November 2020
Midnight Writers
Table of Contents
Cover: “In the Garden,” an illustration by Jennifer Kaechele
This Page: “The Vibe Of That One Really Hot Girl
From Barbie: Princess And The Pauper, Annalise,” a photograph by Calliope
Page 3:
Ask Aphro & Dite
• Someone needs help getting better at Among Us • Dite gets annoyed
The Hues of Blue
• Blue does something you shouldn’t do
Monthly Otaku Column
• Aya discusses her manga and gives a recommendation
Page 4:
Page 10:
“Feathers Flying,” a poem by The Midnight Raven “Welcome!” an illustration by Cupid “A Conversation With Myself,” a poem by Luna
Page 11:
“Cottagecore Dreams,” a story by Anonymous “Petit Trianon,” a manga by Aya Hatashima
Page 12:
“Resiliance,” a poem by Lola “Golden Days,” a photograph by The Observer
Page 13:
“Adelaide (2),” a story by Blue Serendipity “Delicate,” a photograph by The Calico Cat
Page 14:
“Adelaide (2),” continued “Among Us, As Presented by Someone Who’s Never “A Quiet Autumn,” a photograph by The Observer Played,” a story by Vérité “Among Us Black Friday,” an illustration by The Observer
Page 5:
“Among Us, As Presented by Someone Who’s Never Played,” continued “Arise from the Blue,” an illustration by Aya Hatashima “Hail to the King,” an illustration by Bleach Lord “Discussion Time,” a poem by Blue Serendipity
Page 6:
“The Burning Day Part 2,” a story by The Midnight Raven “Girl With Ink,” an illustration by Cupid “An Autumn Jacket,” a poem by Lola
Page 7:
“Violets,” a story by Vérité “They Can’t Make Up Their Minds What Color To Be So They Are Pink, Blue, And Purple. As A Bisexual, I Respect That,” a photograph by Calliope
Page 8:
“Violets,” continued “A Cute Mushroom,” a poem by The Cold Hearted Queen “Cottagecore,” a poem by Luna “You Take A Breath,” a story by The Midnight Raven “WE:TH,” an illustration by Viento de Levante
Page 9:
“To Be Chinese-American On Thanksgiving,” a rant by Blue Serendipity “The World Serpent,” an illustration by Bleach Lord 2
issuu.com/midnightwriters wchs.midnightwriters@gmail.com
Ask Aphro & Dite Dear Aphro, How do I get better at among us? Yours, Sus Dear Sus, It sounds like you need to get better at lying. First of all, you have to believe in what you say to be believable. Be passionate about your lie, and make sure that it sounds truthful. Always have an alibi, but make sure no one can disprove it. I suggest using sabotages strategically, one of the most common uses is pulling O2 after killing in electrical. The doors and vents can also be very helpful as they keep people in or out of a room, and you can make an easy escape. Just be careful and pay attention to cams! You don’t want to be caught in the act. With love, Aphro Dear Dite, Are you ready for Christmas? Yours, Jingles Darling Jingles, First of all, this is an advice column. This doesn’t seem like a question that requires advice to be given. Second of all, it’s November. We haven’t even had Thanksgiving yet! Save the repetitive Christmas music and flashy string lights for the next month. Now, before you tell me to stop hating on Christmas, I’d like to say that I love that holiday. I’m just sane and acknowledge the fact that there’s still a holiday and nearly five weeks in between now and then. I don’t need to be driven crazy by the sound of sleigh bells until then. With love, Dite
Special thanks to Sra. Steele, Blue Serendipity, Aya Hatashima, The Calico Cat, Calliope, Bleach Lord, The Midnight Raven, Cupid, and Vérité.
The Hues of Blue Disclaimer: I do not encourage the actions taken in the story. About two years ago, I made a couple of friends during summer vacation. We were on a seven-day cruise, and we spent most of the time on the ship. For this story to make sense, you’ll need to know that there were 14 floors and three areas you could find stairs/elevators. They were at the front, middle, and end of the ship. It was 1AM when we all decided we were bored. Everything was closing down for the night, and none of us wanted to go to bed. I have no idea who suggested the idea first, but someone decided they wanted to knock on someone’s door and run away. The others thought it would be hilarious and quickly agreed. Even though I thought it was a bad idea and that we were definitely going to get in trouble, I went along with it. At first, we would all run down the halls and knock on a door before running off to go up or down a couple flights of stairs, but we quickly found a much more efficient way to pull this off. Me and someone else would stay in an elevator and keep the doors open for the others to use as a speedy get-away. It worked perfectly as I really didn’t want to be directly involved with what they were doing. And so, our rambunctious group of 9 annoying kids crammed in the elevator and set off to cause chaos and confusion. We went to each floor on the front of the ship in a random order, as a strategy to not get caught. Once we had gone to all 14 floors, we decided to run to the other side of the ship and annoy them as well. While we were running, however, we ran into security. I thought my heart was going to stop dead from fear. We all stopped dead in our tracks, stared at them wide-eyed and terrified, before turning the other way and running up three flights of stairs. We ran until we were on the other side of the ship in a secluded area before stopping to breathe. Safe to say, we all went to bed after that.
