December 2020
Midnight Writers
Table of Contents
Cover: “Celestial,” an illustration by The Wine Mer- Page 9: chant
“Winter’s Tree,” a poem by Vérité
This Page: “Blurred Rainbows,” a photograph by
“Falling Star,” a poem by Mourning Dove
The Calico Cat
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• An astronaut asks for help conquering a fear
“The Flower I Used To Propose To Gabriela With Because
Ask Aphro & Dite • Someone wants help with Christmas presents
The Hues of Blue • Blue remembers past winters
Monthly Otaku Column
“Violet,” a poem by The Midnight Raven I’m Gay Like That,” a photograph by Calliope “A Branch Of Bramble,” a poem by Anonymous
Page 11: “Immortal Mountains,” a poem by Lola
• Aya talks about her art and the photos she took
“Saturn,” a poem by Incandescent
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“Tyrant King,” an illustration by Bleach Lord
“Metamorphosis,” a story by Vérité
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“Elsa, Simplified,” an illustration by Cupid
“Among Us,” an illustration by Cupid
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“The Weakness Of The Astronaut Is The Call Of Oblivion
“The Burning Day Part 3,” a story by The Midnight Raven
And The Fear Of Continuations,” a poem by Calliope “Space Drama,” a story by The Cold Hearted Queen
“Reminders Of A Night Of Revelry And Splendor Lie
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Broken Upon A Painted Bridge As A Warning To Those
“Adelaide (3),” a story by Blue Serendipity
Who Would Cross,” a photograph by Calliope
“The Other World,” a photograph by Aya Hatashima
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“The Burning Day Part 3,” continued
“Adelaide (3),” continued
“Jagged Beauty,” a poem by Rose
“Chicken Pox But Make It Fuzzy Pink Flowers,” a photo-
“An Illusion of Protection,” a poem by Rose
graph by Calliope
“Crystal Doors,” a manga by Aya Hatashima
Page 7: “Ruby Wrapping Paper,” a story by Lola “Blues,” a photograph by Aya Hatashima
Page 8: “Ruby Wrapping Paper,” continued “There Can Only Be One,” an illustration by Bleach Lord “Candy Canes,” a rant by Blue Serendipity “Snow Days,” a poem by Lola 2
“Pine Needles,” a photograph by The Calico Cat
Ask Aphro & Dite
Dear Aphro, I want to go to Mars one day, but I’m terrified of heights. How should I get over this fear? Yours, An Aspiring Astronaut Dear Aspiring Astronaut, That’s quite the obstacle to be facing as someone who wants to go up to space. Fist, I recommend facing your fears with something small. Try climbing up a tree and sitting there, see if you feel afraid. If you do, try to sit there until you feel safe. Then, you can progress to taller heights. I also recommend thinking about why you want to be an astronaut. Try to let your dreams overpower your fear. Finally, remember that the closer you get to Mars the closer to land you’ll be! With love, Aphro
The Hues of Blue
I used to live on a very steep hill before I moved the summer before high school. There were lots of perks that came with this, especially in the wintertime. Some of my fondest winter memories consist of me and my sister speeding down the snowy street on a sled. We would speed up so much that we could turn onto the next street with enough momentum to get to the next block. It was so steep that everyone knew to never drive on it until the roads had been cleared and salted. My bus stop was at the very bottom of the hill, and every time it snowed, all the kids at the stop were late because the bus was too scared to pick us up (they never changed the bus stop though, and to make it worse, the bus stop was just my friend’s driveway). But living on such a steep hill during the winter wasn’t always fun. Every Dear Dite, winter, someone would attempt to drive up the What are good present ideas? hill only to get stuck. All the neighbors would Yours, Santa-less then have to help and push the car— sometimes Darling Santa-less, this would be late at night and below freezing. I couldn’t even count how many cars got stuck; it What would that person like? Every gift should be personalized to the reciever, other- was just a common occurrence. But then, somewise it doesn’t have as much meaning. Have one tried to drive down. It was about 11 pm and I decided to look out the window to check and they mentioned wanting anything recently? Do they have a favorite food, show, or book? see if my grandpa had returned from work. He hadn’t, but I kept looking because I knew he What hobbies do they have? If you’re truly would be home within a few minutes. Then, I blanking on what to get them, you should consider doing something with them instead. saw the car. It was coming down from the top After all, an activity they’ve always wanted to of the hill rather slowly, but as it went the car do can be considered a gift too! But, if none of got faster and faster. I saw the brake lights turn on, but the car didn’t slow down. With a loud these work, then your last resort can always be bang, it collided with a car parked at the end of a card and some candy. the street. I think I held my breath for a minute, With love, Dite too shocked to breathe or move. The feeling of relief I felt when the driver got out of the car is indescribable. The next morning, when we all stood at the end of the street waiting for the bus that would not come, everyone gawked at the badly damaged car. The entire passenger’s side was dented in. So, for all the drivers here, be careful on snowy roads!
