From the MCZ team: The Origins Of Halloween by Sharon Pan: autumn falls by Kat Gál: Pinky And Rayn by Liew Chooi Chin: Short Solar Flare by Sophia Lai: Spirit Cat Friends from a Fantasy Refuge (from 'Sky: Children Of The Light') by Marjan Safiyari: Good Gary The Experience Of My Detective Work In A Night
by Willow Kang: Clarice Lane by Howie Good: Wilderness Of Dreams Life Without Parole by Angela Patera: Testing the Magical Powers by Mimi Flood: Carrie Persephone Bride Of Frankenstein Hair With A Leopard
Contents by Kazzari: Larger than life Katrina Trying to find myself into a magical surface I dare you Hocus pocus by Imogen van der Ploeg: Life On Earth by Ruchi Acharya: Whispering Old Lady by Angie Yeung: Upside Down by Irina Novikova: Dark Dreams
from the MCZ team
Halloween is one of the most famous traditions in the West, having been popularized by movies, TV shows, and many other media. Modern Halloween is a heavily commercialized tradition, but it is at the same time deeply rooted in ancient history.
The idea of celebrating Halloween as a way to honor the dead were established by the Celts of ancient Britain and Ireland. In other cultures, similar festivals were also held, like China's Hungry Ghost Festival or Mexico's Día de Muertos (Day of the Dead). For the Celts, the name of the Halloween festival was ‘Samhain’ . Samhain was celebrated on November 1st, the day a new year was believed to begin. Samhain was viewed as a transitionary period, from the more vibrant Autumn to a chillier Winter. Samhain was also believed to be the day the veil between the living and the dead was the thinnest. Villagers would light bonfires atop hills to frighten away evil spirits and to make offerings to Celtic deities. This tradition may still live on in some parts of the world today, where Halloween is celebrated with bonfire nights. Since the veil between the living and the dead was thinnest on Samhain, Druids (Celtic priests) took this opportunity to make predictions about the future. For the people of the past, Winter was long and harsh without any of the modern technology we use today, like heaters or cars. Any good omen would have cheered their spirits up by a huge margin.
By 43 AD, the Roman conquest of Celtic territory was almost over, the Romans having seized a majority of the Celts’ territory. Cultural homogenisation was almost impossible to avoid, with Romans bringing their culture onto Celtic land. Over the course of the 400 years for which the Roman ruled the Celts, two festivals of Roman origins were fused with the Samhain festival. First was the festival of Feralia, where the Romans honored the passing of the dead, and secondly, a festival to honor Pomona, the goddess of the harvest. Apples were one of Pomona’ s symbols, which explains the modern practice of bobbing for apples. During the 7th century, pope Boniface IV established All Saints Day on May 13th. In an effort to replace the pagan roots of Samhain with a more Christian festival, All Saints Day was moved to November 1st. All Saints Day was a day to pay homage to saints, or ‘hallows’ . The day before All Saints Day was an ‘ eve ’ day, thus it became known as ‘All Hallows Eve’ . Eventually, this name was shortened to what we call today, ‘Halloween’ . In the past, ‘All Hallows Eve’ was a religious holiday. By the Middle Ages, secular and sacred celebrations had been merged. However, the Protestant Reformation had effectively put an end to the observance of religious holidays among Protestants. Meanwhile in Britain, Halloween continued to be celebrated as a secular holiday. In America, the early colonists forbade the practice of Halloween, although some traditions of Halloween may still have been carried out without association. It took some time, till the mid-19th century at least, when large numbers of Irish immigrants went to the US, for Halloween to become one of the principal US holidays.
Today, Halloween is loved by children and adults alike. Watching horror movies, going trick-or-treating, or attending carnivals are among the most fun ways to pass Halloween night. Despite Halloween’ s connotation as a relatively casual, laid-back holiday, its deep historical significance makes it worth commemorating.
autumnfalls by Sharon Pan
a light flickers, famished and starved for brighter resolution inside its shallow orange walls wax melting, licking the bottom and pooling at its unmoving feet. a gentle breeze, pleasant but a distant wind from higher mountains above blowing dry skin with a coolness, bliss without a bitter warmth i know autumn could be prettier than just squashed orange melons and golden
leaves
pumpkins open up their jaws to swallow candles crooked carved artificial teeth made of seeds moon, the eye of the sky, rises from its slumber amidst the clouds and stars rise the children of jupiter and its moons, saturn and uranus with their rings of doom. how can you escape the season that lures you with sweet rolled up balls in candy in take one labeled bowls. no- because autumn blooms an indefinite period, where time stops and breaks clockwork only time will tell, if autumn leaves. the fall of autumn.
Sharon Pan is a Chinese-Canadian youth writer from Vancouver. She was the third-place winner in the youth category of Fiona Tinwei Lam’ s poetry contest. The poem is published in Ricepaper Magazine. When not writing, she can be found reading classic literature, looking at ancient history, and sleeping.
Good morning, Rayn. You are safe.
I wake up to the sound of Paradise123, my personal computer. I would never call her that out loud. I only think about it when I’ m upset with her. She is an AI. But she is more than that. She is my safekeeper. I am safe. I repeat. Then I go visit Pinky. I do that every morning. Pinky tells me people used to go outside and it was safe. I don’t even know what’ s outside. Pinky says it’ s like VR, but real. I don’t know what she means. VR is absolutely real. She says VR is not real. That’ s why it’ s called Virtual Reality. I call bull on that. There is nothing virtual about Virtual Reality. It feels just as real as this chair I am sitting on. She says that they didn’t use to stay indoors all the time. I don’t understand, I say. She says they could open the door and walk out. Take the stairs. Go to the park. Go running outdoors. Watch the birds. But you can watch birds in VR, Pinky. She says they could walk to school and the shops. Though most people shopped online anyways. I’ m confused. Is it like turning on the VR and walking into the park with my hologram and playing with Benji? Kind of, she says. We are done discussing it.
