December 2017
Midnight Writers
Table of Contents
Cover: “Christmas Spirit,” a photograph by Incandescence
“Warm Winter ,” a story by Blue Serendipity “The Struggle Is Real,” a comic by The Masked Lady
This Page: “Red Christmas,” a photograph by Blue Page 10: Serendipity Page 3:
Ask Aphro & Dite
• Someone struggles with keeping a secret • Someone asks for help on ice skating
Unmasked Lady
• The Masked Lady talks about rejection
Incandescence Literary Investigation
• Incandescence reviews the book, The Magic Strings of Frankie Presto by Mitch Albom
Page 4:
“Hufflepuffs Chapter 3,” a story by Eos “Dangerous Desert,” a photograph by HMscorpio
Page 5:
“Hufflepuffs Chapter 3,” continued “Empire,” a photograph by HMscorpio “A Mother’s Warmth,” a story by Andromeda
Page 6:
“A Mother’s Warmth,” continued “Innocence,” a poem by HMscorpio “The Start of Winter,” a photograph by Anonymous
“Once Upon a Now,” a story by Blue Serendipity “Little Red,” an illustration by Andromeda
Page 11:
“Once Upon a Now,” continued “Cinderella is the Best,” a poem by HMscorpio “Skating,” an illustration by Hua “Your Mini Frosty,” a photograph by Blue Serendipity “Once Upon a Time,” a poem by The Calico Cat
Page 12:
“Ice,” a manga by Aya Hatashima “If I run,” a poem by Eos
Page 13:
“The Jesus Who Stole Christmas,” a story by Incadenscence “Electric Bill,” a photograph by Eri “ A Winter Day,” a photograph by The Calico Cat “Carols,” a poem by Cheryl Zhang
Page 14:
“Santa, Not Satan Part 3,” a story by Incadescence
Page 7:
Page 15:
Page 8:
Page 16:
“Maria Part 1,” a story by Andromeda “Santa, Not Satan Part 3,” continued “Frosty the Dragon,” an illustration by Deranged Blue Cloud “Pine Allergy,” a photograph by Incadescence
“A Support Group Under the Sea,” a story by Eos “Ice Flow,” a photograph by Celia Bowen
Page 9:
“A Support Group Under the Sea,” continued
“Santa, Not Satan Part 3,” continued “Ulhua and Patches’s Investigation,” an illustration by The Masked Lady
issuu.com/midnightwriters midnightwriters2018@gmail.com
Ask Aphro & Dite
Dear Aphro, I have a secret. It is really bad, but it will be dangerous if I let it out. But if I let it in, I will still be in trouble, too. What should I do? Yours, Hard to Keep A Secret
Unmasked Lady
I got rejected for early decision from a college I really wanted to go to, and it sucked. You know how people say they have a dream college that they’ve always wanted to go to? Or that their family went to that college and they want to follow the family tradition? Well, I wasn’t one of those kids. Don’t get me wrong; this college was sort of like Dear Hard to Keep A Secret, my dream school. I took a pre-college program I believe the best thing to do is go there the summer before senior year and let me tell with your gut. Both seem like horrible you: I loved that place. I instantly knew this was the outcomes. I suggest making the decision place I wanted to go. So it was like being hit by a that is best for you. big sack of bricks when I was rejected. No, it was With love, Aphro worse: a really big fat whale would better describe it, A REALLY big whale. The stages I went through Dear Dite, were kind of like the stages of grief. First there was My friends and I are going to the ice rink shock and me reading the rejection note over and on Friday night. I don’t know how to ice over again, hoping there was something missing. skate. What should I do? Second there was crying, and a whole lot of it. Yours, Failing At Ice-Skating Third was feeling like a failure. Fourth was telling my friends and hating on the school. And last but Dear, Failing At Ice-Skating not least, even more crying. Now the point of this If your friends show their true colors, isn’t to tell you guys my sob story. Even though it they will understand. I am sure your sort of sounds like one, but instead we are going to friends can help you up if you fall. You talk about getting rejected! If any of you out there can hang onto the railing at some point. got rejected from your favorite school, I feel you. If the ice rink has a walker you can use I guess I should say it’s not the end of the world, that, too, so you won’t fall. You can even which is a very true statement. It doesn’t change hold your friends hands too, if you trust the fact that it sucks. So here is what I recommend them to hang on and don’t fall. Remem- for you to do if you are or might go through this. ber, you don’t have to be an Olympic Take a break and cry it out. Unless crying isn’t your figure skater to have a fun night at the thing, then just take a break. I feel like it’s best to ice rink. close the Common Application and take a long With love, Dite break. And maybe the next day get back on your feet and show that college what they are missing! Rejection sucks, and we all know it. And what’s worse is when someone else got into the same exact college you applied to. If you are going through that problem, hang in there and don’t listen to those people. I know for those out there you might feel there are no other colleges out there like that one. But don’t think like that! When you are ready, look around and you will find colleges that might actually be even better than the one you applied to before. Don’t stick to the past, look towards the future! And that’s it for this month’s Midnight Writers. Hope you all had a great holiday and Happy New Years! See you next month!
Incandescence’s Literary Investigations Hello, and welcome to my third book review! Today, I’ll be reviewing The Magic Strings of Frankie Presto by Mitch Albom. Albom is an American writer, who is also known for his novels Tuesdays With Morrie and The Five People You Meet in Heaven. The Magic Strings of Frankie Presto is a story detailing, you guessed it, the main character, Frankie Presto, and the magic strings that are bestowed upon him. The book opens with Frankie’s funeral, and then circles back to the very beginning - his beginning, with an omniscient narrator displaying all the finer details to the reader. This narrator is Music, but personified. Although we have learned at the very start that Frankie would be one of the most influential musicians, a legend like the Beatles, his genesis was not quite so glamorous. Frankie is born in Spain in a tumultuous time, Frankie is born just as the church he is born in is raided by bloodthirsty soldiers, who kill everyone they find. Right as he was born, Frankie reached out and grabbed a large fistful of the Spirit of Music, blessing him with an unparalleled music ability. The six blue magical strings he has will prove to be able to change and save lives. His mother is killed, and the nun who takes him grows tired of his incessant wailing, and abandons him. A sardine maker finds and adopts him, raising him as his own son. Recognizing his son’s natural musical talent, he begs a talented but blind musician named El Maestro to teach Frankie guitar. Although prickly, El Maestro eventually agrees and not only fosters Frankie’s flair for the arts, but also shelters him when the sardine maker is imprisoned by the fascists. During this time, war has broken out. People are being jailed, tortured, and imprisoned. El Maestro and sardine maker are eventually killed by soldiers, but Frankie manages to escape to another country. And with that, I leave you until next month. Read on!
