February 2020
Midnight Writers
Table of Contents
Cover: “Lollipop Light,” an illustration by Jennifer Kaechele
This Page: “Fallen,” an illustration by Marz Page 3: Ask Aphro & Dite
• Someone forgets to get something for their girlfriend for Valentine’s Day • A student asks about college
The Hues of Blue
• Blue talks about her Valentine’s Day
Monthly Otaku Column
• Aya talks about Pokémon and school
Page 4:
“Baking Addiction,” a rant by Calliope “Strawberry Flowers,” a photograph by The Calico Cat “Sugar Sweet,” an illustration by Cupid “Friend?” a poem by Phosphorescing Twilight “Happiness,” a poem by S.B
Page 5:
“Apples,” a story by Anon “Sweet Jewels,” a manga by Aya Hatashima
Page 6:
“Love Poem,” a poem by Anon “Me and Red,” a story by S.B. “Flaming,” a photograph by Verovyva
Page 7:
“Me and Red,” continued “Tea for Two,” a photograph by BTY “Dream Of Me,” a poem by Verovyva “Everlasting Love,” a poem by The Calico Cat
Page 8:
“Landing,” a poem by The Midnight Raven “Floating,” a story by Anon “Strawberry Cake,” a photograph by Blue Serendipity
Page 9:
“Free Fall,” a story by The Cold Hearted Queen “Piper,” a photograph by Blue Serendipity
Page 10:
“The Competition Part 4: Archer,” a story by The Mid2
night Raven “Tutles,” a photograph by DIO
Page 11:
“The Compeition Part 4: Archer,” continued “Lizard,” a photograph by Blue Serendipity
Page 12:
“Sharing,” a story by Phosphorescing Twilight “The Trickster,” an illustration by The Wine Merchant
Page 13:
“Blood Calls To Blood,” a story by Vérité “Confusion,” an illustration by DIO “Shrouded,” a poem by Alex Choi
Page 14:
“The Little Match Girl: A Retelling,” a story by The Midnight Raven “The Betrayal,” a story by Anon “City Lights,” a photograph by The Calico Cat
Page 15:
“Cyan Skies: D-2 (1),” a story by Blue Serendipity “Roses,” a photograph by Anon
Page 16:
“Cyan Skies: D-2 (1),” continued “Together,” a photograph by Verovyva
Ask Aphro & Dite
Dear Aphro, I didn’t get my girlfriend anything for Valentines day, how do I make it up to her? Yours, James Dear James, Well, everyone fails at something at some point. You aren’t perfect. Imagine you wanted to become, say, a professional video game player. You play through the game and you realize you aren’t very good. Then you practice and practice, but you die. It’s game-over at this point. Might as well find a different girl and try again. I mean, you didn’t fail to get her a Valentine’s gift, so, problem solved! But seriously, a missed opportunity in a relationship is not the end of the world. Make any old day Valentine’s day and make sure she knows you love her. With love, Aphro Dear Dite, What is the best way to get into college? Yours, Tired-Of-It Darling Tired-Of-It, I assume, given that you are asking this, you do not have access to one of the best ways— you know what they are. Aunt Becky can’t vouch for your crew skills, and you probably aren’t the valedictorian. That’s ok! There are plenty of ways to scam the system. First, you just need to pretend to be a really likeable person on your app. It is not imperative that this be true in real life. Second, you’re going to need to figure out what you’re willing to sacrifice. Know that picking the best all around school isn’t always a smart choice. Pick one that’s lacking in one nonessential area. Be it overly expensive, in a weird place, or lacking a social life. Just know what you’re willing to sacrifice! You could also move to Montana. With love, Dite
The Hues of Blue
This month, I decided to tell a story about one of the most hated holidays. For Valentine’s Day, my boyfriend planned a four-part surprise. The last part was a nice dinner. By the time we were done eating and we’re ready to leave it was about ten. Valentine’s Day is in the middle of February, so it was windy and freezing outside. I had on a coat, but I was also wearing a light thin dress. That meant my legs were exposed to the cold and every time a gust of wind blew by it lifted the hem of my skirt up. As we waited at a crosswalk, I complained about it being cold (I’m always complaining about the cold). He tried to put his arm around me, but the walksign appeared and I rushed across the street just before he could. We laughed about it for a moment and ended up just holding hands. The parking garages all looked the same, so we (or at least I) went to the first one we saw which was across the road. We dashed across the crosswalk and into the parking garage where we quickly realized that it wasn’t the right one. I turned around and began making my way out quickly. We were holding hands, and I was pulling him along with me. My sudden burst of speed was interrupted as I got tugged back, and I looked over to see his face scrunched up and his hand on his head. At first, I wondered if he suddenly got a migraine or something. Then, he said he hit his head on a lowered part of the garage ceiling. I should probably mention now that I’m a whole foot shorter than he is. The fact that he had ran straight into something I didn’t even realize I went under was ridiculously funny (this is natural selection at it’s finest). Anyways, I do feel bad about running him into a low concrete ceiling, but you know, if you’re over 6ft you shouldn’t exist.