issuu.com/midnightwriters wchs.midnightwriters@gmail.com
Monthly Otaku Column
Happy Holidays! Snow breaks are becoming useless because of online learning but nevertheless, snow days are exciting. One of the themes this month was crystals so I decided to draw this month’s manga based on my personal experience. Last month, I went to Artechouse in D.C. In the Crystalline exhibition, they used motion sensors and light projections to capture the beauty of the frozen world. I was surprised by how participative it was; when I approached the projected wall closely, some crystals appeared and sensors captured my motion and moved accordingly. When I waved my hand above the table, the water projected created waves. I’ve been to digital museums in Japan too, but these participatory experiences made Artechouse unique to me. Out of many scenes, I especially liked the magical door one. The screen showed multiple blobs of squares on the wall and when people approached the wall, the motion sensor detected us, and these blobs slowly formed into a crystal door. It made me feel as if I had magical powers. As seen in my panels, this crystal door inspired this month’s manga. Man, I really wish I had powers to summon magical doors! Anyway, the concept of digital art and technology is really fascinating and I am already putting bets on this medium of art becoming the worldwide trend. Even before Artechouse, I experienced Japanese digital art museum and it was gorgeous. I also saw an article of French digital art museum featuring Van Gogh’s famous paintings and this blend of traditional art and digital technology is very mind blowing. I wish for the pandemic to be over soon so that I could go to museums.
Special thanks to Sra. Steele, Blue Serendipity, Aya Hatashima, The Calico Cat, Calliope, Bleach Lord, The Midnight Raven, Cupid, and Vérité. 3
Metamorphosis By Vérité
Her hands are freezing. She turns the crystal over between her fingers, back and forth, back and forth. It feels like ice to the touch, draining and miserable and painful in every way but impossible to let go of, no matter how she tries. You are monstrous, the crystal whispers to her in low hums and buzzes, you are monstrous, monstrous, monstrous. She doesn’t let go. Her face feels wet. Her fingers are numb. I will fix you, croons the crystal, I will fix you. All you have to do is listen. . . and obey. She doesn’t want to. She’s tired, she thinks, tired of being told that her very existence is wrong. But in wading through the sea of snide comments, of side-eyes and sniffs and scorn, existence has become exhausting, in and of itself. Just listen, the crystal soothes, listen, and I’ll erase the flaws. The struggles. The imperfections. The bits that are wrong. The bits that are unnatural.
gers as she fiddles. They’re shaking a bit, minutely enough so that she hardly feels it. The skin should look scaly, she thinks, with vicious scars and tears to match her monstrous insides. Maybe her nails should be jagged and pointed, her fingers bent into unnatural claws. They aren’t. Her skin, her nails, her hands look normal, and so very. . . human. Her gaze snaps back to the crystal. It’s still humming and buzzing and hissing, leaving trails of burning fire on her palms for all that it feels like ice. It makes her miserable and tempts her oh so much all at once because wouldn’t it be so much easier, so much simpler, if she could just be. . . normal. Like all the rest. But. But. No, she thinks, she doesn’t want it enough for this. She doesn’t want it enough to tear herself apart. She drops the crystal-I am, she says, I am human. --and slowly, staggeringly, rubbing her hands together and swiping carefully at the tears on her face, she walks away.