Special thanks to Sra. Steele, The Masked Lady, Incadencence, Eos, HMscorpio, Andromeda, Celia Bowen
3
Hufflepuffs Chapter 3 By Eos
As I ran to Alastor Malfoy’s room to unroll phase one of Ginerva’s Grand House-Determining Scheme of Glory, (Not the official name yet, but it has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?) several logistical errors occurred to me that I probably already should’ve considered. What if he had stayed after class to do extra work, which was highly feasible considering his status as major teacher’s pet? What if he had left with his family for winter break, which was highly un-feasible considering the known troubles of the Malfoy family, but still a possibility? What if he was out in Hogsmeade doing douchey things with his douchey friends to take his mind off the events of last May? Stupid, considerable possibilities swirled through my head as I unlocked the door of the Slytherin common room, but I realized upon entering that I had forgotten the largest, stupidest considerable possibility of all: The Slytherin Christmas Eve Holiday Party. I probably should have mentioned by now that it was Christmas Eve that night - yet another logistical error that most sensible Hufflepuffs would have recognized immediately. If there’s anything I hate in this world, it’s the atrocity that is known as the Slytherin Christmas Eve Holiday Party. Never in the history of Hogwarts has every structured and orderly rule so meticulously put in place been so confidently shattered in one night. Since most Hogwarts students and staff are off with their fami-
4
lies during winter break, the remaining Slytherin students, ever since the year 2000, have thrown a spectacular party, forbidden in basically every single way. Almost any Hogwarts rule you can think of is broken at the Slytherin Christmas Eve Party. Smuggled Butterbeer? Check. Using magic for extremely unethical purposes? Check. Wandering into the Forbidden Forest? Check. Mentioning that Gandalf from Lord of the Rings and Dumbledore are basically the same person? Definite check. Somehow the Malfoys orchestrate the party each year so no staff ever find out about it - how, I have no idea. So imagine my complete horror upon entering this inferno of rule-breaking, Slytherins, and worst of all, Muggle techno music. I attempted to turn back, but realized the door had locked behind me. Of course they had spelled it so only students could enter, and upon entering could not exit. If I wanted to find Alastor, I figured there was no better place to look than Slytherin heaven itself. I sighed, pushing through the mass of green and silver mini-dresses and polo shirts. As I slowly moved through the mass and was reminded of my deep hatred of “teen parties,” I smacked into a large stomach. Looking up, I realized it was Ernie Rabnott, Alastor’s roommate, and immediately snapped my head down again and tried to push past him, my thoughts thrumming inside my head as a silent prayer: “Please don’t recognize me, please don’t recognize me, please don’t recognize me…” About a second later I heard Ernie’s slurred voice: “Ginerba, it’s me Ernie! Didn’t ‘spect to see you ‘round here!” Just great. “Hi Ernie!” I said in the sincerest tone of fake
enthusiasm possible, as I attempted to subtly run away. Ernie leaned on a stool, which tipped over with a crash, muted by the pulsing techno music, then put his arm on my shoulder to steady himself. In that moment I considered the dual possibilities of either snatching his Butterbeer and dumping it on him or physical violence (preferably a kick to the shins), but instead, remembering the Hufflepuff way, I restrained myself. Barely. “Hey Ginerba, you wanna hear a high quality joke? Why did Professor Snape stand in the middle of the road?” “Um…” “So you’ll never know which side he’s on!!!! HAHAA-” At that moment, Ernie Rabnott lost his balance, and I took that as my opportunity to jet off. As I ran, I heard his voice in the distance.
“You laughed Ginerba, let’s be...Sirius!!” When I could no longer hear his thunderous laugh above the music, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was fortunate that Ernie was too hammered to think straight, too completely wasted to remember that he was there that night of the ball and witnessed almost everything I did. If he had remembered, he would have wanted to be nowhere near me. Alcohol is a scary thing; It causes you to forget who your real enemies are. I continued to make my way through the crowd, glad it was too dark in this part of the common room for any other Slytherins to recognize me. But even though it was dark, I could still make out his platinum blonde head towering above the others. Finally. I could see Alastor joking around with some other Slytherins, and wondered if I was
“Dangerous Desert,” Photograph by HMscorpio
making an incredibly stupid mistake. Then again, stupid mistakes are my specialty, so there was really no surprise there. I approached, and braced myself for the possibility of everything going absolutely wrong. Luckily, he saw me before I had to speak. “Ginerva! I’m genuinely shocked you arrived to the largest gathering of Slytherins in all of Hogwarts! Who would’ve thought a small Hufflepuff-” Now or never. Especially now since he’s doing his extremely irritating ultra-Slytherin facade. Using all my force, I dragged him away and ignored the hoots and jeers of his friends. Speaking quickly before he could, I whispered, “I need to talk to you about that night. I know we agreed to never talk about it but we have to, Alastor. I know you want to forget about it but we both know it will never-” He cut me off, putting his hand up, and I saw that his ultra-Slytherin facade was down. This was the Alastor that I knew that night, the Alastor that was afraid and sad and real.
“Okay, jeez Ginerva, no need to go all James Bond and drag me off for interrogation. Jesus. I...wanted to talk about that night as well, but not for the same identity crisis issues that I know you do. I know a place we can talk, because clearly this won’t work.” I glanced around. He had a point. In the far distance, I could see Ernie Rabnott still wiped out on the floor, singing…Mariah Carey? I looked away before the disturbing image was forever engrained in my memory. “Where do you suggest we go?” I asked, “It’s not like the door is spelled shut or anything, thus entrapping innocent rule-abiding students into this absolute mess.” “You’re insane. Glad to see you haven’t changed at all, Ginerva Kartway. Just follow me.” I attempted to shout back a response, but the party music drowned me out as well as a voice removal spell, so I just silently fumed for the rest of the walk. This is what you get when you work with Alastor Malfoy… Eventually, he led me to a painting in the very back of the common room. A
painting? “A copy of Van Gogh’s Wheat Field with Cypresses,” I said, “Very nice, but I didn’t come here to look at art.” Alastor looked straight ahead with an infuriating smirk as if he knew all the secrets of the
A Mother’s Warmth
hangs neatly published on a wooden plaque. To the right, light from the window glints off the polished wood of the china cabinet. I walk up behind her and tug on the edge of her dress, the flames from the stove heating my face. “When’s dinner gonna be ready Mama?” “Soon, Anna, you have to be patient,” she replies. I frown, displeased with her vague response, and tug harder at her dress. “But I’m hungry now.” Unfazed by my demands, her gaze doesn’t move from the stove, and her hand continues to stir as the pot bursts and hisses. Steam rises and billows
out in thin dispersing clouds. “Then go and set the table, staying busy makes the time go by faster.” With a huff, and a curt “fine,” I pivot on my heel and head over to the silverware drawer. I lay the dishes down skillfully, careful to keep everything lined up. Mama hates a messy table. It reminds me how every Christmas we’d always get out the fine dishes and silver. During that time she never let me touch the table or even come too close to the kitchen until the food was done. But in the end if I was good, she’d set me on her lap and teach me how to fold napkins into
By Andromeda
One of my earliest memories was the smell of warm stew wafting in from the kitchen. Mama’s white dress sways elegantly as she moves, her hands stirring the bubbling, sizzling pot on the stove, voice humming a songless tune. Her hair is swept into a messy bun, her eyes hidden behind the willowy, wisps of dark brown hair. To the left, on the wall the Lord’s Prayer
universe. “You know Ginerva,” he said, “For someone with identity issues, you fit the title of Hufflepuff naivety quite well.” Alastor then took my hand and yanked me into the painting, transporting us in an abyss of colors into a new world.
