December 2015
Midnight Writers
Table of Contents Cover: “My Dear Lady,” an illustration by Hecate This Page: “Zoolander,” a photograph by khokoat Page 3: Ask Aphro & Dite
A snowflake wonders if its truly unique Asking for help on asking for love
Nyx’s Niche:
Nyx Offers New Year’s Resolutions
Cassandra’s Oracle
Horoscopes for the Holidays
Page 4: “The Machine,” a piece by Cananda “Blurry Fall Days,” a poem by Dawn “Violet,” a photograph by Aceso
Page 5:
snatch “Divorce,” an illustration by Hypnos
Page 12: “Warmth,” a short story by khokokat “On a Grey Tuesday,” a poem by Bandersnatch “Silven Keys,” a haiku by The Owlish Bookworm
Page 13: “A Rainbow in Steampunk City,” a poem by Iris Rainbow “Doctor Death,” an illustration by The Masked Lady “The Engineer,” an illustration by The Masked Lady “The Mechanic,” an illustration by The Masked Lady “The Sixth Gun,” an illustration by The Masked Lady
Page 14: “Mystery,” a poem by Winter “Lady Lock,” a photograph by The Wolf
Page 15:
“Hocus Pocus: Chapter 1,” a comic by The Masked Lady and “Golden Shores: Chapter III,” a story by A.T. Pacem Pandora “Something Wicked This Way Comes,” a poem by The Owl“Golden Shores,” continued ish Bookworm “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered,” a poem by The Owlish Bookworm
Page 16:
Page 6: “Winged Shadows: Prologue,” a short story by Bluejay
Page 7: “Der Mond and Die Sonne,” a poem by Nike “Please Don’t Take My Sunshine Away,” a photograph by khokokat “Doomed Love,” a poem by Aradia
Page 8: ‘Perspective,” an illustration by Technicolor Zebra “Strange Love,” a poem by Bandersnatch “Up and Down the Stairs,” a poem by A.T. Pacem
Page 9: “Edges of Darkness,” a short story by khokokat “The First Light,” a poem by The Teumessian Fox “In the Shadows of Light,” a photograph by khokokat
Page 10: “Severed Strings,” a poem by Vivian Griselda “Wishing Reality Wasn’t Sometimes a Faraway Fantasy,” a poem by Persephone “Ad Infinitum,” an illustration by Calliope
Page 11: “Stateless, Am I?” a poem by Aradia “You’re Fighting a Losing Battle, Dear,” a poem by Bander-
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issuu.com/midnightwriters midnightwriters2015@gmail.com
Ask Aphro & Dite
Dear Aphrodite, I have a very short lifespan once I come to earth, so I ask you for advice with some urgency. My problem is that I am very small. In fact , I am so small that people often need a microscope to see me. When I fall to earth with all my brothers and sisters, and land on earth, It is so cold that we have to huddle for warmth, but when we are all packed together, no one can tell us apart. I love my family, but how can I stand out amongst so many? Sincerely, Special Snowflake. Dear Special Snowflake, There is a fine balance between wanting to fit in but wanting to also be noticed that everyone goes through at some point in their lives. Having such a short lifespan, it must be even harder, because you don’t have the time to figure it out. My first recommendation is immortality. Really, it does wonders. However, seeing as you aren't a goddess like me, may I give you some words of encouragement? The coolest thing about snowflakes, is that even though they are so numerous and so small, They are unique. Every single one of you is a little different in a beautiful way. Humans even use the phrase, “special snowflake”, for this very reason. You may be small, but you are also your own entity. If this is not enough, may I suggest modelling? I have seen some really cool pictures on the internet of snowflakes such as yourself showing off their cool patterns. Maybe what you need is a career change to help you really shine. I hope you find what you’re looking for. Lots of Love, Aphro Dear Dite, I have a HUGE problem. Every four years, my school hosts a Sadie Hawkins dance, where the girls are supposed to ask the guys out. It sounds like a lot of fun, but the problem is, I have no one to go with! You see, I have a tendency to make people feel twitchy and uncomfortable when I’m near them. The same can’t be said for my twin sister though. Hope is radiant and cool, and always there for people. She helped our mutual friend, Pandora, out of a tight spot one time, while I only made things worse. I want to be more like my sister, or at least get to go to the dance with somebody. Can you help? Sincerely, Fearing Being Feared Dearest Fearing, You really got the short end of the genetics stick hunh? That has really got to suck. However, I want you to remember that you are an essential part of humanity. Hope is nice, but it makes people kind of dumb too. A healthy dose of fear is a basic instinct that helps keep people alive. You are essential , even if you don’t feel like it, and that is important to remember. Now, onto the more important topic: Love! I don’t know if you know this, but I am a huge fan of love. I love love so much, I’m seeing two guys at the same time! Err…actually don’t tell Hephaestus that if you don’t mind. Anyway, about the Sadie Hawkins dance, I think you should ask your sister to give you some tips. The best situations have a little bit of hope mixed in with the fear. Also, have you tried finding a “daredevil” as you kids call it these days. Look for a guy who jumps through a ring of fire, or goes sky diving, or like scary movies. These kinds of people like the rush they get when they are around Fear. I think they’d be perfect for you. Whatever you decide to do, good luck. Lots of Love, Dite