You will be. . . human again. You won’t be a monster. She frowns. It sounds comforting but . . . But. But. What is it to be human, she muses, if not to have imperfections? There is a silence. The crystal, it seems, doesn’t have an answer to that. The buzzing picks up again, but it’s less clear now, and more frantic than anything. You. . . are hardly human, it hisses, you are an abomination. The words dig into her skin and lodge somewhere deep in her bones, her worst fears and truest terrors laid bare and confirmed for all to know. Her hands are cold. So very cold. 4
She turns the crystal over in her palm, and splays her fin-
“Elsa, Simplified,” Illustration by Cupid
The Burning Day Part 3 By The Midnight Raven
Daphne’s hair was pulled back into a tight braid, blush flowers woven through the golden waves. Everything moved in a blur of motion around her, the reach of the flames, the toss of objects, the swaying of the evergreen branches with the wind. But Daphne stood frozen, the soft orange glow of the fire illuminating her rigid expression, her eyes glued to someone across the crowd. Farrah stood two fires down, her auburn hair blowing freely in the wind. When Daphne squeezed her eyes shut, she could still feel the shock of cold from the ocean water, hear the crash of waves and their shared laughter ringing out, and see Farrah’s hair moving with the breeze as it did now. Daphne willed herself to keep her eyes open and watched as Farrah opened the box she held and pulled out a piece of parchment. Daphne sucked in a breath, it was a letter. Her letter. She looked down at her own box, one carved with a small house in the midst of a heavy snowfall. Inside lay items of no importance, they were what her mother had told her to burn. Letters from former potential suitors and one of her oldest most frayed dresses. Daphne’s hand had been sold in an unofficial bet of wealth and now her fate had been set. She was destined to be the ghostly figure with blossoming pink cheeks in portraits hanging on the finest of walls, known as a wife and nothing more. Farrah’s eyes looked empty, missing their intelligent yet humorous glint, as she lifted the letter up, her hand shaking slightly. More than anything, Daphne wanted to run forward, push through the crowd and take Farrah’s hands in her own, laughing in the face of what the world wanted of them. But it was as if her parents’ smiles were roots that wrapped around each of her ankles and tied her to the ground. Splintering, spiderweb-like roots formed of the proud grins that spread across their faces when they told Daphne of her engagement. But she knew that when she had smiled back at them, it was false, her cheeks stretched too tightly and the skin around her eyes wrinkled with despair. As if something snapped in Farrah, she sprang into movement and dropped the letter into the fire and Daphne exhaled sharply. Her heart beat within her chest and with each breath, flashes of memories broke through Daphne’s mind. Breath, undoing the ribbons in their hair. Breath, dancing under the moonlight. Breath, the echoing heartbeat as Daphne rested her head against Farrah’s chest. Breath, being told she was wrong, wrong, wrong. Breath, writing the letter with her breath shaky and a ring sitting on the end table. When she was snapped from her memories, Daphne re-
“Reminders Of A Night Of Revelry And Splendor Lie Broken Upon A Painted Bridge As A Warning To Those Who Would Cross,” Photograph by Calliope
alized that bitter tears were dripping down her cheeks and into the flickering fire. She glanced up from the flame and smoke to see Farah’s hazel eyes rimmed red, her shoulders shaking with heavy sobs. Then, after a single breath, Farrah turned on her heels and began to run, the navy blue fabric of her dress dancing on the wind. Daphne’s head was spinning, a battle was commencing within her mind and at one side of the battlefield stood Farrah, head held high, on the other rose everything else. But when she blocked out all other noise, and simply let herself think in the quiet of her own thoughts, one side was the clear winner. And Daphne let go of her grip. Let the box carved with the house and the snowstorm, and all it contained, fall to the flames like a single snowflake on the wind. But she wasn’t finished. Daphne yanked the gold band from her finger and tossed it as well, watched the flickering blaze surround the ring. She was done sacrificing herself for others, because that’s what it was. A sacrifice. She would slowly dwindle and fade away, the only reminder of her existence would be the strokes of paint forming a similar figure. She wanted more, she needed more. She wished to live. Daphne brushed off the buttercup fabric of her dress, as if she was expelling expectations themselves and not small specks of ash. Then, with her heart thumping in her chest, she set after Farrah, the rush of wind causing a single pink blossom to be lifted from Daphne’s hair. Dancing on the air before falling into the fire’s grasp, the petal slowly singed by the heat. The breeze by the shore was wild and Daphne’s sleeveless arms turned pink by the chill. She stepped out and felt the sand beneath her feet, her eyes glued on Farrah’s silhouette. She crouched right at the tide, the calico hem of her dress soaked through with water. Daphne started slowly forward, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, as if she was trying to keep her heart from jumping from her chest. Silently, Daphne reached the shore and slowly lowered
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herself to sit next to Farrah, and watched as she lifted her head, her hazel eyes tear-stained, to look at her. Daphne reached out and brushed Farrah’s loose hair back from her cheek and touched her hand lightly to Farrah’s back. Daphne expected her to flinch back, as if her skin was a smoldering coal, but she didn’t. Farrah leaned in to her touch and rested her head on Daphne’s shoulder, auburn and gold coming together in the moonlight.