Monthly Otaku Column
One of the themes was cottagecore and I was pretty excited for this because I like to draw nature. I relaxed and did my best to express the beautiful nature I saw when I visited Petit Trianon in the Versaille. Almost all of the panels in the manga were based on my photos I took at Petit Trianon. The manga, Rose of Versailles inspired me into the world of history. The manga depicts life in the palace with both a romantic and realistic taste. The plot building up to the French revolution was very interesting and the romance between Axel von Fersen and Marie Antoinette was tragic. It is mind blowing to think how the author managed to draw this huge scale drama while balancing the romantic and realistic aspects of the story. The english translation was recently released so if you like historical romance, I highly recommend this classic masterpiece of Japanese shoujo manga. This month I (finally) got invested in one particular anime show that is becoming explosively famous around the world: Demon Slayer. The movie was just released a few weeks ago in Japan and it is already reaching the 3rd highest grossing movie in Japan. It already surpassed many of the classic Ghibli films and almost the famous movie, Your Name. I’ve acknowledged its fame since last year when I saw many classmates (before the pandemic) putting Demon Slayer merch on their bags but I never expected the show to be that famous so our family decided to check up on it. The unique worldview that incorporated both traditional Japanese history and custom and elements of western gothic is astonishing and I am left off every episode wondering what would happen next. Please watch this too!!!!
3
Among Us, As Presented by Someone Who’s Never Played
“I wasn’t near electrical--I don’t know how Pink came to the conclusion. I was in admin!” “Hang on,” Purple says. “I remember seeing Green across the hall from electrical, too. So it wasn’t just Blue.”
By Vérité
Green scowls. “And how, Purple, did you see me near electrical if you weren’t there yourself?”
“Listen,” Red says, “it’s very simple. It couldn’t have been me, because I was in the other room and I am the only reason any of you have a working light fixture right now.”
“Good point,” Purple mutters with a disgruntled glance to the side.
Green scoffs. “You’ve had it out for Teal since the start of the game. Who else would it have been? Blue?” “Actually, I had my eye on the cameras,” Pink pipes up, “and Blue was suspiciously close to the electrical room before Teal was killed. I wouldn’t rule them out just yet.” “Thank you, Pink,” Red says, just as-“Excuse me?” Blue screeches. “I was nowhere near electrical! I was on the other side of the building!” “I saw what I saw.” “Clearly you didn’t!” “Personally,” Purple says from the corner, “I think it’s rather suspicious how Red immediately jumped on the defense. Not to mention that the light fixture actually isn’t working after all.” There’s a pause, followed by a litany of shouts.
“Anyways,” Green continues, “Let’s review, shall we? Red has, one, had it out for Teal since the beginning, two, not completed the task she claimed she was performing as her alibi, and three, consistently tried to cast blame on everyone else as a way to draw attention away from her. So, is it Red or what?” “It isn’t me!” Red’s standing up now, accusing finger in Green’s face. “How about we talk about how you’ve consistently tried to shift blame on me? Does nothing about that read suspicious to you? Or about the fact that Pink saw Blue in electrical before the murder was committed? Does that not seem suspicious to you?” “It. . . does.” Pink mutters. Purple sighs. “Look, I think we have enough information. Let’s just get this over with.” “Fine.” “Fine.”
“Are you kidding--” “What do you mean, it isn’t working, I just fixed it-“I told you, Pink, it wasn’t me--” “It was sabotaged afterwards, I swear it was sabotaged afterwards--” “Guys,” Pink sighs, “guys, please. Back to the topic at hand?” It takes a few minutes, but everyone settles down. Red, who’s metaphorically red in the face, takes a deep breath. “I fixed the light fixture. I swear. It must have been sabotaged just before the body was found. Besides, can we please talk about the fact that Blue was actually near electrical, while the rest of us were spread across the building?” 4
“Among Us Black Friday,” Illustration by The Observer
In the end, Red gets the shaft. Green votes for Red, Purple votes for red, and Blue votes for Red. Pink and Red, the two outliers, vote for Blue and Green respectively. “See?” Red shouts as she’s escorted out, and her status is revealed. “See? It wasn’t me!”
