November 2019
Midnight Writers
Table of Contents
Cover: “Inferno,” an illustration by Aya Hatashima “Hail to the King,” a manga by DIO This Page: “Burning,” an illustration by Faith Zhang Page 12: “Phoenix,” a manga by Aya Hatashima Page 3: “The Competition Part 1: Archer,” continued Ask Aphro & Dite
“Burn,” a poem by The Calico Cat
The Hues of Blue
“Aflame,” a story by Vérité “Tamamonoma,” an illustration by Momo
• An annoyed cousin asks for help • Atoned asks about airplanes • Blue talks about a fire
Monthly Otaku Column • Aya talks about the inspiration for her art
Page 4:
“Waiting by the Ocean,” a story by The Midnight Raven “Daydreams,” a photograph by Blue Serendipity “Thanksgiving,” a story by Luna
Page 5:
“(Stop?) Eating,” a poem by Phosphorescing Twilight “Misunderstanding,” a poem by S.B. “A Dinner in Japan,” a photograph by Aya Hatashima “A Feast,” a poem by The Calico Cat
Page 6:
“Food and Sh*t,” a rant by Calliope “Cypress Frame,” an illustration by Momo “Breakfast,” a photograph by S.B.
Page 7:
“The Last Note,” a story by The Midnight Raven “Unforgettable,” an illustration by Jennifer Kaechele “Late-Night Adventures,” a story by Blue Serendipity
Page 8:
“Chaos,” a story by S.B. “Go Eat a Salad,” a photograph by DIO
Page 9:
“Between the Leaves,” a story by Calliope “Meal of Gratitude,” a poem by The Calico Cat “Unfinished,” a story by The Cold Hearted Queen “Alone,” a photograph by The Calico Cat
Page 10:
“Trapped,” a story by Blue Serendipity “Serenade of the Sea,” an illustration by The Wine Merchant
Page 11: 2
“The Competition Part 1: Archer,” a story by The Midnight Raven
Page 13: Page 14:
“Autumn Fire,” a photograph by Artemis “Gone,” a poem by Luna “Warmth,” a poem by Blue Serendipity “Fire Haiku,” a poem by Calliope “The Fire Shaman,” an illustration by DIO
Page 15:
“Cyan Skies: Winter (2),” a story by Blue Serendipity
Page 16:
“Cyan Skies: Winter (2),” continued
Ask Aphro & Dite
Dear Aphro, How do I avoid an annoying cousin during Thanksgiving? Yours, Tired-of-It Dear Tired-of-It, The best way to avoid an annoying cousin is by not having a cousin at all. From the way you phrased this question, I’m led to believe that you already have one and don’t know a guy with the necessary set of skills to reverse the situation. No matter! You can still avoid your annoying cousin with ease if you simply find out what annoys them. For example, if they’re normal and don’t have any sort of worm in their brain they probably hate country music. Well strap on some overalls and blast Florida Georgia Line! They’ll be out of there quicker’in a buckin’ bull at the rodeo! With love, Aphro Dear Dite, How are airplanes born? What happens when two airplanes like each other, and do airplanes go to plane heaven when they die? Yours, Atoned Dear Atoned, As a goddess of love I’m perfectly equipped to answer this question. When planes love each other dearly, they begin to spend more time together. Eventually one thing comes to the next and they decide they want to make a little airplane. Then they contact Boeing who makes them one. Secondly, no. Airplanes either go to hell or the Air and Space museum. There is not much in between I’m afraid. With love, Dite
The Hues of Blue
issuu.com/midnightwriters wchs.midnightwriters@gmail.com
Monthly Otaku Column
In honor of this month’s fire theme, I’ve decided to tell you all about the time I was in a fire at a Giant. I was about nine or so at Hello and welcome to my second otaku the time, and I was there with my mom and column! This month, I mainly focused my little sister for groceries. At one point on fire for both my manga/cover and I decided that I wanted to go walk around coincidentally, I drew a fire themed cover the store by myself and my little sister (who last year in November (visit issuu.com/ must’ve been about seven at the time) tagged midnightwriters). I feel contented to see along with me. We wandered around for a the improvements from last year, but I while before ending up in the candy aisle. noticed that I literally came up with the I was about to pick up a Hershey bar when same idea from last year (personifying I heard the fire alarm blare throughout the fire and transforming the hair into fire, store. Now, normally people would leave the etc)... store as quickly as possible when they heard Anyway, in this month’s manga, a tweet the fire alarm. I wasn’t a very smart little kid, I saw on my TL inspired me to draw this as you may already know, so I just ignored story. There have been many cases where it. When my little sister asked me what the pottery artisans went insane after staring noise was, I simply said that it was probably into the fire too much and died in the fire. just a fire drill for the workers, and that it was I practiced on other sheets of paper to similar to the fire drills we had at school. I draw the flames as mystically as possible. picked up the bar of chocolate I wanted, and Inking is always a nervous process for my sister decided that she didn’t want candy. me and I always want it clean. Digital Instead she wanted a toy. As we neared the drawing is still a challenge for me since toy aisle, I noticed smoke billowing out it takes different skills from traditional from the backroom. It didn’t register in my drawing; the wings and flames in the mind at first as a sign of a fire, so I (stupidly) cover took me 3 hours to finish! But I kept walking towards it. Firemen appeared definitely had fun researching ballet poses from the aisles besides ours and stared at us and exploring colors. I am very satisfied incredulously when they noticed us. Why are with how it came out. you two still in here?! Get out of the store! My sister and I quickly ran back down the aisle, ducked under the checkout line barriers, and flew through the doors to the parking lot. We found our mom with the rest of the shoppers who stared at the grocery store with wide eyes. When I turned around to look at the Giant, I saw a large cloud of smoke slowly floating up into the night sky and it finally registered in my head. There had been a legitimate fire. So the lesson to remember from this story is, don’t assume it’s a drill! Special thanks to Sra. Steele, Blue