Salty tears began to drip from Daphne’s eyes and Farrah lifted her shaking hand to swipe them from her cheeks. With the night sky above them, the starlight bathing their skin, Daphne pressed a kiss to Farrah’s forehead and in each other’s arms, they stared out at the sea, a storm on the horizon, but in that moment, the ocean waves seemed to dissipate.
Jagged Beauty
An Illusion of Protection
Please heed my warning While I glitter in the light My edges are sharp
Do you feel safe here Tightly wrapped in my arms Your head on my chest
The colors that shine Are shattered remaints of joy Frozen still in time
With your back to me Oblivious to the knife Hidden in my hands
By Rose
By Rose
“Crystal Doors,” Manga by Aya Hatashima (Read From Right To Left)
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Ruby Wrapping Paper
“Blues,” Photograph by Aya Hatashima
By Lola
My nose felt like it was going to freeze right off my face. A few snowflakes fell from the sky, adding onto the thin layer that already coated the ground. It would be a White Christmas this year, but I didn’t really care. People rushed around me with their shopping bags and children in tow. Christmas music was being played over the speakers on repeat. Old men dressed as Santa took photos with kids, all the while going “ho ho ho” obnoxiously. It was all quickly grating my nerves. After checking my watch, I looked around the shopping center impatiently. It was well past three. My eyes stopped on a large poster that displayed presents sitting under a Christmas tree. Frowning, I turned away. I didn’t hate Christmas. I just didn’t care for it. “Hello, dear, would you be willing to donate a bit of money to help buy impoverished children presents?” asked an elderly woman. She had wrapped herself up in a large, puffy, green coat and a brown scarf. I pursed my lips and thought about it for a moment. Eventually, I handed her ten dollars. I wouldn’t be buying any presents this year anyways. “Ruby! Hey!” exclaimed a voice. I turned around and scoffed when I saw a boy with blonde hair waving wildly at me. “You’re late,” I said irritatedly. He just continued to beam at me. “Dad needed some help with the Christmas tree. He’s really excited to have you over for the holidays this year,” said Aiden cheerfully. Even though we had only met three times in the past 20 years, he acted as if he had known me his entire life. “You didn’t do any Christmas shopping?” “Oh. I can go get some chocolates if you think Dad or your mom would like them. If you want them, that’s cool too,” I said awkwardly. I hadn’t thought about getting them presents. After all, I had never thought about getting anyone presents in a long time. “They like chocolate. We can get some when we stop by the grocery store,” said Aiden leading the way to his car. “Is that your go-to for presents?” “I don’t really give presents,” I said shortly. He furrowed his eyebrows, obviously confused. I wondered if he thought I was a jerk. “Friends? Family?” “My friends didn’t really give presents. Sometimes they gave chocolate. My mom and step-dad didn’t do presents.” “What do you mean, didn’t do presents?” “They didn’t give presents, and they didn’t want presents,” I sighed. It was a sore subject. I had stopped asking for presents when I was 7 after being continuously disappointed. I had stopped giving presents when I found them
discarded in the trash. When we got to Aiden’s car he sat in the driver’s seat for a moment before turning to look at me seriously. “Have you ever gotten a present that wasn’t chocolate?” he asked. “No.” “That’s not okay,” said Aiden angrily. He reached into the back and took out a little box wrapped in red. “Here, I wasn’t going to give this to you until Christmas but you need more than one present to make up for the past 20 years.” “What?” I asked dumbfoundedly. “I can… I’ll open it on Christmas. I don’t need any more presents.” “Mom and Dad got you presents too,” said Aiden, pulling out of the parking lot. “They’ll be furious when they find out.” “I’m serious. No more presents,” I said firmly. “Besides, I didn’t get you guys anything.” “Chocolates,” said Aiden jokingly. He smirked at my deadpan expression. “You don’t really need to get us anything anyways. You visiting is a gift enough. Dad misses you a lot.” “Sorry I didn’t visit you guys before,” I mumbled, turning away to look out the window. It was beginning to snow harder outside. Tiny specks of white rapidly dotted the road ahead of us, painting the street in a splotchy white and gray pattern. Luckily it melted too quickly to truly cover the road. The last thing I wanted was to die in an accident. “No, it’s okay. I get that it’s kinda awkward. I mean, the last time we saw you was four years ago?” A silence fell between us. Fiddling with the gold ribbon on my present, I wondered what was inside. “Dad wanted to visit you at the funeral.” I flinched. “Um, I think it was better that he didn’t,” I said with a nervous laugh. “My aunts weren’t really happy about the divorce.” “Yeah, he said that,” chuckled Aiden. “He’s sorry he wasn’t there though.” 7
