie shaved her head, and her father longed to braid her hair.

A Visit

Melanie, 46, store manager Claude, 22, works in IT In a coffee shop, sitting across from one another.

Melanie He looks like birth, that embryonic fruit that grew inside me for months, who kicked me, who I carried like a burden, he’s in front of my own eyes, his eyes, too, those are my eyes looking back at me like a distraught mirror, a matrix I can’t escape, I can’t stop noticing me in him, him in me. It comes down to the handwriting I think, the slope of his Rs, that will prove we are one and the same, that I never lost him at all, a part of me is imbued him and remains, did I mar him or simply create a blank slate? I can’t help thinking he is the bud of a flower, a timid blossom, and I cut his stem and peeled his leaves and there he was, in the arms of water and vase, severed from his roots and my peat like an amputee, fragile and weak because I tossed him into a new life and vanished, has he needed me all this time? He hates me, there, in his eyes, it’s malice and resent, his gaze makes me feel transparent, something about him scares me but feels like home, he is the experiment of all my decisions and baby boy I created. I regret sending that message, asking to meet him, I’m an imposter shoving my way into his life, but I grew him, it counts for something, you can’t throw seeds into the wind and expect their return to be soft.

Claude Her face is my plague and my answer, her nose is mine, blunt at the tip, like we were hit by hammers, and dad used to say that was where he dropped me on my head when I was a child, but now I see it is genetic, she stole this from me too like she stole the mirage of honesty and blood, and I want an explanation but I know this will remove life’s simplicity, these questions I ask in my heart but squelch with my brain, and I think I need to thank her but what for, I could have lived a simple life without shattered glass but here she is, slicing me all over like I must have sliced her when I slipped from her body, little prisoner freed, that should have been the end of my sentence. Is she satisfied knowing her chromosomes continue? I think she is arrogant for believing her Xs carry an elixir, I can tell her, they carry childhood arthritis and blue eyes pierced by the sun and an aversion to needles, they are not special, she hasn’t given me a gift, why does she think she’s the hero here? I sip my coffee, tell her with my mind that I chose to like coffee, this isn’t inherited, she has no control over my life, and I can communicate with her through my mind because that’s how biology must work, otherwise I don’t know what we’re doing here if it’s not inextricability.

How We Are The Same After Honor Levy, “Good Boys”

She tips her head back and laughs to the sky. I know that laugh; I inherited it. We look like opposites, yin and yang, but she’s as familiar as my reflection.

“Where’d you get that humor from, girl?”

I giggle. “Must be the genes from dad’s side.”

Mom gives me a mirthful grin. I’m adopted, so of course this is the irony. It’s a running joke in the family to say I inherited by features from them, that my humor must be a family trait, and my small feet are from my mother.

She sighs. “You know, despite it all, we do look alike. The whole family, I mean.”

“How? None of us are even the same ethnicity. We all look completely different.”

“No, it’s not exactly the physical features, it’s…well, you smile like your brother.

Kind of mischievous because you two are always up to something. You walk just like your dad. And you and I have the same eyes.”

I roll this thought around in my mind. “The same eyes? They’re completely different colors.”

Mom is silent for a few moments. I watch her examine the lily’s leaves with gentle ease as her mind articulates her thoughts.

“Remember when I taught you to look below the surface of everything? I taught you to question what you see and find out what it truly means. That’s how our eyes are the same. You have a curious gaze, just like your father tells me I have. And all of us, in the family, we may look different. But it’s our souls that are the same.”

Middle of the Road After The Pretenders “Middle of the Road”

The middle of the road is trying to find me She kept them at postmark’s length. Contact through letters was settlement enough for her. Something about the words and the way they encouraged her innocent hope seemed parasitic. She could have lived a clean life, but here they were, the ones who had given her up for adoption, opening her birth like it was their book to read. No, she thought, they signed themselves into obscurity years ago.

I'm standing in the middle of life with my plans behind me For most of her youth, she assumed she was a pure child with a simple story of birth.

She was loved by her biological family and knew her birth grandparents, so she believed her story to be innocent. Only on her thirteenth birthday did she question the circumstances of how she was born. It was strange that people knew her more than she knew herself. It was strange that the story of her birth should leak like something rotted.

She relentlessly wanted answers about herself and her story, but silenced herself.

Well I got a smile for everyone I meet There was an ostensible happiness she needed to preserve. Whether it was for her sake or both families’, she didn’t know. The first time her birth mother said ‘I love you,’ she said it back, not knowing it was true until she said it to be. She went home and cried at the way they were tearing her limb from limb, in every way they thought was kindness.

Answers, please, her heart begged. But asking for them was too difficult.

As long as you don't try dragging my bay

Or dropping the bomb on my street There were bombs she wished they had dropped. She’d rather have reality than plastic glass. But each visit with her birth family seemed to perfect to shatter with a difficult truth, so she lived in oblivion. She pushed away her questions to preserve the illusion of a perfect life.

In the middle of the road you see the darndest things This was the place she entered the character of a movie. Shouldn’t she write some masterpiece about this? She waited for an epiphany. They were playing tennis one visit, whacking a blinding bright ball at each other, metaphorical enough for anyone to see but uncomfortable enough for no one to mention. So perfect on the surface, yet underneath, her turmoil. Here, her biological mother, there, her biological brother, beside him, her. In the middle of the road. The middle of the road where the asphalt burned and the yellow lines were lurid, not to light the way but startle her. She couldn’t decide if her life was a game of tug-of-war or equilibrium. Here, her adoptive family, where things were clear.

There, her biological family, where clarity was murk. She couldn’t decide what she owed to the people on either side.

A Family Is Born

“Oh, look at him, Todd. Look at those wee little hands! We’re parents now!”

“I know. I know! I’m a father!”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“You know there’s no one else in the world I’d rather raise this baby with, right– no, don’t cry. Don’t cry! This is exciting! Please be happy.”

“I am! You make me so happy. This baby… wow, he is so beautiful. I just… it’s a whole lot of happiness right now.”

“Yeah.” ...

“Uh oh.”

“What did you do?”

“I don’t think he likes his toes being tickled.”

“Is he crying?”

“Not currently, but judging from his face either he’s about to cry or he’s pooping.”

“Oh no. I forgot about the poop.”

Laughs. “What?”

“They… poop themselves. They don’t just use the toilet.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of how babies work.”

“Right...If you want to be on diaper duty, I’ll teach him how to read.”

“You have the worst bargaining skills in the world. Absolutely not.”

…

“I wonder what he’s gonna be like when he grows up…?”

“Probably the coolest kid around.”

“Oh, for sure.” …

“How are the birth parents doing?”

“You know…it was bittersweet for them. Marissa said she’s happy he’s with us, though.”

“Have they decided about having contact?”

“Not yet.” …

“Alex, I was wondering… how do we tell him he’s adopted? When do we do that?”

“Well, he’s growing up with two dads. I feel like he’ll figure it out pretty quickly.”

“I think you overestimate babies.”

“They’re pretty smart, his deductive reasoning is probably better than mine.”

“Really, though. I don’t think it’s a topic we can just avoid.”

“How will he understand, though? Won’t he think that his birth parents didn’t love him?”

“Maybe at first. We can explain everything to him.”

“I think if we tell him when he’s little, he’ll just be confused. And when he’s older, he’ll feel betrayed.”

“I think we should just always tell him. It’ll make him stronger.”

“But… what if his biological parents don’t want contact? How do we tell him without hurting him?”

“I think it will be painful no matter what, but we’ll be there for him. He has our love, and that’s as good as any.”

Mother (400)

1. Birth You watch the nurse carry your baby out of the delivery room. The send-off is nothing close to beautiful for you; you feel pain in every way possible. Hospital lights bleach the hallways into blurs. As your baby leaves you down those luminescent halls, it looks as if she’s ascending to heaven.

2. First Visit You step into her home like an alien. You feel strange being there, almost like you were a piece of her life that should have been erased, yet remained. Unwanted? You’re not sure. You smile at the lovely family. At the baby, who, despite her new life, will beckon you like a magnet, some piece of you missing.

3. Letters Letters are easier for you. Only so much can be said in writing, and you’re afraid of what her eyes will say in person. You figure letters are the perfect device to keep your distance. They must mean nothing to her, you think. She doesn’t know the way they start your heart. So, each Valentines’ day, you send her chocolates and a card with sticker hearts. She writes a thank-you back, customary, but it’s enough to make you cry.

4. Tenth Birthday A decade has passed and you’re excited. You want to do something extra special for the occasion and land on buying her ten gifts. In an early morning fog, you accidentally write ‘happy nine years!’ on her card. You realize this mistake after sending and are too

ashamed to follow up. Then, Facebook memories reminds you that it’s been nine years since you saw her last. Happy nine years!

5. Communion You dress in all black like you’re attending a funeral. In a way, you are. The death of your child’s atheism. You would have raised her much differently. You think if god were real, you’d still be a mother, but you tighten your lips and attend anyway. Among her family you feel, once again, like an imposter. You leave before the ceremony begins, halfway home, turn back. You tell her you were late because your cat ran away. You don’t have a cat.

6. Love You invite her for brunch when she is eighteen. You are abashed by the burned toast, but swell when you learn she has a habit of burning toast, too. On her way out the door, you say I love you. She quickly says it back.

Mother (300)

1. Birth You watch the nurse carry your baby out of the delivery room. The send-off is nothing close to beautiful for you; you feel pain in every way possible. As your baby leaves you down those luminescent halls, it looks as if she’s ascending to heaven.

2. First Visit You step into her home like an alien. Unwanted? You’re not sure. You smile at the new family. At the baby, who, despite her new life, will beckon you like a magnet, piece of you missing.

3. Letters Only so much can be said in writing, and you’re afraid of what her eyes will say in person. Letters must mean nothing to her, you think. She doesn’t know the way they start your heart. So, each Valentines’ day, you send her chocolates and a card with sticker hearts. She writes a thank-you back, customary, but it’s enough to make you cry.

4. Tenth Birthday You want to do something extra special for the occasion and land on buying her ten gifts. In an early morning fog, you accidentally write ‘happy nine years!’ on her card.

Then, Facebook memories reminds you that it’s been nine years since you saw her last.

5. Communion You dress in all black like you’re attending a funeral. In a way, you are. You would have raised her much differently. You think if god were real, you’d still be a mother, but

you tighten your lips and attend anyway. Among her family you feel, once again, like an imposter.

6. Love You invite her for brunch when she is eighteen. You are abashed by the burned toast, but swell when you learn she has a bad habit of burning toast, too. On her way out the door, you say I love you. She quickly says it back.

Mother (250)

1. Birth The send-off is nothing close to beautiful for you; you feel pain in every way possible. As your baby leaves you down those luminescent halls, it looks as if she’s ascending to heaven.

2. First Visit You step into her home like an alien. You smile at the baby, who, despite her new life, will beckon you like a magnet, piece of you missing.

3. Letters They must mean nothing to her, you think. She doesn’t know the way they start your heart. So, each Valentines’ day, you send her chocolates and a card with sticker hearts.

She writes a thank-you back, customary, but it’s enough to make you cry.

4. Tenth Birthday You want to do something extra special for the occasion and land on buying her ten gifts. In an early morning fog, you accidentally write ‘happy nine years!’ on her card.

Then, Facebook memories reminds you that it’s been nine years since you saw her last.

5. Communion You dress in all black like you’re attending a funeral. You think if god were real, you’d still be a mother, but you tighten your lips and attend anyway. Among her family you feel, once again, like an imposter.

6. Love

You invite her for brunch when she is eighteen. You are abashed by the burned toast, but swell when you learn she has a bad habit of burning toast, too. On her way out the door, you say I love you. She quickly says it back.

DEEP IN THOUGHT

by Myesha Holloway

I choose to do this because I want everyone to see deep into everyone point of view.

Family has didn’t point of view of everything. I know mine has different point of view in EVERYTHING.

Table of Contents 1. 25 Things You’ll Never Know About Angel Lifestyle 2. Unbelievable 3. Meditation 4. Everyone Lifestyle 5. Bullied

25 Things You’ll Never Know About Angel Lifestyle

1. You didn’t know that you were born with 3 triple toes and a half finger. That’s why its so hard for you to walk.

2. You didn’t know that you took part of your sister body parts from her. You didn’t know that your dad was a drunk and he always fought me while I was pregnant.

3. You didn’t know that you had a twin sister but she passed because she 2lb and 1 oz. Your twin looked just like you. Same hair, same eye color and all.

4. You didn’t know that I named her Heaven after she passed because it sat right with her.

5. You didn’t know that your dad died the same night he told you he loved you and put you down for bed. That’s why you act out of body and jump out your sleep because that the last thing that you remember of your dad.

6. You didn’t know that your “favorite aunt” tried to give me $700 to get you aborted because she though your dad wasn’t a man enough to have a baby.

7. You didn’t know that when your dad died that his slibings tried to make it seem like I killed him. Meanwhile he was sooooooooooo sick he didn’t want to go to the doctors to try to get a well at least.

8. You didn’t know that your dad had left you 7,000 but your aunt took that and got her house remodeled. Right after it go remodeled it burned into ashes.

That’s was your dad and grandma hunting her down.

9. You didn’t know that your aunt had sent one of your dad cousins to your school and job just so she can get your attention to talk to her after you cursed her out.

10. You didn’t know that your dads oldest sister tried to cash your dads check in to get her tires fix. You didn’t know your other aunt tried to make it seem like your mom killed him but in REALITY he was SICKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK. 11. You didn’t know that you were raped when you was 7 years old by your uncle.

I had to take you a private hospital and get checked. You had a little disease that’s was curable.

12. You didn’t know that you had to go away to a help center and talk to a therapist because you snapped out. Then you tried to kill yourself because one of your friends back stabbed. They told everyone your business to make you look like a BADDDDDDDD. 13. You didn’t know that your grandma on your mom’s side had favoritism towards you. You didn’t know that she pick side between you and your cousin. She always tried to make you look like you were going to be the bad grandma daughter.

14. “You was going be the first one with a baby.”

15. “You was going to be the first one to go to jail.”

16. “You was going to be the first one to drop out of school. “ 17. You wasn’t nun of that, so that’s why she distance herself from you because she wrong.

18. As you got older, you had a boyfriend. You was treated so good by him. But you didn’t know that one day we were at grandad house and grandad happen to pull out all this money. You didn’t know your boyfriend robbed grandad and took all his money. Your uncle OG got him and beat the brick off him. That’s why you haven’t seen him in a while.

19. You didn’t know when you turned 18 years old, You and a couple friends were partying. Your one friend got so drunk she couldn’t even drive her car. So you got behind the wheel. Mann their was a BIG HIGH SPEED CHASE. It cause you to get into a big car crash. You were so nervous you had a break down thinking about if your friends were going to be okay.

20. You didn’t know that both if your friends had died that night after the crash because of their injuries.

21. You blamed yourself for even asking them to go.

22. You blamed yourself for even give Kay the bottle.

23. You didn’t even want to go to their funerals . You didn’t even want to see them in a casket. That hurted you so bad that you had to go back to the center for help because you tried to kill yourself.

24. When you got semi -well you couldn’t even face their moms and apologize for what happened, but your mom made you be a women to.

25. You went to the grave -site to see them. You cried as you talk to them. Tell them all the memories yall had. You cried super hard when telling them how you should of called Rylo to come get us

Ubelieveful Friday Afternoon, AJ and Goldie was upstairs watching a movie. “How would you feel as if dogs started talking?, “ stated AJ. Goldie laughed so hard particles of her spit flew on to AJ’s hand. “Come on man. Watch the spit.” Goldie replied “Where did you come up with this? I would laugh at the dogs ever time they talk. “Of course you would goofy. I just think about stuff like this. Like what if it started raining gumballs or what if the sun stop setting. Goldie looked at AJ crazy. “Boy you must of lost your mind. If stuff like this happen, just know the world is ending. Now lets just watch the rest of the movie.

They set back and was watching the tv. A big yellow and red character came to the upon the screen. Yelling you fat raggy looking monster you better leave my sister alone.

A big knock came from outside the door. Then enter their mom. She tooted her lips. “Yall know what time it is. BED TIME. Yall got dentist appointments tomorrow. Goldie asked, mom what am I getting done? I hate getting my teeth pulled. Kristy “welp learn how to brush your teeth candy eater, maybe you won’t have to get your teeth pulled. AND WE ARENT CANCELING IT EITHER. Goldie eyes started rolling into the back if her head as she was sucking her teeth. Kristy replied “as long as you want to live under my roof, little girl suck your teeth and roll her eyes. I will smack the teeth of your mouth. Do you hear me? Goldie sat in angry and look at her mom with a side eye. Yess ma’am I hear you, she said. Ight now, Son you good? , ask Kristy. Yes mom I’m good, but I got a question. How would you feel if dogs started talking and it was raining gumballs? Boy what? Are you high? Don’t lie either as Kristy looked at him stupidly. AJ laughed then replied “No mom I didn’t smoke today. I was just wondering.” Kristy shook her head, then said “If that every happen just know the world is about to end.” Goldie butted in “ Mom that’s the same thing I said.” “Man y’all is tripping. I would be enjoying that. But just know it’s about happen soon. Kristy started laughing. “Boy what are you the future teller.

If something like this happened tomorrow. Trust me I know something.” Kristy walked out the door. Goldie turned to AJ and said “Bro you know when you speak on stuff with me they then seem to come true. Why don’t you ever tell mom you got that power?”. AJ replied, “Do you really think mom is going to believe me? That’s why I told her so when it happened she will know that I could predict the future.” Goldie look at him and nodded her head. “Right bro she is going to be flabbergast.” AJ replied, “Yes very flabbergast, but get your butt to bed before she smack the teeth out your mouth.” They both laughed.

“Your silly bro, but turn off the light so I can get some sleep.” AJ got up and turned off the light. “Good-Night Sis.” “Good-Night Bro.” A slight breeze ran threw the window making the curtains rock their hips side to side.

COCKA DODDLE DODDLE came from the alarm clock to wake Goldie up for the dentist. As Goldie got up she went to the window, and see Red, Orange, Blue, White Pink Yellow Green gumballs dropping from the sky like rain. Goldie ran to her mom’s room to tell her AJ really spoke up the raining gumballs. “Aye mom look out the window it’s raining gumballs.” Kristy lifted her head up and said “Girl go back to bed your appointment ain’t until 2 in the afternoon. It’s 7 in the morning.” Goldie said, “Mom please get up and see the raining gum drops.” Kristy was annoyed. She got out the bed

walked over towards the window. “Their better be some Mutha……..” Goldie was holding the curtain so Kristy can get a good view. Kristy held her face then said “OMG!!! My son really predict this. I’m so flabbergast. Like how did he do that? I cant belived I doubted my kids he got magic powers. I got to go wake him up.” Kristy ran out the room door being followed by Goldie to wake up AJ. Kristy bursted into the door and hopped right on the bed. “AJ wake up its important.” Kristy shook him. AJ slowly woke up and his eye lids said confused as he was curious on why his mom was on top of him. “AJ!!!!”. His eye became wide open… He shouted “Mom why are you on top of me? What’s wrong?”

Kristy pulled him to get out of bed then said what did you do ? Its really raining gumballs outside.”AJ face was shocked. “Is it really raining gumballs?” “Yes it is. Come look and see”, said Kristy. AJ got out the bed and went to the window to see if it’s really raining gumballs. Kristy was holding the curtains. “See son. Look at wat you did. You could really predict the future.” AJ gave his mom this look. “Welp mom I tried to tell you that a long time ago I could predict anything but you never listen.” Kristy turned towards AJ and responded “I apologize if I didn’t listen. How did you get this type of power ?” “I cant reveal because they will get snatched away. I just tell everyone I just tend to talk about stuff then boom. I am shocked you predict the future. Have you done this before?Yes mom I did, remember the time Aunt Jacks cat was talking like humans. I did that. I don’t know how. Its like every time I speak on things it comes true.” Out of nowhere the phone rings. It was Goldie dentist calling saying that her appointment as been cancel due to the fact its raining gumballs. Goldie shouted “Bro you really got my appointment cancel. You’re the goat.” As soon as Goldie was about to go back to the room, DING DONG. The doorbell rang. Goldie ran downstairs to get the door while AJ and Kristy stood above. Goldie looked through the peep hole and it was the neighbor. She opened the door. “Hey neighbor is everything okay”, said Goldie. “Do you know its raining gumballs ? See… you want one.” “No thanks I’m good. Is that all you want? No is your mom here ?. Kristy shouted. “Yes I’m right here.” Hey sweetie, umm the news reporters are out here and the want to ask everyone how they feel about the weather.” Yess I will come out and bring my son because this is idea He can become famous.” They both came downstairs towards the door. The news reporters were right there. Hello lady and gentleman. How do you feel about this, said Reporter. “Welp I was shocked when my daughter presented it to me. But it was all my son idea. Tell them son.” Yes reporter lady. It was my idea. I tend to speak on things that I know would be cool. The reporters were surprised with my predict. “Sir what is your name”, said the reporter. “My name is AJ.” “Welp AJ I just invite you to come join our report system and predict the next future moment.”

Kristy hugged Aj so tight. “Im proud of you son.” Goldie came off the porch and hugged him also. “I told you big bro you was going to blow. Just have confident and step out your shell.”

The Reporter lady hands me a card. I will be calling you shortly. AJ shook her hand and then said thank you for the opportunity. The reporters left and Goldie, AJ and Kristy went back in the house.

Meditation BUGMAN: I really don’t wanna do this man shop, his old wrinkle self keeps looking at me thing thinking I’m going to “drop some more bugs: I been working with this family for years and still yet they haven’t upgraded on nothing if I was the health inspector I would shut all oft this down , rotten pipes dirty vents moldy walls how do people like eating here in this dirty environment the kitchen smells like die goat and he think I’m dirty because I wear dirty clothes and beat down shoes and rode in a bug man do you think I’m suppose to come to work with fresh clothes on searching for bugs no stupid he really think I just need this job no I’m a construction worker this is a side job that my sister’s husband had gave me he’s probably over there talking stuff but how when your sitting on big money and can’t get nothing in here fixed that why his wife is cheating on him with my baby brother little donkey head like how is there cracks in the walls with roach ants coming out and you claim you’re a big time hustle look at him digging in this nose little dirt ball I see why his wife is cheating on him his cheap and dusty I should tell every to stop eating In here broke rabbit look man.

Mr Teabag: Look at this low down dirty pest I can’t believe he’s still here working, my wife must be a fool the way I stack money we could pay a different decent man look at him probably dropping bugs everywhere talking about my shop is dirty and things need to be upgraded yeah sometimes another I think he likes my wife they be talking too much and I know it can’t be about work I wish she would try to talk him I will slap the brown makeup off of her lopsided face I should have fought him when he said he was going to call the health inspector to shut my shop down he’s mad because he can’t own a business like me I know he was hater when I brought him in here and the first thing he said is my shelfs are dusty and my pipes are rusty like I thought you were a bug man not an health inspector I knew it wasn’t a good idea to hiring him but my wife I always let her get her ways because I love her, he all starring at me do your job little dirty rugged lice keeper yes I’m digging up my nose and yes I will throw my buggers at you pull your pants up your hairy buttocks is showing like gross he got to get out of here omg is that a roach see I never had this problems before I’m tried of him bring is best-friends to my shop why is my wife giving something to drink why is she walking up to me no im not going outside while she spray I don’t care if I get sick I don’t trust he might take money out off my cashiers.

Everyone Lifestyle After “Everyone Cried” by Lydia Davis Mr.Teabag wakes up at 6am daily to go to the his pizza shop. He prepares all if his food for this customers. He wipes down everything in his shop so it could be clean and spotless. Sometimes he hope that his grandkids will be able to run this shop when it’s his time to go. Sometime he think his wife is doing something sneaky behind is back. But he says it his self its life. Everyone does something. Everyday this lady name Cherry Blossom comes into the shop flirts with him. Sometimes he flirts back then the other time he realize hes married. He also said to his-self “Life is too short. Sometimes you cheat sometimes you Don’t.

Mrs. Teabag wakes up every day at 8am to make sure her grandkids are well prepared for school, while her kids work night and morning shifts. She makes them nice breakfast with fresh homemade orange. She packs the all healthy lunches. She drops them off at school, then she procced to the pizza shop to make sure her husband is okay. She helps him make the pizzas, fills up the juice container, refill the napkin, plates and sliver ware. Then helps him out with sells until 1 then she leaves after there son Jr comes in.

She goes to the bugman brother house and cook and clean for him. Ask him how was work and etc. Then they sit back and talk stuff on her husband Teabag.

Bug man had another job beside killing bugs. He was building this homeless shelter so before the winter came he was able to grab homeless people of the street and place them with a warm home. After that he would go over this brother’s house and eat food that his side chick was making. He would laugh every time he see Mr. Teabag wife at this brother’s house, then joke with her you really love the bug man brother. She turns and laughs. Then she quoted “YAll know im just using him. He shook his head and said to his self female ain’t nothing.

Bullied Why Me? The fear of walking through the brown wooden doors was overwhelming. The ringing bells screeching inside and outside her ears gave her chills.

As she was walking along the shiny white tiles she happened to startle upon this heavy set guy.

“Excuse me young lady, do you know where to go.”

In confusion she began to stumble across her words.. “No, I don’t know where I’m going I’m new.”

“Follow me young lady.”

Beginning to track down his foot steps she feels everybody’s eyes glued to her body as if she was a celebrity walking down the hall. She was kind of frightened by the sight of everything around her because she didn’t know what was to come.

“Yuck, why is her shirt brown when it’s suppose to be white, said this boy standing near the elevators.”

“Eww where did she come from? Shes dirty get some new clothes, said the girl by the gym door.”

Her stomach stunk to the floor in despair. Maddie knew she didn’t dress the best but why did they have to judge her? Upon arrival to class with fear presented all over her face.

“Are you okay?” Said the teacher Maddie shook her head up and down then carried on with her day. All of the sudden this urge came over her to go to the bathroom. She merged out of the door in a rush without even asking the teacher. Everything was spinning as she sat in the bathroom.. She was thinking to her self “I need more clothes and shoes, I need more clothes and shoes.”

An hour later she realized how late she was to class! School had only been in session for 4 hours.

“MADDIE SCOTT PLEASE COME TO THE OFFICE NOW” reflected off the speaker.

Maddie was shaking in her boots. But she faced it like a women. Heading into the princlpes office everyone with red faces adhere to her body. A skinny tall white guy with orange hair and big black shoes began shouting.

“YOUNG LADY WERE IN THE WORLD HAVE YOU BEEN.” Maddie was embarrassed.

“I was in the bathroom I though I was having a panic attacked. Everyone was picking on me as I was walking down the halls to get to my class. I couldn’t take it. I had BAD breakdown when I get picked on. How do I stop that ? “ This charming dark-skinned lady with silky black hair came towards Maddie.

“Did I hear you say how do I stop getting picked on, she question?”

Maddie knobbed.

“Come with me & I will show you some stuff, she said.”

They walked upstairs to this room. The door was decorated with all type of streamers & confetti.

“What type of room is this”, Maddie question?

“This is MAGIC LAND. I had remodeled tons of females that have your same problem.”

“You could choose any type of clothes.”

Maddie found 4 pairs of pants her type. 2 of them had cuts in them. The other words were regular. Maddie picked up 4 shirts to match he pants. They were all graphic.

Miss Lady said what type of brand new shoes & Hair style she like?

“Nike, Puma or Converse and straighten.”

Miss Lady pulled out this wand and said *&(*&*))*Y$&(#)@(@#*&$&.

Then boom all these shoes came and her hair felt real bloomy Maddie face dropped.

“Wow you got magic power. This is incredible.”

“Yes I got power to make my young girls feel comfortable about their self.”

After everything was said and done, we exited the room. “okay young lady you could leave now. I will see you tomorrow.”

Maddie gave her a hug, thanks her and zooms out the building.

Next day, Maddie was up bright and early for school. She jumped into the warm temp water and dance her little self away then hopped out shaking like salt shaker. Maddie wobbled like penguin to her room to get dolled up. Her self-esteem was high today. As she was finishing putting her clothes, she modeled walked downstairs in to the living room. Her dad was standing at the bottom of the steps with his head tilted to the side.

“What in the heaven sake happened to you over night. Where did you get this style from.” Maddie remarked with a little sassy “Dad I got way, I love it.”

Mr Bug Man just shook his head then mumbled to his self what am I going to do with her. Maddie modeled walked outside to this sliver corvette. It was an fancy uber car.

She was amazed by her appearance.

“Ole you look gorgeous, it must be a special day.”

“Sort kind of. You ever been tired of getting picked on because you looked dirty? That is exactly why I dressed like this today.”

“You got some brave confidents and I hope your day goes well.”

“I appreciate it”.

Maddie removed herself from the car. She braced herself then walked into the building.

She walked with an attitude. Everyone eyes were drawling. They couldn’t believe what they saw. The same boy from yesterday was mouth dropped. He couldn’t believe it. He mumbled to his self

“I should of never say anything about her.

He walked up to her and said .

Madison Lott Southern Nights

Dedicated to those who never came home.

Table of Contents

We’re Not Gonna Take It Basic Training D - Day 25 Things You’ll Never Know, Because You Never Asked The Robin Hood Effect The Kingdom That Failed Hunger Makes Me Numb and Precise With the Knife The Star of David

We’re Not Gonna Take it After Twisted Sister, We’re Not Gonna Take it

The dragon had awoken. The whole country had been affected by the tragedy at Pearl Harbor, everyone felt the shock waves launched through them. Then came the anger, and soon afterward, the need for justice. Men geared up for war, arming themselves, ready to stand and fight for their country. Women stepped up and took over as head of the house hold and the economy. There was no promise their husbands would return and they all knew that, they crushed their fears and used it to keep their country together.