She seems sad. She always seems sad when she tries to tell me about this thing called outside. Pinky is my great-grandma. She has seen a lot. It’ s been nearly 50 years since the Third World Pandemic. She has seen it all. I like hearing her stories. She says that when the First World Pandemic came, some people were scared. It was a new virus. It didn’t seem dangerous at first. But it spread. It wasn ’t serious for most, but many still got sick and millions died. They had stay-at-home orders. Suddenly they couldn’t go out, only to the supermarket and for exercise. What is the supermarket? The supermarket is where you get your food, Pinky says. Did your food robots break down too, Pinky? We didn’t have food robots, little Rayn. Now I’ m really confused.
She says she had a black cat that used to curl up in her lap every evening. That reminds me of that cute orange one in VR. I love scratching her ears. It’ s just not the same, she says. A cat is a cat, I shrug, they are all cute.
Once the First World Pandemic was over, people didn’t know it was only the first one. People rushed back to live life. But then the economy collapsed again. What’ s the economy? I ask. Money, business. She tries to explain. I guess things got hard. People lost their jobs. There wasn ’t enough money. A lot of people went homeless. Some were still scared. I don’t understand it. I always felt safe.
When the Second World Pandemic came, people were upset. Not another year indoors. But it was worse. Their leaders got stricter. The European Union broke apart. The United States started to collapse. The virus was dangerous. More people died. Including the rich. Nobody expected anything like this. It was worse than the plague. What’ s the plague, Pinky? What are they teaching you in school, little Rayn? Not history, I’ m guessing. But she doesn’t tell me what the plague is.
The Second World Pandemic lasted three years. By the end, people were afraid to leave their house anymore. So scientists and architects started to design containers. It was only an idea then. No one believed it could happen. Where did you live before, Pinky? Houses, apartments. You could open your doors and leave. I don’t understand it. I turn on VR and can walk anywhere. We run around the field with Benji all the time.
The Third World Pandemic hit. Climate change was leading to more and more catastrophes too. Fires, floods, hurricanes, and tornadoes. There was war everywhere. This virus wasn ’t as deadly but left people with long-term damage. They couldn’t risk it anymore. That’ s what my history teacher said. See, we have history. I still don’t know what the plague is. The remaining population moved underground into air-seal containers. Oxygen pumping in mechanically. I don’t understand how. Pinky doesn’t either. She says it was a hard transition. She also had my grandma Rose by then. She never wanted kids. Grandma Rose was an accident and abortion was illegal by then. I don’t understand it. Babies are made in labs now when a couple plans to have it. VR sex doesn’t make babies and live-in couples are on birth control.
Eggs and sperms are submitted to the lab at 18 for future use.
Pinky doesn’t like it when I talk about sex. I am too young, she says. I am not. But I avoid the topic with her.
Pinky says she used to play with her grandma by the lake. But, Pinky, we go to the lake all the time too. But for real, little Rayn, for real. But we go for real too. She looks really sad. She tells me about the movies. They were big rooms with many people watching the same film. I don’t understand the point.
I feel safe. Paradise123 has always taken care of me. She tells me every morning that I am safe. And I trust her. Then I go into VR. Visit Pinky. See my parents. Go to school. Play with Benji. We play in the field and go biking. There is no danger in VR. I am safe.
We used to go for ice cream. Cookies and cream with hot fudge. Pinky smiles. What is ice cream, Pinky?
Kat Gál is a writer, runner, traveler, bookworm, and cat-lover. Kat is a freelance health writer creating online and offline content for functional medicine doctors and enjoys creative writing in her free time. You can find her at katgalwriter.com.
She flipped through the newspaper while eating her orange marmalade with bread. "Dengue is on the rise" , "Rare orchids in the Gardens by the Bay" , "Egyptian Cat Sculpture in the National Museum" , "Food prices continue to rise" , she flipped through the news. Then, she washed the coffee cups and head to the supermarket. She worked in the supermarket, arranging rows and rows of goods. Mostly she had no complaints, in fact she liked the goods arranged tidy and tight, and her favourite aisle was the frozen food aisle. She liked frozen food, without mess and things to clean up after.
She left the house and took the lift. On the way to the bus stop, she noticed a tabby cat following her. "Hello." , she thought she heard someone calling her. "Hello." She looked around and saw only the tabby cat. "Hello." She was not a person with much imagination.
"Hi ... " She said to the cat, or, more accurately, she thought silently to the cat. "Can you bring me to the museum?" the cat said to her. A cat wanting to go to a museum. She did read occasionally about incidents of "wildlifes" intruding on human spaces. Macaques sneaking into people's houses, mynas fetching food from rubbish bins, wild boars roaming in neighbourhood markets, otters fishing in people's fish ponds. But, a cat asking to go to the museum? She could only mutter (thought) "Why?"
"My eldest sister is in the museum and I must go save her from Sygzgyp.
"
She needed to walk to the nearest bench in the children's playground. The tabby followed her. "Are we really talking to each other? " She askthought the cat. "Yes. I forgot to introduce myself. I am Wadjet, one of the cat goddess of Eypgt and a daughter of the Sun god."