“Well, I’m sorry I don’t have any Christmas presents for them. I’m kind of a Scrooge,” I said sheepishly. “We can change that,” said Aiden confidently. “We still have two days to get a present other than chocolates. I’ll help you.” “I need to get you a present too,” I said pointedly. He shrugged. “A present’s nice, but you don’t have to get me one.” “Uh no,” I said, shaking my head. “You just gave me the first actual present I’ve ever got. There’s no way I’m not going to give you one back!” “I see we’re changing you already, Scrooge,” he chuckled. I smiled and looked down at the red box. It didn’t matter what was inside. Someone had thought to get me a present and that was more than anyone else had ever done. It would be a Merry White Christmas.
Candy Canes
By Blue Serendipity
I have an obsession with peppermint. Or well, minty things in general. My favorite ice cream is mint chocolate chip, I love York Peppermint Patties, mint-flavored gum, etc. I never understood the rationale people who hated on mint-flavored things had. “It tastes like toothpaste,” they’d say. Well, actually, it’s toothpaste that tastes like mint. After all, they’re mint-flavored toothpaste. That’s why minty things aren’t called toothpaste-flavored. Anyways, now that Christmas is coming up, it is officially candy cane season! Nearly anyone who knows me can tell you how much I love candy canes. Last year I bought boxes of candy canes just for myself. The year before that, I had a jar sitting on my desk stocked with mini candy canes. My siblings - who dislike mint (the horror) - routinely gave me the candy canes they had been given throughout the holiday season.
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Candy canes not only taste wonderfully minty, they also come in such a fun shape. I mean, they’re canes! When I’m bored I would take one and just twirl them around my finger. Before eating them I would have a short debate over which side to eat from. I personally prefer eating the hook first. Yes, it’s a slightly awkward side to start from, and I get that the hook makes a nice handle, but once you get past the hook you just have a nice stick! Lastly, candy canes can be dangerous. Every time I eat a candy cane I would sharpen it until it was as pointy as a needle. I’ve embarassingly stabbed and cut the inside of my mouth multiple times, but it’s worth it. Because peppermint is wonderful and if you think otherwise you’re wrong.
“There Can Only Be One,” Illustration by Bleach Lord
Snow Days By Lola
In the front yard, Stands a snowman That greets passerbyers With a little stick hand. Beside him is his best friend, A little girl the age of four, Attempting to make angels On the cold snowy floor. Plop! Something hits him. Something small and light. Mom comes to bring her in, Although the girl puts up a fight. Plop! Plop! It continues. And slowly, he begins to shrink. The plopping gets louder, It’s the end, he thinks. When the rain ends, The girl runs out To find her snowman Looking very short and sout. His hat and nose had fallen off, Yet he continued to stand And greet passerbyers With his little stick hand.
Winter’s Tree
Falling Star
She stretches tall above the landscape,
If all wishes spoken
Prideful yet not vain
To a falling star came true,
She reaches high for the stars
How many wishes would it receive
By Vérité
Forever the storm’s bane She protects her young forest
By Mourning Dove
Before disappearing forever? As it streaked around the world,
Braving bitter cold
Visiting a hundred different skies,
She never bows to the wind
Every wish it collected would cause it to lose
With strength yet untold
Some of its magic
She rises infinite Time and time again To her lifespan, you see, There is no nearby end
Each time. It would grow fainter and dimmer, Giving up its glimmer, Until it blended in with the night.