In New York City, James Rand Jr. gives the order to his factory workers that all production of type writers is to be halted. Experts on firearms come in and blue prints and designs are thrown and passed around alike. People increase their productivity tenfold. The young man throwing scrap metal into the smelter, his older brother was sent off not that long ago to fight on the front lines. The woman designing the hand grips tightens her had around her pencil but continues working, her husband and three sons all volunteered for the war effort a week ago. James Rand Jr. oversaw production, Remington Rand would definitely be showing their troops support.

In Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, the rail roads are shut down for a time. The workers are recalled back to factories to help forge gun parts. Most men agree without argument, almost all of them have family fighting across the sea. They do what they have to to ensure their loved ones have the best possible chance at coming home. At night, families pray over their dinner for God to bless the food and thank him for another day.

No one mentions when prayers for the soldier’s and troops safe return to slipped in there. Nor do they mention when a mother leaves an extra table setting out for the missing son.

In Texas, children hold drives. Metal drives. Most children have already thrown their bikes into the piles and go around digging in dirt, attempting to find as much as possible. They work in groups and shifts, some going around asking for people to donate metal while others count how much they’ve collected. The rest go dumpster diving for more scraps. Anything to ensure that the kid who helps them all with school, anything to ensure that they want to help his father comes home alive.

In Washington, DC, generals and military personnel sit around a table discussing what their next move is. Many want blood, want revenge for those who lost their lives.

Others also want blood, but because someone dared to attack us on our own soil. It takes a time, but everyone agrees on a plan. Something will be done. We'll fight the powers that be just // Don't pick our destiny 'cause // You don't know us, you don't belong // We're not gonna take it // Oh no, we ain't gonna take it // We're not gonna take it anymore.

Basic Training

Get up at exactly 5 o’clock in the morning every day. Wait for the bugle to play, no sooner before or after. That could result in more training. Line up at the foot of your beds, stand at attention, never at rest. Wait till I walk in. Do not address me first, wait until I speak to you and then only respond Sir Yes, Sir!! or Sir, No, Sir! Don’t look me in the eyes, it won’t end well for you or the other boys in your squad. You don’t want extra mess hall duties, do you, solider? Sir, No, Sir! Good.

Start with physical training. Push yourselves to do your very best, you will not be given mercy. Run the course around camp to begin with, we’ll whip your sorry excuse for a squad into shape later. Do the obstacle course, you’ll be muddy afterwards. But what’s a little mud when you could be dying, hm? Do be careful going under the barbed wire, someone lost their finger last week. Don’t look at me like that boys, you’re soldiers. Hold yourself up, hold your head up high. Be proud of what you are doing.

Breakfast is a short affair, eat quickly and efficiently. This isn’t your school yard, we don’t use this time for chatter. Afterwards you will clean the mess hall, failure to do so properly means another lap in the obstacle course. When you complete that, the camp barber will be making a trip over. All of you will have your hair match mine as you can see. Clean, orderly, short, easier to wear under a helmet.

After you all finish realizing how much you miss your old hair, we’ll be working on squad skills. You’ll get three attempts to get marching together right. Remember, you pass or fail as a team. If one of you fails, you all fail. You’re only as strong as your weakest link. Good luck. Isn’t that a little unfair, Sir? I don’t frankly care if it is or not,

things aren’t gonna be fair in combat. So suck it up, daisy. We’ve all gone through it to get where we are now. If none of us died before, none of you will die now. Straighten up and stop complaining, you all are soldiers who are going to defend your country. Man up and act like it.

This evening at dinner, you’ll each be allowed to ask one question. Whether it is about something that was said today or about something else is up to you. Remember only one question, pick wisely. What are you afraid of, Sir? What am I afraid of? Sending a bunch of boys who are unprepared to fight and feeling their blood on my hands. Then why do this job, Sir? Because someone has to do it, soldier. I’d rather do this job and make sure all you maggots are prepared to handle the tough spots than let you die because of some incompetent training. No more questions, lights out is in five minutes.

I’d suggest you hurry to bed, otherwise that’s more laps.

D – Day

June 6, 1944. A day that changed everything for a lot of people. A soldier new to war, I was terrified. The fact remains, I could die at any moment. The thought of dying makes everything feel worth so much more. If it were a different time, different place. If Hitler wasn’t trying to commit mass genocide, I would have stopped to admire the beach.

All of us took off to help and end the fighting.

Barely an hour into it, my attention was beginning to slip. I had fought many, loosing count around 50. As my focus began to shift it was drawn to something. Bodies littered the beach, blending colors in a symphony that did not belong together. Shots fired and sand shifted as bombs exploded. I didn’t recognize most of the soldiers. Most wore the swastika symbol, I couldn’t bring myself to hate them.

We’d heard stories. German soldiers considered prisoners of war, soldiers who were grateful to be taken. Stories of men forced to protect their families. Is that why I couldn’t rally rage? I sunk to the ground, gripping the American flag embroidered onto my uniform. I could go to sleep, hope it’s a nightmare.

25 Things You’ll Never Know, Because You Never Asked

1. The local teacher convinced the young men in his classes that signing up for the war effort was fun. After all, it’s just like screwing around with your friends, right?

2. Your neighbor’s daughter wants to fight. Physically stronger than most boys and a spitfire personality, as well as a “won’t take no for an answer” attitude, means most men laugh at her. They tell her to be realistic.

3. Instead of giving up, she decides to become a nurse, one of the few who volunteer for positions on the front line. The men pale when they realize she’s the only thing standing between them and The Reaper.

4. On December 7, 1941, 2,403 people gave their lives for us as a country to say “Enough is Enough.”

5. She wears he father’s pistol tucked under her stockings, most don’t know of its presence. No one expects a nurse to be armed.

6. A German soldier attempts to sneak up on her while she’s working on stitches, in the middle of battle. The soldier found out the hard way.

7. Out of the 40 boys sent by the teacher, five come back.

8. The first came back barely alive. Limbs were missing, the doctors said his body, nor his mind, would ever recover. The soldier had no regrets. He died two days after, at home in his own bed, surrounded by family.

9. He took the force of a landmine to save a nine-year-old girl. The family held a vigil for him when they receive word. That little girl grows into a fine young woman, a

nurse, and names her first born son after the soldier that allowed her to become a mother.

10. The second came back a shadow of his former self. They called in “Battle Shock.”

The doctors said not to worry, that he would come out of it eventually. He never did.

11. Most days, the second sat by the window. He’d watch the sun rise and set. And as the seasons went by, watched the flowers bud, bloom, and wither. Distantly, he’d remember his unit sitting with a village’s kids, teaching them about the flowers. He’d remember a little boy giving him Russian Ivy. The same ivy curled around the outside of his window, he’d note with some amusement. What are the odds?

12. The third came back guilt ridden. He was one of the few stationed at a supply camp, separated from his friends and those he knew. Even though they were in the middle of a war, the third spent his days surrounded by laughter and tales woven by silver tongues. When he got home and received news that barely any of his friends had survived, the guilt became a daily occurrence, covering his brain in a thick fog.

13. The third started a group for those who survived to come and talk about what had happened to them. It became a safe space for those who needed to talk but couldn’t possibly fathom telling their family what they had seen overseas.

14. The fourth came back and was determined to not waste his life. The GI Bill had been passed which gave him the opportunity for higher education even though he

wouldn’t have normally been able to have it. The fourth had seen too many of his friends die to let the rest of his life waste away without making anything of it.

15. The fifth came back and settled down. He had a darling before he’d left, she had promised to wait for him and wait she did. She stayed true. So when he came back, albeit one less arm from the elbow down, they married as soon as possible.

Years later he’d tell his grandchildren stories of brave men and women who made sure their country was safe.

16. At the age of 76, the fifth would shake his head as the news of Pearl Harbor is announced. His son would walk over silent and turn the tv off. The fifth would pass in his sleep that night, painless, and hope that another war was not on the horizon. That everything that his generation sacrificed would mean something.

17. Our nurse from earlier fell in love on the battle field. They met by him getting his finger stuck in a bottle while drunk. His friends roared with laughter as his face lit on fire. She shook her head and removed the bottle. She’d walk away and he’d stare after her, smitten.

18. That soldier’s unit would be attacked a month later, after they’ve started a relationship. His vision was blurry and heaving fuzzy, but was that her? Was that his girl telling him to hold on?

19. He came into the infirmary losing blood far too fast for her liking. And even though she’d done this for so many like him, she couldn’t help but freeze and begin to panic. Thank God an older nurse took over for her, she held his hand and talked.

Too keep herself calm mostly but also to keep him engaged.

20. When he woke up a few days later, from a coma induced from blood loss, she punched him. He laughed.

21. It was the first time they exchanged three special words.

22. When the war ended, the nurse and her soldier returned home. They continued a relationship and a year later, married.

23. The country recovered from the war and the scars it left, President Franklin D. Roosevelt was an integral piece in the assistance of veterans.

24. Even though so many died, many spent their time overseas doing whatever they could to stay happy.

25. The Lost Generation gave practically everything so our country could continue on.

The Robin Hood Effect

Many many years ago, there was a town. This town in particular was affected greatly by a war. The town was small and most of it was extremely poor. The war had taken a lot from everyone, the town’s resources were seriously low. American soldiers marched into town with supplies, attempting to help the town’s people, those in power took advantage of the soldier’s help. They took the supplies and hoarded them. They kept the supplies from those who needed them, even though the people who had the supplies didn’t need them.

The town’s people were starving. It was clear some wouldn’t make it through the winter. Most of the soldiers believed that by winter’s close, half of the town would remain. Not many would survive the cold winter, let alone without food, and the soldiers had no idea what to do. No matter what supplies or resources they brought in, they knew it wouldn’t go to the people. The town’s well-off population would take it. They would flaunt the fact that it was theirs, and hold it over everyone else’s head.

One day, a soldier decided that enough was enough. He decided that he would no longer let the rich bully and abuse the town’s people like that, let alone let them die.

He was a soldier, after all, it was his job to keep these people safe. He took a few approaches to this problem, trying to decide which would work the best.

At first, the soldier reached out to his commanding officers. He tried to convince them to send more supplies. Of course they were resistant to the idea, stating that the supplies that were sent before should be more than enough. The solider tried to appeal to their humanity, telling them of how the rich robbed the poor of those precious supplies

and loitered it over their heads. How that if more supplies were not sent, most of the town would not survive, Mothers, fathers, children and babies would not survive to see another summer eve. His commanding officers shyly agreed. They would ask for more supplies to be sent, but there was no guarantee that it would happen. The soldier took it as a win and returned to the town.

In his heart, the solider knew that more supplies would most likely not be provided and even if they were the same thing would happen over and over again. He was stumped, what else could they do? People would die if they couldn’t figure out what to do and the soldier knew that none of his fellow brothers in arms wanted that either. So the soldier did what he thought was best. The soldier gathered some of his brothers and asked for the little Hershey’s bars that were sent in their rations, nearly everyone gave them up, patting him on the back and telling him to do the right thing. Telling him that he was a good man.

That night, the solider snuck into a house owned by one of the town’s people who was hoarding the supplies. He collected the extra and took off into the night. Several families woke up the next morning with fresh supplies in their homes. No one knew who or what had done it, but they were thankful. The only thing that gave them any sort of clue of their savior, was a single Hershey’s bar sitting in front of their supplies. The town’s people had no idea who this mystery person was but all of them had the same thought when finding the supplies, thank you.

This went on for many night. Sneaking in and taking extra from those who did not need it and returning it to the families who did, leaving a chocolate bar behind with it.

The other soldiers eventually joined in, helping to make sure their brother wasn’t caught.

Eventually the supplies were evened out and more were sent, but the town’s people still had no idea who had been helping supply them with much needed goods. When the war ended and the town was able to return to normal, the soldiers were pulled back. The day before they left, all the kids in the village got together and made each soldier something to remember them goodbye.

As the soldiers left the village, they shared smiles. Knowing that while was they did was technically illegal, it defiantly made a difference to the town’s people.

The Kingdom That Failed

The field would remember the tragedies that took place. Year after year the plants retreated into the ground, hiding away from the harsh cold that the winter brought. Away from the shimmering snow which had once fooled them into believing it was safe to stay.

The grass would remember how it tried to cushion the fall, how it tried to help the young men when they tripped from running too fast. The grass would remember the burn, caused by gun powder and a match, and from burning metal falling. The grass would remember how the silence was heart breaking, but no matter how much it tried, the grass couldn’t help anyone once the chaos was over.

The flowers would remember being crushed. They didn’t feel the pain of it, just discomfort as boots crushed them to the ground. They would remember the vibrations sent through the ground, things moving, people running, but they didn’t remember much after that. Mostly glimpses, if they remember that at all. Shouting, flashing lights, sometimes booms like thunder but from the ground. The downside of being a flower is having an attention span of two – seconds, but that is also an upside. They couldn’t tell the buds about what had happened years ago, not like the grass could. The one who could remember what happened the best, was the trees.

The trees remembered everything. Every detail, every shout, all the chaos and destruction caused in the field. With a memory like an elephant and practically being immortal, the trees could tell all kinds of stories. They had seen much in their time. The trees had seen chaos and bloodshed, the calm before the storm. Every year when the young ones asked for stories, the trees would indulge them with tales of adventure and

love, but never would they share the one story. They kept it carefully guarded behind a wall of stone. They would not tell of the young men he had welcomed back into natures arms, nor would he tell them, that they were once those young men.

Hunger Makes Me Numb and Precise With the Knife

No one warned the younger soldiers. Even though they knew the bunkers weren’t all that safe, no one had warned them about collapses. About roofs giving in, about being basically buried alive. Ivan knew. He knew the risks but yet somehow, being buried alive seemed better than being blown up. Out of the rest of his squad, only two others made it. Both were young, only joining because they thought it was some glamourous thing. Yeah, Ivan thought bitterly, because dying is such a great experience.

The boys were scared. They had barely reached the bunker in time to escape from the fire raining down in the sky. And once inside, the one place they thought they were safe, the round rocked with explosions. The entrance collapsed, not being able to handle the weight of dirt and stones and mud crushing it. The boys cried, Ivan just watched the dirt fall. The boys tried to stay calm, tried to reassure each other that someone would find them, that they wouldn’t die down here. Ivan knew the odds, but he didn’t tell them. He just couldn’t.

Ivan didn’t know how much time had passed. The boys had fallen asleep at some point but he remained awake. They didn’t have much supply wise. There was a couple loaves of bread in his bag but the boys didn’t have anything, they hadn’t grabbed any supplied in the confusion. If they rationed the bread they could last a couple days, but they needed to get out. The longer they waited and the longer they went without proper nutrition the weaker they would get. Ivan sighed and slowly drifted off. This wouldn’t end well. For anyone.

Days passed, and with each passing second the boys became more and more frightened. Ivan tried to stretch out the time between eating as much as he could, but he could feel himself getting weaker. The boys weren’t doing so well either. One had passed out already, too weak and too hungry for his body to continue on. Ivan began planning ways to escape. They could try and dig the entrance out but he wasn’t sure that the other boy in his squad would last or even be useful enough to help. But it was worth a shot.

For the whole day Ivan tried to fulfil his plan. It didn’t work after all, after days of giving most of his rations to the boys his body refused to work with him. It was a lost cause. Both boys were asleep and Ivan let his head drop onto a pile of dirt with a defeated sigh. They weren’t going to make it out of this. From the other side of the collapsed tunnel Ivan heard men shouting. The remains of his squad had found them.

How, he had no idea. With a smile, Ivan drifted off into unconsciousness. Maybe they would be fine after all.

The Star of David

The soldier made his way across the field. The platoon had passed a small house a while back, empty and abandoned. At the time, they couldn’t stop. The group needed to continue moving, they needed to get somewhere and get help. Too many of them were wounded at the time. But sneaking out at dawn by himself, well it may have been stupid but he needed something to take home. Something good to remember this war in anything but a horrible light. The soldier didn’t want to remember the horrors, the evils he had faced. He wanted to remember the friends he’d made along the way, the people they’d saved, the families they’d reunited. He wanted to remember the good, and so the house seemed like a good bet.

It was a stand-alone, probably belonged to a farm family seeing as the house itself was a couple miles from any town. That, and the house was in the middle of a huge field. The solider approached the house, the red, white, and blues catching the light as he moved. The door was wide open, practically falling off at the hinges. The door itself wasn’t doing too good either, wood rotting away, pieces falling off in the nonexistent wind. The solider stood in the doorway, the inside wasn’t much better.

The floor and ceiling, like the door, were made of wood and rotting. It was obvious the house hadn’t been occupied in a long time. He could hear the wind as it blew past the house. The walls seemed to shiver. Whoever had once lived here had left in a hurry.

Maybe a Jewish family trying to find safety and shelter? The solider walked farther in and some things began to click. In the daylight, stains seemed more obvious than before. With a sigh he continued further and checked around.

His search produced several things. Mostly clothes, ripped and torn to shreds. It also produced a gold chain which only confirmed his suspicions. The soldier held it up, a golden Star of David dangled from the chain wrapped in his hand. The family who had once lived here was Jewish. They had probably fled when the German’s invaded the country, and the unlucky one forgot their necklace. Based on the chain, the solider guessed it was a woman’s necklace, too thin for a man.

The soldier turned back to the door but a flash of light caught his eye. In the corner sat a helmet with the German’s swastika on it. The soldier’s hear dropped. The stains made sense, but he could only hope that this family had escaped. The chances, however, were not in the families favor. The solider set his bag down, reality flashing in his mind. He was raiding a family’s house. A family that was probably gone. His stomach turned. Oh God, he had become a thief. Nothing more than a lowly scoundrel and the realization of that made his head hurt.

No. No this wasn’t how he would continue. The soldier stared at the necklace before making the decision and looping it around his neck, tucking the Star of David under his shirt. This family would live on, he would make sure of it. With a renewed confidence, the solider grabbed his bag and strode out of the house. The unnamed families would not be forgotten. Never.

Hollywood: An Illusion

by Bryanna Luster

Hollywood: An Illusion Bryanna Luster

This Chapbook is dedicated to my grandmother who always taught me to look beneath the surface.

Table of Contents 1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

The Dreamer Turned Nanny The Green Light Park Blues Shattered Glass To Become Famous Evil Green 25 Things You’ll Never Know Happened in Your Own Backyard Second Chance

The Dreamer Turned Nanny In a distant land, Hollywood stood far apart the outside world. She lived on the inside bubble while the others were on the outside trying to look in. It wasn’t always this way. She used to be the one who looked inside. She used to want to live this life. But, after switching sides, it was clear that it wasn’t always better to be in the spotlight.

“Will that be all for you today?”

“Yes. Put it on my boss’ tab please,” she told the cashier. She walked out of the store, shopping bags in both hands, and three children trailing behind. There was the little one, the middle boy, and the teenage girl. She was the dreaming nanny.

They stepped the shiny car cutesy of the three children’s parents, and headed home.

They pulled up to the front gate of the marvelous house. When the dreaming nanny first arrived about a year ago she could not believe her eyes. She’d never seen such beauty in her life. The next day she was called back to the home.

When she got there the children were lined up to her surprise.

“I’d like you to meet my kids,” the workaholic said. She looked at them and smiled. The workaholic took the dreaming nanny to the kitchen and offered a

glass of water before telling her about the children. She learned the little one was sneaky, the middle boy was reserved, and the teenage girl was rebellious.

“Why do I need to know so much about your children?” She asked the woman.

The response was not what she expected. She didn’t think children would be a big part of being a megastars assistant, but the workaholic had a different idea of what that job was.

The dreaming nanny applied for this job to learn how it was to be a superstar actress. There’s no better way to do that than to work so close to one. What she learned along the way was not what she expected to learn.

As time went on working for the family, she was not any closer to achieving her dream. She and the little one were at the park. They swung on the swings together and skipped in the grass. A little while later, it was time to head home.

“Ready to go home and see mom?” The child shrugged. At that moment, I started to think. The child was never too excited to see her parents, the others were the same. It was no surprise to me really after thinking about how the poor children rarely saw the people who made them. I was with the three children more than any other adult. I had become a nanny rather than an assistant trying to live my dream.

Later that day, the other kids came home from their private school. The middle boy came in as noisy as a chainsaw. He threw his bag across the room and stomped up the stairs. The boy never walked past the kitchen before finding his favorite snacks. At last, the boy was in the kitchen and I was there to spy. I made what the boy liked to eat most, pretzels with melted chocolate.

“What had you upset earlier today?” I asked. The boy told me about the upcoming “Bring your father to school day.” The man of the house who pays me wouldn’t be able to attend. The middle boy was understandably disappointed. That wasn’t the first time. The other times the boy shrugged and did nothing to show the same disappointed feeling. I felt bad for these children. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another.

The following day, the teenage girl came home the same way the middle boy did just the night before. She didn’t bother asking what was wrong. She learned overtime that she should give the oldest child of three some space at certain times. That was one of those times. She also stepped aside because this was one of the few times the workaholic was around to see a breakdown like this from one of the children.

Later on, that night, the dreaming nanny found herself with the little one in the oldfashioned bathtub. Suddenly, she and the child in the bathtub heard shouting from two female voices close by in the home.

“I hate you! Just leave like you always do.”

I’d never think such things would go on in a family like this. What I thought back then, was very, very far from the reality.

The Green Light There is a little green dot next to my Dad’s profile picture, a sign that he is alive and logged on.

—Tara Van De Mark, “Acknowledgment” The curtains were closed and artificial light illuminated the kitchen Meredith had renovated for the third time this year, and it was only July. Her aura changed constantly and if she didn’t feel her surroundings matched it, she’d make some changes. On this Sunday morning, she had time to herself, or so she thought.

“Mom, can I have some money for the mall?” Meredith’s middle son, Ashton, came down the spiral stair case from the third floor, energy pulsing through his body. Meredith sat on her phone typing away, coffin shaped finger nails making an annoying tapping sound.

Ashton cleared his throat and she looked up at him, a boy very tall for his age.

“What was that sweetie?”

“Can I have some money to go to the mall? I don’t have any more allowance from this week.”

She could only imagine what he had spent it on. A girl maybe. Perhaps a new overpriced piece of technology. But the fact is, she didn’t know. She never has, it’s possible she never will.

“Go get dad’s spare credit card. And don’t buy drugs, please. I can’t be the next leading lady with a kid who has substance issues. Her son rolled his eyes knowing that his mother didn’t care what he had done unless it affected her career. He wasn’t happy.

Only his parents are oblivious to his want for some attention from them, any attention at all. In a heartbeat he’d trade that money for quality time with his parents but, he didn’t want to want to say anything, he wasn’t ready. So, he turned on his heels and left the way he came.

When Ashton got to the top of the staircase he walked down the carpeted hallway on the left until he got to his father’s room. Meredith and Peter were in separate rooms at the moment. Ashton and his siblings were worried at times of course, but they weren’t opposed to peace and quiet throughout the wee hours of the morning. Peter’s computer, personal care, and even his favorite and most worn clothing resided in this once extra room. He walked over to the desk in the corner and opened the drawer collecting his dense American Express card from the many scattered through the drawer. He heard a “ding” from his father’s open computer. There was a little green dot next to his Dad’s profile picture, a sign that he was alive and logged on. It was his private email account.

He knew because he’d had to sneak into Peter’s account a few times to delete emails from his teachers. Dings continued to erupt on the device and Ashton noticed each one.

He sat down and focused his eyes on the name that was receiving emails from this account at the moment. Paige. He looked at a picture of the blonde in disgust.

“See you tonight” Ashton read the message. “I guess I will see you tonight Paige…and Peter.” He sat in the desk chair scrolling through the thread of messages and writing things down in his phone. He heard footsteps coming towards the room. He wrote one more thing down and exited the thread.

“What are you doing in here?” Peter caused Ashton to freeze.

Park Blues (400) There was never a dull moment spent at the park with Paige and the Shaw kids. A few times every week, the core four would pile into Paige’s Buick, courtesy of the children’s parents, and head to the only place that felt like a happy home to them. When Meredith and Peter Shaw were home together, around two or three times a week, the atmosphere made the kids want to hide and never come out. When the bickering heads of the household were absent, the children took out their frustration on each other. Just a few days ago the eldest two had a screaming match for over an hour.

When they finally arrived, they unpacked their belongings. Blankets for the grass and play guns filled with water were standard. In no time Camille and Ashton were blasting each other’s hair, drenching themselves. Meanwhile Mia had her head down and pigtails covering the sides of her face. Paige knew something was wrong.

“What’s wrong?” Paige brought Mia to her lap. Mia was always a smiley pup. Small and cute, and had a love for adventure. So, when her curly pigtails didn’t bounce up and down, that was a sign there was a problem. She shuffled in Paige’s grip ignoring what she had just been asked. “I know there’s something wrong, Mia. You can tell me what’s going on.” Paige was desperate for the child to speak. Mia was stubborn for a five-yearold but, she wasn’t immune to her emotions. She broke from Paige’s hold and cornered herself in the playhouse in the center of the park.

Paige spent her early adulthood attending The Julliard School. She had no real experience with children so, she had to learn along the way how to deal with things like this. After a few minutes she found Mia in the playhouse and eased her into a conversation.

“Why don’t mommy and daddy come to the park.” Mia spoke. “It’s been years.” Mia wasn’t wrong. She nor her siblings or Paige could recall the last time their parents joined them.

“You know sweetie, you can always ask them when you see them next. Does that sound good?” Mia nodded in response. “Then we’ll do that. But for now, let’s have some fun, okay?” Paige stood up and took Mia’s hand. They walked out of the play house met by the others pointing water guns their way.

Park Blues (300) There was never a dull moment spent at the park with Paige and the Shaw kids. The core four would pile into Paige’s Buick, courtesy of the children’s parents, and head to the only place that felt like a happy home to them. When Meredith and Peter Shaw were home together, around two or three times a week, the atmosphere made the kids want to hide and never come out.

When they arrived at the park they unpacked. In no time Camille and Ashton were blasting each other’s hair, drenching themselves. Meanwhile Mia had her head down.

Paige knew something was wrong.

“What’s wrong?” Mia was always a smiley pup. Small and cute, and had a love for adventure. So, when her curly pigtails didn’t bounce up and down, that was a sign there was a problem. She shuffled in Paige’s grip. “I know there’s something wrong, Mia. You can tell me what’s going on.” Mia was stubborn for a five-year-old but, she wasn’t immune to her emotions. She broke from Paige’s hold and cornered herself in the playhouse in the center of the park.

Paige spent early adulthood attending The Julliard School. She had no real experience with children so, she had to learn along the way how to deal with things like this. After a few minutes she found Mia in the playhouse.

“Why don’t mommy and daddy come to the park.” Mia spoke. “It’s been years.” Mia wasn’t wrong. She nor her siblings or Paige could recall the last time their parents joined them.

“You know sweetie, you can always ask them when you see them next. Sound good?”

Mia nodded. “Then we’ll do that. Now, let’s have some fun, okay?” They walked out of the play house met by the others pointing water guns their way.

Park Blues (250) There was never a dull moment at the park. The core four would pile into Paige’s Buick, and head to the only place that felt like a happy home. When Meredith and Peter Shaw were home together, the atmosphere made the kids want to hide.

When they finally arrived, they unpacked. In no time Camille and Ashton were blasting each other’s hair, drenching themselves. Meanwhile Mia had her head down.

Mia was always a smiley pup. Small and cute, and had a love for adventure. So, when her curly pigtails didn’t bounce up and down, that was a sign there was a problem. She shuffled in Paige’s grip. “I know there’s something wrong. You can tell me.” Mia was stubborn for a five-year-old but, she wasn’t immune to her emotions. She broke from Paige’s hold and cornered herself in the playhouse in the park.

Paige spent early adulthood attending The Julliard School. She had no real experience with children so, she had to learn how to deal with things like this. After a few minutes she found Mia in the playhouse.

“Why don’t mommy and daddy come to the park.” Mia spoke. “It’s been years.” Mia wasn’t wrong. She nor her siblings or Paige could recall the last time their parents joined.

“You know sweetie, you can always ask them. Sound good?” Mia nodded. “Then we’ll do that. Now, let’s have some fun, okay?” They walked out of the play house met by the others pointing water guns their way.

Shattered Glass It is not easy to live in this world.

-Lydia Davis, “Everybody Cried” They all think that waking up every morning is easy for people like them. Outsiders think when people do the thing they love every day, that they don’t experience the pain, or stress, or sadness of the rest. But, that is in fact untrue.

Meredith on the outside, is perfect to the eye. But, when she stepped foot into her bedroom this night, her perfect world unraveled. She tossed her shoes in a corner topping a pile of cluttered mess. She unbuckled her pants, a small gut poking out. She threw herself on the unmade bed and flipped the comforter revealing empty chip bags that her tall and slim frame covered in an instant. On her remote she clicked until the television showed her face. She stared at the smile plastered on her face. A tear suddenly, dropped from her eye.

The next morning Meredith woke up to her husband walking out of the room, clothes on hangers in his hands. She took a pair of glasses from her dresser and got onto her bare feet to look around the room. To the left she saw the light in her husband’s closet on. It was a quarter way empty. Her chest began to rise and fall, picking up speed each breath. “Meredith,” a familiar voice rung. Meredith didn’t move. “What are you doing, Peter?” Silence consumed the room. She watched him walk in, grab more things, and walk back out. On his third trip to the room she stood by the dresser. Facing the mirror, she was frozen, with suspense. Peter slowly walked out of the closet and stopped to

look at his wife. In a few short seconds of silence Meredith turned with a filled vase in her hands before throwing it to the ground making Peter jump.