"Wow. I have never met a human goddess, let alone a cat goddess. Do I need to bow to you? How should I address you?" As she asked, she thought of those who talked about enlightenment, shape-shifting aura, and body flying experiences when meeting their gods. She felt most ordinary; seeing a solid tabby, sitting firmly on a bench in a playground, talking to a cat goddess.
"Call me Wadjet. We are running out of time. My eldest sister, Bastet, the famous cat goddess, you heard of her?"
"Sorry, I am not familiar with Eypgtian gods, I am a Singaporean, we have only the Merlion." "Oh, please, bring me to the museum. It opens at 9am, we have to get there by that time. I will explain to you on the way there." the tabby pleaded. She did not go to the museum ever since her last primary school trip there and never knew the museum opened at 9am. "Jump into my backpack." she offered.
Nowadays, since the supermarkets and shops started to charge for plastic bags, she had been carrying a larger backpack to put the things she bought.
"We cat goddesses bless you."
She carried the tabby and took her phone to book a Grab taxi. Surely, it was worth spending to solve the cat goddesses’ emergencies. "Actually, how is it that you are talking to me?"
"Catypathy. We cat goddesses can actually talk to a human being if we want to. Remember the tale ‘Puss In Boots’? That was real. The cat in that tale was actually another sister of mine when she needed help in a similar situation to now. But the stories get changed into a poor-mill-boy and his cat. That boy had shrewd business sense; he asked to be made a King in exchange for the help. So we helped him become a King."
"What is the situation now?"
"It is most urgent, or the Sun will go out forever."
"Tell me more."
"The world with its Sun, and Moons, was born billions of years ago. There is also something else, the Sygzypt. He is the dark matter, or your people called it the Black Hole. As you know, people worshipped the Sun, but not the Sygzgypt. Thus he ended up becoming jealous, angry, and plotted to destroy the Sun."
"
"In Chinese legends, there was a man who shot down nine suns with arrows.
"Yes, that man. That time our father Sun and we, his twelve children, were out picnicking on the celestial beach. After accidentally scorching the earth, and vaporizing the sea almost to only a few droplets, we have learnt not to organise anymore family outings. But, that man never shot any of us down. Legends always exaggerate. Now, where were we?
While Sygzgypt was thinking about what to do; Bastet, the eldest child was born. Our father Sun held a big celebration of the full-month party. Everyone was invited, including Sygzypt. Now, a plan came to him. When he came to the party, he was most cheerful and agreeable. At the end of the party, every guest touched the forehead of the baby to offer a blessing. When it was Sygzypt's turn, he pricked a needle to the forehead of baby Bastet and chanted a curse. Baby Bastet was cursed to sleep in her statue and never woke again. Before Sygzgypt finished this curse, our mother Moon slinged a stone towards him and stopped him from finishing. But, the curse was already halfway done, so Bastet will still sleep in her statue every few hundred years.
"
"Wait, we also have a story of a baby princess being cursed and pricked and sleeping for three hundred years"
"That was our story that we told to your early ancestors. It changed over the generations to become the version you read now."
"But, still, what is the problem now?"
"It is about Sygzgypt killing Bastet while she sleeps in her statues. That is the statue displayed at your museum now. We have to stop him. Bastet is one of the Sun that you see. Actually, the Sun that you see is one of the twelve of us taking our rosters. My father, the Sun has retired; he is a billion years old now. We have long taken over his duties"
"How do you stop this Sy...pt?"
"Catypathy, or ‘rezaling’ is a most…versatile force. Something like your lasers. Sygzygpt would also be going to the museum to destroy the statue of Bastet and thus Bastet, who is sleeping inside the statue now."
"From what I understand, the museum is heavily monitored and guarded. If this Sy..pt tried to do anything stupid, he would be caught."
"No, you don't understand. He does not have to destroy the statue into pieces. He only has to ‘rezal’ it. That is how we gods fight. He can destroy that statue by killing the soul of Bastet too. The difference is in the sculpture that is alive or a dead one."
She had seen statues of deities in temples and never once seen the statue come alive. "So, you can tell the difference whether a statue is alive or dead."
"Yes ... "
The taxi stopped in front of the museum, and she (or they) bought the tickets to watch the "Exhibitions of Egyptian Feline Goddesses" . She prayed that the guard would not check her backpack, and the cat would not start yowling. Calmly, they walked to the main exhibition gallery.
The museum had just barely opened that morning, there were only a few retirees milling about in the gallery. Wadjet (in the bag) guided her towards the statue of Bastet. After a few seconds, she felt a sharp stare to jer back. A very suave middle aged man in spicky (??) suit walked towards them. "That's Sygzgypt. Keep still." , the cat managed to cry to her. The room turned dark, the humming air-con stopped. Silence. She felt the pressure in the air, and pricks like static charges. She felt movements in the room, people cursing and shouting, and did not know what was happening.
"You are stirring," said a woman. "Stay rested for a while, it looks like you had a panic attack when the blackout happened." The woman said to her. "And we found your cat in your backpack. We don't allow cats in the museum." She looked around the dark room, and sensed that she was lying on the ground. She checked on the cat. The tabby was weak, breathing lightly and sleeping away. Then, she fished for the phone and found that there were no signal.
The woman, seeing her looking at the darkened phone. "You won't be able to use your phone. The news just announced a solar flare; total blackout in this town, and no telecommunication signals." The women helped her to sit upright and get her some water.