But end comes to all of us No matter the time it takes And her strength cannot protect When forever makes its stake
A star can only grant so many wishes before dying. So, the next time you look Out a bedroom window and see a falling star,
So grow for yourself
Think of all the children who wished before you
Become your own winter’s tree
That the star might keep going-
For someday comes the time
Passing through hundreds of skies,
Where you must set yourself free.
Touching all the different peoples and different cultures To grant another wish. Think of the children giving up their own wishes To wish for yours. And think of a falling star as A message of love From the other side of the world.
“Pine Needles,” Photograph by The Calico Cat
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Violet
By The Midnight Raven
“The Flower I Use To Propse To Gabriela With Because I’m Gay Like That,” Photograph by Calliope
Oh, Violet, Do you remember that warm August night, When we felt the breeze in our hair and the grass under our feet, When we held each other close like the sky holds the clouds. And Violet, We were both crying that night, You with your tears of salt and crystal water. Neither of us wanted to go, that was true, But you feared the return home, While I feared that my heart would stop beating if I left your side. Oh, Violet, Do you know how your eyes glisten with the light, And how your hair tumbles down your back in waves of coffee and cinnamon, And how every laugh of yours echoes in my head even when you’re far. And Violet, I still dream of running away, To where the fields sprawl under the cloud-filled sky, Where we can lay amongst the flowers and the trees whose leaves fly through the Autumn air, Where we can live without ever fearing that we will have to leave each other’s sides. Oh, Violet, I still remember how the the wind brushed against my cheeks that August night, And how the stars with their silver light hung above our heads, And how I had to let go of your hand that was warm in my own. And Violet, I still remember having to watch you, With your hair and eyes shining with the moon, Walk from my side.
A Branch Of Bramble By Anonymous Perhaps we’re children Of summer. With our hair black, Our eyes dark, We throw up our hands And scream bitterly At a world that never seemed Alright. But as time moves on, As we flourish in a world Untouched, Perhaps we will soften And accept the world With hopes It will accept us.
Immortal Mountains By Lola
All was quiet Atop the glassy Still surface Of the lake. I look up at the dark Pointed titans. They stood broadly, With their bodies tall And unmoving Against the wind. In their palms They held trees. It’s roots wove against their fingers, While its leaves Grew dark In the sunless sky. I excuse myself, Dipping my paddle And breaking the surface Of the pale gray lake.
Saturn By Incandescent What would it be like To float surrounded by both Everything and nothing? To spin slowly, And watch time pass From seconds, to eons. How long would I live? When would my reign And my servitude Come to an end? I assume it to be lonely, Being surrounded by everything Yet so far away. My heart aches for the giants Who sleep in the cold And live in a land so far We couldn’t possibly ever visit.
“Tyrant King,” Illustration by Bleach Lord 11
“Among Us,” Illustration by Cupid
The Weakness Of The Astronaut Is The Call Of Oblivion And The Fear Of Continuations By Calliope
Space Drama
By The Cold Hearted Queen
Earth was a fascinating place. Dave remembered watching Only Humans since he was a child. It was a show that nearly everyone was obsessed with, although there was always that one Fodian who found it ridiculous. Dave could see why they’d think so, after all there was this one season where the world came to agreement to storm an “alien base”. But really, the ignorance of the humans was what made the show so entertaining. After watching 34 seasons, Dave thought that had been peak entertainment. Oh boy was he wrong. “Hey, that one place is on fire,” said Charlie, noticing Dave walk down the stairs. “The spider one.” “Oh. Australia?” Dave asked. He quickly sat down on the couch and glued his eyes to the screen. “What episode is this? How much did I miss?” “Episode 1, it just started. You didn’t miss much,” said Charlie turning the volume up. “I feel like part of the Earth is always on fire though, since they’re destroying it and all.” “Woah woah, hey we’re at the US now. There’s talk about World War 3 and the president is being impeached!” “Well that’s going to be chaotic,” said Charlie eagerly. They watched as news headlines flashed across the screen and politicians made their claims. When it got too much, the show panned back East where Australia was still on fire and Brexit became official. “Finally,” sighed Dave as the episode came to an end. “Brexit’s been dragged out for a couple seasons now.” “Yeah, wanna watch episode 2? This presidential impeachment sounds interesting,” said Charlie, ready to press