“I can’t deal with this right now.” Peter stepped over the shattered glass and walked out of the room. Meredith stared at the mess she made. She realized that it was just beginning of the mess that was to come.

To Become Famous You were born that way. The “diva life” chose you, don’t screw it up.

Beginners tips. Never, ever use a dirty brush to apply makeup. You won’t get booked if you do. Clogged pores you can see from the other side of the ocean will be the reason you don’t get booked, even if your skills are impeccable. When you do get booked, don’t look excited. Smile once and show no teeth whatsoever. When you leave, shoulders up, head high. You must be taller than when you arrived. After your first booking act as if you’ve already been guaranteed a year’s worth of projects. That is the only way you will seem worthy for a year’s number projects. Before that time comes, which shouldn’t take long if you follow these steps, you have to become a certain being. You must be a vampire. A designer pair of sunglasses to shield your eyes from the ordinary should do the first trick. Carry an overpriced umbrella above your head when out and about during the day. And you can’t, you cannot eat garlic. Your breath after one bite will suffer for days and if you are anything like me it’ll make your poop runny. Never talk about your “business” with anyone of importance.

When you become a somewhat known figure, you must not forget the beginner tips. You are still to act as if you are “A-list”. Keep your head high, never go out with bare eyes, and keep a strict diet. But, this is the point where you take it up a notch. When preparing for events, always plan to make the best dressed list. This means no risks. When you do interviews alone, don’t say anything controversial. When you do interviews with colleagues, don’t say anything controversial. Be elegant and graceful with your words.

Don’t speak with your normal accent. Spice it up. When photographers request you to give us a turn, and, look over that shoulder, make them wait for what they want. You will inform the paparazzi of your whereabouts in this stage. Don’t be cocky and allow yourself to be humble. Smile at the little girls who stop you in the street and give a death glare to the older man catcalling you from a few feet.

In your “A-list” stage, hoping you’ll reach that point, humble confidence is key. When you show off, don’t come off as a snob. When it comes to social media, do be active.

Connect with your fans. They’ll like you beyond your talent and have compassion when you say something controversial in an interview. Try to break the internet with news of a new hashtag revealing a struggle you have. Never settle for an offer. You’ll be worth much more than what they offer at the start because they know they can barely afford you. Don’t accept a role of a different race, or gender, ethnicity, you get the point. You will end your own career and nobody will pity you. Always have your own personal closet for shoes. Most importantly, if you want a-list success, never, ever, attempt to have a singing career.

Evil Green “there’s beauty in the struggle, ugliness in the success” -J. Cole,” Love Yourz” It was two am. Paige just finished a thick book she’d started months ago. She never had time during busy days to read so, she read every night until her eyes became heavy.

When she finished she stood up, fuzzy legs almost collapsing. She walked down the massive hallway to a closet and placed her book among others and headed back to her room. Passing the stairs, she heard weeping and thought of the teenage girl a few doors near. She put her ear to the solid wood door, but the weeps grew louder and pulled Paige towards the spiraling staircase. She hesitated. She never liked getting in the middle of the Shaw’s personal issues, especially Meredith. But, she never saw her like this. The trail of sobs led to a glum looking Meredith at the kitchen island.

“Meredith, I mean Mrs. Shaw, are you okay?” Paige winced at the awkwardness in her approach. Meredith’s head shot up, she looked at the woman whom she saw just as much as the children she cared for.

“I’m fine Paige just, just go read the kids a story or something.” Meredith took a sip from her glass of wine.

“Oh, I would it’s just, you know it’s two in the morning. Also, since I’ve been working here I’ve only read to Mia. And she is the one who reads to me she’s so smart but, you know that!”

Meredith slowly put her drink down on the marble surface and turned to her nanny.

Paige looked at her boss, slight fear glistening in her eyes, while Meredith examined the much younger woman who slept in the same home.

“Has my husband tried to sleep with you?” Meredith’s face was stone.

“No, never. Why would you think that?”

A few seconds holding her peace ended when tears flew from Meredith’s face. Paige scurried to the bathroom, slipping on the shiny polished floors, and grabbed tissues and brought them back to the kitchen. She didn’t know what to do next. The only thing she thought to do was sit next to her. So, she did Meredith continued to cry. A few minutes went by and she finally composed herself. Meredith got up to splash water on her face from the kitchen sink. She dabbed the backside of the used hand towel to her face and took deep breaths.

“I’m such a bad mother and wife.” She sighed loudly. “I’m Meredith Shaw. My life’s supposed to be picture perfect.”

“You know, my whole life I grew up poor. We weren’t ever homeless but, we sure didn’t live like this,” Paige said. Meredith looked at the floor. “I bet before you knew us you

thought we lived a better life than yours. Truth is there really is no life that’s better than yours. No matter the circumstances. I just want my family back, no matter what it takes.”

Paige took a deep breath. “It’s hard to say that I’m living at my best now. I never had any of this glamour but, I had my family. I’m sorry if this comes across wrong but, I- it’s just, your family doesn’t have each other, if that makes any sense. What’s the point in having all of this money and fame if it’s breaking your family? My father always told me that there was beauty in the struggle. And, it’s funny because, on my own I’ve found the contrast that there is ugliness in the success. I mean, it’s great to be successful but, I don’t know. I guess I mean that not all good comes with success, there are bad parts as well as the good parts that… may not be worth it.”

Meredith stood in awe.

25 Things You’ll Never Know Happened in Your Own Backyard 1.

Last month Mia spilled a juice box on the white couch. She was smart enough to

flip the cushion, but when her mother lost her earing she discovered the big purple stain.

She will question whether or not she thinks you are capable of caring for her children.

She will do that as she travels solo to Milan for fashion week.

2.

Your drama teacher always thought highly of you. He was hard on you so you

wouldn’t get a big head. He never meant for you to become insecure and doubt your talent.

3.

When Ashton asked you to start packing extra food in his lunch, it wasn’t because

of a growth spirt. A kid at school always asked him for his sandwich crust that you forgot to cut off.

4.

Peter once went two months without seeing his children before you were in the

picture. He and Meredith took a break and he disappeared. When he came back, his schedule stayed busy.

5.

Mia begged her sibling not to tell on her when she said a bad word. They still use

it to make her clean their rooms.

6.

Peter officially filed for divorce.

7.

Meredith knows about you using her bathtub whenever she is gone. She doesn’t

appreciate it.

8.

Camille has taken advantage of her parent’s absentness and your obliviousness

by the end of each day, and sneaks her no-good boyfriend in the house on school nights. When you are putting Mia to bed, he comes through the first-floor window in the laundry room, and follows her up the stairs quietly to her room.

9.

When you first began working for the Shaw’s, Peter called you “Payton”, to his

wife the few times he spoke of you.

10.

Your mother told her co-workers about your plan to learn from Meredith and

mimic her ways to become successful.

11.

Keely once called the children ungrateful brats. This was after you couldn’t attend

her twenty-first birthday when you had to run errands for Meredith. You both talked about that day since high school. She almost unfriended you on Facebook. That was until your gift arrived.

12.

During Christmas last year, Meredith blamed the poor gifts on you. She told the

children you messed up their lists to Santa Clause.

13.

Ashton and Meredith use one of Peter’s credit cards every time he pisses them

off. They bond over that. Each time he discovers, they blame it on you.

14.

During the holiday party the Shaw’s hosted for all of their rich and famous

“friends” last year, the other nannies got bonuses.

15.

When Peter left for two months, Meredith went out almost every night she could.

Her mother wanted no part dealing with her children by herself, so she sent each child with a friend. She told the other parents there was a, “legal situation”. She couldn’t say anything more.

16.

When you were in tenth grade, your older brother who was a senior at the time

gave into Becca Salinsky’s efforts and took her on a date under the condition that she missed opening night and let you take her place.

17.

Camille caught Austin sneaking their father’s credit card. He blackmailed her.

Ever since Camille has taken the opportunity use the American Express for her larger purchases. Peter rarely noticed those transactions.

18.

The kids haven’t been to the dentist in almost two years. Meredith expects you to

make those appointments.

19.

When you left home, your parents were sure you’d be back in no time. They

never thought you looked comfortable on stage. You proved them wrong.

20.

On rare occasions that the whole Shaw family is together, they often talk about

you. Not all good but not all terrible either. Mostly they gossip about your poor sense of fashion because you are poorer than them.

21.

When she was younger, Mia would sometimes throw a tantrum when you left.

This has always confused Meredith. She never thought she was that absent to become a stranger to her own daughter. She even considered firing you, but she wouldn’t want the children to resent her even more.

22.

Ashton knows that Camille sneaks her boyfriend in the house every now a then.

He found out a month ago. He hasn’t told you because when he got a phone call home from school, you banned him from the X-Box. His sister also gives him cash to keep quiet.

23.

The advice you gave Ashton and Camille about dating when you first began

working here was the only helpful kind they’d ever gotten. The only thing Meredith told her daughter was to look more like her, and to play hard to get. Peter’s best advice was to set rules from the beginning. he argues that not following that advice is why he’s where he is today.

24.

The name of the woman Peter is having an affair with is Paige. Meredith found

this out from Ashton who saw secret emails between his father and Paige. This is what started their argument on the night of their family dinner when everyone came home with takeout bags of cheap Chinese.

25.

It only took Meredith around five minutes to evaluate your worthiness of being her

children’s nanny. She figured you were the only constant in their lives, and she owes the children that much.

Second Chance?

When Meredith was twenty-six and already had established herself as a fine actress she married Peter Shaw. He was a director and actor himself, recovering from years of being an addict in the spotlight. With the help of good friends and Meredith, he turned himself around. When they got together they were one of the power couples in Hollywood like Kim and Kanye, and Goldie and Kurt, and they loved it. But, years later things changed, and they didn’t love it so much anymore.

Meredith sat in the back of a limo. Sunglasses covered her face and she looked through her phone camera and applied a bold red lipstick in the moving vehicle somehow perfectly, not a smudge in sight. Five minutes later the limo came to a stop. The door opened and she stepped out, her pencil skirt rising up before she pulled it back down. A man in black stood in front of her leading the way. Camera’s flashed in her face and the crowd of fans in front of her shouted with chaos. Without a glance to the hungry public, Meredith strutted to the building she’d been expected at.

“Paige, can you please get me a shot of something strong. Now.” Meredith looked at herself in the mirror of her dressing room. She was getting ready to go on live television where an instigator would try to trick her into taking about her personal life, and she was more nervous than ever before. News about her divorce had gotten out. She didn’t know why, or how but, she knew that before anything changed she had to keep a sense of normalcy to soften the blow.

Meredith took deep breaths behind the curtain. Sweat beaded her forehead. Her makeup artist carefully dabbed her head every few moments.

“Let’s welcome Meredith Shaw to the show everybody.” Claps from the audience cued Meredith to walk out on stage. A fake smile spread across her face. After a few minutes on stage Meredith felt comfortable. The questions weren’t anything too bad. Just ones about her recent, current, and upcoming projects to which she responded I think action is the next stop. Much different from the drama’s I’m known for.

“Now Meredith, we’ve heard there’s a bit of trouble in paradise for you and Peter. I think you know that many people are very invested in your relationship. What’s going on?”

The interview asked. Nancy Stewart was known for bombarding people with intense questions. Meredith felt her heart drop. She stared at Nancy. She was mortified.

“I’m sorry but, you can’t be serious.” Meredith uncrossed her legs and shifted in the leather care that she didn’t mention felt cheap because she didn’t want to be what they expected her to be. A diva.

“I’m sorry. You know what, I should not have gone there. Let’s just- “

“No. Let’s just keep going. Everyone wants to know, you were the only one brave enough. Surely that counts for something right?” The interviewer didn’t know how to respond. She looked to her crew and they all panicked.

“Yes, my husband filed for divorce. We’ve been having issues for years but I guess now it’s too much for him to handle. He’s a very busy man, you know that. Whatever issues we’re having just aren’t worth being stressed over in the point of his career.”

Meredith rushed back through the crowd outside of the building. Her hair and coat were blowing as she stormed off to the car. When she got inside her manager Keith opened the car door and got in.

“You must be insane. Telling everyone your business, the business you didn’t want getting out!” Keith snapped.

“You heard that interviewer.” Her head fell into her hands. Keith looked at her with pity.

He sat back in the seat and sighed. He just looked at her. Before he could say anything, Meredith’s phone began to go off. By the look she gave him it was clear who it was.

Meredith showed Keith her phone. She had a missed call and voice mail from Peter but, what stood out was the excessive number of texts she received from him and others who saw the interview. Meredith shook her head and closed her phone.

“I can’t do this right now.” She leaned on the door and looked out of the window. She admired the street full of people. People who seemed to be doing much better than her at the moment.

“Maybe he isn’t angry.” Keith spoke. Meredith glared at him knowing that he knows what kind of person her husband was. “Okay, he probably is angry but, maybe he’ll be understanding. You never know, crazier things could happen.” Meredith turned back to him and smiled gently. She picked up her phone and swiped across the screen. Keith raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“He wants to talk.” Her eyes looked filled with hope.

The 200th block of Grandview Blvd.

by Neila McElfresh

The 200th block of Grandview Blvd.

by Neila McElfresh “I've been the archer, I’ve been the prey. Who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay?” —Taylor Swift, “The Archer”

This chapbook is dedicated to old friends, and to Taylor Swift who has been a lifelong role model, and whose songwriting inspired this project.

Table of Contents 1. Our Last Dance 2. ruby, i’m sorry this is how we ended 3. For My Father 4. Promises Don’t Mean Anything 5. The Happy Girl Who Lost her Smile 6. After Illinois 7. betty, this was before i knew you 8. Annie

Our Last Dance Annie, 18, fragmented Charles, 19, fallen A snowy road outside of a ballroom, December 28, 1946

Annie In third grade I wanted to get revenge on Mary Donnelly so I took all of the food out of her lunch tin, replaced it with a toad, and made the class put mean notes in her locker, and one summer in sixth grade I left Ruby stranded at the pool and I laughed at her when she cried, and for a semester freshman year I took all of Betty’s papers from the teacher’s desk and she failed biology, had to go to summer school, and I never should’ve, but I won’t ever feel so miserable as I do for what I did to you that winter, when I was 18 and you were 19 and I told you thank you for taking me dancing, and you thanked me for letting you hold me that night and you kissed my hand and our friends laughed, but you didn’t blush, you said they were jealous because they weren’t in love like we were, Betty and Henry, and Mary and Peter; I liked when it was just the two of us, and when the four of them stared and pointed, so when I ran out into the street I knew you would follow me and we spun on the ice of the road, almost falling, but picking each other back up, you kept tripping on the taffeta of my ballgown, and I was cold without sleeves on, but all I wanted was to see the snow; Mary and Henry and Betty and Peter were yelling at us to go to the car because they could not blind themselves of the weather, and as we turned to walk away, your body was scaled by a pair of headlights

skidding down an icy road, and even though I screamed and you tried to run, the street was too slick and you were stuck, and I am so sorry

Charles I remember you were there at the hospital that night; Mary and Betty and Peter and Henry were arguing with the nurses and you snuck back to my room where I was dying in bed, and you didn’t think I could hear you crying, you didn’t think I could feel your pulse when you held my hand, but I knew you were there, and there was blood on my forehead that they covered with a bandage, the doctors, an effort to make me look more whole, not like roadkill they just picked up from the street, but I know you still saw the debris in my eyelashes, just another reminder for you of that moment, the moment you thought you lost me, but I’m still here, I want you to know that I am okay now, and I miss you, but I am fine; in the sock drawer of your dresser is my tie, silk, a gift, I know you kept it, thought it was the last thing you had of me, but Annie, you still have me, we can’t dance, but I still hold you, and I don’t regret that night, I don’t regret the weather, I don’t feel anger toward the man in the car, the only stain I conceal is your pain

ruby, i’m sorry this is how we ended After Honor Levy, “Good Boys” “I like the ruffles.” My bathing suit, I look down at it. Mary likes the ruffles on my bathing suit. We are at the pool and Ruby is doing a handstand in the shallow end of the water. I am sitting on the edge with just my toes dipped, pink nail polish. In the summer they are always painted, my toes. Mary likes the ruffles on my bathing suit and I am surprised she is talking to me at all. We aren’t friends, Mary and I. “You should come sit with us, Annie,” Mary says. She stands at the front of a crowd, her brother and his best friend. With their shirts off, the boys flex their muscles, they are twelve and proud.

I look down at Ruby, water drips from her nostrils. She stares up at me, then she dives back under, she won’t miss me if I leave. Ruby won’t notice if I go.

I grin, say, “Okay,” and I follow Mary and the boys to the grass. I am sitting with the boys and Mary under a tree and we are eating Twinkies.

Last summer, the summer before this one, Ruby and I walked to the minimart each Friday and bought one Twinkie a piece. We each bought one Twinkie a week, and at the end of August we made tea and ate them all. That was last summer, now I am eating Twinkies with Mary and the boys and I look up between bites at the swimming pool. The swimming pool where I left Ruby alone, and she is looking for me. She is looking for me, but I ignore her gaze.

Mary tells me that Peter is visiting his grandmother in Illinois this summer, she tells me Peter is her only friend. She tells me maybe we can hang out since we live so

close. Maybe we should. Mary is funny. She is funny and I am having more fun with her than I was with Ruby. I tell her I would like that, for us to hang out this summer.

Ruby stands in front of me, she drips chlorine, and her hair is matted to her head.

She drips chlorine and she says she was looking for me.

“Are you going to come back to the water?”

“No,” I say.

“Why not?” she begs from me. “I don’t want to be by myself."

“Ruby, then just go home.” She stares at me. “I don’t want to go swimming with you, no one wants to.” I look over at Mary for some sort of reassurance. I look at Mary and for Ruby something clicks. She starts crying. She starts crying because I don’t want to swim with her and I can’t help myself from laughing. Ruby is crying and I am laughing and then she walks away. Mary is gigging too, it’s hard not to. It’s hard not to laugh when an eleven year old cries. At a certain age you have to grow up, I was growing up.

Even if I was doing it wrong, I was moving on. Ruby was crying and I was laughing.

For My Father I never saw you much and when I did you were like rust. Mom said it was the times, said you hurt for us, and she knew because of how often you apologized. You told her you were sorry that our home didn’t have stained glass, told her you were sorry that it took so long to find somewhere to live in the first place. And she told you thank you.

She thanked you for apologizing for her own insecurities and you let them hang on you, seep water into your skin as you deteriorated.

When my sister was born everyone said she had your eyes and I had your sense of humor, even at just two years old. It was 1930 and you were given a pay cut, but promised you would keep your job at the warehouse.

During the day you packed boxes, drove from town to town with a truck full of delivery shipments. Sometimes you brought the truck home and let me sit in the front seat, and at night you read to us, my sister and I, and you taught her how to read. That was my favorite thing you would do, no matter how much your eyes drooped, or how often you’d have to pause to yawn, you always came upstairs. Because when I was in third grade and my little brother was born, everyone called him “the little miracle”, and all eyes were not on me.

With your little spare time, you made sure that life never dragged, you always hated the insipid, and maybe that’s because for you work was dull and days were long and uninspired. You once told me that the best way to get through life was by choosing to surround myself with the people who didn’t bore me. I tried.

Promises Don’t Mean Anything (400 words) The first time you came over, I taught you how to pin your hair and properly wear lipstick. You remembered that I liked your pink nail polish that day I saw you at the pool, so you brought it and painted my toe nails. You apologized for old memories from before we were friends and I said I was ready to move on, so we latched our pinkies and made a promise like an oath, sisters, then put on my fanciest clothes and strutted down my staircase all done up. Charles and Henry were in the kitchen, you were very forward— kissed your hand to leave a pigment, pressed it to Henry’s cheek, he smirked.

“That’s my brother!” I yelled and we laughed it off. “You can kiss Charles.”

“Ew!” You pretended to be embarrassed and we ran outside, but we both knew he was already looking at you, and they were only a year older than us, my brother and his best friend, seventh graders.

You came over every day after that, called my house your second home, and almost always Charles was there too. Sometimes you came in together, you lived in the middle and he would wait for you on his walk over. Henry and I teased, and you both said it was nothing. I wished that had been true.

We were sitting, feet crossed, on my porch when you admitted to me your crush.

It was winter and our knees shook from beneath our pleated skirts, but we wanted to see the snow, so we sipped hot chocolate and wrapped a blanket around our shoulders.

That Christmas you brought over a gift for Charles, said he wasn’t home and asked if he was here so you could give it to him. I lied, told you he was visiting some family, when really he was sitting in my living room. I assured you he would be by later that night when he got back, and since you would be out at a restaurant for your family’s

annual Christmas dinner, I took the gift, closed the door, then handed him the present myself, and I felt no remorse.

I remember he loved it, a silk tie you must’ve saved up for for months, even if you had found it on clearance. And I wished it had made us closer, Charles and I, but he had always loved you.

Promises Don’t Mean Anything (300 words) The first time you came over, you apologized for old memories and I said I was ready to move on, so we latched our pinkies and made a promise like an oath, then put on my fanciest clothes and strutted down my staircase. Charles and Henry were in the kitchen, you were forward—kissed your hand, pressed the pigment to Henry’s cheek.

“That’s my brother!” I yelled and we laughed it off. “You can kiss Charles.”

You pretended to be embarrassed, but we both knew he was already looking at you, and they were only a year older than us, my brother and his best friend, seventh graders.

You came over every day after that, and almost always Charles was there too.

Sometimes you came in together, he would wait for you on his walk over. Henry and I teased, and you both said it was nothing. I wished that had been true.

We were sitting on my porch when you admitted to me your crush. It was winter, our knees shook from beneath our pleated skirts, but we wanted to see the snow, so we wrapped a blanket around our shoulders.

That Christmas you brought over a gift for Charles, said he wasn’t home and asked if he was here so you could give it to him. I lied, told you he was visiting some family, when really he was sitting in my living room. I assured you he would be by that night when he got back, and since you would be out, I took the gift, closed the door, then handed him the present myself.

I remember he loved it, a silk tie you must’ve saved up for for months. And I wished it had made us closer, Charles and I, but he had always loved you.

Promises Don’t Mean Anything (250 words) The first time you came over, you apologized for old memories and I said I was ready to move on, so we made an oath, put on my fanciest clothes and strutted down my staircase. Charles and Henry were in the kitchen, you were forward—kissed your hand, pressed the pigment to Henry’s cheek.

“That’s my brother! You can kiss Charles,” I said and we laughed.

You pretended to be embarrassed, but we both knew he was already looking at you, and they were only a year older than us, my brother and his best friend, seventh graders.

You came over every day after that, and almost always Charles was there too, sometimes you came in together. Henry and I teased, and you both said it was nothing. I wished that had been true.

We were sitting on my porch when you admitted to me your crush. It was winter, so we wrapped a blanket around our shoulders.

That Christmas you brought over a gift for Charles, said he wasn’t home and asked if he was here so you could give it to him. I lied, said he was visiting some family. I assured you he would be by later, and since you’d be out, I took the gift, closed the door, then handed him the present myself.

I remember he loved it, a silk tie you must’ve saved up for for months. And I wished it had made us closer, Charles and I, but he had always loved you.

The Happy Girl Who Lost Her Smile Once upon a time, in a land not too different from this one, but with large families and empty wallets, a happy girl sat hands crossed at her desk.

Each orbit around the sun, the spring play was performed and a new light would glow.

The happy girl came from a household of old money and her father worked in government. She wore a different dress to school each day, and her arrogance was fueled by the jealousy of others. But the happy girl did not mean to be conceited, unaware that her confidence offended her classmates’ egos. She was a sweet girl, but she didn’t have many friends, and most days she spent alone. Despite that, she always held a stiff smile. Optimism was something that no one could take from her.

The day that the cast list was released every child became static and the teacher was white noise, and the happy girl remained at her desk with her hands in a knot, followed proper school etiquette to the dismay of her classmates; they were always frustrated by her strict studiousness. What really made them angry though, was seeing her name scrawled in for the role of the lead, and it was one resentful girl in particular whose fists shook and skin boiled the most, and she screamed on her way back to her seat.

The happy girl did not feel bad, for she had no reason to, and each day her classmates ignored her, the better she got at being alone.

Before lunch, the teacher took the class outside for the lesson. They all paced along the side of the creek, etching drawings of leaves in their sketchbooks, studying the creatures in the water; crawfish and salamanders. And as they were finishing up, ready

to head back inside, the resentful girl shot her arm in the air, her fingers so stiff they could pierce.

“May I go to the restroom, it’s an emergency,” she spoke rushed and the teacher let her go, and everyone would meet her in a minute. And the happy girl heard a few people giggle, but it was probably unrelated. She scanned them up and down, her classmates, their hand-me-downs drenched and muddy, her own Mary Janes she managed to keep shined, her white socks absent of any dirt specks.

Rushing to their lockers everyone whipped them open and grabbed their lunch tins and paper bags and in the cafeteria they flooded the tables, and the happy girl sat in the corner. This day things felt unusually quiet, which made the happy girl a bit nervous, but as always, she payed no mind, not until she flipped the lid of her tin and found not her lunch, but a toad large enough to cover her entire palm when she held him; he was lumpy with warts on his back.

The happy girl did not become angry, she showed no weakness, she was only upset for the poor toad hovering in the corner of her tin, terrified, and it made her sick that her oblivion had rattled the poor thing around this metal box. For a moment she thought he may even be dead, but he was not, and so instead of showing any emotion, she scooped him into her hands, and delicately exited the cafeteria, allowing the toad into the school’s garden, which was just watered and so the soil was wet. If anyone, it was the resentful girl who carried a tinge of embarrassment, for this time she had failed; the happy girl was unbothered by her once again.

The next day the resentful girl, still jealous and harmfully competitive, took measures further. When happy girl entered the classroom she saw a herd surrounding

her locker, and at the click of her Mary Janes against the linoleum, they dispersed like stars at daybreak, and although she felt herself begin to melt she still kept her smile.

She said hello to be ignored, opened her locker to put away her coat and lunch, and then she was flooded. A stampede of folded papers fell to her feet.

She took a deep breath, picked one up, and felt her tin hit the ground upon reading the cruel words. She dropped herself to the floor and read them all, each one hurting a bit more than the previous. Nobody likes you here. You are like a toad covered in warts and I wish you would go back to the creek. She felt a presence behind her, and when she turned it was a small boy who stood over her shoulder. He knelt down and helped her scoop up the papers. She looked at him, and she didn’t smile, but his eyes were longing and almost dead, and so were hers, and she couldn’t help but think that maybe they could be friends. Of course, not even a moment of kindness could dull resentful girl’s scowl, she was more than pleased with herself. The happy girl picked back up her lunch tin and left the room abruptly, leaving the boy to stand alone in front of the lockers, at the head of a cackling class of students relishing in the happy girl’s downfall.

Yet so it remained that she kept her lead, and the resentful girl felt no better about herself. The happy girl smiled a bit less now, and with each passing day resentful girl’s jealousy only became harsher poison.

After Illinois After Taylor Swift, “seven” When he asked about his mother, Peter’s father would tell him they couldn’t talk about her because they weren’t meant to.

“All that’s important is she’s gone now,” he’d say with drunk breath.

Neighbors talk and Peter once heard that she was murdered, that it was his father who killed her, maybe by accident, that he developed a drinking problem shortly after, and now all he wishes is to be alone. So Peter stayed hidden in his bedroom and let the time pass. Only the creaks of floorboards, shadows peeking through the edges of his doorframe filled the void; to live in Peter’s home was like to live with ghosts. Maybe his house really was haunted and that’s why his father always seemed so angry.

After fifth grade, Peter’s father began sending him away for the summer to stay with his grandmother in Illinois. There weren’t many children around his grandma’s house, but she wasn’t very social herself, mostly sat on the front porch, sipped sweet tea, and read old Western novels she bought for two pennies a piece at a church sale.

His cousins would visit, but mostly it was just him and he would ride his bike around, and there was a forest opening at the edge of town with the tallest trees. He’d climb seven feet up and spend his days outside reminiscing.

Peter remembers that it was Annie, who, in third grade laughed while Mary, choking back tears, scooped up the papers that had fluttered to her feet. He got down on his knees and helped her pick them all up.

Him and Mary were mostly strangers, but he wished for them to be closer, he wished for someone. He liked that Mary’s socks had ruffles, he liked that every time she

laughed she tucked her hair behind her ears, and mostly he liked that she made him feel less alone because she also had nobody.

They were only nine at the time, but summer was approaching and yards needed tended to, so after school one day Peter took the lawn mower from his shed and dragged it down the street to Mary’s house. When he got there her father answered the door and offered to pay him, so once a week Peter would stop by and mow the lawn and Mary would sit on the porch and watch him. They finished out elementary school as close friends and Peter stopped sitting in his room all day and instead spent the next two summers with Mary, Henry, and Charles, and by the time the two of them were going into middle school, they could both honestly say that they no longer felt like after thoughts.

Going to Illinois felt like the end of all of the good that was Mary, and the only thing Peter could think about was the day he would come back home. And when he did return at the end of that summer going into sixth grade he imagined to see Mary sitting on her front porch waiting for him, and she was, but Annie was with her.

Although they lived right next to each other, Peter and Annie never talked when they were kids. To Annie he was invisible, and Peter didn’t like her much anyways.

Mary swore that Annie was not the same girl they had always known, that now they shared clothes and even her brother liked her. Regardless if that was true, Peter wasn’t sure if he wanted it to be, but just like everything else in his life, he didn’t get much of a say, and their group grew from Mary and Peter, and Henry and Charles, to the four of them and Annie. After Illinois, that’s just how things were.

betty, this was before i knew you After Mary Crawford, “Serial Murderers” Annie was afraid to be caught in her lie, scared that when her mother answered the phone it would be her teacher on the other end, and he would know. He would know that for the past month she had been stealing Betty Miller’s biology assignments from the turn-in-bin, and what would happen then? Annie assumed she'd be suspended.