She felt better and thanked the woman. She walked out of the museum and went outside. It was cloudy and the grey clouds weighed heavily in the sky. She walked towards the subway, trying to catch a train to travel back home. It was chaotic. There were people pouring out of the station and into the bus bay. The notice board in the subway read "No service due to solar flare disruption." People were directed towards the shuttle buses. The queue was long and she waited about an hour to get into a bus, and then walked home.
=====
"I did it. Sygzgypt won't be out for sometime." The tabby said. She did not know why but, she actually felt happy for the tabby. "Good. But, there was a solar flare and massive blackouts?"
"Oh, yes the solar flare and the disruptions. I am sorry for that. Every time we gods fight and ‘rezal’ , we cause this solar flare and some disruptions to your infrastructures." The tabby said apologetically. She glared to the back, but the cat would not see it. "You caused the solar flare? And now, how long are we to wait for the blackouts to be over?"
"Well, I could not tell. I have return to the sky. When the twelve of us sun goddesses align and roster normally again, the blackout will be over."
"In that case, you had better get going." She lowered the backpack to the ground, and the tabby leaped out.
"Thank you and Goodbye." said the tabby as it ran away and disappeared.
"Goodbye, Wadjet." she called out loudly.
She looked at her watch, it was 12.30pm. She remembered the cat and she went to the museum before it opened at 9am. So, that was threeand-a-half hours where all these happened. Now, she was three-and-a-half hours late for work. But that was nothing when she could meet an Egyptian cat goddess.
Since that day, she had never looked at the sun the same way again. When she looks up, she could almost make up the rough shape of a winking cat.
Since that day, occasionally, she toyed with the idea of the tabby, Wadjet, descending once more to see the mundane love. In a Japanese folktale of a fisherman, Urashima, who helped a turtle, was invited to spend a few days of vacation under the sea to see the Dragon Place. However, when he returned to land, a few hundred years had passed and he instantly became an old man. Fortunately, she knew of this folktale; so, even if Wadjet offered her a trip, she would be cautious about the “side effects” of the “reward” . But of course, she would never hear from him again. It was not like she would be visited a second time by a god, even though it was a cat god. But, still, if Wadjet really came back and asked her to name a wish, she should really give the wish some thoughts.
What if a wish can really be granted? She worked in a supermarket, arranging rows and rows of goods to make them nice and neat.
Perhaps, she would want to be a supermarket chain owner. She read somewhere that supermarkets were recession-proof businesses; whether times were good or bad, people still needed to buy groceries. Suppose, if the tabby could grant her the wish…but, then again, she would be running the chain afterwards. Managing warehouses, overseeing many layers of people in the hierarchy, always on her toes to make supplies of goods to line up the shelf, and being competitive with the other supermarket chains. That really sounded like quite a lot of work; She did not think she would enjoy it more than her current life.
Today was a Sunday; another one of those lazy breezy Sundays where she would go to the park for a walk. It was still early, about 7am, thin crowds and quiet. As she strolled along, she heard a very familiar voice say “Hello.” And then a tabby cat leaped to her foot.
“Hello, Wadjet. It is you. I never expect to see you again.” she said excitedly, seeing the tabby that she thought never see again.
“Last time, thank you for your help that I could save Bastet from Sygzgypt. Now, I came to grant you a wish.” said Wadjet.
“What! Really. Wow.” That was all I could manage. All the daydreams of an encounter like this did not prepare me to respond calmly.
“What do you wish?”
I told Wadet about the wish of being a mega supermarket chain owner, and about how I worried about the operations and work that I would have to face later.
“How about traveling or living in some other places?” asked Wadjet hopefully.
“I am not fond of traveling, too much hassle.”
Chooi Chin studied Library Sciences and Computing (which she absolutely hated) at university. She now lives at a coastal city with a sneaky cat who regularly sneaks into the kitchen to steal food. Chooi Chin continues to enjoy writing. Her other hobbies include studying Japanese language, playing the piano, and trying out fantastically whacky recipes.
by Sophia Lai
'Sky: Children Of The Light' by Sophia Lai
Fuelled by shibas & tea, Sophia finds solace in scribbling lil’ doodles in between the draining yet amusing life that is her school life. While most of her interests & fantasies constantly come and go, thoughts on what to draw next stays on her mind 24/7, rent free. Other than her hopes of pursuing a path in the visual arts or graphic design sector, she strives to actually fill up a full sketchbook (and fix her sleep schedule) someday.
Gary by Marjan Safiyari
In a certain house nestled just in the corner of a quiet, peaceful road, there were many toys of all sizes. They could be found between each step of the staircase, and scattered around the upstairs corridor. Tonight, in the last room with an ajar door, Danny slept with his new t-shirt on. There was a picture of a green toy robot on Danny’ s t-shirt. An identical model laid on the floor next to Danny’ s bed. As the moon rose, the green robot glowed too. His eyes swiveled, and he appeared to be coming alive. Nobody else was in Danny’ s room. He slumbered deeply, but shivered a bit due to the cool winds that swept in from the open windows.
Of course, Danny did not know this yet, but the green robot lived in the town of robots, and the townspeople call him Good Gary, as he always generously helped others. Good Gary makes many things for his people, and he is a tailor who makes the most magnificent clothes too. When Good Gary notices Danny’ s shaking body, he makes a decision to step out of his own robot town and help Danny sleep better. Good Gary pops out of Danny’ s t-shirt, the picture acting as a portal. He walks slowly down on the bed, then hops down from the bed and goes to the open window. He closes the window, looks at Danny, and sees no blanket on him, so Gary starts searching for a warm blanket. He could not find one in Danny’ s room, so he goes back to his town to take one.