Serendipity, Aya Hatashima, The Calico Cat, Calliope, DIO, The Midnight Raven, and S.B. 3
Waiting By The Ocean By The Midnight Raven
The sound of her footsteps echoed against the hardwood of the docks as the girl walked. Cool waves rushed up against the planks and sprayed her ankles with mist. She was determined to walk until she reached the end of the dock despite the raw and splintered state of her feet. It was dark out, the only light she could see was that of the moon and the distant candlelight filling the windows of houses down the shore. The girl reached the edge, and the sound of the ocean lapping slowly filled her ears. She knelt down and sat on the ground in a position so that her legs hung off the edge. The girl clasped her hands in her lap and inhaled slowly, letting her shoulders rise and fall with her breaths. She looked out on the water, the dark sky was filled with storm clouds that dipped down close to the churning waves of the ocean. The girl had been coming here every night for two weeks. She walked the length of the dock and sat on the edge every time, letting her legs swing carelessly as she gazed out at the water. She came, and she waited. Waited until the sun rose back up from behind the sealine and she could barely keep her wide, blue eyes open. But even when exhaustion bit at her and the waiting felt pointless, she stayed. She stayed because she knew the moment she left early, he - her brother - would come home and she would have broken her promise. Her brother had told her that he would be back in a few weeks, and before he had hopped onto the boat with the other dozen men boarding, he asked her to promise to wait for him by the docks for when he would come home. She promised, and then he was gone. Only two weeks had gone by, but it felt like an eternity.
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The girl shook away her thoughts as the chilling mist of the ocean water sprayed her face. She sputtered and wiped at her cheek with her sleeve, the scratchy fabric causing more discomfort than the water itself had. When she lowered her arm, she saw a faint silhouette gracing the sea in the distance. The girl jumped up and squinted her eyes to see if that far off thing was a ship. She was fairly certain it was, but that was no indicator of if her brother was even on it at all. So she waited patiently, her hands shoved in the pockets of her dress, her foot tapping against the wood of the dock nervously. The ship took nearly ten minutes to reach the dock, and when it finally did, the girl’s heart was beating quickly in her chest. She took a step back so that the men could get off the boat, and the docks soon became swarmed with dozens of people. The girl stood up on her toes and tried to peak over the heads and scan the crowd for her brother, but she couldn’t see him. She searched for just a few minutes more before turning her back and slowly trudging back down the dock.
The sound of reuniting people talking and the crash of the ocean waves filled her head as she walked. The girl tilted her chin up towards the sky and gazed up at the winking stars above her. She sighed deeply and closed her eyes for just a moment, when suddenly, she heard something. Someone calling her name. She whipped around and looked back to where she had just sat on the dock, and then, her mind filling with a flash of recognition, she smiled and began running.
Thanksgiving By Luna
Sometimes I have moments where I need to be alone. Whenever I have an overwhelming urge to get away from everything that’s going on, I like to sit outside and stare up at the night sky in wonder. Every star is part of the night sky, they all belong against the dark canvas. It gives me hope that I too would one day find my spot against this canvas of life. It’s quiet outside in the dead of the night, and the air is chilly. Dozens of cars spill out of my driveway and trickles down the side of the road. Every once in a while, a lonely car slowly makes it’s way through and I find myself wondering what it’d feel like to be able to drive. To be alone with my thoughts, away from it all... I can hear my family behind me. Some are singing songs with each other in the basement. Some are board games in the living room. Kids are chasing each other through the halls and thundering down the stairs. I hear laughter. As I stare up at the night sky, I ponder over the things I’m thankful for. The stars are all spread apart from one another, yet each one has its own constellation. And so, I smile and listen to joyful laughter behind me. I’m thankful to have my own constellation.
“Daydreams,” Photograph by Blue Serendipity
(Stop?) Eating
Misunderstanding
I finish eating, I say I’m satisfied, Done. But a little voice says, No, eat a little more. You can afford it, You’re an athlete. Plus, the food tastes good, But another voice says, No, no, You cannot eat, You’re f a t . In fact, don’t eatThe other voice again. What? Last time you ate less You couldn’t survive a single practice. Eat. And so I end up eating more, Only to feel unsatisfied And guilty Looking in the mirror, Squishing my stomach Pinching ‘til it hurts Staring In dismay and disgust, At extra calories My body lumpily stored.
Green is blue.
By Phosphorescing Twilight
“A Dinner in Japan,” Photograph by Aya Hatashuna
By S.B. Red is black.
Rainbow is white. In our world created by Dynamic motionlessness. The frog flies more than The bird. Such is the View of the feebleminded Upon literature; Pretty like the damsel, But not noble as A warrior, or useful As a smith, Or numbers.
A Feast
By The Calico Cat Food floods the tables More than I can label From turkey, to cranberry sauce Not feasting would be your loss The turkey is a golden brown My mom bought it from downtown The mashed potatoes is a mushy white And I stare at it with delight The gravy is very creamy It’s all nice and steamy The cranberry sauce is a rosy red It makes a wonderful spread There are pies galore And I eat so much it makes me sore Of course we can’t forget the green beans It’s always important to eat your greens So join me on this wonderful day 5
Food and Sh*t
“Breakfast,” Photograph by S.B.
