March 2020
Midnight Writers
Table of Contents
Cover: “Reflection,” a photograph by Artemis This Page: “Katana,” an illustration by Cupid Page 3:
Page 11:
• The Wine Merchant doesn’t want to get kicked out of the house • Atoned asks for quarantine advice
“The Competition Part 5: Will,” a story by The Midnight Raven “Grapes,” an illustration by DIO
Ask Aphro & Dite
The Hues of Blue
• Blue describes her time in quarantine
Monthly Otaku Column
• Aya talks about Hagio Moto’s art style
Page 4:
“Mirror Lake,” a story by Anon “Lost,” an illustration by Phosphorescing Twilight
Page 5:
“Mirror Lake,” continued “Bubbling,” a photograph by Anonymous
Page 6:
“Mirror Lake,” continued “Quarantine Rant,” a rant by S.B. “Docked,” a photograph by The Calico Cat “Going Crazy,” a poem by Slightly Silver
Page 7:
“Isolation’s Insanity,” a rant by Calliope “Alice Underwater,” an illustration by Aya Hatashima “Submerged,” a poem by Alex Choi
Page 8:
“Eremophobic Autophobe,” a poem by Phosphorescing Twilight “Dueling Thoughts,” a poem by Verovyva “Sea Angel,” an illustration by Aya Hatashima “Mirror, Mirror,” a story by Vérité
Page 9:
“Mirror, Mirror,” continued “Swordfighting Poem,” a poem by Calliope “Somebody Once Told Me,” an illustration by DIO
Page 10:
“Girasol,” a photograph by Bubbles “Garden,” a photograph by The Calico Cat “A Duel,” a story by Anonymous “The Fate of Achilles,” a story by The Midnight Raven 2
“The Fate of Achilles,” continued “Duel to the Death,” a poem by Anonymous “Spring Duel,” a manga by Aya Hatashima
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“The Competition Part 5: Will,” continued “Wonderland?” an illustration by Cupid “Consequences,” a poem by Verovyva
Page 14:
“A Lonely March Onwards,” a story by Anonymous “What is Darkness?” a poem by S.B. “Ticking Time Bomb,” an illustration by Verovyva
Page 15:
“Cyan Skies: D-2 (2),” a story by Blue Serendipity “Sunny Days,” a photograph by Verovyva
Page 16:
“Cyan Skies: D-2 (2),” continued “Gentle Waves,” a photograph by Anonymous
Ask Aphro & Dite
Dear Aphro, My best friend’s boyfriend wants to kick me out of their minecraft home even though she considers me a family, how do I make him regret this decision? Yours, The Wine Merchant Dear Wine Merchant, Perhaps it is not that your friend’s boyfriend doesn’t want you in the house. Maybe think from his perspective. Your parents don’t want you to find a job and move out because they hate you. It’s because they love you and they want to see you make your own life. Or maybe it’s because you don’t bring any tangible skills to the table? Or maybe he just doesn’t want his girlfriend to divide her time between the two of you? Regardless, I bet he thinks you could make an even more awesome house by yourself anyways. Also, ask him again. Maybe his opinion has changed. With love, Aphro Dear Dite, How can I make my quarantine a little less shitty? Yours, Atoned Darling Atoned, Quarantine is for wusses, go outside and enjoy life! Go see the cherry blossoms and... SIKE. Quarantine isn’t supposed to be fun. There are a small number of ways, however, that you can keep yourself sane. Keep a schedule, find an hour to workout, and practice some skill. Also, I know you aren’t doing any schoolwork. Put aside an hour for that. Also, go to sleep at a responsible time, idiot. With love, Dite
The Hues of Blue
Being forced to quarantine at home by my parents has really caused me to become more productive than usual. Sure, I’m no longer working as a part-time cashier and I’m doing absolutely nothing that has to do with school, but wow I’ve been keeping busy. Recently, I’ve decided to do some baking. At first, it was because I wanted to take over the kitchen and use up as much flour and eggs as possible in order to force my mom to allow me to go on a walk outside (if she wants the kitchen back she can let me leave the house). That’s still one reason why I’ve been baking so much, but I also find it really fun. I love looking for new things to bake, from sourdough to Hong Kong style pineapple buns. My sisters benefit from this as well since they get to eat it all. I’ve also begun practicing piano much more. Before, I always felt as if I didn’t have enough time in the day to actually practice due to either homework or my part-time job. Now I can sit there and just allow myself to empty my mind. I’ve begun cleaning my room over and over again as well, even though it was already very organized to start out with. My closet is now color coordinated and I’m running out of things to clean. The lack of schoolwork has been really relaxing and I enjoy being able to sleep more, but I can’t wait for school to open back up. I miss being around with people other than my family and I miss my normal life. Eventually this will all be over though, and everything will go back to normal. Until then, I’ll fill my house with baked foods, play piano loudly over the sound of the TV, and complain until my parents give in and let me go on a walk around my neighborhood.
issuu.com/midnightwriters wchs.midnightwriters@gmail.com
Monthly Otaku Column
Hi, everyone! How’s your self quarantine? I hope you are having a nice, cozy day and getting a lot of creative inspirations! With all this time in my hands, I was able to take time on my manga and draw with extra time :) I totally love this month’s “sword fight” and “underwater” themes… I think both of them are very imaginative themes (which is very helpful as a manga drawer). This month’s manga is about sword fighting (with no blood)! This story came to me when I was taking a walk outside and saw a lot of cherry blossoms blooming. It felt a little strange because I haven’t gone outside for a while and without school, it felt as if the time had stopped spinning. But outside, the spring has come just like the way before. It was so quiet and peaceful outside to even believe that there is a worldwide chaos happening right now. Why would you want to fight with anyone when there are beautiful flowers and trees blooming everywhere? The manga style is heavily inspired by Hagio Moto’s drawing style. In her manga, such as The Poe Clan and Heart of Thomas, she places a lot of nature to show the story’s dynamics and express the character’s fragileness. Hagio Moto’s manga reminds me of a tranquil spring time, and gives that dreamlike feeling. I was wondering why her manga reminds me of spring and when I reread her manga (for a thousandth time), I noticed she drew nature around the characters, such as trees and flowers, with details and different styles. She changes the angles and perspectives everytime, and she uses different styles every time (sometimes she draws with a series of lines, with dots, with minimum darks, or just a silhouette). I am not very good at drawing trees and flowers but by reading her manga, it brings me passion to draw and tell extraordinary stories like her.