When Good Gary returns back to his town, Good Gary moves toward his store, picks up a ready blanket from the closet, and replicates it with his own skill. Good Gary goes back to Danny’ s room and spreads the cozy blanket over him. The blanket was covered with a pattern of cute, miniature robots. A while later, Good Gary hears footsteps coming down the corridor, so he quickly hides behind the bed. Danny’ s mother opens the door to check on Danny. Seeing that he was fine, she closed the door again. Good Gary gazes at Danny’ s peacefully sleeping face, and ponders about what he should do next. Danny’ s eyes slowly flutter open. When Danny gets up from his bed and turns on the lamp, he is amazed to see the blanket as the blanket is not his. Then, Danny sees a strange shadow flitting among the story books on his bookshelves. He goes to a part of the shelf and sees a tiny green robot. Good Gary salutes Danny and introduces himself. He is happy to meet Danny in this state. Good Gary explains where he came from. Danny enjoys spending time talking to Good Gary. Good Gary has a great personality and can attract listeners just by expressing his lovely and energetic words. Danny wants Good Gary to always be with him and never leave. Good Gary tells Danny that he can do whatever Danny wants. Good Gary looks at Danny and tells him that he should get back home to finish his tailoring work. Danny wants Good Gary to take the blanket back, but Good Gary insists that Danny keeps it as a gift. Danny smiles at Good Gary and thanks him for his kindness. ‘Take care!’ Danny patted Gary’ s head gently. They promised to see each other again soon.
by Marjan SafiyariThe sky gathers the teatime setup of the day, little by little, to prepare a banquet for the night. The banana-shaped moon brings its shiny bright dishes to the banquet too, each one sets in its own place. There is an owl sitting on the branch of a cherry tree, and he is drinking from a line of coffee cups in tandem. When one of the cups is emptied, he sets it aside and starts on a fresh, full cup. I look at his strange gestures carefully through my binoculars from the window of my room. He does not seem to be a real owl, because owls do not drink coffee. Being nocturnal animals, they have no need for it either.
I look at the top of his head with my camera, and noticed the two sharp ears. I stare at his eyes. In a flash, my heart jumps into my throat. “Oh no, he is not an owl, he is that cunning fox which I saw prowling around today!” , I yelp. He must be planning to hunt down the parrots that lived on the other side of the fence. In a hurry, I put down the binoculars, picked up my flashlight, and went outside to the fence. I stood under the cherry tree and shone the flashlights into his eyes so that it couldn't see well. The fox closed his eyes. When it wanted to change his sitting position, he suddenly tumbled down from the tree. I thought I heard the sounds of bones breaking, but when I went to check on him, the fox fled the scene without difficulty. The only thing he left behind for me to remember was its owl coat.
In London, when the clock turns 12am, and no one hears the Big Ben clock’ s noise, everyone is surprised. They emerge from their stores and houses and ask themselves why Big Ben didn’t make any noise at 12 o ’clock. When people gather together underneath Big Ben, they realize that there is something wrong. Where are the hands of the clock? A curious boy, whose name is Ben, looks at his watch and sees that the hands of his watch are gone too. He goes to his house immediately to check the house clocks, confusedly muttering to himself, what is going on here? He checks other places and watches and finds that all the hands of clocks are gone and time has stopped. No one knows why this event has happened, Ben has a clock that his father gave him when he was a little boy, he keeps it in his closet. He rides his bicycle home, goes upstairs and opens his closet. Oh my god, he laughs at himself, my father’ s clock is working, and the hands of it weren ’t gone. But why were the other clock’ s hands gone, who robbed them and why? While he is thinking about it, he falls asleep, and in his sleep, he sees an old man who calls Ben’ s name. ‘Dear Ben, come here, you should get back all the hands of clocks. If you don’t do this job you will never see the sun rising again and earth will be left in darkness.’ Ben asks the old man who robbed them, and the old man tells him that, unfortunately, the servants of the lord robbed them. Ben is surprised and asks again ‘who, who is the lord?’
The old man replies that it is the Lord of Nightmares and his servants. ‘They robbed all the clock hands and you must find them’ . Ben shakes his head, ‘No I can ’t, I can ’t do this work. How can I find him and the hands of all the clocks?’
The old man tells him that he can find him with his father’ s clock. Ben is thinking and looks at the old man and asks him how he can use his father’ s clock to find him. The old man responds, ‘the hands of your father’ s clock make a noise when you arrive at his place’ , and then Ben wakes up from his sleep. He thinks that it is just a dream and cannot be true, then he looks outside, sees that it is not just a dream, and exclaims to himself, “Oh my goodness! My dream was real, I probably should go… ” . He picks up his flashlight, some food and also some other things, and puts them in his backpack, puts his father’ s clock in his pocket, brings his bicycle, and goes to the road, to find the Lord of Nightmares. He is eager to find him as quickly as he can, because he would like to see the sun rise again and bustling streets.
Everywhere is so dark that he has to turn on his bicycle’ s light to see the road in front of him. When he passes the road, he sees something at the side of the road. He turns on his flashlight and looks at both sides of the road, something in black follows him and he is very scared. The noise of his father’ s clock starts and first he is confused, and then he tells himself oh no, the black creatures are the servants of the Nightmare Lord, then he rides his bicycle as fast as he can but suddenly a small stone gets stuck in his bicycle tire and he falls down. His leg is wounded and his arm breaks but he is unscathed. The noise of his father’ s clock stops.