By Calliope
Thanksgiving is just around the corner and that means one thing: a whole h*ck of a lot of food (screw Annie and her censorship viva la revolution). Normally my family just makes the food the day before and then it’s just us and maybe some of my parents’ friends come over for dinner on Thanksgiving. THIS year however, is gonna be different. See when I was younger, for about five or six years, my dad and I would drive up to visit my dad’s brother’s family in Massachusetts. They live in this tiny *ss town outside of Boston and there is legit nothing to do there unless you go into the city. My cousin (aka my favorite person in the universe) and I would hang out for the four or five days that we were there and it would be great. My mom, however, travels a lot and never liked the idea of traveling for the holidays, so she and my sister would always stay home for Thanksgiving. Eventually, we decided we would rather spend the holidays as a family and stopped going up to my cousins for Thanksgiving. This year, once again, we are going up to their house, but now it is all four of us rather than just my dad and I. There are good and bad parts to this. The good part is that, since I never get to see my cousin, this will be a fun couple of days that we get to hang out for. Plus it means spending time as a family, which we don’t get to do often since both my cousins are in college and my
sister and I are in high school and super busy. However, there is also the bad part. See I love my aunt and uncle, I really do I swear. But my god can they not cook. Like I’m not sure if it’s just a Thanksgiving thing or what but d*mn. They made tofu turkey for Thanksgiving one year like WHO DOES THAT. And they never have pie. Thanksgiving is not thanksgiving without pie I don’t care what you say that sh*t MAKES the holiday. Then there’s my family which makes legit the best Turkey and stuffing I’ve ever had. Last year we had five different kinds of pie. My mom and I made an apple pie, blueberry cream pie, and a pecan pie. My moms friend brought a strawberry pie and a pumpkin pie (my personal favorite and if you don’t like it you’re wrong). Plus, my mom makes this “ambrosia salad” thing that is like whipped cream and fruit and marshmallows and oh my god it’s so good. So y’all can see the difference in food quality between our two families. Like my mom is having us bring food with us for sure but it won’t be the same as making it at home for us. *sigh*
6“Cypress Frame,” Illustration by Momo
Not to mention the fact that (because my dad is cheap af) we are driving there rather than flying. Our family does not do the big car thing and my mom refuses to drive so it’s gonna be all four of us stuck in my dad’s tiny ass Subaru for seven and a half hours. If I’m not already insane, this will push me over the edge I swear.
The Last Note
Late-Night Adventures
I shaded my eyes from the morning sun as I lugged my guitar case to the edge of the street corner. It was early, only a few commuters and the occasional jogger were out at this hour, and the sun was just beginning to peek out from behind the rooftops. I flipped open the top of my guitar case and propped up the top. I carefully took out my guitar, before slinging the sky-blue strap around my shoulders. I softly plucked the strings, checking to make sure each one was perfectly in tune. My fingers had long been calloused by the strings of my guitar, when I was first learning to play, I would bandage up the tips of my fingers and run them under the cool water of the sink to try to help ease the sting, but the more I played, the more I got used to the pain. After a while, the pain disappeared and I was just left with the faint callouses on the tops of my fingers.
As a first generation ABC, American holidays were generally thought of as an excuse to get out of work and party at a certain relative’s house. Sometimes they were just ignored in general; New Years and the Fourth of July don’t exist in my house. One holiday that we do celebrate however, is Thanksgiving. To be fair, we don’t really care about the details of the holiday, it really is just an excuse to all come together and eat a ridiculous amount of food. Anyways, the host of the party would change almost every year, allowing everyone to get a chance to get their house destroyed by the kids. One year (when I was in eigth grade maybe?) my family hosted a party. I’m not exactly sure what holdiay it was, but once again, we didn’t really care about the holiday. Now, in my family there’s an unspoken divide among the children. The eldest is just a year older than me while the youngest was a little toddler still stumbling over his feet. Usually my room would be packed with those that were around my age, middle schoolers or high schoolers. My sister, who was only one and a half years younger than me, somehow managed to get stuck with the slightly younger children. They ranged from 4th graders to early middle schoolers. Finally, we have my youngest sister who is 9 years younger than me. She hung out with the other toddlers and their group was generally ignored by us older kids. Anyways, the divide caused us to hang out and play games with our own groups. The older ones complained about their younger siblings, while the younger ones whined about their older siblings. That year however, Pokémon Go came out. I didn’t have the game, but every single one of my cousins did (excluding the toddlers of course). This game united us all and that divide was momentarily erased. Instead of playing pranks and yelling at each other, we all decided to go outside at 8pm and find a gym. As the one person who didn’t have the game, I just tagged along and acted as the navigator. Looking back, I don’t know why any of us (including our parents) thought that going out at night to play Pokémon Go without any adults with us would be a good idea. We ran across large busy streets like a line of ducks following one another, and us older siblings would shout at the younger ones to hurry up before they got run over. We walked on a hiking trail for a while as well, with our phone flashlights on to guide us. Then we went to a park and I had a swinging contest with one of my cousins as the others stood by the PokéStop. By the time the adults finally called us to go home, it was well past 11pm. We all then realized that it was kinda dangerous to be out and about so late by ourselves, but well... a mismatched group of 11 kids seemed to stand a good chance against the world.