Special thanks to Sra. Steele, Blue Serendipity, Aya Hatashima, The Calico Cat, Calliope, DIO, The Midnight Raven, and S.B.
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Mirror Lake
cut through him and highlighted his uncertainties about the whole ordeal. “She was severely depressed. It was a suicide.” “You said they didn’t find her. I don’ wanna find some dead girl here.” A short story inspired by Blank Dream. Gavin didn’t think this to be of any consequence. Indeed, it would be an unpleasant experience to find someone who The night was full of stars that could only exist in true had died in this forest, but that wouldn’t distract him from blackness. It was pure and velvety so vision was imposhis mission. Certainty was the only confirmation of what sible, and the only way to orientate oneself was using the was real in a place like these woods. The darkness had sky and the feeling of the grass underfoot. Two pairs of transcended the barrier of vision and now proliferated both feet swept across the brush with purpose, marching across of their thoughts like some guardian of the unknown. The small bushes and tall grasses without care of the trail they uncertainty of the environment was absolute, and it was left behind. The wind seemed almost deafening as they enough to make you question whether you had even enpaused to reference their location. They had not thought tered the woods at all. Indeed, it was hard to tell whether or carefully enough about this; it had seemed a strange myth not you were actually in your bed, chasing some sprite in a to begin with. “So we supposed to turn right when the tree-line becomes dream. visible, huh? And then we just keep walking till we see the The grass became short and trimmed as the sky appeared lake.” both above and below them, a smattering of stars eclectiStupid questions like that don’t dignify a response, cally thrown on an inky black canvas reflected by a near thought the man’s partner in disgust. too perfect pool of water. There was a small shed across the “Did ya hear that Gavin? I sayed, we supposed to turn lake and light from one window way off in the distance. right at the trees?” “Mirror Lake,” breathed Gavin incredulously. “How do we know where the trees are? It’s too dark to He could see the lake clearly despite the darkness. It was see anything.” as if noon’s daylight shone on the water—an oasis in the “I can hear them,” said the other, simply. “Their leaves vast desert of the night. This lake had the power to alter the rustle different than the grass.” world. The future, the past, and all parts of the world that Buford could be an idiot sometimes but he had his only existed in the collective human consciousness. Stories strange moments of brilliance, Gavin thought. He could remember an abundance of times like this when his friend/ of the world wars, your childhood, and all the “real” things you’d ever heard about the world. partner-in-crime had picked up on subtleties that would Gavin called the future and the past a part of the world of escape the naked eye. One time in grade school, he had fiction. The world of fiction includes everything mutable, wisely observed that all of the security cameras on one side intangible, or otherwise conceptual. That could be a comof the school should stop working after four as they were perched adjacent to the windows and the glare would blind pany, your family, or the idea of the past and the future, for example. Oftentimes we treat the past like we treat the them once the sun started to sink lower in the sky. Sure enough, they had been able to use that section of the building as late as they pleased with no fear of retribution. “I’m sorry then. I suppose you lead the way,” said Gavin with newfound modesty. He readjusted his glasses and followed Buford’s heavy footsteps into the woods. The tall grass disappeared and gave way to undergrowth as the stars began to disappear from the sky; they had entered the forest. There was a certain loneliness to it, the leaves seemed untouched and there was not a trail in sight. “What were those stories from this here lake again?” inquired Buford, slightly panting at this point. “Well,” Gavin recuperated his confidence and once more took on his classic scholarly tone, “the place we’re going is said to grant one wish. There are some very specific directions for how it has to take place.” The conversation stalled as Buford struggled to grasp the seemingly intangible concept that was the lake. “This is kinda scary. You said a girl disappeared here, right? The question made Gavin deeply uncomfortable. It
By Anon
4
“Lost,” Illustration by Phosphorescing Twilight
future and think about what we would do differently as if it hadn’t already happened. What if I had applied for that job? You imagine these things because your mind can’t differentiate past fictions and future fictions. We look at palpable cause-effect relationships in our past to make hypotheses about our future. This lake could change what had happened and what had not so that the collective fiction of reality would be different. “I’m worried about this Gavin,” whined Buford as the two boys began to walk into the lake. Gavin cared little about his friend’s whining. He felt knives on his legs as he jumped into the icy lake. His entire body convulsed as it went into shock, sinking quickly and dangerously. His lungs began to fill with water as he dropped farther and farther. Somewhere above him was a terrible splash. The light began to fade from his eyes as he took a deep, painful breath. Then, he made a wish. … ... . . . He emerged again taking a breath of air and noticed that he was no longer drowning but instead breathing air. “Where is this? What was I just...” As Gavin regained consciousness he realized he didn’t remember where he was. He felt as if he was floating, standing on a floor that didn’t exist in a room without a ceiling. There was a painting in the distance, and in it was a strange man in it that he didn’t recognize. “Hello! Anyone?” He called out helplessly in no particular direction. “Hello, you must be terribly confused,” said the painting mystically. The man in the painting had short blonde hair and square glasses. The painting seemed to be mocking his facial expressions. Gavin pondered this for a moment. “Oh you must be a mirror,” stated Gavin with fiery inspiration. “Then maybe you can grant my wish!”
