Midnight Writers January 2023

Cover: “Miroire”, an illustration by Yuridice

This Page: “des mains: a haiku (and cry for help)”, a haiku by Yuridice

Page 3:

Ask Aphro & Dite

• family dinners

• glitchy mirrors

Verily Vérité

• happy new year

Page 4:

“Ride Together, Die Together, Gremlins For Life”, an ilustration by The Wallflower

“Family”, a poem by The Wallflower

“Year of the Rabbit”, an illustration by Chéredo

Page 5:

“Fox Fires”, a poem by Child 13

‘Miles And Northern Lights”, an illustration by Child13

Page 6:

“Lost and Finding”, a story by The Wallflower

“Mind, Soul, Heart”, an illustration by Hecate

Page 7:

“Lost and Finding”, continued

“Karsyn Terror “, an illustration by Hecate

“artificial intelligence”, a poem by Halimede

Page 8:

“flipped screen”, a poem collection by svnmii

“Candice!”, an illustration by Hecate

Page 9:

“flipped screen”, continued

“Chapter II: Rueful Reunions”, a collection of haikus by Willow & Wisp

“Chapter II: Reunion Maestus”, an illustration by Willow & Wisp

Page 10:

“Weather Report”, a story by Eneas

des mains: a haiku (and cry for help) by Yuridice why cant i draw them must they look like sausages? i hate it here help

Dear Aphro,

Family dinners have been awkward recently, ever since my sister secretly became a supervillain, and I’m not really sure what to do. See, the thing is, I’ve been a practicing superhero for the past five years but I really try to keep my work and personal life separate, y’know? It’s just… weird. Advice?

Thanks, Supered-out

Dear Supered-out, That’s rough, buddy. Have you considered early retirement?

Joking, joking. But maybe you should have a conversation with your sister about her career trajectory and life choices. Everyone knows that supervillainy is a dying field these days, what with all the AI programs and mechanized contraptions that can do essentially every part of their job for them. The big companies keep laying off their supervillains left and right— the artificial ones are so much cheaper to maintain. However about!

Best of luck, Aphro

Dear Dite,

I’ve been having some problems with my reflection in mirrors recently. It keeps glitching and vanishing and all sorts of irritating stuff, but I’ve checked for viruses and none of the mirrors have any. Any advice?

Sincerely, Unreflective

Dearest Unreflective,

You say you’ve checked for viruses, but have you checked for bugs within the mirror’s original code? Sometimes it’s wiser to go straight for the source. Of course, this depends on how well the mirrors were working beforehand and if this is a new phenomenon. It also pays to check expiration dates— perhaps your mirrors are simply out of date and need updating. It’s always critical to restart your mirrors to let them update!

Of course, the problem might not lie with the mirrors, but with your reflection in and of itself. Could you perchance have been turned into a vampire recently? Consider, and do let me know how it goes!

With Love, Dite

Greetings, one and all! Happy January and happy 2023—another year passed and another year gone. And, of course, happy second semester. May all your schedules be as perfectly tailored to you as they possibly could be; may you have been switched into classes with all of your favorite friends and teachers and away from the less-so.

January is such an interesting month. It’s jam-packed, what with the end of the semester (and the last of college apps and beginning/ continuation of responses if you’re a senior) but it’s also quiet, and awkwardly wedged into the year. It’s cold (and tragically snow-less this year), slow, and—after the 1st—empty of any American-capitalism marked calendar holidays. But we made it through. Here we are. Now onto brighter, pinker (and redder) months.

February, here we go.

la prochaine, Vérité

And a forceful, savage wolf Working in tandem

Hunting as one To capture their meals And survive another day.

A Family

Is not

Is not

A cathedral of cards, Beautiful as the Notre Dame And fragile as Its stained-glass windows Is A patchwork fortress, Chaotic and unconventional But sturdy and warm In the arctic night.

The blood of the covenant

Is not

A debt for existence

A hierarchical government

A copy-paste essay

That scrapes by with a B

An economy where mistakes Are traded with the lashes Of a belt

A siren’s beautiful melodies And flowery diction, Masking the sunken ships

And watery corpses That this monster has left In their wake.