By The Midnight Raven
I began to strum the opening notes of a song, and then closed my eyes and tilted my face upwards so it was warmed by the sun. I let the music overtake me. Let each note flit in my mind and fill my heart. I got lost in the sound, in my passion, and the whole rest of the world melted away. I no longer saw the towering buildings that cast shadows across the sidewalk, nor the glare from the sun that flashed in my eyes when I looked too far to the right. I let everything fade away as I lost myself in the music. I wasn’t perfect at guitar, I never would be. I made my mistakes and let my fingers slip to the wrong note but that’s what made the music so beautiful. When you make mistakes in music, it shows that you are human, it shows that you are there in the moment and just embracing the sound, not too caught up with making each and every note perfect. When I made a mistake, I kept playing. I took in a breath as I played out the final chords to the song. After the last note played, I exhaled deeply and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. Without music playing, I paused for just a moment and listened to the silence that filled the air. Then, I began again.
“Unforgettable,” Illustration by Jennifer Kaechele
By Blue Serendipity
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Chaos By S.B.
Arnold Grassner prison was the proudest building in all of Dupoint City. Massive black walls and straight line architecture seemed to cast a shadow in all directions. It stood 40 stories tall, and had four towers each connected at the corner, and it was made of a new carbon-fiber material that IBM’s artificial intelligence had just discovered. All of the federal prisoners in North America were housed there under various levels of security. Two guards were racing down an unidentifiable hall, speaking in a hush. “Where are we going?” asked the taller of the two. “Cell 38-6B.” The shorter man looked hardened to the prison guard life, covered in stubble, with an expression that could cut glass. The other seemed perhaps a little soft, with sleek, dirty blonde hair that he had tried to put into a comb over. “There seems to have been some sort of suicide,” said the shorter in a rough voice. “Suicide?” the taller looked puzzled. “There’s never been a suicide. Didn’t know it was possible here.” “I think there might have been a few,” said the shorter nonchalantly, he looked over his shoulder at a man walking in citizen’s clothes. “Usually they call off the tourism if there’s an incident though. “I think--” Suddenly, the building shook violently and debris went flying. The windows shattered and both of the guards tried to shield their ears from the sound of an explosion. A bomb had struck the building adjacent to them, and the blast was so powerful he had to close his eyes and drop to the floor. `The taller man opened his eyes, only to be hit with a massive bout of vertigo. The north wall had collapsed, and he stood maybe a foot from a 30 odd story drop, on a crumbling floor. The other guard was gone, and the explosion had set fire to some of the vinyl floor tiles.
floors seemed to be jumping to escape the fire. Alarms sang a terrible melody as the guard sat in the middle of the hall, at a loss for how to survive this. He looked at building two from the hole in the wall; it had completely collapsed. He could actually see that the bomb had struck below him. Sure enough, he heard screams from prisoners who tried to escape to the lower levels. Frantic but muffled. Desperate, and pitiful, they cried out for help. “THE FLOOR IS GONE” “WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE FLOOR IS GONE?” “I WENT DOWN THE STAIRS AND THERE WAS NO F—n FLOOR!” Sure enough, only the walls had been strong enough to withstand the blast. All of a sudden, a prisoner fell through the roof right next to him. “HEY,” said the prisoner, brandishing a shiv with a mad expression in his eye, “you’re coming with me.” The guard had no energy left to resist. He simply went with the man as they raced down the hall to an open fire escape. The prisoner spat at the ground when they reached it. “Not a single person on this whole damn floor had the brains to come here. That’s including you brainless!” The guard simply nodded as the prisoner began to make his way down the ladder. Wild winds whipped their faces as they stared down a steep drop. From this vantage point, it was apparent that only one wall remained at a certain point below them. “Why do you need me anyways?” asked the guard. “For that pin on your chest,” said the prisoner. “Yours says guard, mine says my cell number. From here on out, I’m guard and you’re prisoner 38-6B.”
“Holy Jesus!” “Oh my god!” Prisoners started to walk out of their cells, and chaos emerged. Prisoners frantically ran through halls, some were trying to scale down the building, and those on higher 8
“Go Eat a Salad,” Photograph by DIO
Between The Leaves
Unfinished
The strings, oh they pull. The Fate’s cruel laughter danced between us and it would be another year before they once more brought us together.
Curiosity: He had been on the forefront of my mind for a while now. His sparkling, happy eyes. His adorable giddy smile. His bubbly, energetic personality. He swarmed my thoughts at every moment of the day. I thought of him in class, and I planned out conversations as I walked home. One day, I decided to ask about him.
By Calliope
The thin red string that was us looped and twisted, giving glimpses and taunts before finally letting us meet for a second time. This meeting, at age seven, once more took place in the cold, but that day was bright and shining. A single November day, a few days into Thanksgiving break, allowed for the string to cross. I sat by my bicycle on the curb at the end of my street and looked up into the cloudy skies, wishing for the first snow. My mitten covered hands were tucked tightly into the pink jacket that my mother had bundled me up in before allowing me to go out and play and my hair blew around the confines of my hood. I had spent the better part of an hour riding up and down the street before getting tired and sitting down. As I sat, another girl came walking down the street holding a steaming cup. Her head was bowed to the wind and she was enveloped by her long blue jacket. She shuffled up to me, her cheeks bright with embarrassment or the cold, I could not tell which. As she reached where I sat, I looked up at her in confusion. “You looked cold so I asked my mom to let me give you some of the hot cocoa she made,” she explained in a single breath as she shoved the cup into my hands. I thanked her softly as I began to drink the cup of hot chocolate, staring down into it. I turned to ask her what her name was, to start a conversation, but she was already walking away. The string drew tight around me and I let the question die in my throat. Another missed opportunity and another barrier placed between us. The cup was left on the curb, a bit of paper to be blown away until nothing was left to prove we had ever truly met. Once more, I was pulled away by the strings, delaying what they knew was the inevitable.