“Empire,” Photograph by HMscorpio
elegant white swans. Soon everything is set, and all that’s left is to place the cups, but they are set on the top shelf and I can’t reach. “Mama, I can’t reach the cups.” Her heels click on the floorboards as she grabs the wooden spoon and tastes the stew. “It’s alright, go get your father, and tell him dinner is ready.” “Ok!” I smile and sprint down the hallway. The house becomes chillier as my feet take me farther and farther from my mother’s kitchen. Outside I find Papa where he is always sitting. Rocking gently in his porch chair, eyes fixed on the
5
horizon. There the red sky is illuminated by the golden sun as it melts steadily into the sea, blending together into blue greens and yellows like spilled paint. It’s quiet out, except for the steady creaking of my father’s chair and his heavy breathing. A sharp breeze whisks the thinning grey hairs on his head, as it does the smoke drifting from the cigarette dangling in his hand. “Papa,” I say tentatively, hands twisted behind my back, “I can’t reach the cups.” The creaking continues in steady rhythm. “Mmm.” I rock back on my heels and my voice comes out even softer, “Also, dinner’s ready.” This time I don’t even get a grunt of acknowledgment. I stand there for a moment in uncomfortable silence before giving up. My next best option is to fetch a chair from another room since the ones in the kitchen have cushions on the seat and are “not for standing on.” Reluctantly, I pass by the main hallway and travel upstairs. The floorboards groan beneath me as I force myself upward into the unlit portion of the house. As I walk slowly down the dusty, unkempt hallway, my eyes trace over the walls. They are as unclean as everything else, save for the rectangular imprints where family photos used to recline. It’s quiet up here too, but neither my father’s breathing nor rocking quells the pervading silence. I move further and further until my feet halt near an open door. Inside, a tiny wicker candle flickers brightly in the grungy room. Its flame quivers lightly under the heavy pressure permeating in the darkness. As I stare at it, a memory resurfaces. I wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of weeping. The sound seems to come from the room across from mine, the one Mama forbade me from ever enter-
6
ing. My eyes peer beyond the crack of the partially opened door. Inside, there is a figure hunched over, her white dress in a pile on the floor. Her pale shoulders tremble and shake as soft whimpers pour from her mouth. Sitting on the left of her is a single lit candle perched on the windowsill, and to her right, the lonely presence of an empty crib. I gasp and take several steps away from the scene replaying in front of me. A pressure builds in my head as the darkness seems to grasp me in its heavy arms. I become dizzy and bile rises in my throat as I sway under the horrifying tension. My heart goes thump thump thump out of my chest and spots cloud my vision. Quickly, I gather what’s left of my wits and flee. Breathlessly, I enter the kitchen. “Mama!” Everything is in place as it should be. The glow from the stove illuminates the room, and she floats effortlessly around the space, chopping vegetables, scrubbing pots,
kneading dough. She roams about, dancing to her own music, swaying on invisible wings. What’s left of the sunlight pools in through the window and shimmers in her hair, creating a thin halo around her head. Her white dress swings lithely as she turns to face me. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? I’m making dinner.” I want to say something, but the words stick in my throat. Her eyes hold mine, a boundless, hapless blue like the sea, and I know it’s not real. It can’t be real. But I can’t let go either.
So I run to her and cling onto her sweet skin and soft clothes. Even as the sun slumps gracefully beyond the horizon, as the moon rises to greet its stars, my eyes never stray. I am forever a child clinging onto that incessant warmth that fades farther, farther into my remembered past.
Innocence
By HMscorpio I feel young and free. I don’t need to grow-up soon. Makes me feel okay.
“The Start of Winter,” Photograph by Anonymous
Maria Part 1
By Andromeda It’s cold. That’s the first thing I thought, as I stared up at the large Victorian style house. It was just the start of winter, and it was already cold enough here to make my hands feel numb. Dad was still in the car, fumbling around, trying to find the keys. Mom was at the trunk unloading boxes. “Herald? Where are the keys?!” She shouted from the back. There’s some rustling and banging in the front seat before he replies, “One sec, I think I’ve almost found them!” The house was tall and thin, layered like a cake, with windows on all sides. Trees stretched out like bony hands surrounding it, their finger-like branches barely scraping the peeling grey paint. What an ugly house. I unceremoniously dropped my box of junk on the creaky wooden floorboards. My arms ached from carrying a ton of them back and forth from the car, and I no longer cared where I put the last one of my stuff down. A cloud of dust wafted up from where it fell, and then dispersed under the sky light. Tiny flecks still danced in the air. My dad turns to me, a wide grin plastered on his face. “Isn’t it a great house, Eric? An absolute steal on the market! And would you look at all this space?” “Yea, great.” Bang! I startle when my mom rolls the dolly up into the house. “Yes, it’s absolutely fantastic Herald,” she said breathlessly, sweaty bangs clinging to her forehead. “Now would you please help me unload these?”