Calypso’s Island Hello, my lovelies! Welcome to another month of Midnighting! I wish all of you a fantastic holiday break and great promise for the next year. Now, with the new year circling back around, I feel that it is my duty as one of the wisest (and oldest, but never tell) goddesses on Olympus to give younglings advice. Even mortal younglings, mind you. You all deserve some much-needed guidance despite the fact that your lives are disappointingly finite. Well! Let us begin! I. Do Ridiculous Things I’m given to understand that mortals would call this “doing stupid things,” or being “reckless.” Now, given that you are mortal, precautions must be taken, but for the most part, dearies, go ahead and do those ridiculous things. Always thought you’d like to ride a bicycle with no hands and eyes closed? Try it. Talking to the intimidatingly wonderful person next to you in class? Go for it. If there’s anything I’ve learned in my time, it’s that there aren’t enough people doing strange things. Mind you, nothing horrendous or catastrophic—just crazy enough or just enough of a failure to make for a glorious story. Because really, aren’t we all just stories in the end? Best make it a good one, no? II. Teach Technology How menial, how pointless it sounds. But by this I mean teach technology to those who need it most—y our elders. Speaking as a *cough* relatively young goddess with an old spirit, I find myself clueless about some of the mortal technology there is today. In my day, Hermes delivered mail on foot with those little sparkly sandals. He didn’t just monitor the machine that sent and received all of Olympus’s mail. In the good days, gods and goddesses amused themselves by playing with the mortal world, not by playing Mortal Kombat with those confusing little sticks. It can be hard for your elders, (mind you, elders, not elderly), to adapt to the new age. So whether it be pity or the goodness of your small mortal heart, teach them please. If you decide to take this upon yourself, please let me know...Zeus claims he doesn’t have time to show me such things.
Echo’s Echo
Happy holidays, Midnighters! This month’s Oracle hopes to find you getting into the spirit of the season with a mug of hot cocoa and some classic holiday movies. While it’s getting late for actual gift shopping, here’s what the signs (not-so) secretly want this year: Aries: Always eager to try new things, Aries is looking for a new project or hobby to spark their interest. Taurus: Ever the pragmatist, Taurus finds happiness in the little things, like nice sweaters and new music. Gemini: Wanderlust has been on Gemini’s mind lately. Inspire dreams of new journeys with travel books or a camera. Cancer: After a stressful first semester, Cancer just wants to relax. Bath bombs are the answer to everything. Leo: Music has been a big part of Leo’s life lately, but they’re looking for some new sounds to spice up their playlists. Virgo: The thought’s what matters to Virgo right now; something made with love is just what they’re looking for. Libra: The perpetual romantic, Libra’s been hunting for a new read to curl up with in front of the fire. Scorpio: Mystery is on the mind for Scorpio; classic film noirs would not be amiss. Sagittarius: Outside the box and freespirited, Sagittarius just wants to be surprised. Capricorn: Nature is a big part of Capricorn’s life right now; they want a little piece of it to call their own, like a cactus or succulents. Aquarius: Trends are important to Aquarius, help them set a new one. Pisces: Creativity is behind a lot of Pisces’ energy, fuel it with some art supplies or a trip to a museum.
Special thanks to Sra. Steele, Nyx, Cassandra, Hypnos, Persephone, khokokat, A.T. Pacem, The Teumessian Fox, and Janus
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“The Machine,” piece by Cananda
Blurry Fall Days By Dawn Crisp air and dark skies in early mornings furry boots crunching on grassy lawns, quiet bus stops with tired faces and screaming yawns receive me instead of bright hellos and warm smiles. Bright lights and shiny floors awaken me, Talks of tests and teachers tumble through the halls. Hushed and mellow greetings are exchanged, Footsteps worrying about tardiness race off to class. My eyelids are weights against my eyeballs As the teacher drones on a never ending trail. Students internally praying for the freedom-evoking sound And hoping for the moment we are homeward bound. Filled bus seats with shining expressions, Chit-chatter emanating throughout. My face aglow with the prospect of arriving home When keys are in keyholes, shoes left on the floor, food is in proximity. ...the best is yet to come. “Violet,” photograph by Aceso
Something Wicked This Way Comes By The Owlish Bookworm Hear the whistle Hair-raising, flesh-prickling Cold, dreaded summons Do you know the sound? Run your finger down the spine Chilling, stinging, paralyzing Fear. Do you feel what I feel? The East Wind is coming, Blowing through It’ll make its way Ruthless, bloodthirsty No prisoners today. Boil and bubbling, Toil and troubling Brace yourself and close your eyes The East Wind comes—someone’s bound to die
Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered By The Owlish Bookworm How curious is love , To purposely throw oneself off a cliff “Falling,” they call it. How woefully incorrect It isn’t really falling if you take the step willingly, is it? Under a spell, a blessed enchantment Tears of wretched joy, sobs of divine misery How is this magic possible, this charm? So similar to being haunted, so different from being possessed. Yet so different, yet all the same. How curious is love. Summoning the Devil to sell a soul less damning Than losing a heart you’ve given away. Losing the breath of life less terrifying Than being unable to think when I see you. How absolutely, wonderfully destructive. How curious is love.