issuu.com/midnightwriters wchs.midnightwriters@gmail.com
Monthly Otaku Column
This month was very overwhelming and I wasn’t able to draw anything that could be used as the cover. Anyways, this month’s manga is about a Valentine’s gift. This month, I had an art block and had many sub stories I came up with but decided to not use them. I finally got an idea when I saw a fanart of Sableye (a Pokemon). According to the pokemon website, Sableye eats minerals and has red jewel because of the diet (I totally didn’t know that). Eating the chocolate rocks my dad’s friend sent us, I thought of a Valentine story of a devil and a human. My actual Valentine’s Day? Nothing interesting! Forever aloneeee! In fact, I was so stressed about AP Economics that I forgot about Valentine’s day and forgot to bring gifts to people...guys, don’t take economics if you are already overwhelmed by other courses! There are so many things in this month’s manga that I am very unsatisfied with, and I feel ashamed. I want to improve on my drawings and storytelling so that I could actually create something I’ve always dreamed of. I feel like I haven’t improved on anything this month and I am tired of it. Anyways, I hope I will be able to draw something good next month :).
Special thanks to Sra. Steele, Blue Serendipity, Aya Hatashima, The Calico Cat, Calliope, DIO, The Midnight Raven, and S.B. 3
Baking Addiction By Calliope
I swear, lately I’ve been baking so much. It’s such a problem. Oh yeah this one is gonna be a rant. What a surprise, right? Basically I do this thing I like to call “stress baking” and any time that I am worried or upset or stressed out about something, I bake. It could be school or work or my team or even friend stuff, but regardless of the reason the outcome stays the same. Sometimes it’s 2pm on a Sunday and I just don’t want to even think about my homework, so I’ll go make a triple batch of chocolate chip cookies. Sometimes it’s 11:30 at night and I’ve been studying for hours when I decide that I need to relax or I can’t learn anything more so I go and make a batch of brownies. I think the only people who appreciate my stress baking are my teammates and friends. Whenever I get dropped off after practice, I’ll invite them in to eat whatever I made the most recently. The girl who drives us all, Giselle, loves my brownies. Her brother, on the other hand, favors my cookies. Regardless of what they like, they all will happily take my baking. My parents and sister are the same way, they will happily enjoy whatever I’m willing to make. Thinking about it, maybe this IS a healthy way to deal with stress. If nothing else, it brings quite a bit of happiness to the people around me!
“Sugar Sweet,” Illustration by Cupid
Friend?
By Phosphorescing Twilight Stepped on a flower I thought I destroyed it, but ‘Twasn’t truly there.
Happiness By S.B.
A glass bottle sparkles and shines, The orange liquid inside fizzles and pops. The bottles cold touch excites your lips As you sip It goes down like liquid silk. A refreshing sparkle As you taste pure fantasy on your tongue Warmth starts to spread once you’re done First your stomach, then from your heart to your veins Then it ends 4
“Strawberry Flowers,” Photograph by The Calico Cat
Apples
By Anon Dear Diary, I had resolved to pick apples with a girl in the local orchard this Sunday and I found the event to be every bit as pleasurable as I could have imagined. She had a redolent smell that reminded me of a botanical garden and our footsteps sounded like the gentle pitter-patter of water on stone. She and I raced heart to heart through the twisting maze of greens and pinks. We followed random paths, extemporizing like musicians until the song settled on a beauteous harmony where we could rest. Her eyes glittered like pearls when they rested on me, black hair dancing the summer’s breeze. The sun’s gentle warmth glinted through the trees which partitioned its light into individual strands that floated ethereally, like translucent strings taut to a point. We sat and chatted, and her voice floated over me like a song from the heavens. She handed me a particularly impeccable apple which she had picked earlier on in our excursion. It had a lustrous skin, modest yet inviting, with not an inch that seemed wrong to consume. As I bit in, I had a sensory experience like no other before in my life. The
apple was crisp, yet its flavor was soft and sweet, delicate to the palette. It had a slight tart, reminiscent of a breeze on a summer’s day, keeping you cool as you indulged in its warm, opulent sweetness. Such a dichotomy was the neverending delight provided by this exquisite fruit. A single droplet of its juice ran down my chin, freed from its casing by the explosive crunch. The apple was irresistible, and every bite brought forth the same magic as the last until it was done. She seemed to understand, this wonderful girl, all the thoughts that ran through my mind. Perhaps she felt the same, and the apple was an embodiment of her wish for me to share her feelings? We ceased our picking and found an excellent place to hide our bounty. The sky became painted with watercolors as the sun fell from the sky. We roamed into a pasture onto our way home. Before we knew it, the stars came to greet us and the moon became our new companion. It’s soft glow accentuated the soft features of her face. The lovely dance of a silhouette through the night continued until some of our mutual joy could be released in a kiss. I feel now as though I am floating in a bubble through the stars, my form elevated in its soft grace. I hope that we may meet again in the land of dreams, so we can live that marvelous day once more.
“Sweet Jewels,” Manga by Aya Hatashima (Read from Right to Left)
5
“Flaming,” Photograph by Verovyva
Love Poem By Anon
A season of love. It should be so beautiful, But why am I numb?
Me and Red By S.B.