“What is your wish?” inquired the mirror with a blatant tone of sarcasm. “I… ” Gavin frowned and paused to think. “I don’t remember.” The mirror smirked. “If you want to regain your memories, you’re going to have to find all of the mirrors like me and break them. But first, come with me to the mirror world.” Gavin’s feet twisted underneath him and he felt a strong tug. He felt his body squeeze until he hit the ground exactly where he started. At the lake. This must be the mirror world. He looked at Buford, his heart racing. “I’m sorry about that Buford, I really am.” “Sorry for what?” Buford asked innocently. He doesn’t remember. Gavin darted into the lake once more, his lungs filled with water, and he felt the mirror shatter again. Instantly he remembered. This world wasn’t made for him. It was made for a girl who killed herself here just a little while ago. He was Gavin Haan, and he came to Mirror Lake accompanied by Buford Brown with one wish in his mind. That wish has been granted. He felt as though he could move on, but he felt a desire to stay. This felt so uncertain. Who was Buford? What was his wish? He had no information on which to base his decision to stay or leave. What might he have wanted to wish for? Why had he come? In a moment of serendipity, he saw a figure in a cloak walk by. It seemed ghostly, but he was not afraid to call out. “Hello there!” “Hello?” said the figure confusedly, not looking to greet him. “I just want a little information about this world.” The girl gave him a knowing look. “Anyone who has come here must have died with some strong wish. I wish that yours has been granted.” Died? How had he died? And what had been his wish? Gavin resolved to stay and find out. He searched the world with the girl for what seemed a long time. There was no telling in a world with no sun. The mirror world had a limited amount of light to spare its inhabitants and such light would emanate from the floor in a glow. Most of the souls there were destitute— driven mad by years or centuries in isolation. They had neither moved on nor found any truths of their own and thus had no real purpose. The hooded girl guided Gavin to his destination, his mirror. He began to notice a few quirks in her as they journeyed on. She had white hair under her cloak and her voice sounded destitute, often bordering insanity. “Here is your mirror,” said the girl turning to face him. Her irises were red like rubies and her hair was long and smooth. “It contains all your memories. They will return
“Bubbling,” Photograph by Anonymous
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the second you kill yourself within the dream.” “Thank you for your help,” beamed Gavin in response. “Could I help you find your mirror too?” “No.” The girl turned and walked away. He wouldn’t chase her. The girl was too strange, too multifaceted, and too unstable. What he needed now was to discover who he was, and what he had done, and why. “Do you wish to enter?” asked his reflection serenely. Simply deciding yes in his mind turned out to be enough. He felt a tugging on his feet and in an explosion of black and gray, a dingy prison mess hall filled with miserable inmates walking drearily about appeared before him. “Gavin I don’t like it here.” Buford looked at him nervously. “They don’t like me here either. I never wanted to go to prison.” Everything flooded back all at once and Gavin felt a panicked guilt as he was overwhelmed with his memories. It had been a long time since this conversation had taken place. They were new prison inmates at the time and had served but a few weeks of their five-year sentence. Just eighteen years old, neither had a real education or the tools to succeed in life. This sentence was all his fault. He had dragged Buford on what he saw as their only path through this world. Just a little more money from another nonviolent robbery and they would be able to pay for housing in college. Gavin remembered the promise that he made to Buford in this moment of the memory. He would find him better friends when they got out. That had been his wish. That Buford could have lived a better life, been educated, had better friends. Then he remembered something horrible. The splash. Buford had jumped after him in the lake. He had no clue what happened to him after that. In that instant, his soul felt ready to move on. He hoped the best for his companion, but nothing would change. And so, he passed out of existence.
Quarantine Rant
“Docked,” Photograph by The Calico Cat
Going Crazy
By Slightly Silver Vision blurry, I hug my sides. Too eagerly wishing, For something I have lost..
By S.B.
I breath deeply,
I’ve been even less focused about shit with quarantine. I need direction, or else I’ll get lost in my own house. Because of quarantine I can’t see Blue Serendipity and that sucks. She’s been busy writing too and working on the magazine but FaceTiming isn’t the same as dating her. And worse yet, I don’t know when I’ll be allowed to see her again! I miss her so much. I also miss school and all my friends. I miss graduation too and prom. That’s it thanks for listening, Peace out.
My mind stormy
I stabilize. A tempest tossed. Sometimes just to stay sane, I have to close my eyes. Filled with pain and worry, That I sleep to forget. I can stay sane. All on my own If I breathe deeply
6
I won’t be upset.
Isolation’s Insanity By Calliope
Hey kids, who else is going bat crap crazy stuck inside? I sure as hell am. I have so much shit I can do, with AP prep, college search, and prep, and working out at the top of that list, and yet I still find myself wanting to bang my head against a well. Repeatedly. I need ideas of a project to do to keep myself busy. Something that is rather large scale and I won’t finish in a day that I can do to keep from totally losing my mind. If y’all want an idea of how bad it’s gotten in terms of my boredom, then I would like to present as evidence the fact that I willingly ran ten miles this morning because I was just that bored and needed to get out of the house that badly. I was only going to run for like three or four miles but I ended up just going and going because going back to my house was so not happening. Four people in one house all day every day is just not the move ya know? “Alice Underwater,” Illustration by Aya Hatashima
I can not wait for this whole thing to be over because I really am about to lose my mind. Ask Annie*, she can see how much time I’ve spent recently on our Minecraft server. I never play Minecraft y’all, it takes so much for me to actually play Minecraft but this quarantine thing has my ass building a huge mansion in survival complete with its own garden and in-home access to a rather impressive mine if I do say so myself. My point is, while I liked the idea of getting off of school in principle, I’ve found that the social isolation is making me even crazier than I already was. So hey @ COVID-19 can you do me a favor and maybe just kinda disappear? Thanks so much, my sanity and three remaining brain cells appreciate it. *Editor’s Note: Yes, she really has been spending an ungodly amount of time on our Minecraft server. Even as the last person to join it she’s already built a bigger house and worked on it more than everyone else. If she’s spent this much time on Minecraft out of all things, I’m scared to ask how many episodes of Criminal Minds she’s watched so far.