Winged Shadows: Prologue By Bluejay The ancient legend of the clans states that in the beginning there was nothing. Darkness engulfed the world in a blanket of silence and there was no trace of light. Then, from the shadows, emerged a dragon made of dust and stars. He was Eos, Creator of the Universe. His eyes were constellations that shone softly as he moved and his massive wings were made from stardust and ice. His spine was layered with the raw metals of the world and his claws burned with solar heat and pure energy. Eos gave way to the universe, his body and spirit forming the very fabric of existence. Nebulas and stars began to develop in the rich climate, eventually collecting into constellations and galaxies. To oversee this transition was Celestia, Protector of Space. The great dragon weaved her way through space, arranging the world around her and protecting new life. She was made from pure starlight and her eyes shone with ice. From the depths of the galaxies emerged Chronos, Guardian of Time. He distorted and weaved his way through the world, providing the newly created universe with a sense of stability and time. He and Celestia maintained a balance and were able to create a rich and thriving environment. Five young dragons were born from the stars, sent by the spirit of Eos to aid Celestia and Chronos. Infernis, the oldest, created a new world of fire and lava, all surrounding a burning core. Terra, the youngest, sculpted mountains and earth on top of the flames, filling them with nature and life. Aqua provided this new world with rivers and oceans for life to thrive. Aeris flew around the world to breathe wind and air across the land. The fifth dragon, Umbra, created the shadows of the land. She remained in solitude for most of her life and only emerged when summoned. She began to grow spiteful of her siblings and how they were so highly praised by Eos. One day, Umbra snuck out from her cavern near the sea and gathered all of her strength to summon a great darkness; an eternal night. She thought that it would make Eos proud of her, and she basked in her satisfaction of her achievement. However, the dragons only suffered. Without the light, they were unable to keep the earth alive. Ashamed of her own actions, Umbra
left her siblings and took to the sky. She gave up her body to create the moon, knowing that it would light up even the darkest corners of the world. Umbra’s sacrifice was not enough, the four remaining siblings knew this. They used the last of their powers to create a sphere of pure energy and light to make the sun, one that remains in the sky to this day. Drained of their powers, the dragons collapsed and gave their bodies back to the earth. Their souls still roam around the world, maintaining and protecting the life living on it. The resulting sun provided a perfect balance between light and darkness. There was a long period of day as well as an equally long period of night. Moved by the young dragons’ actions, Eos created guardians to protect and heal the earth. Four dragons took on the responsibility of maintaining the seasons, two for keeping a balance between the night and the day, three for protecting the world from evil, and twelve messengers to convey Eos’ wishes to the thriving and growing population of dragons. The three protectors from evil settled in the mountains, slowly gathering a large clan around them. Luna, the youngest, was very passive and calm unlike her older sister Knoxus. Knoxus was very ambitious, even as a child. She was obsessed with claiming leadership and plotted to overthrow the oldest, Solace. She succeeded in her endeavors after secretly poisoning her sister with the waters of the toxic stream near their camp. Confident that Eos would reward her with the title of leader now that she was next in line, Knoxus spent days awaiting her ceremony. However, Eos knew what the young dragon had done. He knew that a long era of bloodshed and war would follow if he were to allow this prideful dragon leadership. Luna was therefore declared leader, enraging Knoxus. In a cold, revengeful fury, she snuck up on Luna while she was asleep and attempted to slit her throat with her claws. Luna jolted awake as she felt the cold claws on her skin and called for help. The dragons dragged Knoxus away and locked her in a sealed cave while they decided what her punishment would be for not only murdering one dragon, but attempting to do so to another. Eos sent a messenger to the clan, warning them that in order for peace to follow, they must free Knoxus and banish her to the maze of caverns below the valley. The clan, furious that this dragon had
killed Solace, refused to listen to him. Luna and a few elders decided that Knoxus would be put to death. They chained her to a tree in the center of the clearing in front of the entire clan. Luna walked up, apathetic to her older sister, and slit her throat. As Knoxus fell to the ground, bleeding terribly, the crowd of dragons cheered. Luna looked down on the fallen Knoxus, a twinge of grief surging through her veins. However, she turned her head and tightened her gaze at the dragons before her. They threw Knoxus’ body in the poisonous river, likely as revenge for the death of Solace. Luna couldn’t help feeling uneasy and cold as she turned away from the river, but she knew it was for the best. The years that followed were monotonous and dark. Luna grieved for her two sisters but knew there was nothing she could do. She had to remain strong for her clan. As the nights grew colder and the days grew shorter, a new threat emerged from the shadows. Whispers echoed throughout the hollow, pouring from the ground below them. The wind carried the voices through the dens of sleeping dragons, scraping their flanks with ghostly claws. Luna often awoke to the feeling of claws on her neck, panting and screaming. The memory of Knoxus remained long after her death, sweeping through the clan like a plague, infecting the minds of all the clan. She knew it would never leave them; it was bound to them for eternity. The spirit of Knoxus was restless, and she scoured the land as she dragged her claws through the caked dirt. Luna would awake to scratches carved into the sides of her den and the feeling of ice creeping through her spine. She continuously dreamed of the black, horned dragon stained with blood and claw marks. Her own claw marks. Luna isolated herself in her den, only allowing the company of a few dragons. The guilt and the terror of her own actions drove her to near insanity. Her wings wore down and her body grew thinner and weaker with each passing day. It is said that her once light purple scales grew darker as she remained in seclusion, stained by the shadows of her den. And every night as Luna slept, she heard the steady scraping of claws against the stones outside her den.