Recently, I went on a date with my girlfriend. Let’s just call her Red for the sake of simplicity. Red asked me out, yet I seemed to be initiating most of our dates and conversations. I would put a concerted effort into making sure we had plenty of time to talk in person, suggesting times we could meet up and generally looking to clear time for her. So when she suggested that we go on a date to her old elementary school, I was excited. I made it my goal to kiss her, not for any lewd reason, but rather because I just wanted to feel closer to her. Her kissing me would be a sign that our connection was real, and also that she trusted me. It was 11 o’clock sharp when I pulled into her driveway. The sun shone recalcitrantly in the cold winter sky, with a powerful yet unobtrusive glow that would make a day in the frigid air more friendly. My car was still cold despite the drive over, so the steering wheel bit my skin and the seats had rejected the heat faintly emanating from my heater as well. I texted her and asked if she would prefer for me to knock at her door or to simply wait outside. Typically, it would be better to knock, but she could be afraid of embarrassment should one of her relatives answer the door. My phone lit up with a response. Omw I peered over the steering wheel to her door, and a warmth spread across me as a small girl with long hair and a graceful silhouette strode towards my car. I unlock the door and Red sits down. “Hey” she said with a typical sweetness in her voice. “Hey. So do you have directions?” “Yeah.” 6
So we drove out to her old house and parked there. We
visited some of the surrounding areas and finally settled at her old elementary school. We sat under a gnarled tree and looked out at the atmosphere. She explained the rich history of the playground, the games that had been played and the major events there. I heard tales of heroic students climbing the backstop and how children weren’t supposed to pass the tree-line. The vastness of the field, the antiquity of the school building, and the nostalgia of the basketball hoops, all part of a great story. We talked about each of our childhoods, how our paths had converged. Red took my hand and led me with a serene tug, we climbed to the highest point on the playground, the top of the swingset. Where we sat for nearly an hour, mindlessly continuing on with our conversation. All of a sudden, a wind came. It was an omen, surely. It nearly knocked us from our precarious perch, and disturbed the peaceful stillness of her childhood scene. Leaves were tossed to and fro, creating a sort of whirlwind. It was like a play, a show put on before our eyes, the leaves were actors dancing to a grand orchestra, the sound of the wind. “Beautiful isn’t it?” said I as I turned to face Red. She was much smaller than me. I can only imagine what she would have looked up to see. My already-too-messy hair dancing in the wind, my eyes filled with admiration, sitting too comfortably on a single bar. I contrasted her refined beauty in every way, but I do have a certain appeal. A very large man with softer facial features, I look like a rogue that never lost some of my playful boyish features. How strange we look together. “It’s really incredible,” said Red, turning to face me with
her typical fiery gaze. Then, there was one last sublime moment of silence, accompanied by a soft breeze, magically brushing our hair away from our faces. “So, you haven’t had your first kiss yet. . . have you?” said I with my best impression of bravado. “No,” said Red rather abruptly. “Have you thought about how you might want it to happen?” I articulated my words slowly so that she wouldn’t miss any hidden meaning. “No. Look, there’s some trash on the ground.” “Oh.” There was a moment of silence. This one was filled with something much heavier than the sublime joy of the last one. It stretched on. And on. “I think you knew where I was going with that and it’s fine if you weren’t ready.” We carried on sitting atop the swingset awkwardly for too long. For some odd reason she wasn’t as desperate to get off as I was. She invited me to try to fit in a small playground tube meant as a bridge for children and I narrowly crammed my way in. I challenged her to climb a pole, and she in turn challenged me to keep up with her on a mini gymnastics bar. She failed to climb it, and I wiped out horribly trying to flip my clumsy form over a bar that only reached my waist. Despite what happened earlier, she wasn’t fazed, and she was having fun. Maybe she didn’t want to kiss me, but in the end that didn’t matter. She had asked me out, so she couldn’t intend on being just friends forever. In a great effort to resist change she was making
me realize that maybe physical closeness and emotional closeness didn’t have to be related, and we could connect on some other level. We walked out to the car and drove to get some food. We had another good conversation about our different families who came from different cultures and yet produced such similar people. Finally, I took her home, and only a small twinge of regret remained. Later in the day, long after my date had ended, I texted her and told her that it was fine if she didn’t want to kiss me. I apologized for my awkward introduction, any time would be okay. Then Red texts back. I wish you would have kissed me. That was the perfect moment! This is a joke. You are not serious. They say that guys miss signals. I mean, I had even hinted at it before. I had told her that she looked beautiful out of the blue. I thought that that was the moment, where, serendipitously, all the stars had aligned to make it happen. I just didn’t get it at all how she didn’t understand. To all you girls out there that think guys are clueless, you aren’t alone.
Dream Of Me By Verovyva
“Hey, sleep now my love, Close your eyes and rest your wings, I’ll still be right here.”