“Dammit! I was so sure.” Green rubs his temple with a sigh. Pink, on the other hand? Pink. . . smiles.
Blue slams their hand on the table with a muttered, “Arise from the Blue,” Illustration by Aya Hatashima
Discussion Time By Blue Serendipity Are you really going to trust Red? They said they were in electrical, But I swear I was running ahead Of them a second ago. And you, Yellow, What were you doing In the engines below, Were you sabotaging? Now now, dear Orange, Please calm down, But I think I saw you lunge At me right before Pink was found. Purple, are you implying That I am the imposter? It’s as likely as pigs flying! Clearly it’s— What? No! Who voted for me? Red, Yellow, Purple, They’re all wrong, you’ll see! Oh, this idiocy makes my blood curdle!
“Hail to the King,” Illustration by Bleach Lord
Orange was ejected. 5
The Burning Day Part 2 By The Midnight Raven
After inhaling sharply, the girl snapped her eyes open and let go of her grip on the letter, watching it flutter down into the snapping jaws of the blaze. Watched as the fire singed the parchment’s edges and surrounded the words “Dear Farrah.” Seeing the swirls and dips of that handwriting again, the girl’s heart ached within her chest. Just a short time ago, that sight would have filled her with an indescribable amount of pure happiness. But now? Now she was just reminded of that emptiness that had submerged her after she had read those words. The night before the girl had received the letter, she had stood at the shore, the chill water lapping against her feet, and her chin tilted up towards the sky. With Daphne’s hand in her own. They had run with the tide, kicking up droplets of water in their midst, and danced under the moonlight’s glow, undoing the ribbons that held back their hair and let the breeze rush through it. And while under the stars’ radiance, with their arms wrapped tightly around each other, they promised that one day soon, they would leave this madness together, and go where expectations and responsibilities meant nothing unless they themselves wished for it. When the girl returned home in the darkness of night, she couldn’t seem to shake the memories of Daphne’s golden hair that glistened with the moon’s shine, and the light sound of her laugh. A smile stayed persistent across the girl’s face for hours, until the letter came. A letter of abandoned plans, and of both promises broken and promises kept. A letter that left their dreams lying broken on account of Daphne’s compliance to those who only saw her as a girl gone astray. A letter signed with goodbye.
A single tear dripped from the girl’s eyes as the signing of Daphne’s name turned to ebony ash, the droplet trailing down her cheek and falling to the flame’s greedy hands. The girl stood silent, waiting for that feeling of release. Those emotions, those memories, to soften and drift away with the billows of smoke. But they didn’t. The girl stared into the fire, her eyes reflecting their orange glint, with the empty box still lying in her shaking hands. All her life, the girl had been told that there was some unknown quality to “The Burning Day,” something that made the hurt of her memories soften, something that would guide her into moving forward without this pain that darkened her mind. But it was nothing but whispered fables that were carried by the breeze. For as the girl stood frozen by the bonfires, her emotions did not lighten, her memories did not dissipate, and the ache within her only seemed to grow. She felt empty, so empty. The girl turned sharply on her heels and began to walk quickly from the crowd, the fires, “The Burning Day,” all of it. Her head was buzzing and her heart pounded against her ribs, and with one short breath, the girl broke into a run. The trail of glowing candles passed in a teary blur and instead of returning home as she had promised, the girl ran further and tripped down the stone steps that lead to the shore. She collapsed into the cool sand and brought her legs up to her chest, allowing her to rest her tear-stained cheek against the top of her knee. She stared out at where the dark waves met the star-scattered sky, the box carved with flowering trees lying next to her. The girl wept until there were no salty tears left and she reached out in the space next to her, forgetting that Daphne, with her golden hair and freckled nose, did not sit by her side. The girl was alone by the dark waves of the shore, and no burning flame could change that.