Submerged By: Alex Choi I submerge my head
Bubbles instantly appear I open my eyes It is but a blur The muffled, swaddled sound My thoughts surround me The air in my lungs Slowly begins to dwindle Bubbles form again I lift up my head Gasping for the crispy air Droplets fall from me 7
“Sea Angel,” Illustration by Aya Hatashima
Eremophobic Autophobe By Phosphorescing Twilight Whenever we part, A hole starts opening up inside of me. I try to fill it, Fill it with whatever I can. But it’s all fake, All that can fill the hole is you. But now, now… There is no way to fill that hole, With you gone. My march towards fulfillment Is always futile And I just keep consuming And consuming Until maybe one day You’ll see a bloated monster, And you won’t want to fill the hole. And then the hole will become Bigger, And bigger, And bigger, And bigger and bigger and bigger; And I will consume and consume And become more bloated And too huge and too full And then no one will want to fill that hole. And then I will starve. And be empty. No one will want me then, either. So what will it be? An empty husk, Or a balloon about to burst? How do I want to be rejected? But I don’t want to be rejected. So please, Come back. Please fill the hole.
Dueling Thoughts By Verovyva
A constant sword fight With no winner and no peace All inside my mind 8
Mirror, Mirror Vérité
She watches silently from the other side of the mirror. Her other self gallivants around the room, a veritable hurricane in her own right, blazing through homework and projects, reading, writing, drawing, finding infinite ways to occupy her time. The sound of shouts from downstairs, distorted as they are through the mirror, permeates the room’s chaos every now and then, leaving her other self tense as they echo in and out. It’s the first day she finds herself in this strange, hazy mirror, and so she watches. When her other self stumbles in front of the mirror, she stumbles in mimicry. When her other self grins lopsidedly, so does she. When her other self sets her shoulders in a rigid line and purses her lips at shouts floating up the stairs, so does she. And when her other self leaves the view of the mirror, she cranes her head and tries to get a better look at what exactly is going on in that room. The second day, hazy memories start to return. She remembers shouts not unlike those her other self tries to ignore. She remembers anger and anxiety, a desire for freedom and a desire to escape. She remembers locking the door, locking herself out, cutting her room off from the rest of the world. She remembers being drawn to the mirror, propped up against the wall. And then she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Her own room and world grow blurrier by the hour. The mirror, on the other hand, is the only thing that seems completely real. Her other self seems tenser today, less of a forceful hurricane and more a frustrated rainstorm. She shuts the door with a definitive slam and sinks down into her chair, sparing only a passing glance at the mirror. The girl in the mirror gazes after her, finding her actions strangely familiar, a prickling at the back of her mind. The routine goes the same as the day before. Her other self rushes through homework and projects and picks up whatever activity will pass the time. She reads, opens
websites, writes frustrated sentences and whispers them to herself as she collapses on her bed. The girl in the mirror watches, an overwhelming sense of deja vu overtaking her. They both sleep: the girl in the room comfortably in her bed, the girl in the mirror in a shadowy bed of her own. The third day, she realizes how quiet her side of the mirror is. Should it be so quiet? Surely there should be noise of some sort. But from where? Outside of her room, of course, where else? Surely the rest of the house shouldn’t be so quiet. Weren’t there supposed to be. . . other people in it? But how does she know there is anything outside of her room to begin with? Well, there must be. She has memories of it, after all. But then why do her memories feel so far away? She doesn’t have an answer to that, so she returns to her daily routine of watching and waiting. Her other self is even more sullen than the day before, with distracted glances at the door as she struggles through her homework. The room is quiet, almost quieter than in the mirror. No shouting, no yelling, no arguments. Yet she seems tenser than before, flinching as if she expects some grand dam to break. The homework takes her hours more than it usually does. When she’s finished, rather than busying herself, she sits forlornly on her bed, staring ahead blankly. The girl in the mirror mimics her, the actions feeling so familiar they might as well be her own. She wishes she could offer comfort, but she’s never tried acting outside the mirror’s limits. She doesn’t even know if she can. The fourth day, her other self seems almost back to normal. Her energy has returned almost tenfold, and the room is littered with the evidence of all that she’s managed to occupy herself with throughout the day. There are drawings scattered across the floor, stories on pieces of paper, some books in the corner that have been skimmed through, and scraps of colorful paper tossed throughout that will have to be cleaned up at one point. She would seem completely back to normal, too, if it hadn’t been for newfound emptiness in her eyes. Her other self stops at the mirror for the first time that day. She gazes listlessly at it for minutes on end, taking in her haggard appearance, the circles under her eyes, the loose hairs in her braid. It gives her a wild look altogether. As if she is wasting away. It is quiet that day too. It feels like the whole house is on edge. The fifth day, the shouting returns at last. It is explosive and sharp-edged, worse than it has ever been before, so strong the mirror barely distorts it. In the mirror, she tries to block it out, but it pierces through everything: the mirror’s glass, the walls, her ears, even the haziness of her disappearing room. Even worse is how familiar it all feels.