Each year a girls in STEM scholarship was awarded to the highest performing student in the freshman class, and as far as Annie was concerned it was between her and Betty. She knew she wouldn’t win on her own merits, so she acted on impulse, shredded the assignments in the library, acted oblivious when Betty failed the second semester, and now she was afraid her fate would find her.

When her mother entered her bedroom, hands resting on her hips, Annie paused, stopped brushing her hair and pretended to be clueless. It didn’t matter, she was guilty, and her punishment had already been settled. She would not be suspended, she would not be expelled, no detention for her, but that summer while Betty Miller had to attend a summer school program, Annie would be joining her.

She didn’t think the two of them would get along. Betty lived a few neighborhoods away, but her high school had unexpectedly been shut down and she had to transfer at the beginning of the year. She was a quiet girl, and all of her outfits were homemade, which didn’t bother Annie, it was just something she couldn’t help but notice.

The two of them were seated right beside each other, but for the first few weeks Betty never spoke and Annie scooted her chair all the way to the opposite end of the table, acted as if Betty was some animal ready to pounce. Mostly, Annie found herself

simply repulsed by her presence, and the grudge she held was strong. She blamed Betty for being any competition to her in the first place, if she hadn’t been then neither of them would even be here.

It turns out a summer spent locked up in a hot building can bring any two people together, and by August hostility had turned into conversation, and Annie found herself relating to Betty much more than she ever could’ve thought. They both wanted to be nurses, they each had a younger sister in the same grade, and most importantly they got each other through three months of studying punnett squares and symbiosis. At the end of the summer, Annie was inviting Betty over everyday, and once again their friend group grew.

Mary thought that she’d be perfect for Henry and Charles agreed. They got Annie and Peter on board, and the scheming began. They’d make plans that only Henry and Betty would show up to, leave the room so just the two of them could spend time together, and Mary dedicated herself to talking to her brother about Betty any chance she got. After a few months it turned out they had been right, Mary and Charles, and a new relationship began.

Betty secretly wished they could do summer school all over again.

Annie After Matthew Burnside, “Oblivion’s Fugue” 25 things you’ll never know about the 200th block of Grandview Blvd.

1. The cat you found dead in the alley was the same one your mother had to give to the shelter because of your little sister’s allergies.

2. Everyone knew Mary’s family had money because her home was painted white and the windows were like those of the church. You once wondered how that could possibly be fair, and so did she. You bullied her until you learned it was pointless, then for years you didn’t talk to her at all, and she always wished that she had been more like everyone else on the block, she believes she would’ve been happier growing up.

3. Charles knew the tie was from you, he wanted it to be, and he wore it to the winter formal your senior year.

4. Ruby misses you.

5. You were never a bad person, just a bad friend.

6. Your teacher lived on your street. She’d watch all of her students playing hopscotch in the road, growing up and then growing apart.

7. It was Henry who truly pushed for Mary and Peter to be together. It was his idea for you and Mary to be friends as well. He was always a good brother to her.

8. Some days your mother got so lonely that she would sit in the parking lot of your school with your baby brother, then leave before you and your sister were dismissed.

9. Everyday Ruby carried her bike across the street and knocked on your door, but you weren’t home, you were at the house on the corner. Your sister told her you were

sick. She left a card on your doorstep and flowers she picked from her neighbor’s garden. She spent every day alone that August, and she worried. At school she ran up to you, relieved that you were finally feeling better, but you turned your back, and she stopped going to recess and started eating lunch in the teachers’ lounge.

10. After your sister was born, and before your brother, your mother suffered eight miscarriages.

11. The driver of the car that hit Charles was a man who worked with your father at the warehouse, but no one would ever know that.

12. Your sister’s walls had water damage and her ceiling had a hole in it from before you moved in. When it rained she put a bucket on the ground. Some nights, while you slept, she laid on her floorboards and traced the constellations through the crack.

13. Betty was so desperate for friends that she would bike the two miles to your street everyday so that she could be with everyone. She would tell you that her dad drove her over for the first couple of months you all were friends. Summer school was the best thing that ever happened to her, and it was good for you too.

14. By fourth grade, Peter and Mary were each other's only friends, and a lot of that had to do with you.

15. You learned that your mother was wrong about a lot of things.

16. The year you were born your father lost his job, then the house, but no one had money. You lived in four homes that year. When you were two your family would finally have their own place again, and your father’s ego would slowly pitter back.

17. In the car, your mother had to look away when you passed the house on the corner; she was always more insecure than you and the stained glass made her feel embarrassed.

18. You and Ruby were in the same homeroom every year, and even still after your friendship ended. She used to be the first person you noticed, but just like the card and flowers she left on your porch, she quickly became invisible. She questioned her worth while you discovered your own.

19. Charles failed his driver’s test four times. Before he passed, he made Henry go with him to practice every single night, so that eventually he could drive around town with you.

20. Mary kept the notes from third grade, they’re in a hat box in her closet, and sometimes she still reads them and allows them to break her.

21. Betty would spend months sewing a new outfit for you and Mary every Christmas.

Skirts and knitted sweaters, they brought her so much pride, and even though they itched, they made you smile.

22. Your sister wanted to be you so badly she hated you.

23. During the Depression, your father shook his wallet in the hopes of uncovering some spare change; you never complained about anything.

24. When Charles died, Henry stopped leaving the house. He sold his car. He broke up with Betty. Mary had to leave food outside of his door so he would eat.

25. You once viewed all of the people in your life as pawns, like you were the King and they were all disposable.

Blood Smells Like a Train Car Mila McGrosky

Blood Smells Like a Train Car Mila McGrosky

To Kaja

Table of Contents 1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

Vanity’s Evolution The Twins Hit a Car Refilling Prozac The Professor A Rabbit in Wild Grass The Infant Track 2: Little Dark Age Daybreak on a River

Vanity’s Evolution 25 things you don’t know about…

-

After Mathew Burnside,” Oblivion’s Fugue”

1. No one likes your hair cut.

2. The train car has seven more people than usual. You fear giving up your seat will result in creased shoes.

3. The first time your mother locked herself in the bathroom was because your father wanted to abort you. After a few years of this, she began to enjoy watching her vomit swim around the toilet bowl. It reminded her of the ocean, the way her pills digested themselves into green foam.

4. The professor you think is eyeing you, thinks you look like her doctor. She is thinking of her unborn baby and trying to gain the courage to confront you and ask what went wrong.

5. The homeless man you see outside of your office building isn’t homeless. He hasn’t had a job in seven months and can’t afford to buy new clothes but lives in a flat with four other people. One of which, broke the shower just last week.

6. Maria never forgot to kiss you goodnight after you had fallen asleep. She’d retire to your father’s room and lay beside him in bed. He’d hold her and fall asleep with her mouth to her ear, telling her I’ll get divorced when he graduates.

7. Your esthetician called your office to schedule a follow up appointment. Your employees will know you get waxed monthly, but never admit to it.

8. The images you see when you close your eyes will never go away. You will act on them before ever telling anyone.

9. The man who stumbles into the train car can barely keep his eyes open. He has been asleep for months but still feels guilt. The discoloration of his face is accompanied by a high fever, and his lungs whistle when he breathes. He is the same one that stands outside of your office building.

10. It was Maria who found your pet gerbil under your bed. She noticed the smell two days after you had strangled it. She never told your father.

11. The dispatcher you called when your mother died has never forgotten you. He read the police report that night after he’d gotten off work. Sometimes he stays up thinking about how they found you, lying next to her body with your head on her chest. He saw your name in the WSJ. Last week and shed a tear.

12. Your skin will become stiffer as you grow more accustomed to needles. When you’re older you’ll eventually opt for a surgical procedure but hide in your apartment for the twelve weeks that you heal.

13. The girl leaning against the pole is wearing mesh tights because the main character from her favorite show does too. She doesn’t notice your eyes, if she did, she might pull her skirt down. She is only seventeen.

14. A fragile ego will break upon confrontation, but yours is a buoy in the middle of an ocean. Chained to the sand hundreds of meters deep, by self-importance and grandiosity.

15. Your father’s business partner never lit his cigars in his office. He didn’t want the police to smell his Cubans when they stormed your house. Together, they owned four Pangolins.

16. Most women don’t enjoy themselves when they are with you.

17. You’ll recognize your favorite restaurant is only your favorite because of how often their fortune cookies are blank. You think it’s the perfect thing to write your number on, so you begin to grab handfuls and stuff them in your suit pockets when no one is looking.

18. If you had opened one more drawer of your father’s desk you would’ve found your mother’s letter to you, the one she wrote before she died.

19. The man coughing on the subway is the same one that stands outside of your office building. He remembers you spitting at him.

20. Stretching out crow’s feet will only make them worse. Moisturizer won’t help either.

21. The reason your secretary won’t come home with you is because you remind her of her brother. When she was sixteen their parents found his girlfriend in their garden shed.

22. You won’t hear from your father for the next ten years. Maria will be the voice on the other end of the phone, telling you they’re in Peru.

23. Your mother loved the beach more than family. She tried to run away with you a month after you had been born, but was committed instead.

24. When the man coughs blood onto his shirt, his shirt will already be soiled with sweat and dirt, and he’ll hum Black Magic Woman in his head. He’ll get off in three stops, and collapse at the top of the tunnel’s stairs.

25. Cold water will get rid of blood.

The Twins

Wyatt made everyone call him Wy. He never shaved the patchy mustache he had grown freshman year, some of it even went over his lip. He worked as a cashier at the corner store across from our building. The first time we went in, he offered us a pack of cigarettes. We smoked them together, next to the dumpster behind the store. It’d been almost a year since then.

We were in the kind of car with the orange and yellow seats, the ones made in the 70s.

Wy stood with one hand under his belt buckle, halfway in his pants. He said it was more comfortable than his pockets. One time he did this in the park, by a playground, and a woman hit him across the head with a rolled newspaper. On the way home my brother and I didn’t speak.

More people came into the train once we reached Manhattan.

“Watch it,” He said. Wy was the type to back into a senior citizen and say things like that.

He turned to us and tugged at my sweatshirt strings. When he opened his mouth, it was cracked in the corners. He flashed his teeth and sneered, because something about the string’s unevenness was funny, I think. My brother fixed his own after that.

A man came into the train, through the other set of doors. There were red streaks in the white of his eyes, the skin around them purple, like he hadn’t slept in days. Wy was

ranting about his boss, and we were pretending to listen. People started to stare at the man, after he fell. Watching him flounder in the middle of the car and stepping backwards to avoid him.

They started to make a circle.

“Yo, skipping school is a big deal,” Wy punched us in the shoulders. I had forgotten that was why we were there. We laughed. I pushed my knee against his and pointed toward the man. He looked at me, our eyes widened. Wy was annoyed we didn’t say anything else.

The man was coughing by then, he had crouched to the ground, his back against the center pole. Our eyes followed him, the same pair on the same face. We were too far to tell what was going on, why the people around him were making noise. We stood up.

Then we saw blood.

“Oh shit, guys, look at him. We gotta go,” Wy said. He grabbed at his scruffy hat and pushed past the people in the back, we followed. The three of us stood at the back door, the one that lead out to the bridge between the cars. The rickety metal thing they told you not to go on, fenced off by rusted chains. Wy and my brother argued. He didn’t want to go on the bridge.

I slid it open, and heard the wind whipping at the door frame. I stepped out and my ears started to ring. The sound of the wheels, hot against the tracks, bounced around the tunnel. It was only me, me and a foot of empty space, coasting through a dark, wet tunnel.

Hit a Car Refilling Prozac

Wash your hands three times for thirty seconds each; scrub between each finger and rub your palms together; check the dirt under your fingernails twice over, because you’ll get pinworms if they come into contact with your mouth; wash your hands three more times; place your mask past your nose, so it is tucked into your glasses; tug lightly at the bottom to ensure it is still covering your chin; keep your gloves pulled into your jacket sleeves; before zipping up, check that each button on your shirt is aligned with the one beneath; do not step on the cracks of the sidewalk; do not bump into passerby; find the path you will take before crossing it; breathe; remind yourself that your car will be repaired tomorrow; do not step on foreign stains when walking down the steps; keep your metro card in hand; swipe without touching the scanner; adjust your bag to the front of your body when pushing past the turnstile, because they contain 7,576 different kinds of bacteria; do not touch yourself after this; breathe; stand at the edge of the platform, away from the crowd, because you do not want measles, tuberculosis, or the flu; sit, and discard of the pants when you get home; do not touch the pole on your left; straighten your leg to keep a two inch distance from the person on your right; check that your mask is past your nose and under your glasses; tug lightly at the bottom to ensure it is still covering your chin; look at your shoe laces; look at the tips; if both are not spotless throw them away; keep your hands in your lap; sit with both knees touching and your insoles together; ground your feet when the train starts to brake, because a study showed eighteen million people have touched the pole on your left, and momentum will push your body; under no circumstance touch the pole on your left; listen to the chime of

the doors as they open and close; notice the man that walks in touches the pole on your left; don’t take note of his dirty clothes, or the rip in his knee exposing wet red skin; do not let your heart rate rise; breathe; start counting to one hundred; do not let your hands start to shake; check that your jacket zipper is all the way up; remind yourself a mask will prevent you from disease, and keep your mouth closed; start to ground your feet because the train is going to brake; don’t listen to his gurgling cough; pay attention to the train; stop looking at the corners of his mouth that leak red and dribble down his chin and stain his mud crusted shirt; look down at your feet; breathe; stay still when he spits blood onto your shoe; bruise when the train brakes and your body slams into the pole on your left.

The Professor (400)

They bought a house together, the professor and her wife. She left room every morning on the dining room table for two plates before leaving to catch the train for work. Her wife wouldn’t cook if she hadn’t. On the subway, the professor sat next to a child, and told him she liked Batman too.

Their dissembled bed frame sat beside their mattress. Sometimes the wood planks would shift in the night and wake them. The professor would hold her wife until she fell back asleep. There were paint cans, boxes, and newly bought tools lying along the living room floor.

The professor’s wife danced into her arms when she told her she wanted a baby. Her toes brushed along the kitchen tile, her long legs, beneath a yellow skirt. She told her she was excited to do this. That she wanted to go tomorrow. The waiting room’s walls were blue, like boy. The professor thought it was done on purpose.

There was brief talk on who. They chose her wife’s preference, because after all, she was carrying their child. The professor made note of the doctor’s gender and tried to smile as she watched him grab her calves and stuff them into stirrups. She swore she saw his nails dig into her legs. On the table was a magazine, dog-eared on a DunnEdwards advertisement.

The professor entered the train tunnels before dusk, and left when the moon spilled over the sidewalk, like a paper milk carton. Each evening, she watched it come earlier. Each month, she watched her wife’s belly grow. She came home and dug her thumbs under an avocado, unable to tell it had spoiled until she had reached the muddied insides.

Her wife curled onto a towel. Its grey threads seared in red. She asked the professor if she thought she could’ve done a better job. With her hand, the professor stroked at the curves of her spine. She didn’t touch her bloodied thighs. She didn’t tell her wife she had wanted to carry their baby.

When she rode the train that next evening, the professor didn’t take the seat next to the mother and child. She sat in the corner. A man stumbled into their car. His own throat rejected his saliva, his mouth and shirt wet with red. The professor saw his nails, long enough to have dug into her wife’s legs.

The Professor (300)

They bought a house together, the professor and her wife. On the subway, the professor sat next to a child, and told him she liked Batman too.

Their dissembled bed frame sat beside their mattress. Sometimes the wood planks would shift in the night and wake them. The professor would hold her wife until she fell back asleep.

The professor’s wife danced into her arms when she told her she wanted a baby. Her toes brushed along the kitchen tile. She told her she was excited to do this. That she wanted to go tomorrow. The waiting room’s walls were blue.

There was brief talk on who. They chose her wife’s preference, because after all, she was carrying their child. The professor made note of the doctor’s gender and tried to smile as she watched him grab her calves and stuff them into stirrups. She swore she saw his nails dig into her legs.

The professor entered the train tunnels before dusk, and left when the moon spilled over the sidewalk, like a milk carton. She watched her wife’s belly grow. She came home and dug her thumbs under an avocado, unable to tell it had spoiled until she had reached the muddied insides.

Her wife curled onto a towel. Its grey threads seared in red. She asked the professor if she thought she could’ve done a better job. The professor stroked at the curves of her spine. She didn’t tell her wife she had wanted to carry.

When she rode the train that next evening, the professor didn’t take the seat next to mother and child. A man stumbled into their car. His own throat rejected his saliva, his mouth and shirt wet with red. The professor saw his nails, long enough to have dug into her wife’s legs.

THE BODY IS A DEAD LANGUAGE Oliver Moore

To Sarah

I hope you’re doing alright, despite.

Table of Contents 1. There Are Many Things to Live By 2. Folktale with Salesman and Long-Haired Boy 3. The Post 4. Another Year Comes to a Close at the Clementine’s 5. Come Save Me I Will Save You 6. TRUST SMALL TALK LIKE YOU TRUST BIG PHARMA 7. The Billboards in My Small Town 8.

In R. Kelly’s Hit Song About the Value of Communication, He Sings into His Phone

It is principles, and everlasting principles, not data, not facts, not helpful hints, but principles which the rising generation requires if it is to find its way through the mazes of tomorrow.

-Robert M. Hutchins

There Are Many Things to Live By

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Folktale with Salesman and Long-Haired Boy In a land not too far from your own, there lived a salesman. And he spent his days walking from doorstep to doorstep, asking the people what every salesman asks–– if they’d like to buy what he sold. But there was something strange about this salesman, something no one had seen before. See, this salesman had no product to sell. He would turn up in front of people’s houses, dressed all in white (for this was an aspect of his sales pitch), bald as a vulture, and ask if they’d like to believe him.

“Would you like to believe me?’ he would ask, and smile.

One day, the salesman knocked on the door of an old man.

“Would you like to believe me?” he asked.

“No,” said the old man, and the salesman nodded politely. The old man gave a huff and shut his door. The salesman smiled.

Next, the salesmen came to the door of a family. The mother opened the door with a baby in one hand and a cigarette in the other. A moment of hesitation, then the salesman said his lines. She did not respond before closing the door.

Finally, the salesman came to the door of a young boy with an amazing head of hair.

“Would you like to believe me?” he asked the boy. The boy ran a hand through his long, dark mane.

“Well,” said the boy, “I’m not sure. What do you mean?” The salesman smiled.

“If I were to tell you there’s a life somewhere out there where everything you’ve ever wanted is waiting for you, patiently, would you believe it?” he said.

“No,” laughed the boy. “That’s ridiculous. You’re a fool!” The salesman smiled.

“Well,” he replied, politely. “There is. But if you aren’t willing to look for it, it’ll never show itself to you…Goodbye.” The salesman started to walk away.

“Wait,” said the boy. The salesman turned around. They stood in silence for a moment. The boy twisted a lock of his hair. “I believe you,” he said.

The salesman smiled.

The two walked through the woods for a long time before the boy asked, “How much longer until we get to this world of yours?”

“Oh, it’s only up ahead,” said the salesman. “But you have to understand––the place we’re going is not the world I speak of. It’s simply where the world is to be found, and the world is always found within yourself.” He poked the boy’s chest. “Think of where we’re going as a portal. Does that make sense?” The boy nodded.

“Good,” said the salesman, and stroked the boy’s hair.

They stepped into a clearing. There were small, circular huts, each with a chimney in the center. Hummingbirds flew all about the place, their wings blurring into magnificent smears of color. And there were people in the clearing, walking from hut to hut, dressed in white, bald as the salesman and smiling his same smile. The salesman led the boy into the nearest hut. There was a single window across from the door, and two pillows on the floor, separated by a trapdoor, from which there rose wisps are steam.

The salesman sat down on one of the pillows, cross-legged, and beckoned for the boy to do the same.

“There is want in the world,” said the salesman. “You feel it. It’s what brought you here, correct? And these things that you want, whatever they may be––why do you want them? It’s something we should always ask ourselves. Why do we want this?

What makes us want it?” He paused. “See, this is the hurt of the world. This is the darkness. This wanting. And so, what we do here, is we take that away. I apologize, I told you we could give you what you wanted. But the reality is quite the contrary. What we do is take that want away. Do you understand? Do you feel it hurting you? I know I do.” He paused again. “So, wear these,” he said, and gave the boy a pair of white pants and a white shirt. “And then, after you’ve redressed, I want you to get into this tub.” The salesman opened the door in the floor to reveal a steaming bath. Then he stood, and watched the boy redress himself in white. Without a word, the boy stepped into the tub– –slowly at first, then all at once. “Get under,” said the salesman. The boy slipped under the surface of the water. His hair rose into a cloud around his head. Then, as if he had simply let it go, the great mane of hair detached from the boy’s scalp in huge coils. It drifted to the edges of the bath. Hundreds of hummingbirds poured through the window.

They swarmed the room. Then each bird picked up a strand of hair and exploded out of the window from whence it came in a furious show of color. The salesman closed the door on the bald boy in the bath. He smiled.

The Post Since Maria had decided she was in love, two weeks ago, she had wanted to tell him. The senior boy. The senior boy who hadn’t told her his name, who had managed to blend into the mess of blonde hair and Thrasher hoodies without being noticed. He wasn’t popular, by any means, but he was cute. How? Maria wondered. And she wondered how she was going to get his attention without embarrassing herself. The answer was simple: Instagram––how else in 2018? So she would do this: she would post a picture of herself on a pool table. Yes. Because the only picture he had on his page––which failed to mention his name (dammit!) and could only be determined as him via many hours of cross-referencing and rabbit-hole-ing––was a picture from freshman year, of him, stood all proud with his pool stick gripped tightly in his right hand, smiling, captioned with his placement (third) in the 2015 Highschool Pool Comp. hosted by the Welsh Walking club. So she would sit atop the table, slender-legged and sparkling, tongue shining in the perfect lighting, and send it to him to make sure he saw (he did not follow her). She would await his response, but not for long. He would respond within the day, with a heart-eyed emoji, or something like Wow, pool just got even sexier! Or, simple, classy, his number and nothing else. They would begin their relationship secretly. He would, as she imagined, ‘catch feels.’ And one day she would take him, lustfully, in the main auditorium. The teachers would have to rip them from each other.

All eyes would be on her. Who’s that? they would ask. Oh, I recognize him...wow, he (as the expression goes) ‘glowed up’ and other things of the sort. To think of all the couple-exclusive posts she could now do! Oh, it was almost too much. She would post them all, and the likes, the likes, the likes. They would scamper in.

(400 words)

It was a tremendous year here at the Clementine’s. A tremendous year. Oh, how the summerbugs brought––wingtip by wingtip––the dark fig and the singing mint. How the skies on those summer nights donned their dark dresses, each whispering a different poem; a July of amaranthine haiku; an August of sonnet––sung. Frost-laden field and pond-steamy mornings weaved through with rooibos, ruby, rhyme, reason.

And it seems as soon as it began, it ended. Another year with dearest Roger. He and I find the days pass much quicker in retirement. A disappointment, for we retired for exactly the opposite reason––to slow them down. Approaching the end faster than ever!

And because of that, there are things to say which never could’ve been said before.

The light at the end of the tunnel illuminates more and more as you draw closer. The bugs on the walls start to gleam.

There’s something I want to tell you all. Something I found to be a sensitive topic for some time. That is, Roger and I tried for many years. From our twenties to our forties we tried for children. And it’s quite embarrassing to say, now, to all of you, that since we’ve known you, we’ve lied about it. All the times I said my job as a writer never allowed such a thing as a child––such pessimism, and never true. All the times Roger waved it away and looked toward his feet. And we never had anything ‘confirmed.’

Never went to the doctors. But I’ve found comfort in these later years. I’ve come to terms with it. And so there’s no reason you all shouldn’t know.

The birdfeeder, which I’m sure you’ve heard of, has become a bustling hub of activity. Birds of all sort come to our window for a peek or a peck, and it’s become somewhat of a wonder for me. I sit in the watchery in the early morning with my coffee and watch them bicker and bite. But only yesterday, the most magnificent thing happened. An osprey swooped down from the great sky, lifted the bird feeder from its post and flew away with the whole of it.

I’ve heard ospreys mate for life. I’ve heard they protect their young with startling aggression. I admire she who acted in desperation––it was desperation I envy.

Season’s Greetings from the Clementine’s…

…and a happy New Year!

(300 words)

It was a tremendous year here at the Clementine’s. A tremendous year. Oh, how the summerbugs brought––wingtip by wingtip––the dark fig and the singing mint. How the skies on those summer nights donned their dark dresses, each whispering a different poem; a July of amaranthine haiku; an August of sonnet––sung.

And it seems as soon as it began, it ended. Another year with dearest Roger. He and I find the days pass much quicker in retirement. A disappointment, for we retired for exactly the opposite reason––to slow them down! There are things to say which never could’ve been said before. The light at the end of the tunnel illuminates more and more as you draw closer.

There’s something I want to tell you all. From our twenties to our forties we tried for children. I said my job as a writer never allowed such a thing as a child––such pessimism. We never had anything ‘confirmed.’ But I’ve come to terms with it. And so there’s no reason you all shouldn’t know.

The birdfeeder, which I’m sure you’ve heard of, has become a bustling hub of activity. Birds of all sort come to our window for a peek or a peck, and it’s become somewhat of a wonder for me. I sit in the watchery in the early morning with my coffee and watch them bicker and bite. But only yesterday, the most magnificent thing happened. An osprey swooped down from the great sky, lifted the bird feeder from its post and flew away with the whole of it.

I’ve heard ospreys mate for life. I’ve heard they protect their young with startling aggression. I admire she who acted in desperation––it was desperation I envy.

Season’s Greetings from the Clementine’s…

…and a happy New Year!

(250 words)

It was a tremendous year here at the Clementine’s. A tremendous year. How the summerbugs brought––wingtip by wingtip––the dark fig and the singing mint. How the skies on those summer nights donned their dark dresses, each whispering a different poem; a July of amaranthine haiku; an August of sonnet––sung.

And it seems as soon as it began, it ended. Another year with dearest Roger. He and I find the days pass much quicker in retirement. A disappointment. We retired for exactly the opposite reason––to slow them down! There are things to say which never could’ve been said before. The light at the end of the tunnel illuminates more and more as you draw closer.

There’s something I wanted to tell you all.

The birdfeeder, which I’m sure you’ve heard of, has become a bustling hub of activity. Birds of all sort come to our window for a peek or a peck, and it’s become somewhat of a wonder for me. I sit in the watchery in the early morning with my coffee and watch them bicker and bite. But only yesterday, the most magnificent thing happened. An osprey swooped down from the great sky, lifted the bird feeder from its post, and flew away with the whole of it.

I’ve heard ospreys mate for life. I’ve heard they protect their young with startling aggression. I admire she who acted in desperation––it was desperation I envy.

Season’s Greetings from the Clementine’s…

…and a happy New Year!

Come Save Me I Will Save You I haven’t posted a single thing on Instagram in a week and a half which really isn’t much time if you zoom out and think about what a week and half really means in the grand scheme of things but on the other hand if you zoom in and think about all that can happen in a week and a half then you start to understand the amount of time it can feel like and this is the kind of moment where you realize the grandiosity of time as an unquantifiable concept and stop scrolling out of paralyzing fear of being old of dying so many are scared of death and not the process of it all well I’ve seen that process twice over now and it’s slow it’s hardened joints and fingers only good for (double) tapping all to say that it’s been hard not to post in this past week and a half and it’s not like I haven’t used Instagram I have to use Instagram just to see what people are saying and doing and what they like because like I said so much can change in a week and a half I mean just a month ago every girl online got waist trainers and posted pictures of themselves cinched into violins the corset came back and it actually got so extreme that a lot of us even posted pictures wherein we let the pain on our faces show because inexplicably it gets more likes and what are you to do except post a selfie at dusk with a face that says, “I’m hurting but you can save me, come save me,” because you have to adapt you have to be able to change with the times you give the people what they want they want you they want you they want you to want them and time marches on like protestors––oh this too like when the Black Lives Matter thing was cool I posted for that I did the hashtags and everything and thank God something so terrible hasn’t happened in the past week and a half because I can’t even imagine what they would say about me if I didn’t support the victims from a rocky outcropping at dusk with a face that says, “We can do this, I am here to save you,” I mean for God’s sake I would lose followers.

TRUST SMALL TALK LIKE YOU TRUST BIG PHARMA --after The Alchemist’s “Cheese is Overrated” Niceties. Agreeance or aggrievance. Manners. Manure.

The table is set. Riona’s mother brings black pudding and crubeens in on a silver platter. She puts the platter in front of me, steaming. She smiles. I smile back. The smell is wet. Earth-rotten. Like piles of leaves in a hot autumn. Riona is worried. She smiles worriedly. I smile back. Her parents are shuffling in and out with more. I think integrities must be upheld. I say nice things to Riona when I mean it. I say nice things to Riona when she needs me to. It makes her happy. I also say nice things when I don’t mean it.

The parents are sitting. They have thick accents. They are making gestures. They want me to eat.

We are here because Riona wanted to come here. We arrived and she wants to leave. The flight was long. She fell asleep. I can’t on planes. The great thing is, I get to hike. Riona doesn’t like to hike. We have tried to go together. She walks too fast to hike.

She walks to get somewhere. She runs up ahead. She asks why we’re in the middle of nowhere. I keep walking while she rests. I don’t turn around. I forget she is with me. So after we eat, I can go for a hike through the moors. Riona and I agreed. I like to agree with her. She likes to argue. I sit through the meal. I take a hike.