An Autmn Jacket By Lola
Bring me warmth, Something to wrap around myself When the world grows hostile. Thaw my frozen fingers, And hold them steady When they shake in fear. Stay with me, Sheild me from the bullets When the wind turns on me in anger. 6
“Girl With Ink,” Illustration by Cupid
Violets
By Vérité There’s a cottage at the corner of the dirt path’s turn into the woods. It’s a quaint thing; the sloping roof is missing a fair few shingles, and the walls are well worn and crumbling here and there. There’s a green, lively moss growing on the doorstep and a determined ivy climbing its way steadily up the walls. The windows are wide open during the day, and the scent of pies and jams waft out as the sound of humming mingles in the air. Every now and then the door will creak as its inhabitant makes her way out of the house for a mysterious outing. “Careful,” say the townsfolk, to their children and their visitors, “careful.” They say it’s a witch that lives there, alone and bitter and oh so unnatural.” “You ought to avoid her,” they warn in vicious whispers. “You don’t know what she’s like.” To the children, they say, “You don’t want to end up like the witch in the cottage across from the woods, do you? Alone and miserable? With no money and husband to your name?” A particularly sharp tongued neighbor wonders aloud if the witch is contagious. The townspeople let the idea marinate. You never know, with a woman like that. But the witch, whatever her name may be, sings with a lovely, clear reed-pipe voice, and her laughter can be heard bubbling out over the wind. She grows flowers and vegetables and every Sunday she makes her way to the town’s stone-cut center with a stack of blackberry pies for a pittance each, her loyal orange tabby named Eloise by her side. She whisks in and out of town with cheery waves and sparkling warm brown eyes, hair twisted in a bun and varnished locket clasped around her neck, and the townspeoples’ collective gaze seems to slide off her like water slipping down the side of a sieve.
shaped rocks that she swipes back from the schoolteacher’s desk after getting them confiscated. She daydreams all too often, staring out the schoolroom windows with a gleam in her eyes, but knows her times tables back to front and answers with lightning speed when the school teacher slams her hand on the desk. Sometimes she picks a daisy from the gardens and twirls it around her fingers as she waits for the clock to chime three. Her eyes are always drawn to the beaten dirt path as it curves into the trees. “She’s an odd duck, that one,” the townsfolk cluck at her parents, “Better look out for her before she comes back home with frogspawn in her pockets.” The girl doesn’t come back with frogspawn in her pockets, but they hold their breath all the same. She does, however, gaze at the dirt path, time and time again. And one day, with her parents out at the market, she plucks a blackberry into her mouth, ties her hair back with a piece of twine, and sets down on the path with a daisy twirling between her fingers. The cottage is still there, unchanged as ever, melodies floating through the air and an ethereal sort of laugh echoing through the trees. It doesn’t sound like the witch’s--everyone in town knows her laugh is sharper, shorter. The windows are open, and she can see Eloise the tabby perched delicately on the table. The witch steps into view, rolling up her sleeves and sending a smile back at something or someone in the depths of the cottage. She slaps a lump of dough onto the counter overlooking the window sill, and begins to knead. The girl stares. The witch looks up. “Hello, dear.” she says gently, after a moment. “What’s your name?” “They Can’t Make Up Their Minds What Color To Be, So They Are Pink, Blue, And Purple. As A Bisexual, I Respect That,” Photograph by Calliope
“She was a strange one,” the townsfolk say, “when she was young. Always winding up in the woods, getting into mischief. Bursting to the brim with the oddest trinkets and trifles. And did you hear what she did to the mayor’s daughter?” They shake their heads and cluck their tongues. “She’s a witch, through and through. I don’t even want to imagine what I’d find if I looked in her cottage.” There’s a young girl in town, with her front teeth slightly crooked and dark hair in two messy braids. She comes back home with overalls splattered in mud and oddly 7
“Lillian,” stutters the girl. She fiddles with her overalls. A giggle echoes from indoors and the witch turns to shoot the culprit a glance. “Well, Lillian,” the witch turns back. “it’s very nice to meet
The girl considers. She smiles. She skips back to the village with a violet in her hair.
A Cute Mushroom
Cottagecore
Red dotted with white, I sit underneath the tree, Hiding from your eyes.
Free-flowing dresses, And crowns made of pink flowers, Form my wishful dreams.