“Okay, okay coming,” he said, moving past me to get to Mom and the dolly. A sudden breeze made me shiver, the hairs on my arm standing on end. I turn to the large staircase, where I had noticed the sudden wind originate. On it was a young girl, about my age. Her piercing blue eyes, like ice, stared at us. What the hell? “Eric,” I looked at my mom, “you help too!” “Ok….” When I turned back around, she was already gone. After we’d finished unloading the boxes, we began unpacking them. I don’t think my parents realized how much junk we possessed until we had started going through them. Half the boxes were unused stuff, like my mom’s mountain of shoes for all different occasions, and my dad’s vintage playing cards and old timey record player. God forbid we ever get rid of any of those. My stuff was small, just some clothes, a few personal possessions, and some photos of my friends and me back in southern California. My dad had decided to move here, the middle of nowhere, Washington state, to study plants, since his profession was botany. He said it would be good to get out and study nature, up close and personal. I just don’t understand what the problem was with the plants in California. Soon, a couple weeks had passed, and I didn’t see that girl again. I chalked up her existence to an illusion, and didn’t think about it again. It was probably just me seeing things. After a day or two of unpacking, I started going to school. The town was small; the entire 10th grade was only fifty students all together. Everybody knew everybody. The people here were friendly enough, and tried to invite
me into their friend groups, but it was clear that I was an outsider. The way they would make lots of inside jokes, and would suddenly get quiet when the realized I was in on their conversation, showed me that. It’s not like I can blame them though; they’ve all probably known each other since preschool. In the face of that, I was nobody. So it was on one of those days after school, when I was sitting at home alone, playing catch with the walls of my bedroom that it happened again. “Hello.” My head whipped around, and sitting on the chair next to me was the girl from earlier. “Crap!” I cursed, and scrambled off my bed and away from her. My back hit the wall; I couldn’t move backwards any further. Her eyes watched me, as her transparent hands slowly seemed to take form. “Sorry, sometimes I forget my real form can be a little scary.” “Who are you?” I say shakily, refusing to look anywhere but at the mysterious girl who suddenly appeared. “My name is Maria, and I need your help.” How did I end up in this situation? I thought to myself. A dead girl is in my room.
She moved around, seemingly searching for something. Her white dress trailed behind her as she moved soundlessly across the creaky floor. Her dark hair is tied in a braid behind her back. A dead girl is in my room! I clear my throat, and her eyes snap back to me. My arms are crossed and legs spread in a defensive stance. “S-so what is it what you want exactly?” “I told you, I need your help.” “Yea, I got that, but with what exactly?” She pauses, and then looks under my bed. She frowns, and suddenly the bed moves soundlessly across the floor as she stays in a crouched position. My eyes widen, and I take a few steps back from her before once again being stopped by the walls of my bedroom. She begins opening up one of the floorboards with her hand, the nails straining as she removes the dark, dusty thing. As her hands move down in the new crevice she had created, her face suddenly broke out in a smile as she pulled out a musty wooden book. “This is what I need help with.”
“Frosty the Dragon,” illustration by Deranged Blue Cloud 7
A Support Group Under the Sea By Eos
I don’t deserve to be here. Every Sunday from approximately 2:00 to 4:00 P.M. I repeat this phrase like a mantra. I don’t deserve to be here, I don’t deserve to be here… Repeating this to myself is the only thing that helps me get through the tortuous two hours I’m in the Grinch’s basement listening to the freak show that is the Support Union for Cantankerous Calamitous Beings. Otherwise known as SUCC-B. (In my opinion, the acronym is an unintentional metaphor for the support group as a whole.) Let me explain. My state-ordered therapist recommended I attend a support group for villains every Sunday, and by recommended I mean forced me into attending. “But Doctor,” I pleaded, “I’ve changed - my Sundays are now reserved for knitting and petting cats! Entirely non-villainous, innocent activities!” “Ursula, just by looking at your file now I can see that last Sunday you were charged for breaking into an underwater CVS and trashing a Little Mermaid Barbie doll by en quote ‘smacking the doll against a pole for roughly 10 minutes, then screaming VENGEANCE at the top of your lungs-” I winced, and interrupted her before she could continue. “Doctor, what would you do if a 16 year old fool, let alone a ginger, ruined your chance of becoming Queen of Atlantica and confined you to a life of isolation and instant ramen forever? Hmm?” But the damage was done. Before I knew it, I had a probationary ankle brace-
8
let on my left tentacle that recorded my every move, thus forcing me to attend the support group meetings or face deep-sea prison again. The support group meetings are hosted by the Grinch, a “bad guy turned good” and supposed role model for all of us disgraced villains to show us that we, too, can be good and life will be rainbows and sunshine forever! As if. The Grinch lives on a freezing and deserted mountaintop with no form of vehicular transportation whatsoever. So yes, in one of my less favorable moments, every Sunday I must slither up a frigid mountaintop. (I suggested once that the Grinch knock down the town of Whoville that lies next to the mountain and build a Metro on top of civilian’s homes, and our relationship hasn’t been the same ever since.) At the particular meeting I’m at today, the Grinch is attempting to console a hysterically sobbing Evil Queen. “Snapchat didn’t recognize my face when I tried to do the facial-filter or whatever it is that the young teenagers are so obsessed with!” She whipped out her compact mirror, wiped at her smudged mascara, then continued, “First the mirror, now modern technology can’t recognize my flawless proportions!” I imperceptibly rolled my eyes so no one would notice. “Don’t worry Evil Queen,” I said, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure there’s a Snow White filter out right now - so you can finally have the face you’ve always wanted!” I cackled hysterically and dodged the Evil Queen’s glueon nails that were surely coming to scratch my face. The Grinch intercepted her before a total brawl broke out. “Everyone, everyone! Let’s
sit down and calm down - the meeting’s about to begin!” He sat down in his Christmas-decorated chair, then directed the usual disappointed good-guy gaze at me. “Ursula,” he said, “Everyone here is making an effort to change. It’s about time you do as well.” Before I could reply, the Grinch interrupted. “Soooo..” he said, biting into a reindeer cookie (It’s springtime and yet Christmas memorabilia in the Grinch’s house is. Literally. Everywhere), “I’d like to begin today’s meeting with the usual name introductions, and one new interesting fact about yourself that you’ve learned on the journey from villainy to goodness!” This time I rolled my eyes without hiding it. How cheesy could you get? Captain Hook began. “Ahoy everyone, I think you all know me as Captain Hook. I’m actually pretty excited to share my fact with you mates! As it turns out, I’m actually left-handed!” An awed silence filled the room until the witch from Hansel and Gretel spoke. “But...isn’t your left hand the one with the hook on it?” Captain Hook laughed while all of us stared. “Oh yeah that old hook? Turns out I had a left hand the whole time-it was just hidden in my sleeve!” Murmurs filled the room, but I was the one who spoke this time. “So...basically the entire plot on which Peter Pan hinges on, the fact that Peter Pan cut off your left hand and so you enacted a whole revenge plot is meaningless considering the fact that your left hand was there the whole time!!!??” Captain Hook nodded triumphantly, and I realized why all of the villains in this room
were defeated was because at least half were idiots. I don’t deserve to be here… The Grinch clapped his hands to silence the group, and so we moved on to the next person. It was Bowser. “Hi everyone, I’m Bowser, and one cool new fact about me is-” “Hey, why’s Bowser here?” “Yeah, this meeting is Disney and fairytale villains only, not...pixelated villains.” Bowser shrugged. “I just came for the food.” He then proceeded to grab the entire plate of cookies and eat it just as I was about to take one. I don’t deserve these fools… And so we went down the line, with Jafar who had discovered his penchant for the carpet retailing business, Scar who had started a possibly illegal hyena-smuggling business across 5 continents, and Hades who had begun a “semi-successful, but mostly unsuccessful” afterlife yoga workshop until finally it was my turn to speak. Here we go. I feigned a look of intense disinterest. “Hey losers, I’m Ursula. I suppose one new fact about me that I’ve discovered on my journey is that I hate every single one of you with a burning passion. Also, the Evil Queen is a jerk. That’s all.” Before the protests could begin and the Evil Queen could come at me again with her scarily sharp fake nails, the Grinch spoke in a tone that silenced us all. “You know what I think, Ursula?” He leaned in close on his chair. “I think you think you’re so much better than everyone here, when really you’re just as much a failed villain as all the rest of us. Don’t act that way when we know just as much as you that you clearly failed to become Queen of Atlantica and seek “Ice Flow,” Photograph by Celia Bowen
vengeance on King Trident. Ursula, we’re here for you because we’ve all been there before - after all, the group acronym isn’t SUCC for nothing. We’re villains, and we suck. So what? Let’s embrace the fact that we suck, and try to improve ourselves together.”