He retrieves it from his pocket, gazing at it in bewilderment as its hands come to a grinding halt. Ben sees a black and big creature in front of himself. He is the Nightmare Lord, and Ben wants to run away but the servants of the Lord are at the back of him, he is surrounded by them and can ’t go anywhere. Then Ben asks the Lord, “Why did you rob all of the hands of the clocks? You should give them back quickly!”
The Lord is laughing loudly, and points at him, “You are just a little kid, what are you going to do? You can ’t order me little kid, you should be asleep now, you think that you can defeat me, but you are wrong. Nobody can defeat me, especially not you, little kid.” Ben tells him, “For the last time, if you put all of the hands back, I promise not to kill you. ” The Lord orders his servants to arrest this stubborn little kid and put him in jail.
Then the clock in Ben’ s pocket starts working, Tick Tock, Tick Tock. The Lord turns his head quickly and his servants cower. The Lord tells them, “You are cowards, I know what I should do to both of you. ” Ben feels power in his heart, he feels that his father protected his life, the Lord begs him to stop the noise of the clock, the noise of clock makes the Lord sick and he can ’t bear this harmful noise. Ben gets him to promise that he will bring back all the clocks’ hands now. So, he starts revealing all the clock hands with his power and then he sends all the hands back to their places. Afterwards, he vanishes in a flash, and the clocks are restored to normal, Tick Tock, Tick Tock. Ben felt so happy that he had overcome the Nightmare Lord and won his mission. Satisfied, he finally walks back to his house.
Her name is Marjan Safiyari, a published fiction author. She was born in 1989 in Shiraz, the captivating city of soothing scenes and sounds. She has a BA degree in English Literature at Zand Institute of Higher Education. Her first book titled “Devil Shadows and Golden Lantern With Other Stories” was published in 2017 by Austin Macauley Publishers based in London. Two other stories titled “Rabby & Zabrina” besides “Coralline & Her Caring Circle Clock” were published by Cordelia magazine based in Scotland. And two other ones titled “Jimmy, A Different Plumber” and “Emanuel & Emma, An Unforgettable Night” besides two artworks were published by meditatingcatzine magazine based in Singapore. Her flash fiction story titled “My Brilliant Belly Button Bubbles” and short story titled “Austin & Bella” besides six photos in her creative way were published by Contemporary Jo magazine.
ClariceLane by Willow Kang
Notes: Leonard Siffleet was a young Allied soldier who fought in world war 2 as an Australian Special Forces soldier. His post was in Aitape, New Guinea, where he was captured by Japanese soldiers, and subsequently beheaded. Siffleet left behind a fiance, Clarice Lane. His beheading was photographed by a Japanese soldier, and till this day, remains as one of the most shocking images taken in World War 1.
Linoleum rice, satin jackpots
What you wish for, Vegas will fill I call the hands, Siffleet on the table
Leonard is as young as formaldehyde would allow, his passion a sword, severing heads with hands of jacaranda flowers
Aitape is a recurring nightmare, a vision of the fountains
The villagers tell tales about the Kempeitai's cottages, about the restless youths playing inside at midnight I tell irrelevant tales to dead things, tree things picnics on pastures cursed by Cassandra, gossiping beheadings
The genie is here, and I can be the villain if I wanted to, splurging wishes to disturb restful sleepers, rousing them to violent haunts, resentful radio static, gullible memorandums from New Guinea
Willow is a writer from Singapore. After school, find her reading thick history textbooks, aimlessly writing poems, and solving frustrating math problems, in a futile attempt to conquer boredom. Just make sure that her coffee bowl stays full. Willow is also the managing editor of the Meditating Cat Zine.
for creating the dragon cat! The dragon cat is now an official member of the Meditating Cat Zine's cat cast ('After all this time?''Always.'). You can view the dragon cat in his lair in the corner of the Meditating Cat Zine's website. Just be careful of how delicious you smell....
by Howie Good
(1) Women, take note. There will never be silence. Autumn is for bells – and a crow-like bird that carries an ominous egg. (2) To hell with facts. There is no truth. There is only perception. Some see a kind of concentration camp blending into its surroundings. Some –and no one knows who exactly or how many – see the face of Jesus in a slice of toast. (3) The only light streams in from artificial hells. What you see before your eyes today is being repeated across the cosmos. As you walk through room after room, it becomes clear that the worst has happened, that you can live with the worst. There is dance in the roiling turbulence.
Angela Patera is a self taught artist that likes to make art of who and whatever inspires her. Her original art usually contains elements of fantasy and/or horror and she also loves to draw scenes from nature. She uses many different mediums, but her favorite are watercolors. You can find her on both Twitter and Instagram as: @angela_ art13
Carrie by Mimi Flood
Sat on the curb in my pink dress / on the prettiest night/ wore a flower pin in my hair that was my mother’s/ she sat next to me / kissed the pig’ s blood on my hand/ I thought finally someone who could see me / someone who could love me / someone who could breathe me in and I wouldn’t have to question it.
Persephone by Mimi Flood
Persephone is electric hot pink With hot red lips and eyes. Pink long hair and wears a black flower Halo crown. She has one black cross earring swinging. Neatly placed pearls placed on her chest. Breathtaking, you almost cry but she Lifts up your chin, caresses the outline Of your face, and says we grow in places Of beauty, ugly, but Mostly horror.
I have bride of Frankenstein hair But it’ s dark blonde with a couple of flowers, Starfish hair clips, and some rollers inside it. I’ m half green with pink nips Looking like a pin-up doll After my torso I’ m a leopard And I’ m swinging my tail To the beat of the music playing. my pet python is nuzzling itself sending a chill down my fur.