By The Cold Hearted Queen
You Take A Breath
By The Midnight Raven The air is quiet, the only sound coming from the dance of wind through the tree branches above, as soft moonlight filters through the leaves to send faint kaleidoscope patterns across the ground. You lean against the white fence of your yard, fidgeting with the sleeves of your coat, pulling and stretching on the navy blue fabric nervously. You tilt your chin upwards and stare up at the stars above, connecting them to form the constellations that you have had memorized since you were young. Although your hands and mind move continuously and at a quick pace, it isn’t enough to distract you from the thoughts lingering in the back of your mind. You exhale deeply and straighten your posture away from the support of the fence and begin walking, the ground below you switching from grass to concrete. As you move, your hands shoved into the pockets of your jacket, flashes of her come to your mind. The way her ginger and auburn hair sways when she walks, and the golden maple leaf studs that always dot her ears. You come to the end of the street and glance at the white writing of the street signs, despite your general knowledge of navigating your home town. You know where you’re supposed to go, but you feel lost. You bite down hard on your lip, a nervous habit, before turning right on to Azalea Street. Her street. You know that she doesn’t feel the same way you do, but you have to tell her, you can’t let it keep building up. You walk slowly down the road, glancing at the colonial-style homes. Their brick exterior and brightly colored doors and shutters passing in a blur. This street floods you with memories, memories of when you were younger and used to ride your bikes together down the uneven pavement, the chorus of wheels spinning, gears grinding, and carefree shouts. Another step brings you to your middle school years, when you and her would lay in the dewy grass, watching the clouds drift by 8
you. Would you like a flower?” She plucks a violet neatly off the windowsill and twirls it between her fingers.
By Luna
and talking about whatever came to your mind first. One step closer to her house and you’re brought to more recent memories, where you and her sit on her front steps, with your back against the door, listening and talking, a time defined by silence and noise. With the final memories fading, you stand here now, next to the cherry red of her mailbox, looking up at the glass of the windows and feeling your heartbeat escalate. But you can’t back down now. You walk forward, eyes glued on the ground below you, and when you reach the top of that final step, you raise your hand. A deep breath in, hold on to it, then breathe out. Your shoulders rise and fall and you squeeze your eyelids shut, ignoring everything but the sound of your own heartbeat. Then, you bring your hand down against the forest-green wood of the door, the sound of your knock ringing out against the quiet of the night.
“WE:TH,” Illustration by Viento de Levante
To Be Chinese-American On Thanksgiving By Blue Serendipity This year, my mom jokingly decided during dinner that my sister and I will be in charge of the Thanksgiving meal. Can any of us cook? Nope. In the previous years we would all gather in a relative’s house and the adults would all cook in the kitchen. Obviously, that can’t happen this year. Even when it did happen, the food we had as our “Thanksgiving Meal” were distinctly Chinese. We didn’t have the classic turkey and gravy, or the pumpkin and apple pies. Instead we had rice, chicken, lobster, crab and other traditional Chinese dishes. After growing up eating such foods, I actually ended up preferring Chinese food over American food. To have a Thanksgiving meal made up of traditional Thanksgiving dishes feels unnatural in a way. My sister didn’t agree. While the idea of a turkey and pie didn’t appeal to her, she still held a fondness for American food. And so, while we were coming up with hypothetical Thanksgiving meal ideas, we couldn’t decide on anything. In the end, we jokingly told our mom to buy a rotisserie chicken from Costco and call it a day. Everyone at the table agreed wholeheartedly with the decision and our hypothetical Thanksgiving meal was finalized. Will it actually happen? We’ll see. This conversation however, has brought up an interesting topic. I was telling someone about this conversation, and mentioned that Thanksgiving wasn’t a holiday that my family really celebrated. They in turn, asked why not? After all, my family were American citizens. My parents were immigrants, but American citizens nevertheless. It brought to light a topic that I had reflected on various other times in my life. Why was my family so isolated from American culture and society, while other ethnicities managed to integrate?