Despite the cheesy premise, I could see he had a point. I had never been in a group of any kind - my path to friendships had ended in elementary school when I whacked the children in my class with my tentacles for refusing to acknowledge my status as the most superior Queen Ursula.
Warm Winter
looking for gloves. ing off. Alee and Sobin were on a park bench in front of the “My dad has really cold left speechless for a moment cafe. hands too. Even in the summer before they burst out into they’re cool and not sweaty,” laughter. The idea of being a commented Alee as they couple seemed absurd to them. bought reindeer themed red As they walked to the cafe gloves. however, they started to doubt “So it runs in the family? the absurdity. As for the old That doesn’t sound good in lady, she was enjoying herself the winter time though,” said Sobin frowning. “It isn’t. Opening things is really hard and my hands “The Struggle Is Real,” Comic by The Masked Lady don’t move the way they’re supposed to since it’s too cold,” complained Alee. Sobin laughed and held out the gloves for her. “One day you might wear those in July,” laughed Sobin as Alee put them on. “I hope not,” said Alee, laughing along. When they walked outside, it felt colder than before. It was most likely because of the fact they had gotten used to the indoor heating. “Are your hands cold now?” Sobin asked after they had stood around outside for a few minutes. “Not as cold as before,” said Alee grinning. An old lady suddenly walked up to them with a happy smile. “Did your boyfriend buy those gloves for you? They’re so pretty,” said the old lady. “Oh he’s not my--” Alee was cut off by the old lady giving her a sharp look. “Don’t fight with me, young lady. You two are a couple. I said so,” she said before walk-
By Blue Serendipity Alee rubbed her hands and blew hot air on them, trying to regain feeling in her hands. After a few minutes, she looked over at her friend Sobin and placed her hands on his face. Startled and shocked at the cold, he fumbled with his phone and flinched. “Why are your hands so cold?” Sobin asked with wide blue eyes. He quickly grabbed her hands and started blowing hot air on them. “I was just doing that,” said Alee frowning. “Don’t you have gloves?” “No,” said Alee putting her hands in her pockets. “We need to buy some later because your hands are abnormally cold,” said Sobin nodding. When they got to the cafe Alee’s mom worked at, she couldn’t open the door. Her hands were too numb and cold. “Can we get gloves right now?” Alee asked, her teeth chattering. Sobin quickly took one of her hands and put it in his pocket, which was warmer than her own. “Come on, let’s hurry up,” said Sobin, dragging the redhead over to the nearest clothing store. The store’s hot air quickly thawed her frozen body as they walked around
(To this day I’m still bitter.) But maybe with this freak show I could start again - After all, it’s not like anyone here (with the exception of the Evil Queen) hated me. And I suppose that was my greatest fear, after going through everything with that ginger mermaid and King Trident: To ever let my
guard down again. But maybe now, here, with these people who know what failure is like, I could change into someone I’m proud of. Maybe one day, Queen of Atlantica once again. I put on my wickedest smile. “Hey Grinch,” I said, “Can I start again?”
9
Once Upon a Now
By Blue Serendipity Rosa looked back over her shoulder, wondering if the wolf she had met earlier was still there. She was slightly disappointed, as the wolf wasn’t there anymore; he seemed nice, and he had told her where the flower patch was. Remembering her grandmother who was waiting for her, she fixed the red hood on her head. The people of the village called her “Little Red Riding Hood” as she walked by, but she didn’t mind. After all, it was because of the red hood her grandmother made her. “Nonna! It’s me, Little Red Riding Hood!” Rosa called, knocking on the door. There was a moment of silence before a deeper sounding voice answered. “Little Red Riding Hood!” exclaimed her grandmother. “I am too weak to get up; the door is unlocked.” Ignoring the weird feeling she felt, she turned the doorknob and walked in. When she walked through the door frame however, she realized she wasn’t in her small Italian town anymore. “Nonna? Where are you?” Rosa called looking around. She found herself in a busy place where the houses were so tall they seemed to reach the sky and where people dressed weirdly. Looking down, she realized she wasn’t wearing the red hood her grandmother made her anymore. Instead, she wore a red shirt-like garment made of a thick warm fabric. There was a hood on the back of it and two dangling strings hanging down the front of her chest. As she
10
walked around, she wondered if she was dreaming. There was no way she could’ve gone from her grandmother’s house to this strange place so quickly, right? “Hello little girl,” said a man approaching her in front of a dark passageway. In his hands held a box of little candies wrapped in silver wrapping. “Would you like some candies?” “Oh yes, please!” Rosa exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. The man smirked and held them out. “I’m warning you however, these candies are magical, so they are expensive,” he said holding them out almost tauntingly. “I don’t have any money,” said Rosa, her smile disappearing. The man looked at her shoes and sweater. “Are you sure? Your shoes and sweatshirt are expensive, little girl. You know what? If you give me your shoes and sweatshirt I will give you the candy,” declared the man. It seemed to sound reasonable to Rosa so she slowly started taking off her shoes. At that moment however, a window crashed and a light brown haired man fell into a pile of garbage. A lady with long golden blonde hair poked her head out of the broken window and looked around with wide eyes. “Are you alright?” the lady asked. The man who was in the dumpster looked up in awe at the lady with the long hair. “I’m alright!” he exclaimed scrambling out of the trash. “May I ask what is your name?” “I am Rapunzel,” said the lady. The man with the candies frowned in confusion. “Like the fairy tale? What a ridiculous name,” he said rolling his eyes. A broom whacked the man on the head.