In the dream I am alone. The hills roll under my feet. A mouse scampers out from a hedge and I put my foot down, hard. I yell obscenities at my boot. The eyes are untamed. My mother has never cried, but she cries. My father does, too, and she leaves him without a word.

They want me to eat. I think I accidentally raise my eyebrows. I stab something with my fork. It is the black pudding. The blood sausage. Her father says words I do not understand. He scoops something with his spoon and puts it on my plate. It is the crubeens. The pig feet. The trotters. A mud meal, I think.

It is hard to smile while you chew. A lesson. It is harder to smile while you chew pig’s feet. Harder still while you chew black pudding. A toothy smiler. Black teeth.

A lesson. The hardest parts of the face to control are the eyes and the forehead.

My forehead is cinched into a knot. My eyes water. My mouth smiles. The table is silent.

This performance of agreeance is futile. I chew slowly. A lesson. Chew quickly. The table resumes its clinking of cutlery. I excuse myself. Politely. The bathroom. I try to yak but do not yak. I dry yak. I heave. I flush nothing. I return to the table. I am my only proponent. The mind is my only asylum. The parents are flicking looks my way. Riona eats normally. She smiles apprehensively. I smile worriedly. She starts to say something. I can tell it will be an exit ticket. A way out. I know she will offer escape. I cut her off. I say No. The parents look to us. We smile back. I take another bite.

The Billboards in My Small Town My small town at night is all gold splotches and snowfall. Except the billboards, LED catastrophes, shining their lies, pollutants of the sky and the mind for all I care. I walk home down the middle of the road. It tastes like Bit O’ Honey’s and train track. I toss rocks through windows and name it sin. I point both barrels to the clouds and try to hit an angel. I walk out over our frozen river and fall in. The field of ice, a broken promise.

QUESTIONS? JESUS HAS THE ANSWER Funny, this shine, when all I know of my town is its fingernails, its dew-drop needlepoints, its potholes (and where each one is).

JESUS IS WATCHING YOU My town hums. It always has, and always the same note. Arbitrary dialogue lines the sidewalks. I forget it was there. A whole day passes without it. But after dinner, as she files her nails and he has his smoke, it leaks through my windows. It fills the rooms bottom to top, reminds me to sing.

THE EQUATION FOR MARRIAGE IS SIMPLE: 1 MAN + 1 WOMAN The evening dim. The blue, alien light. The sheers lifted by a whisper. The girl in my bed. Her blue, alien legs.

IF YOU CRASH AND DIE RIGHT NOW: HEAVEN OR HELL? In a bar in Dakota (I’m not sure which—Dakota, that is), a man asks me if gay people are still religious, and I tell him Plenty are, but I’m not, and he laughs and says he isn’t either. Then he asks if I’d like to try acid, and I laugh and say I wouldn’t.

GOD SAYS NO Yes, she says, with insistent eyes. If anything, the abortion strengthened my faith. And they clap. And her father is in tears and hugging her, and for some reason, hugging me. And I ask her, How? PEOPLE OF FAITH LOVE YOU NO MATTER WHAT He offers me something and I take it because there’s snow in his eyelashes. I tell him he’s very pretty and he bats it down. He tells me I’m very pretty. Not much is said after that.

ALL RELIGIONS ARE WELCOMED HERE A woman is walking her Pomeranian and I almost spit on it, but don’t.

GOD HAS FAITH IN YOU EVEN IF YOU DON’T HAVE FAITH IN HIM He is teaching me to love and to hate at the same time. I believe him, even now.

The ash on my sleeve. His hands on my face. But I bolt under his arms, run into the wind, horrified and electric, humming with new strength and living, living, here and now, for the first time, I’m flying, I’m flying, until I round a corner and take an old woman clean off her feet, and I come down on my knees, but she is flying, she is flying, and she comes down, too, she comes down on her back and hits the ground, hard.

JESUS IS ALIVE!!

Zižek says that Christianity is the religion of atheism. He considers himself a good Christian atheist and you should read Lacan, I tell her, but my mother disagrees.

She says, No, honey, you aren’t listening to what I’m saying. God is real. Jesus is real.

And they love you, Simon, they love you, they love you, they... And she holds me as she would her son who believes. And she holds me, she holds me, tightly, to the ground.

PRAY TO END HATRED AND INJUSTICE On my knees in my town square, I’m reminded of scale. The windows like eyes of taller men. I do not get up to help her. In every snowstorm, there must always be a moment of true quiet, so I take mine. Then I walk to her, and find a body stilled by flight.

The billboard above our heads is shining, shining, shining.

The street quiet. The night ended with a question. Her blue, alien blood.

In R. Kelly’s Hit Song About the Value of Communication, He Sings into His Phone 25 Things You Don’t Know About the Pedagogy of Real Talk -after Mathew Burnside, “Oblivion’s Fugue”

No one you meet online casts a shadow.

& when your mother asks how your day was, or how your food is, or how she or he or they are; when she asks about her ex-husband, or the dog, or the new girlfriend; when she asks if you think your name fits your brain, if you think the shoes look good, if you love it or hate it when they holler & hoot & whistle––look up. The corners of her mouth twitch, every time. & the girl who commented ‘How are you so beautiful?’ on your Instagram post (from the 22nd of last month, the one you FaceTuned, just a little) thinks she is (objectively) more attractive. & a boy named Hezekiah Goldsman is in love with you. He followed you last year, but never dares to like or comment––never watches your story until at least an hour has passed since you posted. It’s your eyes, he convinces himself. & the way you kick your head back when you laugh & look to sky, & look to the purest part of the world, for you belong there, he thinks; & he re-watches that video over & over & over & over & The eye of the storm is never untouched. & you will go on absent-mindedly dancing in public for many years. But when a car passes the funeral precession playing a song you know the dance to, & you dance to it, your uncle (a stranger) will grab your arm & pull you to the side, & remind you that you’re attending your mother’s funeral service, Your mother’s, he will say. & you tried to remember it all—him in the light of a single lamp, only the briefest moment of everything—but memorized the shadows instead. The chiaroscuro. What the light wouldn’t dare touch.

The body is a dead language.

& you like what you like, they say. But you’ve made order out of what was once arbitrary, yes, ‘like for like.’ A love language, you call it. So when the picture from a year

ago gets one more person on its pile, you’ll cherish it. A rarity. Odd stones, you’ve thought before, give powers. So, tell me, what have you got up your sleeve? & the emoji is only ever ironic nowadays. You know this. But those that are objects––the snowflake, the leaf mid-flight, the tree from whence it came, the hypodermic needle, the bubble bath, the droplet of blood, the bell, the bow, its arrow, the eyeball, the peach–– these are un-ironic symbols of the body. & when Hezekiah listens to a woman, he teaches himself forgiveness. He looks to the sky. But in an elevator, as his girlfriend recounts her day, there is only a mirrored ceiling & another four floors. & the boy from Iowa paints himself through the eyes of Caravaggio. You told him everything. He knows more than your closest friends because, like in Judith Beheading Holofernes, that which holds you tightly will strike you down. & the more extreme version is called tenebrism. The body becomes full by way of what in left in blackest shadow. Real & moving via its voids. & the fluorescent of the courtroom caught only the edges of your mother’s face. The glint beneath her eyes. & two people stand in front of a painting. The first comments on its brush strokes, the mastery which must be held in the artist’s forearm. They comment on how accurately the sea is pictured in its roar––how brutality is found most poignantly by realism. The second says of the painting, ‘I would have loved a title.’ If every human is sorted by way of this hypothetical, you are the second. & the boy from Iowa often wonders whether his future wife will be more or less attractive than he. If you knew this, you would ask the obvious. & it’s rare for a father to win full custody of the children––the dog, too.

& she didn’t mean it, your mother. You know that. But belief & truth are easily separable. & the artist & their art are easily separable.

& time is not to be confused with knowledge. There is no ‘real you.’ The self is hazy and fluid. A kaleidoscope, for what shines only does so in brilliant, fleeting flashes. It is impossible to see anything the same way twice.

The eye of the storm is blind to its destruction.

& the woman who lives above your mother had dreams of tap-dancing. Dreams which she refuses to let go. It’s late, & your mother is trying to fall asleep. She could rage up two flights of stairs & tell her to stop, but remembers all the words she’s left behind, tucked away in shoeboxes or the corners of closets, and doesn’t. & every morning is an aubade with final dream. You are still drifting into the daylight.

Still half in shadow. Your father eats breakfast alone, the sun still low so as to cast a silhouette long enough to reach your seat.

The boys do not get their ending.

& when they paint themselves at high noon, it is because they hate to leave anything behind. When they paint themselves, look to their shadows.

Accounts of a Funeral Attendant Elizabeth Neel

Accounts of a Funeral Attendant Elizabeth Neel

This chapbook is dedicated to my dad. Thank you for encouraging and inspiring me to write at such a young age.

Table of Contents: 1. Rules of The Workplace 2. Hearing Your Own Thoughts 3. The Farmer’s Market 4. Dolphins 5. For Angela 6. Identity 7. 25 Things You’ll Never Know About Your Life 8. Door Duty

Rules of The Workplace

The biggest rule of this place is never looking the owner in the eyes. Bow your head when he speaks to you. He doesn’t come in often, but never forget that. When you meet with the family, don’t seem too eager. This is usually not a pleasant thing for them. Now and then you will come across a family that is eager, be careful around them. They’re not to be trusted, normal people wouldn’t be eager. Make sure you are dressed nicely when meeting with family members, it gives them a good first impression. I like to wear a suit at all times. No bright colors. Listen to everything the families have to tell you. If you miss one thing, the whole funeral could go to shit. One time we had the casket table break and the body rolled out on the floor. Someone left a screw loose. If the funeral is a disaster, you will be fired. The owner doesn’t mess around. Always show them the seasonal flower packages. They won’t want to see a purple and pink flower arrangement in the fall. If it’s fall, push the oranges and reds. You will need to be efficient. Funerals come together really quickly after death. Be decisive. If they ask you for your opinion, go with the option that costs more. Always embalm the body within forty-eight hours. This one is very important. If they want an open casket, the sooner you embalm the better. If you don’t get this done, we would all be out of here. It is ideal to have the obituary in the paper before, or the day of the funeral. There’s a lot of paperwork that you will have to learn how to do. These are legal documents, like the death certificates, so take it very seriously. Don’t go upstairs alone past ten o’clock at night. If you hear a strange noise, there’s nobody breaking in. The spirits won’t hurt you, so don’t worry about it. Unless, like I said, you go upstairs alone past ten o’clock. On the

day of the funeral, make sure everything looks superb. The families will call out the smallest thing being out of place, so try and prevent that. I got fired because of that ten years ago. It was only my second funeral service coming out of college. Let’s just say vases might’ve been thrown. Basically, if anything goes wrong, stay calm. Damage control is key. Always ask me if you aren’t sure about something. Being embarrassed to ask is miles better than passively letting it blow up in your face. Don’t go out of your way to speak to the funeral attendees. Of course, if they approach you with a conversation, you reply. Other than that, keep the chat small. Hold the door open every time someone enters or exits. Stay professional no matter what. Don’t let your emotions out other than the basic condolences. They don’t want pity from you. Finally, don’t lose a body like the last guy.

Hearing Your Own Thoughts After Exquisite Silence by Melissa Goodrich

Your mind tends to wander in this place. It’s hard to distinguish what’s reality and what tricks your mind is playing on you. The voices are a great example of this. The top floors of this home are haunted. There is no doubt in my mind about that. However, I’ve worked here for just over a decade now and I’ve come to learn the personalities of the entities. I’m able to differentiate the real voices from the mind games. Knowing which ones to stay away from was my first priority when starting my job. As soon as I stepped foot in this place, I got the chills. The air felt not only cold but cutting. Seemed as though it was darting right through my body like an extremely thin blade almost like a needle.

Many people don’t last as long as I have. For me, the air is comforting at this point. At first, the air was suffocating. Not life threatening, but not normal. The thoughts are what can really get you in this place. I used to always be drawn to the upstairs at night. This was unwilling, however. I actually hate it up there. It is the most terrifying place I’ve ever been in. The walls creak in every direction behind you. The floorboards spring you up and down as you walk across the attic. This is where we keep the majority of our supplies. There’re extra vases, tablecloths, cleaning supplies, and other hardware items. I only go up to the attic if I’m forced too. Like I said, the first few trips up to the attic were brought on by my thoughts.

The Farmers Market

Once upon a time in this very funeral home where I work, there was a house.

The house was the same structure as the funeral home now is. Not much has changed since. The house was much darker, however. The blinds were always closed. An outsider was never allowed to peak in. Inside the house lived a man. Nobody knew much about this man. He was never spotted leaving his house but would be seen occasionally at the farmers market. Nobody ever saw him on his journey to the market, though. Many rumors circulated about the mysterious man. The main rumor was that he wasn’t really a man at all. Since it seemed he was able to just appear places, people of the town assumed he was a spirit. He always wore a black cloak, with everything covered on his face except his eyes. His eyes were terrifying. They were bright white with black cracks through them. Nobody ever made eye contact with the man.

One day the man was at the market. Everyone stayed away from him. Everyone except one unknowing little girl. She felt bad and didn’t understand why the man was so lonely, so she skipped over to him when her mother was busy purchasing fruit. She had been told to stay away from this man before, but she thought the adults were just being mean. Her pigtails bounced as she skipped, and her dress flowed behind her beautifully. She approached the man and looked up at him. He turned his head and made eye contact with the little girl. The girl’s mother noticed and started running towards her daughter screaming. Before she was able to reach her, the man and the girl disappeared in a flash of light. The mother looked around the market frantically for the missing two, but there was no trace of them. She asked all of the farmers that had

tables set up if they had seen anything. All of them said they hadn’t even seen the odd man that day. The girl’s mother felt ill. A ghostly figure just stole her daughter, but she knew where she had to look. The house. Her husband was three towns over visiting a friend, so she had nobody to go with. She started walking to the house. The walking eventually turned in to a sprint. As she was standing in front of the house, she got a horrible feeling. Her whole body felt drained and weak. She approached the door and pulled on the knob. Surprisingly it opened, and her legs trembled as she stepped into the house. When she was only a few feet into the house, the door slammed shut behind her. She screamed once, but no more. The little girl and her mother were never to be seen again.

A week later, the man was at the farmers market once again. That was his kidnapping grounds. This time he went after a little homeless boy sitting by a tree stump. The man had a loaf of bread in his hands. He lured the boy by offering him this bread, knowing the homeless boy had to be starving. The boy knew the rumors about this man, so he was wary at first. Ultimately his hunger got the best of him, and he accepted the offer. He grabbed the loaf from the man’s hand and looked into his eyes.

As soon as he did, he froze. He was in some sort of trance. Again, like the previous little girl, the boy and the man disappeared in a flash of light. This time, nobody came looking for the little boy. He had no family. His parents were already dead, which left him homeless. The little boy was also never to be seen again.

Numerous other people went missing from this town over the next few years. All of which, happening at the farmers market. Usually it would start off with a child, and the family would doom themselves by looking for the missing child in the house. Just like

the first little girl and her mother. The odd thing was, none of the town’s people seemed to have any memory of these missing people. It seemed that as soon as the people suddenly went missing, so did all memories and trace of them. Their homes would immediately be inhabited by a new family, or sometimes their house would vanish all together. Eventually the man himself vanished and all of the disappearances seemed to leave with him. It is rumored that he moved on to another town and is still out there somewhere causing havoc.

Dolphins After Octopus Love by M. P. McCune

Whenever she goes to the aquarium, she visits the dolphins. There are two in the habitat, but the one makes a special connection with her.

Dolphins help the sick or injured members

She was a nurse. Her mother had cancer. When she was first diagnosed, the concern wasn’t as high as you would expect. They caught it early on, and they assumed she’d make a full recovery. About six months in, things took a turn for the worse. She tried her best to care for her mother, but it wasn’t enough. It was the most emotional funeral I’ve ever worked.

Dolphins are very friendly to humans and animals

Her mother was the sweetest person she had ever known. Throughout her life she never once saw her mother’s bad side. It was like she didn’t have one. She helped everyone she possibly could. She wasn’t even able to pass the homeless people in front of the gas station. She kept a stack of one-dollar bills in her car just for that situation.

Her heart was pure. A few weeks after the funeral, I read an article about her in the paper.

Dolphins can live up to 50 years

Her mother passed away just a few months after her fiftieth birthday. She fought hard, but the cancer overcame her. It was the first time she had seen her mother out of control. She vowed to live the rest of her life like her mother. She would live on through her. She carried her with her every single day. Anytime she made a decision, she thought about what her mother would do. She always followed her mother’s decisions.

She stood next to the casket for an hour after everyone else left.

For Angela

We were the true definition of high school sweethearts. We met on the first day of ninth grade. She was in my English class. I learned her name through the roll call. At the time, I believed Angela to be the prettiest name in the world. She had long, silky brown hair with perfectly trimmed ends. Her eyes were sparkling emeralds. I got lost in them whenever she spoke. Our first date wasn’t really much of a formal date at all. We spent the evening together at the football game, and I worked up the courage to ask her to Sonic afterwards. Sonic was the spot after every game. My older brother was a senior and had his license. He drove our parent’s 1995 Audi Convertible. It was a sweet ride, and as soon as he set off to college, it was mine. He drove Angela and I to Sonic and left us there to have our fun. We both got cheeseburgers and chocolate milkshakes.

This would become our signature meal throughout the rest of our relationship. For the next nearly four years, we would come to know all of the Sonic workers very well. They expected us after every Friday night game. We had our own table that they would keep reserved for us.

In school, we would walk the halls together. Our friends recall never seeing us apart. That was all changed by March. We broke up two Thursdays after Valentine’s Day. We were nearing the end of our senior year and preparing to venture off to college.

She was committed to Columbia and I wasn’t committed at all. I actually had no plans of the sort. She told me long distance wasn’t going to work for her. She pulled me aside in the hall and broke up with me. Her focus needed to be school, and I guess I was in the way of that. I had an inkling that the end of our relationship was near, but that Thursday

I was caught completely off guard. I assumed that she was going to spare me the embarrassment and heartache of being broken up with in the middle of the school day, but I was wrong. I went home after my third period. I couldn’t bear to be there. She’s the only girl I have ever loved. She was my best friend, and I have still never gotten over her.

For Angela

We were the true definition of high school sweethearts. We met on the first day of ninth grade. She was in my English class. I learned her name through the roll call. At the time, I believed Angela to be the prettiest name in the world. She had long, silky brown hair with perfectly trimmed ends. Her eyes were sparkling emeralds. I got lost in them whenever she spoke. Our first date wasn’t really much of a formal date at all. We spent the evening together at the football game, and I worked up the courage to ask her to Sonic afterwards. Sonic was the spot after every game. My older brother was a senior and had his license. He drove Angela and I to Sonic and left us there to have our fun. We both got cheeseburgers and chocolate milkshakes. This would become our signature meal throughout the rest of our relationship. They expected us every Friday night game.

In school, we would walk the halls together. Our friends recall never seeing us apart, until one day, that stopped. We broke up two Thursdays after Valentine’s Day. She was committed to Columbia and I wasn’t committed at all. She told me long distance wasn’t going to work for her. Her focus needed to be school. She pulled me aside in the hall and broke up with me. I had an inkling that the end of our relationship was near, but that Thursday I was caught completely off guard. I assumed she was going to spare me the embarrassment of being broken up with in the middle of the school, but I was wrong. I couldn’t bear to be there. She’s the only girl I have ever loved.

She was my best friend, and I’ve still never gotten over her.

For Angela We were the true definition of high school sweethearts. We met on the first day of ninth grade. I learned her name through the roll call. At the time, I believed Angela to be the prettiest name in the world. She had long, silky brown hair with perfectly trimmed ends. Her eyes were sparkling emeralds. I got lost in them whenever she spoke. Our first date wasn’t really much of a formal date at all. We spent the evening together at the football game, and I worked up the courage to ask her to Sonic afterwards. Sonic was the spot after every game. My older brother was a senior and had his license. He drove Angela and I to Sonic and left us there to have our fun. We both got cheeseburgers and chocolate milkshakes. This would become our signature meal throughout the rest of our relationship.

In school, we would walk the halls together. Our friends recall never seeing us apart, until one day, that stopped. We broke up two Thursdays after Valentine’s Day. She was committed to Columbia and I wasn’t committed at all. Her focus needed to be school. She pulled me aside in the hall and broke up with me. I had an inkling that the end of our relationship was near, but that Thursday I was caught completely off guard. I couldn’t bear to be there. She’s the only girl I’ve ever loved. She was my best friend, and I’ve still never gotten over her.

Identity After Bob Dylan’s Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door

My heart almost got me fired once. I allowed myself to become overwhelmed in the beginning of a service. At this funeral home, we don’t open the casket until the start of the funeral. We try to hold off looking at dead bodies for as long as we can. At some point we all become immune to lifeless people, but it’s always a pleasure when we don’t have to see them. This day we didn’t open the casket until the first group of people arrived to pay their respects. This family was rich. They bought one of the nicest caskets that I’ve ever seen. They must’ve saved money for it by booking the oldest funeral home in town. I was happy they did at first. I expected some interesting characters to be stopping by. It may seem insensitive, but it’s the things you look forward to in such a morbid job.

My coworker and I lifted the lid of the casket. As soon as I got a glance, I felt like all of the oxygen was being sucked out of me. I started to scream and back away from the body. The guests walking in froze in horror because of my shrieks. My coworker grabbed me as my boss walked in. They dragged me out of the room and tried to contain me. They made me wait upstairs; alone and scared. Usually it was the spirits that frightened me upstairs, but this time it was my own thoughts. I stared in every direction at the walls, trying to make sense of what just happened. It looked just like her.

The body in the casket could’ve been her twin. The woman had the same emerald eyes and hair. I never knew someone could be so identical.

At the conclusion of the service, my boss came back upstairs to get me. He led me into his office, along with my coworker. I wasn’t even able to speak as he guided me. We sat down and my boss spoke to me. He felt I needed a few weeks away from work and my coworker agreed. He told me to clear my head and come back as soon as I felt ready. This is the opposite of what I wanted. The few weeks off work could push me back into the slump I was in after my breakup.

25 Things You’ll Never Know About Your Life 1. Shelby Johnson wasn’t crying because her husband was dead. She was crying because she was about to be caught for his murder. He cheated on her. She poisoned him. The mistress was her sister.

2. Angela didn’t break up with you because she was going off to college. She loved you too much to tell you the real reason.

3. Your pet fish as a child didn’t “escape the tank”. Your dad forgot to feed it when you were away at Boy Scouts camp. He didn’t want to disappoint you again, so he lied and flushed.

4. Your boss is hiding something in the closet upstairs.

5. The lady at the gas station has a crush on you. Under no circumstances should you date her. She only likes you because of your car.

6. The funeral home is legitimately haunted. Most of the rumors aren’t true, but horrible things have gone on in the building.

7. The barber on Middle Street despises you. He gives you a shitty haircut on purpose. He only messes it up in the back though, so you can’t tell. Maybe you should’ve tipped him better the first time you went to him.

8. Remember the funeral where nobody except the husband showed up? He will never forget the hour you spent sitting with him and talking about the Patriots game.

9. Your mother only wanted the best for you in life. She kicked you out of the house, because she didn’t want you to turn into a deadbeat. She saw the path you were

going down, and knew you needed a wakeup call. Your father was against the idea, but as you know, whatever mom says goes.

10. Your best friend Ryan from elementary school stole your iPod. He sold it on Ebay last year for fifty bucks.

11. Shelby Johnson was charged for murder in the first degree. Texts were found between Shelby and her best friend. They had been discussing it for months.

You weren’t watching the news when they ran the story. Other than Johnson, there have been twelve murderers in attendance at funerals you have worked.

12. Your boss has been laundering money through the funeral home for years.

13. James, your older brother, crashed your parent’s old car on purpose. He knew that it wouldn’t be worth it to pay for the repairs, and that they would feel bad for you not having a car to drive to school. Thanks to him, they bought you a brandnew car for your 17th birthday.

14. Your landlord is ripping you off. The neighbors that live next door are paying two hundred dollars less for the exact same apartment that you and your roommate share. If you would just check Zillow, you would know there’s a much newer apartment down the street that you guys could be renting for the same price.

15. Turns out if you hadn’t been kicked out, you would now be jobless and homeless.

Funny how things work sometimes.

16. Angela broke up with you because she was pregnant. She gave birth to a little boy six months after you guys broke up.

17. You were fired from your pizza delivery job in high school, because somebody told your boss you took a bite out of one of the slices.

18. James has tried calling you at least once every week for the past two years. You don’t have his contact saved, so you always decline. Next time you see a call coming in from an unknown number, answer it.

19. I highly suggest that you consider quitting your job. You aren’t utilizing your natural abilities. You’re meant to be a businessman, not a funeral home director working under a creepy old man. Talk it over with your roommate. He has some good ideas.

20. It would be in your best interest to start going to the gym and change up your diet. You shouldn’t be eating fettuccini alfredo twice a week. Diabetes is not something you want to play with.

21. The whole family misses you. Every year they hope you’ll stop in for Christmas dinner. You never do.

22. A woman heard you laughing at a joke your coworker told during a service. She believed it to be the most distasteful thing she’d ever heard. That woman is the reason your Yelp review is so low.

23. Don’t drive your car on the highway next Wednesday. You’re going to total your car.

24. The FBI has been investigating your boss for the past two months. They’re going to raid the funeral home in three weeks while you’re working. Just put your hands up, you’ll be fine.

25. Angela still regrets breaking up with you. She thinks about you every day. Every relationship she’s been in since you have ended within a month. She’s going to send you a friend request on Facebook next January. Accept it.

Door Duty My favorite job to be assigned during a service is door duty. All you have to do for the entire service is hold open the door for guests. I rarely get the luxury of being put on door duty, but last week I was given the gift of the job. When I came in to work, I read the signs that had the name of the deceased written. I recognized the name. It was someone from my high school. A girl that was on the dance team. She struggled with substance abuse all throughout her junior and senior years. She was friends with Angela. By association, we were friends as well. I was saddened by the news, but we hadn’t spoken in years. I laid my hand on the casket before the service and said a quick prayer. I’m not much of a religious guy, but I felt like it was the right thing to do.

As people from my school entered, I hoped nobody would recognize me. It was the first time I felt truly embarrassed of my job. I didn’t want my fellow classmates to think I had amounted to nothing. More importantly, on the off chance she would be there, I didn’t want Angela to be disappointed.

Ten minutes before the calling hours were up, I saw a black Mercedes pull into the parking lot. A woman in a black trench coat and hat got out. As she got closer, I recognized her as Angela. I felt anxiety rushing through my body as I began to open the door for her. She looked just as shocked as I was. We talked for thirty minutes at the door, until it was time for us both to leave. She gave me her phone number and we arranged a date to meet up for coffee. Now I just count down the days.

8 Bit

by Bailee Preston

8 Bit

By Bailee Preston

I’d like to dedicate this chapbook to my mother for teaching me about life and Ms. G for teaching me about fiction.

Table of Contents 1. Ashes 2. After School 3. JoyPlace 4. Challenge 5. A Bodyguards Give to Life 6. On The Job 7. All Ghosts Keep Secrets 8. 25 Things You'll Never Know About JoyPlace

Ashes It is hard to explain, but somehow, I am on fire. I am the large, blazing flame walking throughout the streets. I did not think of the symptoms as anything strange. The symptoms were sudden, it started simple with an itch in the skin.

The first sign of the itch was nothing out of the ordinary. It got worse throughout the day. I was awake that night staring at the ceiling dreading whatever was happening to me. I had tried everything in my power to stop it: layers of lotion, exfoliating my skin, everything.

The next symptom was possibly worse. I was walking to school and met up with my friends along the way. They tended to stick out, they were social butterflies. Aiesha was popular and often the talk of the school. Not that I wasn’t taking account my situation, but I was new. “Do you smell that?” she said. I sniffed the air a couple of times.

“No?” I said.

Evie took a long inhale then moved closer to me. “Oh my god Amelia, did you sleep in a chimney?”

“Of course not! What’s wrong?”

“You smell just like coal!” She sniffed my hair again. “Or just like burning wood!”

“What should I do?”

“Here, take this,” Aiesha handed me her perfume and I quickly sprayed it on myself. “That should help with the smell until you can go home.”

It did not seem to help at all. The looks I got in class were unbearable. The whole classroom smelled just like a campfire. I was going to call my doctor when I got home,

but the unimaginable happened. When I looked in the mirror that evening, my hair was on fire. I screamed and screamed until my mother came rushing in.

“Honey, What’s wrong— Oh my god!” We both screamed together, which did not help the situation.

“What should I do?” I was panicking at this point.

“I- I don’t know! We need to take you to a specialist!” She was hysterical.

“I was just about to wash my face! Then when I looked up it was there?”

“Were you around any matches? Anything flammable? How long have you been like that?”

“No, no, and I’m not even sure!”

My mom rushed out of my room to call my father. He was not happy about the fact that his daughter was on fire, as most people would be. I do not think my mother was entirely thrilled either. By the next morning, I was totally engulfed in flames. My mother’s first thought was that it was a symptom to a completely new disease that wasn’t discovered yet. It was almost like she could not bear to look at me and did not look me in the eye.

As we stepped into the doctor’s office, the stares I got were overwhelming. They immediately rushed me to the back. The first solution they came up with that seemed obvious was to hose me down. But unfortunately, that did not work. My flame still burned brightly. The doctors could do nothing but send us home.

For the next week I was bed ridden, not because I was sick, but because I did not want to go outside and have my school mates stare holes into my skin. My mother

practically begged me to go to school. My father was the one who dragged me out of the house. He looked at me reluctantly the whole time, just like my mother.