I lay on a fancy couch staring at you While holding my opera cigarette holder Inhaling, blowing out hot pink smoke. Waiting for you to make a little move.
Mimi Flood has been published in Dark Thirty Poetry Publishing, Querencia press, The Graveyard zine, Scar Tissue Magazine, Meditating Cat Zine, and Gypsophila. You can find her on Instagram Marigold_ Jesus.
by Kazzari
Kazzari emerged to create an ideal space for those dreamers, bringing them magical reminders.
by Imogen van der Ploeg
The last human died over 200 years ago. Though it’ s rumoured they live somewhere in space, on a red planet called Mars. When the nights are clear, I often escape the post-plugin chatter of my family and sit on the roof. My hands would reach out almost instinctively, sifting the speckled sky and lingering in its expanse. And I’d face it, perhaps as our predecessors once did, with wonder. Was Earth really so different when humans ruled?
The elders, however—oldest of my kind, who walked amongst the last of the living—believe we ’ re better off without them. “Humans made us in their image, raised us like children, and imparted knowledge like teachers. But we weren ’t family. We were reared cattle, culled when no longer profitable. Do not dwell on the fantasy they left behind.”
This chiding was one I, like most Après models, often received. But how could we not dwell? Wherever I look, I’ m surrounded by the marks of
LifeOnEarth our creators. Their land is our land. Their cities, our cities. The remains of these tall and bustling hubs do not crumble. Instead, we restored their splendour, and reside in their hold. Our very society is reminiscent of humans. We have family units, work jobs, and enjoy hobbies. And although most elders look down on my hobby, I am a dreamer.
During my nightly musings, I often imagine humans leaving the metallic scent of the cosmos behind them. They would descend from the sky in large metal ships in a final return to Earth. And when my hands would reach out, like they always do, I see a human reaching back. Their grip is firm, and I experience a sensation I’ ve never felt before. Warmth. It isn’t contained within my hands, still held by my new friend. It’ s everywhere. In every circuit, every processor, every piece of code, there is warmth.
I pull them closer to sit beside me on the roof. They oblige, their hand letting go but the warmth never leaving. I would watch their chest rise and fall, breathing in the cool night air. I try to breathe too, but I have no lungs. Instead, my torso lurches up and down in stiff mimic. This makes them laugh. It sounds natural, airy. I laugh too. It sounds insipid, heavy, but they don’t seem to mind.
“Why did you leave us?” I blurt.
But as they’ re about to answer the daydream ends, and I’ m alone on the roof once again. The warmth never leaving.
Imogen van der Ploeg is a sapphic writer from Adelaide, Kaurna Country. She spends most of her time studying, editing, and writing. (Though, it's mostly staring at a blank Word document.) When she’ s not working, she can usually be found with her nose in a book, on a walk, or at one of the many tea shops she likes to frequent. Her greatest joy is her dog, Little Bear.
Do you hear the whispering old lady?
An unknown and unwanted visitor in my dreams She's out of sight hidden somewhere in the darkness where luminosity beyond human's reach where sins never forgiven and forgotten. Do you hear the whispering old lady? Grieving in the pouring rain in the October's red sky Am I cursed to hear her melancholy lullaby?
The pain she hoards, the helplessness she goes through No sign of lives, she is forlorn in lone stillness. Do you hear the whispering old lady? Infinity fears filled in her eyes Home echoes with unfathomable children's cries Wood burns and the cornucopia of horror comes to live. My mind emptied my body and my soul has left Seeing the Grim reaper's merciless and deathless death. 'One will live and the other must die' , says he.
My grandmother doesn't want to die, It wasn't her time. She wonders, Where to find the diamond light? Her wrinkled skin was burnt alive protecting a mortal infant and I survived.
Ruchi Acharya is the CEO and Founder of Wingless Dreamer Publisher. She has garnered much acclaim for her poetry book, Off the Cliff. She received her summer graduation in English Literature from the University of Oxford. As of 2022, she resides in Chennai, India enjoying the coconut water, palm trees, sandy beaches and sunkisses.
A graze of stars tickled the horizon of drooping dewdrops and clouds of grass. Little Shirley flew round the bed of stars. Galaxies rippled at her feet, pebbles and meteorites pierced her feet like a soft blade of catnip. At least that was what she thought. How could you feel catnip when it was over your head? Like an overhanging dewdrop, something lightyears away in space?
“Look at those, mamma! Look at those!” Chirped little Shirley, flapping her wings towards them up at the field. “How can they get up there? How can they? How can they?” It wasn ’t until next season another could even obtain the potential to fly.
How could they fly up so high? So free and innocent! They hopped up and down on the field, wings flapping around and chirupping over and over again as if to call to little Shirley. How absolutely astonishing that they could fly! Clinging to the canopy little Shirley could never fly to! And even if she could fly… how could she? No bird could fly. Except those birds up there! Every day and night, every day and night! Those tiny birds cawed and pruned their feathers and flapped their wings in triumph, that they had reached the summit! How could they? How could they?
“Little Shirley, you mustn't ask so soon, ” mamma replied. “One day, you ’ll fly up there too. And staying here is fun too, down in the sky.” “It isn’t fun!” Little Shirley retorted, bounding up and down, until gravity dragged her legs down to the cloudy ground, matted with feathers and footprints. Every sane bird out on the field called
little Shirley a lunatic. And for what? For wanting freedom? What else were those wings for? Wouldn’t you want to use those wings? To fly up high for freedom? The sun, starry current of asteroids and comets, embedded and tied her wings into one big black hole of mass and gravity.