different things I could talk about here, but for the sake of the theme, I’ll start with food. I’m sure many of you all are familiar with stereotypical American food. I’ll admit, I don’t have much experience with it so whenever I think about American food only a few things come to mind. But such foods are drastically different from the traditional Chinese food my mom cooks. I still remember the embarrassment of bringing dumplings to school in Elementary school. An experience that I have in common with another Chinese friend. Dumplings looked incredibly different from everyone else’s food, and they smelled different. The moment I opened my lunch container the smell was the first thing others would notice. Dumplings don’t smell bad. They just smell different. Finally, there was the location we lived in. The US doesn’t have a lot of Asian people. According to the US census in 2019, Asians only made up 5.9% of the population. But here, in both Potomac, roughly 20% of our demographic is Asian. And from what I noticed in Churchill, there’s a lot of Chinese people. So perhaps my family felt comfortable being surrounded by other Chinese people and never felt the need to integrate. This topic could definitely turn political real quick, but let’s not do that. My sisters and I are pretty American, I would say. We’re all fluent in English, and we’ve both taken in American and Chinese culture as our own. The two cultures usually meld well together, but sometimes they clash, like they do when it comes to Thanksgiving. But sometimes that’s for the best, because my sisters and I have begun shaping our own culture. A fusion of American and Chinese, one that fits our label “Chinese-American”. Besides, a Thanksgiving meal with me and my sister cooking is just asking for food-poisoning. “The World Serpent,” Illustration by Bleach Lord
The first reason I came up with was language. Chinese is a drastically different language from English, and learning English as a Chinese speaker was difficult. I watched my family struggle to form words that I found natural, and wherever I tried to correct their pronunciation it only induced confusion. Their frustration with speaking English caused them to avoid having to speak to others and to find comfort and refuge with other Chinese-speakers. I noticed from a very young age how my parents acted around and reacted to English-speakers vs. Chinese-speakers. Then there were the culture differences. There’s numerous
9
Feathers Flying
By The Midnight Raven
“Welcome!” Illustration by Cupid
The bird stands atop the branches of an oak tree, Her black feathers glinting with the autumn sun. She watches over her nest filled with five, smooth eggs settled within, Keeping a careful eye as she balances on tired legs. When the breeze rushes by forcefully enough to send her feathers flying on the air, She stays and perches by the nest. When winter comes and the tree’s leaves start to tumble down to the Earth, She stays and nestles next to her eggs to keep them warm. When the night falls and she hears the sounds of distant predators, She stays and snuggles in close, holding her eggs tight. The bird stays and she stays, Watching time and loose leaves and feathers fly, Until one morning with the sun glinting strong, The eggshells start to split down the side like shattered glass. And when the baby birds finally break free and their tiny “peeps” ring out, She stays and brings them under her plume the color of the inky night. And soon, the bird stands atop the branches of the oak tree, Her eyes shining with a mother’s pride, As she teaches her young birds to fly.
A Conversation With Myself By Luna Hello. It’s been a long time since I saw you, But it doesn’t look Like much has changed. Will you smile a bit more, Wide and bright, And genuinely? Stop looking in the mirror For this is you. Please, Don’t doubt yourself.
Cottagecore Dreams
she made a visit, and she was running low on flour and sugar. If she was going to head into town she might as well bring a few things to sell.
It was beautiful. Emerald green vines trailed up and down the small cottage in the woods, consuming its left side. Leading up to the door were round flat stones placed in a messy curved path. Baskets of flowers hung from the edge of the roof, attracting swarms of butterflies and tiny humming birds. The path ended gradually before stopping completely a small stone bird bath.
The cherry tree was home to a little family of squirrels who would energetically scamper down to a low branch whenever they saw her. Occassionally the girl would bring a few peanuts for them to eat. In return, the squirrels avoided eating all of the cherries. At the bottom of the tree, two small brown rabbits hopped out curiously. They hopped around her feet, attempting to ask her for a treat. With a small giggle, the girl places a carrot down in front of them.
By Anonymous
A girl with long brown hair hummed cheerfully as she strolled down the path with an empty basket. With every step her yellow dress swished and swayed around her knees. Reaching the chorus to the tune she was humming, she increased her volume and spun gleefully. Instead of going to the bird bath, she headed to the back of the cottage where lush rows of berry bushes outlined the base of an apple tree. Blueberry muffins. Strawberry jam. Apple pie. She paused in the middle of her picking and wondered if she should see if the cherries were ready to pick as well. The townsfolk adored her cherry jam. It had been a while since
She remembered when she first arrived at the cottage and how lonely it had been at first. After growing up in the city her entire life, the lack of hustle and bustle and people was shocking. Over time, she began to grow fond of the peace and calm. The woodland creatures became companions and kept her company throughout her days. Living in a cottage in the middle of the woods wasn’t for everyone, and the girl had been close to moving back home at the beginning, but there was a beauty to living so intertwined with nature. It was a dream of life and calamity. With a smile, the girl walked back into her cottage.
“Petit Trianon,” Manga by Aya Hatashima (Read from Right to Left)
11
Resiliance By Lola
I lightly touch a snow white petal, My eyes admire its purity. It was sick, Roots black, rotted, And slowly dying, But beautiful nevertheless. It sits in my room, Weeping white tears, And wrinkling up it’s leaves– Shining jades That had been reduced To dull stone. Hope arrives in the form of faith.