To my horror, the whispers of the people around me were loud. It was almost like they were not even trying to keep their words a secret from me. “That poor girl,” people said about me.

That afternoon the news station came up to my house. They surrounded the front door so sure that we would let them in. My father was bombarded by microphones and large cameras.

“What is it like living with your daughter who’s on fire?”

“Is there any way that she can be cured?”

“How long has she been like this?”

For the first time I saw my mom angrier than ever. “The audacity of you people!

Did you ever even stop to think about what my daughter is going through right now? We are all under a lot of stress, especially her! You have no idea what it’s like! Shame on all of you. You only care about yourselves!” She quickly slammed the door and broke down and started to cry.

“Don’t cry, Ma.” I said.

“I just want you to be happy again. I want whatever this is to go away so you’ll go back to being your own self.”

“I want that too.”

“I know you do. This has been so hard for you.” My mom stared up at me with a sad smile.

“But what if it doesn’t go away? What about school?”

“Then… We’ll just have to deal with it. Whatever you do with your future after school is up to you.” This was the new normal for us not. Not that it felt normal, it has only been a couple of days. But I started to realize how much I have taken for granted. I missed my mother and fathers’ hugs, I missed walking to school with my friends each day. I missed when my family would look me in the eye and not wonder what’s going on in my head. My father patted my shoulder, surprised when the flames didn’t hurt his hand.

After School I hadn’t defined what “gone” meant.

—Jennifer Fliss, “In the Space Where They Meet” I hated waiting after school. The students always gave me weird looks as a walked out the doors. Maybe they were thinking of how long I would have to wait outside or if my dad was actually going to pick me up this time. When he said he would at first, I believed him. That day I was walking out the side door accompanied by my friend Aiesha. Aiesha and I became friends because we were the only “A” names in first period. “Do you want me to wait with you again, Amelia?” she said.

“Nope I’m good! Dads picking me up today.” Amelia gave me a weird look and after she walked away, I felt irritated because I knew she was hiding what she really thought. I’ve told her about my dad before. I don’t think she likes him from what I’ve told.

Excitement rushed through my body as I leaned against the wall at the side of the school. I was finally going to be able to spend some one on one time with my dad when he wasn’t being overwhelmed by his job. I sat there for what felt like an entire year and at that point I thought I was going to sink into the concrete wall. I would become a popular landmark, students would pass by me every day and abandon their gum on my temples.

When the car finally pulled up, I was disappointed to see that it wasn’t my father in the car, but my bodyguard assigned to me for that day.

JoyPlace (400 words) Amelia walked around the arcade for the first time. Of course, she’s been to an arcade before, but not one like this. The place was full with mainly adults. The only arcade Amelia has been to is the ones crowded by kids. As she walked throughout the establishment, silver coins jingling in her pocket, she got strange looks from everyone there. For a moment Amelia felt nervous but remembered to keep her guard up and tensed her shoulders. Then she walked up to the man directly at the counter.

“I’d like to exchange these for tokens.” She said. The coins spilled out of her pockets onto the counter with loud clanging noises. Her tone of voice was strangely blank. The man at the old counter was old and had grey hair. He almost looked like he didn’t belong here as much as she did. The man just chuckled. Amelia quirked her eyebrow in response.

“We don’t often use tokens here. All the games are free to play as long as you have a membership.” Amelia assumed his name was Nell, since that’s what the nametag on the left side of his chest read.

“I’m not sure how many times I’ll come back here so just give me as many tokens as these can get me.” She crossed her arms waiting.

“Alrighty then.” Nell went behind the counter and grabbed the amount of tokens.

“This should be enough. You look a little young to be here by yourself young lady, where are your parents?”

“My dad is working. He works all the time.”

“Well that’s unfortunate. But I’ll tell you what. Now I know I don’t know much about you, young lady but a hardworking dad is a good one. He works to give you the money for these tokens.”

“I know that.”

“Just making sure. You enjoy the games and take a look around. Come to me if you need anything. I’ll be here all night.” Amelia grabbed her tokens off of the counter.

There were many different types of games: first person shooters, racing games, ice hockey, and more. She didn’t know where to start. She was so amazed by the amount of games that surrounded her. Amelia didn’t want to leave. One thing on her mind was that she wanted to stay here and play forever. She knew she had to go home soon back to her father.

(300 words) Amelia walked around the arcade. She’s been to an arcade before, but not one like this.

The only arcade Amelia has been to is the ones crowded by kids. She walked throughout the establishment, silver coins jingling in her pocket. For a moment Amelia felt nervous but remembered to keep her guard up and tensed her shoulders. Then she walked up to the man directly at the counter.

“I’d like to exchange these for tokens.” She said. The coins spilled onto the counter with loud clanging noises. The man just chuckled. He was old and almost looked like he didn’t belong here as much as she did. Amelia quirked an eyebrow in response.

“We don’t often use tokens here. All the games are free to play as long as you have a membership.” The nametag on his chest said his name was Nell.

“I’m not sure how many times I’ll come back here so just give me as many tokens as these can get me.” She crossed her arms waiting.

“Alrighty then.” Nell went behind the counter and grabbed the tokens. “This should be enough. You look a little young to be here by yourself, where are your parents?”

“My dad is working. He works all the time.”

“Well that’s unfortunate but I’ll tell you what. A hardworking dad is a good one.

He works to give you the money for these tokens.”

“I know that.”

“Just making sure. You take a look around, come to me if you need anything. I’ll be here all night.” Amelia grabbed her tokens off of the counter. She was so amazed by the different games that surrounded her. Amelia didn’t want to leave, she wanted to stay here and play forever. She knew she had to go home soon back to her father.

(250 words) Amelia walked in the arcade, silver coins jingling in her pocket. She’s been to an arcade before, but not one like this. Amelia felt nervous but remembered to keep her guard up and walked to the man directly at the counter.

“I’d like to exchange these for tokens.” She said. The coins spilled onto the counter with loud clanging noises. The old man just chuckled. He almost looked like he didn’t belong here as much as she did.

“We don’t often use tokens here. All the games are free to play as long as you have a membership.” The nametag on his chest said his name was Nell.

“I’m not sure how many times I’ll come back here so just give me as many tokens as these can get me.” She crossed her arms waiting.

“Alrighty then.” Nell went behind the counter and grabbed the tokens. “You look a little young to be here by yourself, where are your parents?”

“My dad is working. He works all the time.”

“I’ll tell you what, a hardworking dad is a good one. He works to give you the money for these tokens.”

“I know that.”

“Just making sure. You take a look around, come to me if you need anything. I’ll be here all night.” Amelia grabbed her tokens off of the counter. She was so amazed by the different games that surrounded her. Amelia wanted to stay here and play forever.

She knew she had to go back home so soon.

Challenge The hint of strength around her mouth was not quite so evident perhaps — Holloway Horn, “The Lie” Amelia and her father have been arguing in his office for quite some time. She was fine until he found out where she goes after class everyday: the arcade.

“You won’t go back there,” Dad said. “We don’t know those people.”

“You don’t know a lot of people,” Amelia said. “and yet you still talk to them every day in your office.” Her bodyguard was silent at her side.

“It’s different,” he said.

“How so?” Amelia folded her arms in frustration.

“I do this for a living. You go there for fun. You could be harmed by those people.”

“By what people? People who don’t like you? They like me, what’s the problem?”

“There are a lot of problems,” The phone on top of his desk rang. “Just promise me you won’t go back there.”

“You want me to stay away from somewhere feel happy?” Dad stared at her blankly. “Don’t shut me out!”

“I have work to do,” Dad pointed at the bodyguard next to her, “Don’t let her go back to that Joy Place.” Amelia had enough and stormed out of the house, with her bodyguard rushing after her. Though she was short, her legs carried her a long way.

“I don’t understand what’s the big problem! I go out all of the time. Most of the time I am with you!”

“He’s trying to protect you.” Her bodyguard replies.

“Well that’s not his job! He stopped doing that a long time ago. I’m old enough to protect myself.”

“Let’s go back home so you can calm down.” Amelia agreed with a sigh. She was tired of fighting. The walk back home was awkward and silent. She walked back to Dad’s office with a solemn look on her face.

“I won’t go back anymore. If that’s what you really want.”

“I’m glad you can agree with me.” Dad said.

Amelia walked outside into the dimly lit hallway. She scrapped her feet against the carpet then swiftly turned around to face her bodyguard, “I’m going back tomorrow by myself, don’t follow me.”

A Bodyguards Guide to Life Wake up at 5:30 and at the car at 6:45. When you arrive at school ignore the paparazzi trying to peep into your life. Do not squint your eyes at the flashing cameras.

Do not piss off anyone on purpose, though the temptation is strong. I know you. Do not answer any questions about your father’s work. Even the vague ones. When you are with your friends don’t lash out at them for saying rude things about your father just because he is a politician, they don’t know him like you do. Instead redirect the topic.

Shrug the anger off your shoulders. You can deal with the rest later. Remember that I’m here to protect you. That I am on your side.

Join a club. It will do you good and it’ll look good on your college applications.

When you get in the car, do not sulk and bend forward. Messed up posture leads to a bad back. Trust me, your father would know. When you are bored in the car, don’t bad mouth your father to me. He is busy with work. I would like to keep my job for a little while longer. When you finish your homework that night don’t ask me if you can go out.

If your father knew I was going against his rules that would be the last time you might see me.

When we get to your favorite arcade, try to make friends. While you are walking around try to look as normal as possible. Stop being so tense. Learn how to blend in.

When you see your favorite game in the arcade spend most of your money on it. Seeing you happy is a nice change. Your father has enough to give you more coins for the next time. I will slip some extras in your pocket. Try your best to beat the high score.

Not being used to this is the worst part. Try not to pay attention to him being obviously upset while on the phone with a colleague, it will only make you feel worse.

Do not focus on the what ifs. Do not let your anxiety eat you alive. Do not focus on the real reasons why you might need a bodyguard.

Do ask your father if he wants to hang out with you over the weekend. Do not be so defiant just because you are upset. If he says he is busy, try your best to persuade him. Deep down in his heart he has already said yes. Once he agrees, call your friends about how excited you are. The day you spend time together, live in the moment and make every second count. Look back at that day not as a distant memory, a thing of the past, but one of the happiest moments of your life. When you are upset the day is over, look at old photos of you together and reminisce. If it makes you feel any better, look at old photos and replace the bad memories with the good ones.

On The Job Two back-to-back calls on opposite sides of town. The desk smells like old wood and the varnish makes the dark oak smooth. The plush cushion of the desk chair is almost too perfect. The papers piling up on the side are a pearly white. The atmosphere of the room makes it no lonelier than how it is every day. It’s been three hours since the day has started for me. Each day a duplicate of the other. I imagine my daughter, on the way to school in the car with the jet-black tinted windows. Sulking against her seatbelt she sighs and drags the pad of her index finger on the window. She would probably draw a smiley face. It was the first thing that popped into her mind. She absentmindedly doodles more and more window drawings. Leaning back in my chair, I take a look around the room.

A picture of my daughter and I hangs against the wall across from me. I stare deep into my eyes. We were so close back then. I wonder to myself how could I let us drift this far apart. The photo of us on her 10th birthday. I’m holding in my arms, her legs wrapped around my waist to keep herself balanced. Both of us with the widest of smiles.

She is missing a couple of teeth, weeks prior to the photo she had fallen while playing with the neighborhood kids. I wish I could transport myself back in that moment and experience it all over again.

All Ghosts Keep Secrets After Boa “Duvet” The wintertime was harsher than ever. It hit hard, not just because of the constant fresh inches of snow on top of sheer ice covering the ground. My nose was red from the cold. The scarf bundled around my neck was not enough to keep me warm.

The cold mirrored just how you acted towards me. You act like work is more important than your own child. A shame that I can read your mind.

During winter, time seems to go slower. The night drags on and I am restless. My thoughts are full of that place. At home I fade away, like some sort of ghost. I stalk the halls and drift along like I am being pushed along by a gentle breeze. The slight sound of typing and papers moving can be heard in the distance. It is almost as cold as it was outside.

At home I feel empty. I am hollow without any freedom. I lose myself. I wish I could tell you what it’s like. I romanticize a life that is not like this one, I am jealous of the other kids that are at school. Sometimes I imagine that I am walking in their shoes. I wonder if you, my father, feel the same way, is this how you would have wanted things to turn out?

Talking to my father is like trying to cut through stone with your bare hands. It is always the same conversation that ends with, and you know I don’t mean to hurt you. If you truly did not want to you could at least hand me a little more freedom. Hiding the truth is something that I wish I did not understand. I have dug my own grave and in turn if I told you it would make it worse. Why did I not listen the first time? All ghosts keep secrets. Things that they did not get to say before they had lost it all. Those unsaid

words went with them six feet deep. What I have not said is not under dirt, but it is six feet deep under my skin begging to come out. In hindsight it does not seem that major.

I think about what your secrets are too. About how you really feel. Deep down I think that you wish you hadn’t restricted me. Is it true that ghosts are stuck in the place where they have died? We are all ghosts in some way. Some of us become ghosts when we are alone. Everything leaves an impact none the less. Our impacts differentiate in size, some are great and some are little. I can’t help but think if I have made the right decision.

25 Things You'll Never Know About JoyPlace 1. The man at the front counter, Mr. Nell, has talked to Amelia this year more than you have. And you are her own father.

2. Amelia, your only daughter, visits JoyPlace every day after school. She has told Mr. Nell about how she wishes she could tell you about how much fun she has.

She is not sure you would take the news well.

3. There was a reason Amelia asked for money on her thirteenth birthday. You let her down and got her a small teddy bear instead. She tried to not show the disappointment on her face.

4. You spent her birthday at work. She spent her birthday at the arcade. Mr. Nell bought her a cupcake and let her play all the games free that day.

5. It broke Mr. Nell’s heart when Amelia admitted that she feels happier here than at her own home, if she can even count where you are staying now as a home.

6. Your daughter makes it her mission to visit JoyPlace every day after school. It is her immediate stress reliever. Mr. Nell hopes you don’t have to see her expression that she has on before she walks into the arcade.

7. Mr. Nell pretends he does not know who you are. Of course, he has seen the both of you on television. He wants Amelia to feel completely comfortable while she is here, she vents to him about you every time she runs out of tokens.

8. Amelia makes new friends at the arcade. They are a couple years older than her.

You would be proud of her.

9. Amelia tells Mr. Nell tonight is the night she is finally going to tell you about JoyPlace. That’s the first time he’s ever saw her nervous since she first walked

through the doors. Mr. Nell gives her a pat on the back and wishes her luck. You didn’t take the news well.

10. After you figured out Amelia snuck back to the arcade you made her bodyguard pick her up immediately after school for three weeks as punishment. She did not eat dinner for those three weeks. She felt too depressed.

11. One night she sneaks out of the house with her friend Aiesha. That was the first time Mr. Nell has seen her with a friend from outside the arcade. He wishes you could see the smile on her face when Aiesha said she wanted to come back for yourself.

12. Mr. Nell thinks badly of you. He does not see the harm in letting your daughter visit. What is the worst that could happen? He calls you a douche behind your back but tries not to let Amelia know his opinions.

13. Amelia is a well-known face at JoyPlace. Everyone waves at her when they see her. She gives them an awkward smile back.

14. You are too blinded by your own pride to see that your restrictions are doing more harm than good.

15. After the incident, that was the first time Mr. Nell has seen Amelia with a bodyguard. You sent him out to accompany her after school. Amelia tells the bodyguard she doesn’t need a babysitter.

16. JoyPlace is like Amelia’s second home. She wishes you could experience it together just one time. She wants to show you the new pinball machine.

17. After an argument you had with your daughter, Mr. Nell let her spend the night in the back room at the arcade. He checked to make sure the doors were locked three four times. Amelia told you she was spending the night at her aunt’s house.

18. Amelia’s bodyguard keeps extra tokens in his pockets. Just in case.

19. Even though she secretly goes, Amelia wants your approval to visit anyways.

She doesn’t want to keep hiding it from you any longer.

20. When Amelia comes home from the arcade every night she looks at you from your office. She wishes you trusted her enough so she could tell you about her day.

21. Mr. Nell considers Amelia like his own daughter. He wishes he could give her more happiness than when she is at the arcade.

22. A week later Amelia will beg you to let her go to the arcade. She hopes you will listen to her reasoning for wanting to go back but deep down she knows you won’t accept.

23. JoyPlace is not the same without Amelia. Every one there can’t imagine the what it was like without her there. You won’t understand the impact she has made on the place.

24. The last day of school is next week. You no idea how much Amelia dreads it.

25. On the last day of school Mr. Nell gives Amelia a JoyPlace t-shirt. It’s not much, only to remind her of the place in case she can’t come back for a while.

Narrated by a Ghost

by Josephine Reiter

Narrated by a Ghost

by Josephine Reiter

For Sawyer Enjoy :)

Table of Contents 1. The Chain of Command 2. Let Me Start Over 3. Memories 4. Nothing Gets What It Deserves 5. 25 Things You’ll Never Know About Each Other 6. Where Do We Go from Here?

7. Narrated by a Ghost 8. Home in a Hole

CAPTAIN SMITH: A military man in his late 30s, disillusioned with his life and the death he sees all around him.

CLEMMONS: A young soldier who joined the military due to social pressure.

The Chain of Command CAPTAIN SMITH I know my boys didn’t want to go to war just yet, there’s no way that any young man would sign his life away to probably die in a glorified pneumatic tube deep under the ocean, far from anyone who ever loved them, suffocating under the crushing pressure of the ocean, sacrificing their bones to the unknown and unexplored depths of the world.

My boys don’t deserve this, this stress, this crushing slow death of war and bombs and powerful people playing chess with human lives, pawns crushed under the granite of the king’s soldiers, I know this, I know this, there will be nothing left for their families to mourn, nothing left to say goodbye to, because people say that the submarines are not the ones who are the ones to die quickly, they are not the ones who are on the front lines, which is such a lie, it is such a lie, it is such a known lie, they do not claim that we will die in this world and in this war, “Still on Patrol” is emblazoned across our plaques and on the bottom of our letters to family, we do not ask for much, my boys, we do not ask for much and yet we are still here, trekking across the sea and shipping boats from port to port, protecting our friends who walk above, keeping our nation’s mentality and people safe and sound, my boys come for that, they come for the safety of the steel slanted walls and the promise that they will have community and friendship and everything they do not have, my boys do not want to go to war.

CLEMMONS They tell me to put my faith in the things that I can see and the things I can touch and the things that I know and my brothers and my Captain and the system and the radar and all of the technology that the ones above ground can only dream of, they tell me that I am lucky and that I am safe and that I am doing a Good Thing and that I am Making The Most of my life, and that I am respected and my sacrifice will be respected and worth it, because everyone assumes I will be crushed to death in a small metal tube without even considering that maybe there will be no bombs and maybe everything will end up ok but no one who gets to breathe fresh air every day wants people to think that maybe, just maybe, we will be ok and we will not all die in a horrible fiery explosion and speed up the end of the world in a horrible mass extinction event because at the end of the day I am so scared and no one seems to believe that it is possible that I might be scared and no one seems to believe that I might be ok at the end and at the end things might not end painfully.

Let Me Start Over 1.

I feel like I need to apologize to you, but I also feel like it’s not my fault, because you told me you didn’t— you told me— no, no that’s not it. This isn’t right. This isn’t what happened Let me start over, ok? I feel like…I feel like you need to apologize to me.

I didn’t want to leave, Mom, I didn’t want to leave!

I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

I have to go now, time’s almost up.

I miss…

Never mind.

2.

Hey Bess! How are you? I’m sorry I missed you, I know we don’t get to talk much now.

Things are good here, we’re refueling in Britain right now…getting ready for a long haul.

This is our first mission together, so everyone on the crew is still getting to know each other.

My bunkmates seem like good guys. I do think I’m going to be ok with these men. I trust them.

I miss you.

I’ll wait for you, Bess. I promise.

Wait for me too?

I’m sorry, Bess. Please.

3.

How can I trust anyone here when I can’t even trust myself?

These people are relying on me.

What if I let them down? I’ve already…

We haven’t even seen real battle, and I’ve already had to write…

His name was Jason.

Faulty machinery! You were right, Mary. You can’t trust tubes. You can’t trust modern engineering. You can’t trust humanity. Anything less than an act of God… You don’t deserve this, I’m sorry. Can we talk when I get back?

4.

Bess! Hey! Sorry I missed you again.

I realized I didn’t account for our different time zones.

Did I wake you up?

I’m sorry about that.

How are you, Bess?

Are you ok?

I know— I know I can’t ask you… I know I left…

I know it’s my fault.

Let me start over… please.

Memories (400 words) Max promised Bess he would wait for her. He shouted it over the clamor of the station, even as the tides of movement dragged him through the train doors and down, down, down. He hadn’t heard her response. He didn’t know if she’d responded.

When he’d arrived onboard the Leviathan, he’d brought her pictures with him.

Pictures that she’d taken, pictures of them together, pictures of dogs and yards and boats in the harbor. Max had bribed his bunkmate Peter for some tape, and his first night he taped the pictures on his wall, right next to where his head would be.

The first time Peter had seen the pictures, he’d laughed, saying Max was setting himself up for failure, heartbreak, and everything in between. Peter had been on the Leviathan for a while. He seemed like he’d seen some serious things, and they stayed with him. He cried at night, when he thought the others were asleep. Max was slowly building up the courage to ask him what was wrong, but privacy was a valuable thing on the ship and Max would not steal it from anyone onboard.

He hoisted himself up, so he was level with Max’s bunk.

“Did you take those pictures?” He asked.

“No. She did.” Max pushed down his fears.

“It won’t work out. Once you get back. It won’t work out.” Peter said it like a promise.

Mason loved his pictures. Mason had not taking time off for as long as Max had been on board, and Mason had been there before Max. Mason was a strange man. He spoke quietly and calmly and had an incredible and severe caffeine addiction that he was willing to trade all sorts of rations to satisfy. Mason was kind and strange in a way Max hadn’t seen before. Mason loved stories.

His favorite one to tell was of a crewmate who died onboard. He was crushed to death during an equipment malfunction, and now he wandered the ship, looking for any lost crewmates so he could guide them back to their bunks. Mason always told the story at night.

Peter, the eternal questioner, asked Mason if the story true. Mason said it was true if Peter believed that it was. This always started a hushed fight in the bunks between the people who liked the comfort of the story and the people who were afraid to die.

Memories (300 words) Max promised Bess he would wait for her. He shouted it over the clamor of the station, even as the tides of movement dragged him through the train doors and down, down, down. He didn’t know if she’d responded.

When he’d arrived onboard the Leviathan, he’d brought her pictures with him.

Max had bribed his bunkmate Peter for some tape, and his first night he taped the pictures on his wall, right next to where his head would be.

The first time Peter had seen the pictures, he’d laughed, saying Max was setting himself up for failure, heartbreak, and everything in between. Peter had been on the Leviathan for a while. He’d seen some serious things. He cried at night, when he thought the others were asleep. Max was slowly building up the courage to ask him what was wrong, but privacy was a valuable thing on the ship and Max would not steal it from anyone onboard.

“It won’t work out. Once you get back. It won’t work out.” Peter dropped down and was gone. He said it like a promise.

Mason loved his pictures. He had an incredible caffeine addiction that he was willing to trade all sorts of rations to satisfy. Mason loved stories. His favorite one to tell was of a crewmate who died onboard. He was crushed during an equipment malfunction, and now he wanders the ship, looking for lost crewmates so he could guide them back to their bunks. Mason always told the story at night.

Peter, the eternal questioner, asked Mason if it was true. Mason said it was true if Peter believed that it was. This always started a hushed fight in the bunks between the people who liked the comfort of the story and the people who were afraid to die.

Memories (250 words) Max promised Bess he would wait for her. He brought her pictures with him. On his first night he taped the pictures on his wall, right next to where his head would be.

The first time Peter had seen the pictures, he’d laughed, saying Max was setting himself up for failure, heartbreak, and everything in between. Peter had been on the Leviathan for a while. He’d seen some serious things. He cried at night, when he thought the others were asleep. Max was slowly building up the courage to ask him what was wrong, but privacy was a valuable thing on the ship and Max would not steal it from anyone onboard.

“It won’t work out. Once you get back. It won’t work out.” Peter dropped down and was gone. He said it like a promise.

Mason loved his pictures. Mason had an incredible caffeine addiction that he was willing to trade rations to satisfy. He loved stories. His favorite one to tell was of a crewmate who died onboard. He was crushed during an equipment malfunction, and now he wanders the ship, looking for lost crewmates so he could guide them back to their bunks. Mason always told the story at night.

Peter, the eternal questioner, asked Mason if it was true. Mason said it was true if Peter believed that it was. This always started a fight in the bunks between the people who liked the comfort of the story and the people who were afraid to die.

Nothing Gets What It Deserves Captain passed by my post on his way to the mess hall and stuck his head through the door.

“Smith,” he said.

It took me a moment to look up. Max had given me a new book from his time off.

He said it was the hardest level puzzles he could find. I had never been more grateful to another person in my entire life. I could only bring two books with me realistically, and I’d finished them in the first month. We were approaching month six now.

“Smith,” he repeated.

“Captain,” I said, because I didn’t know what he wanted from me and whenever I was in the zone it was hard for me to drag myself out of it. I had to orient myself.

Captain knew this. He was very understanding.

“Are you on point?”

“On point” was an interesting phrase that I’d never heard before coming to the Leviathan. Captain used it as a universal term for being what other people would call “ok.” It was also a morbid echo of what the crew of the Leviathan would be marked as if we were all to die at sea.

“Always, Captain.”

“Good. That’s good.” He knocked once on the doorframe and continued on to the mess hall.

I always felt that Captain was trying to apologize to us in a way. I wasn’t sure what he was sorry for. It felt like he was blaming himself for us being on the Leviathan. I wish he could understand how we, the crew, felt. Joining the Leviathan was our choice.

It was our escape. We all had our reasons. You don’t agree to live in a metal tube most days out of the year if you aren’t running from something.

25 Things You’ll Never Know About Each Other 1. All that emotions are is energy. Use them.

2. Peter, the tough guy on your ship, is haunted by the death of his best friend Simon. When they were both very young, Simon was hit by a car. They were crossing the street together. Peter blames himself. He thinks it should have been him. When Mason tells his story about the ghost crewmate, Peter is reminded of Simon. Peter asks Mason if the story is true because if it is, Simon might still be around. Simon might still be around, and Peter could apologize. He could make amends.

3. Max has a girlfriend, Bess, on the mainland. She means everything to him. He means everything to her, and that scares her. That’s why she’s ignoring his calls.

Bess has never felt this way about anyone in her life. Then Max went to war. She can’t cope with the anxiety.

4. Smith goes by Smith because his first name is Alastair and he thinks it’s not fitting for a submarine technician.

5. No one knows how scared you are. You’re better at hiding it than you think.

6. The Captain blames himself for you all coming here. His father fought in World War 2, and he told his son the stories. He never wanted him to have to fight. But it was already too late. The Captain saw the affect that the war had on his father, but he also saw the passion. When the opportunity came to join, to captain a new and untested submarine, to make an impact, he didn’t hesitate to take it.

7. Mason wanted to start over. That’s why he doesn’t take any time off. What’s the point of taking time from your escape? He doesn’t miss much about his old life,

but he does miss his coffee. The rations provided onboard aren’t close to enough to keep the cravings under control.

8. Peter cries at night, when everyone is asleep. He doesn’t know Max is a light sleeper.

9. Smith plays the piano. One day soon, when you two end up on break together, you’ll go to a bar. He’ll play the piano for everyone there, and you’ll be reminded of what could have been. You’ll want to ask him why he joined the war effort, but you don’t want to ruin the good day you both had.

10. Max is gearing up to ask Peter what he cries about at night, but he doesn’t know how to. He doesn’t know what he would do if Peter told him. He wants to help, because he cares, but he’s never been good at the follow through.

11. Smith and the Captain share the same last name. They are not related. This causes many, many problems that you and the crew are not aware of. Captain Smith is forcibly reminded of his lack of a family, of a child, every time he reads Smith’s name on the register. He tries not to play favorites, but it’s hard.

12. Peter doesn’t understand how Mason can be so comfortable with the idea of ghosts. He asks him, every time he starts telling his stories, how he knows the story is true. Mason never gives him a straight answer. Peter wonders if he can tell that he is drowning.

13. Max doesn’t know how his pictures have affected the crew. When he is not in his bunk, they take turns looking at them. He has so many. You don’t understand why he ever left his life, but you’ll never ask.

14. All the stories Mason tells are true.

15. Your dog didn’t forget you, and he never will. He sleeps on your bed, and when your parents eventually turn your room into an office, he’ll still sleep where your bed used to be.

16. His name was Jason. He doesn’t remember this. He can’t. The darkness calls to him, but he’s not ready to go yet.

17. When Captain Smith goes on land, he thinks of what each of you would like. One day, he’ll bring back a gift without feeling like he’s overstepping, and you will be so grateful.

18. Your father sits by the phone, waiting for you to call, but he never answers. He’s ashamed. You will talk eventually.

19. Jason shouldn’t be here. He should have moved on a long time ago, but he’s holding on out of pure force of will.

20. Bess is having nightmares. She keeps seeing Max’s waterlogged and bloated corpse drifting up on a beach somewhere, lost forever.

21. Your mother is writing you letters, but she’s not sending them. She cut a hole in your old mattress when your father wasn’t home, and that’s where she puts them. She’s waiting for the day you come home.