- The Wallflower

The water of the womb

“Year of the Rabbit”, Illustration by Chéredo

A reason to survive

A homemade gumbo

A chaotic collage

That aces with flying colors

An animated shanty

Shared by bona fide ruffians

On the open sea

A fragile, crafty crow

“Ride Together, Die Together, Gremlins For Life”, Illustration by The Wallflower

Fox Fires by Child13

Said to be caused by a fox, Who dusted the sky with snow. The snow would not become the stars, But instead the clustered strings of light that float and shimmer in the sky.

Like waves, they move in and out.

Flickering and stretching at an uneven pace.

An aged hunter treads lightly in the snow. The light of the fox fires making his dark armor shine. Contrasting like the bright stars in the dark sky.

The grizzled hunter removes their somber hood. And tilts his bowed head to the sky.

Their blinded eye catches the light of the fox fires. Like a stream of water reflecting light, and creating a rainbow. The same spectacle happens in both the eye and mind of the hunter.

They exhale their long held breath. They’ve held that old breath for a long time.

Caught in the magnificent beauty of the fleeting lights. It calls their name.

A sense of awe, imagination, tranquility, and so much more washes over them.

But he knows well not to speak or whistle to the fox fires. Their souls prefer the silence.

They plop down into the cold, frozen dust. It's soft. They let out another held breath. It freezes as it is released.

Shiny, but glistening. Beautiful, but filled with so much more. Exciting, but holding so much hurt.

The hunter’s eyes are darker than they used to be. But still hold the flame they had years ago. It's more controlled now. A fact that might offend some. But relieve others.

But they are still just as dangerous. As they travel alone.

But. Here they aren’t truly alone. Here the fox fires comfort the hunter.

Reassuring him. That along his endless journey. Someone will be waiting for him. At the end of the light. In the shadows they cast.

Their eyes are like an antique. Something to be collected and admired. But it is also something that is considered old. Collecting dust and webs.

Old. But valuable.

“Miles And Northern Lights”, Illustration by Child13

Lost and Finding by

The Wallflower

(IMPORTANT NOTE: Though Aran’s parents don’t know that they’re non-binary, I will only refer to them as a girl ONCE, and only mention their deadname ONCE.)

Our story begins in a large estate. It’s a beautiful summer day in Teasi], and Duke Bragus and Duchess Oladove Dawnbreath are having breakfast, reviewing some legal documents regarding heirs and adoption. It’s an eventful day for the House of Dawnbreath! The Duke and Duchess are finalizing their adoption of a child! Said child is (at the time, as far as they know) a little purple-haired elf girl, by the name Aria, that they’ve adopted from an old widow who lives on the outskirts of town, in a rickety shack with shelves lined with old, molding potions and exotic ingredients. Once the couple is out the door, they notice that this child has small, markhor-like horns sprouting from their head. They turn around to ask the witch what that’s about, but she’s gone, and the shack is gone with her. Bragus is a bit disturbed by this, but Oladove reassures him that the magic imbued in this child will only make them an extremely strong caster.

And so the child is raised, the heir to the dukedom of Teasi. The Town is somewhat confused by their species, but they’re written off simply as a satyr. They don’t quite fit in with the other children of Lords and Ladies, so they spend much of their time among the commonfolk. They make a few friends, but one sticks out in particular: A satyr boy named Freyre who wants to be a ranger, defending the town from outside threats. The child goes on adventures with Freyre in the woods, teaching them how to fight (Freyre is way better. He always was.), and even setting up miniature forts in the wild.

As the years go by and the child grows up, they develop increasingly fiendish traits: purple speckles all over their body, little slits for pupils, and even a forked tongue and pointed tail. Some of the townspeople are a little spooked by this, but they don’t really say anything. They’re the Duke’s heir, after all. The child is subconscious of their body, but for other reasons. Freyre never minded. Freyre always thought their fiendish qualities made them even cooler.

No, not liked. Loved.

Fast-forward to the child’s thirteenth birthday. Their parents present them with a Teasi signet ring (the adult kind) and a family heirloom timepiece: a silver pocket watch that goes all the way to 24, encrusted with amethyst and sapphires. They’re told to treasure it above all else, that it contains the magic of all Teasi Dukes, Duchesses and Coronets throughout history. The child asks about that word, “Coronet,” and their mother explains that it’s the gender-neutral title, a replacement for duke or duchess. At that point, the child realizes that they are a coronet, and tells their parents their preferred name and pronouns (Aran, They/Them), and run off into the woods excitedly to tell Freyre.