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The void calls The darkness too Clinging to a thin rope, floating aimlessly One slip, one fray And you will be lost to the night The darkness beckons Come take your place among the stars play. Dave nodded in agreement. Much to their surprise, the impeachment took up only the first ten minutes of the episode. Instead the main focus was on the upcoming election and a movie named Parasite. Feeling a little disappointed, Dave and Charlie hesitated to start the next episode but decided to anyways. “Oh woah,” said Charlie surprised. “That Coronavirus is taking over that side of the world. Pasta place is down!” “It’s reaching the other side too, schools in the US are starting to shut down,” said Dave, his mouth agape. “Coronavirus was mentioned in the last season but I thought was just a small sub-plot in China.” The entire world seemed to errupt in chaos as people raided the stores before they holed up in their homes. Much to Dave and Charlie’s amusement, Italians bought out every pasta but one and Americans suddenly had an obsession with toilet paper. In the next episode, even more went down. In the US, the deaths began increasing and the virus became increasingly problematic. Much to their amazement, people Americans protested against the lockdown, claiming the virus was fake. In the next episode, the situation in the US continued to spiral downhill before ending in flames. Quite literally. Dave and Charlie sat on the edge of their seats as they watched protests spread throughout the country like a tsunami. Then, in the next epsiode protests continued to spread; the Black Lives Matter movement even reaching other countries. “We’re only half-way through the season,” said Charlie incredulously. They looked at the description for the rest of the season which seemed just as wild. “What is up with this season?” “I don’t know,” said Dave feeling slightly overwhelmed. “But whoever directed this really needs to chill.”
Adelaide (3)
By Blue Serendipity Waking up to the sound of wailing did not equate to the most refreshing night of sleep. I pulled the covers over my head and groaned, hoping that Laura would get out of bed and calm the little demon. Fortunately, she did. Unfortunately, she decided to bring Adelaide into our room. “Laura,” I whined. She laughed and pulled the covers away, causing goosebumps to appear all over my skin. Sitting up, I grabbed the covers, pulled them back up to my neck, and glared childishly. “Look at how adorable she looks,” cooed Laura, placing Adelaide on the bed. Adelaide was dressed in a navy sweater slightly too big and gray sweatpants that were rolled up a few times. She made a babbling noise as she took a step forward on the bed before falling forward. “Where’d you get the clothes from?” I asked, watching Adelaide warily. She was beginning to crawl toward me rather quickly. “They were supposed to be birthday gifts for Andrew,” said Laura sitting down beside Adelaide. She gently put the girl back on her feet. “Since his birthday isn’t for another two weeks, Adelaide can have them and I’ll just buy more clothes later.” “Am I going to have to go to that?” I asked with a grimace. Although Andrew was my only nephew, I wasn’t very fond of having to be around him. He would
always cry and scream whenever his mom handed him to me. She said he was just scared and would warm up to me eventually, but after visiting once a week for two months Andrew still despised me. Laura however, got along with him wonderfully. “Oh come on,” sighed Laura, sending me a pointed look. “It’ll be nice to have dinner with my brother at least. Plus, he says Andrew’s started talking a little. Wouldn’t it be fun to talk to him a bit?” “Very,” I said dryly. Yes, because now Andrew could now verbally express how much he did not want to be around me. “Stop being ridiculous. I get you don’t like kids but you don’t have to act like this.” “Kids hate me! And the feeling’s mutual.” “Maybe kids hate you because you hate them,” reasoned Laura. Adelaide giggled and fell onto me. Jolting in surprise, I stared at the girl incredulously. Adelaide just stared up at me with joyful green eyes. “Look, Adelaide doesn’t hate you.” I sighed and let my shoulders fall. I knew I was being ridiculous like Laura said, but kids really got on my nerves. Sometimes they could cry for some unknown reason and only stop once they had worn themselves out. Even worse was when kids threw temper tantrums over little things. I had babysat Andrew once before, and I was sure that would be the only time. Andrew cried for hours at a time, nearly driving me
“The Other World,” Photograph by Aya Hatashima