“I think Rapunzel is a beautiful name, monsieur. Now if only all this garbage wasn’t lying around,” huffed a girl with strawberry blonde hair. “Garbage? Who are you calling garbage? I’m not the one dressed in rags,” scoffed the man eyeing her tattered clothes. The girl huffed and hit the man with her broom again, chasing him away. “What did that man want?” Rapunzel asked after walking down from the building’s stairs. Rosa put her shoe back on. “He wanted to sell me magic candy,” said Rosa frowning slightly, “but that girl just chased him away.” The man who fell out of the window immediately turned and looked at her. “I’m Alieus. Let me tell you now, you should never talk to strangers,” he said seriously. “Why not? He only wanted
to sell me magic candy.” “He might be lying. You do not want to take your chances with strangers like that,” said Alieus shaking his head. “But you’re a stranger,” pointed out Rosa. “No I’m not. I introduced myself and gave you some advice. I’m your friend now,” he declared. “I’ll help you figure out who is a good person and who is not.” “I’m Ella,” said the broom girl, coming back, “I’ll be here to chase away anyone who tries to harm us.” “What’s your name?” Rapunzel asked braiding her long hair. “I’m Rosa. Are we in Italy?” Rosa asked looking around. “Italy? Aren’t we in France?” Ella asked frowning. Alieus shook his head. “No, we’re in Rome.” “I was just in Germany,” said Rapunzel looking up at
“Little Red,” Illustration by Andromeda
the window from where she had first appeared. Alieus walked to a woman walking nearby. “Hello, can you tell me where we are?” Alieus asked, smiling politely. “You’re in New York,” answered the woman, seemingly entranced by Alieus’s charm.
“Where is New...York?” “We’re in the United States of America,” said the woman, confused by the question. Rapunzel walked over frowning. “What is the day, month, and year?” Rapunzel asked. “It is October 4, 2017.”
“Skating,” Illustration by Hua
Cinderella is the Best By HMscorpio
Cinderella is the best fairy tale princess in my opinion. I love how she gets saved by the prince in her glass slipper. Her beautiful ball gown is impossible to beat. I love the cliché happy ending. It never gets old. I also love the modern versions of Cinderella, too. Like A Cinderella Story. I love the fact that the couple both end up at Princeton. For their Happily Ever After. I love Cinderella. It never gets old.
Once Upon a Time
By The Calico Cat
Once upon a time, When the birds began to sing, And the bells began to chime, Belle woke up to the smell of spring. She skipped down the cobblestone pathway, As the breeze bent the flowers down. The children came outside to play, As the girl got to town.
Everyone turned to give her a smile, As she fed the horse an apple. Then Belle noticed faraway, about a mile, In the distance, a dark, gloomy castle. That was the start of future adventures to come, But the smell of pancakes made it seem, Like the pop of a bubble blew from gum, The girl woke up and realized, it was just a dream...
“Your Mini Frosty,” Photograph by Blue Serendipity
11
“Ice,” Manga by Aya Hatashima (Read from right to left)
If I run By Eos
If I run, how far will I go? If I run from the cabin that traps my body out into the freezing snow, how far will I get Before my lungs combust? If I run from the memories that trap my mind, how far will I get Before my heart combusts? I remember when my heart was filled with promise The day we rented the cabin for a breezy winter break The snow fell over my eyes and coated my hair With tiny icy flakes But I loved it because you loved it. I loved everything because you loved it so much. I loved when you went skiing everyday on the looming mountaintops I loved when you went snowboarding the day after I even loved when you went hunting for deer in the snow
12
Even though later I silently cried seeing the bloody rifle, For you I loved it. But the cold holds secrets, ones that I wish I had known. Had I known the next night your body would be found Covered in the same icicles that innocently engulfed me when we moved in Now turning your face blue and heart cold I would have ran with you Far far away from this place that you loved so blindly. But now it’s just me So. If I run, what will become of me? I open the cabin door And run out to greet the flakes that seemed so innocent. Let’s see how far I go.