The deja vu is at its strongest now, making her feel as if she knows, deep down, everything that is going to happen next. At that moment, her other self rushes in, bursting to the brim with fury and exhaustion. She slams the door with an almighty crash, sinking to her knees in front of the mirror. She gives the mirror a pensive glance. Then she gets up definitively and makes for the door one last time. She locks it. Suddenly the room on both sides of the mirror seems hazy, and all the memories come rushing back. No. The girl in the mirror thinks, her mind forming only the one thought. No. . . no. . . Her other self gets up and places a hand on the surface of the mirror, jaw set in a rigid line. The eyes that stare back at her somehow seem infinitely sadder than her own.
Swordfighting Poem By Calliope
Stabby cut stab stab. Sharp steel through soft flesh and bone. A nice little fight.
“Somebody Once Told Me,” Illustration by DIO9
“Girasol,” Photograph by Bubbles
“Garden,” Photograph by The Calico Cat
The Fate Of Achilles By The Midnight Raven *Inspired by The Song Of Achilles By Madeline Miller
A Duel
By Anonymous The sound of metal clanging against metal rang throughout the large arena. Two figures moved back and forth in the middle of the large sandy pit and blocked each other’s attacks. Even after an hour of sparring underneath the sweltering summer sun, neither were willing to surrender. Their movements became slow and sluggish. Beads of sweat rolled down their foreheads and dripped off their chins. Their feet kicked up clouds of sand around them, causing their eyes to burn and squint. “You’re getting sloppy,” said the smaller of the two. He had managed to draw a long shallow cut along his opponent’s upper thigh. “And your attacks are getting weaker,” replied the other coolly. He swung his sword sharply and was quickly blocked. The sound of the two blades colliding rang loudy and both felt the impact shoot through their arms. The smaller one’s arms shook but he grit his teeth and pushed back. “Give up, Leon. Surrender before you cause more damage to your hands and wrists.” “I’m not giving up,” snapped Leon. “Not to you.” “We’ve been sparring for an hour, you haven’t won once. Just give up already.”
10“Peek-a-boo,” Photograph by Andromeda
“If you want this to end that much, then you give up,” said Leon as he attacked again. He ignored the burning pain he felt in his hands and quickly stuck again after his move was blocked. His sword smacked against his opponent’s leather arm guards. “My hands will heal. You... well you look like you’re not doing too well, Magnus.” Magnus stumbled backwards and came dangerously close to toppling over. He felt lightheaded and dizzy. Noticing Magnus’s wooziness, a sudden burst of energy surged through Leon and he began an onslaught of harsh, quick attacks. With a loud clang and a satisfying thud, Magnus’s sword flew out of his hands and the large man froze as Leon’s sword touched his neck. “I win,” panted Leon. Magnus huffed in amusement and nodded. Leon immediately let his sword drop to the sandy floor as the pain in his hands suddenly became unbearable. “You won one out of five. If we had been fighting to the death you wouldn’t have stood a chance,” said Magnus as he went and retrieved his sword. Leon frowned. “You’ve got a lot more to learn, but, you’re determined. I’ll give you that.” “Oh shut up,” grumbled Leon. “Let me enjoy my victory.” Magnus laughed and sat down. “Well, perhaps one day the student shall surpass the teacher.”
Achilles blinked his eyes open, light flooded into his vision as he felt the water sway beneath him. He was on the coast of Phthia, his home, but it was not the same as he remembered. The waves lapped softly against the shore, but the water was a dark, murky color, keeping him from seeing anything below his waist. Achilles cupped the water within his hands and watched it slowly drip back into the sea, lost in the inky waves. He glanced up and saw his mother standing in front of him, Thetis, a goddess of water. Achilles was born of a goddess and a king, but those ties only laid more pressure upon his shoulders. Thetis’ hair blew with the summer wind, her dress billowed with the waves of the ocean, and she then spoke out to Achilles. “It’s time to make your choice, my son. To live a short life, one of conflict and war, but to be remembered, to achieve the fame of a hero that many have wished for. Or, to live long but be forgotten, a passing drop of water in the entirety of the ocean. Will you be a water droplet, or will you be a wave, my son?” Achilles breathed deeply, her words echoing in the air, and he closed his eyes for just a moment. When he reopened them, Phthia had disappeared, and he stood in the center of a battlefield. The sky was a bright, illuminating yellow that seemed to dip down to the Earth itself. At first, he shielded his eyes from the yellow glow, but his vision soon adjusted to it. Achilles looked around him, took in the men engaged in combat and the smoke that clouded the yellow sky. The air seemed to grow silent for just a moment before an eruption of noise ate away at the quiet. It came from behind him, a swarm of men all bearing the greek symbol on their chests, and they shouted his name. Achilles,
Achilles, Achilles, Best Of The Greeks, over and over again. He had achieved great fame, fulfilled his destiny to become truly, the best of the Greeks. The greatest warrior that Greece had ever known. Achilles basked in the sound of it, his mouth slowly quirking up to a smile, when a sharp pain hit him in the heel. A hot, searing ache filled him and he closed his eyes, straining against the hurt. Then the pain disappeared, and he reopened his eyes. He sat in a small house, the sounds of birds chirping filling the air. He gazed out at the window and saw six towering, green-leaved trees that framed a path that lead down the hill of a mountain. He was back at Mount Pelion, where he had trained under Chiron’s guide and with Patroclus by his side. Patroclus. With that thought, Patroclus walked through the door, with a pile of six olives within his hands. When they had come here for guidance, he and Patroclus had forged
for their own food, by the banks of the rivers, in the groves of the trees. Patroclus set down the olives on the table and smiled when he saw Achilles. Within that smile, Achilles was flooded with the happiness, the simplicity that would come from a long, simple life. A life with Patroclus. What they both wanted, what they both knew was easier. Achilles knew that a life like this would be so simple to want, but he always knew that the failed expectations of him would always weigh heavy on his shoulders. Achilles knew he was destined to be a man of war, of combat, not one meant for love and simplicity. Achilles stood and stepped towards Patroclus, grinning back at him sadly, before slowly closing his eyes, listening to the birds chirping and felt the warmth of sunlight filtering through the window. When he opened them again, he was back on the shores of Phthia, his mother standing before him, but the once murky
“Spring Duel,” Manga by Aya Hatashima (Read from Right to Left)
and dark water had turned unnervingly clear. He had made his choice. Achilles stepped forward, through the sway of crystal water towards his mother and responded with a strong and sure voice, “I have made my choice. I have chosen to fulfill my destiny, to be the best of the Greeks.” With those words, the waters of Phthia, his mother, everything began to fade. Achilles snapped open his eyes, awaking from his slumber, his breath catching in his throat. Achilles eyes adjusted to the sight of the darkness of the night, and Patroclus by his side.