By The Cold Hearted Queen
Heartbreak: Tension filled the room and I turned my head away to keep my watery eyes out of sight. I couldn’t go back now. Words flooded through my ears and echoed through my head. Slowly, it all stopped and I struggled for a response. Anger: Cancer, they had said, he had cancer. I twisted the opening of my sleeves and nodded as I listened. That had been such an easy explanation, but I should’ve known better. For years I’d been surrounded by the signs. Everyone knew, yet I had been carefully wrapped in blissful ignorance for so long. Understanding: He deserved normality, and no matter how much it hurts, I’m glad I was able to give it to him. No parent ever wants to tell their child their friend wouldn’t be around much longer. No parent ever wants to even think about it. Guilt: It hurts her to see you. It clicked in my head. Those moments of hesitation every time I said ‘hello’ and that distant look on her face the night we celebrated my 16th birthday. She sees her son when she looks at you. Oh how unaware I was. Grief:
Meal of Gratitude By The Calico Cat
We gather tonight Thankful for everyone here We smile with joy “Alone,” Photograph by The Calico Cat9
Trapped
By Blue Serendipity “Move!” The command was echoed throughout the street in many different tones. Terror. Anger. Frustration. I pulled my coat closer around me and spun around; my eyes scanned the crowds for a familiar face. A frantic woman shoved me to the side while a group of children caused me to stumble forwards. Hands grabbed my arms and I stared at a man with startled wide-eyes. “Have you seen my son?!” he cried. I shook my head, but he only tightened his grip on my arms. “He’s six, about this height, short black hair, brown eyes, he’s got a green hat on!” “I’m sorry sir,” I said, pulling myself away from his hold. The man immediately grabbed ahold of the person next to me, repeating the same question. “Patty!” “Jane! Where are you?!” “Micah! Micah!” A young teenager laid on the side of the street, blood pooling around him from an injury on the side of his head. I shoved through the hoard of frenzied people, ignoring the indignant and angry curses thrown at me. When I reached him, my stomach twisted and I fought the urge to throw up. The boy’s hands were still positioned around his head protectively, and the blood around him had frozen around him. I turned my gaze down the street and noticed more bodies scattered about. Slowly, I made my way to each of them. Dead. Dead. Dead. Some had family grieving around them, while others laid against the pavement alone. Perhaps their family didn’t even know what happened to them. The thought made me sick. Around me, the crowd surged eastwards. “They’re shutting one end of the street off!” exclaimed a woman near me. “What?” asked her husband incredulously. “They’re shutting us in?!” I don’t stay to hear the answer. I already knew it. Those that were unaware of the horror that was to come followed the moving crowd in confusion, while those that understood were running for their lives. As I ran I did my best to squeeze through families and around abandoned cars. Some people climbed onto the cars and ran over them in order to get ahead. “Please!” “Help!” “Move!” “I can’t find her!” “Get up!” Their screams were drowned out and ignored by the wind and the stampede of people. Hands grabbed at my coat, and
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my legs hit against fallen bodies, but I didn’t stop. I don’t want to die like this. The volume spiked to my left and I glanced over to see a streetlamp slowly tipping over. A group of men had attempted to climb up the streetlamp to get on top of a building. Unfortunately, the weight of multiple fully-grown men and the mob of terrified bodies caused the base of the streetlamp to give in. People shoved at each other to try and move out of the way but we were too packed together. I looked away at the last second. Some tried to break into the buildings, but it was no use. If they didn’t try to leave the street now, they’d get found eventually. Some tried to scale up the sides of the buildings only to fall to their deaths. Some even tried to head the opposite direction, foolishly believing that they would be able to fight their way out. I gasped as I slammed into the person in front of me. The person behind me only increased the impact. “What’s going on?!” shouted numerous people around me. I tried to squeeze through everyone, but it was impossible. Everyone had come to a complete standstill. Dread unfurled in the pit of my stomach and I listened closely for the news of what was happening in the front to reach where I was. They had blocked the other side.
“Serenade of the Sea,” Illustration by The Wine Merchant
The Competition Part 1: Archer
small suitcase and I was pulled into a car with blacked-out windows. Normally, I would question the necessity of the windows and ask questions to make sure I was going with who I thought I was, but you didn’t question the 5s. When I slid into the leather Everyone is defined by a number. On car seat, I was immediately handed a a scale from 1-5 to rate our importance name tag by the driver who shot me a to society. The 1’s, the outcasts. Those stern look in the rearview mirror. I ran banished from their homes, ignored my finger over the smooth, laminated by their loved ones, without any hope. plastic and flipped it over so I could The 2’s, those just barely scraping by read what it said. Archer, 3. Because but fueling the economy enough to be that was seemingly all that mattered deemed to have importance to society. nowadays, the name you could be recThe 3’s, the middle class, taking up ognized by and your number. Always the majority of our population. Not in your number. poverty, not in wealth, representing the balance, the center. The 4’s, those That first day passed in a blur, a with enough that they’re worries became smaller as their pockets quickly became fuller. Then finally, the 5’s, the leaders, the role models, the dream. What everyone wished to become, what so few did. Making only around 1-2% of our entire population, the 5’s were in the few but their influence was more widespread than any other. Number advancements were rare, but not impossible in our society. The range between a 2 becoming a 3, a 3 becoming a 4 and the opposite of both of those was the most common. Becoming a 5 was nearly unheard of. Nearly. That is why “The Competition” was created. To give 1’s, 2’s, 3’s and 4’s alike the hope that one day, they could become a 5 too. When brought up to fiveness from any previous level, the winners of “The Competition” were drowned in almost as much respect and admiration as they were money. It was every person’s dream. To enter “The Competition” in hopes of reaching their highest goal, to become a 5. Seemingly every person, except me.