The Jesus Who Stole Christmas By Incadenscence Billy opened his eyes. Remnants of a dream including America’s Biggest Ball of Twine, a plastic cow named Bessie, and a rocket made entirely out of Twizzlers faded away. Thrusting his right arm the general direction of nightstand, he flailed around until he felt hard plastic. Closing his fingers around the alarm clock, he brought it close to his face, the blinking red lights eventually straightening out through his halfclosed eyelids into numbers. It was 12:11 a.m. Oh no! Billy knew that if he didn’t sleep soundly through the whole night, Santa wouldn’t come! His mom and his dad had said so, so they must be right. Clunking the clock back down on the wooden nightstand, he pulled the covers closer around him and shut his eyes tightly. Then, he heard it: the clashing and clanging of what could only be Christmas ornaments. This must have been what had woken him up in the first place. Abruptly, Billy sat up straight in his bed and looked at his bedroom door. It had to be Santa! Throwing back his covers, he tumbled out of bed and threw open his door. Racing down to the living room, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. Was it really Santa? Did he look like the way the movies and books made him look? Did he like Billy’s milk and cookies? Billy had made sure to leave out his special T-Rex shaped chocolate chip ones for him. Skidding to a halt in in front of the entrance to the family living room, little Billy came upon a peculiar scene. Crouched in front of the Christmas tree was a man with long hair. He was wearing white, flowing robes and sandals. He looked strangely familiar. Billy stepped forward. “Santa?” he squeaked. The man turned around. What he had in his hand was a big plastic bag. Inside were the presents that had previously been put under the Christmas tree. “It’s my birthday, not yours,” he hissed menacingly, as he took another present from under the tree and stuffed it in the bag. “ A Winter Day,” Photograph by The Calico Cat
Billy gasped. The pieces fell into place - the white robes, the hair, the fact that it was the strange man’s birthday - it was Jesus! Flabbergasted, and unsure what to do about a holy man breaking into his house to steal his Christmas presents, he could only stand there and watch as Jesus made his exit through the open window. Running to the window, he saw Jesus climb into his next door neighbor’s house to do the same thing. Billy’s parents, awakened by the commotion, flew downstairs to find Billy lying on the floor, wailing. The only thing he could blubber out was “Jesus ruined Christmas!” “Electric Bill,” Photograph by Eri
Carols By Cheryl Zhang Woolen scarves Laughter, joy and toys Silver bells dance on wreaths Snow tiptoes onto the ground Presents under a decorated tree Candy canes in colorful stockings Music floats all around your head Marshmallows swim in hot chocolate The warmth of the fireplace envelops you Lights make nights more beautiful than day Loved ones all around you That is Christmas magic
13
Santa, Not Satan Part 3
By Incadescence Ulhua was back on Earth. Although the last Earthen custom may not have gone so well, seeing as she had summoned a demon, who caused a three-headed turkey to appear and demolish her host family’s home, Ulhua was very intrigued by Earthen customs. Seeing her interest in these events, her previous host family had invited her back to experience another “holiday” - Christmas, provided that Ulhua did not summon any more demons. Ulhua agreed. Now, she was sitting in her host family’s new house, which was noticeably much bigger. Tiffany, her host mother, had said that she had used a small part of the turkey that Ulhua had turned to gold with her venom in order to finance their new home. Ulhua had noticed that her host family appeared to “like,” as the Humans would say, the new abode more. Ulhua’s host family was attempting to explain what exactly Christmas was, and how it was celebrated on Earth. This was a very strange Human tradition, even more so than Thanksgiving had been. So far, Ulhua had learned that Christmas was a holiday involving an omnipresent being that lived in the sky and had created the universe. This presence was called “God,” and could also somehow manifest himself into human being. “God” had a son, Jesus. The day that Jesus was born was stardate 1888.78, a very long time ago. And ever since, Humans have been celebrating the birth of this Jesus. This was something called “religion,” in which people
14
worshiped various objects or beings. On Oecury, Ulhua’s native planet, there was no such thing as religion. Ulhua found this religion very odd. Several things, like the creation of the universe and planets were attributed to these beings, but Ulhua knew that it had been proved that the natural forces, such as the Big Bang, had been proven to have created these things. But then again, from what she had already seen from Humans, they were a very strange species indeed. Over time, Christmas had evolved to include things like cutting down a type of Earthen vegetation, most popularly a Pseudotsuga, otherwise known as a Christmas tree, and bringing its corpse into the Human’s abode to outfit it in strings of lights, popcorn, and other Christmas “ornaments.” There was also a person in charge of Christmas: Santa Claus. Santa Claus was a male who lived in the North Pole. Sartorially, he was popularly depicted as wearing a red and white outfit and having red and white accoutrements. He also had a series of long white hairs on his chin, most commonly known among Humans as a “beard.” At his home in the North Pole, Santa Claus employed a labor force of what was similar to a smaller species of Humans, called Elves. Elves only existed on Earth at Santa’s home, and did all of the production and work that went into providing gifts for every single child on the planet. Ulhua was puzzled as to why Elves had decided to stay forever at Santa’s home to work. After all, they received no payment in exchange for their services. When she asked Terry, her host father, this question, he could not answer it. In Ulhua’s opinion, this
seemed remarkably similar to Human “sweatshops,” in which Humans worked for a long time for little or no pay. It seemed like Humans had a no better understanding of their own customs than she did, other than the fact that “this is how it’s always been done.” When the side of the Earth that a Human was staying at turned away from their sole star, otherwise known as the Sun, it was dark. This was nighttime. At the nighttime of December 24, Santa would ride a sleigh pulled by eight Rangifer tarandus, the reindeer, and visit every single child’s house to bestow upon them a present. To Ulhua, inviting a stranger to break into one’s home, and even leaving out edible sustenance for him, seemed like a foolhardy notion. Not to mention, this stranger has been spying on the small Humans the entire year. A popular Christmas carol, which was a type of song sung around the holidays, “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” contained the lines “He sees you when you’re sleeping; he knows when you’re awake; he knows if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake!” seemed to prove Ulhua’s confusion as to why Humans tolerated Santa even more. Besides, this entire topic had several glaring flaws. No Humans lived in the North Pole. There was no evidence of Elves ever existing on the planet. It was not encoded into reindeer’s genes that it could ever be possible to have a bright red, glowing nose, even if one took into account evolution. Of the billions of miniature Humans on the Earth, it was not physically feasible for this Santa Claus to carry a gift for every single child, and to deliver it in only several Humanoid hours. To achieve this,
he would have to travel faster than the speed of light. In addition, Santa could not possibly have such an extensive spy network as to have surveillance on every child for over 31 million Humanoid seconds every time the planet made an orbit around their Sun. When Ulhua pointed all of this out to her host family, she was even more confused when they told her that Santa was not actually real. Apparently, this was all made up, “all in good fun,” for the holidays. Ulhua was not sure how lying to one’s offspring would be fun, but like she has done with all of the Earthen absurdities, went along with it. Later on, it was nighttime, and so her host family went to bed. Ulhua did the same, walking upstairs to her guest room that Tiffany had designated for her use. Opening the door, she strode in, commanding the lights to 70%. As the lights flickered on, she became aware of a figure dressed in black sitting on her bed. This figure was familiar; he was the demon she had summoned using instructions from a helpful voice named Siri and 13.33 credits worth of products from the Costco. As she stared at him, he leapt off the bed. “H-hey, remember me? Patches? You summoned me a couple of weeks ago and I brought you the best turkey ever.” As Ulhua did nothing more than just stare at him, he fidgeted, running his fingers nervously through his bright red hair. Ulhua still gave no response. Shoulders drooping down in disappointment, he ran frantically over what his demon