Duel to the Death By Anonymous
Crimson blood stained skin, And two dangerous steel blades, Compete for their lives.
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The Competition Part 5: Will
“Grapes,” Illustration DIO
By The Midnight Raven
Will, 4 It had been exactly 6 days since the last challenge. 6 days since I blinked and felt collision against chilled metal, before everything went dark and my mind was consumed by a ringing sound. 6 days spent in that blank, infirmary room, where the loudest noise was my own thoughts. Throughout my time in the infirmary, many of the other contestants visited me, however, two came the most often. Larkin came in every other day for at least a little while, and Archer seemed to spend every minute he could, and that I wanted, there with me. Over this time, the bruised pattern that spread across my skin slowly began to fade, and while the gash above my eyebrow still remained prominently, the wound lost the stinging pain that came when I moved the muscles of my face and forehead. Sometimes when Archer was there, I noticed how his eyes would catch on the gash and how his hand would almost unconsciously move to his own scar, but once he noticed his doing so, he quickly brought his hand back down. The unknowns about him seemed to further each day and I wished, I wished so deeply, that I could ask. But from all my years with my father, I had unwillingly gained the ability to bask in my own silence instead of prying. It was easier that way. On one of the rare occasions that I had been alone, I was alerted by a 5 representative that I had been deemed to be healed and that I was more than capable to participate in the next challenge. Which just so happened to be in exactly 5 minutes. I leaped from the bed, wobbling from my unbalance for just a moment before swiftly rushing away. I hurried into the brightness of the room, taking my place in between Archer and Ezra just before the voice sounded. “We begin with this week’s polls. In order starting from the bottom, Ezra, Larkin, Thea, Archer, Alina and in first, Will.” My breath caught in my throat. My excitement burst within me and I grinned as brightly as if the whole world was grinning with me. I glanced sideways to see Archer’s expression, he had gotten third after all, but his face seemed to be frozen. Only when he caught my eye did he carefully adjust his face into a smile. A smile consumed by falsehood. I shook away my thoughts and focused my attention back on the voice as he described the instructions for the next challenge. The challenge would take place at an extravagant party. With a partner, each pair would be tasked with finding the one person out of place at the party and steal an item from them without being noticed. The challenge was designed to test us on how well we were able to fit into 5 society. If we seemed out of place and were caught, we would fail the challenge. I was paired with Alina and we moved to stand
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next to each other as we both closed our eyes and let the simulated landscape surround us. When I opened my eyes, my vision was hit with sparkling light. I squinted until I was able to see the landscape surrounding me. I stood in the center of a large courtyard, one in the center of the grounds of a towering mansion. Throughout the garden courtyard, nearly seventy-five guests mingled amongst each other, all wearing the attire of a 5. I felt someone tap my shoulder and I turned to see Alina next to me, her raven-hair braided with pale flowers woven throughout, and wearing a scarlet dress that flowed until it grazed the shining floor. I quickly flicked my eyes down to my own outfit, a fitted black suit with a sky-blue tie and a pale flower pinned to the lapel, the same type of flower that was woven into Alina’s hair. “Come on, there’s gotta be a stairwell up to the roof somewhere. We can get a better vantage point there,” Alina whispered. She quickly entwined her arm with mine and shuffled us to the inside of the house, the position making us appear like we were a couple so that no one would think any differently of us. I let Alina pull me through the crowds and up the stairs to the rooftop. We both crouched low against the shingles of the roof, the rough material scrapping against my knees. As we did so, my head began to fog, and my vision became a little off, the world seemed to spin below me. I lost my balance and smacked against the rooftop. There was that sound again in my mind, the ringing. The one I had experienced in the last challenge. I put my hand up against my head and through my blurry vision, I saw Alina lean over me, her long braid brushing against my side. Will, Will, are you okay? I heard her voice say through the ringing in my own head. It must have been all the movement, walking up the stairs, jumping from the hospital bed so quickly, everything. It was all too much. My head throbbed, a pounding feeling within my skull, and hot tears dripped from my eyes. But as soon as it had come, the pain started to dissipate. The world seemed to regain its balance and stopped spinning, and the feeling in my head left. I exhaled deeply and everything that had