Der Mond and Die Sonne By Nike
The moon sat still, gazing into the endless black sky as he contemplated his existence He sipped green tea as he looked at all the stars twinkling They socialized in the night, but the moon could not participate He was too shy and had trouble leaving his cocoon to enter the unknown. The sun rose up as she did everyday with a great big smile on her face She glossed her lips, put on her designer shades and left for work The entire sky lit up as soon as she uttered “hello” One day the moon rose early and caught a glimpse of the beautiful sun He immediately felt drawn to her, But could tell no one Should he approach her? She could easily burn him So he started to paint her as he listened to classical violin symphonies The sun once decided to stay in the sky through the night She wanted to catch up the stars They kissed her cheek and gossiped She was the center of attention The brightest supernova in the room saw her from afar and took her hand She lept into his arms and together they twinkled brightly The moon watched the entire party from his window. He sobbed into a handkerchief when he saw the sun happy with the supernova
But then he made a decision He put on his best suit and walked out The sun briefly turned to look at him, her light reflected off of him for a moment He was lit up, but then she turned away to kiss the handsome supernova The moon’s face darkened. He turned away and went back inside where it was warm and well stocked with comfort food. The sun loved the feeling she got from the supernova. So much so that she would stay up too late, and could not function at work The planets begged her to take care of herself and get rest. The sun grew depressed as she found herself struggling to juggle two worlds. One day, she stopped attending work and left her supernova. And the supernova quickly moved on to another twinkling star The moon missed watching the spectacular sun from his window He decided if anything was to ever work, he must tell her how he felt But it was impossible. For the sun had moved. He researched her new address, but it was in a distant galaxy. His whole life was here. Moving was just out the picture. So he stayed and lived the mundane life that kept him stable. The sun was never herself again She missed the popularity, the social life This new galaxy was better though. She was less conflicted But she never was able to party quite the same But she’d just moved, So no use moving back. Doomed Love By Aradia I was stargazing one night and looked at the moon. The sky was dark except for the stars falling from her eyes. "Dearest Moon, why do you weep?" I ask. My love is a lifetime away, she says. In the darkness I can but reflect the shine That rolls off the light of my life. I am a being of night, she of day, And we are destined never to be. She falls in silence, and the last of her tears winks out of the sky. I wait until morning, pondering her words until dawn. As the sun comes up she gives a great, sad heave. "Dearest Sun, why do you sigh?" I ask. Alas! If I were but a flower on the earth, she says, Each night I'd watch her rise and smile as I slept. But now when we change places we stretch out our hands In desperation to grasp at things, at people, at memories, That simply never will be.
“Please Don’t Take My Sunshine Away,” photograph by khokokat
I think on their words, watching her take her place. I think on their words, watching the clock tick. I think on their words as twilight falls.
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Strange Love By Bandersnatch Hope wears her hair in two long braids, reminiscent of summer days in sundresses wandering around parks where the sun set at ten pm and popsicles that melted into rainbow puddles. Fear either ties her hair into the tightest of buns or lets it all hang loose. There is no in between for her, it is always all or nothing. Hope tries to keep things bright, painting the kitchen a daffodil yellow that matches the sunbeams streaming through the windows on a Saturday mornings. “Perspective,” illustration by Technicolor Zebra
Up and Down the Stairs I Go By A.T. Pacem I found a quote between some pages that said, “If you trip going up the stairs, you will fall in love.” As the world’s clumsiest person alive I have fallen going up and down and sideways probably. i don’t remember if it really happened but knowing me, it really probably did. oh, there are still days when I look into a mirror at my moony face, scrutinizing the curve of slender lips and full cheeks and a porous nose, the strangest of beauty marks (more accurately called black holes) on my chin and against the curve of my brow bone who could fall in love with that?