Continued on Next Page
mentor, Steve, had told him about flirting with pretty girls. Did Steve say to be super nice and compliment her outfit? Or did he say to act aloof and hard to get? Should he bust out a pick-up line? Shoot! His brain was so frazzled that he couldn’t think of anything clearly. Thankfully, he was rescued from his thoughts when Ulhua stated simply, “Yes. I remember you.” Her tone was entirely neutral; Patches could not tell whether she was pleased to see him. But hey, at least she didn’t start screaming at him to get away from her, so he was going to count that as a win. Best to get directly to the point of why he was standing in her bedroom. Emboldened, Patches stepped forward, closer to the golden girl (literally) of his dreams (if demons slept, that is). “So, the demons and angels are having a little get-together? Like a holiday party? And Steve said I could bring a friend, so I was wondering if you, might, possibly, want to come. Y’know, especially since you still owe me.” Ulhua cocked her head. “I owe you?” Patches swallowed. “Yeah! Remember when I said I would get a better turkey for you, and in return, you’d give me your number. The first part happened, but not the second. Also, Tiffany hits really hard.” Patches winced as he remembered Tiffany smacking him after the three-headed turkey had been turned to solid gold. “If I go with you, I would no longer owe you?” Ulhua inquired. Patches rocked back and forth on his heels, trying to draw attention from his reddening face. “Yup.” And so, Ulhua had agreed to accompany Patches to the an-
nual Heaven and Hell Holiday Party. As it turns out, the constant warring between the angels and demons was tiring. And bad for team morale. And God and Satan were on better terms now, ever since the Fire That Was An Accident But Not Really had happened three decades ago. So, they had decided to have one day where there would be no more arguing and fighting - a day to relax and have fun with everyone. And henceforth, the annual party was established. After Ulhua had left to go back to Oecury, Patches had moped endlessly. She was by far the prettiest person he had ever seen! And now it was probable that she would never come back to Earth, and he would never be able to see her again! And he never got her digits either, so it wasn’t like he could contact her. Patches’s job kept him from being able to visit Oecury for the time being, so visiting her wasn’t an option either. Steve, sick and tired of seeing Patches mope around and wax poetic about her “really golden eyes, and her pretty golden hair,” promised Patches that he would keep a lookout for Ulhua if she ever decided to come back. So, when Ulhua came back to experience the Human Christmas, Steve notified Patches and suggested to him that he should invite her to the party. After all, being the boss didn’t mean anything if he couldn’t bend the rules a bit to be his mentee’s wingman. Wingdemon. Whatever. So, Ulhua would be the first non-angel and first non-demon being to attend the party. On Christmas Eve, Patches, once again, appeared in Ulhua’s bedroom. It was time for the party. Patches had made sure to dress in his best cloak and wear his shiniest shoes.
He had on good authority (his mother) that he looked “dashing.” As he turned around to face the side of the room where Ulhua was standing, waiting for him to come, his jaw fell open. When Ulhua had told her host family that she would be going to a holiday party with Patches, they had all agreed that it would be nice. Tiffany and Karen, her host sister, seemed especially excited. That morning, they had taken her to dozens of places in a
place called a “mall” to “find the perfect dress.” Ulhua was apathetic to all of the clothes that they had offered her, so Tiffany and Karen had decided on a burgundy gown that complimented her golden skin. Then, they put her hair in a waterfall braid. So, in short, Ulhua looked stunning. Patches, whose mouth had yet to close, can surely attest to this fact. Blinking several times to ascertain that this was actually happening, Patches sent a
“Pine Allergy,” Photograph by Incadescence 15
silent prayer of thanks to Steve for making this possible. “Wow, uh. You...you look great,” Patches managed to mumble. Ulhua acknowledged him with a sharp nod. “Thank you,” she said simply. “So, uh, if you wanna hold onto my arm for a bit here, I can take us directly to the party,” Patches told her. Ulhua stepped close, her hand reaching out for Patches’s. Within an instant they were gone from her bedroom, to a lavish banquet hall. In order to have a truly neutral ground, the party was hosted on the mortal domain, in a five star hotel’s ballroom. It was quite easy to see who inhabited the heavens and who inhabited the underworld: all the angels wore white, and all the demons wore black. Ulhua’s red dress made her extremely conspicuous, as if her golden skin, hair, and nails already didn’t do the job beforehand. Steering her towards Steve to finally introduce the girl he was hopelessly enamoured with to his mentor, Patches felt like the luckiest demon ever. Steve, who was for once wearing fancy robes instead of a frat-bro outfit, extended a hand to Ulhua. “So this is the person that’s got my bro all lovesick, huh? I’ve heard a lot about you.” Ulhua ran her eyes over Patches’s figure. He did not seem to be in an unwell condition. “I see,” she replied. She did not see. Suddenly, commotion broke out. Right next to the Christmas tree was an angel and demon brawling. As a demon came to support his friend, another angel tackled him. Chaos broke out as each angel and demon charged into the fight to defend their brethren. In no time, with the exception of
16
Patches, Steve, and Ulhua, the partygoers had all descended into a full out fight. Steve did nothing but calmly sip his flute of champagne, “These stupid arguments break out every year. And this year, the hot topic seems to be who took the Christmas tree topper.” Patches cut in. “But, after the Big Toaster Incident of 1989, didn’t we agree that the topper would be neutral? Not an angel, or a star, or a Satanic pentagram, but a dog?” Steve pointed at Patches. “Exactly, my bro. I’m not sure who would take it this time then.” Ulhua spoke up. “Then, we must find it.” Turning away from Steve and Patches, she strode confidently out of the ballroom to find clues. Steve shrugged. “I’m gonna stay here and enjoy this free
entertainment. Patches, you go with her.” Patches sprinted out of the room after Ulhua. Picking a random direction, he ran up a flight of stairs to search for her. When he finally found her, she was on the flight of stairs leading to the rooftop. Gasping for breath, he panted, “Ulhua, what are you doing?” Ulhua, not even breaking her stride, explained, “I had found chocolate tracks throughout the building. They lead to the roof.” When they got to the top, what they saw was a three-headed dog. Beside him were the remnants of what had once been the doggy tree topper. Patches rushed to the dog’s side. “Cerberus! What’re you doing here?” As it turns out, Cerbe-
rus had gotten jealous of the doggy tree topper, and felt that it should be taken down, because he should get all the attention. And with everyone at the party, it was easy for him to sneak out and follow the demons to the hotel. After indulging in some chocolate from the chocolate fountain, he swiped the topper from the tree and made a break for it before anyone could notice. And with that, the Great Doggy Tree Topper Incident of 2017 had come to an end. Ulhua’s detective skills in finding out what had happened earned her praise from from both the demons and angels. Later on, as Patches returned her to her host family’s home, she turned to him and looked him in the eye. “This has been...enjoyable.
Thank you.” Abruptly happy at making her happy, he smiled. And once again he tried: “So, how about that number?” Several days later, Ulhua had departed for Oecury, with loving hugs from her host family. This Human Christmas was very successful, Ulhua had written in her notes. She was eager to come back, not only to see the Earthen customs, but also see Tiffany, Terry, Karen, and yes, Patches. (Patches did end up getting that number after all.)
To Be Concluded...
“Ulhua and Patches’s Investigation,” Illustration by The Masked Lady