By The Midnight Raven
When I got the letter that I was chosen for this year’s competition, it seemed like everyone in my family simultaneously began crying. I stood stony-faced as tears streamed down my mother’s face as she thrust the letter up into the air and shouted of my luck, our luck. By the next morning, my belongings had been stuffed in a
hazed whirl of makeup artists and fashion consultants, preparing me for my first appearance on “The Competition.” If I were to be a 5, I had to look the part. I didn’t see another person who would actually be in “The Competition” with me at all that whole day, and when I was finally released to my rooms, I sat silently, alone in the dark. I didn’t want to be here, I never wanted to be here. Being in “The Competition,” being a 5, would draw me so much more attention then I had ever wanted, I had been fine in the comfort of my 3 lifestyle. But change always comes and uproots you when you finally find your happiness. I blinked open my eyes and found
“Hail to the King,” Manga by DIO11
“Phoenix,” Manga by Aya Hatashima (Read from Left to Right
that I wasn’t in the room they had given me last night, but instead was met by the cool metal of a chair and a blinding light in my eyes. I shielded my face with my hand and let my vision adjust before lowering my arm and looking around me. Next to me on my right, sat another boy, his eyes tightly shut. Will, 4, His nametag read. I tilted my head to the left and saw a girl who stared back at me intently, Alina, 1. The girl gave me a small nod and mouthed to me, do you know where we are? I shook my head slowly and the girl nodded again, her dark brown braid bobbing with her movements. I looked forwards again, the intense light glaring in my eyes, and I took in a sharp breath. As I exhaled, I felt movement next to me and I glanced over to see the 4 shifting in his chair, adjusting to the light. The boy seemed to straighten his posture hurridly as he realized what was happening, but I must have been staring
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too long because he turned and gazed back at me. I gave him a sheepish look and turned forwards again, but from the corner of my eye, I could see a slight grin appearing on the boy’s face. Suddenly, a voice came booming from the quiet. “You were all chosen to come here for a reason.” I found my gaze trailing slowly down to the name tag pinned to my chest and the swooping font that wrote out my name and my number. Everyone was defined by a number, and I was content with mine. Perfectly in the balance of society, the center, a 3, and I had no interest in moving upwards. I didn’t want all that extra attention on me, I didn’t want to be dowsed in the light of the spotlight that society would put on me. But that wasn’t the only reason I didn’t want to become a 5. There was another reason,
buried down deep inside my mind that I willed never to reveal. The most important aspect of our society was proving our value so we could receive the highest number possible, but it was also about hiding our secrets. Hiding things so we could appear perfect to the public, to become a 5 and achieve that ideal life, suppressing our secrets until they became nothing but a thing of the past, a mistake, a regret. “Welcome, to “The Competition”.”
Burn
By The Calico Cat Crackling embers Flames erupt and blaze fiercely From just a mere spark
Aflame Vérité
The flames in the hearth crackled indifferently as Mathilde continued her lesson. “Higher, Mathilde,” the woman in the corner said encouragingly, “make the flames leap higher. There’s nothing in here that isn’t fireproof, you know.” Mathilde flinched as the flames spluttered out, then scowled, resuming her pace and building them back up again. “Madame,” she grumbled through gritted teeth as she stared, “it’s hard enough without me losing focus.” The woman chuckled and settled more comfortably in her seat. The lowered flames cast shadows throughout the room. Mathilde screeched as the flames died down again. “Why is this so hard?” “Patience, Mathilde. Rome wasn’t built in a day,” the woman tutted. “It’s no use, Madame Jemine. I can’t do it.” She dropped the flames entirely and began pacing frantically back and forth, the room cast entirely in darkness. Various crashes and grumbles were heard as she struggled not to trip. Madame Jemine broke the silence, casting her arms towards the fireplace and setting the room aglow again. “Don’t be ridiculous, ‘Tilde. You think I became what I am now with that attitude?” “I don’t have years, Madame! The ceremony is tomorrow!” “I’m telling you, child, there have been hundreds of magicians before you who were much less prepared then you are now. Some of them had only found out about their magic the day before the ceremony! It’s merely a formality, you know. No one will care if your flame isn’t as large as you want it to be.” “It’s precisely that I’ve been more prepared than those before me that matters, Madame! My parents expect so much more of me then a two-centimeter flame. I need to get better. I need to be prepared. Please, tell me what I’m doing wrong!” Madame Jemine huffed, her patience spent. “That, Mathilde, is exactly the issue! Magic is not about technicality! You don’t improve with more concise hand motions. Magic is about emotion, and if you don’t have a whiff of it you might as well be doomed.” “Well, I’d say I’m plenty angry now, but the flames aren’t getting any higher, are they?” “And that,” Jemine said, standing up and banishing the flame as quickly as she conjured it, “is exactly the reason for your lack of improvement! Fire is not fueled by anger-don’t pretend you don’t know this, Mathilde--fire is fueled by joy. Just as water is fueled by passion and air is fueled by serenity, fire takes its energy from joy. And you know
this. I’ve been giving these lectures for months.” Mathilde had the good grace to at least look somewhat ashamed. “Now, child,” Jemine said, seating herself. “Tell me. What is it about fire that brings you joy?” Mathilde was quiet for a moment. Then she spoke. “I like watching the flame dance,” she said uncertainly. “I also like the warmth, when you’re near it. And the lovely colors you can find throughout the fire.” “That’s more like it,” Madame Jemine murmured. “Be my guest, Mathilde, and have another try.” Mathilde took a deep breath and turned to face the hearth. Dropping her earlier scowl, she extended her arm. “That’s more like it!” Jemine crowed, laughing as the flames leapt merrily. Face shining, Mathilde allowed herself a moment to revel in her victory. Tomorrow she would be perfect, she promised herself. After all, what was joy if not this?