Fear keeps the curtains pulled. Dark, dark purple spreads from her study down the hall. Hope makes pancakes for weekend breakfasts. Fear orders takeout for nights in. Hope tries to coax Fear out of her shell. Fear just curls up tighter. Hope crosses a line. Fear snaps, a vase is broken.
and who said this love is requited? but i realize then i am in love, in a requited love i am in love with the music of silence
Hope returns with a peace offering of mint chip ice cream.
the pitter-patter and trickling of the rain on a window the winter wind that dances on my nose and lips
Fear smiles, and lets Hope in.
before turning them into roses the sound of my cat’s purr as he stretches across the carpet ocean waves sliding across the shore my list is endless and there’s no other way to say how in love i am in with the small beauties of the world each trip on the stairs just gave me something new to fall in love with
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Edges of Darkness By khokokat I want to know how you do it. How after an explosion of what we meant in the heat but hide for the sake of it, me still lost in the mushroom cloud of tension, you do the thing. Where you pretend that nothing’s happened, that everything is perfectly cheeky A-okay with us. I’m sure you know though and I step in line and feign along. He messed me up yes. But at least he protects me from you. You ladle him his meal and he says no I don’t want that so you put the already tainted portion back into the bowl. I come in and say no why would you do that and you turn your whip at me and for a moment I’m blinded by the ferocity shrinking back a wounded animal. In a clipped voice you say don’t bother you you’ve had a tough day, but with that logic every day is a tough day. You praise yourself from head to toe inside and out and it contrasts so starkly to these moments that happen so often I wonder how you can even say that you’re a positive person when you weigh everyone down with retellings of your past. You’ve struggled, I understand that. But to think your struggles superior and to brush off any thought that I should have any at all because look at how fortunate I am
surrounded by people who love me and it’s killing me how that’s my mindset now. That I don’t have the right to how I feel. That all the self-hatred I build up with a foundation that you created should not exist. That if I honestly feel that way why can’t I do it? Because I can’t. It plagues my mind it does. But going past thoughts of nonexistence to the actual holding and applying it stops me. I’m just too weak to do it. Too weak. Not pretty. Not skinny not fit not good at anything or great in the way I want to be but just okay because I want to be great at everything and the thought of applying the effort for it all shuts me down and I remain at square one. You come in with pears and say that you’re sorry. You were just tired and stressed and you tell me that I can make jokes but do it at the right time. When is it ever the right time? Sarcasm is shut down. Any jokes are met with disdain. I want to say that you’re just too serious, but sometimes he’ll come in and make a joke and you’ll laugh and laugh and I know it’s really just me. I’m not ever going to be as good as you. Perfect face perfect body light skin dancer gymnast piano star school master quick witted fast runner always good always great and me Just never good enough. Your jokes aren’t funny either. The blunt of the knife digs in my palm.
The First Light
By The Teumessian Fox Long ago it was dark. No stars lighting up the night sky. No sun to brighten the day. Just black, still, peace. Everything was silent, No one fighting, No wars to disturb Just quiet, peace, and stillness. Then fire shot through the black, Lighting up the once-night sky, The star tumbled down to earth, Brightness shone everywhere, Bringing chaos and horror throughout the land. Nothing had brought light for centuries, Not since the Great War When all the lights went out. Now, there were lights everywhere. Then, out of the silence, There was noise. Laughter. Laughter of a newborn, Bringing hope and happiness. Dark had been seen as sacred, Nothing could go wrong. But now it was light, Light that brought a bright future, Light to brighten the world.
9 “In the Shadows of Light,” photograph by khokokat
Severed Strings By Vivian Griselda All these years you held me by a string, Twirling me until the thread came apart Strand by strand. Reminiscent of lace dwelling against the light, Like the once destructive hurricane now out of sight. Tied in a knot that kept me from tripping, The rain from the rooftop may as well be tears Slipping and slipping. Caught in a fire of violent force, Scattered in a field of grass so coarse. A colored sky is all you see, Provide bliss to the shadows created, Dream by dream. All these years I savored you on a string, Little did I know what cutting the rope would bring. “Ad Infinitum,” illustration by Calliope
Wishing Reality Wasn’t Sometimes a Far Away Fantasy By Persephone I. Hope Someone else’s sparkly pink lip gloss pressed against her lips Brushing painted fingers against soft skin smelling of cocoa butter Borrowing each other’s clothes and getting compliments on the curves of her body The smell of her girlfriend’s perfume and the way it mingles with her own II. Fear The blood that pools in her cheeks as the lies slide over her lips Balled fists carving the prints of her fingernails into her palms Hiding her hair in beanies so her mom doesn’t suggest she cut it again The dank and dusty smell in the back of the closet III. Hope Black skater skirts that brush against her thighs and the click of new heels Fierce red shades of lipstick and sharp wings of eyeliner The way she whispers “You are the most beautiful girl.” Her cheeks hurting every time someone calls her “she” IV. Fear Hiding her skirts and heels in the back of the closet hoping her family doesn’t see Rubbing streaks of mascara off her tear soaked cheeks The way her mom asks “What ever happened to my handsome boy?” Her throat burning every time someone calls her he
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Stateless, Am I?