22. Simon moved on a long time ago. He doesn’t blame Peter for anything.

23. Guilt will eat you alive, if you let it.

24. Captain Smith used to be married, but the stress was too much for their marriage. She left him a year after he became captain of the Leviathan. Captain Smith has seen Max’s pictures. He feels like he should warn him. Tell him it won’t work out. He wants him to be safe, but safety is so hard to find now.

25. Everyone is looking for a way out, and someday, long after this parody of a war, you all will find your peace.

Where Do We Go from Here?

Did you know what you were doing?

You had to.

You had to know what you were doing. You had to know what could happen, you had to know this was likely and almost assured. You had to know because you yourself joked about this happening. You joked about it and you pointed out all of the flaws that come with metal tubes and water pressure and a dependency on technology will always fail you. You had to know because I told you Max I told you I trusted you I needed you and then you left me you left me alone and you went off to die and you went off to give yourself up to some sort of higher power and some sort of higher purpose which is all very noble and all that but Max, oh Max, why wasn’t I enough?

Did you know what you were doing, Max? Did you care?

Do you care?

Your letters were there, and they were coming, and then they stopped coming and you said you would call but the phone would ring and I could never be sure and I was scared Max I was so scared do you understand do you understand me I was so so scared because I never wanted this and I didn’t want it to end this way Max do you understand me I never wanted this I never wanted it to end like this.

I don’t know what to do.

Where are you, Max? No one talks to me now. I went to your house, and they wouldn’t let me in. I sat on the porch until the cicadas came out, Max. I’m sure they thought I was insane.

Where did you go?

At night, I’ve started seeing myself on your submarine. The Leviathan? That’s what your last letter said. I walk through twilight halls that twist and turn forever and ever and I am looking for something, I am looking for you. I see my photos on the walls like you said they were, but the faces in all of them are blacked out with smears of blood.

Where did you go?

There’s no one I can ask. No one knows. I went down to the recruitment office yesterday. The one you joined through? I’m sure you remember. I went there and I asked them if they knew where you were. They just looked at me. They just looked and looked and asked who I was, and I lied and told them my name was Janie Fisher and then I left and ran and walked and ended up somewhere that I didn’t recognize and had to hitchhike home.

Where are you, Max? Where do we go from here?

Narrated by a Ghost After Hobo Johnson’s “Typical Story” He doesn’t know what’s coming. He doesn’t know where he’s going to end up.

I do.

Mason Killbreck came to the Leviathan about a month after I left. Was killed tragically in an equipment malfunction. Died. Whatever you want to call it. Pretty words can’t change the past.

The first thing I noticed about Mason was the way his eyes moved. He was constantly scanning, like he was looking for a way out of every room at all times.

Because I’d only been dead for a month I had a lot more energy, and I could follow Mason and the crewmember that was assigned to walk him through the submarine. I think his name was James? They were headed to the engine room. James passed under the doorway where I died. His jaw clenched. Mason followed closely behind. He didn’t know what happened. His eyes were still scanning, scanning, scanning. And then, then something that has never once happened again happened. Mason looked me dead in the eyes…and smiled. It was a strange smile, hidden so James wouldn’t see it.

There were a lot of emotions twisted in that smile, but no happiness.

If I hadn’t been dead, I think I would’ve smiled back.

It became my habit to follow him. What else was I going to do? I felt better around Mason. By better, I mean less…absent. It was like he was surrounded by a bubble of energy that I could feed off. He was a living battery. I didn’t know where he got the energy from, but I figured it out pretty quickly.

It was night. I don’t need sleep, so I was wandering the ship, the way I used to when I wasn’t dead. I was finding myself slipping into my past habits, getting stuck in loops. I couldn’t remember my name, but that didn’t bother me as much as I thought it should have.

I was fading in and out of awareness, halfway to the belly of the sub. That was when I saw him. Mason was standing in a hallway near the top of the sub, head tilted to one side like he was straining to hear music from far away. Except, I knew it wasn’t music. It was the voices. The same voices I’d heard in the weeks before my death. I wondered if Mason felt drawn to the ocean in the same way I had.

He was looking at me again. I wondered what I looked like. Was there blood oozing from my head? Did I have a head? I must’ve, because Mason gave me that same strange smile again. I realized his smile looked strange because it was angry.

He’d been angry for a while, and it was seeping into his other emotions and twisting them all up.

“What happened to you?”

Who asked the question? It might’ve been both of us, speaking in unison. Maybe I made him ask it.

It didn’t matter.

Mason turned, distracted, and tilted his head again.

He was going to end up like me.

I’m not very good at ghosting, but I can give people…impressions…of things to do. It took all of my energy, but Mason went back to his bunk that night.

It’s getting harder to hold on. I end up in places I don’t remember going to. I get stuck in loops I can’t get out of. My body isn’t my own. Mason’s energy isn’t enough anymore.

I’m decaying.

When I’m gone, Mason will die. Of this, I am certain.

I hope he’s remembered. I hope his story gets told. I hope he becomes a legend.

Home in a Hole Once upon a time, there was a boy who died for the sea. He was looking for a home that he thought he had lost long ago. For this boy, home was not a building, home was a feeling. Home was a feeling he needed to find. Home was a feeling he would give anything to find. Home was silence, weightlessness. Tossing, turning…darkness.

When he was younger, he was told home was a stick figure house with a pointed roof, two windows, and a gently smoking chimney. Maybe there would be a small dog in the yard, or a spiraling tree pushing through the dirt. His teachers asked him to draw a picture to take to his mother. They asked him what his room looked like, told him to draw a map from a bird’s eye view.

The summers blurred together, and soon the boy was primed for adulthood. His classmates were readying for life all around him. His humanities teacher told him that he had a real talent for art. She said his drawings were clinical, but in a good way. She said they reminded her of military weapon plans. She said there were a lot of careers he could go into. She told him she didn’t want him to die, but he had real skill that could help a lot of people.

In his dreams, he tossed and turned under the ocean, dragged deeper and deeper down by the waves.

At graduation, the principle stood haloed by stage lights and asked everyone to announce their plans for the future. There was a round of applause after every answer.

When it was his turn, he answered truthfully. The silence after “navy” was deafening.

At dinner, his mother asked him if he was looking for his dad. She told him it wasn’t worth it. He left you, she said. Why do you think you owe him anything? She said he should have told her what he was going to do before he went up in front of what was practically the entire town and announced that his big plan was to die alone in the middle of the ocean. She said he really couldn’t have expected any other response from a land-locked state.

He had one warm week left before it was time to leave. All he could think about was the water. His mother thought he was running from life.

“Why can’t you go to college first?”

He tried to explain it to her. She didn’t understand. She asked him, again and again and again, over dinner and in the mornings as he stood with his back to her, scrambling eggs.

Training was not as bad as he thought it would be. At school, he had been a background character in everyone’s stories. At training, no one asked why he didn’t talk.

No one asked him where he called home. No one asked him why. He applied to join the crew of the Leviathan, because it was new and untested. No one in his training group went with him.

The boy, who was much closer to a man at this point, joined the Leviathan as soon as he they told him he could. His sergeant sat him down, the day before he left.

He told him he could change is mind. He told him he didn’t want him to die. He told him he had talent, real, artistic talent. He could save lives. The boy, who was aware of how close to a man he was, didn’t try to give the pressure in his bones words.

Aboard the Leviathan, there was always more work to be done and more things to learn. At training camp, the boy had never felt really present in his life. Autopilot. But

on the Leviathan, it was like his eyes had been opened for the first time. He’d been sleepwalking through his entire life up until this point.

At night, in his bunk, listening to his crewmate’s sleep sounds all around him he was sure that he heard a voice, calling to him from the walls. Sometimes he would toss his legs over the edge of his bunk and just sit, letting his mind wander down the arterylike halls, following the voice to its source.

The Leviathan was called out on a mission only a couple days before the trees on the mainland would have started dropping their leaves. The boy, who was now a man in the eyes of the law, followed his crewmates into the engine room. It was a routine check. They were leaving, but the Leviathan was shaking. It was shaking in the way that sent his mates into the hallway, shouting and gesturing. He couldn’t hear them.

He wondered what they were saying.

He stopped in the doorway. He was being held down from above. The voices and the shaking were drowning each other out. There was a darkness coming down on him, a darkness and a pressure.

He thought it might be the sea.

The Professor (250)

They bought a house together, the professor and her wife. On the subway, the professor sat next to a child, and told him she liked Batman too.

Their dissembled bed frame sat beside their mattress. Sometimes the wood planks would shift in the night and wake them. The professor would hold her wife until she fell back asleep.

The professor’s wife danced into her arms when she told her she wanted a baby. She told her she was excited to do this. That she wanted to go tomorrow.

There was brief talk on who. They chose her wife’s preference, because after all, she was carrying their child. The professor made note of the doctor’s gender and tried to smile as she watched him grab her calves and stuff them into stirrups.

The professor entered the train tunnels before dusk, and left when the moon spilled over the sidewalk. She watched her wife’s belly grow. She came home and dug her thumbs under an avocado, unable to tell it had spoiled until she had reached the muddied insides.

Her wife curled onto a towel. Its grey threads seared in red. She asked the professor if she thought she could’ve done a better job. She didn’t tell her wife she had wanted to carry.

When she rode the train that next evening, the professor didn’t take the seat next to mother and child. A man stumbled into their car. His own throat rejected his saliva, his mouth and shirt wet with red.

A Rabbit in Wild Grass

I stared at a stranger’s legs and held my mom’s hand. The tunnels were dirty, and the animals mutated. If I didn’t stand behind the yellow line, I could fall in. Then a howling metal creature would rush at me without stopping. Strangers didn’t acknowledge each other, and the crack between the train car and the platform scared me. Underneath it was slimy walls and crackling tracks. I didn’t like sitting down in it either, because my feet couldn’t touch the ground.

In Winslow, it was courteous to smile when you walked past one another. My baseball coach was my mailman, and my teacher had a stand at the farmer’s market. I used to live next to Quinn at the end of a cul-de-sac surrounded by the woods. We would wait for the bus together, until she got sick. That day, she made us sit in the front. As more kids got on, she talked less.

She pulled her hair in front of her ears and her hat all the way down. She wrapped a scarf around her face until I could hardly see her eyes.

Quinn didn’t come to school after that. I had called her home phone every day, and there was no answer. Nancy opened the door when I came over. She said, it’s not a good time right now Will. I hated how she said my name, and I could feel my cheeks get hot. I pushed past her and ran up the stairs. Quinn was in her bed; the covers went past her ears. I pulled back the blanket and saw her frail figure face down on the bed, her skin tight to her body. She had wrapped all of her mother’s scarves around her head, and blankets, and hats.

She spoke to me in a muffled voice. I looked at her sideways, and she pulled down a scarf to show me her mouth. Quinn told me about the hospital, and how they gave you padded socks so you couldn’t slide across the floors, but that the tile was perfect for that. How she had to lay in a

cage, and was slid into a tube, but that she pretended it was a spaceship. That they put dye in her brain to run alongside her veins and found something. My mom said I’m sick, she said.

In the subway, a man came through the doors. I saw his foot get caught in the crack before he stumbled into the train car. His lungs sputtered and I felt my mom pull me closer. I wondered where he could’ve gotten so muddy if the city was all concrete. He coughed again and spit blood onto his shirt. I tried grabbing his hand, but my mom pulled me back again, like I wasn’t allowed to touch him. Around us people stared, I didn’t understand why they weren’t helping.

Before I left, Quinn and I caught crayfish in the stream. She had just gotten a new pair of rain boots and stood in the middle of the current. I crouched at the bank with my hands in the water.

I would let them turn blue just to watch the water distort the way they looked. I told her that we had learned in school that day, that crayfish live under rocks. Quinn was across from me now, picking them up. We did this in silence, until she stood straight up. She grabbed my hands and dragged me to her bank. My shoes filled with water, but we started to walk. I was afraid of going deep into the woods. Quinn stopped; her new boots muddied. She pulled me towards her.

We stood in a clearing made up of wild grass. It almost reached our knees. Below us was a rabbit. Its stomach ripped open, and its intestines on the ground around it. For a minute we watched the steam radiate off of the grey matter and into the air. Quinn cried when we buried it.

I left a week later.

The Infant

If you suck an infant’s skin and latch your mouth to their arm, there’s a faint hint of umami. Saliva becomes broth. The girl wriggles her stuffed legs, until she is asleep. At night, I put my mouth to her arm and have a sip or two. She will not gain control of her eye muscles for a few months. It’s easier for her to look at things from an angle. The boy sits in a plastic bin beside her and tries to fuse his fingers to his nose. Every morning she murmurs to him, speaking in tongues. It’s as if she reads the boy the newspaper. I know she is telling him of the time she paraded down the birth canal with her umbilical cord wrapped around her stomach. How it was my gloved hand that released her plum body. It is why his skin is less tender. When the girl is older, she says, not all babies have infantile amnesia, you know? She recounted the evenings I spent with her. My blue shadow pushing her bassinet. Years later, she sees a man on the train, transmogrifying into a womb. His lips wash in deep red that swings from his chin like her mother’s rosary. After she had found a bruise on the girl’s arm, she fingered red beads and whispered of redemption by Jesus, so that everyone who believes in Him might not perish but might have eternal life. The girl has not done what I have but takes her first steps. She grabs his arm, thicker than new-born, and parts her lips. She tastes nothing but dirt, and her saliva becomes mud.

Track 2: Little Dark Age -

After MGMT, Little Dark Age

I stand next to the glass pane in the door, outside we’re a foot away from the sludgy wall, you can’t tell it’s brown until the train passes the next station, turquoise tiles adopt a new artist’s work under the sign Lexington and 63rd, a painting of a balloon, but at least I’m blocked from the stale smell around the car, becoming rather attached to the chipped bricks, or the advertisement for that new psoriasis medication. After the wheels cry out and the train starts to chug forward, we’re back in another tunnel, traffic signals hiss past the doors, lighting up the man’s glasses across from me, although his phone screen is already reflected in them, it changes to green, then red, yellow, purple. I’m wearing tights today, mesh ones, because I’d seen Saya do it in the last episode, but I don’t like the way they feel on my thighs, especially when they touch, it’s alien, like two gangly hands, nails and everything, grabbing at the insides. ‘Glasses’ leaves, replaced by some short lady, who brings her Maltese in a bag, and the transit voice reminds me I’m nine stops away, but the stereo sounds strange, and the dog just sits there, on the floor, with its nose pressed against the side, so I inch my foot toward it, I want to know if it’ll move, but the woman keeps looking down, like someone is going to steal it, I might’ve, if I felt like it, or if Saya told me to. My dad just bought me headphones, I think he felt bad mom and him were getting divorced, but I thought they had already done that, I wish I had been angry when they told me last week, that my eyes turned red like Saya’s do before she wields her sword, that I jumped off our balcony and ran down the side of the building, just to turn around and see their faces. A man stumbles onto the

train, there’s dirt under his fingernails, they’re the kind that look like they’d been cut weeks ago, but not filed, almost pointed at the top because no one cared enough to flatten them out, I hated that. I try not to look at his face, it’s easier to look at the floor instead of making eye contact, plus acknowledging people makes me feel weird, because of the time I did, and I think he followed me home, I should buy a katana. The end of his pants are frayed, and his shoes look like they might pop, like his big toe is too big, he coughs, the kind that sounds like a golf ball got loose in his lungs and is bouncing around his rib cage, he doesn’t stop either, never pulls out a handkerchief like old men do, just stands there with his head dropping lower to his knees and the car’s tracks pulling his body further to the center, people stare, it starts to sound like his throat is bubbling, like it will overflow, and blood starts to leak from his tongue, every time he opens his mouth, it becomes darker, deeper, like a cave I could jump in, like Saya would jump in, it spills from his throat and onto his shirt, I look at his face, at the patches of hair, and how they’re different lengths, like they’d been cut or singed, like he’d been in battle, wielded a sword and escaped to this car, I want to touch him, to see if his hair is wet or just greasy, to feel the boils on his skin, and get blood on my hands, I want to be in battle, the image of the dead, dead-ends in my mind.

Daybreak on a River

James joined a country club the day after he saw a boy get hit by a car. I looked out of the window that morning, to check if any of last night’s rain had leaked through the cracks. There was only a smear of beige water, a few small bugs stuck to the paint on the sill. The trunk of our car was open on the street below, before the sun had begun to set into the pavement. James was loading the back with a set of golf clubs. I walked downstairs. Two nights ago, he had called a taxi a few blocks away, because when you’re drunk your brain whines. The earth starts to spin, and the wind becomes water, that washes away straight lines. So, you’re left alone, watching the street light crash into itself again and again and again.

Are you sure you want to drive, I said. He looked at me, two sunken holes where his eyes should’ve been. I’ll take the subway.

He insisted on leaving and dragging his bag behind him. When the wheels would get stuck in the sidewalk he’d turn around and stare at it for a minute. As if he was asking it to stop. We turned left where we usually go straight, passing incongruent bricks and lawns. It’s common for taxis to smear their tires and paint dark streaks on the road, but not into the kid waiting to cross the street.

I saw James later when he came home. He had seen a man on the subway, that had coughed blood onto his shirt, as if he’d been hit on impact. I took his hand as he started

to cry, as his shoulders collapsed on me. I watched the bag bounce, like how we used to watch strangers knock around our block at daybreak. I pressed my nose into his hair, which smelled of sweat and metal, after an hour underground. I wondered how the boy was doing, if he could see the Hudson’s grey waves from his window.

Into the Dark Iris Roth-Bamberg

Into the Dark Iris Roth-Bamberg

This chapbook is dedicated to my brother, whom I saw hitting a tree with a stick a while back which sparked this whole thing, and to myself, without whom none of this would have been possible.

Table of Contents 9. Decent 10. Dreamer 11. The Artistry of Myth 12. Clear Skies 13. Over the Commune Wall 14. The Corruption 15. What You Couldn’t Have Known 16. Into the Dark

Decent The apocalypse started slowly. It began with a year of record crop harvest and forests coming back from the brink of death. Everything looked greener, the air felt richer, cities remembered why parks were a thing.

And then, things got worse. The trees were growing, and they kept growing, higher and higher. Usually, large things reach a point of stagnation wherein they are big enough that it’s hard to pinpoint whatever growth might occur, though you know logically that it is indeed happening. That was not the case here. Oaks that people had called big for the past decade grew giant. The sickly crabapples planted along residential streets went through puberty and snatched down electrical wires in all their teenage angst.

Writhing roots burst waterlines, and sidewalks shattered under the duress of small armies of dandelions.

People’s excitement at the sudden resurgence of nature dampened considerably when office buildings began to collapse and greenery obstructed air circulation. Farming quickly became impossible under the extraordinary growth of choking weeds. Society slowly ground to a halt as the plants destroyed system after system, toppling buildings and crushing any attempt at opposition. People gathered in ground floor apartments, hoping their wouldn’t be the next building to fall.

But panic doesn’t last forever. After a month or so of fearful huddling people got tired of it. After all, what were humans if not conquerers and survivors? They were not cowards but warriors, evolved to survive against every odd. And so they gathered as best they could, gathering in the sturdiest, squattest buildings they could find.

No one remembers who first figured out that the plants weren’t particularly fond of fire, but the information spread like, well, wildfire. Survivors gathered armed with gasoline, matches, lighters, and anything remotely flammable, and so began an age reconstruction, safe behind walls of fire and, soon enough, concrete thick and tall enough that the plants could not topple it. And so began the communes.

Dreamer After “Keys” by Tim Parks in The New Yorker After their mother died, Ace would dream of the wall. Every night it loomed over them, featureless and unsurmountable. Sometimes it fell and the forest would sweep in like the starving tide. Other times it grew and grew until the sky above was a pinprick in the grasping stone. Sometimes, their mother stood next to them and they watched the devastation of their home with a cool indifference. Sometimes the wall crushed their mother beneath the weight of its desperate responsibility, and Ace rushed to her broken side in torrents of tears. They always woke up achy after they dreamt of the wall, as though they had been bashing their shoulders against the thick stone for hours.

Once, they woke up in the burrows, shivering in the stale underground air. They stood at the entrance to their family’s tomb, but the gate was still locked. The key hook was bare. There were marks on their hands where they’d been grasping at the iron lock.

They were barefoot and skin-torn from wandering through the roughly hewn tunnels, and their sleep shirt was ripped. “Why am I here?” they asked the lonely tunnel, but of course there was no response. How had they even gotten this far without waking up?

And where were the missing keys? When they asked their brother about it the next day he said he had not noticed them leaving, even though they shared a room.

They had started putting barriers in front of the door, in case they were trying to climb the wall in their sleep, but they always woke up in bed, sore and thinking of their mother.

Sometimes they wondered if the dreams were from their mother. If she was still there somehow, if they had woken up in the tombs because she had been luring them

there. If they dreamt of the wall because their mother had joined the forest. Some said the angry spirits went to the forests, that that was why the trees were so hungry. Each was a soul starved for revenge. Ace hoped their mother had passed on. That she was happy somewhere, maybe in a field.

Ace began to sleep with shoes on, hoped they would join her one day.

The Artistry of Myth Jawn, 12; curious, determined The wall is tall; the wall is tall and the sun above is damp under leaves, what would it be like to swing from those leaves up to the top to touch the sun to be above those walls to walk above the trees—I’m going to get up there soon, I’m going to look down on the commune and laugh, I’m going to prove them all wrong—there are other people out there I know there are other people out there I’m going to leave the walls to find them, find people without walls, live in a world without walls, there’s got to be people out there without walls. The plants can’t be bad, I read somewhere that they weren’t bad, people used to love them, to keep pet plants how can the plants be as bad as Mother said, she was lying but I’m going to find out, I’m going to meet the plants, tame the plants again, I’m going to touch the sun and walk above the trees I’m going to prove her wrong prove them wrong, they don’t need walls. In the past, in the beginning, before, they used to climb trees and vines climbed them to the top to above the clouds discovered the commune above the clouds, the giant people above the clouds they tamed their plants to let them fly, fly above the clouds; I’m going to leave here, get there, above the clouds, find the commune with no walls, going to leave the walls behind, train the plants to take me above the clouds, I’m going to get out.

Shaira-lynnt, 16; anxious, responsible Mother will be angry, I know that, angrier than Mother always is, she’s going to be furious, furious as Jawn, yell at him, angry, always so angry, Mother—never at Jawn; it wasn’t fair always yelling at me, never at Jawn and now he is leaving, leaving me leaving Mother leaving me with Mother. I asked him to stay, he said he would, he won’t I know he won’t- always a liar, Jawn, always lying, always caught up in books on the past on the beginning, always wanting to leave the walls, walls to keep them safe, walls to keep everything out, wanting to leave the walls, so caught up in leaving the walls, Jawn, leaving me, leaving us—me and Mother—angry Mother. He never cared, wanted to follow Father out to to forest, leave me and Mother back behind the walls, she is so angry, angry at me, always yelling at me, she loves Jawn, she loved Father, always always loved Father, Father and Jawn, so angry with me, Jawn is leaving me with angry Mother, spiteful Mother, lonely Mother, leaving me so he can cross the wall after Father, Father who left me and Mother, he said he would come back. Jawn says he will come back, such liars, Father and Jawn, leaving so they never come back, leaving me and distraught Mother behind, I think understand her better now.

Clear Skies After “Felt Along the Seam” by Kelly Sandoval on Flash Fiction Online The stone is cold where Alistar sits. The sun is just barely shining through the foliage slowly growing its way over the commune walls. They’ll have to burn it back again soon.

Her wooden pencil hesitates over the thick paper, trying to decide what to draw. The trees look hungry in the creeping dusk. Someone sits next to her, doesn’t say anything.

Alistar doesn’t look up.

“You’re good,” they say.

“Yeah.”

“Why?” “Why what.”

“Why draw them? The trees.” They sound wistful.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they? I like beautiful things.” All she receives is a derisive huff.

“Joking. I think it’s funny to draw them with paper make from their bark and a pencil made from their wood. I like to think it hurts their feelings.”

“You think they have emotions?” They sound critical, but not upset.

“Well I’ve never bothered to ask, but I don’t see why not. They’re living creatures, aren’t they?”

They hum in response. “I’m Ace.” “Alistar.”

And that’s how Ace and Alistar met.

In daylight, it’s simple. The trees don’t move much when the sun’s still out. That’s the best time to draw them. One of the firemen is walking along the wall, burning the vines and creepers back again. The plants have been advancing faster, now that winter’s coming. The sun doesn’t last as long. Ace drops down onto the stone beside her. They don’t speak. They hook their chin over Alistar’s shoulder. Alistar leans her head against theirs.

“Do you think it hurts?” Ace asks eventually. Alistar still hasn’t drawn anything. She doesn’t have to ask what Ace means.

“I hope so.”

“We should burn more. Send firemen past the walls. Burn it all away.”

“What would I draw then?” She feels Ace’s smile against her throat, the brush of an eyelash.

“The sky. The clouds. I read about birds once.”

“I don’t think such things exist.”

“We could bring them back. Birds and clear skies.”

Alistar laughs, nudges Ace’s head with her jaw. “I would draw birds and clear skies,” she says. “For you.”

Over the Commune Wall Once, long ago, on a commune far from here, there was a little girl. She lived a good life, safe behind commune walls, but she was lonely, and she wanted more. One day, she went to her grandmother and asked “Grandmother, why can I not go beyond the walls?” She did not yet know of the dangers of the forest, for the people lived in fear of what survived beyond the towering commune walls.

And her grandmother responded, “It is dangerous for little girls beyond our walls.

The forest will swallow you up. Now run along and do not ask me again.”

But the little girl was dissatisfied with this answer, and so she went to her grandfather, and again she asked “Grandfather, why can I not go beyond the walls?”

And her grandfather responded, “Because the forest is not safe for small children. It will eat you right up. Now run along and do not ask me again.”

But the little girl was dissatisfied with this answer too, and so she went to her great-grandmother, and for a third time she asked, “Great-grandmother, why can I not go beyond the walls?”

And her great-grandmother responded, “When I was a little girl, we lived on a commune without walls, surrounded by the trees, and we were happy. Until, one day, the trees grew angry with us. They got bigger, and stronger, and they swallowed our commune up. We ran, as far as we could, until we found a place without trees. And there we began building a new commune. One with towering walls that would not let the angry trees in, and we were safe. Now run along and do not ask me again.”

But still, the little girl was dissatisfied, and so she went to her room, where she took her bright red coat, and to the kitchens, where she took a basket of pastries and

muffins and cookies. And then, once it was dark, the little girl snuck to the wall and began to climb. She climbed for a very long time, for the people had built it so that the trees might never break through. Finally, as the sun began to rise again, the little girl reached the top of the wall.

She looked out and saw the forest for the very first time. It was beautiful, but still she wanted more. The little girl began to climb down the other side of the wall. As she climbed lower, great branches began to snatch at her red coat. “Do not be angry,” the little girl called, “I just want to play.” But still the trees reached for her cloak, and her hair, and her basket of cookies. “Please,” the little girl cried again, “I am lonely. I just want to play.” Finally, the little girl reached the ground. It was dark under the trees, and she could hardly see. “I am lonely,” she called, “I want to play. Won’t you play with me?”

The trees did not respond, and so the little girl walked deeper into the forest.

Soon, the little girl could not see the sky at all. She did not know how long she had been roaming amongst the trees, but she did not care. The world was wide and expansive beneath the constricting leaves. She wandered deeper, picking the pretty flowers that grew beneath her feet and snacking from her basket all the way. After a very long time, she reached a wall of brambles that blocked her way. No matter how hard she tried, the little girl could not move past them, and so she turned, and began to walk back towards where she thought she had come. She walked until her feet began to ache, and all light had vanished beneath the heavy roof of leaves, but the commune wall did not appear. The little girl had run out of cookies and muffins, and soon she would be out of pastries too. Desperate, the little girl tried to climb one of the trees so she might see above their lick leaves, but the branches squirmed away from her hands.

She found herself trapped on the forest floor, endlessly wandering. She was hungry, and very thirsty, and the trees blocked and surrounded her when she wasn’t looking.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, she saw the wall. It loomed up on her suddenly, but the little girl had never been so happy. She ran to it, and immediately started climbing. The wall was even taller than she remembered, but the little girl never faltered. The moment her feet hit the ground on the other side she ran to her grandparents, and the little girl never ventured past the commune wall again.

The Corruption Nightfall is the most busy time of day. It’s when workers flood the kitchens, ravenous and angry. The farmers and foragers deliver the day’s reaping at seven, work ends at eight, and the crops are near maturity, so the kitchens have been working overtime for months. They’ll need to be replanted soon, before the plants are corrupted fully, which means rations will shrink even further for a month or so. Breakfast and lunch have already dwindled to meagre portions of tofu and rice.

When Alistar finally makes her way back to her quarters after a long day in the kitchens, both rations in hand, she is limping. Slipping off her shoes the moment she steps onto their plush carpeting feels like bliss, and she groans out her presence before setting the compostable containers on the oak-wood island and lowering herself to lay on the floor.

“Long day?” Ace asks from the doorway.

“They always are,” Alistar sighs out. “I’ve left food at the island, eat without me.”

“And where would be the joy in that? C’mon.” There’s the clicking of wood from their cabinets, and then Ace lowers themself to the floor near Alistar’s hip. “Here,” they say, pressing one of the rations into Alistar’s weary hands and pulling her up into a sitting position.

The flimsy bowl is heavy in her hands as she takes a bite. Alistar has never really had a big appetite, and work has sapped whatever she may have had. Ace eats with their usual ferocity, taking joy in biting what used to be plants, letting their teeth scrape the wooden fork as though it can feel pain.