Everlasting Love By The Calico Cat
You and me alone Bonded by our hearts and souls Bonds forever strong
“Tea For Two,” Photograph by BTY
7
Landing
By The Midnight Raven Once, when the summer wind blew and the sun beat down on my shoulders, I found myself falling. Falling farther and farther, Deeper and deeper, Past the blustering July air. Falling for him. Falling for each smile that graced his face and for every word that left his lips. Those feelings bloomed inside of me like a dandelion peeking out from the cracks of the sun-bathed sidewalk. And I lost myself, Engulfed myself, In the shine of his eyes, And I did until the cold air bit at my cheeks and that dande-
Floating By Anon
My dreams seem to cross over into reality. It’s confusing and terrifying, so I find myself living in a constant state of questioning. Faces pass me by and time ticks on. I sit and I watch as the world bustles on around me. Is this real? I don’t remember falling asleep, but I don’t remember waking up either. A feeling of carelessness washes over me and I lose feeling in my fingers. It spreads to my shoulders, up to my head, and down to my toes. My breathing slows down to a steady, light pace. Any sense of time disappears and I forget what day, month, or year it is. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know exactly what day it is, yet it’s hidden in a thick fog. I wonder if I’m actually where I am, or if I’m really just asleep in bed at home. The feeling is calm, and it’s intoxicating. I feel no fear and for some reason, I want to continue wondering forever. The ground I sit on no longer exists, and neither do the people around me. Yet in the end, my reality and dreams clash violently and I jolt back into place. The floating feeling turns cold and my senses become flooded. Noise drills into my brain, and I see people moving around me. The cold of the floor bites into my legs and I look up at a familiar face in confusion. What happened? What’s going on? Is this... real?
lion that grew from the concrete was covered in the powder of snow. And I held on still, To the tightrope stretched across the tumbling waterfall, The water’s mist and my own mind nudging me to let go. So I did. I loosened my grip and let myself fall again, The wind rushing past me, The sound echoing in my ears. And as I fell and the world blurred, I realized I had been pushed to the edge, Pushed to fall by an emptiness I had discovered within myself and by the doubts, The fears that others had ignited in me. I flickered my eyes shut and let the blurring world and rushing wind disappear, 8
And then I landed.
“Strawberry Cake,” Photograph by Blue Serendipity
Free Fall
“Piper,” Photograph by Blue Serendipity
By The Cold Hearted Queen As time passed, the sun did not. It seemed as if it was stuck there forever, taunting her. She spent most of her time on the shore sitting and pondering her life. Slowly, the vibrant scarlet sky seemed to pale into a soft rosy blush. The little sandpipers grew a bit older. The seagulls built nests on a large collection of boulders. Yet the semicircle sun remained perfectly balanced along the horizon. I moved towards her slowly and took note of the expression on her face. She looked happier. Her eyes watched the sky with bright hopeful eyes and her lips were curved into a light easy smile. As I sat down on the sand next to her, she let out a soft content sigh. “How’ve you been?” I asked curiously. Something had changed since the last time I had visited her. “Happier. I think,” she answered. I followed her gaze to two little birds fluttering around the sky in the distance. They dove in and out of clouds blissfully. Carelessly. As they darted in front of the sun I shut my eyes for a moment and listened to the soft rushing of the tide. I felt the sun’s rays touch my skin and wrap around me like a weightless blanket. The soft sand I was sitting on gave away just enough to cushion me comfortably. “You think?” I asked as I opened my eyes. Her eyes seemed to dim ever so slightly. “Actually I’m a little scared,” she admitted quietly. I furrowed my eyebrows and waited for her to elaborate. Blue spread across her dress like ink in water. “Things are changing so much so fast, and I don’t know if I’m ready for it all.” “No one’s truly ever ready. Even when people believe they are, something unexpected happens,” I replied comfortingly. The ocean reached for our toes and I pulled my legs towards myself quickly. The water was freezing. “I think... I think I’m slipping.” Her voice wavered. “I think I’m turning into her.” “No,” I said sternly. “You’re not her. You’re not like her at all.” “I don’t know what I’m like,” she said with a hint of distress in her voice. The water rushed towards us and I pulled my legs closer into me until I was hugging them. “The birds tell me things about me, things I didn’t know. I hear them talk about me, and I see them mock me. Maybe
they’re exaggerating, but exaggerations have to stem from somewhere.” A seagull squawked as it swooped down and landed on the shore gracefully. It chased after a couple sandpipers and they all chittered noisily. She picked up a grey seagull feather and slowly rolled it between her index finger and her thumb. “I’m afraid that I might not be the person people believe me to be.” I watched her roll the feather between her fingers for a while before gently taking it away and placing it down on the sand beside me. A sandpiper hopped over and snatched up the grey feather with its beak and flew away. “Don’t concern yourself so much about how other people perceive you. Don’t make the same mistake she made,” I said warningly. She pursed her lips and looked away. Her blue dress shifted into a pale pink color that resembled the state of the sky. It was clear she no longer wanted to talk about it, so I decided to bring the conversation back to the beginning. “You don’t seem as if you’ve been very happy at all.” “I’ve been struggling a bit more than usual,” she said with a slow nod. The tide rushed out and reached even farther this time, and when the water touched my toes, it was warm. “But I’ve also been happier. And I like the feeling of happy.” I examined her expression and found that the light easy smile was back. Her eyes were trained on the two little birds flying along the horizon. They flew closer, and as they did so, my expression became more and more of an expression of disbelief. “The birds.... are those...?” “Yes,” she said with a small laugh, “doves.”