You’re Fighting A Losing Battle, Dear.
By Aradia
By Bandersnatch
Ask me where I'm from, I dare you Tell me I'm "not American" Take aim at my brown skin And shoot until we bleed the same Wasn't I a terrorist two minutes ago?
who are you to say whether or not i am valid what gives you the right to lay siege upon
I am every Indian king of lore, I am the Hindu And Muslim blood that watered Partition I am the hot soil of Maharashtra, I am Kashmiri ice And mountains, I am every red bindi, the color of victory I am India
the kingdom of identity i have fashioned for myself why are you determined to undermine a years-long struggle fought not with
I am Lee Kuan Yew, who turned Singapore From mud huts to skyscrapers with his bare hands I am the city-state that claws its way into the sky I am the skyline, I am the heavy tide, I am the lion I am Singapore
sticks and stones but the daggers of self hatred i did not win a war with myself to endure taunts and mockery
I am the royal Dutch navy, I am the immense walls That the ocean throws itself against in vain I am every waterway, I am thousands of acres of tulips I am the windmills, endless and proud, I am steel I am The Netherlands
from scum like you.
Presume of me nothing, I, too, live the American Dream My skin is Indian, my nationality Dutch and Singaporean, But my heart is in the land of the free I am a first-generation immigrant, yes, I am American I am every star-spangled flag that waves and every bald eagle that cries What America do you see that I cannot be part of? Is it my brown skin that disqualifies me? Pray, who are you? Shoot me and watch fire consume my bones I am exactly who I am meant to be I am all countries, I am none I, too, am America
13 “Divorce,” illustration by Hypnos
Warmth By Khokokat When I look at your car, I see endless highways humming under racing tires. I see cloudless skies and pattering rain, droplets sliding together down clear glass. You’re in the driver's seat—you’re adamant against me driving while you’re in the vehicle—and the radio is turned onto a CD of today’s Top 50 hits. I'm in the passenger seat, eyes drifting out the window. I get lost in the swoosh of lane lines chasing each other, far faster than my eyes can catch. It's one of those days when you and I have nothing else to do, which means we're going to the mall. I suggest that we also watch a movie that I’ve been anxious to see, and order tickets as we get into the car. It’s half an hour of winding roads, and every time you’re not paying attention to the light changes I say, “Green.” The music is in the background as you turn to me. You always start the conversation, and today it flows well. We talk about our
friends, our thoughts, our experiences. We talk about people we know well, people we want to get to know. By that I mean you talk about your favorite singers and what they're up to at this very minute. We sit with mutual affections acknowledged and I take your free hand into mine. You and I make it a point to eat at a Chinese restaurant at least once a week. Sometimes we go to our favorite one, welcomed by recognition and familiar food. Other times we step into new ones, taking in the ubiquitous red tones and golden lights. This morning we opt for the latter, and are seated in a burgundy booth with laminated menus. You always order while I sit back and help narrow down your choices. We probably don’t look like much; both heads in our phones, few words between bites. I down my last cup of tea and reach for the fortune cookie that comes with every check. The cookie cracks between my fingers as I take the fortune in my hand. There’s a compartment full of slips waiting for it in the car. In my other hand is a plastic bag straining with styrofoam take out boxes. We always ask for more than we can finish.
On a Grey Tuesday By Bandersnatch drip, drip, dripping, slip, slip, slipping away, away rainfall washing rubber boots sloshing down a crowded street damp heavy weather but light as a feather skipping along gasoline rainbow yes, mama, i know to always look hot cocoa in mugs sweater paws and warm hugs keep me dry
Silven Keys By The Owlish Bookworm Look as they sit there Rusted, tarnished silver keys To locks to nowhere “The Grey Lady,” photograph by The Wolf
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A Rainbow in Steampunk City By Iris Rainbow The Steampunk city was doing its chores for Christmas. When a rainbow came about. The luxurious beauty brightened the city From its coal, dust, and steam. Oh how the viewers loved that sight. Only the elders saw one early in their lives, But never the adults, teenager, children, babies, or animals. The rainbow glowed its red, orange, yellow, Green, blue, indigo, and violet. It shined on all the metals about. Turning them a faint rainbow color. Within hours , the rainbow left. By twilight on Christmas Eve. The Rainbow was nowhere to be found. Gone. The city moved on without it. No one will see the rainbow ever again.
Mystery By Winter What lies beyond that crooked fence? Desires from your wildest dreams, Intangible, Unattainable, Only slightly beyond your reach, A mystery. What will you do? What are you willing to sacrifice? Will you abandon all that surrounds you? To grab hold and hang on, And never look back? Trespass to your discretion, Thoughts before actions, Know there are other paths to take, And always a reason for secrets.