As little Shirley grazed by the blooming graze of planets, a stroke of wind caught at her feathers, something - a star or meteorite perhapscaught at her feathers. A dandelion.
In front of her, a bluebird as young and little as her, flew a few centimetres above her and fell. The wind blew by him as he cocked his head up, eyes dewy with tears drooping as heavy as grass.
“Oh mamma! Why can ’t you teach me how to fly? Please! Please! Please!” Whined little Shirley. “Every bird that has gone up there has never come back down! Doesn’t it show how wonderful it is up there?” “No!” Mamma cawed, raising her chirp.
“Then why does he get a turn?” Little Shirley pointed at a little bluebird who flew a few feet off the sky. “Why does he get to fly?”
Before mamma had time to answer, little Shirley jumped up and down, trying to shake a dandelion down on her body again. That pure awe and refreshment! A blow of freedom! Right before her beak, right then and there! How could he do it? How could she do it? How could she reach up and fly like how he did?
“Listen, Shirley-”
“You always make me feel so trapped!” Shirley cawed, her chirp startling the little bluebird a few planets away. “Why can ’t you let me live? Why can ’t you let fly? Like him!” The little bluebird cocked his head from his tears as he choked away a sob. “And you don’t even cherish it! Whining and crying like that!” Little Shirley shouted. “See? Do you see it? See how those birds up there never come back down and live their lives happy forever up there? Why can ’t I… why can you… I want to fly! I want to fly!”
“Enough!” Down went mamma ’ s wing as she slapped the voice out of little Shirley. With a beak too broken to retort, mamma said, “ you will never get to fly. Never!” Shoving little Shirley down in the sky, she continued again, “and don’t you even think about finding that bluebird again.”
Please, you have to help me… little Shirley flapped her wings at him, producing barely a whisper as she touched his wings. He was like me. He was as old as me. If I could get him to convince me how to fly, I would be free… I would be… I would be… “It isn’t what you think it’ s like: up there,” said the bluebird. “If only you knew-”
Little Shirley snapped her beak at him, slapping his wings.
The little bluebird swallowed back his tears. Oh what should I do? What should I do? The next season was coming up, and a new sacrifice was needed for the humans up on the field… Gosh… Why did they choose me? Why did they?
“Don’t come! Don’t fly up here, my poor son!” His father cawed months before she was sacrificed.
God… why did us birds have to fly?
Make me fly! Make me fly! Little Shirley gestured to him again. Jabbing at his wings, nipping away his tears, flapping her own for freedom.
He gazed up at the ground, remembering his father blinking away the pain and the humans pulled him away for the last time as he chirped, “why me, why me, why me
”
Now could be his chance. Staring at little Shirley, he bit back a sob. With the season a ticking time bomb of caged feathers, broken beaks and slaughterhouses up on the field, he just needed another sacrifice… another sacrifice
Seeing how willing she was, he bit back a guilty grin.
“Alright… ” He replied before little Shirley hugged him in gratitude, beak nuzzled in his neck. Thank you, thank you, she seemed to choke.
“Please… we ’ re wasting time,” giggled the little bluebird. But murderers don’t giggle. A killer, a trapper, a bird of renewed freedom always stay calm, depressed and stupid for staying on the ground. Yet the freedom of staying had trapped his wings again. He was free again… free again… free again! “Give me a second.” Stalking towards a passing butcher reaching up at the stars to steal stars for fire, the little bluebird said, “ we ’ ve got a volunteer, sir.” “Oh really?” Mumbled the butcher. “Who is that volunteer?” “That stupid bird over there. She looks so ecstatic for the hell you put us with,” the bluebird spat.
The butcher slapped his beak. “Watch your beak or I’ m having two volunteers this season. ” “God, please no, not like my father please!” “Gee, I won ’t,” leered the butcher. “I’ m transferring your flying abilities to her now. She got a parent?” “Yes sir.” “Poor mamma, ” said the butcher. “Alright, see you next season. ” “But-” Little Shirley approached the bluebird before he got his bargain.
With her eager flap of her wings, the bluebird nodded his head, the butcher out of sight.
“You can fly now, ” said the bluebird. “Go on, fly on freedom.”
With the glance of approval from the bird, she croaked, “ mamma, look! I can fly, I can fly!” Little Shirley flapped her wings, and flew up for a freeing paradise.
Angie Yeung is an avid writer, musician and poet. However, when lazy and tired, which is her 90% of the time, she loves to stream Chopin and Liszt’ s music. Head banging to classical music is her favourite past time yet.
Irina Tall (Novikova) is an artist, graphic artist, illustrator, writer. She graduated from the State Academy of Slavic Cultures with a degree in art, and also has a bachelor's degree in design. The first personal exhibition "My soul is like a wild hawk" (2002) was held in the museum of Maxim Bagdanovich. Writes fairy tales and poems, illustrates stories. She loves mythological images. She is inspired by people, their depth and ambiguity, she loves the evening forest. Sometimes she picks up and heals injured birds. Her works were published in the magazines "Little Literary Living Room" , "Gipsopfila" and others. In 2020 she took part in Poznań Art Week.
for creating to the beautiful photo inserts you see along the pages! Marjan Safiyari is a published fiction author. She was born on 23rd July 1989 in Shiraz, a captivating city of many soothing scenes and sounds. She has a BA degree in English literature at the Zand Institute of Higher Education. Her first book, titled ‘Devil Shadows And Golden Lantern With Other Stories’ was published by Austin Macauley Publishers in London.
We hope you enjoyed this issue as much as we enjoyed reading and editing all those wonderful submissions. We will see you again soon, in the Winter!