9
The Competition Part 4: Archer By The Midnight Raven Archer, 3 I sat nervously on the stiff leather of the pilot’s seat, tapping my finger quickly against the control station in front of me. The third challenge was about to begin. The other competitors and I had found ourselves in the light once again and were told of what was the come in our next challenge. A race, where we would pilot our own spacecrafts, and try to make our way across a course. The blank landscape had formed into a scene of towering mountains and a lush, green forest. We were instructed to board our crafts and prepare for the race to begin, and I quickly moved to board one of the identical vehicles that floated slightly off the ground. As I took my seat, tracing my finger across the shining metal of the control station, I glanced to the side to see Will climbing into the craft left of mine, and Thea to the right. I nearly grimaced when I saw the flash of Will’s dark brown hair and viridescent eyes. Will and I had been paired for the first challenge and he had been so close, too close, to finding out the truth about me. That caused a fear to shudder through me, but what scared me even more, was how at that moment on the balcony, under the dark blanket of night, I was on the verge of telling him. Scared me of how much I wanted to tell him. “Competitors, the race will commence in…” I snapped out of my thoughts and adjusted my seat. 3, I looked forward and blinked against the golden light of the sun. 2, I reached forward and began to prepare at the control station. 1, I took in a deep breath. I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to be here any longer.
a shadow of mist and the expanse of forests that I flew just above. I blinked my eyes shut and inhaled a deep breath. I couldn’t be here anymore. With my eyes scrunched closed, I gripped on to the smooth leather of the control stick and jerked it sharply to the left. I exhaled and prepared for my fall, when I shot my eyes open, just before my craft collided with metal. A sharp pain shot through my spine and neck as I regained control and began to steer away, just as I noticed the other craft tumbling to the ground like falling snow. Then I dove, tilting downwards and shooting through the air, trying to reach the ground first. But I didn’t. When I finally landed and stumbled out, my feet hitting the wet dirt of the woods and shielding my eyes from the sun, the craft lay crushed, smoke billowing from the power generator. I tripped towards the ruined vehicle, my mind swirling with regrets and blaring thoughts; I had no idea who I hit. I felt so foolish, so idiotic, for putting myself and others in danger like that, simply because I didn’t want to be in “The Competition” anymore. I pulled against the beaten-in metal of the door, the indentation of my nose cap still slammed in. As I opened the door, my heart sunk as I saw who lay inside. Will. Will lying unconscious, his head lolled back, his eyelids bruised and shut, a large gash bleeding from his forehead. I did this, I did this to him. I wasn’t just foolish, I was selfish, so unbelievably selfish. Because of me, Will, who had done nothing but helped me and showed me kindness, might be kicked off “The Competition,” but even worse, he was hurt. I helped pull Will from the rubble of his ruined craft and settled him on a bed of fallen leaves,
Begin. I exhaled and prepared to brace against the impact as I navagited the control station until I shot forward. A flash of motion and the spacecraft lifted higher in the air, the forests passing by in an emerald blur as the race began. Thea quickly pulled forward, her brown eyes snapping with glee as we all flew through the air. My heart beat within my chest, the sound blocking out all other noise. I couldn’t do this anymore, I never wanted to be here in the first place. I had tried my best throughout the first few weeks to come off quiet, standoffish, the opposite of what the viewers, and the 5s, wanted to see. I had sat at 8th in the polls, and I believed that all I had done was working, but it wasn’t enough. I needed to not only appear as what was unwanted, I needed to fail the challenge, sabotage myself. I needed to crash. 10
I looked forward, at the towering mountains encased in
“Turtles,” Photograph by DIO
laying his head back gently. He had to be ok, he had to be. This was all my fault. The infirmary room was simple, white walls, white sheets, white linoleum floor, the only drastic burst of color came from the blue of the sky that showed through the window, and a small pot of marigolds sitting on the bedside table. I stepped into the room after waiting nearly two hours outside in silence, my heart beating within my chest. Will lay in the bed, his brown hair pushed back, revealing the stitches on the large gash just above his eyebrow. Purple and yellow bruises lined his arms and eyelids and seemed to create a pattern all across his skin. He looked exhausted, his chest slowly rising and falling with his breaths, but when he heard me step into the room, his eyes blinked open and he sat up quickly, causing him to sharply wince. I grimaced and breathed, “You should rest, don’t do anything that’s too much, especially not for me. I’m the last person who deserves it.” Will smiled softly and he settled back into the pillows. “Don’t say that.” He whispered, his voice slightly horse. I gave a soft smile back at him then said, “But it’s true. I caused you to get in this mess and because of me, you got hurt and now, both of us could be out of ‘The Competition’ because we couldn’t finish the race. I am so, so sorry Will.” As if on queue, an envelope skidded from under the door before coming to a stop just a few inches from my feet. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion before kneeling down and grasping on to the crisp, white paper of the envelope. With my thumb, I pried open the blood-red wax seal, one bearing the imprint of the number 5, and opened the letter. I cleared my throat, my eyes scan-
ning the page, and began reading. “Dear Archer and Will, we are deeply sorry to have heard about Will’s injury and hope he experiences a fast recovery. Due to the nature of this circumstance, it has come to our attention that neither of you were able to complete today’s challenge. However, both of you exhibited great courage and Archer showed surprising selflessness that we must recognize and appreciate. These are greatly important 5 attributes and therefore, we extend to you both the privilege to stay in ‘The Competition.’ Sincerely, The 5’s.” I exhaled deeply and took a moment to put together my swirling thoughts. I expected to be upset, disappointed, that I would have to stay. Deep down, I was, but it was pushed further within me by the overwhelming feeling of relief. Because Will was alright and he still got a chance. That was what mattered. “So we get to stay.” Will breathed, his eyes focused downwards at his hands. I nodded, my mind rushing to find a way to respond. After a moment, Will glanced up at me, the sunlight from the window glowing against his bruised skin, and with a hint of humor, he said, “Well, we’ve both got these now, huh?” Gesturing to the stitched-up wound above his eyebrow. Without consciousness, my hand moved automatically up to my scar. A jagged pink line that traced from the bottom left of my forehead to the edge of my left eyebrow, the skin slightly puckered. I could never forget that night, no matter how hard I willed myself too. As if the cool skin of my finger burned against the scar, I jerked my hand away and dropped it to my side. “Exactly,” I whispered, a glimmer of a smile appearing on my face. Will blinked at me before flickering his eyes back down to his hands. I shifted on my feet for a moment before saying, “I can go if you want. You probably want to rest and I’m probably-” “No,” Will interjected, cutting off my search for words, “I want you to stay.” I grinned slightly and moved to sit down on a chair that was near Will’s hospital bed. Will and I began to talk softly and our words seemed to fill the once silent air, as the golden light of the sun glowed through the glass of the window. Will had to get better, he had to. From my own selfishness and dissatisfaction, I had only brought about pain for others. But I wouldn’t anymore. I would fight, fight till the very end, as long as it meant that Will still got his chance. I gazed forward and looked at the gash above Will’s eyebrow and I lifted my fingertips up to graze my own. Maybe, just maybe, we still stood a chance.