But they never find Freyre.

…

They stray from their usual path. Freyre seems to be exploring new parts of the forest, and Aran has to stray further and further to find them. The woods seem to be getting more magical, more ominous. After a couple hours, Aran gets scared and turns back to go home, only to discover that they’re completely lost. The glowing plants around them seem less enchanting, more dangerously magical. They collapse on the ground, crying.

That’s what the child liked about him. Why they REALLY liked him.

“Mind, Soul, Heart”, Illustration by Hecate

They’re way out of their depth. They don’t deserve their signet ring. They’re just a kid. They can’t be out on their own. They don’t even know what they are, who they are.

This existential crisis attracts the attention of Aylward, a tall, lanky fey with rough bronze clawed fingers, deep blue hair that flows in the wind (even if there isn’t a breeze), fiery red eyes and pastel sky skin, holding a black parasol that sparkled in the night sky. Aylward recognizes this child as lost, and asks if they’d like to stay with them a while. Aran wipes their eyes and agrees, offering Aylward their name, but they advise Aran against it, telling them that, here in the Fey Lands, your name is your soul. It’s best to go by a fake one. Looking up at Aylward, they pick one immediately.

Parisal spends eight years living with Aylward at their library (called ALYward’s library. Seems everyone really sticks to the fake-name thing). While in the fey lands, Aylward teaches them to fight more refined (after their time with Freyre, they’ve grown attached to sticks and staffs), how to play instruments (they’ve gotten good at the panpipes), and channeling their magic through the time piece. That’s Parisal’s favorite, the magic. It reminds them of home.

Parisal misses home. They wonder what happened to their parents and Freyre. They know they’re going to have to return someday. Aylward knows it, too. That’s why, on their 21st birthday, they kick Parisal out, packing them a travel bag.

Part of Parisal wants to stay. Part of them wants to be with Aylward. They’ve turned into a kind of…third parent to them. So as a parting gift, Parisal gives Aylward their real name, so that they can call Aran back whenever they want. Aylward is extremely thankful for this trust, and gives Aran 3 magical gifts in return: an ornate, empty hourglass, an orb that allows elves to sleep, and a mask that, when worn, allows one to remember their dreams. They share one final hug, and Aran’s off, headed through the Fey Lands and back home.

That’s how the cycle works. The clock must reach 24, over and over. All things must end.

That’s the only way things begin.

artificial intelligence by Halimede

zeroes and ones become rigid logic statements become stilted language becomes natural speech becomes almost human and human becomes obsolete.

“Karsyn Terror”, Illustration by Hecate

flipped screen a poem collection by

a)

you ever know why we always adored those who saved the city fought crime had superpowers

we knew them by heart we were proud to love them and yet our pure innocence blinded

because they probably had flaws the world doesn’t need to rely on too much saving

anyone can be narcissistic haughty too wanting

we all still loved because they did good but what about their heart?

b)

let’s say they were the ones that everyone hated and everyone hated naturally they were held at the guillotine

because they had that angry look dark, evil? they wanted something

anyone can be narcissistic haughty too wanting

but what we may not know is that they all have a backstory probably tragic

and that might be the burning coal in their little fragile heart weakness

i mean, they’re still bad right?

svnmii

c)

good beats the bad. bad is always defeated. always punished. good gets the victory lap. again again again. and we all love it action camera eyes but what if bad was the one to beat good?

would we also have fire in our hearts? would we be capable of doing anything? but

anyone can be narcissistic haughty too wanting

so maybe bad was good all along and good was the bad apple

or maybe bad is just an underrated neutral

like what if they didn’t want to be this way?

d)

it hurts for them the most because

“Candice!”, Illustration by Hecate

anyone can be narcissistic haughty too wanting

e)

have you ever sought/slaughtered love before?

would you really try to obtain/crush happiness in one step?

do you know what it’s like to disregard/hold back real blue tears?

is there fire cooling/burning in your fragile heart?

i hope they all think about that all of those abstract things even if it’s just for a second like what if if i wasn’t so narcissistic haughty too wanting?

f) tick tick tick tick boom

in the end they both die together infamously notoriously it was too long silent buildup

just like dynamite on a different dynamic maybe one or the other loved is there such thing?

g) to be continued again.