“Tamamonoma,” Illustration by Momo
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Sparkling Bright By Anonymous
I watch the shadows dance among the light As the wind causes embers to take flight It twirls through the air and sparkles in the night They dance like fireflies at a dizzying height Against the chilly breeze it puts up a fight Red and orange glows with a furious might Yet the fire begins to grow weak and slight Until slowly, they fade out of sight
Gone
By Luna Oh my marshmellow Fell into the firepit Well there goes my s’more
“Autumn Fire,” Photograph by Artemis
Warmth
By Blue Serendipity The flames lick at my fingers And exhale smoke, It’s breath stings my eyes, But I don’t move away, For the days are only getting colder while the flames only get warmer.
Fire Haiku By Calliope
It is cold outside They lit the court on fire Why are they like this
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“The Fire Shaman,” Illustration by DIO
Cyan Skies: Winter (2) By: Blue Serendipity
Mornings were always colder than nights on farms like these. Arlo was pretty sure it was because he had been sleeping all night and the lack of movement caused him to cool down. All he could do now was get moving before anyone spotted the car and thought to check it. If he was lucky, he could circle back and spend another night there. By the time it was noon, he had warmed up significantly and began planning out his next steps. Farmlands such as the one he was in were wide and deserted, mainly due to the lack of food. At the beginning of the winter, Sarah said everyone used to fight for control of a barn or silo. Groups of scavengers relaxed in the blood of the unlucky and ate greedily until there was no more. Then those scavengers began to starve and attempted to take over another silo only to realize there was no more food. There was a high chance Arlo could stay another night or so in the wrecked car without being found but it wasn’t guaranteed. He needed to stay moving during the day or else he’d freeze to death, so there was a higher chance for him to get spotted in the area. The last things he needed were govies or rebels scouring the open fields for him. Not only would it be easier for them to spot and catch him,
but it’d also be more likely to end with a fight between the govies and rebels. When the sun reached the trunks of the trees he knew he needed to make a decision. He had enough food to last him the next week or so and farmlands were relatively good places to go to avoid people. Ignoring the deeply wrong feeling in the bottom of his chest, he turned around and began walking back to the car. By the time he was a few kilometers away, he noticed the winds started to pick up and his muscles tensed. The air around him was humid and the clouds above him seemed to be getting darker with each step he took. A sense of urgency punched him in the chest and he began running towards the car as quickly as possible. The winds got stronger and stronger until every step felt like he was taking two steps back. Snow fell from the sky in quick diagonal lines, blurring the car and blending it into the rest of the colorless world. Arlo yanked the passenger door open but quickly found himself tackled into the snow. Some lone scavenger had found the car and taken advantage of the fact that the lock had been broken into. He was much thinner than Arlo was and had a wild animalistic glint in his dark eyes. For a frightening moment, Arlo thought he was infected. “Yer the Dunn soldier!” exclaimed the scavenger in surprise. Arlo slammed his hands against the scavenger’s shoulders and pushed the man off of him before
jumping up onto his feet and holding his hands up by his head. “Hey look, mate. I won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt me. There’s a blizzard coming and this car is the only safety we’ve got,” said Arlo slowly. Reasoning with scavengers was difficult but sometimes things turned out ok. Sometimes, it didn’t. “You really think I’d trust a govie like you?” spat the scavenger, split flying from his teeth. Arlo’s eyes noticed the slight movement of the scavenger’s hand and quickly pulled out his knife from underneath his coat. At the same time, the scavenger lunged forwards and slashed downwards with his own. Alro quickly grabbed his wrist with one hand and stopped the blade just before it dug into his chest. With his other hand, he swiped it across the man’s neck and tossed him backward. For a moment, Arlo stood there above the dying scavenger. The blood spilling from the man’s neck had an almost ethereal color to it, and it seeped into the crisp white snow around them. Blood was the most vibrant color in the world, mused Arlo humorlessly. His dark hair whipped into his eyes and he remembered the blizzard that was coming. He wiped the blood off of his knife on the dead scavenger’s pants and tucked it back inside his coat. Using the snow, he got rid of any blood he had on him and gazed at the scavenger thoughtfully. There was nothing from him that Arlo could take. The man’s clothes were thin and torn; it wouldn’t last
him a month. His knife was dull, and he had a couple of moldy biscuits stuffed in his pockets. Arlo just dragged him to the base of the tree and kicked snow over him before climbing back into the car. Blowing hot air onto his numb fingers, he pressed them all over his face to try and warm himself up. Arlo looked somberly out the window and knew that the blizzard would last at least a day or so. It would’ve been nice to have a bit of company. It took awhile for Arlo to get back into the swing of things but they were patient with him. They told him that they all had a job in their group. Sarah was their dealer, she talked to other dealers and did her best to get them the things they needed at the lowest cost. She had given him his knife. Fred and Eddie were the strongest of the group so they were in charge of building shelters or taking night watches. Vinnie was the navigator, he knew his way around their forest like the back of his hand, even when they couldn’t see through the storm. Jackie took care of food and water, he always made sure they wouldn’t run out. Frida was the medic, although Alro rarely needed her help. He healed much faster than the others. Eddie just said that it was probably because the gene that made him immune to the Russo Virus might be a little different than everyone else’s. Continued on Next Page