“Lizard,” Photograph by Blue Serendipity
11
Sharing
stings, please stop.”
By Phosphorescing Twilight
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I enjoy seeing pain in my sister.
I hear crying from the other room. Maria’s crying on the floor, blood seeping out of her hand. There’s a stapler on the floor.
Maybe I’m jealous. Maybe I want her to feel the pain I feel. I don’t whine about it.
“Well why did you do that?” I said under my breath. I had actually put the stapler on the coffee table. My mom says I’m not supposed to put anything dangerous within Maria’s reach. But I did, out of curiosity. She continues to stare at me with terror and absolute pain in her eyes. The expression on her face makes her look like she is going to die. “Mooom,” I call loudly. “Yes, what?” She walks out of the kitchen, vanilla pudding in a glass bowl in her grasp. “Oh my gosh.” She drops her bowl of pudding, glass bowl shattering everywhere. She rushes back into the kitchen. “911, what’s your emergency?”
What pain do I feel…? “-una! Luna! You’re letting the sink overflow!” It hadn’t actually overflowed yet. I guess my mom finished cleaning up the glass. “Oh. Whoops,” my thoughts completely scatter. I turn the sink off. My grip had loosened on Maria while I zoned out, and she took the chance to run behind my mom. Not her mom. Her mom is a different woman. Maria doesn’t know that though. I don’t know the full story. The electric poison that inevitably led to the internet can do things. Many things. That’s what causes me pain, and I want to share with Maria. After all, sharing is caring, right?
“Hi, my daughter…” I drown her voice out, and continue to stare at Maria’s bawling face. Why is she still crying? When I nearly smashed my head open, my mom cried more than I did. Which was a lot, to be fair, but I didn’t cry for more than two minutes… “Thank you so much. Luna! Take care of your sister! Wash the wound out!” my mom commanded. Why couldn’t she do it herself? She was done with the phone call. I’d much rather clean up the glass. I walk over to Maria, and look at her face again. She had stopped screaming, but her eyes remain swollen, still streaming tears, and the look of terror still remains. I realize as my shadow looms over her, it looks to me like she is scared of me. Which she is. “Come on, I need to wash that. Mom said.” I lift her up, and she starts whimpering again. “Oh, shush,” I couldn’t understand her. Her pain tolerance was so low. Washing her fresh wound out is satisfying. Her little whimpers and her pleading voice whispering, “It stings, it
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“The Trickster,” Illustration by The Wine Merchant
Blood Calls to Blood
“Confusion,” Illustration by DIO
Vérité
Blood calls to blood, they tell her, day after day, in a world of smiles with sharp edges and eyes with no ends. They walk down endless corridors, always leaving her behind, no one else, but it must be fine. It must be, because blood calls to blood. Blood is thicker than water, they tell her, with delicate frowns when she grows too attached to the outsiders. They are her blood, her home, and no one else can ever fill that place for her. But she doubts, and they see it in her eyes, so they vow to watch her more carefully as the years go by. Blood follows blood, they tell her, when they catch her struggling for her freedom. Their frowns are less delicate now, smiles sharper and crueler, eyes harder and less forgiving. She can’t leave them, they say, no matter how much she wants to. Blood follows blood, and it always will in the end. Blood binds us, they tell her, when she finally dares to voice her rebellion. The bond cannot be broken, they say, and it will loop around her for the rest of her life. Best get used to it sooner rather than later, she is told, even as she turns away. The faces around her grow colder and crueler with every passing minute. But for all that shared blood that thrums inside their veins, too much time has passed in rebellion for her not to wonder, and are the bonds of blood truly as unbreakable as they seem? She has never felt a call to the insatiable people around her. She has never felt the thickness, the camaraderie that they tell her she should. She has never followed, too determined to carve her own path, and she has never bound herself to them like they’ve tried to bind themselves to her. So she looks them evenly in the eye when she takes her leave at last. Blood boils, even without fire, she tells them, and her blood has been boiling and aflame as long as she can remember. It is this flame in her blood, and no one else’s, that gives her the strength they so desperately tried to hide from her, and when she leaves, she strides purposefully, reaching for the distance, never looking back. And in the end, no call of blood traps her, and she doesn’t look back.