Chapter II: Rueful Reunion, a collection of haikus by

Willow & Wisp

at long last, they meet. winter’s sun and summer’s snow, in the lake, once more.

winter’s sun is warm, the same as she always was so soft and gentle.

summer’s snow is cool, a blue flame burning brightly, lighting up the lake.

a new moon rises covers sun and snow in night as she sits in awe.

a new day now dawns sun and snow bask in the light talking for hours.

“Chapter II: Reunion Maestus”, Illustration by Willow & Wisp

Weather

by Eneas

Report

He was on his bed when the sound came. It was an unrestful night but not that out of the ordinary. It was cloudy outside, and there were signs of a storm brewing. The storm seemed to progressively get worse as the day went on. In the morning, the weather had only promised light showers and winds. By midday, that had turned into a thunderstorm with strong winds. By now, it wasn’t safe to go outside, and it was suggested that people bring in any outside supplements and reinforce some weaker parts of houses. This was only a problem for the larger houses, however. The small two-roomer that Diomedi lived in was not the focus of this warning. He put away the book he was holding and turned on the television. It was a small model as he didn’t have the money for the newer ones. Curiously, he flipped the channel towards the local weather channel. As expected, it was showing a warning on repeat. It showed glitchy footage of a thunderstorm outside. It seemed dangerous, with trees being uprooted and houses shuddering in the wind. Dark shadows kept flickering in the foggy light of the streetlamps. He was already hearing some unpleasant groaning from the attic as the wood was stretched and tilted by the winds.

“DANGER. EXTREME STORM WARNING. DO NOT GO OUTSIDE” flashed and moved across the screen in a bland white color. Diomedi had no plans to go outside anytime soon, so he decided to adhere to the warning and stay inside.

Just that moment, the screen changed. The previously white text had flashed red, reading “GO OUTSIDE.” Diomedi stopped in his tracks, staring at the screen. Most likely, it was a bug with the weather channel. Someone working there had probably accidentally deleted the rest of the message. The weather channel had never been fully funded, and accidents like this actually happened a lot.

As if confirming his suspicions, the screen changed again, flashing the words “DO NOT” before the rest of the message. The background also changed from live footage of the storm to a simple black background. It seemed like the camera had been cut off from the station, and the footage was not working anymore. The second half of the message disappeared, leaving “DO NOT” alone on the screen. Diomedi went back to his bed. His house was smaller, and would not be hit as hard by the storm. He picked up his book and returned to his reading.

Almost an hour passed without incident, and Diomedi almost forgot about it, the screen now a dull black. It seemed the television programmers had successfully controlled their machine and operated it correctly. Suddenly, a new message appeared. It had read “GO OUTSIDE” once more, but the message was no longer alone. It now instructed him to “LOOK AT THE MOON.” Diomedi no longer just felt confusion about the messages. Now, they were starting to scare him. It was almost as if a spirit within the machine was trying to tell the quiet little town to go and exterminate itself in the storm, and that a lone weather channel programmer was waging a war to keep it from succeeding. Just like that, the screen faded to white, hiding the text. A dark text was shown, but it was hidden by fading to a blood-red. He tried to get a glimpse of the text, but was only able to read the first part, telling him to “TURN.” Turn where? Turn around? Behind him was the window. The background faded to black again, revealing the second part of the message written in a dark red text. “TURN OFF THE TELE” the screen changed again, now with a static background, except with a strong feeling that something wasn’t right.

After some time, a text appeared again. It now read “GO OUTSIDE, LOOK AT THE MOON” on a white background. Just as soon as it appeared, the defender had written “DO NOT DO NOT DO NOT” over the text in bright, flashing letters. It seemed as if he did go outside, something truly terrible would happen. On the screen, both texts kept overwriting themselves, trying to win over the other. A strange feeling emanated from the screen, almost like a command. Though he did not do anything, Diomedi felt himself rise and move towards the window. He tried to stop himself, but could not even will himself to hold on to anything, let alone stop walking. He reached the window, eyes not closing. Opening it, he looked at the bright moon overhead. It was black.