come at that moment seemed to fade. I sat up slowly and Alina rested her hand on my back lightly trying to help me stay upright, an oddly comforting feeling. I wiped the lingering tears from my eyes and breathed, “I’m so sorry, Alina. I don’t know what happened. I’m gonna screw this challenge up for you.” Alina smiled slightly and shook her head in a way that it was like she was shaking away my comments. “Don’t apologize, Will. You shouldn’t have been pushed to do this. I’m gonna go figure out this challenge, for us. You need to stay here, rest. It’s all going to be okay. I’ll be back soon.” She replied. She squeezed my shoulder lightly before standing and heading towards where we had come. I watched her leave, the sight of the fine, ruby fabric of her dress the last glimpse of her as she went down the stairs. I turned back to face the array of the party and brought my legs up to my chest, resting my cheek lightly on my knee. I wiped my eyes again, as if doing that could erase the memory of what had just happened. As I sat there, the glow of the party moving around me, my mind began to wander. It wandered for what seemed like hours but could have only been a few minutes. “Will!” Alina said from behind me. I was shaken from my thoughts and turned to see as she held up a small pocket watch that hung from a metal chain. I stood up, carefully taking time to check my balance, before going to her, a huge and glowing smile on my face. “I can’t thank you enough, Alina. It didn’t take you long at all, but I wonder why the simulation isn’t over yet.” I said. Alina shrugged and responded, “Maybe we have to wait a certain amount of time to truly prove that we went unnoticed.” And as she said those words, I blinked and found myself back in the bright room. Alina and I were the first ones to complete the challenge
and we smiled at each other excitedly as we realized that fact. The two of us waited patiently to see which pair, Archer and Larkin or Thea and Ezra, would leave the simulation next. I prayed that it would be Archer and Larkin. After a few more minutes, I noticed movement in the corner of my vision. I turned and saw Archer and Larkin opening their eyes and shaking off the hold of the simulation. They had come in second, which meant that we, Alina, Larkin, Archer and I, were the final four. After the elimination and heartfelt goodbyes with both Thea and Ezra, I headed back to my room. It had been days since I had stayed in it and it was a comforting feeling to walk through the doors once again. The four of us gathered together in the common room and we had a small celebration for the excitement of what had happened today. Archer headed off to his room first, and after nearly an hour more with Alina and Larkin, I decided that I should get some rest too. As I walked back to my room, a sound peaked my ears. A sound almost like that of crying, and it had come from Archer’s room. I exhaled and paused in front of Archer’s door, contemplating for a moment if I should disturb him or not, before knocking on the door. I heard the sound stop, then Archer cleared his throat and meekly say, “Um, who is it?” His voice faltering on the last word. “It’s Will. Are you ok? Can I please come in?” I replied softly. I heard the rustling sound of Archer getting up and walking to the door. He turned the knob and opened it a bit so I could come in. He shielded his eyes from me as I walked in, tilting his head downwards to the floor so his black hair blocked me from seeing his face. He sat back down on his bed but faced away from me so that he faced the small window. We sat in silence for a minute, my mind scrambling for what to say, when I noticed that Archer was shaking. I grasped his shoulder lightly and turned him to me, and gazed at the tears pouring from his shining blue eyes. “Archer. Please, talk to me. You can trust me.” I whispered. Archer’s tears began to fall faster and he looked downwards at the fabric of the blanket on his bed and said, “I can’t do this anymore. I thought I could, but I can’t. I don’t want to be in ‘The Competition’, I just can’t do it anymore.” Confusion flooded into my head. “What? Why?” I questioned. Archer finally brought up his gaze so that he was looking at me. He breathed deeply, his shoulders still slightly shaking before replying, “Because I have a secret.”
Consequences By Veryovyva The blades are clashing Not just swords but history Two futures fighting “Wonderland?” Illustration by Cupid
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A Lonely March Onwards By Anonymous It began with a smile. A smile that was skillfully used to stop the shame of showing pain and sadness. One smile turned into two. And two turned to three. Slowly happiness started to become a sort of artifical emotion. Something to be forced to the surface. Next is empathy. Everyone experiences sadness. Many have earned themselves an eager ear to express their feelings to. Eagerness can dull over time, but for a friend the willingness to listen will always exist. Etched onto the heart is the pain of another, and enveloping someone in everlasting care drains enormous amounts of energy. Then there’s the waiting. Wishes will rarely come true. No matter how willfully one wants it to. Wearily, a great wealth of wishes is amassed and the waiting ensues. It causes hope to wither away and the mind to become wrapped with worry.
What is darkness? By S.B.
Life can be a sordid thing you see,
Pain
from those stings, thorns and knives.
Poison,
flu, screams, sprains now numb.
Frozen springs,
dead flowers.
You dream of flight
away.
When the darkness comes
and it rains.
Rain is quite harmless though,
yet we stay inside,
We could meditate out there.
Many things are dark like clouds,
Not as bad as they may seem to be.
Afterwards is isolation. Inwardly directing issues and ignoring the rest of the world and instead chosing to improve or invent a new ideal persona. A persona that is iron-clad and inpenetrable. One with no inperfections upon close inscpection even with numerous attacks inflicted. Finally there’s time. Over time the weight of it all becomes a terrible task to bear. There’s a tight feeling that takes over the heart as time trudges on. The persona takes form and tactfully covers troubled trembling with sure smiles. As time passes, feelings tip-toe back to the surface and begin it’s relentless torment. Eventually, the tiniest touch could set off a torrent of tears tucked away. It was only a matter of time. And so I tick.... And I tick.... And I tick.