Not once.
Shrouded By: Alex Choi The sense of falseness Feelings erupted in me The hatred I feel The knife in my back The throbbing pain it evokes The tears pouring down I cry out loudly Pang of sadness washes me The lump in my throat But I persevere I put the past behind me I move on and strive 13
The Little Match Girl: A Retelling By The Midnight Raven
The little match girl used to sell wooden matches that could easily be dampened by the snow that fell throughout the night. Now, she sold matches made of bones. No one knew how the frail little girl that wandered the icy streets came across the whittled arm bones that she now used as fire starters. But each day, the plastered grin on her face shone as she barked at people to buy the matches that lasted longer than any other. But one especially frigid night, the girl huddled in a dark alleyway and in an act of pure desperation, lit one of the matches. Visions flooded into her head of a blazing fireplace, warmth emanating from it. She was seeing from the eyes of the owner of the bone. When the simulated warmth and vision disappeared, the little girl frantically struck another bone match. The sight of a Christmas tree lined with presents flooded into her head. Again and again, she lit the whittled matches, cherishing each moment with pure bliss before it vanished with a gust of wind. The hug of a grandmother, a thanksgiving feast lay in front of her. But when she reached out to touch the visions, they fled her mind. With a frustrated scream, the little match girl lit bone after bone, saw vision after vision, each time the sight disappeared from behind her eyelids. She grew more desperate, more furious. As the night grew colder and the sky darkened, the girl struck matches. Only after a vision of the warmth of a blanket-covered bed, did the little girl realize that she had used up all of the bone matches. She glanced in horror at the empty match box, her greed had gotten the best of her, and there was nothing else she could do. All of the bones were gone. There was no way to get any more. The little match girl shut her eyes and lay back on the snow back that had collected in the corner of the alley, and let the cold overcome her frail body. There was nothing else she could do. 14
The Betrayal By Anon How can I trust again? How can I trust now after what you did? I trusted you with everything, my body, my soul, and secrets privy only to your ears. You saw every part of me, and made me high on your words, but you never loved me like I loved you. You never loved me for who I am You loved me for what I am. The intersection between fun and shy and the overlap between attractiveness and intelligence. I would listen to you more than anyone else. I know that’s true because no one could love what I am. Maybe that’s why you did it? You knew how vulnerable I was You knew how much pain I was in. About my state of mind. How nothing ever made me happy. How I wasn’t really fit for a relationship, but you stayed because it was easy. You said that they gave you no choice But there never was a they, was there? You wouldn’t tell me who they were. Isn’t it convenient when there’s no one around to blame? With no one else to blame, I had to blame myself. I was the only guiltless person left. Is she like you? Still, I’m with someone else now. Every day I feel what you did. Every platonic friend, every little detail runs over my mind like it’s you all over again. I gave you all of my trust, and you returned it all shattered into pieces. It can never be restored. I can only give out the fragments. She says they’re platonic... I know in my heart that some of them like her. Why do I see her touching their hands, looking into their eyes? Why does it make me want to cut them into tiny cubes of meat? I know it’s unreasonable but I don’t control how I feel. How can I control it? I bite my tongue and watch in horror. I can’t tell her not to make friends, but every single one of them reminds me of what happened before. How stupid I was, how pathetic for staying with you after what you did. You betrayed me and I’ll never trust again “City Lights,” Photograph by The Calico Cat
Cyan Skies: D-2 (1)
By Blue Serendipity At first, he planned to stay isolated from the five soldiers. Valleé had said he’d only be staying there for a few weeks. It wouldn’t be permanent. He wouldn’t need to interact with these people again. He couldn’t help but to wonder, if she was telling the truth about him only staying briefly, what would they do with him after? “My name’s James Kerry, welcome to squadron D-2,” said the one who looked like he had just gotten out of a fight. Arlo nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement and James began introducing everyone else. “Hector Earl, Miles Sawyer, the one who’s reading is Calisto Arriola, and on the bunk above him is Gayle Hopson.” “You’ve got the bunk below mine,” said Miles patting the metal frame of the bunk beds he was standing beside. The room was relatively small; the bunk beds had only a couple inches of space between them and were pushed against the walls. There was a small bit of space in the middle to move around but Arlo couldn’t imagine more than one or two of them standing comfortably. “First things first,” said James moving towards the door, “we should get you some new clothes. If you’ve been living as a scavenger for a couple years I doubt you’ve been changing your clothes very often.” “We’ll give you a tour