They glance at Alistar after a minute or so of silence, at Alistar’s barely touched dinner. “You’ve hardly eaten today. You need the nutrition.” Alistar doesn’t respond except to prod at her own salad. “Are you worried about the corruption again? We’ve still got a week or so before the crops go bad. And we’ve got a good stock of rations this year. You’ll be fine.”

“Do you think it actually hurts them? Do you think they feel it?”

“I hope so. Otherwise I’ve been putting a lot of effort into eating for no reason.”

Ace smiles fondly, and finally Alistar picks up her fork.

“Good,” she says tiredly, leaning into Ace’s shoulder. I hope they fear us too.”

Wordcount: 393

Nightfall is the busy time. It’s when workers flood the kitchens, ravenous. The farmers and foragers deliver the day’s reaping—crops are near maturity, so the kitchens have been working overtime for months. They’ll need to be replanted before corrupted fully, which means rations will shrink further for a month or so. Breakfast and lunch have already dwindled to meagre portions.

Alistar finally makes her way back to her quarters after the kitchens, rations in hand, limping. She groans out her presence before setting the containers on the island and lowering herself to the floor.

“Long day?” Ace asks from the doorway.

“They always are. I’ve left food at the island, eat without me.”

“And where would be the joy in that?” Clicking of wood from their cabinets, and then Ace lowers themself to the floor. “Here,” they say, pressing one of the rations into Alistar’s hands and pulling her up.

The flimsy bowl is heavy as she takes a bite. Alistar has never had a big appetite, and work has sapped whatever she may have had. Ace eats with their usual ferocity, taking joy in biting what used to be plants, letting their teeth scrape the wooden fork as though it can feel pain.

They glance at Alistar’s barely touched dinner. “You’ve hardly eaten today.”

Alistar doesn’t respond except to prod at her salad. “Are you worried about the corruption again? We’ve still got a week or so before the crops go bad. We’ve got a good stock of rations. You’ll be fine.”

“Do you think it actually hurts them?”

“I hope so. Otherwise I’ve been putting a lot of effort into eating for no reason.”

Alistar picks up her fork.

“Good,” leaning into Ace’s shoulder. I hope they fear us too.”

Wordcount: 293

Nightfall is the busy time. The farmers and foragers deliver the crops, near maturity. The kitchens have been working overtime. They’ll need to be replanted before corrupted.

Rations will shrink further. Breakfast and lunch have already dwindled to meagre portions.

Alistar makes her way back to her quarters after the kitchens, rations in hand, limping. She groans out her presence before lowering herself to the floor.

“Long day?” Ace asks.

“I’ve left food at the island, eat without me.”

“And where would be the joy in that?” Ace lowers themself to the floor. “Here,” they say, pressing one of the rations into Alistar’s hands.

The flimsy bowl is heavy as she takes a bite. Alistar has never had an appetite, and work has sapped whatever she may have had. Ace eats with ferocity, taking joy in biting what used to be plants, letting their teeth scrape the wooden fork as though it can feel pain.

They glance at Alistar’s barely touched dinner. “You’ve hardly eaten today.”

Alistar doesn’t respond except to prod at her salad. “Are you worried about the corruption again? We’ve still got a week or so before the crops go bad. We’ve got a good stock of rations. You’ll be fine.”

“Do you think it actually hurts them?”

“I hope so. Otherwise I’ve been putting a lot of effort into eating for no reason.”

Alistar picks up her fork.

“Good,” leaning into Ace’s shoulder. I hope they fear us too.”

Wordcount: 243

What You Couldn’t Have Known 1) You told your mother when you left that you would send her some proof that you were still alive. You forgot almost immediately, but she never has.

2) Your dad never did make it to the second commune.

3) When your sister said she would no longer be your sister the moment you left the walls, she meant it. To this day she denies having a brother. She and your mother fight about it constantly.

4) The fairytales about the forest moving on its own are true.

5) When you were still at home, you didn’t think your dog liked you all that much. After you left she started waiting for you by the door every day. She’s the only one that hasn’t given up hope that you’ll return yet.

6) It took a year for your mother to stop crying at any mention of you, but that was long enough for people to learn not to speak of you in public. Your memory will die with hushed whispers behind closed doors.

7) You’ve been gone for ten years, not that you would know. Your sister got married.

She named her son after you. When her husband asked why she said she just liked the name. Your nephew found about about his uncle from his grandmother.

8) Pastries were an awful thing to bring on your trip through the forest.

9) Privately, your sister blames your father for everything she’s lost. She thinks losing you is his fault too.

10) Your mother blames herself. She thinks she’s driven you away. She spends her days searching for a sign that you’re alive in everything she sees.

11) You ran out of food so quickly because vines were stealing it. They thought that would make you easier to kill.

12) The trees rearranged themselves so you couldn’t turn back, but it didn’t matter. You never tried.

13) Your father isn’t dead, he’s just lost in the forest. The trees have him walking in a loop, not that he’s noticed. His eyesight is starting to go. It’s too dark beneath the canopy of leaves, and he’s spent too long squinting. If you shook his hand and introduced yourself he wouldn’t know who you were.

14) The second commune won’t let you in. They don’t trust outsiders. You’ll be lucky if you aren’t killed on sight. They swore they wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

15) That fruit you ate your first month had hallucinogenic properties. Your father does not swing through the trees like some wild adventurer. He has arthritis.

16) That kid you had a crush on third year liked you back, but you were both too afraid to ever admit it. He still thinks about you sometimes. Neither of you remember each other’s names. He doesn’t know you left.

17) Once, at 4 am, your sister made missing person posters for you with a low resolution image pasted into the middle. She thought it would be cathartic, but she just ended up crying the entire time. They live in a box under her bed. Sometimes she takes them out so she doesn’t forget your face. She hasn’t cried over them in years.

18) Your mother gave your dog one of your old scarves because she wouldn’t stop whining. The purple and blue striped one. It worked. She’s nested it into her bed and sleeps with it every night.

19) You don’t remember your father, but your sister does. She’s lied about it for 15 years. She’s hoping at some point she’ll forget.

20) Someday, at a sleepover, someone will tell a ghost story of you. You will gain new life as a ghoul haunting the forest, and you will scare little kids for decades. Your mother will be dead by then, but your sister will not be happy about it. She has been working very hard to forget about you, too.

21) Your crush’s name is Jhon. He has a girlfriend. They’re going to get engaged soon.

His girlfriend thinks about her ex too. Their marriage will be less about love and more about a kinship between friends. They will not get divorced.

22) Your mother refused to hold a funeral for you, not because she thinks you may still be alive, but because the forest has your body, and she refuses to burry an empty casket. She and your sister had a screaming fight about it one time. You were always the mediator.

23) If your father knew what you had done he would be proud of you. He never thought to look back either. If he had he would be spending his days trying to return instead of trying to explore. That wouldn’t have made any difference.

24) The second commune does have walls, but they also have hot air balloons.

25) On her deathbed, your mother will tell the gathered crowd that she is excited to see you again. She never will.

Into the Dark After Amanda Palmer, Runs in the Family The forest is the dark of a tomb. Moving among the trees feels like I’m threading my way through a crypt. It smells of earth and rot, the meagre sunlight that manages to filter through the thick canopy swallowed by the peat. But more than anything, the forest feels alive. It’s always moving, scrambling and rescrambling itself. Whether it’s the massive trees moving on writhing roots or the way the ground will rise and fall with the passage of whatever’s burrowed beneath it, nothing in the forest is stationary. It’s a startling contrast to the gray stagnation of the commune, the unmoving concrete walls, the earth paved over for fear of so much as a dandelion growing through any cracks.

The dark of the forest is different from the dark of the burrows. Everything used to be inside; it was dangerous to be in the open after all. The world was the dark of small enclosed spaces, of living stuffed in a closet out of fear of leaving. Even when you were outside it was dark, the walls too high to let anything other than bottle-filtered sunlight through. It grew dark barely past noon and stayed that way until the late morning.

Leaving the commune felt like entering into a different world. My Judise begged me not to go. We both knew there was no return. She thought I was abandoning her and the kids, but she didn’t get it. I was going to discover. I was going to find a new world, new people, a different way to live. I wasn’t abandoning the kids, I was going to save them. I still think about them sometimes. I don’t remember what they look like, but I think I’ll know them when I see them again. A father doesn’t forget the faces of his family.

I don’t think Shaira-lynnt understood why I was leaving. Jawn was too young, nothing but an infant when I left. I wonder how old he’ll be when I return. A teenager, maybe. It’s hard to tell time here. Shaira wanted me to stay. I wonder what Judise has told them about me. What they know. I hope they understand that I did it for them. I’m doing this for everyone who lived behind those terrible walls. I’m going to find a different way to live and I’m going to save everyone.

I haven’t found the second commune yet, but I know I’m getting closer. Maybe they’ll let me rest before they send me home—my back’s been aching terribly as of late.

I can’t wait to see Judise’s face. She’s going to be so proud of me, and I can finally be back with my family. I’m going to be a hero, no matter how long it takes. I know they’ll understand. I did this for them, after all.

Final Sale; Nothing Held Back!

Morgan Snyder

Final Sale: Nothing Held Back!

By Morgan Snyder

Table of Contents 1. New Hire 2. How to Try on Clothes 3. 25 Things You Do Not Know About Your Time at Macy’s 4. Silver Sneakers 5. Tis’ the Damn Season 6. The Runaway Princess 7. The Customer is Rarely Right 8. And the Grammy Goes to...

I dedicate this chapbook to the “elves” from Macy’s Santa’s Workshop who helped me purchase “#1” themed items for each and every one of my family members and to those family members who still have the presents on display.

New Hire The code to the employee entrance is 4321. Still shield the pad. Make sure no one follows you in. Yes, they will try and yes, they have done it before. Don’t make a face when you tell someone that their card was declined. It is awkward enough for them as is. You will fold all of the clothes on the same display many times. It is okay to slip an air pod in if you hide it behind your hair. Just don’t let the boss lady see it. Be prepared to receive clothes from the other departments to put back on the shelf. Customers are lazy creatures. “The customer is always right” is a load of shit. Stand your ground. Do not take any returns without a receipt. When they insist the price is too high, smile and say you cannot lower the price. Don’t argue with them when they ask why not. Start practicing your retail smile. Don’t laugh, it’s a lot harder than you’d think. There is a group of scarf wearing teens from that Catholic school up the hill that comes in to flirt with Carrie from the makeup counter every Saturday. They’ll wander over to our department occasionally. Watch out for the one with the snapback, he is always a little too touchy. The people who come in five minutes until close assure you they’ll be in and out. They never are. Let your ride know you will be late. The worst part of it all is the children. You’ll have to clean up the messes they make, and smile when their parents send them up to pay.

Whatever you do, don’t lash out at the kids. Remember, they are only children. When a customer comes to your register and complains about the long lines only to ask to split between cash and card, don’t tell her that people like her are what make the line long. Just split the transaction. It is virtually impossible to get someone to cover your shift. If someone does take it, you’re obligated to take theirs if they need you too. We don’t mind covering for you to smoke or piss but don’t be one of those slackers that puts their work on everyone else. It

doesn’t take twenty minutes to smoke a cigarette and don’t let the slackers tell you it does. It's okay to complain about them, well all do. But save that for the break room. They’re popular in discussion there. The break room is basically a high school lunchroom. If you missed the catty gossip, you’ll definitely find it in there. You are more than welcome to stick with me and the guys from electronics but be friendly to everyone. Don’t get on their bad side. Nothing hurts more than regressing to your high school depression over some middle age women who waste their degree working in a department store. You’re above that. Most importantly, look like you are having a good time. Don’t run off any of these customers or the boss lady will kill you.

You get all that?

How to Shop for Clothes After Kirsten Reneau’s “How to Properly Kill a Fly”

Step one: Browse the store.

Your size is the new “oversized” trend but still run your fingers through all of the clothes in the section. Look for discarded size large tops on the size small rack. When your mother holds up a body contorting skirt, smile and hold your tongue. Take it into your cart though you can already picture what it will look like on your body. She hears your sighs of disappointment and she’s trying her best to help.

Step two: Examine the clothing.

Stretch the cloth as if your body was filling it and hold it up to the light. When the brightness hits you with ease, part with the dress you really liked. You weren’t that hopeful anyway. Tug at the seams and test their strength before they make it to the trying on phase. Their popping sounds always sound louder from the stall of a dressing room. Hold the cropped shirts up and smooth them over your figure to make sure there is enough fabric to cover your full bust.

You’re lucky if you still have half of what you started with.

Step three: Try on the clothes.

The employee is not looking at you or the clothes in your hand the way you think she is. Lift your eyes from the ground and fake confidence. You can stop after locking the stall door.

Separate the most discouraging clothing with easier pieces like long skirts and sweaters. Save the crop tops for last. Don’t look in the mirror for too long and be sure not to let your tears fall on the merchandise.

25 Things You Do Not Know About Your Time at Macy’s

1.

The woman that you recommended strollers to is going leave Macy’s and go

home to find blood spotting in her underwear. Her doctor will confirm she had her third miscarriage. She will order the stroller anyway.

2.

Carrie from the makeup counter was the one who stole the lunch your mom

packed for you on your first day, you got the job over her boyfriend who interviewed for the job as well.

3.

The man that asked you for an opinion on the bibs in his basket has been putting

off shopping for his best friend’s baby shower. He’s been in love with her since middle school.

4.

The woman you recommended strollers to comes in frequently to escape her

husband’s pamphlets and lectures on adoption. You joked about her being “the regular.” She turned into a different aisle and pretended she didn’t hear you.

5.

On the anniversary of the woman’s miscarriage, she introduced herself to you as

Val, you didn’t hear over the music.

6.

Carrie threw away the slip of paper with your name on it before it went into the

bowl for Secret Santa.

7.

Though the pregnant woman in the sundress purchased hundreds of dollars’

worth of baby gear, she knows she will have to get an abortion. At her last doctor’s appointment, they diagnosed her with Leigh’s disease. That night, she slept in her dead son’s race car bed.

8.

The pig was not a real service animal

9.

That older woman you kicked out of the rocking chair just finished a twelve-hour

shift at the clinic across the street from the mall.

10. Your boss scheduled you the day of your mom’s funeral to get back at you for not coming to the company Christmas party.

11. Val started to answer other customer’s questions when you were not looking. They left good reviews on the store’s website for her under your name.

12. 13,213 is the number of people you credited yourself with helping. Only 443 actually considered you helpful.

13. The piece of chewed up gum that you used to play with under the cash register desk belonged to your coworker, Jerry. Before Carrie was dating her current boyfriend, she used to hide behind the register and make out with Jerry when no one was looking 14. Your father didn’t visit you at work on purpose. He had no idea you were employed there. His smile that day was because his girlfriend told him he was going to have a son, not because he saw his daughter for the first time in 4 years. You never told your mom he came. She never told you he called her after he left.

15. While the teen with the snapback hat flirted with you at the register, his friends snuck planned parenthood business cards into boxes of car seats. You laughed along with him even though you were clueless. He thought you were ugly anyway.

16. The man that returns every purchase within the week is meeting with lawyers to divorce his wife. Her shopping addiction has driven them to the brink of bankruptcy.

17. The pregnant woman in the sundress came in again but this time she was not pregnant. Holding her hand was her adopted black daughter. She noticed the face you made when you recognized her and posted about you on Facebook.

18. Thirteen people saw that you bled through your khaki work pants and didn’t say anything.

19. Jerry spikes his coffee every morning when you take your first break. He still flaunts his sobriety chip every chance that he gets. After he is on the transplant list for a year and five days, he will die of liver failure.

20. Val made her first purchase after three years, four months, and 6 days of lurking around your section. It was for her sister’s newborn son. She was seething with jealousy and shopped the whole time with a frown. She really hoped you would notice.

21. Jerry knew the diaper bag that person returned had a used diaper in it but he left it in there to mess with you. It was a story he told to his friends at the bar for years to come.

22. The scrawny man who came in for a binky did not have a baby.

23. The car seat you recommended to that family would not protect their baby in a car crash one year later. The child died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

24. Carrie only offered to do your makeup so she could embarrass you. You didn’t notice the strange looks for hours. When you tried to scrub it off, people whispered about the makeup on your sleeve.

25. On your last day Val’s baby started forming inside of her. Even she didn’t know yet.

She would reach out nine months later to thank you for everything over the years but your boss will claim he doesn’t have a way to contact you.

Silver Sneakers

“Looking good today!” you holler to Norman. He his hat and smiles making you blush slightly, Myrtle grabs your arm and pulls you further into the store.

“Esme, don’t be wasting my time now. You know Abe and Henry are walking around the upper level now. Do you want to be smelling like your aerosol deodorant when we ‘bump’ into them or can we go to the perfume counter? Or do you want Norman to teach you about his walkie talkie contraption for the fourth time this week?” She stops and peers into your eyes from above her bifocals.

A moment passes before you continue your brisk walk to the perfume counter. The perfume sales person takes her time with the customer she is talking to when you walk up, knowing what your intentions are.

“Mandy! Could you be a dear... We are in a rush. Could you just…” Myrtle grabs the bottle from her and begins to spray it from head to toe on the both of you. Mandy and the customer just stare.

Rounding the corner is Irene dressed in her name brand velour jumpsuit with matching ankle weights. She is the only person you know who can truly pull off grey hairs. You could tell Myrtle notices her too because she started to talk loud enough for me to turn my hearing aids down.

“This is the one you have right, Esme? No, yours is three hundred? Oh right of course!”

You try to raise your brows but the Botox prevents it.

“Esme and Myrtle! What a pleasure!” Irene says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Hi Ire-” You start before Myrtle cuts me off with a wink.

“Hello Irene,” Myrtle says and throws her arms out, almost knocking Irene over “How’s that ankle? Heard you fell on the escalator.” You both laugh.

You can’t see Irene turn red under her thick makeup, but her widened eyes sell her out immediately.

“Mhmm, yeah, it’s always a pleasure. We have friends to meet right Esme? We shouldn’t keep our boyfriends waiting much longer.”

Tis’ the Damn Season (400 Words)

There’s nothing quite like people watching at Macy’s after yet another failed Thanksgiving dinner. After a pint of ice cream and a quick nap in the parking lot, I find my spot in the store waiting for me as usual. An aisle to the side with no deals or shiny things to lure the traditional Black Friday shoppers.

My mind replays my father’s hurtful words called to me between bites of stuffing and turkey as I watch pods of multigenerational stress pass me by. All too caught up in checking things off of their list and filling their carts with the best deals to pay me any mind. I liked it better that way. Merely a fly on the wall. Watching and listening.

There’s a pudgy preteen with arms full of gifts to beg his parents for, running a little too enthusiastically. He collides with the cart of a young woman, spilling her coffee into her cart on the presents she had piled up inside and scurries off without apologizing. She is a single mom trying her best to buy everything on her kids lists this Christmas to make up for Dad not being there. The kids will smile when they see the extra presents under the tree but shout at her when she says they can’t see their father this year.

All the mothers look the same. Like me, they spent the whole night in their car outside of the mall. List of perfect presents for each person in hand. Weight of ruining Christmas on their shoulders.

Then there’s the fathers. In my many years of people watching I have never seen anyone navigate the once pristine, now disheveled shelves as well as a father sent by his wife. It

is almost as if they memorized a map of the entire store before taking on the task of Black Friday Shopping.

Neither of my parents were the people you would see in a department store on Black Friday. They weren’t the type to fight with little white women for the toy you so desperately wanted. They wouldn’t be caught dead bobbing their heads to the Christmas music played over the speakers. They are the ones to look at these happy families and laugh. To see their son sitting on the floor of an empty aisle and spit on him. If they could disown me once more, they wouldn’t hesitate.

Tis’ the Damn Season (300 Words)

There’s nothing quite like people watching at Macy’s after yet another failed Thanksgiving dinner. After a pint of ice cream in the parking lot, I find my spot in the store waiting for me. An aisle with no deals.

My mind replays my father’s hurtful words called to me between bites of stuffing and turkey as I watch pods of multigenerational stress pass me by. Too caught up in checking things off of their list and filling their carts with the best deals to pay me any mind. I liked it better that way. Merely a fly on the wall.

There’s a pudgy preteen with arms full, running. He collides with the cart of a woman, spilling coffee into her cart and scurries off without apologizing. She is a single mom trying her best to buy everything to make up for Dad not being there. The kids will smile when they see extra presents under the tree but shout when she says they can’t see their father.

All the mothers look the same. Like me, they spent the whole night in their car outside of the mall. List of perfect presents for each person in hand. Weight of ruining Christmas.

Then there’s the fathers. In my many years of people watching I have never seen anyone navigate the once pristine, now disheveled shelves as well as a father. As if they memorized the store before shopping.

Neither of my parents were the people you see on Black Friday. They weren’t the type to fight with white women for the toy you wanted. They are the ones to look at these happy families and laugh. To see their son sitting on the floor of an empty aisle and spit on him. If they could disown me once more, they wouldn’t hesitate.

Tis’ the Damn Season (250 Words)

There’s nothing like people watching at Macy’s after another failed Thanksgiving dinner. After ice cream in the parking lot, I find my spot. An aisle with no deals.

My mind replays my father’s hurtful words called to me between bites of stuffing and turkey as I watch pods of stress pass me by. Too caught up in checking things off of their list and to pay me any mind. I liked it better that way. Merely a fly on the wall.

There’s a pudgy preteen with arms full, running. He collides with a woman, spilling coffee into her cart and scurries off without apologizing. She is a single mom trying her best to buy everything to make up for Dad not being there. The kids will smile when they see extra but shout when she says they can’t see their father.

All mothers look the same. Like me, they spent the night in their car. List of perfect presents for each person in hand.

Then there’s the fathers. In my many years I have never seen anyone navigate now disheveled shelves as well as a father.

Neither of my parents were the people you see on Black Friday. They weren’t the type to fight with white women for the toy you wanted. They are the ones to look at these happy families and laugh. To see their son sitting on the floor of an empty aisle and spit on him. If they could disown me once more, they wouldn’t hesitate.

The Runaway Princess

Once upon a time in the Kingdom of Macy’s, the young princess escaped from the intense watch of the King and Queen. She ran through the departments, ducking in and out of clothing racks, making sure to greet the small elves that welcomed her to their clothing rack homes.

The unfamiliar paths began to swirl together for she had no bread crumbs to mark the already traveled roads. Ducking her head to preserve her true identity, she asked a guard for directions to the furniture. The guard laughed at her before pointing her to the left.

The shiny tile path reflected the glow of the castle and only brightened as the young princess spun down the aisle, imagining her bootcut jeans into a gown. She imagined songbirds pulling elegant white gloves to her elbows and patting blush on to her pale cheeks. She paused only for a moment to grab a tiara from a shelf then continued to twirl. As she twirled, the stress of her home kingdom’s curse was lost.

When the perfect castle was within her sight, she stumbled to a halt and hid under the nearest shelf. The young princess made sure the coast was clear so she did not expose herself to any evil queens. When the surrounding land remained silent, she knew it was hers to claim.

She ducked behind the curtains of a bunk bed painted like a castle. The jazz music in the background could barely be heard over her panting. The rest of the royal family panicked while the young princess felt a sense of calm for the first time since the curse.

Meanwhile on the other side of the foreign kingdom, the King and Queen recruited this kingdom’s best guards to search for their young princess. The King comforted the crying Queen,

assuring her that the young princess was strong and that she would be found. However, the Queen shoved him away. Their family was cursed and the love that flourished between the King and Queen was no more. The King was in fact right about one part. The young princess was strong. Exceptionally strong for her age and had barricaded herself in the castle for she did not wish to be found. She used her barrettes to clamp the curtains closed.

She found a safe place in spite of the chaos caused by the King and Queen and she intended to keep it free from the curse. In the castle, the young princess emptied her backpack and added the final touches to her princess appearance. A princess like herself should always look like royalty all of the time. She clipped on fake earrings and draped a plastic necklace around her neck but over her shirt to avoid turning her ogre green. She thought Fiona was an ugly princess.

She picked up the two princess dolls she swiped from the Kingdom of Macy’s and set them up beside her. She knew she would need friends to keep her company in her new adventure and was sure they wouldn’t mind. They discussed their loyal subjects and how they would sustain the kingdom during the cold months. When she felt like they were adequately prepared to rule the kingdom and keep it safe from curses that plagued her old kingdom, she drifted off to sleep. Ruling is not an easy task but the young princess knew her and her friends could handle it.

Time dragged on as the guards turned over every rack in the kingdom, leaving a trail of destroyed elf homes in their wake. The bellowing screams for the young princess woke her from her beauty sleep. It wasn’t a kiss from a prince as she hoped. Instead she feared losing her newfound freedom. She made sure there were no holes in the curtains, double checking her

barrettes. The young princess held her friends close and prayed for the safety of her and her kingdom. The guard’s calls grew louder and louder as they came closer to the castle.

The guards pulled the curtains apart, sending her hair clips flying. The young princess sighed knowing that the curtain to her perfect fairytale had fallen and she was brought back to reality. She untied her winter jacket from around her waist and stuffed her winter gloves in the pockets. She put the few items she had back into her book back and was led by the guard to the King and Queen. She waved goodbye to her private kingdom and the peace that came with it.

She wished her kingdom the best and vowed to rescue it.

The King and the Queen were overjoyed to see the young princess again and hugged each other in relief. The young princess smiled, the curse has been lifted. The queen took the coat from her hands and held it for her to put on and they all lived happily ever after.

The Customer is Rarely Right After Plants of Paradise by María Alejandra Barrios

To: macyscustomerserivce@gmail.com From: melindamyers9@gmail.com Subject: Horrible Customer Treatment!

Hello, I visited the Belden Village Macy’s today at 4 o’clock after my yoga class. I have a bad wrist and cannot possibly shop without a cart to support me. When I saw the rack was empty I went to the registers, they refused to go find me a cart! So much for caring about your customers! I had to wait forty minutes for a cart!! Forty minutes!! By then my wrist ached so much I couldn’t even focus on shopping. I wish to be compensated for my wasted time and for Tyler from the register be fired!!

Cheers, Melinda Myers

To: macyscustomerserivce@gmail.com From: melindamyers9@gmail.com Subject: Disappointed in you!

Hi,

I visited the Belden Village Macy’s again this morning at ten to guarantee there would be a cart for myself. I see not only was my request for compensation ignored, but the termination of Tyler as well. It is appalling that you would choose to keep such a horrible employee. Today he laughed at me. He LAUGHED at me! I will be back tomorrow with my husband to sort this for ourselves since you have no concern for your loyal shoppers.

Very disappointed, Melinda Myers :(

To: macyscustomerserivce@gmail.com From: melindamyers9@gmail.com Subject: YOU JUST LOST A CUSTOMER!!!

My husband and I visited the Belden Village Macy’s for the last time this morning. When your sad excuse for a security guard escorted me out, he twisted my wrist!! I am on my way to the emergency room right now!! And after that to my lawyer’s office!!

See you in court, Melinda Myers

And the Grammy Goes to…

After Julie and the Phantoms’ Now or Never

This stranger, Jamie, had been disrupting Sampson’s work day for an hour and thirteen minutes. In that time, he completely filled and emptied his cart three times. Sampson swore to himself that if he started putting things into his cart again, he’d quit on the spot. When Jamie slipped him another twenty, he clipped the nametag back to his shirt.

“Dude, just pick a suitcase. What was wrong with that one?” he asked as Jamie set another luggage into the pile he was creating to his left.

“Imagine Brad Pitt seeing me at the airport with any of those. Right? Embarrassing. I need a suitcase that will make me stand out. But, like, not in a bad way.”

“Where are you going that you need to rush through the store like this? You know we deliver?”

“Yes, so you’ve said. Come! Follow!” Jamie took off to the escalator and called his new friend to follow.

After a close call with a baby occupied cart and barely escaping the wrath of her mother, Jamie made it to the men’s section and Sampson followed close behind.

“Okay help me out here man to man. I have to look as built as possible,” Jamie flexed. “I mean obviously in L.A. I’ll go to some exclusive gym but until then I have to look hot.” Sampson didn’t get a chance to respond before Jamie started to unbutton his Hawaiian shirt.

He noticed the two square burn marks on Jamie’s chest and gasped, “Kid, what are those?”

Jamie, who had completely removed his shirt, handed it to Sampson before responding, “Defibrillator. I drowned in the bath after taking a Nyquil. Lamest death ever right? I was recovering in the hospital thinking to myself ‘I will not be the guy that works a nine to five and dies in his own bathtub. So, I got discharged,” he started to charge through the aisle, tossing clothes into Sampson’s arms who followed behind, concerned and intrigued.

“Had my brother put all my stuff for sale,” he looked back to make sure Sampson was still within tossing distance before hitting him in the nose with a pair of cargo pants. “bought a plane ticket,” a mother shielded her child’s eyes from shirtless Jamie but he didn’t pay her any mind. “and now I’m here! I need a suitcase and a couple outfits. Maybe a new wallet. Definitely accessories. Watch and chain. Might get my ears pierced. Is there a Claire’s here?”

“Uh no. But-” Sampson sputtered and tossed the pile from his hands onto the jewelry counter.

“Ah well I guess I can get them pierced when I land. You’re great Sammy. Can I call you that?

We’re friends, right?” He shifted through his pile, occasionally pulling his focus to the chains in the display case below him.

“Yeah man. Whatever you say." He had spent more time with Jamie that day than he had with his mother all month.

“Write your name down here,” Jamie said and handed Sampson a notebook from his pocket.

“This is for all the people I have to thank when I win my first Grammy.” The page he flipped to was empty aside from a Dr. Reyes.

“No thanks for mom and dad?” he asked while scribbling his name.

“Nope just you and Doc so far. Hopefully I can get Mr. Pitt on there.”

“Dream big buddy, and stick to showers,” Sampson said before returning to his shift $120 richer.