insane. There was nothing I could do to pacify him. Ever since then, the sound of a baby crying felt traumatic. “Is it still snowing?” I asked, begrudgingly getting out of bed. Now that I wasn’t sitting on the other side of the bed Adelaide eagerly stumbled forward to explore the area I had just been sitting on. Laura quickly grabbed her before she accidentally fell off the edge. “Supposed to snow until later on tonight,” said Laura shrugging. “But they said there might be a few short snow storms throughout tomorrow.” I nodded silently, deciding not to voice my dread for having to take care of Adelaide. Breakfast went by smoothly, much to my
surprise. Adelaide was easily distracted by a couple of cheerios and some grapes. Afterwards, I sat on the couch and watched the news while Laura and Adelaide played with makeshift sock puppets on the floor. “Police have determined the time of death to have been at 5pm Wednesday night with the cause being two bullet wounds to the back of the head and chest on both Mr. and Ms. Wiesman. Their children, Bonnie and Rachel, both aged 13, were staying over at their friend’s house at the time,” said the news reporter grimly. Laura glanced up from Continued on Next Page
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the sock puppets as the TV showed police swarmed in front of a large house. “Police have not confirmed any suspects, nor any connection to the Callahans.” “The Callahans?” I questioned aloud. “From Tuesday, I think you missed it. There was another family murdered late afternoon when their son was at school,” explained Laura. The reporter went on to talk about the recently discovered details about the case for a few minutes before switching back to the anchors. “It’s a little weird for a murder to happen during the day,” I said with a frown. Even though we only got a few hours of sunlight during the winter in Alaska, murders during the day still weren’t common. There was just too many people out and about to be able to make such a clean get-away. “You’d think there’d be more suspects.” “More? It doesn’t really seem like there are any.” There was a bang and my eyes shot over to Adelaide. She had grabbed the remote off the coffee table and was hitting it against the floor with a giggle. For a tiny little kid, her arms were shockingly strong. “Adelaide, no,” said Laura with a slight laugh. She held out her hand, gesturing for Adelaide to give her the remote. “No!” repeated Adelaide, continuing to bang the remote on the floor. I stifled a laugh. I was pretty sure she only had a vague idea of what the word ‘no’ even meant, but she had made her intentions clear. The remote 14
was hers. “Addie, you’ll break it if you keep doing that,” said Laura warningly. She reached over and gently pried it out of Adelaide’s hands. When she did, Adelaide started to cry. Wincing, I gestured for Laura to just give the remote back. Unfortunately Laura wasn’t as willing to sacrifice a remote in order to gain a bit of peace. “Look Adelaide, Mr. Sock wants to play with you!” Laura made the sock puppet dance around and hummed a little tune. It did nothing to stop Adelaide’s crying. I looked around for something else to keep her entertained and found a box of colored pens. “Here Adelaide,” I said, grabbing the pens and some paper before sitting down beside her. “Do you want to draw?” I scribbled a messy flower onto a piece of paper as an example. Adelaide’s cries softened into a sniffle as she watched, so I drew another flower. I wasn’t really sure if I should really be giving pens to a one-year-old, but if she could grab cereal she could probably hold a pen. Adelaide grabbed a red pen and scribbled violently over my flowers. She giggled at the sight of the red ink and I smiled in relief. “You’re not that bad with kids,” said Laura teasingly. I rolled my eyes. “I just wanted her to stop crying.” “Well you did it.” Drawing seemed to be enough to take up Adelaide’s attention for the next hour. I was surprised it kept her busy for so long;
Andrew always got sick of whatever toy he was playing with after fifteen minutes. She was so distracted that I managed to peacefully attend a video meeting. “She might be a really good artist when she gets older,” I commented when Adelaide finally got sick of drawing. She had used up nearly 15 papers and used all the colors. “Could you call this abstract art?” I held up a drawing of purple, yellow, and blue scribbles. “Maybe,” said Laura with a laugh. “We should hang it on the fridge.” “What do you think, Addie?” I asked, turning to look at the toddler. Adelaide ignored me, choosing to crawl under the coffee table where her stuffed sock animals were. “She’s a better
kid than Andrew was.” “Don’t say that,” snorted Laura. She gathered all the drawings except for the one I was holding and placed them in a neat stack on the table. “He’s your nephew. And was? He’s still a kid.” “Fine. She’s a better kid than Andrew is,” I said, correcting myself. Laura raised an eyebrow and I gave her a challenging look. “Well, I’m not wrong.” She stared at me blankly for a few seconds before breaking out into a large grin. “Sounds like someone’s warming up to Adelaide.”
To Be Continued...
“Chiken Pox But Make It Fuzzy Pink Flowers,” Photograph by Calliope