of the place while we’re at it,” said Miles. He had a very easy-going smile that matched James’. They both seemed the friendliest out of the five and reminded Arlo of Eddie and Fred. Arlo’s stomach lurched as Valleé’s voice began bouncing around his head. I think you’ve been lied to, lieutenant. “We’ll see you guys at the dinner hall,” said James to the rest of the three. Hector and Gayle nodded while Calisto mumbled an acknowledgement. They walked out into the long wide hallway and were nearly run over by a group of men sprinting past. Or at least, Arlo was nearly run over. James and Miles seemed to be used to it and knew to stick closer to the walls. “So, you were a Burrey soldier first and then a scavenger, right?” Arlo nodded. “How long were you a soldier for?” Miles asked curiously. “I don’t remember,” said Arlo uncomfortably. He held onto the stack of files Valleé had given him a little tighter. At one point he’d need to read through them all and figure out just who exactly he was. He needed to figure out exactly just how much Sarah, Fred, Eddie, Vinnie, Jackie, and Frida had lied to him and why. “Do you know how long you were a scavenger for?” James asked a little confused. “No.” “Well, that’s alright,” said James with a slight shrug. “You probably haven’t been counting days. I bet you’ve
“Roses,” Photograph by Anon
been out there for a long time though. You’re the first Burrey-soldier-turned-scavenger we’ve ever had.” They reached the large room full of soldiers moving from place to place. It was a spacious rectangular room with a couple wooden tables and chairs, yet it seemed as if no one had any time to sit down. There were even more people walking around this time, and a couple were running. Arlo noticed a couple curious looks from people, but once again, no one spared a second glance. To their right was a long hallway. “We refer to this room specifically as the ‘barrack’, even though no one ever stays here for too long. Over
here’s the hall leading out to the Council Complex,” said Miles as he began walking down the hall. They reached the door at the end of the hall and Arlo prepared himself for the rush of light and noise he had experienced the last time he had been in that octagonal room. Just like before, the moment the doors opened light and sound flooded in. “This is the main room of the entire building. Everyone passes through here in order to get wherever they need to go,” said James. They walked to the middle Continued on Next Page
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of the room and Arlo took a moment to really look around. The ceiling was made up of dozens of bright fluorescent light panels and small circular lights dotted the edge of the floor. There were people milling about in groups around the room while others rushed around. “That door leads to the Science and Technology sector, that’s Food and Supplies, next to it is the Financial sector, the Barracks, then Agriculture, Education, that’s the Council Court, and finally, that’s the main entrance,” said Miles gesturing towards each door. Arlo examined the main entrance closely and caught a glimpse of what was on the other side as people came and went. Any hope of escaping was squashed as he saw a massive line trying to get through an impenetrable wall of security. “You’ll probably be spending most of your time in either the Barracks or at Food and Supplies,” said James as they began walking towards the latter. There was another long hall leading down to a much larger room. Three lines for food were created on one side of the room while two lines for supplies were created on the adjacent side. The middle of the room was taken up by tables for people to sit at. “You can get a little bit to eat whenever you want by meals are scheduled by sector. We’re with Finance and Education.” “We should get in line,” said Miles jerking his chin towards the supply line. Arlo frowned and watched as someone received a stack of green and brown cloth16
ing. It looked a lot like govie clothing: military garb. Arlo pressed his lips together in a thin line and watched more military clothing get passed out. He had agreed to join the Rebellion and live peacefully by himself, not their military. The lack of control he had over his situation frightened him. The boy was seventeen, and he had been hiding in that box car with his siblings for over three months. He was worryingly thin; his clothes hung off his skeleton frame and drowned him in fabric. Arlo’s wondered if he’d make it another ten days. “My name’s Charlie,” said the boy as he shut the boxcar door behind them. His two siblings were huddled in a corner with blankets wrapped around them. Arlo soon noticed that the blankets were actually sheets of rough, thin cloth that they had found. They did very little for the cold. “That’s my little brother Harley and my sister June.” Harley was fourteen and June was fifteen. They were both shaking from the cold, but did their best to hide it as they smiled and greeted them. The seven adults just stood silently for a moment, unsure of what to do. Arlo knew they weren’t going to make it. Charlie was a walking skeleton and his siblings were slowly freezing to death. “Do you mind if I sit with you two?” Sarah asked suddenly. She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead she shrugged off her outer jacket and placed it above Harley and June before
snuggling in beside June. Eddie sat down beside Harley and added his outer jacket while Jackie, Vinnie, Frida, and Fred all huddled together for warmth in a different forner of the box car. Arlo examined Charlie for a moment. The boy had somehow managed to claim this boxcar as his own and keep other scavenger groups from taking it with very little help. But Charlie knew that it’d take more than just a shelter to survive. Arlo sat down against the wall and pulled out a little pack of crackers. “Do you want some?” Arlo asked quietly. Charlie’s eyes went wide at the sight of food and he nodded his head eagerly. He sat down beside Arlo and scarfed down three crackers within seconds. “Drink some wa-
ter. Get some sleep. I’ll take watch.” Charlie nodded and did as he said. Arlo watched him closely as Charlie joined his siblings, Sarah, and Eddie. He had invited them into his boxcar because he knew they would be able to help him and his siblings. And as much as Arlo wanted to help them, he knew they couldn’t. Vinnie, Jackie, and Frida were already quite defenseless, and they couldn’t afford to take on more dead weight. At times they struggled to feed and clothe themselves. Arlo tucked the remaining crackers in his pocket and leaned his head back against the boxcar wall. The world was too cruel. To Be Continued...
“Together,” Photograph by Verovyva