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Arlo’s job was to protect the group. Even though he didn’t remember how he learned how to fight, he could still take on the entire group at once. The way he moved was automatic. The moment there was a hint of danger some part of him turned on and he just knew what he needed to do. He could never explain it because he just didn’t know how he knew. It was confusing and frustrating but he learned not to question it. His memories weren’t coming back so there was no point in wasting his time trying to remember them. “Anything?” Vinnie asked when Arlo finished his rounds for the afternoon. Usually, he did a bit of scouting in the morning and evening as well. “Yeah. I think we should close the cave tonight, there are a couple of tire tracks by the river,” said Arlo gesturing over the hill. Fred tensed and looked up from the boot he was cleaning. Arlo immediately knew there was something wrong. “What?” “What type of tire tracks?” he asked. “I don’t know, tires,” answered Arlo in confusion. He hadn’t encountered tire tracks before but he was pretty sure it was just some idiot trying to drive to safety before the next snowstorm hits. There were very few people who were gusty and stupid enough to do so. “Were the tire tracks wider than usual?” Fred pressed urgently. The others stopped what they were doing and waited tensely for his answer. Arlo frowned and recalled what the tracks 16
looked like before slowly nodding. “They were uh, as wide as the length of my shoe,” said Arlo. The group immediately got up and began packing their things. “What? What’s going on? It’s just a govie truck driving through with supplies or some’n right?” “Govie truck tires are the length of Sarah’s feet. And we all know Sarah’s got smaller feet than ya,” said Eddie looking over at Sarah pointedly. Whenever Sarah’s boots got worn out and she was forced to wear someone else’s old ones, she’d have to stuff it with fabric to keep the boots on right. “Then what’s the worry for?” “The Rebellion. That’s what,” said Vinnie bitterly. “They just as bad as the govies. If they see you and think you’re an important soldier like the govies say you are, they gonna catch you and torture you for information.” Arlo’s face blanched and he glanced out of the cave towards the hills worriedly. It was hard to believe that getting his face seen just once by the govies would cause him this much trouble. Eddie placed a hand on his shoulder. “S’alright, Arlo. If there’s really rebels here they’ll pro’ ly be here for a while. We’ll get outta here and set up camp somewhere far away. Trust us, we’re yer family. We protect each other.” Waking up felt like he was lifting twenty pounds with his eyelids. His head lolled from side to side and that was when he realized
he was sitting up. Every muscle in his body tensed and he pried his eyes open against the overwhelming urge to sleep. Instead of the small cramped car he had been sleeping in, he was now in a square room with metal walls and a singular door in front of him. Someone had drugged him, Arlo realized. That was why he was feeling so sleepy. Someone had drugged him and bound him to a little steel chair in front of a metal table. His hands were stuck in a black box resting on the table and he was unable to move his fingers. Glancing down, he realized his ankles were shackled to the steel chair. Both the chair and the table were bolted down to the floor. Another chair was placed across from him but this one wasn’t bolted. Fear pulsed through him as he wondered who it was that had taken him. It had to be either the govies or the rebels. Arlo couldn’t decide which one was better. As the sleepiness began to wear off, he realized that it must’ve been the rebels. The govies would’ve put him in a cell until the govie who caught him received the bounty. Then they’d probably kill him. The rebels, however… Vinnie said the rebels would torture him for information and Vinnie was almost never wrong. The room he was in looked far too much like an interrogation room than a cell. The sound of the doorknob turning caused him to look up from his bound hands and glare at the person who entered. Much to his surprise, it was a
woman with dark golden hair and forest green eyes. She looked a few years younger than himself and wore a loose long-sleeved blue blouse tucked into a white skirt that ended just above her knees. Arlo stared at her in disbelief. No sane person would wear clothes so thin and leave themselves so vulnerable to the cold. It was then that he noticed he was no longer wearing his jacket and coat. Instead, he wore just the dark green short-sleeved shirt he’d been wearing for years and his long black pants he had traded five matches for. The room felt cool, like the cave when all seven of them were in it and the boulder blocked the cold from getting in. “Hello, Lieutenant Dunn. My name is Dr. Elaine Valleé. You may call me Dr. Valleé,” said the woman calmly. She sat down in the chair across from Arlo. “Govie? Or rebel?” asked Arlo lowly. Instead of answering him she just placed a stack of cream-colored files neatly on the table in front of her. Then, she placed one hand over the other on top of the files and stared at him blankly. Frustrated, he repeated himself in a louder, harsher tone. “Govie, or rebel?!” Her head tilted to the left slightly and she smiled. “Rebel.” To Be Continued...