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“Ticking Time Bomb,” Illustration by Verovyva
Cyan Skies: D-2 (2)
By Blue Serendipity It gave Arlo a bit of reassurance when he received a stack of clothes in varying shades of white, black, and navy instead of the military green and brown. As they walked back to the barracks, Arlo noticed a large crowd gathered in the middle of the main room. People were talking loudly and carrying large pieces of equipment. “Jasper must be holding another conference tonight,” mused Miles. They paused to allow three people carrying cameras to get by. Arlo remembered Jasper; he was the strangely dressed man who had gone up to him and Valleé. “I met him briefly earlier,” said Arlo. “Dr. Valleé said he was supposed to be holding one.” “It’s probably about the Burrey attack from the other day,” said James with a frown. “There’s a lot of angry and frightened people.” “Understandably. People are tired of fighting,” said Miles. When they reached the doors to the Barracks, Miles placed his hand on a grey scanner to his left. Arlo hadn’t seen Valleé do that earlier. As they walked through, the large crowd quieted down and Arlo heard Jasper address them as the doors closed. “Good afternoon, everyone! Thank you all for taking the time to…”
“Sunny Days,” Photograph by Verovyva
“Hey, who’s this?” asked a man walking towards them. He had a large stocky build and menacing grey eyes. “Burrey soldier or scavenger?” “Both,” said Miles with a slight chuckle. “This is Arlo Dunn. Dunn, this is Oliver Finch from squadron B-3.” “B-3?” questioned Arlo curiously. From the metal signs he had seen above the room doors, he knew that the soldiers were split into different squadrons organized by letter and number. What he didn’t know was why. “Those in squadron B are the ones that go to the frontlines. Miles and James here are part of squadron D— the supply runners,” explained Oliver simply. He scrutinized Arlo’s appearance. “You don’t look like the posters.” “Posters?” “Yeah, you’ve been on the top of Angus Burrey’s Most Wanted list for three years. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a poster of yourself somewhere,” said Oliver incredulously. Arlo had seen a few of those, especially during the first couple of months after he lost his memories. They were all the same. It’d be a large photo of him dressed in a govie uniform with a grim expression on his face. Vinnie had told him that the govies photoshopped him to look like one of them. “Well his hair grew longer over three years,” chuckled
James. “Probably hasn’t been washed for that long too,” said Oliver dryly. “So what’d you do? What do you know?” “I don’t know anything,” said Arlo a little agitated. If everything he had been told in the past by his ‘friends’ had been a lie, then govies weren’t after him because he had stolen a bit of food. He had no idea why they were after him, or why he was on the top of that list. “Well you have to know something,” said Oliver with a frown. Miles and James seemed interested in hearing about it as well. “Plus, you’re wanted alive, not dead. You have something that Angus Burrey
wants. What is it? Is that why you’re here?” “I don’t know.” He felt trapped. Cornered. All he wanted was to be left alone so he could wait for the world to melt in peace. Oliver stared at him in disbelief and suspicion and Arlo wondered if he’d continue pressing him for answers. After a tense moment, Oliver sighed in disappointment. “The Council’s keeping you quiet, huh?” questioned Oliver. Arlo didn’t respond. “Well, I’ve gotta go, so I’ll see you all at dinner then. I Continued on Next Page
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look forward to seeing you around, Dunn.” Sarah and Jackie spent the morning going around and trading with other scavengers. They brought Charlie along with them to teach him some tricks. Meanwhile, the rest of the group stayed near the boxcar to make sure others didn’t try to take their space. Arlo, Fred, and Frida busied themselves with collecting firewood. Normally they avoided starting fires unless they had scouted the area and were sure there weren’t any govies or rebels nearby. With so many other scavengers around, however, there were sure to be other fires. There was no way the govies and rebels didn’t already know there was a large number of scavengers gathered here. “What do you think we should do with them?” Fred asked, referring to the three kids. “We can’t stay here for long.” “We can’t bring them with us either,” said Arlo tugging a large branch from the bush it had fallen into. Finding dry enough wood for fires was difficult but it hadn’t snowed in a few days so as long as it hadn’t been sitting in the snow for a while it should be alright. “They won’t survive on their own,” said Frida with a frown. She carried pinecones that could be used as kindling. “And we won’t survive with them.” 16
Arlo placed his foot in the middle of the branch and snapped it in half with a loud crack. “He’s right,” said Fred as Arlo handed him the two halves of the branch. They had to be careful to keep them out of the snow. “We’ve been lucky so far with a group of seven and that’s because Eddie, Sarah, Arlo, and I protect you, Jackie, and Vinnie. We can’t protect three more. “So we’re just going to leave them here?” asked Frida incredulously. “What do you want us to do?” Arlo asked irritably. He didn’t like it anymore than she did, but the kids weren’t going to make it. They had seen it enough times to know that. “June can’t move. Her feet are black from frostbite. Harley’s half-dead already. He barely speaks, and he spends more time sleeping than awake. We can survive by ourselves but we’ll die if we let them come with us. They’re done for either way.”
them and tell me with full confidence that you can save them,” said Arlo angrily. She pressed her lips together and glared at him. “Yeah, you’ve dealt with frostbite and starvation. But never a case as bad as that. They’re not going to make it, so don’t get so attached to them.” “Tell that to Sarah and Eddie.” Arlo and Fred watched as Frida stormed back to the boxcar. A sick nauseating feeling churned in Arlo’s stomach as he watched Eddie talk to June and Harley animatedly. He knew Eddie and Sarah missed their daughter, they were already too attached to the three. “She’ll understand that
they can’t come with us eventually,” said Fred breaking the silence. “Frida just believes she can nurse anyone back to health, she’s nursed all of us and we turned out alright.” “She’s right about Sarah and Eddie though,” sighed Arlo. “They’re not going to want to leave them behind.” He took half the stack of branches Fred carried and they both walked back to the boxcar. Frida watched them with a glare from where she was sitting on a small tree stump with the pinecones dumped in a small pile by her feet. Eddie grinned at the sight of them and said something to Harley and June that made them smile as well. Arlo knew they had to leave.
Frida hurled a pinecone at Arlo’s head and it bounced off the side of his head. He winced and turned to face her. “They’re not dead yet. We at least give them a slight chance of survival,” said Frida venomously. “I’ve dealt with frostbite and starvation with you all, I can help them too.” “Oh come on. Look at “Gentle Waves,” Photograph by Anonymous