14 “Lady Lock,� photograph by The Wolf
Golden Shores: Chapter III By A.T. Pacem “Representing the defendant Ariel Berkowitz is Professor Aviv Greenberg with students Nosson Kaufman, Chatzkel Siegel, and Libi Lehrer on charges of trespassing, breaking and entering, theft, armed assault, and attempted murder. Does the Defense accept these charges and pledge to annul them to the greatest of their ability, with the utmost integrity, respect, and honesty for the State of Israel?” Greenberg stood and faced his students with confidence, eying the opposing team with a particular contemptuousness. Zahir kept his eyes ahead, focused on the clerk of the court as his fingers dug into his thigh. “Yes,” Greenberg answered. “Do you swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” “Yes,” “Take your seats. Prosecution, rise,” Zahir rose carefully, hyper aware of the eyes all bearing through his suit and straight down to his bones. “Representing the People of the City of Jerusalem on behalf of Jacob Levy is Professor Simcha Harel with students Michael Neuman and Zahir ibn Raashid al-Nuri,” the clerk bit her lip and cleared her throat as her cheeks turned cherry. Zahir swallowed and glanced down at his nails, and several others followed suit. He felt as if he was walking on the sun. “Does the Prosecution wish to drop their charges?” Harel’s autumnal voice pierced the mocking atmosphere. “No.” An immediate hush choked the room and Zahir’s shoulder tension settled. “Would the Prosecution like to add any charges or plead any sort of court misconduct?” “No.”
“Then does the Prosecution swear to carry out and prove these charges to the best of his ability, while upholding honor, integrity, respect, and honesty on the behalf of the State of Israel?” “Yes.” “Do you swear to tell the truth nothing but the truth, so help you God?” “Yes.” “Prosecution, please send up a representative for your opening statement. Defense, please standby and prepare your rebuttal,” the student clerk clacked her way behind a typewriter and took her position. Zahir sank into the hard-backed wood of his chair and organized his files to ease his terse nerves. Harel nodded and approached the sitting jury with a sidelong gait and stiffened posture. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “We live in a time of terror, both international and domestic. Whilst the international crises of the world and of our country never fail to approach the global stage, we forget our roots. We forget about the day-to-day crises at home, and cruelties we inflict upon one another are far more lethal than those of our opposing nations. Take Jacob Levy, a quaint, aging individual with a life well-spent and well -loved, filled with family and friends who have all surrendered to Levy heirlooms, precious objects and letters and keepsakes that bury themselves so deep into the heart leaving them would be suicide. Imagine having those most beautiful treasures of yours torn straight from you, and in the midst of regaining them you’re beaten down, threatened with the taking of your life. You don’t know if it is worth dying for pieces of your heart, or if your heart is willing to charge forward and take back what’s rightfully yours. These are times of
questioning and scrutiny and simple disrespect. We must be the valiant ones willing to defy them, and pronounce the vitality of integrity,” *** “Are law students always required to wear suits? ‘Cause if they are I’m definitely going to be picking you up more often,” Emanuel stood at the bottom of the concrete staircase that led to the school, an armful of flowers in hand. It was the fourth bouquet Zahir’d gotten in the past few months. He was elated to have something to take home to his mother again. Was it to deflect his seeing a man? To apologize for something he could never confront with himself? Perhaps. But he loved her glowing happiness, despite the clouded reasoning behind his own motive. He shook himself of the intruding thoughts and received the flowers with a sincere smile. “My entire house is coated in pollen, thanks to you,” Zahir chastised as Emanuel momentarily squeezed his hand. “Good,” He pressed close and Zahir could almost taste his sharp cologne on his tongue. A few flower petals were loosened by the steady breeze that graced over his face. “Hey, um, could I ask you something?” Emanuel broke the silence as his free hand dug itself into his pocket. He looked fidgety, nervous, things Zahir wasn’t quite used to. “Yeah, of course,” he replied, nudging Emanuel’s shoulder with his own in attempt to get him to look up. He needed to see the upward scrunching of the beauty mark and the radiance of the brown eyes; even the winking reflex probably wouldn’t be so bad right now. “I was wondering if you could meet my parents. Not now, just, soon. Soon,” Zahir’s voice caught in his