To hopefully end my grief, When I spot a jade leaf, Tiny, young, and alive, Nestled in the middle. Air floods through my lungs, As life weakly struggles to continue. I watch in awe, When the leaf begins To replace the one before, Day by day, it lives. I found strength in a flower, Whose beauty masked it’s resilience, A silent companion, Who urged me To continue, And thrive.
Faith that my scissors, The ones that were cutting off The rot and the dead, Would do more good, Than it would harm. A yellowed leaf greets me, Mournfully and lifelessly, One quiet somber morning. I sit in front of a skeleton, Its stem bare of flowers, And leaves dwindling in number. Stifling a sob, I hold my head in my hands, And allow my failure, To consume my thoughts. It was unsavable. Dead. I lift my head with the intent Of removing it from my room
12
“Golden Days,” Photograph by The Observer
Adelaide (2)
By Blue Serendipity For the first three hours, all was well. Laura was enamoured by the baby and created a couple makeshift toys for her to play with. I managed to finish up my slideshow, send it to my boss, and even get started on cooking dinner. With my earbuds blasting music and my mind focused on not burning the house down, I forgot the tiny little intruder. “Hey,” said Laura, pulling an earbud out. “What do you think of the name Emma?” “What?” I asked with a frown. “Well if we’re stuck with this little one for the time being,” she bounced the little girl in her arms, “she should have a name.” “I’m sure she already has one though,” I said. Even though I didn’t like kids, I couldn’t imagine how heartless someone could be to leave a baby all alone in the middle of a blizzard. Of course, she could’ve been kidnapped and left, but that was a horror I didn’t want to consider. “But, Emma? I can’t hear that name without thinking of Emma from middle school.” “Right,” said Laura wincing. She had only encountered my childhood nemesis once, but just that one interaction gave Laura a very strong impression of who she was. “What about Adelaide?” “Isn’t that a bit long?” I asked uncertainly. “It’s a pretty name, though.” “Lots of people have long names,” said Laura with a
shrug. “Her name will be Adelaide until we figure out her real one.” “Don’t get too attached,” I said with a sigh. “Once the roads clear and CPS comes to get her, we’ll almost definitely never see her again.” “Still, she can’t just go without a name.” Since Adelaide was able to eat cereal, we decided it would be fine to give her spaghetti for dinner since it was soft and easy to eat. She, of course, played with it more than she ate it. Laura thought her drawings made entirely out of spaghetti sauce splatters were adorable, but I could only see the mess we would half to clean up afterwards. Luckily Laura was cleaning since I did the cooking. “Alright, just sit there and play quietly, okay?” I asked as I set Adelaide on the floor in the living room. The last thing I needed to do for the day was to check my emails one last time. It was only supposed to take a few minutes, so I thought it would be alright to have Adelaide entertain herself until I was done. I was wrong. Adelaide pushed herself up on her feet and stumbled forward before bumping into the coffee table. Falling backward on her bottom, she scrunched up her face and began wailing. I quickly set down my laptop and picked her up. “Irene? What happened?” Laura asked, peering into the living room. “It’s okay, she just bumped into the table,” I said sheepishly. “Try to keep a closer eye on her,” she responded
“Delicate,” Photograph by The Calico Cat
wearily before leaving. I sighed and frowned at the sniffling baby in my arms. Adelaide looked up at me with her big watery green eyes, attempting to coax any sympathy for her out of me. Unfortunately, to me she seemed like a little mess who needed to be wrapped in bubble wrap. “Okay, let’s try this again. How about you sit on the couch next to me?” I said, feeling a little weird talking to her. Even though she was a person, albeit a small one, it wasn’t as if she understood what I was saying. I placed her down on the couch, handed her a makeshift stuffed animal made from socks and googly-eyes, and got back to checking my emails. It was calm… for a few minutes. As I began typing out a response to one of my coworkers, a “stuffed animal” landed on the keyboard, causing erafrw to type itself on my screen. I inhale sharply in annoyance before offering it back to her. “Gack!” squealed Adelaide, smacking her hand down. She missed the stuffed animal by a couple inches and instead hit the keyboard.
esdffdhzs Seeing something happen on the screen, her eyes grew wide and she began hitting the keyboard repeatedly, each smack growing more and more violent. Perhaps it was the feeling of all the keys moving down or the sound of the furious clacking, but whatever it was about the keyboard that had her so entranced, Adelaide loved it. bkihapjaznjklGRNJzhn zthknpowPohzja GGP:Phmjhz “Adelaide! Stop it!” I exclaimed, alarmed. Her arms and hands were incredibly strong for a baby, and I was worried that she would cause damage to my laptop. As I attempted to move it away, Adelaide hit the touchpad. The email draft disappeared from the screen, and a little yellow message box appeared on the top of my inbox. Sent. “No!” I gasped, gripping the sides of my laptop tightly. Adelaide babbled gleefully beside me, finally deciding that her stuffed Continued on Next Page
13
animal was entertaining enough to keep her focus on something other than causing my despair. Dread churned my stomach as I realized there was no way to unsend the email. I quickly sent another email, letting my coworker know what had happened. My face burned with embarrassment as I shut my laptop firmly and stood up from the seat. I could already hear my coworker telling everyone at the office about what had happened. When I looked at Adelaide, she grinned up at me. I was probably too angry and embarrassed to think clearly, but I swore she looked devious. Luckily, Laura was finished washing the dishes before Adelaide could do anything else. “Did something happen?” Laura asked, noticing the look on my face. “She messed up my email and almost destroyed my laptop,” I accused. She laughed and scooped Adelaide up in her arms. The girl was now yawning and her eyes were heavy with sleep. She looked nothing like the little monster a few minutes before. “Aw, look at how cute she is,” said Laura cradling her gently. “She’s a pain,” I said bluntly. “Don’t be like that,” said Laura rolling her eyes. She brought Adelaide into the guest room, presumably to put her to sleep. I brought my things back into the bedroom and quickly finished going through my inbox. Luckily my coworker thought the email was funny and didn’t think much of it. Before I closed my laptop, 14
I checked the weather. The blizzard was predicted to last until the end of the week, and the roads weren’t expected to be cleared until three days after it ends. “We’re going to be stuck with her for a whole week,” I said when Laura walked in. “It’s not going to be that bad,” said Laura. “Babies are difficult, but they’re… babies. Adelaide doesn’t understand if she’s doing something bad or if she’s being annoying. She’s just being a normal one-year old.” “I don’t have to like it,” I responded stubbornly. “I don’t have the time to watch her, and I’m terrible at it.” “It’s just seven days. You’ll survive, you overdramatic toddler.” “I’m not a toddler!” “Then stop acting like one!” “It just feels weird,” I said wearily. “Doesn’t it feel wrong at all? I mean, that kid’s got parents, maybe even siblings. It feels like we kidnapped her.” “You said she was left in the grocery store and that there was no one else there,” said Laura gently. She took my hand and sat down on the bed beside me. “There’s a blizzard going on, do you really think anyone else would’ve gone to Fred Meyer until the storm ended? If you hadn’t found her she would’ve been all alone for days.” “What do you think happened? I mean, how does someone just leave a baby there. Especially in the middle of a blizzard? Just, oh, honey? I can’t find the baby!”
“It probably was an accident. Strange things happen all the time,” said Laura optimistically. She had a tendancy to avoid thinking about the negative possibilities. It was something I envied at times. “But Adelaide was behind the customer service desk. That’s a really weird place to leave a baby.” “Someone left their baby while they were shopping, someone else found her, and they brought her to customer service. The blizzard hit and whoever was working the desk ran and forgot.” It sounded simple, but the more I thought about it the more it just didn’t make sense to me. Adelaide was a little human being, not some car keys you’d occasionally misplace. It was really difficult to just forget that you had a human life in your hands. “They would’ve remembered by now, why didn’t they call the police?” I asked. Laura’s optimistic expression morphed into one of uncertainty. “It just doesn’t make sense, someone should’ve called the police by now.” “Maybe they’re scared
that CPS will think they can’t take care of her properly?” “As if this situation is any better,” I scoffed. We both sat in a heavy silence for a minute. Questions swirled around in my brain and I could tell Laura was trying to think up of different situations as well. I sighed. “Maybe this all was just an accident. Blizzards tend to make things a little hectic around here anyways. Something just… something doesn’t feel right.” “No, I get it,” said Laura nodding. “But Adelaide’s here right now, in our care. In a few days, CPS will be able to take proper care of her and help her find her real home. We just have to wait.” I nodded, but I couldn’t seem to shake the churning feeling in my stomach. Something about her being left in that store just didn’t feel right and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Hopefully Laura was right and Adelaide’s real parents would be found soon. To Be Continued...
“A Quiet Autumn,” Photograph by The Observer