throat and the warmth between them was lost. They stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, much to the annoyance of the irritable pedestrians behind them. “I’d love to, but you’ll never meet my mother,” his voice was softer than he anticipated and he wanted to punch himself in the face for sounding like some newborn puppy. Emanuel squinted. “What do you mean? You didn’t tell her about us?” “What makes you think I could?” Emanuel said nothing and Zahir’s heart dropped. “Figured,” he muttered before crossing his arms in front of him. Zahir felt an undisclosed rift of tension grow between them. A hint of anger began to trickle through. “What do you mean figured? Did you really expect the freedom here to be the same on the other side?” He questioned; a bubbling frustration began to metastasize across his chest. He was tempted to throw the flowers at the next person that passed. Emanuel took a muddled step in place and pressed his fingers into his own biceps. “She lets you come to school here, so I figured she’d let you be more liberal about this,” he admitted, his eyes dancing down towards the sidewalk. Zahir wanted to feel pity for Emanuel and view his ignorance as a simple flaw he was going to learn to live with, just like any other couple. He couldn’t. “If my mother knew, she’d never talk to me again,” he confessed as he picked at the closest flower in his arms. “She only lets me go here because I couldn’t get the same education where I lived. She didn’t even want me to use all my funds to go to school— she wanted me to leave Palestine and move to Europe where I’d be safe from all the violence we’re all put
GS continued... through. She put her life away to make sure I was safe. Going back on her faith, our faith we share, it could kill her. So no, I haven’t told her about us,” Emanuel said nothing and Zahir gave an exasperated sigh as he rubbed his eyes. “Look, we can talk about this later,” “Yeah, sure. I’ll see you tonight.” Zahir felt the flowers in his arms begin to wilt as Emanuel shouldered past him. His heart dropped far beneath where it was supposed to be and he had the sudden urge to whip back and defend himself. He didn’t. There was a strange surging of heat in his face and chest, and it suddenly grew very hot. There was magma running through his blood and heat pulsating behind his eyes. His cheeks burned and he rushed back towards Emanuel, grabbing his wrist and spiraling him around until he was face to face with those beautiful hazel eyes. There was a faint apology before a quick scanning of the crowded city streets. Zahir dragged Emanuel into an abandoned alley and cornered him up against a hidden doorway. There was fear mixing with the heat in his blood, but he no longer cared. The fire choked as the flowers rolled to their feet and Zahir’s fingers carded over Emanuel’s cheeks. “That doesn’t mean I want to stop being with you. It’ll just have to be secret from where I stand. But I want to meet your parents. I want to meet them so badly because I need to see the man and woman who created someone as beautiful as you,” Zahir felt his vocal cords tremble and shake; he felt ready to start convulsing and it took all of his might just to keep himself under control. “I need to meet
the creators of the angel God sent to me,” Zahir didn’t remember anything past Emanuel’s lips on his and an untamable yanking of his heart. There was something prodding his chest, and when he used his hand to bat it away he realized it was Emanuel’s Star of David. He grabs it and pulls him impossibly closer, imprinting the star into his palm for everyone to see the sealing of his fate. He lost all sense of time as he stood there, filling himself with everything that Emmanuel was because he himself had become empty for his vassal of God. ***
wooden chair. “No, I didn’t. I’m sorry, omi. I’ll buy their presents tomorrow and have my suit taken to the dry cleaners on my way to school,” he promised, smiling despite the wave of exhaustion overcoming his body. His mother smiled and reached forward to kiss his head. “What wonderful boys I have. One is getting married; the other is becoming a lawyer for his people. I am so, so proud of both of you,” Zahir smiled and held his mother’s wrists when she kissed him. “Go to sleep, albi. You need your rest for tomorrow. Is that boy Amram still bothering you? You know you can switch classes if he’s—” Zahir shook his head and sighed, letting go of his mother to rest an elbow on his desk. “He knows his place. And Harel’s the only good profes-
sor who’s willing to teach me. It’s just a year before I get my degree; just one more year until we can go to England, I promise. I’m the best student in my English class, so when we go there I can support us with a great job and still talk to whoever we want,” Zahir’s mother smiled sadly, as if a secret behind her lips tickled them so much all she could do was strain the frown. She nodded once and bade him a soft good night. The pink carnation was lying on his table, and he placed it in his pencil cup as his books shut and the moon trickled into his bedroom once more. He slept far more comfortably that night; so well in fact, he dreamt of Emmanuel, and his once-blue eyes glowed a fierce gold. To be continued...
It was around 11PM when the moon-like face of Zahir’s mother appeared in the doorway. She smiled proudly at her son bent over his studies, neck craned over the disaster of volumes of books and papers that somehow made sense to him. “Should I really have to tell you to go to bed?” She teased, twirling a pink carnation in her hand as Zahir shut his books and rubbed his eyes. “Where’s Harun?” He yawned, swiveling around in his chair to face his mother. “Your brother is out late tonight because of work. He’s been staying with Khadijah and her family for awhile; they’re going to get married this Friday. Didn’t you remember?” Zahir blinked and looked back at his desk to shift his calendar closer. There was a scribble of Arabic that read “wedding” on the Friday of this week. It was bolded and underlined thrice. Khadijah probably did it, since he didn’t recognize the handwriting. It was Wednesday now, and he hadn’t gotten his suit or wedding presents ready for them. He sighed and covered his eyes with cramped palms, leaning back on his “Whose Woods These are I Think I Know,” photograph by Aceso
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